the wings of the army closer together."
Brigadier Alexander's face lit up. "Sir, I think that would be awonderful
idea!" he exclaimed, as if he expected to see Ned of the Forest's unicorns
rampaging through the division he commanded any minute now. "If we're all
together, the Braggart would have to come up with reinforcements before he
could even think about attacking us, and where can he find them?"
"He can't." General Guildenstern spoke with great certainty. "There aren't
any in this part of the kingdom."
"I'm sure you're right, sir," Alexander said. "And so a united army for a
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united kingdom, eh?" He chuckled stagily. "King Avram would surely approve."
"Yes." Guildenstern had no trouble holding the enthusiasm from his voice. He
didn't particularly love King Avram. But he thoroughly despised Grand Duke
Geoffrey false King Geoffrey, these days. And he even more thoroughly despised
the northern nobles who backed Geoffrey. They had everything he wanted rank,
wealth, elegance. No . . . They had almost everything he wanted. He turned to
Brigadier Alexander and coughed a significant cough. "By the gods, I'm
thirsty."
"Here, sir." Alexander took the bottle off his belt and handed it to the
general.
"Thanks." Guildenstern yanked out the stopper, took a long pull and then spat
in disgust. He all but threw the flask to the brigadier. "You've got your
nerve, giving a thirsty manwater ."
Alexander blushed bright red, as if he were a blond. "I I'm sorry, sir," he
stammered. "I I'm not fond of spirituous liquors myself, and so it never
occurred to me that "
"Dunderhead," Guildenstern growled. The commanding general turned his back on
his luckless subordinate and stalked off toward the scryers' tent. Brigadier
Alexander took a couple of steps after him, then broke off the pursuit, sure
it would do no good. And in that, if in nothing else, Guildenstern thought,
the brigadier was absolutely right.
I wonder if the scryers will have anything worth drinking, Guildenstern
thought as he ducked through the tent flap. He doubted it. And even if they
did, odds were they wouldn't share with him.
The bright young men sitting behind their crystal balls sprang to attention
when the commanding general walked in. One of them sprang so enthusiastically,
he knocked over his folding chair and then had to bend and fumble to pick it
up. "What can we do for you, sir?" asked Major Carmoni, who headed the
scryers' section.
"I need to send some messages," Guildenstern answered. "What did you think I
came in for, roast pork?"
Several of the bright young men snickered. Major Carmoni said, "Yes, sir: I
understand you need to send messages. To whom, sir, and what do you need to
say?"
That was business. So Guildenstern took it, at any rate. He was too elevated
by brandy to suppose it might be scorn. "Send one to Doubting George," he
answered, "ordering him to move toward me. And send the other to Brigadier
Thom, also ordering him to move toward me. We shall concentrate our forces."
He spoke the long word in the last sentence with great care.
"Yes, sir." Carmoni turned to the scryers. "Esrom, your crystal ball's
attuned to the ones in Lieutenant General George's wing. And you, Edoc, you
can deliver the message to Brigadier Thom's wing."
Both scryers nodded. One of them (Esrom? Edoc? the commanding general neither
knew nor cared) turned to Guildenstern and murmured, "By your leave, sir." He
nodded. The scryers sat down and bent over their crystals. They muttered in
low voices. First one crystal began to glow, then the other. The scryers
passed on General Guildenstern's orders. He heard those orders acknowledged.
As the scryers looked up from the crystals, the glass globes went dull and
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dark again.
"It is accomplished, sir," Major Carmoni said.
"It had bloody well better be," Guildenstern said. "I wouldn't put it past
George to pretend he'd never got the order so he could go on after Thraxton
the Braggart all by his lonesome. He's a glory-sniffer, if you ask me." Off he
went, not quite realizing how much juicy gossip he'd just left in his wake.
He still remained imperfectly convinced that the northern traitors really
were loitering here by the southern border of Peachtree Province. He wouldn't
have done it himself, which made it harder for him to believe Count Thraxton
would. And the column in which he advanced, the column led by Brigadier
Alexander, hadn't been assailed the way Doubting George had the way Doubting
George said he had, at any rate. Oh, a few bushwhackers had shot crossbows at
the men in gray from the underbrush, but that happened marching along any road
in any northern province.
Musing this, he glumly tramped back to his own pavilion. His stride grew
glummer still when he bethought himself that no one soft and young and round
and friendly was waiting for him in the pavilion. He sighed and scowled and
kicked at the dirt.By all the gods, I should have brought that wench with me
when we marched out of Rising Rock , he thought.I expected to be heading up
toward Stamboul by now. Bound to be plenty of women once I get into settled
country plenty of serfs who want to be nice to King Avram's general. But there
aren't any at all in this wilderness .
If he couldn't have a woman, more brandy needs must do. He didn't know where
to get his hands on a woman, but brandy or something else just as potent, such [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]