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"Such claims have been made before, sir," Cabell said. Thraxton scowled at
him. The quarrel seemed on the point of heating up again. Then Cabell went on,
"And, if we know what your sorcery will be, what it will do, we can give our
men orders that will let them take best advantage of it."
"That is an important point, your Grace," Roast-Beef William said.
"Perhaps," Thraxton said. But Cabell of Broken Ridge was right. Even if
Thraxton couldn't stand the man, he knew as much. Grudgingly, he went on, "All
right, then. What I intend to do is wait until the southrons are well involved
in what will plainly be some important attack, then fill their spirits which
the gods must hate anyhow with such fear that they can only flee."
"That will be very good," Roast-Beef William said.
"If you can do it," Duke Cabell added.
He got another glare from Thraxton, who spoke in icy tones: "I can do it, and
I shall do it. Draft your orders, both of you, so that your men may exploit
the southrons' terror and disarray."
"Yes, sir," William said dutifully. Cabell just gave a curt nod.
You still don't believe me, Thraxton thought.I'll show you. I'll show
everyone. Everyone who ever doubted me for any reason will know my might by
the time this fight is done . Aloud, he said, "Gentlemen, I dismiss you. I am
sure that, when the morning comes, your men will continue to fight as
gallantly as they already have. Now you must leave me to my sorcerous
preparations."
Roast-Beef William left his headquarters in a hurry, as if he didn't want
anything to do with magecraft. By the way Cabell of Broken Ridge departed, he
didn't want anything to do with Count Thraxton. Thraxton could tell the
difference.Treat me as if I were a blond, will you? You'll be sneering out of
the other side of your overbred mouth by this time tomorrow .
He went to his sorcerous tomes with a grim intensity that would have alarmed
friends as well as foes had he had any friends nearer than King Geoffrey in
Nonesuch. And he found the spells he wanted. The men who'd prepared them
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hadn't imagined that they could be aimed at a whole army rather than at a man
or two, but that was their failure of imagination, not Count Thraxton's.
He forgot about sleep. He forgot about everything except the wizardry he was
shaping. He didn't even notice it was growing light outside. He didn't notice
anything except the pages in front of him till one of the sentries in front of
his farmhouse headquarters exclaimed, "Lion God's claws, looks like every
gods-damned southron in the world's lined up down there!"
That penetrated Thraxton's fog of concentration. His joints creaked as he
rose from his chair. When he looked down on the enemy, he laughed. "So they
think they can storm Proselytizers' Rise, do they? They might as well try to
storm the gods' mystic mountain as ours. Let them come!" He laughed again.
Tiny and perfect in the distance, looking like so many toy soldiers, the
southrons advanced toward the trench line at the base of Proselytizers' Rise.
They'd come that far in the previous day's fighting, though they'd had to fall
back. If they tried to come farther now . . . If they tried to come farther
and then fear smote them . . .
Imagining thousands, tens of thousands, of panic-stricken men trying to
tumble down the front slope of Proselytizers' Rise, Thraxton laughed yet
again. That would be sweet, sweet enough to make up for all the embarrassment
and bickering he'd had to put up with since the fight by the River of Death.
"Let them come," he whispered. "Aye, let them come."
Come they did. The southrons might be as far as Thraxton was concerned, they
were savages, ruffians, uncivilized brigands doing their best to pull down
their betters. But they weren't cowards. If only they'd run from Merkle's Hill
instead of standing fast . . .But they had a good northern man no, a bad
northern man, for he chose the wrong side leading them , Count Thraxton
thought. He wasted a moment sending a curse Doubting George's way.
Into the trenches at the base of Proselytizers' Rise swarmed the southrons.
Before long, they had overrun them. And then, to Thraxton's delight, they did
start storming up the side of Proselytizers' Rise, toward his men who were
shooting down at them from above. Who could have given such a mad order?
Whoever he was, Thraxton wanted to clasp his hand and thank him for aiding
King Geoffrey's cause.
Thraxton peered down at the southrons scrambling toward him. General Bart's
whole army seemed to be trying to pull itself up the steep slope of the Rise.
Thraxton waited a few minutes more, then began his spell. Confidence flowed
through his narrow chest as he incanted. No, nothing would go wrong this time.
Nothingcould go wrong this time. He'd been wrong before, perhaps, but not now.
He laughed. Surely not now . . .
XII
"Forward!" Captain Cephas shouted, waving his sword. His command was almost
lost in the roar that came from the throats of hundreds of officers and the
throats of hundreds of horns. And forward the men of Doubting George's army
went.
"King Avram!" Rollant yelled. "King Avram and freedom!" He wasn't thrilled
about moving once more against the base of Proselytizers' Rise, but nobody
cared whether he was thrilled or not.
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"We can do it!" Cephas said. Rollant didn't know whether they could do it or
not. He wasn't going to worry about it very much, either. He would go forward
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