George answered him with one word, too: “Yes.” Seeing Fighting Joseph’s men storming forward in pursuit of the traitors while his own soldiers impotently smashed themselves against Proselytizers’ Rise ate at him. But then, with an effort he regretted but could not help, he said, “It’s for the good of the kingdom. We always have to remember, that comes first.”
“Of course, sir.” Colonel Andy didn’t sound as if he fully believed it, either.
Fighting Joseph, George thought with distaste. I wouldn’t mind nearly so much if it were Hesmucet, over there on the other flank. But he looks as though he’s having as much fun as I am, or maybe even more.
Part of it was his personal judgment of Fighting Joseph: overfond of gambling and spirits and hookers, the man would never be a gentleman. Part of it was his, and everyone else’s, professional judgment of Fighting Joseph: having botched the battle of Viziersville, and having botched it in the way he did, why was he given another important command? General Bart probably had the right of that-King Avram didn’t mind giving Joseph another command of sorts, so long as it wasn’t anywhere close to Georgetown or the Black Palace.
“Send a messenger to him,” George told his aide-de-camp. “Ask him if we can do anything to help in the pursuit.”
“Yes, sir.” Colonel Andy spoke as if the words tasted bad. Doubting George didn’t reprove him. He hadn’t enjoyed giving the order, either, however necessary he knew it to be.
Sooner than George quite wanted, the runner returned. After saluting, he said, “Fighting Joseph’s compliments, sir, and he declines your generous request. He says he’s quite able to do what wants doing all by his lonesome.”
“He would say something like that,” Andy sneered.
“Of course he would,” George said. “He wouldn’t be the man he is if he were the sort who could be gracious at times like this.”
“What do we do now, sir?” Andy asked.
“What can we do?” George replied. “We’ve done everything we can. We’ve served our purpose. In the north, Joseph did break through, as General Bart hoped he would. Maybe Lieutenant General Hesmucet can do the same in the southwest. I wish him the best.”
“We can’t break through here,” Colonel Andy said.
“We’re not supposed to break through. We’re just supposed to keep the traitors too busy to send reinforcements anywhere else along the line,” George said, trying not to think about the exact words of the order Bart had given him. “We’ve done exactly that. We wouldn’t need just wizards to do more. We’d need… I was going to say real, live miracle-workers, but even they’d have trouble.”
“For the sake of the men, I wish we could stay out of range of the enemy’s engines and crossbows,” his aide-de-camp said.
“So do I, but we can’t,” Doubting George said. “We wouldn’t seem very dangerous here if we did.” Not that we seem all that dangerous here now.
“I suppose you’re right,” Andy said. Whatever he supposed, he didn’t sound very happy about it. A moment later, though, he had a thought that seemed to cheer him. “The battle looks as if it will still be going tomorrow. I hope General Bart will see fit to give us reinforcements.”
“I don’t, by the gods,” George answered. “As best I can see, all we’d do if we had them was get them killed. Do you really think we can force Proselytizers’ Rise?”
“It’s our duty,” Colonel Andy said.
Doubting George was glad his aide-de-camp wasn’t in the line of command. If he went down himself, Brigadier Absalom would take over for him. And Absalom the Bear knew how things were supposed to work. Andy was excellent at details, not nearly so good at the big picture. George said, “No, no, no. Our duty here is just to keep the traitors busy. As long as we manage that, all’s right with the world.”
“If you say so, sir.” Andy didn’t sound convinced, and George was too worn to argue with him any more-and he wasn’t convinced, either.
Instead of arguing, he watched the sun go down between Proselytizers’ Rise and Sentry Peak. “We aren’t going to accomplish anything more today,” he said at last, and sent orders forward to have his men leave off fighting and encamp out of range of the northerners atop the Rise.
As they pulled back, a rather short man with a neat dark beard rode up on a fine unicorn. “Good evening, Lieutenant General,” General Bart called.
“Good evening to you, sir,” Doubting George replied. He held his salute as the commanding general dismounted. A trooper took charge of the unicorn’s reins. George asked the question surely uppermost in everyone’s mind: “What’s your view of the battle thus far?”
“Up in the north, Fighting Joseph has done everything I could have hoped for, and a little more besides,” Bart answered. “He’s driven Thraxton’s men as handsomely as you please, and I expect he’ll do more tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” George said. “I gather things aren’t going quite so smoothly in the southwest.”
“Well, no,” General Bart allowed. “Hesmucet and I looked over the ground ourselves before I ordered the attack, and-”
“Did you?” That impressed George. Few generals were so thorough.
“We did indeed. We looked it over, but we might not have done the best job in the world, because that Funnel Hill looks like a tougher nut than we thought it would. Hesmucet will have another go at things in the morning, too, and we’ll just have to find out how that fares.” Bart shrugged. “I still think we can beat the traitors here. It’s a question of making them crack somewhere.”
“Yes, sir.” That impressed Doubting George, too. A lot of generals, having fought hard one day, were content to take things easy the next. Bart didn’t fit that pattern. “What are your orders for me, sir?”
“For now, you’re doing what you ought to do,” the commanding general replied. “I have no complaints against you, not in the slightest.”
“We’ll see what happens tomorrow, then, sir,” George said. “I think we can beat them, too. I hope we can.” We’d better, he thought.
The campfires of Doubting George’s men flickered down on the flat country below Proselytizers’ Rise. Up on the crest of the Rise, the traitors’ fires likewise showed where they were. General Bart studied those latter flames, doing his best to gain meaning from them. His best, he feared, was none too good. Thraxton the Braggart had men up there. He’d already known that much, but he couldn’t learn much more.
“Colonel Phineas!” he called. “Are you there, Colonel?”
“Yes, sir, I’m here,” the army’s chief mage answered. He bustled up beside Bart. Firelight flickered from his plump, weary face. “What can I do for you?”
“What sort of sorcerous attacks has the enemy made against us in the fighting just past?” Bart asked.
Phineas licked his lips. “Actually, sir, not very many. For one thing, young Alva has kept the traitors remarkably busy down in the south.”
He didn’t sound altogether happy about that. Bart thought he understood why. “The youngster is strong, isn’t he? I’d be surprised if he stayed a lieutenant very much longer. Wouldn’t you be surprised, too, Colonel, if that were so?”
“Sir, deciding whom to promote is always the commanding general’s prerogative,” Phineas said stiffly. “I will admit, young Alva has proved himself stronger than many of his colleagues had thought he might.” He didn’t admit that he was one of those colleagues.
Bart almost twitted him about that, but decided to hold his peace. The less he said, the less cause he would have later to regret it. Sticking to business seemed the wiser course: “Does the northerners’ quiet mean they won’t be able to do anything much with magic tomorrow, or does it mean they’re saving up to give us as much trouble as they can?”