“We did indeed. We looked it over, but we might not have done the best job in the world, because that Funnel Hill looks like a tougher nut than we thought it would. Hesmucet will have another go at things in the morning, too, and we’ll just have to find out how that fares.” Bart shrugged. “I still think we can beat the traitors here. It’s a question of making them crack somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.” That impressed Doubting George, too. A lot of generals, having fought hard one day, were content to take things easy the next. Bart didn’t fit that pattern. “What are your orders for me, sir?”

“For now, you’re doing what you ought to do,” the commanding general replied. “I have no complaints against you, not in the slightest.”

“We’ll see what happens tomorrow, then, sir,” George said. “I think we can beat them, too. I hope we can.” We’d better, he thought.

The campfires of Doubting George’s men flickered down on the flat country below Proselytizers’ Rise. Up on the crest of the Rise, the traitors’ fires likewise showed where they were. General Bart studied those latter flames, doing his best to gain meaning from them. His best, he feared, was none too good. Thraxton the Braggart had men up there. He’d already known that much, but he couldn’t learn much more.

“Colonel Phineas!” he called. “Are you there, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir, I’m here,” the army’s chief mage answered. He bustled up beside Bart. Firelight flickered from his plump, weary face. “What can I do for you?”

“What sort of sorcerous attacks has the enemy made against us in the fighting just past?” Bart asked.

Phineas licked his lips. “Actually, sir, not very many. For one thing, young Alva has kept the traitors remarkably busy down in the south.”

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?”