Marching Through Peachtree wotp-2 Read online

  He sighed. “Turning into a hero would be a lot easier if the bastards on the other side cooperated a little more.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, sir,” Doubting George replied. “One thing, though: I’m reasonably sure they feel the same way about you.”

  “That’s something,” Hesmucet agreed. “It’s less than I’d like, but you’re right: it is something.”

  After his second-in-command left, he summoned Major Alva and asked him, “Can you divine what Bell has in mind trying next?”

  “I can do my best,” the bright young mage said. “How good my best will prove depends on how well Bell is warded and how firm his plans are in his own mind. If he doesn’t know what he’s going to do, I can’t very well pick it out of his brain, now can I?… Uh, sir.”

  “What brain?” Hesmucet said scornfully. “The next sign of having one in actual working order that Bell shows will be the first.”

  Major Alva smiled. “That’s funny, sir. I like it. I like it a lot.”

  “Glad to amuse you,” Hesmucet told him. “Now, can you manage this wizardry?”

  “As I say, sir, I can certainly try the requisite spells,” Alva replied. “I don’t know how much I’ll learn from them till I do.”

  “Get on with it, then,” Hesmucet said. “Report back to me after whatever happens, happens.”

  “Yes, sir.” Alva saluted and hurried away.

  Only after the mage had gone did Hesmucet realize he hadn’t had to correct him on military deportment even once. Little by little, Alva was learning. If he kept learning, he might eventually turn into a civilized human being, and perhaps even into a tolerable soldier. Hesmucet wouldn’t have imagined either one of those as the remotest possibility a few months before.

  Alva came back late the following day. “Well?” Hesmucet barked.

  “Well, sir, the wards weren’t so well established as I thought they might be, and Bell is sure about what he wants to do next,” the brash young mage said.

  “I’m not surprised they didn’t bother warding him,” Hesmucet said. “They must have figured no one would want to look into such an empty head.” Alva’s laugh was deliciously scandalized. The general commanding went on, “All right-you were able to look around inside the emptiness. What did you find?”

  “He intends to strike at Caesar, sir,” the wizard replied. He hesitated, then risked a question: “Uh, is that good news or bad?”

  “Depends,” Hesmucet answered. “If we can get there with our whole force before he hits the place, it’s good news for us and bad news for him. If we can’t, it might be the other way round-and he’s ahead of us.”

  Alva nodded. “Yes, that would seem to make sense. What do we do if we can’t get there ahead of him?”

  “Tell the garrison commander to fight like a mad bastard till we can come up,” Hesmucet said. “Murray the Coarse did it, and he can, too. He’s got a good natural position to defend. Joseph the Gamecock used it to good advantage against us. Now it’s our turn.”

  “Can we do it?”

  “I aim to find out,” Hesmucet answered.

  Commanding the southron garrison was a colonel named Clark the Seamster. When Hesmucet got in touch with him by crystal ball, he said, “Your news is no surprise to me, sir. I’ve just had one of Bell’s men come in under flag of truce demanding our surrender. I’ve seen notes I liked better.”

  “Oh?” Hesmucet said. “What does it say?”

  “Here, I’ll read it for you.” Colonel Clark paused to set spectacles on his nose, then took a sheet of paper from his breast pocket. “Here we go. Sir: I demand the immediate and unconditional surrender of the post and garrison under your command and, should this be acceded to, all Detinan officers and men will be paroled in a few days. If the place is carried by assault, no prisoners will be taken.” He looked up at Hesmucet over the tops of the spectacles. “Perhaps I should remind you, sir, that I have a couple of regiments of blond troops under my command.”

  “You need to know we’re still a couple of days away,” Hesmucet said. “What did you tell him?”

  “One moment, sir, and I’ll read you a copy of my answer.” Clark the Seamster found another paper. “Here. I wrote, Your communication of this date just received — which is true; I got it less than an hour ago. In reply, I have to state that I am somewhat surprised at the concluding sentence, to the effect that, if this place is carried by assault, no prisoners will be taken. In my opinion, I can hold this post. If you want it, come and take it.”

