Again, Thraxton couldn’t decide if that was a cut or merely a witticism in questionable-very questionable-taste. Again, he reluctantly gave William the benefit of the doubt, where he wouldn’t have for most of the men under his command. William had fought hard and stayed sober. And so Thraxton said, “Heh”-all the laughter he had in him.
“Well, good luck to you, sir,” William said. “I’m sure you mean well.” He went on his way: a sunny man who was sure that everyone meant well. Thraxton was just as sure he labored under a delusion, but what point to tell a blockhead that he was a blockhead? Off Roast-Beef William went, as ready to put his optimism at Joseph the Gamecock’s service as he had been to offer it to Thraxton.
Off Count Thraxton went, too, off toward the glideway port. “N-no, sir,” a startled clerk said when he arrived. “We haven’t got any carpets departing for Nonesuch today.”
“Procure one,” Thraxton said coldly. The clerk gaped. Thraxton glared. “You know who I am. You know I have the authority to give such an order. And you had better know what will happen to you if you fail to obey it. Do you?”
“Y-yes, sir,” the clerk said. “If-if you’ll excuse me, sir.” He fled.
Thraxton waited with such patience as was in him: not much. Presently, the clerk’s superior came up to him. “You need a special carpet laid on?”
“I do,” Thraxton replied.
“And it’ll take you away and you won’t come back?” the glideway official persisted.
“That is correct,” Thraxton said. Gods damn you, he added to himself.
“Well, I reckon we can take care of you, in that case,” the glideway man said. Thraxton nodded, pleased at being accommodated. Only a moment later did he realize this fellow hadn’t paid him a compliment. To make sure he remained in no doubt whatsoever, the wretch went on, “Maybe they’ll bring in somebody who knows what the hells he’s doing.” He smiled unpleasantly at Thraxton. “And if you try cursing me, your high and mighty Grace, I promise you’ll never see a glideway carpet out of Borders.”
Sure enough, that threat did keep Thraxton from doing what he most wanted to do. No, that wasn’t true: what he most wanted to do right now was escape the Army of Franklin, escape his humiliation, escape his own mistakes, escape himself. And, as the glideway carpet silently and smoothly took him off toward Nonesuch, he managed every one of those escapes… except, of course, the very last.
A runner came up to Lieutenant General Hesmucet in the streets of Rising Rock, saluted, and waited to be noticed while Hesmucet chatted with Alva the mage. Hesmucet could hardly have helped noticing him; he was a big, burly fellow who looked better suited to driving messengers away than to being one. “Yes? What is it?” Hesmucet said.
Saluting again, the runner said, “General Bart’s compliments, sir, and he desires that you attend him at his headquarters at your earliest convenience.”
“When a superior says that, he means right this minute,” Hesmucet said. The runner nodded. Hesmucet turned to Alva. “You must excuse me. There’s one man in this part of the kingdom who can give me orders, and he’s just gone and done it.”
“Of course, sir,” the wizard replied. “I hope the news is good, whatever it may be.”
“Gods grant it be so,” Hesmucet said. Alva smiled a peculiar, rather tight, smile. Hesmucet was almost all the way back to the hostel that had headquartered first Count Thraxton, then General Guildenstern, and now General Bart before he remembered the bright young mage’s remarks about how small a role he thought the gods played in ordinary human affairs. When he did recall it, he wished he hadn’t. He wanted to think the gods were on his side.
Bart sat drinking tea in his room. “Good morning, Lieutenant General,” he said. With him sat Doubting George, who nodded politely.
Hesmucet saluted Bart. “Good morning, sir.” He nodded to George. “Your Excellency.” Hesmucet wasn’t an Excellency himself. If he succeeded in the war, he might become one.
“My news is very simple,” Bart said. “King Avram is summoning me to Georgetown and to the Black Palace, as he said he might. He also told me he intends to name me Marshal of Detina when I arrive there.”
Hesmucet whistled softly. “Congratulations, sir. Congratulations from the bottom of my heart. It’s been-what?-eighty years or so since the kingdom last had a marshal. If any man deserves the job, you’re the one.”
“For which I thank you kindly,” Bart replied. He, Hesmucet, and doubtless Doubting George, as well, understood why Detina so seldom had a soldier of such exalted rank. A man supreme over all the kingdom’s soldiers might easily aspire to the throne himself, and kings knew that. Bart went on, “I intend to deserve the trust Avram is showing me.”
“Of course, sir,” Hesmucet said-what else could he possibly say?
“No one could be reckoned more reliable than General Bart,” George said. He was no particular friend of Bart’s, but he didn’t seem jealous that Bart had ascended to this peak of soldierly distinction. That took considerable character.
“When I become marshal,” Bart went on, “I expect I’m going to have to stay in the west. If the king in his wisdom decides we need a marshal, he’ll want that man to concentrate on trying to whip Duke Edward of Arlington and going after Nonesuch. If you’re in Georgetown, if you’re living in the Black Palace, that will seem the most important thing in the world.”
Both Hesmucet and Doubting George soberly nodded. Ever since the war began, the cry in Georgetown had always been, “Forward to Nonesuch!” As Hesmucet knew, it was a cry that had produced some impressive disasters: the first battle at Cow Jog sprang to mind. False King Geoffrey’s men might have gone on and captured Georgetown and split Detina forever if they hadn’t been almost as disrupted in victory as Avram’s army was in defeat.
Bart said, “That leads me to the arrangements I’m going to make for the armies here in the east. The fight here won’t get the fame of the battles over in Parthenia. We all know that. I’m sorry about it, but I can’t change it, and nobody else can, either.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” George said. “King Geoffrey could have changed it if he’d sent Duke Edward out this way instead of Joseph the Gamecock. Joseph’s a formidable fighter, but the bards and the chroniclers cluster round Edward like ravens and vultures round a dead steer.”
“Pleasant turn of phrase,” Bart said with a smile.
“Sir…” Hesmucet’s driving ambition wouldn’t let him sit around and wait for Bart to get to things by easy stages. He had to know. “Sir, what arrangements have you made for the armies here in the east?”
“Well, I was coming to that,” Bart replied.
Hesmucet forced himself just to nod and not to bark more questions. He’d thought he had the inside track on higher command till his men banged their heads in vain against the strong northern position on Funnel Hill while George’s, against all odds, stormed the slopes of Proselytizers’ Rise. Of course, Count Thraxton’s botched magecraft had had a good deal to do with George’s success, but would Bart remember it?
The commanding general was looking at him. “One of the things I have recommended to King Avram, Lieutenant General Hesmucet, and one of the things he has said he will do”-he might not have intended to, but he was stringing it out, making Hesmucet wait, threatening to drive him mad-“is to promote you to full general, to leave no doubt who will and should be in command here in the east.”
A long breath sighed out of Hesmucet. “Thank you very much, sir.”
“General Bart-Marshal Bart-already told me what he had in mind along those lines,” George said. “Congratulations, General.”
“Thank you, too,” Hesmucet said. “I expect we’ll be working together closely to defeat the common foe.”