“I hear we’ve got serfs digging trenches and making earthworks for us from here all the way up to Marthasville,” Sergeant Thisbe said. “Do you really suppose, sir, that some of them won’t tell the southrons as much of what we’re up to as they can figure out?”

“No, I don’t suppose anything of the sort.” Even had Gremio supposed anything of the sort, he wouldn’t have admitted it. A barrister never admitted anything he didn’t have to. He went on, “We do try to keep as many blonds from escaping as we can, you know. I’m sure the general commanding is doing his best to make sure no really important information gets to Hesmucet.”

“I hope so.” Thisbe’s light tenor could be remarkably expressive. Here, the sergeant packed a world of doubt into three words. Gremio wouldn’t have wanted to go to court against a barrister with such dangerous skills.

Before he could say so-he would have meant it as nothing but praise-horns blared, summoning the regiment to assembly. No, not just the regiment: the whole brigade, maybe even the whole army. Those horns were blaring all over the encampment in and around Borders.

“We can talk about this more another time, Sergeant,” Gremio said. “For now, we’ve got to round up the men.” He spoke of them as if they were so many sheep. He sometimes thought of them that way, too, though he was careful not to let them know it. He had to keep their respect, after all.

“Yes, sir.” Thisbe saluted. The sergeant went about the job with quiet but unhurried competence. Gremio wondered what he’d done in or around Karlsburg before taking service with King Geoffrey’s army. He didn’t know; unlike most of his men, Thisbe didn’t talk much about what he’d done or what he hoped to do. He just did whatever needed doing, and did it well.

Thanks in no small part to him, Gremio’s company was among the first in Colonel Florizel’s regiment to assemble.