"No, sir," Istvan answered. The dowsing rod wasn't of fresh, shiny bronze, or of the green, patinaed sort, either. It looked like a thin length of rusty iron- if those stains on it were rust. Kun was about to speak. Again, Istvan beat him to the punch, pointing and asking, "Unkerlanter blood?"
Borsos beamed again. Frigyes said, "My, what a clever chap you turn out to be." Kun looked about ready to burst like an egg from rage and jealousy. That made Istvan happier than either officer's reaction. He had to live with Kun all the time.
"Even so, Sergeant. Even so," Borsos answered, beaming still. "By the law of similarity, when I dowse with this rod, I'll sense motion from Unkerlanters, and very little from any other source." He waved the rod as if it were a sword, then thwacked it into the palm of his hand. "It's not perfect- dowsing isn't- but it's pretty good."
"Go ahead, Major," Captain Frigyes said. He wouldn't have talked like that to a real soldier of rank higher than his own. "Let's see what's going on out there."
Major Borsos didn't take offense. He'd probably had officers- real officers, men of noble blood- treat him a good deal worse. He said, "Aye, Captain, just as you please." Holding the handle of the dowsing rod in both hands, he swung it to the east, murmuring as he did so. He hadn't gone far before it dipped sharply. "Something in that direction- not far away, unless I miss my guess."
"Oh, that's where their scouts always hide, sir," Szonyi said. "Nothing much to worry about unless you feel a whole lot of the buggers."
"No," Borsos said, looking down at his hands as if asking them to speak more clearly. After some thought, he nodded. "No, it doesn't feel like a lot of men. One, not far away- that could well be so."
Kun worked his little magic and said, "He's not moving toward us."
"No?" Borsos said. "What charm were you using there, soldier?" He shrugged. "Whatever it is, it won't matter to me. I never have been able to do much in the way of magecraft save for dowsing. The art is in the blood, or else it's not. With me, it's not, unless I have a dowsing rod in my hand."
"It's very easy, sir," Kun said, and ran through it.
Borsos tried the charm, then shrugged again. "I can't tell if anyone is moving or not. You have your gift; I have mine. And now, I had better finish doing what I can do." He started working the dowsing rod again.
Kun looked proud that he could do something the dowser couldn't. He didn't bother remembering that Borsos could do something he couldn't- something a great deal larger. People, Istvan had noticed, were often like that.
After sweeping through the entire half-circle, Borsos turned to Frigyes and said, "I see no vast hordes of Unkerlanters set to sweep down on this redoubt. Of course, if they're more than a mile or so away, I probably won't see them. That's the range I can get out of this rod." With a shrug, he put it back into his valise.
"Thanks, Major," Captain Frigyes said. "I didn't really expect an attack, but it's nice to know we haven't got one building… here." He corrected himself before Borsos could do it for him.
"Sir, you could sense Kuusaman ships out beyond the horizon," Istvan said. "Why can't you see that far with your Unkerlanter rod?"
"Mainly because a big moving warship creates a lot more disturbance than even a whole lot of moving men," the dowser answered. "Men aren't all moving in just the same direction. Some of them might even move away on purpose to confuse people like me. This is a funny business I'm in, no two ways about it."
Istvan started to say that he'd trade in a flash, but checked himself. Borsos' job brought him up to the front lines, too, and he was no great shakes at fighting back. Each sheep has its own pasture, Istvan thought. He looked up and laughed a little. His pasture came with altogether too many trees.
When Hajjaj walked into General Ikhshid's office, the portly officer started to get to his feet so he could bow. "Don't bother, General, I pray you- don't bother," Hajjaj said. "I am willing- indeed, I am eager- to take the thought for the act."
"You're kind, your Excellency, very kind," Ikhshid wheezed. "Since you say I may, I'm more than content to stay down here on my arse, believe me I am."
"Are you well, General?" the Zuwayzi foreign minister asked in some anxiety- if Ikhshid went down, he didn't know who could replace him. As a soldier, Ikhshid was better than competent, but no more than that. But he had the respect of every clanfather in Zuwayza. Hajjaj couldn't think of any other officer who did.
With another wheeze, the general answered, "I'll last as long as I can- and a little longer than that, with any luck at all. But I didn't ask you to drag your own set of old bones over here for that. I wanted you to take a look at the map and tell me what you see." He gestured toward the map of Derlavai that took up most of one office wall.
"No tea and wine and cakes?" Hajjaj asked mildly.
"If you want to waste time on frivolities, I'll send for 'em," Ikhshid answered. "Otherwise, I'd sooner talk about what's what."
"From your charm, anyone could guess you'd served in the Unkerlanter army," Hajjaj murmured. That squeezed a breathy snort out of Ikhshid. Hajjaj said, "I suppose we can dispense with ritual." He studied the map. "I am pleased to note the advances our bold Zuwayzi forces have made here in the north."
Ikhshid snorted again, this time in derision. "Cut to the chase, your Excellency. By the powers above, cut to the chase. You see that big ugly bulge down around Durrwangen the same as I do. There can't be a soldier on Derlavai- or on the island, either- who looks at the map and doesn't see that bulge."
"Not just soldiers," Hajjaj said. "Some weeks ago, Marquis Balastro assured me the Algarvians would cut it off as soon as the ground dried." He shook his head. "What a strange notion- ground getting too wet for armies to move across it, I mean."
"I've seen it myself, matter of fact," Ikhshid said. "It'd be like trying to fight in a tin of cake batter. That's what the muddy season's all about down there. But never mind that. The ground's been dry enough to hold armies for a while now, and the Algarvians still haven't moved. How come?"
"You would do better to ask Marquis Balastro or his military attachй," Hajjaj replied. "I fear I cannot tell you."
"I suppose not. But I can tell you, and I'm not an Algarvian," Ikhshid said. "The thing of it is, you think Marshal Rathar doesn't know what's coming next? They might have come close to a surprise if they'd moved as soon as ever they could, but now?" He shook his head. "Now it's a slugging match."
"Ah." Hajjaj studied the map. "If they strike there, they won't have much of an advantage of maneuver, will they?"
Ikhshid beamed so widely, his face showed a net of wrinkles that didn't usually appear. "Your Excellency, when I fall over dead, they can paint stars on your arm and you can take over for me."
"May you live to a hundred and twenty years, then," Hajjaj exclaimed. "The only thing I want to do less than command a few soldiers in the field is command a lot of soldiers in the field. And that is nothing but the truth."
"As may be," Ikhshid said. "But you can see it, too. If Rather can't, he's dumber than I know he is."
"Why are Mezentio's men waiting, then?" Hajjaj asked.
"Only reason I can think of is to get everyone and everything into the fight," Ikhshid answered. "Moving soldiers from every other part of the line, pulling animals off the breeding farms young and half trained… They've hit Unkerlant as hard as they could two summers in a row, and King Swemmel wouldn't fall over. If they hit him again, they'll try to hold a rock in their fist."