Doubting George was so intent on his gloomy reflections, he didn’t notice someone had come up beside him till a polite cough forced him to. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Major Alva said apologetically. “I know how important a reverie can be when you’re trying to work things through.”
“A reverie?” George snorted. “I don’t believe I could come up with a good chain of thought right now. By the Thunderer’s beard, I don’t believe I could even come up with a good link. And you accuse me of reverie? Ha!”
The mage blinked. “Oh. Well, can you answer a question for me?”
“I can always answer questions, Major. Of course, whether the answers make any sense depends on what questions you ask.”
“Uh, of course.” Alva took half a step away from Doubting George, as if realizing he was dealing with a lunatic who might be dangerous. But he did ask his question: “Is it true that I’m ordered to Palmetto Province with John the Lister, the way I went to Summer Mountain and Poor Richard with him?”
Although the general commanding wished he could give an answer that made no sense, he had to nod. “Yes, Major, that is true. You’re specifically mentioned in the orders sending John west. I wish I could tell you otherwise, because I’d like to keep you here. You’ve done splendid work for me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alva said. “If you want to know what I think, I think it’s a shame you don’t get to do more here.”
“So do I, now that you mention it,” Doubting George said. “But that’s not how things have worked out. All I can do about it is make sure the traitors don’t get loose in spite of everything.”
“I don’t believe you have much to worry about there,” Alva said.
“I don’t believe I do, either, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be careful. It doesn’t mean I won’t be twice as careful, as a matter of fact,” George replied. “The worst things happen when you’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about. And if you don’t believe me, ask General Guildenstern.” He waved, as if inviting the wizard to do just that. “Go ahead, Major. Ask him.”
“Uh, I can’t ask him, sir,” Alva said nervously. “He isn’t here.” He might have feared the general commanding had forgotten Guildenstern was off in the east fighting blond savages on the steppe.
But Doubting George hadn’t forgotten. He remembered all too well. “No, he isn’t here,” he agreed. “And the reason he isn’t here is, he was sure he had Thraxton the Braggart whipped. He was sure the traitors were trundling up to Marthasville as fast as they could run. He was sure he didn’t have a single, solitary thing to worry about. He was sure-and he was wrong. I don’t intend to make that mistake. With the three men King Avram leaves me, I’ll keep an eye on whatever the traitors still have up in Honey. They may lick me, but they won’t catch me napping.”
Alva pondered that. “You make good sense, sir. I wish they’d given lessons like that when I was studying sorcery. I’d be better off for them.”
“But that isn’t a lesson in sorcery,” George said. “It’s a lesson in life, a lesson in common sense. Are you telling me they don’t teach mages common sense? That shocks me, that does.”
“Well, that’s not just what I meant. I-” Alva broke off and gave Doubting George a dirty look. “You’re making fun again,” he said accusingly.
With one of his broad-shouldered shrugs, George said, “I can either make fun or I can start yelling and cursing and pitching a fit. Which would you rather?”
“Me? I think it would be entertaining if you pitched a fit.” Alva tried to project an air of childlike innocence. He didn’t have too much luck.
“You would,” Doubting George told him. “Now why don’t you disappear, so I can go back into my-what did you call it? — my reverie, that was it.”
“But you said it wasn’t a reverie, sir,” Alva said.
“It might be, if I give it a chance.”
“But if it wasn’t one in the first place, then you can’t very well go back into it, can you?”
“Did you study wizardry, or at a collegium of law?” George rumbled.
To his surprise, Major Alva laughed out loud. “Can you imagine me a barrister, sir, or even a solicitor?” he asked, and Doubting George laughed, too, for he couldn’t. With a half-mocking salute, Alva did leave.
And there stood Doubting George, looking at the rain-swollen waters of the Franklin, looking at Ned’s unicorn-riders, looking at the ignominious conclusion to what should have been glorious instead. It had been glorious, in fact. The only trouble was, they couldn’t see the glory back in Georgetown. Or maybe they could, but they didn’t think it glittered brightly enough. Is this a reverie? George wondered. He doubted it. He just felt as chilly and gloomy as the winter’s day all around him.
Hoofbeats brought him back to himself. He looked around, blinking a couple of times. Maybe it had been a reverie after all. Up came Hard-Riding Jimmy. The brash young commander of unicorn-riders swung down out of the saddle, tied his mount to a low-hanging branch, and came over to Doubting George. He saluted crisply.
Returning the salute, George said, “And what can I do for you?”
“Sir, I’ve just received orders from Georgetown,” Jimmy said.
Excitement thrummed in his voice. George could see it in his stance. “What sort of orders?” the commanding general asked, though Jimmy’s delight gave him a pretty good idea.
And, sure enough, Jimmy answered, “Detached duty, sir. My whole contingent of unicorn-riders. I’m ordered to go down into Dothan, smash up everything in my path, and hound Ned of the Forest to death.” He sounded quiveringly eager to be about it, too.
Doubting George was also quivering-quivering with fury. “Congratulations, Brigadier. I hope you do it, and I think you can.” He wasn’t angry at Jimmy, or not directly. “These orders came straight to you?”
“Uh, yes, sir. They did.” Now Jimmy knew what the trouble was. “Do you mean to say you didn’t get them?”
“That is exactly what I mean to say,” George growled. “By now, the butchers dismembering the carcass of my army must suppose I’m dead, for they don’t even bother letting me know before they hack off another limb. At least they had the courtesy to tell me when they took John the Lister away from me.”
Hard-Riding Jimmy turned red. He stroked one end of his long, drooping mustaches. “I’m sorry, sir. I assumed you would know before I did.”
“Ha!” Doubting George said. “Marshal Bart doesn’t think I deserve to know my own name, let alone anything else.”
“Well…” The commander of unicorn-riders was too excited about what he was going to do to worry much about his superior’s woes. “I can’t wait to come to grips with Ned, not when I’m getting reinforced, all my men will have quick-shooting crossbows, and he can’t afford to send his troopers scattering like quicksilver. He’ll have to defend the towns in my path, because the manufactories in them make crossbows and catapults and such for the traitors. He’ll have to defend them, and I aim to take them away from him and burn them to the ground.”
Southron brigadiers had been talking like that when they went up against Ned of the Forest since the war was young. Most of the brigadiers who talked like that had come to grief in short order. Doubting George doubted whether Hard-Riding Jimmy would, though. He was a good officer, had a swarm of good men armed with fine weapons that had already proved their worth-and the north, now, was visibly coming to the end of its tether.
“May the gods go with you,” George said. “I wish I were going with you, too, but I can’t do a gods-damned thing about that.”
“I wish this had been handled more smoothly,” Jimmy said. “I feel real bad about it.”
“Nothing you can do. Nothing I can do, either,” Doubting George answered. “When you do go to Dothan with your detached command, though, you make sure you do whip those traitor sons of bitches, you hear me?”