“Don’t fret,” George told him. “If you let anything but what you need to do prey on your mind, you’re in trouble. I know what’s going on here. Marshal Bart doesn’t, regardless of whether he thinks he does.”
“But he’s the one who can give the orders,” Andy said.
“Well, yes, he can,” Doubting George admitted. “But he’d be wrong if he did.”
“By the gods!” Colonel Andy burst out. “When in the hells has that ever stopped one of our generals, or even slowed the stupid son of a bitch down?”
“Do bear in mind, Colonel, that you are presently talking to one of those stupid sons of bitches,” George said. Andy had the grace to look embarrassed, though George suspected he wasn’t, or not very. The general commanding continued, “And I don’t happen to think I’m wrong in delaying. If I did, I wouldn’t.” He listened to himself to make sure he’d said what he meant there. After a bit of thought, he decided he had.
Andy, however, still looked unhappy. “Maybe we ought to move forward now, sir. If Bell gets reinforcements-”
“Where?” George broke in, shaking his head. “What are the odds of that? Whatever he can scrape up, he’s got.”
“I don’t know where he’d get them,” Andy said petulantly. “I just think we ought to hit him as hard as we can as soon as we can.”
“And we will,” George said. “But that isn’t quite yet, in my opinion. And mine is the opinion that counts.”
“Not if Marshal Bart removes you,” his adjutant said.
“He won’t.” Doubting George sounded more confident than he felt.
“What if, while you’re waiting for your brigades, Bell comes up with a new strong wizard?” Andy asked.
“From where?” George asked again. “If the northerners have any decent mages who aren’t already wearing blue robes, you can bet your last piece of silver it’s news to Bell and Geoffrey both. Besides, even if Bell does come up with one, Alva will handle him.” He patted Andy on the shoulder. “Cheer up. Everything will be fine.”
“I doubt it,” Andy said, in exactly the tone George would have used. George found himself with no reply.
Brigadier of the regulars. The words-and what they betokened-sang within John the Lister. Up till he could use those words about himself, he’d almost dreaded the end of the War Between the Provinces. He enjoyed being a brigadier, and he thought he’d proved he did a good job at that rank. To drop down to a captain’s meager command would have been hard. To drop down to a captain’s meager pay would have been even harder.
He didn’t have to worry about that any more. He would hold brigadier’s rank till he died or retired. He wouldn’t have to go out to some steppe castle in the middle of nowhere and listen to wild wolves and wilder blonds howling outside the walls. Doubting George had said he would recommend him for promotion, and he’d kept his promise. Marshal Bart and King Avram had recognized what John did at Poor Richard. Now all the southrons had left to do was finish squashing Lieutenant General Bell and the Army of Franklin.
For some reason John couldn’t fathom, Doubting George didn’t seem to want to do that. There the traitors were, out on ridges in plain sight of Ramblerton. They didn’t even have enough men to stretch their line all the way across the neck of the loop of the Cumbersome River in which the capital of Franklin laid. As far as John the Lister could see, outflanking them and rolling them up would be the easiest thing in the world.
Why didn’t George want to move?
John knew he wasn’t the only one who had trouble finding an answer. Most of the officers inside Ramblerton kept scratching their heads, wondering what George was doing-or rather, why he wasn’t doing it. And the rumors that came out of the scryers’ hall…
Rumors like that came out all the time. More often than not, soldiers had the sense to ignore them. This time… John the Lister shook his head. How could you ignore rumors that Bart was threatening to sack Doubting George? How could you ignore rumors that Bart was threatening to leave the siege of Pierreville and come east, either taking command in Ramblerton himself or appointing George’s replacement?
You couldn’t. It was that simple. Whenever two officers-hells, whenever two soldiers-got together, the gossip started up afresh. Some people started saying John the Lister ought to take Doubting George’s place. When a colonel did it in John’s hearing, he rounded on the man. “I am not going to replace Lieutenant General George,” he growled. “I don’t think George needs replacing. Do you understand me?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” the man answered, his eyes wide with surprise.
“You’d better, Colonel,” John said. “If I hear you’ve been spouting more of this disruptive gossip, I won’t be the only one who hears about it. I hope I make myself plain enough?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” the unhappy colonel said again, and retreated faster than General Guildenstern had fallen back from the River of Death.
That wasn’t enough to satisfy John the Lister. He went and told Doubting George what had happened, though he named no names. He finished, “Sir, I don’t want you to think I’m intriguing against you.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” George replied. “Now the question is, do you want me not to think that because you’re not doing it or because you really are intriguing against me but you want to keep me in the dark?”
“What?” John the Lister needed several heartbeats to work through that. When he did, he stared at the commanding general with something approaching horror. “That’s the most twisted bit of thinking I do believe I’ve ever run into, sir.”
“Thank you,” Doubting George replied, which only flummoxed John further. George continued, “Now answer the question, if you’d be so kind.”
“Sir, I am not intriguing against you, and that is the truth,” John said stiffly. “If you don’t believe me, go fetch Major Alva and let him find out by magic.”
He didn’t fear what might happen if Doubting George did that. He’d told the general commanding the truth: he’d shown no disloyalty in word, deed, or manner. On the contrary. That didn’t mean he would have been unhappy if Marshal Bart booted George out of the command and set him in George’s place. Again, on the contrary. Ambition, he told himself, was different from disloyalty.
He didn’t care for the smile that played on what he could see of George’s lips behind the other officer’s thick beard and mustache. Still smiling that unpleasant smile, George said, “I won’t sic Major Alva on you if I think you’re scheming against me, Brigadier. I’ll just dismiss you. Have you got that?”
“Yes, sir,” John replied. “You leave me no room for, er, doubt.” Doubting George laughed out loud. John went on, “But may I ask you one different question?”
“Go right ahead.” George was the picture of northern hospitality.
“Sir, why the hells won’t you attack Bell?” John the Lister blurted.
“Why? Because the son of a bitch isn’t going anywhere, and I’m not quite ready to give him what-for yet. I want those last couple of brigades from the far side of the Great River here before I do,” George answered. “I tell this over and over to anybody who’ll listen, but nobody seems to want to. Is it so gods-damned hard to grasp?” He sounded as plaintive as a commanding general was ever likely to.
“Sir, he’s right in front of us. He’s just waiting to be hit. If we can’t whip him with what we’ve got here…”
“If we can’t, we’d be stupid to try, especially when those brigades are almost here,” Doubting George said.
“But I think we can!” John the Lister said.
“That’s nice.” George sounded placid. Whether he was… Well, now John was the doubting one. The commanding general went on, “If Marshal Bart bounces me and names you in my place, you can go charging forth just as though you’d borrowed Bell’s brains, such as they are. Meanwhile, you’d better do what I tell you. We’ll both be unhappy if you don’t, but you’ll end up unhappier. I promise you that, Brigadier.”