  “You told Bell that?” Hesmucet said in astonished but delighted disbelief.

  “I sure as hells did,” Colonel Clark answered. “I can hold the son of a bitch off, and I’m not about to put men under my command in danger of being murdered or seized and sent back to their old liege lords. They’ll fight like madmen to keep that from happening, and you can count on it.”

  “Good for you, Colonel. I admire your spirit. Now I rely on you to make it good.” Hesmucet clapped his hands. He didn’t share Clark’s confidence in the fighting ability of blonds. He remained of the opinion that few of them made good soldiers. But he couldn’t help applauding the bravado the garrison commander had shown.

  “I’ll do my best, sir,” Clark said. “I just wonder if the one-legged marvel will even have the nerve to put in a real attack on Caesar. When he tried one at Whole Mackerel, he got his nose bloodied for him.”

  “Well, actually, Murray the Coarse was the one who came away from that fight with a bloody face, but I take your point,” Hesmucet said. “Hang on for two days, no matter what he does to you, and then we’ll be there. I swear it by all the gods.”

  “I’ll do it, sir. You can count on me,” Clark the Seamster said.

  “I do, Colonel.” Hesmucet nodded to the scryer. Colonel Clark’s image vanished from the crystal ball. Hesmucet left the scryers’ tent and shouted for a runner.

  “Yes, sir?” one of his bright young men said.

  “Go fetch me Marble Bill,” Hesmucet snapped.

  “Yes, sir!” The runner saluted and hurried off to find the commander of unicorn-riders. He brought him back even sooner than General Hesmucet had hoped. Pride in his voice, he said, “Here you are, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Hesmucet turned to Marble Bill. “Can you get a couple of regiments of riders into Caesar by tomorrow afternoon?”

  Marble Bill frowned. “Without resistance from the enemy I could, obviously. It depends on how much we’d have to fight through on the way, so I can’t really give you a certain answer.”

  Hesmucet drummed his fingers on the right thigh of his pantaloons. That wasn’t the sort of reply he’d wanted to hear. In a couple of sentences, Marble Bill had shown why he was an indifferent commander of unicorn-riders. Fortunately, Brigadier Spinner on the traitors’ side was no better, and Marble Bill seemed the best officer Hesmucet had. But best wasn’t the same as good, and Hesmucet knew that only too well.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Against what you’re likely to run into along the way, can you get there?”

  “If you give the order, sir, I’ll do my best,” Marble Bill replied.

  That wasn’t what Hesmucet wanted to hear, either. He wanted to hear, Yes, sir! That failing, he wanted to hear, If I can’t find a way, I’ll make a new one. Those gods-damned traitors can’t stop me.

  But Marble Bill was what he had to work with. “Go try. Do everything you can,” Hesmucet told him.

  “Yes, sir,” the commander of unicorn-riders answered.

  “You’ll be doing the trapped garrison an enormous favor if you succeed,” Hesmucet said, hoping to build a fire under him.

  It didn’t work. Marble Bill remained cool. “I told you, sir: I’ll do my best.” He saluted and took his leave.

  Having given his orders, Hesmucet could only wait to see what became of them. He muttered in frustration. Here he was, in command of the greatest army in the east, but every bit as dependent on time to show what lay ahead as any other
soldier. He wished it were otherwise, but in his years he’d wished for all sorts of things that hadn’t come true.

  He got back in touch with Colonel Clark. “They’re prodding us, sir,” Clark said, “but they aren’t putting all their force into it, I don’t think. Either that or they’ve got less force to put than I thought they did.”

  “Well, if they aren’t hitting you with all they’ve got, what in the hells are they doing?” Hesmucet demanded.

  Clark the Seamster sent him an exasperated look. “Sir, I can hold Caesar, or else I can throw scouts out all over the landscape. To the hells with me if I see how I can do both at once with the little force I’ve got here.”

  “I daresay you’re right,” Hesmucet admitted, “but I wish you were wrong.”

  “Will I get help?” Clark asked.

