Harry Turtledove - Sentry Peak

King Geoffrey’s long, stern face peered at him from out of a crystal ball. Geoffrey, Thraxton knew, was his friend. Nevertheless, the king sounded as stern as he looked when he said, “I expected rather better from you, your Grace; I truly did.”

“I quite understand that, your Majesty,” replied Thraxton, who understood no such thing. “I fear we both erred in the conclusion for me to retain command here after the clamor against me.”

He still hoped Geoffrey would tell him that had been no error, that no one else could have done as well as he had. But the king gave him only a curt nod. “Yes, that was an error, and now I shall have to find a new commander for the Army of Franklin under harder circumstances than I would have before.”

Rage boiled up in Thraxton. “By the gods, sir, I would have done better-I would have won that fight, sir-were it not for the bad conduct of veteran troops who had never before failed in any duty.”

“On what do you blame this failure, your Grace?” King Geoffrey asked.

“In part, your Majesty, the men on Proselytizers’ Rise could simply see too much,” Thraxton replied. “They watched the swarm of southrons coming toward them and they lost their nerve. And, in part, their demoralization came from the effect produced by the treasonable act of James of Broadpath, Dan of Rabbit Hill, and Leonidas the Priest in sacrificing the army in their effort to degrade and remove me for personal ends.”

Geoffrey coughed a couple of times. When at last he spoke, he plainly chose his words with care: “I have heard reports to the effect that one reason for our retreat from Proselytizers’ Rise was the failure of our sorcery. How much truth lies in those reports?”

“Perhaps… some, your Majesty,” Thraxton answered reluctantly. “I intended to cast a spell of terror on the southrons that would have sent them flying back to Rising Rock in rout and ruin.”

“That did not happen,” Geoffrey said, a truth so painfully obvious that Thraxton couldn’t deny it.

That being so, he didn’t waste his breath trying. “No, your Majesty, that did not happen, for which you have my profoundest regrets. But I must say, sir, that not a single one of the arrogant little manikins who claim I mistakenly cast the spell upon our own brave and patriotic soldiers has any true knowledge or understanding of the arcane forces at my control.”

“I… see,” King Geoffrey said after another pause. “You are not of the opinion, then, that a sudden burst of sorcerously inspired terror might have caused our men to abandon what should have been an impregnable position?”

“A sudden burst of sorcerously inspired terror might have done exactly that, your Majesty,” Count Thraxton replied. “But any claim that I caused such a burst of terror among our men would be all the better for proof, of which there is none.” I couldn’t have done such a thing, not this time. And if I couldn’t have done it, why then, I didn’t do it. It’s as simple as that .

Again, the king coughed. Again, the king paused to choose his words with care. At last, he asked, “If sorcery gone awry did not cause our men to abandon Proselytizers’ Rise, what, in your opinion, did?”

“I have already alluded to the treacherous, treasonous conduct of officers formerly occupying positions of trust and prominence in the Army of Franklin,” Thraxton said.

“So you have,” King Geoffrey replied.

Thraxton didn’t care for his tone. He had the vague feeling this interview wasn’t going so well as he would have liked. Taking a deep breath, he went on. “I might also note that certain officers, Duke Cabell of Broken Ridge among them, are of less use than they might otherwise be, for they take to the bottle at once, and drown their cares by becoming stupid and unfit for any duty. This drunkenness, most flagrant, during the whole three days of our travail, contributed in no small measure to the disaster that befell us.”

Geoffrey pursed his thin, pale lips. “So you blame your subordinates, both past and current, for the present unfortunate position of your army?”

“Your Majesty, I do,” Count Thraxton said firmly. Relief washed through him, warm as spring sunshine. He’d been afraid the king didn’t understand, but now he saw he’d been mistaken. Everything might turn out all right after all. Despite what Geoffrey had said before, he might yet hang on to his command.

But then the king sighed and said, “Yes, I was right before. I am going to name Joseph the Gamecock to replace you as head of the Army of Franklin.”

“Joseph the Gamecock?” Thraxton said in dismay. “You must be joking, sir! Why, he’s such a bad-tempered little man that no one can get along with him!”

“I have certainly had my difficulties along those lines,” King Geoffrey said. “But your own judgment as to yourself was accurate; you should not have remained where you were, and you can no longer remain where you are. You have not the confidence of the officers serving under you.”

“They are all a pack of jackals and jackasses!” Thraxton burst out. “You say I have not their confidence, sir? Well, they have not mine, either. By all the gods, I would dismiss every one of them were the power in me.”

“I cannot dismiss every officer serving in the Army of Franklin,” Geoffrey said. “I would not if I could. It would bring even more chaos than that unhappy army has seen up to now. You were in command, my friend, and you must answer for the shortcomings of those you commanded.”

“Very well,” Thraxton replied, though it was anything but. “Will you do me the courtesy of allowing me to resign the command on my own rather than being summarily dismissed from it?”

“Of course I will,” the king said. “I will do anything within my power to let you down as easily as I may, but let you down I must.”

“I was let down,” Thraxton raged, “let down by those who should have done everything in their power to support me.” His stomach twinged agonizingly. The healers had warned him he was liable to start puking blood if that went on. They’d told him to put less of a burden on himself, to demand less of others. But they hadn’t told him how to do that while fighting a war, worse luck. He gathered himself. “How may I best serve the kingdom after leaving this army?”

As soon as he asked the question, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. The king was liable to say something like, Go home and never show your face in any public place again . What could he do but obey? But he didn’t want to fade into obscurity. He wanted a higher place than the one he had.

Instead of relegating him to the shadows, Geoffrey replied, “You know I always value your advice, your Grace. Come to Nonesuch after laying down your command there. Your insights into the struggle will be important to me, and if you serve in an advisory capacity you will no longer, ah, come into difficulties with other officers opposing Avram’s tyranny.”

“Come into difficulties?” Thraxton said. “Am I at fault if I have the misfortune of being surrounded by idiots?”

“Let us not delve into questions of fault for the time being,” King Geoffrey said quickly. “Come to Nonesuch. That will suffice.”

“I obey,” Count Thraxton said. “I always obey.” He gave a martyred sigh. “Would that others might say the same.” Being a mage in his own right, he ended the talk with the king while giving himself the last word. He stalked away from the crystal ball with a horrid frown on his face and with fire scourging his belly.

His headquarters were in what had been a rich man’s house in Borders. But the serfs had fled, and without servants the house seemed much too big for Thraxton and his aides. He strode inside, speaking to no one, found pen and ink, and wrote furiously. When he was through, he told a runner, “Fetch me Roast-Beef William at once.”