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"Well, gods damn them," James said glumly. "I wouldn't have thought a horde
of half-divine heroes from the long-gone days could have forced an army off
Proselytizers' Rise if it wasn't inclined to go, but what do I know? Did
General Bart find some way to outflank our host?"
"No, sir," the scryer repeated. "They stormed Proselytizers' Rise from the
front."
"What?" burst from Earl James. "How in the seven hells did even that imbecile
Thraxton the Braggart I beg your pardon, did Count Thraxton the commanding
general let such a thing happen?"
"As I understand, sir, there was a certain amount of difficulty with some
piece of sorcery or another," the scryer said. "I am not certain of that, of
course, but it does seem to be the most widely credited explanation."
" `A certain amount of difficulty with some piece of sorcery or another'?"
James echoed. The scryer nodded. "Oh, by the Lion God's claws!" James groaned.
"By the Thunderer's prick! So he went and botched another one, did he?"
"That is my understanding," the scryer said primly.
"At least youhave some understanding," James of Broadpath said. "By all the
signs, that's more than Count Thraxton can claim." The scryer said nothing in
response to that, which was probably wise on his part. With a sigh that
sounded much like anther groan, James asked, "What does Thraxton want me to do
now? Does he think I ought to try to rejoin him?"
"No, sir," the scryer told him. "Count Thraxton believes the southrons are
sending an army from Rising Rock in your direction, and does not find it
likely that you could successfully evade it."
After a moment's thought, Earl James nodded. "Yes, they'd do that. All right,
then. I'll hold my position here in front of Wesleyton for as long as I can."
"Very good, sir. I shall report that to Count Thraxton's man." The scryer set
about livening up his crystal ball once more.
James of Broadpath stood as if frozen in the scryers' tent for a moment. Then
he exploded in a torrent of curses. They did no good at all. He knew as much.
They did make him feel a little better, though. When he left the tent, he no
longer felt like strangling the first man he saw in lieu of wrapping his meaty
hands around the scrawny neck of Count Thraxton, whom he could not reach.
The first man he saw was Brigadier Alexander, who had charge of the army's
engines. Alexander was young and cheerful and brighter than he had any
business being. With a friendly wave, he asked, "How now, your Excellency?"
"How now?" James said. "I'll tell you how now, Brigadier, to the seven hells
with me if I don't." He relayed everything he'd heard from the scryer,
finishing, "That'show now, by all the gods. The Army of Franklin's wrecked,
the southrons are sending an army of their own after us, and we can't break
into Wesleyton. But for those minor details, all's well."
"He let the southrons storm Proselytizers' Rise against him?" Alexander said.
"By all the gods, sir, an army of dead men could hold Proselytizers' Rise."
"That's what I thought," James answered. "In his infinite wisdom, however,
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the general commanding the Army of Franklin appears to have outdone himself."
"He's also left us in a hells of a pickle," Alexander remarked.
"Really?" James said. "I never would have noticed. I'm so grateful to you for
pointing that out."
"Heh," Brigadier Alexander said. "What are we going to do, sir?"
"Try not to get squashed," James of Broadpath said. "If you've got any better
answers, I'd be delighted to hear them."
"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I wish I did, sir," Alexander said. "How can we
defend against the southrons moving on us from Rising Rock and from Whiskery
Ambrose at the same time? Ambrose outnumbers us all by himself."
"I'm painfully aware of all that, too," James said. "I confess, I would worry
more with, say, Hesmucet in Wesleyton than I do with Whiskery Ambrose. There
are worse foes to have."
"Yes, the whole business of who one's opponent is can make a difference,"
Brigadier Alexander agreed. "Count Thraxton did rather better against
Guildenstern than he did against Bart, for instance."
"Bart." James of Broadpath made a worried noise had he heard it from another
man, he might even have called it a frightened noise deep in the back of his
throat. "I know that man too well. Every day he is in command, he looks for a
way to hit us. And he will keep on looking to hit us every single day,
wherever he is posted, until this war ends."
"With our victory," Alexander said.
"Gods grant it be so," James said. "Meanwhile, back to our present
predicament. I intend to hold our lines in front of Wesleyton with some of our
force. I don't think Whiskery Ambrose will venture out into the open field
against us."
"I'd say that's a pretty good bet," Alexander replied. "He's going to hold on
to Wesleyton, and he's not going to do anything else." He sniffed. "The man
has the imagination of a cherrystone clam."
James chuckled. "I won't say you're wrong. Even so, though, he does King
Avram good and does us and King Geoffrey harm just by staying where he is.
There's no doubt of that. He might do us more harm now if he came out, but he
might come to grief, too, so I doubt he will."
"Thank you, Lieutenant General George," Brigadier Alexander said with a saucy
grin.
"Doubting George would come out against me, because he'd be confident he
could hold the place even if something went wrong," James said. "Whiskery
Ambrose doesn't believe in himself so much. And he has reason not to, too." He
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