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take off his boots. He fell asleep before George left the room.
A couple of hours later, after listening to preliminary reports from some of
John's officers, George got in touch with Marshal Bart by scryer. "Good day,
Lieutenant General," Bart said, peering out of the crystal ball at George. He
was a stubby man, not very tall and not very wide, with a close-trimmed dark
beard. "Haven't heard from you for a while. What's on your mind?"
"As of now, Marshal, John the Lister's a regular captain. After what he just
did to Bell and the Army of Franklin, I believe he deserves better." George
summed up what had happened at Poor Richard.
"Bell was fool enough to charge at him over open ground?" Bart said when he
finished. George nodded. Marshal Bart shrugged. "Even so, you're right. That
was well done, and no mistake. A disaster there would have hurt us badly. Tell
John I'll recommend his promotion to brigadier of the regulars to King Avram."
What Marshal Bart recommended, King Avram would approve. Doubting George
whistled softly. It wasn't that John the Lister didn't deserve to be a
brigadier in Detina's regular army. He did; not even George could doubt that.
But raising him to brigadier from captain in one fell swoop . . . George had
expected Bart to make him a colonel, and then to promote him to brigadier's
rank later if he continued to give good service.
"I'll tell him tomorrow, I think," George said.
Bart frowned. Most of the time, he looked like the most ordinary Detinan in
the kingdom. Anybody who thought hewas ordinary, though, did so at his peril.
"Why not tell him now?" the marshal asked, in tones suggesting George had
better have a good reason.
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And George did: "Because he's liable to sleep till tomorrow, sir. He just got
in to Ramblerton, and I don't think he's shut his eyes the last two days."
"Oh." Bart nodded. "All right. Yes, when you're that worn down, you don't
care about anything. He'd probably strangle you if you woke him, and he might
not remember anything you told him."
"True enough. And if he did strangle me, I couldn't very well tell him
again."
"Er, right." Marshal Bart the first marshal Detina had had in a long
lifetime, the grandest soldier in the land had no more idea what to do with
Doubting George's foolishness than did Colonel Andy. Unlike Andy, Bart had the
privilege of changing the subject: "Do you expect Bell to follow John up
toward Ramblerton?"
"Yes, sir." George got down to business again. "I don't know what else hecan
do, sir. About the only other thing would be to turn around and march back up
to Dothan, and I can't imagine Bell doing that. As long as he's got soldiers
who will follow his orders, he'll take them into battle. If he attacked around
Marthasville, if he attacked at Poor Richard, he'll attack anywhere."
Bart nodded again. "I think you're right. As soon as he gets up there,
Lieutenant General, I want you to hit him with everything you've got."
"I will hit him, sir. You don't need to worry about that," George answered.
"As soon as I'm ready, I will hit him a lick the likes of which he has never
known before."
"Don't waste time," Bart told him. "Hit him just as soon as you can. Do not
give him the chance to slip around you. Smash him. Send him back to Dothan
with his tail between his legs. Send him back there whether he wants to go or
not."
"Sir, Iwill strike him when I am ready. I willnot let him get away," George
promised. "The Army of Franklin willnot slip by me. It willnot get down into
Cloviston. You may rely on that."
"Bell has the last northern army in the field that can still maneuver and
cause us trouble," Bart said worriedly. "I do not want us embarrassed, not
when the war looks like being won."
He commanded all the southron armies. He had the right to say what he said.
That made it no less galling to Doubting George. "Sir, when he comes here and
I am ready, I will strike him," he repeated.
"I want him smashed like a bug under a boot," Marshal Bart said. "I want
him . . . I want himsuppressed , by the Thunderer's pizzle."
A couple of years earlier, Duke Edward of Arlington had used that
contemptuous word in ordering the Army of Southern Parthenia forward to smash
King Avram's soldiers at the second Battle of Cow Jog. John the Hierophant,
who'd commanded Avram's men then, was off in the east these days with the
equally luckless General Guildenstern, chasing blond savages. Bart took more
than a little pleasure in applying the term to false King Geoffrey's Army of
Franklin.
"Sir, when the time is ripe, Iwill suppress him," Doubting George said. "He
won't beat me, and he won't get away."
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"He'd better not." Bart still sounded fretful. George sighed. He feared the
marshal would go right on nagging him even though a province and a half lay
between them.Gods damn crystal balls, anyhow , George thought unhappily.
* * *
More times than Captain Gremio cared to remember, he'd seen a soldier hit
square in the chest with a crossbow quarrel. Very often, the man would stagger
on for a few paces and perhaps even fight a little before realizing he was
dead and falling over.
Never, till now, had Gremio seen an army take a similar blow. But if, after
the battle in front of Poor Richard, the Army of Franklin wasn't a dead man
walking, then Gremio had never seen any such thing. He wished he hadn't. He
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