Free Sentry Peak by Harry Turtledove

over to the rather mean tent housing the commander of the Army of Southern Parthenia. He was panting and sweating by the time he got there, though the walk wasn’t very long. His bulk and Parthenia’s heat and humidity didn’t go together. As Duke Edward’s sentries saluted, James asked, “Is his Grace here?”
    “Yes, your Excellency, he is, and waiting for you, too—or I think so, anyhow,” one of the sentries answered. He raised his voice: “Duke Edward? Earl James is here to see you.”
    “Is he?” Duke Edward of Arlington came out of the pavilion. James saluted. Punctilious as always, Edward returned the courtesy. Then he plucked a folded sheet of paper from the breast pocket of his indigo tunic and presented it to James. “This may possibly be of interest to you, your Excellency.”
    “Ah?” James rumbled. The paper was sealed with a dragon’s mark stamped deep into golden wax. “That is King Geoffrey’s seal,” James breathed, and Edward nodded. Only a king would or could use the dragon’s mark, and Avram’s sealing wax would have been crimson, not gold—not that Avram was likely to send a sealed letter to a general in his rival’s service.
    With his thumbnail, James broke the seal. He opened the paper. The spidery script within was King Geoffrey’s, too; James had seen it often enough to recognize it. The missive read, In regard to the proposal to send the army under the command of General James of Broadpath, the said army presently constituting a wing of the Army of Southern Parthenia commanded by General Edward of Arlington, to the aid and succor of the Army of Franklin commanded by General Thraxton, the aforesaid proposal, having been endorsed by the aforementioned General Edward of Arlington, is hereby accepted and approved. Let it be carried out with the greatest possible dispatch. Geoffrey, King in the northern provinces of Detina .
    “You know what it is, your Grace?” James asked.
    “I don’t know, no, but from your countenance I should guess his Majesty has chosen to send your soldiers east,” Duke Edward replied.
    “He has.” Earl James of Broadpath bowed to his commanding officer. “And I am in your debt, sir, for your generous endorsement.”
    “Hard times require hard measures,” the duke said. “I am not certain this action will answer, but I am certain inaction will not answer. Go east, then, and may the gods go with you. I trust your men are ready to move at short notice?”
    “Yes, sir,” James said. “All we need do is break camp, march to the glideway port at Lemon’s Justiciary, and off we go eastward.”
    “Not quite so simple as that, I fear,” Edward said, “for it is reported the southrons have lately wrested from us the most direct glideway path leading eastward. But the wizards in charge of such things do assure me a way from here to Count Thraxton’s army does remain open: only it is not so direct a way as we might wish.”
    “Then I’d best leave without any more delay, hadn’t I, your Grace?” Without waiting for Duke Edward’s reply—although Edward might not have had one; he approved of men who took things into their own hands and moved fast—James bowed, spun on his heel in a smart about-face, and hurried back toward his own pavilion.
    As he neared it, he shouted for the trumpeters who served him. They came at the run, long, straight brass horns gleaming in their hands. “Command us, sir!” one of them cried.
    Command them James of Broadpath did: “Blow assembly . Summon my whole army to the broad pasture.”
    The trumpeters saluted. As they raised the horns to their lips, one of them asked, “Your Excellency, does this mean we’re heading east, to whip the stinking, lousy, gods-detested southrons out of Franklin?” Rumor had swirled through the army for days.
    Getting King Geoffrey’s army back into Franklin would be a good first step toward getting the southrons out. But James just waggled a finger at the trumpeter and said,