“Yes, sir!” Hard-Riding Jimmy saluted once more. “I’ll do it, sir.” He got back onto his unicorn and rode away.
Doubting George stared after him. Then the commanding general turned and kicked a small stone into the Franklin. It splashed a couple of times before sinking without a trace. Might as well be my career, George thought gloomily. Not all the sons of bitches are traitors. Too gods-damned many of ’em are on King Avram’s side.
These days, Ned of the Forest often felt he was the only officer in Honey-indeed, the only officer in Great River Province and Dothan put together-who was behaving as if he felt the north could still win the war. In a sour sort of way, that was funny, for Bell’s disaster in front of Ramblerton had thrown the last log on the pyre of his hopes.
But, as far as he was concerned, the fight had to go on, hope or no hope. King Geoffrey hadn’t surrendered. Geoffrey, in fact, kept loudly insisting that he wouldn’t surrender, that he would sooner turn bushwhacker than surrender. Ned, a master bushwhacker if ever there was one, had his doubts about that, but he kept quiet about them.
His unicorn-riders kept patrolling north of the Franklin. A few of them sneaked across the river and raided southron outposts on the far bank. They behaved as if the war still were the close, hard-fought struggle it had always been.
Not so the footsoldiers who remained in Honey, the remnants of the once-proud Army of Franklin. Every day, a few-or, on a lot of days, more than a few-of them slipped out of their encampments, heading for home.
Lieutenant General Richard the Haberdasher, the general who’d taken over for Bell, summoned Ned to his headquarters in the best hostel in town. Richard, a belted earl, was King Geoffrey’s brother-in-law and had a blood connection to King Zachary the Rough and Ready, now some years dead. Despite his blue blood, he’d proved a capable soldier, and had done some hard fighting in the northeast.
To do any more fighting with what had been the Army of Franklin, Ned was convinced, Earl Richard would have to be more than a capable soldier. He’d have to be able to raise the dead. But all Ned did on walking into Richard’s suite was salute and say, “Reporting as ordered, your Grace.”
Richard the Haberdasher was tall-though not quite so tall as Ned-and handsome. He was in his late thirties, four or five years younger than the commander of unicorn-riders. “I have a favor to ask of you, Lieutenant General,” he said.
“What do you need?” Ned asked.
“I want you to put a cordon around Honey,” Richard said. “These desertions have got to stop. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can,” Ned of the Forest answered. “And I will.” He was glad to see Richard trying to take matters in hand. About time, he thought. Still, he couldn’t help adding, “You could do it with footsoldiers, too, you know.”
“I could, but I’d rather not,” Earl Richard said. “I’m not sure I can rely on them. Your men, though-your men I can count on. And so, if it’s all right with you, I’d sooner do that.”
“All right. I’ll take care of it.” Ned wished he could disagree with Richard the Haberdasher. That would have meant the remaining fragments of the broken Army of Franklin were in better shape than they really were. The commander of unicorn-riders felt he had to add, “If I set some of my troopers to riding patrols around Honey, that means I can’t use those fellows against the southrons.”
“Yes, I know,” Richard answered. “But it also means I’ll have more pikemen and crossbowmen to send against them when I find the chance.” He seemed to hear what he’d just said, to hear it and think he had to retreat from it. “If I find the chance, I should say.”
Ned of the Forest nodded. Bell’s successor was proving he had a better grasp on reality than the man he’d replaced. Had the one-legged officer kept his command here, he probably would have been planning yet another headlong assault on the southrons. He seemed to have wanted the Army of Franklin as thoroughly maimed as he was himself. But Richard the Haberdasher clearly realized the days of storming to the attack were gone forever for these soldiers.
“We have to do all we can to hold the manufactories in Dothan and the smaller ones here in Great River Province,” Richard said. “With Marthasville and Veldt gone, they’re the most important ones we’ve got left this side of Nonesuch.”
“I understand,” Ned said. “And with Marthasville and Veldt gone, gods only know how anything they make in Nonesuch’ll get out here to the east. That means the ones hereabouts count for even more than they would otherwise.”
“True. Every word of it true.” Earl Richard hesitated, then said, “May I ask you something else? I swear by the Thunderer’s strong right hand that whatever you answer won’t go beyond the walls of this room.”
The walls of that room were covered by a garishly flowered wallpaper that couldn’t have been much uglier if it tried. Ned of the Forest didn’t like to think of anything that hideous listening to him, but he nodded again. “Go right ahead.”
“Thank you.” After another long pause, Richard said, “What do you think of our chances of carrying on the war?”
“Well…” Ned puffed out his cheeks, then sighed loud and long and hard enough to make the flames of the candles on Richard’s desk dance. “Well, I don’t know how things are in the west. I’ve heard this and that and the other thing, but I don’t know, so I shouldn’t talk about that. Here in the east… hereabouts, would you be asking me to ride patrol against our own deserters if things were going the way they were supposed to?”
He waited. Richard the Haberdasher also waited, to see if he had anything else to say. When the nobleman decided no more was coming, he clicked his tongue between his teeth. “All right. That’s a fair answer. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I wish I could’ve had something different to tell you.” Ned sketched a salute and strode out of the room with the lurid wallpaper. He wondered if Richard would call him back. The other general didn’t.
When Ned ordered patrols out against deserters, he rode out with them. He never sent his men to any duty he wouldn’t take himself. And, before long, the squad with which he rode came across deserters: three men in the ragged ruins of blue uniforms sneaking away from Honey across the muddy fields around the town.
Ned spurred his unicorn toward them. The rest of the squad followed. The three footsoldiers froze in dismay. “What the hells do you think you’re doing?” Ned roared, aiming a crossbow at the leading man’s face.
The footsoldier looked at his pals. They looked back at him, as if to say, He asked you, so you answer him. The scruffy soldier gathered himself. “I reckon we’re going home,” he said, apparently deciding he might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.
“I reckon you’re gods-damned well not,” Ned of the Forest thundered. “I reckon all three of you sorry sons of bitches are going to turn around and go back to Honey. I reckon I’ll put a crossbow quarrel through your brisket if you don’t, too.”
“You might as well go ahead and shoot us,” the soldier replied. “Won’t make any difference to the war either way.” Defiantly, he added, “Won’t make any difference if we go home, neither.”
He was right. Ned had known the war was lost for weeks. He felt a certain embarrassment at not being able to admit as much to the would-be deserter, and tried to cover that embarrassment with bluster: “By the Lion God’s pointed toenails, where would we be if everybody in King Geoffrey’s army acted the way you gutless bastards are doing?”
“Where?” the footsoldier answered. “About where we’re at now, I reckon. Don’t see how we could be much worse off, and that’s the gods’ truth.”