  “I’ve sent out unicorn-riders under Marble Bill,” Hesmucet said. “If everything goes well, they’ll be there tomorrow. I know I’ll have footsoldiers there the day after. I already told you that.”

  “Yes, sir, you did,” Colonel Clark said. “I’m sure the footsoldiers will come. I’ll believe the unicorn-riders when I see ’em.”

  Another man with confidence in Marble Bill, Hesmucet thought. But then, in one way or another, unicorn-riders had been disappointing King Avram’s armies ever since the war was new. Why should this campaign prove any different from so many of the earlier ones? Because I’ll scream and fuss till my commanders do it right, Hesmucet thought. He hadn’t quite managed that yet. He’d got to the point where the unicorn-riders-unless they had the misfortune to bump up against Ned of the Forest-didn’t go too egregiously wrong too often. But that still wasn’t the same as turning them into a weapon to match the one that had done the traitors so much good.

  Before long, he found out what that part of the Army of Franklin not attacking Caesar was up to: wrecking more glideway line. Clark the Seamster did have some scouts out, and reported northern mages working as much destructive magic as they could. The news alarmed Hesmucet much less than it would have a couple of months before.

  “Let them do what they want,” he said. “We’ll either repair it or we won’t worry about it. We’re more or less living off the country now.”

  He did curse Lieutenant General Bell for pulling him down here to southern Peachtree Province again. His full mind, his full heart, weren’t on this pursuit. He had to remind himself to take it seriously. He kept looking away, looking away, looking away toward Veldt and the Western Ocean.

  If I can get there, this war is as good as won.PeachtreeProvince helps feed Parthenia. If I burn my way across this province, Duke Edward and the Army ofSouthern Parthenia will get pretty hungry pretty fast. It’s not just a matter of doing things here-what I do here affects the whole gods-damned war.

  Marshal Bart had been the first one to realize that. He’d brought King Avram with him, and Hesmucet as well. The sovereign and his two chief commanders saw the war as a single entity, with all the parts connected. Hesmucet didn’t think any northerner looked at it the same way. He was sure false King Geoffrey didn’t.

  Duke Edward? After a little thought, Hesmucet shook his head. Duke Edward was a brilliant commander, but he fought battles, not campaigns. Being so embattled, he couldn’t afford to look at a wider canvas.

  Turn me loose, then, Hesmucet thought. Let me move against the traitors. Let me march throughPeachtreeProvince. I’ll peel it right down to the ground, and let’s see the north keep fighting after that. They’ll remember my name here a hundred years from now. The rest of Detina may not remember so well, but that won’t matter, for it will be one Detina.

  * * *

  Roast-Beef William watched the Army of Franklin’s mages destroying the glideway line south of Caesar. He watched unicorn-riders posted around the mages to warn of any sudden southron onslaught. A good raid, he thought. This is what the Army ofFranklin has been reduced to. We’re raiders now, no more. We couldn’t have done worse with me in command. We might have done better.

  He sighed. They hadn’t wanted him-neither Thraxton the Braggart nor King Geoffrey. I’m Old Reliable. I’m good enough to lead a wing, but not an army. They put a hero in to lead the army. And oh, hasn’t he done a splendid job? I wonder what he’ll try next.

  Bitter? Roast-Beef William asked himself. Why shouldn’t I be bitter? If anybody’s earned the right, I’m the man.

  The ironic thing was that, little by little, Lieutenant General Bell had started to learn. William had expected him to throw the whole army at Caesar, but he hadn’t. When the southron commanding the garrison cast defiance in his face, he’d skirmished against the soldiers there and then gone after the glideway. He’d got a rude surprise trying to overrun the little force up at Whole Mackerel, and he didn’t care to get two such surprises.

  If he’d learned that lesson after his first failed attack outside Marthasville, the Army of Franklin might still hold the place. Roast-Beef William sighed. If pigs had wings, everyone would carry umbrellas.

  A courier rode up and spoke with one of the unicorn-riders on guard duty. The rider pointed toward William. The courier came over to him at a trot. Reining in, the fellow said, “Lieutenant General Bell’s compliments, sir, and you are requested to report to his headquarters immediately.”

