“Oh, certainly. I see it, too,” Hesmucet said. “He can concentrate his men wherever he does decide to attack, which makes him stronger there than we are.”
“Yes, sir. That’s what I meant,” James said.
“Thought so,” Hesmucet said. “But the other side of that coin is, he’s weakening himself along every other part of his line. And he won’t be the only one doing the attacking. We’ll keep him busy, I promise you.”
“Good, sir. I expected as much.” James the Bird’s Eye grinned, which made him look even younger than he really was. He was tall and handsome and brave, too. Hesmucet, not far past forty himself, felt positively decrepit when he considered his dashing wing commander. “Whatever they do, sir, we’ll deal with them,” James promised.
“That’s what we’re here for,” Hesmucet said. “They had their chance after the battle by the River of Death. They had it, and they bungled it. Now it’s our turn-and, by the gods, I don’t think they can stop us.”
After James the Bird’s Eye had left, Hesmucet went out of his headquarters and stared north toward Marthasville. He could see the city clearly. He could also see the traitors’ lines that still, despite everything, held his men away from the town at which they’d aimed for so long. How much more could Bell stretch his smaller army? He would have to do something to counter James the Bird’s Eye’s next outflanking move.
James expected Bell to attack. And James knew him better than any other southron general-or, at least, better than any other under Hesmucet’s command. Everyone else agreed with the young wing commander, too. “Come ahead,” Hesmucet murmured eagerly. “You come right on ahead.” If Bell obliged him, he wouldn’t complain. No, he wouldn’t complain at all.
He snapped his fingers and called for a runner. Wouldn’t do to make a stupid mistake like that, he thought. Don’t want to let the traitors have an easier time than they ought to.
When the runner returned, he brought Colonel Phineas, puffing, in his wake. Phineas saluted. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” the army’s senior mage said. He took off his hat and used it to fan his round, bald head.
“Good to see you, Colonel,” Hesmucet said. “I’ve just got word that Joseph the Gamecock has been replaced by Lieutenant General Bell at the head of the Army of Franklin.”
“By the gods!” Phineas exclaimed. “Are you certain, sir?”
“It’s in a Marthasville paper. I can’t be much more certain than that,” Hesmucet answered. If I had really good mages working for me, they would have let me know before I found out from a prisoner or a spy, he thought. Perhaps that was unfair; the northerners’ wizards would have been doing everything they could to keep news from leaking out. But only Alva could have hoped to penetrate whatever deceptions they were spreading, and Alva hadn’t thought to look.
Phineas said, “This will probably change the way the campaign is going. Doesn’t Bell have a name for being a more, ah, aggressive fighter than Joseph?”
“That’s exactly why I called you here, Colonel,” Hesmucet said, pleased to see even so much wit from Phineas. “Everyone’s best guess is that there will be an enemy attack, and soon. I suspect the traitors will try to hit us with their magecraft as well as with their soldiers.”
“That does seem very likely, yes, sir,” Phineas agreed.
“I want you to have all your mages on alert, too, to be ready to beat back such assaults,” Hesmucet said. “I have confidence in our crossbowmen and pikemen and unicorn-riders. And I have confidence in the wizards with us.”
Sourly, Colonel Phineas said, “You have confidence in Major Alva, you mean. The rest of us are just here to watch him.”
That was, in large measure, true. Even so, Hesmucet shook his head. Phineas and the other southron wizards did have some use, and disheartening them would make that less true. The commanding general said, “Major Alva will be busy, but so will the rest of you.”
“To fetch and carry for him.” Yes, Phineas was sour, all right.
Hesmucet shook his head. “By no means, Colonel. Major Alva is best at striking back against the traitors. The rest of you will keep them from striking at us. He is sword, you are shield. We need both.”
“Hmm.” Phineas considered that. “Very well, sir. You may rest assured that all of us-and I mean all — will do everything in our power for the kingdom.”
“Thank you,” Hesmucet said. Phineas’ feathers remained ruffled, but perhaps not so much now. Hesmucet waved toward the north. “We can see Marthasville from where we stand. We had better not let it slip through our fingers now.”
“I could hardly disagree with that, sir.” Phineas bowed stiffly. “We shall give you what you require, to the best of our ability.”
“Can’t ask for more than that.” Hesmucet clapped the tubby wizard on the shoulder. “Let all the men who share your art learn what I want of them.”
“Yes, sir,” Phineas said. “We’ll do everything we can, sir.”
“I know that. I’ve known that all along.” Hesmucet clapped the mage on the back again, hard enough to stagger him this time. Without Alva, it wouldn’t be enough, Hesmucet thought. When we didn’t have Alva, the traitors’ wizards always got the drop on us. Well, no more, by the gods.
Phineas made more promises that he and his sorcerous colleagues might or might not prove able to live up to. Hesmucet made more polite protestations that he didn’t really mean. At last, with what seemed like relief, Phineas decamped. With what Hesmucet knew to be relief, he watched the wizard waddle away.
He looked toward Marthasville once more. One thing at a time, he thought. Let James the Bird’s Eye get a solid stranglehold on the glideway line to Julia. Then I’ll send Doubting George over Goober Creek. If we can lick the northerners there, we ought to be able to bring our engines up close enough to start flinging stones and firepots into Marthasville itself.
He didn’t want the fight for the city to come down to a siege. He wanted to storm in and take the place away from the Army of Franklin. He was by nature almost as much an attacker as Lieutenant General Bell over on the other side, and Joseph the Gamecock’s delaying campaign had left him badly frustrated. But what he wanted most of all was Marthasville. How he got it didn’t really matter. If he had to starve the traitors into yielding, he would do that.
He wasn’t sorry to see Joseph the Gamecock go. Joseph had been like one skilled swordsman holding off two as he retreated down a long, narrow corridor. He hadn’t let them get past him, not even once; to do so would have been fatal. Now Bell would try to come up the corridor against the same two swordsmen, or so everyone assumed.
“Let him come,” Hesmucet murmured again. He wasn’t a particularly pious man, nor one to send up prayers to the gods at any excuse. The gods, he’d always reckoned, would do as they pleased, and let people pick up the pieces as best they could. This time, though, the general commanding doffed his hat and looked up to the mountain beyond the sky. “Please, Thunderer; please, Lion God. Let him come.”
He got no immediate answer to his petition. He’d expected none. No Detinan had seen a heavenly choir in years. Even so, looking north once more, he doubted he would have long to wait before finding out whether the gods were listening.
VIII
Colonel Florizel was almost beside himself with excitement. “Now we get to hit back!” the regimental commander burbled. “Now we get to drive the gods-damned southrons out of our kingdom once for all!”
“Well, your Excellency, we certainly get to try,” Captain Gremio answered.
“Bell is a man who knows what fighting’s all about,” Florizel said. “We’ll hit the southrons a lick the likes of which the world has never seen the likes of.” He was fond of that phrase; Gremio had heard it before from him. He’d never figured out what, if anything, it meant.