“Bell had his chance,” Lieutenant General George told his brigadiers. “He had it, and he couldn’t do anything with it. Now it’s our turn, by the gods, and we’ll see how well he likes that.”
“That’s right,” Absalom the Bear rumbled. The big man went on, “The traitors have played games with us for too long. I don’t believe they’ve got the men to play games any more.”
“We’ve got Brigadier Oliver pushing up to our left,” George said. “Now Hesmucet is going to stretch this wing up toward the right, toward the glideway link with Dothan Province and the one with northern Peachtree Province. Once we’ve got those in our hands, too, how’s Lieutenant General Bell going to feed Marthasville?”
“That’s simple, sir,” Brigadier Brannan said. Doubting George’s commander of siege engines paid close attention to logistics. His handsome face twisted into a thoroughly nasty grin. “He won’t. Those bastards will starve, and then we’ll clean ’em out.”
Absalom shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s how it’ll happen. When we move against the glideway lines to Dothan and to the north of Peachtree Province, Bell will have to come out against us, to try to knock us away. Then we’ll lick him, and what can he do after that? Not fornicating much.”
“I think you may be right,” Doubting George said. “Bell isn’t the sort of man who’s going to let himself be shut up in a place and stand siege. What he wants to do is get out there and attack.”
“Look how much good it did him these past couple of days,” Brannan said. “Of course he’ll want to go out and try it again.”
George shrugged. “He’ll just think he had bad luck, or that his soldiers let him down. Attacking is what he knows how to do. It’s all he knows how to do. If you send a carpenter out to try fixing something, of course he’s going to hammer nails into it, even if it’s a blanket with a rip and not a board at all.”
“Let Bell come,” Absalom said. “Let him come, and we’ll pound nails into him.”
“We’ll pound nails into the boards of his funeral pyre,” Doubting George said. “The beauty of our position now is, we don’t have to try to break into Marthasville. We can do the traitors every bit as much harm by stretching out past them. And when we do, they have to come out against us and attack our fieldworks. We don’t have to try to break through theirs.”
“I like that,” Absalom the Bear said. “We’ve had to go up against too many of their earthworks. It might as well be their turn for a while. And I’ll tell you something else: the men will like it, too.”
“That’s a fact,” Brannan agreed. “If you’re trying to fix wool or rock or water, a hammer’s not the right tool for the job.”
“We’re the ones with the tools for the job now,” George said. “Let’s get moving and do it. Some of Brigadier John the Lister’s men will fill in on our left as we shift.”
Brannan smiled. “Good old Ducky. He’s reliable, by the Thunderer’s prong.”
“That he is.” Doubting George didn’t doubt it in the slightest. When Fighting Joseph resigned because Hesmucet had named Brigadier Oliver commander of James the Bird’s Eye’s wing rather than giving it to him, that had given the general commanding one more slot to fill. John the Lister-often called by the nickname Brannan had given him-was a thoroughly capable officer, one who did what needed doing without demanding praise before, during, and afterwards. With him on his flank, George felt much happier than he would have with Fighting Joseph there.
George’s wing started sliding around to the right, to the east of Marthasville, the next morning. He’d wondered if Bell would try to strike him a blow at once, but the northern soldiers stayed in their entrenchments. Only a few unicorn-riders in blue dogged the southron troops. Doubting George sent his own unicorn-riders forward and drove them away.
“They’re only trying to see what we’re up to,” Absalom the Bear said. “They can’t stop us.”
“I know that,” Doubting George replied. “I don’t care. I don’t want them seeing anything, either. It might cause us trouble later on.”
As his wing advanced, though, he wondered whether anything would cause the southrons in Peachtree Province trouble ever again. Hesmucet had had the right of it: but for Joseph the Gamecock’s army and Duke Edward’s over in Parthenia, King Geoffrey had little left with which to hold his kingdom together. And, now that Bell had taken the army once Joseph’s and smashed it up, little remained to hold back the men in gray as they advanced.
Oh, every now and then squadrons of unicorn-riders or Peachtree Province militiamen would skirmish with George’s vanguard. Sometimes the northerners would have the numbers to slow down George’s men for a little while. But all he had to do was send reinforcements forward and the traitors would melt away. They’d spent a couple of months skillfully contesting every inch of ground from Borders all the way up to Marthasville. This ground to the east of Marthasville was as important as any in all of Peachtree Province, but King Geoffrey had not the men to keep Hesmucet from taking it.
Seeing as much amused Absalom the Bear-as much as anything could amuse Lieutenant General George’s grim brigadier. “Geoffrey wanted Bell to get out there and fight,” Absalom said. “He got out there and he did it-and now, by the gods, Geoffrey has to wish he’d left Joseph the Gamecock in command.”
“I doubt that,” George said, which made Absalom chuckle. The wing commander went on, “I don’t think false King Geoffrey wants Joseph to have anything to do with anything. The only reason he gave him this command in the first place was that he didn’t have anybody else to fix the mess Thraxton the Braggart left behind.”
“No doubt you’re right, sir,” Absalom said. “Now who’s going to fix the mess Bell’s left behind?”
“I don’t think anyone can,” George replied. “If he stays in the city, we’ll flank him out or starve him out. And if he comes forth again, we’ll give him another set of lumps and drive him back. He hasn’t got the men to push us, not after he’s gone and thrown so many of them away.”
“There’s always magic,” Absalom said.
Doubting George wished the brigadier hadn’t said that. Sorcery was the one place where the traitors still enjoyed some advantage over King Avram’s forces. But even that edge was shrinking. George said, “By what the northerners have shown on this campaign, we can stand up to whatever they throw at us.”
“Here’s hoping you’re right,” Absalom the Bear answered. George nodded.
A unicorn-rider came back from the vanguard, reined in, and waited to be recognized. When Doubting George nodded again, this time toward him, he said, “Sir, we’ve taken some prisoners. Do you want to help question them?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” the wing commander replied. “Lead the way.”
“Yes, sir.” The messenger rode to what looked like the farm of a prosperous yeoman or a small baron. Even before George walked into the farmhouse, he could hear cursing-at the same time highly fluent and slightly mushy. At his raised eyebrows, the messenger explained: “One of the fellows we caught is this militiaman, must be fifty-five, sixty years old. He’s got false choppers-or he did, on account of he just broke ’em. That’s how come he sounds the way he does.”
“I… see,” George said. “He sounds like the fellow I ought to question, don’t you think?”
“Whatever you say, sir,” the messenger replied. “If if was up to me, I’d knock him over the head and shut him up for good.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Doubting George replied. “He sounds like he might be fun to listen to for a while.”
He walked into the farmhouse. The northern prisoner gave him a baleful stare and demanded, “Who in the hells”-because of his broken false teeth, it came out as hellsh — “are you?”