“We’re going to have to send reinforcements to Whiskery Ambrose in Wesleyton,” Bart answered. “That’s what King Avram wants, and he is the king we swore to obey. It’s not necessarily what I would do if I had a choice, but I don’t.”

Neither of the other officers made any effort to hide his disappointment. “That means we won’t be able to chase the Braggart the way we ought to, gods damn it,” Hesmucet growled.

“Whom will you send west to Wesleyton?” George asked.

Will you send me? he meant. Will you get me out of the action after my men won your battle for you? Bart understood him as plainly as if he’d been shouting. The commanding general said, “King Avram and I talked that over. We agreed Fighting Joseph would be the best man for the job.”

“Good choice!” Hesmucet said. Doubting George nodded. Better him than me, they both had to be thinking.

Bart coughed and then said, “There is some talk of my going west in the not too distant future.”

“Congratulations, sir,” George said. ” `Some talk’ from the king is as good as an oration from anybody else.”

He didn’t ask whom Bart would leave in command in western Franklin if he did happen to be summoned to Georgetown. He probably already knew. Bart said, “I thank you. And I want everyone here to bear in mind that, even if we aren’t going after Thraxton right this minute, that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to go after him at all. The day will come, and it will come soon.”

“I’ll go after Thraxton, if that’s what needs doing,” Hesmucet said. “I’ll go after Marthasville, if that’s what needs doing. But mostly, I aim to go after the traitors, grab hold of ’em, and shake ’em by the neck.”

“Good,” Bart said. “If King Avram calls me to the west, that’s what I aim to do there.”

“No, sir,” the scryer who’d spoken to his opposite number in the Army of Franklin told Earl James of Broadpath. “There can be no possible doubt, not any more. The southrons have struck a heavy blow against Count Thraxton, and have forced his army off Sentry Peak and Proselytizers’ Rise.”

“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 you have 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’s how 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, 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 went back to the business at hand: “Against Ambrose, I won’t need the whole army. The rest I can move east, to try to hold the passes against the southrons when they come.”