The gods didn’t answer him. They never did. That might have been one of the reasons he was always so melancholy, so bad-tempered. The gods speak to an idiot like Leonidas the Priest. He says so, and I believe him. But they will not speak to me, not face to face. What does that say about Leonidas? What does it say about me? Even more to the point, what does it say about the gods?
A messenger came up to Thraxton. “Excuse me, your Grace,” the fellow said. “I have here Earl James of Broadpath’s report on the failed attack against the southrons by the Brownsville Ferry a few days past.” He held out a couple of sheets of closely written paper.
“Thank you so much,” Thraxton said, accepting the papers with a sour sneer. “I shall be fascinated to learn how the brilliant Earl James, schooled under the even more brilliant Duke Edward, explains away the ineptitude that kept him from success.”
“Er-yes, sir,” the messenger said, and left in a hurry.
Thraxton needed hardly more than a glance at the report to see how James exculpated himself: partly by blaming Leonidas the Priest, and partly by complaining he hadn’t had enough men to do the job Thraxton had set him. Thraxton’s sneer grew wider. You don’t think it’s so easy when you’re in command, do you? But you expected the sun and moon from me.
All at once, his revulsion against James swelled to the point where it was more than he could stand. He shouted for a messenger. The one who came running looked suitably apprehensive. “Let the illustrious James of Broadpath know I require his presence at his earliest convenience,” Thraxton said.
“Yes, sir.” The runner trotted off to do Thraxton’s bidding, obeying without fuss or back talk. If only the rest of the Army of Franklin would do the same.
James of Broadpath came, but in his own sweet time. It was a couple of hours before he guided his big, ungainly unicorn up to Count Thraxton’s headquarters. When he slid down-to the poor beast’s obvious relief-he saluted and said, “Reporting as ordered, sir.”
“So you are,” Thraxton said. “Good of you to do so-at last.” James glowered, but could only glower. Thraxton went on, “I have a new task in mind for your wing, your Excellency.” One that will get you out of my hair for some time to come.
“Sir?” James of Broadpath said.
He was giving Count Thraxton as little as he could; Thraxton saw that at once. Go ahead, James, wriggle on the hook as much as you care to. It will do you no good. “As I said, I have something special for you, your Excellency, and for the soldiers you brought here from the magnificent Army of Southern Parthenia.”
By the way he said it, he reckoned that army something less than magnificent. James heard that, but could only frown as he replied, “I shall endeavor to do anything you may require of me, your Grace.”
“So you showed by the Brownsville Ferry,” Thraxton said, for the pleasure of watching James scowl and fume. “What I have in mind this time, however, is a more nearly independent command for you.”
“Ah?” James of Broadpath said. Thraxton didn’t smile, though another man might have. The fish was nibbling at the hook. After plucking his bushy beard, James went on, “Tell me more.”
Hooked, sure enough, Thraxton thought. Aloud, he said, “Whiskery Ambrose has been making a nuisance of himself for some time now, southwest of us in Wesleyton. I purpose detaching your force from the Army of Franklin and sending you forth to lay siege to him there or to drive him from our land altogether.”
Earl James frowned. “I see the need for doing it,” he said at last, “but I have to say, your Grace, that I question the timing.”
“How do you mean?” Thraxton always bristled when anyone questioned him.
“Do you really want to detach a large part of your force when the southrons are bringing fresh soldiers into Rising Rock?” James asked. “If you were going to send me against Wesleyton, you might have done better to try it just after we won at the River of Death.”
“Back then, you were all for my moving men east of Rising Rock, not to the southwest,” Thraxton reminded him in tart tones.
“I was all for your doing something, your Grace,” Earl James said. “I was all for your doing anything, as a matter of fact. Sitting in front of Rising Rock frittering away the time does King Geoffrey’s cause no good.”
Count Thraxton glared at him. Sacking James of Broadpath wouldn’t be easy. Thraxton didn’t care to squabble with Duke Edward of Arlington, who was even more likely than he to have the king’s ear. But he could send James away. He could-and he would. “I judge a move against Wesleyton to be in our best interest at this time. Too many would-be betrayers in western Franklin take aid and comfort from having Whiskery Ambrose and his army close by.”
“That’s so,” James said. Had he denied it, Thraxton would have called him a liar on the spot. Most of Franklin was and had been strongly for Geoffrey, but the mountainous west, where there were few estates of any size and only a handful of serfs, remained a hotbed of Avramist sentiment.
“Well, then,” Thraxton said, as if it were all settled.
But James of Broadpath persisted, “They can’t hurt us here. A screen of unicorn-riders could keep Whiskery Ambrose away if he got a rush of brains to the head and tried to move on Rising Rock. Ned of the Forest was doing fine there. Shouldn’t we settle more important business in these parts before we go on to the less?”
“I want Wesleyton taken,” Thraxton said. “I want Whiskery Ambrose killed or chased away. And, your Excellency, it is my express command that you undertake this campaign against him.” Because, your Excellency, I want you and your carping criticism as far away from me as possible.
James of Broadpath gave him a precisely machined salute. “Yes, sir,” he said, no expression whatever in his voice. “When is it your express command that my force and I should leave for Wesleyton?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Thraxton answered. “Go down there, settle with Whiskery Ambrose, and return once he is beaten-but not until then. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” James said, as tonelessly as before. “And if you are attacked while I’m operating against Wesleyton?”
“I assure you, your Excellency, this army is capable of defending itself,” Thraxton said. “Our positions are as strong as the craft of field fortification allows them to be. Do you deny that? How could an enemy possibly hope to sweep up the slopes of Proselytizers’ Rise with fierce, alert soldiers shooting at him from the top?”
“I don’t know, your Grace, and the gods grant that we need never find out,” James replied. He saluted Count Thraxton. “If you would have me go, sir, I shall, and do what I can for the kingdom.”
“Good,” Thraxton said, which earned him another sour look from the officer from the Army of Southern Parthenia. Muttering something his bushy beard muffled, James of Broadpath mounted his burly unicorn and rode away.
Once he was gone, Thraxton called for two more runners. To one, he said, “Tell Roast-Beef William I would see him at once.” He told the other, “Order Duke Cabell of Broken Ridge here immediately.” Both messengers saluted and went to do his bidding. Thraxton enjoyed nothing more than sending men to do his bidding.
Roast-Beef William, who’d taken over for Leonidas the Priest, reported to Thraxton fast enough to keep even that sour-tempered soldier reasonably sweet. His other nickname was Old Reliable; he’d written the tactical manual on which both Geoffrey’s army and Avram’s based their evolutions.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked now. His fondness for big chunks of meat had given him his more common sobriquet, but he also had a red, red face.
“I would sooner wait for the duke,” Thraxton replied. “Then I need say this only once.” Roast-Beef William just shrugged and nodded. He got on well with almost everyone. He got on well enough with Thraxton, which proved the point if it wanted proving.