Harry Turtledove - Sentry Peak

“Sir?” the young soldier said. “Your Grace?”

“Fetch Ned of the Forest here,” Thraxton said. “Fetch him here at once.”

“Yes, sir.” The runner saluted. Even as he turned to obey, though, his eyes widened. The whole Army of Franklin had to know about the quarrel between the two generals. Thraxton shrugged. Beating the southrons, beating Guildenstern, came first. After that, he could settle accounts with the backwoods scum on his own side who failed to have a proper appreciation for his manifest brilliance.

Ned of the Forest came fast enough to give Count Thraxton no excuse to criticize him. His salute was sloppy, but it had never been neat. “What do you want with me, sir?” he asked-on the edge of military courtesy, but not over the edge.

“Come to the map with me,” Thraxton said, and Ned obeyed. Thraxton went on, “You have always claimed that your unicorn-riders can cover twice as much ground as footsoldiers, and that they can fight as well as footsoldiers once they get where they are going.”

“It’s the truth, sir,” Ned answered. “Not only just as well as footsoldiers, but just like footsoldiers, too. You can do a lot more harm to the fellows you don’t like, and do it from a lot further ways away, with crossbows than you can with sabers.”

This man knows nothing of the glory of war , Count Thraxton thought scornfully. He might as well be a potter-it is only a job, a piece of work, to him . But then Thraxton gave a mental shrug. He is the tool I have ready to hand. I can use him. I will use him. And if, in the using, I use him up… so what?

Aloud, Thraxton said, “You shall have your chance to prove it, sir. I require you to take your riders south to the line of the River of Death” -he ran a bony finger along it- “and patrol it. And, at all costs, I require you to keep General Guildenstern’s army from crossing the river and marching on Fa Layette.”

Ned frowned. “Don’t reckon I can do that, if he throws his whole army at one place. Unicorns, footsoldiers, what have you-I haven’t got the men to stand against him. Way it looks to me, this whole army hasn’t got the men for it, or why would we be waiting for the troopers from the west to get here?”

He had a point, worse luck. Count Thraxton had to backtrack, as he’d had to backtrack from Rising Rock. “Very well,” he said with poor grace. “I shall revise my command, then. Here, do this: cross over the River of Death, if that should please you, and make the southrons think you are everywhere in greater force than is in fact the truth. Delay them till Earl James reaches Fa Layette, and you shall have achieved your purpose.”

Ned of the Forest’s eyes gleamed. This time, he saluted as if he meant it. “Fair enough, sir,” he said-now he’d been given a task he liked. “I’ll run those southrons ragged. By the time I’m through, they’ll reckon everybody in our whole army is scurrying around south of the river.”

“That would be excellent,” said Thraxton, who doubted whether Ned could accomplish any such thing. True, the general of unicorn-riders had done some remarkable work down in Franklin and Cloviston, but mostly as a raider. Facing real soldiers, and facing them in large numbers, Thraxton thought him more likely to suffer an unfortunate accident.

And his loss would pain me so very much , Thraxton thought, and almost smiled again.

Ned nodded to him. “You just leave it to me, your Grace. I’ll give you something you can brag about. And then, when James’ men finally get here from Parthenia, I’ll help you make your big brag come true, even if you did aim it right at me. As long as it helps the kingdom, I don’t much care.” He nodded one last time, then turned and, without so much as a by-your-leave, strode out of the house Thraxton had taken for his own.

“Insolent churl,” Thraxton muttered. He rubbed his hands together. With any luck at all, the insolent churl would hurl himself headlong against the southrons and come to grief because of it.

But what if Ned’s luck ran out too abruptly? What if Guildenstern’s men smashed up the unicorn-riders and decided to press north with all their strength? That would without a doubt prove troublesome. Thraxton called for another runner.

“Your Grace?” the youngster said, drawing himself up straight as a spearshaft. “Command me, your Grace!”

He might have thought Count Thraxton was about to send him into the hottest part of a desperate fight, not simply to run an errand. Thraxton said, “Ask General Leonidas if he would do me the honor of attending me.” He summoned Leonidas far more courteously than he’d ordered Ned of the Forest hither.

“Yes, sir!” The runner hurried off as if King Geoffrey would be overthrown unless he reached Leonidas the Priest on the instant.

Leonidas, on the other hand, took his own sweet time about reporting to Thraxton’s headquarters. Ned had come far more promptly. When at last Leonidas did appear, resplendent in the crimson vestments of a votary of the Lion God, Thraxton snapped, “So good of you to join me.”

Leonidas gave him a wounded look, which he ignored. “How may I serve you, your Grace?” the hierophant asked.

“By coming sooner to find out what I require of you, for starters,” Thraxton snapped. He had heard that his underlings complained he was hard on them. With such fools for underlings, what else can I be but hard?

Stiffly, Leonidas said, “Your messenger found me offering sacrifice to the Lion God, that he might favor us and close his jaws upon the accursed armies of our opponents.”

“Let the Lion God do as he will,” Count Thraxton said. “I intend to close my jaws on the southrons, and to do that just as soon as Earl James’ men reach me.”

Leonidas the Priest looked shocked. “Without the support of the gods, your Grace, we are as nothing, and our plans as vapors. I shall pray to the Lord of the Great Mane that he put this wisdom in your heart.”

“Pray later,” Thraxton told him. “I require you to move your army down to the northern bank of the River of Death, and to stand in readiness to repel the southrons if by some mischance they overwhelm Ned of the Forest, whose riders will be harrying them south of the river.”

“Very well, sir,” Leonidas said, though his voice remained stiff with disapproval. “I shall of course do as you require. But I also suggest that you offer up your own prayers and sacrifices to the Lion God, lest he grow angry at you for flouting him. We would not want his might inclined toward the southrons, after all.”

“No, indeed not.” Thraxton could not imagine the Lion God-or, for that matter, any of the other Detinan gods-inclining toward King Avram and his misguided followers. The gods had led the Detinans to victory over the blond savages who’d once had this splendid kingdom all to themselves. If that wasn’t a sign the gods wanted the Detinans to go right on ruling the blonds, Thraxton couldn’t dream of what such a sign might be. He nodded to Leonidas the Priest. “Go now. Set your men in motion, as I have commanded.”

“Very well, sir,” the priest of the Lion God repeated. “Again, though, I urge on you suitable prayer and sacrifice.”

“Of course,” Count Thraxton said. Leonidas left, though he didn’t look as if he believed the general. And he was right to disbelieve, for Thraxton had no intention of sacrificing. Why should I? he thought. I am right, and the gods must know it .

As Lieutenant General George had known he would, General Guildenstern made his headquarters in the finest hotel Rising Rock boasted. As George had feared he would, Guildenstern grew less diligent about going after Thraxton the Braggart than he had been before Rising Rock fell. George suspected the army commander had found something lively in the female line here, but judged coming right out and asking would only make Guildenstern’s always uncertain temper worse.