  Bell hasn’t been in the habit of giving me compliments lately, even those of ordinary courtesy, William thought. But the man remained in command of the Army of Franklin, or of what was left of it. “I’ll come, of course,” he said.

  His own unicorn was tethered not far away. He swung up into the saddle and followed the courier back to a farmhouse that offered no visible virtues past a roof and four walls. Those modest attributes were not to be despised, not in a countryside that had seen as much fighting as this one.

  Dismounting, Roast-Beef William strode into the farmhouse. There sat Lieutenant General Bell, putting away the little bottle of laudanum that let him deal with the pain of his wounds-and that might have robbed him of some of the rather poor wits he owned. No help for that, either, though. William saluted and said, “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “Ah, yes, Lieutenant General.” Bell straightened, grimacing as he did so, and returned the salute. “I’ve just received a despatch from Nonesuch concerning you.” He glowered at William from under bushy brows. “You did not tell me you had sent a request to be detached from service to this army.”

  I’ve been delighted serving here, Roast-Beef William thought. It’s a rare privilege, taking orders from a man junior to me in time served in rank… and watching him butcher what was a fine fighting force. If he said any of that aloud, he would be screaming before he was through. At least I have the sense to know as much. What he did say were two perfectly safe words: “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, whether you told me or not, your request has been approved,” Bell said. “You will be transferred out of the command of the Army of Franklin.”

  Oh, gods be praised, Roast-Beef William thought. Saying that to the man who held the command in the Army of Franklin could only cause trouble. He didn’t want trouble, not when he was escaping. He asked, “Where is my new assignment, sir?” Anywhere but here! Oh, gods be praised indeed!

  “Here is the order.” Bell found a sheet of paper and thrust it at him. “I wish you the best of luck in your new post.”

  Roast-Beef William took the sheet. “Let me see that, sir, if I may.” The script was as ornate as one would expect from the royal chancery. The prose style was ornate, too. William waded through flowery compliments and endless subordinate clauses till he got to the meat. You are requested and required to repair immediately to the vicinity of Veldt, the scribe wrote, there to organize defenses against General Hesmucet’s anticipated westward movement. You are to oppose him as far forward as you can, and to continue to oppose him with all resources at your disposal. William looked up at Bell. “You’ve read this?”

  “Oh, yes,” the general commanding replied.

  “It says I’m suppo
sed to oppose the southrons with all the resources at my disposal,” William said. “When I get to Veldt, what sort of resources will I have at my disposal?”

  Lieutenant General Bell started to shrug, winced, and cursed softly under his breath. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Whatever garrison’s in the citadel there, I suppose, and however many militiamen you can persuade Satrap Brown to turn loose and arm.”

  That was what Roast-Beef William had been afraid of. “I’m supposed to take up a collection of miserable odds and sods, then, and stop Hesmucet with them?”

  “Seems to be what the order says, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “So it is,” William said heavily. “But how in the hells am I supposed to do that when the whole Army of Franklin couldn’t manage it?”

  “Not my responsibility,” Bell said. Roast-Beef William wanted to kick him. He went on, “I’m sure you’ll do your best.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” William said in a hollow voice. “But what will you and the Army of Franklin be doing in the meantime? You’re the best protection Peachtree Province has.”

  “These past several weeks, I’ve done my best to drive General Hesmucet mad,” Bell replied. “If he’s chasing the Army of Franklin all over the landscape, he can’t very well march west against you, can he?”

  “Well… no, sir,” William admitted. “But suppose he stops chasing you and goes on his merry way?”

  Bell looked mysterious, which inclined Roast-Beef William toward violence against his person once more. Then he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, since you’re going away, but they do call you Old Reliable, and I think you’ve earned the name.” After that sort of buildup, William expected to be disappointed by whatever he said, but he turned out to have made a mistake there, for Bell declared, “Ned of the Forest is bringing his unicorn-riders west to rejoin the Army of Franklin.”

  “Is he?” William exclaimed. Bell’s leonine head solemnly nodded. William said, “That is good news, sir. Ned’s a fine officer, even if he can be a bit… touchy.”