Harry Turtledove - Sentry Peak

He didn’t sound altogether happy about that. Bart thought he understood why. “The youngster is strong, isn’t he? I’d be surprised if he stayed a lieutenant very much longer. Wouldn’t you be surprised, too, Colonel, if that were so?”

“Sir, deciding whom to promote is always the commanding general’s prerogative,” Phineas said stiffly. “I will admit, young Alva has proved himself stronger than many of his colleagues had thought he might.” He didn’t admit that he was one of those colleagues.

Bart almost twitted him about that, but decided to hold his peace. The less he said, the less cause he would have later to regret it. Sticking to business seemed the wiser course: “Does the northerners’ quiet mean they won’t be able to do anything much with magic tomorrow, or does it mean they’re saving up to give us as much trouble as they can?”

“Obviously, you would have to ask Thraxton the Braggart to get the full details of their plans,” Colonel Phineas said.

“But I can’t very well ask Thraxton.” Now Bart did let some annoyance come into his voice. “And so I’m asking you , Colonel. Give me your best judgment: what can we look forward to when the fighting picks up again?”

Phineas licked his lips once more. Now, on the spot, he looked very unhappy. The firelight probably made that worse by exaggerating the lines and shadows on his jowly face. With a sigh, he said, “My best judgment, sir, is that they’re holding back, and that they still may try something strong and sorcerous against us tomorrow.”

“All right,” Bart said. “That’s my best guess, too. I’m glad our thoughts are going in the same direction. Has Thraxton made any sorcerous attempts against me, the way he did against General Guildenstern up by the River of Death?”

“None I or my fellow mages have been able to detect, sir,” Phineas replied.

“You so relieve my mind, Colonel,” Bart said dryly. “You’re saying that if he has tried to turn me into a frog, you haven’t noticed him succeeding.”

“Er-yes.” Phineas didn’t seem to know what to do with a general in a whimsical mood.

Bart decided to let the flustered wizard down easy. “All right, Colonel. I want you to go right on keeping an eye out for me. If Count Thraxton does try to get nasty with me, I want you and your mages to try your hardest to stop him-if you happen to notice him doing it, that is.” He decided he didn’t want to let Phineas down too easy after all.

“Yes, sir,” the chief mage said. As best Bart could tell by the firelight, Phineas looked as if he wanted to hide.

Bart wasn’t quite ready to let him get away, either. “And if you don’t mind too much, be sure and let Lieutenant Alva know to keep an eye on the Braggart along with his other duties.”

“Yes, sir,” Phineas said once more, this time in a hollow voice. “Will there be anything else, sir?” He sounded like a gloomy servant in a bad play.

“That should just about do it, I expect,” General Bart said. “You go get yourself a good night’s sleep. We’ll start bright and early in the morning.” He nodded to show Phineas he really was finished. The mage bowed and saluted and fled. If the traitors run as fast as he does , Bart thought, we’ll win ourselves a great and famous victory tomorrow. Wouldn’t that be fine?

He thought about going back to his pavilion and getting himself a good night’s sleep-thought about it and shook his head. He wouldn’t be able to rest till the battle was decided. A yawn tried to sneak out of his throat. He stifled it unborn. He’d had practice going without sleep, and knew he could still come up with the right answers when he had to. He might take a few heartbeats longer than he would while wide awake, but the answers wouldn’t change.

A quiet voice came out of the darkness: “Is that you, sir?”

“Yes, it’s me, Colonel Horace,” Bart replied. “I have a habit of prowling the field. You’ll just have to bear with me.”

“Yes, sir,” his aide-de-camp said. “You would do better with some rest, sir.”

“I’d do better if we’d driven the traitors just the way I hoped we would,” Bart answered. “Nothing ever works out quite so smoothly as you wish it would.”

“Fighting Joseph did well in the north,” Horace said, though his tone of voice showed something less than complete delight.

Noting as much, Bart chuckled and said, “You sound like a man watching his mother-in-law fall off a cliff.”

“I’m glad he won.” Colonel Horace shook his head. “No, by the gods, if I can’t be honest with you, sir, where can I? I’m glad we won. If we had to win somewhere, though, I wish it were at the other end of the line.”

“Well, so do I,” Bart said. “But Funnel Hill doesn’t seem to be quite what Lieutenant General Hesmucet and I thought it was. He’ll have another go at it tomorrow.”

“And may the gods grant him better luck then.” Horace coughed a couple of times, plainly aware he was opening a delicate subject: “What do you plan to do here in the center tomorrow, sir?”

“I’m still trying to make up my mind about that, Colonel, if you want to know the truth,” Bart replied. “I think Lieutenant General George did about as well as could be expected yesterday, given what he was up against in Proselytizers’ Rise. Still and all, though, I am weighing in my mind a larger demonstration against the Rise tomorrow. That should give Count Thraxton something to think about.”

“Good.” In the dim red glow of the campfires, Horace’s face looked more aquiline than ever. “He doesn’t think any too well. The more he has to do it, the better our chances.”

“I don’t believe that’s quite fair,” General Bart said. “It’s not the Braggart’s wits that land him in trouble. It’s his temper.”

“You’re too kind, sir,” his aide-de-camp said. “It’s that nobody can stand him and he can’t get along with anyone, himself included.”

Bart chuckled. “I didn’t say that. I’m not necessarily going to tell you I think you’re wrong, but I didn’t say that.”

“Have you let Lieutenant General George know what you’ll require of him, sir?”

“No, not yet.” The commanding general shook his head. “I will want to talk it over with him before I give the order. If he doesn’t think such a demonstration would serve any useful purpose, we’ll probably try something else instead. He’s the one who’s been ramming his head against Proselytizers’ Rise all day. He’ll have a better notion of what will and won’t work than I do; I’m sure of that.”

“A lot of generals wouldn’t care about their underlings’ notions,” Horace observed.

“I care. I care a great deal,” Bart said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll do anything George asks me to. But I do want to listen to what he has to say before I make up my own mind. That last is the most important thing. I bear the responsibility, so I get to give the orders in the end. It’s only fair.”

“As may be, sir,” Horace said. “By a lot of people’s standards, you seem to bend over backwards to be fair.”

“I try to see things as clear as I can,” Bart said. “The way I look at it, that’s how you do a job and get a fighting chance of having it stay done.”

Colonel Horace plucked at his bushy mustache. “You may well have a point.”

“And I may well be talking through my hat, is what you’re thinking.” Bart chuckled. “Well, perhaps I am. Everyone is strange in his own way: I’m sure of that. Take me, for instance. Here I am a soldier, and I have to have my meat cooked gray, for I shudder if they bring it to me all bloody.”

“I’d noticed that,” his aide-de-camp replied. “Seems a pitiful thing to do to a poor, innocent beefsteak, but that’s your concern and no one else’s. No accounting for taste.”