Marching Through Peachtree

“Yes, sir.” Colonel Biffle nodded, too, though his face turned grim. “That was a nasty business. Most of the garrison in the place were blonds. Their officers surrendered them, and then they started fighting again. Can’t have that sort of thing going on. We didn’t leave a whole lot of them alive.”

“I heard bits and pieces about the `Fort Cushion massacre,’ yes-that’s what the southron papers call it, you understand,” Bell said. “If you ask me, the blonds surely had it coming. If they try to face their betters with weapons in their hands, such things will happen.”

Colonel Biffle visibly relaxed. “Glad you see it that way, sir. Ned didn’t give the order to kill the bastards, but I can’t say he was sorry it happened, either.”

“Who could be sorry about getting rid of blonds? We just smashed a couple of regiments of them ourselves,” Bell said, and then got down to business: “You tell me Ned is two days away?”

“That’s right.” Biffle nodded again.

“Excellent, Colonel.” Bell felt as happy as anything but his drugs could make him. “I look forward to his joining us. We’ll show the stinking southrons there’s still life in Geoffrey’s men.”

“Er-yes, sir.” Colonel Biffle coughed a couple of times, then went on, “Uh, sir, Lieutenant General Ned, he asked me to ask you, just what have you got in mind once you put his unicorn-riders together with your army?”

“What have I got in mind?” Bell struck a pose. “I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind, by the gods. I aim to lift the southrons’ yoke from Franklin, reconquer Ramblerton, sweep down into the province of Cloviston-my home province, I’ll have you know-roll on to the Highlow River, and then, again with the help of the gods, cross the river and attack the town of Horatii in Highlow Province.” That’ll impress him, Bell thought.

But Biffle remained unimpressed. “No, sir,” he said. “Sorry, sir. That’s not what Ned of the Forest had in mind-not even a little bit. What he meant was, what do you aim to do about Brigadier Spi

Bell grunted. There lay his glorious vision of northern triumph, shot dead by a petty political squabble. Or perhaps not so petty: he remembered rumors that had slid through the Army of Franklin while he was recovering from his amputation. Now, maybe, he could find out if those rumors held any truth. “Tell me,” he said, “did Ned of the Forest really challenge Count Thraxton to a duel?”

“He did, sir. By the gods, sir, he did. I was standing closer to him than I am to you right now, and I heard it with my own ears,” Biffle answered. “He made the challenge, and Thraxton didn’t have the stones to answer it.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” Lieutenant General Bell murmured. As his maneuvers against Joseph the Gamecock proved, he wasn’t above political squabbling himself. Having a weapon to use against Thraxton the Braggart might come in handy. You never could tell.

“I want you to know, sir, Lord Ned, he’s dead serious about this business,” Colonel Biffle said. “He said, `Biff, you tell that fellow-if I’m stuck under Spi

“He would disobey a superior’s direct order?” Bell rumbled ominously.

That didn’t impress Ned of the Forest’s regimental commander, either. “He’s disobeyed a whole great pile of them in his time, Ned has,” he replied, “and usually he’s come off better on account of it.”

“I ought to send him packing for dickering with me like this,” Bell said. Colonel Biffle only shrugged. Plainly, he didn’t care one way or the other. However difficult Ned of the Forest was, Bell knew him to be a genius at handling unicorns. Brigadier Spi

“Yes, sir,” Biffle said. “I’m sure of it.”

“All right,” Lieutenant General Bell said. “We’ll do it that way, then.” It wasn’t all right. He had every intention of writing King Geoffrey about it. But, while that would put him on the record and make him feel better, Ned of the Forest was unlikely to get excited about it. Ned did what he wanted, not what anyone else wanted. No, Bell didn’t like bargaining with subordinates. But no matter what he liked, he couldn’t afford to lose this one.

Now that Biffle had got what he-or rather, Ned-wanted, he was all courtesy himself. He gave Bell a smart salute and said, “I’ll head back to Lord Ned fast as my unicorn can take me, sir, and we’ll see you in a little more than two days’ time.”

“Good,” Bell said. He hardly noticed Colonel Biffle leave the farmhouse. He was looking south with his mind’s eye, looking south toward the victory that had eluded him in Peachtree Province, looking south toward glory.

Doubting George was gnawing on some pork ribs when Colonel Andy ducked into his pavilion. George’s adjutant looked even more like an irate chipmunk than usual. “Sir,” he said, “there’s a messenger from General Hesmucet waiting outside. You’re ordered to the commanding general’s headquarters at once.”

“Well, if I’m ordered, I should probably go, eh?” Doubting George heaved his bulk off the folding chair where he was sitting. “And if it’s at once, I probably shouldn’t finish di

“It’s not right, sir,” Andy said in injured tones.

“What? The ribs?” George said. “You might as well eat ’em. Gods only know when I’ll get back.”

“No, not the ribs,” Colonel Andy snapped. “The ribs have nothing to do with it. The orders General Hesmucet’s going to give you-they’re not right.”

“Well, maybe they are and maybe they aren’t,” Doubting George replied. “But, right or wrong, they’re legal and binding, because he’s the commanding general. If I didn’t believe in following legal and binding orders, I’d be fighting for King Geoffrey today, wouldn’t I? And then you’d want to kill me.”

“Never, sir,” Andy said stiffly.

“Oh, of course you would-I’d be the enemy,” George said. “But I’m not, and I don’t intend to be. And so… I’m off to General Hesmucet’s. Enjoy the ribs.” He left before his adjutant could carp any more.

Trouble is, I agree with every word Andy’s saying, George thought as he climbed aboard his unicorn. But, whether he agreed or not, he could obey Hesmucet or he could go home. After a moment, he shook his head. He couldn’t even go home. Over in Parthenia, the traitors still held the estate they’d confiscated.

Hesmucet’s aides and sentries saluted when he rode up to them. When he dismounted, one of them took charge of the unicorn. Another one said, “General Hesmucet will see you right away.”

“Well, good,” George said agreeably, “because I’m going to see him.”

“Hello, George,” Hesmucet said when his second-in-command went into the pavilion. The general commanding quivered-he practically glowed-with excitement. George knew what was coming even before he spoke: “I’ve got it, by the gods! Marshal Bart and King Avram have given me leave to march across Peachtree, tear up everything in the way, and take Veldt.”

“Congratulations, sir,” Doubting George said. “I trust you’ll send me a postcard or two as you go?”