The mournful notes rang out. In their trenches, the southrons raised a cheer. The horn calls of both armies were the same. And why not? Gremio thought. It was all one army not so long ago.
Florizel’s wasn’t the only regiment falling back. A couple of units tried last assaults against the southrons’ works, which only got more men shot and burned to no purpose. Then they too withdrew toward the line from which they’d begun.
“Lieutenant General Bell won’t be very happy when he gets word of what happened here,” Florizel predicted.
“Too bad,” Gremio said. “I’m not very happy about it, either.” His wounds were minor, but they still stung. With a shrug, he went on, “Of course, nobody cares what I think.”
Florizel only growled and scowled and shook his head. He didn’t care what anybody thought, not right then. But Sergeant Thisbe said, “That isn’t true, sir!”
“Thank you,” Gremio said, and felt better about retreating than he had.
Doubting George stood atop the parapet in front of the earthworks the northerners had held between Goober Creek and Marthasville. These days, Bell’s army held a line just outside Marthasville’s southern outskirts. Lieutenant General George was more than a little amazed the traitors still held the city. Bell was stubborner than he’d thought.
General Hesmucet was making Bell pay for his stubbornness, too. From where George stood, he had a fine view of the southrons’ siege engines lobbing destruction into Marthasville. Pillars of smoke rose here and there in the besieged city. Even as he watched, another fire started.
Brigadier Brannan came walking along what had been the traitors’ line. The siege-engine specialist looked pleased with himself. He looked even more pleased with the way things were going. “Good morning, sir,” he said, beaming at Doubting George. “Now we get to see what our toys can do.”
“Well, I thought we already had a pretty fair notion of that,” George replied. “Now Lieutenant General Bell gets to see what our toys can do, and we’ll find out how he likes it.”
“Yes, sir. That’s more or less what I meant, sir,” Brannan said. “Getting besieged can’t be much fun when we’ve got the power to burn the place where he’s sheltering down around his ears.”
“I wouldn’t think so, anyhow,” George said. “And it’s not even as if Marthasville had a strong central keep. By the gods, the town’s only a generation old, and nobody ever bothered building one here.”
“No one ever saw the need,” Brannan said, no little scorn in his voice for men who hadn’t looked far enough ahead. “No one thought there would be a war between the provinces, or that we would come so far if there were.”
“A keep wouldn’t do Bell much good anyhow,” Doubting George observed. “Even if he managed to stay inside it, we’d still squeeze the life out of Marthasville-we’d seize the glideways, and we’d wreck the manufactories.”
“That’s right, sir.” Brigadier Brannan nodded and grinned. “If Bell wants to go out in a blaze of glory, we’re giving him the chance.” As if to underscore his words, yet another big fire broke out in Marthasville.
“If you were Bell,” George said, “what would you do to get yourself out of the mess you’d got yourself into?”
Brannan’s grin got wider. “You mean, besides wish like hells Geoffrey’d never, ever, chosen me commander of the Army of Franklin?”
George smiled, too. “Yes, besides that. By now, he’s seen he can’t force us back from the city. He’s tried four times, he’s thrown away what has to be the third part of his army, and he hasn’t moved us a foot. I expect he’s finally drawing the right conclusions from that, eh?”
“A blind man would. By the gods, sir, a dead man would,” Brannan answered. “Of course, whether Bell would remains an open question.”
“Naughty, Brigadier-distinctly naughty,” George said. “If he can’t force us away from here, what can he do? I see two possibilities.”
“Magic is one,” Brannan said.
“Magic is always one, where the northerners are concerned,” Doubting George agreed. “The other is turning his unicorn-riders loose and wrecking the glideway line that comes up from Rising Rock and keeps us in food and firepots and such.”
“Congratulations, sir,” Brigadier Brannan said. George raised a questioning eyebrow. Brannan explained: “I think you’ve just spelled out the meaning of what they call a theoretical possibility.”
“A theoretical possibility is one that might happen but won’t,” George said. “Sort of on the order of false King Geoffrey’s turning out to be an honest man.” Brannan guffawed. George hadn’t been joking, or not very much. He nourished a fine, flourishing resentment against King Avram’s cousin for confiscating his estates in Parthenia after he chose a united Detina over the call of his province.
Of course, King Avram had confiscated Duke Edward of Arlington’s estates when Edward chose Parthenia over a united Detina. But George was on Avram’s side, so he didn’t fuss about that. Besides, it wasn’t his land.
But when General Hesmucet summoned his wing commanders for a conference, he wasn’t quite so cheerful. “Bell’s turned his unicorn-riders loose, gods damn him,” he said. “They’re going to see how hungry they can make us.”
“Well, it could be worse, sir,” John the Lister said. “He’s still got Brigadier Spinner in charge of his riders, doesn’t he?”
“That’s right.” Hesmucet gestured to his new wing commander. “I know what you’re going to say, Ducky-to the seven hells with me if I don’t. You’re going to say it’d be a lot worse if Ned of the Forest had charge of the traitors’ unicorns.”
“Yes, sir, that is what I was going to say,” John agreed. “Will you tell me I’m wrong?”
“Not for a minute,” Hesmucet said. “Not even for half a minute. What I’m going to tell you is, I’m gods-damned glad you’ve got charge of that wing now, and not Fighting Joseph any more. He’s a brave man, and I’d never say anything less as far as that goes, but he’s a first-class son of a bitch, too, and he never did bother learning much about the traitors’ commanders here in the east.”
“By his record, he never bothered learning much about their commanders in the west, either,” Doubting George remarked.
“I didn’t say that.” Hesmucet grinned. “I may have thought it as loud as I could, but, gods damn it to the hells, I didn’t say it.”
“Sir…” That was Brigadier Oliver, the late James the Bird’s Eye’s successor. “Sir, must you take the names of the gods in vain quite so much?”
He was earnest. He was polite, even plaintive. He was properly subordinate. By all the signs, he even succeeded in embarrassing the commanding general. That impressed George, who hadn’t been sure such a thing was possible. After coughing a couple of times, Hesmucet said, “Well, Brigadier, I will try to do better. I’ve had a ready tongue for a lot of years now, though, so I don’t promise I’ll be perfect, nor anywhere close.”
“The gods do admire effort, sir,” Brigadier Oliver said, as if the Thunderer, or perhaps the Sweet One, had come down from Mount Panamgam beyond the sky to whisper as much in his ear.
No god had ever come down and whispered in Doubting George’s ear. Given a choice, he would have picked the Sweet One for such a duty, but men seldom got such choices, and often got in trouble when they did. Resolutely pushing his mind away from what the love goddess’ whispers might be like, he asked, “What are we going to do if Spinner’s running loose?”