“If he was wrong, gods damn it, I’ve got my work cut out for me,” Doubting George muttered.

He scowled. That would do for an understatement till a bigger one came along. Among the men Hesmucet had taken with him were a good many from the wing George had commanded on the campaign that ended up seizing Marthasville. The soldiers Hesmucet hadn’t taken made up the nucleus-the small nucleus-of the force George had here in Franklin.

Along with those men, he had garrison troops scattered through countless fortresses in Cloviston and Franklin. They guarded not only towns but also the glideway line that kept men and supplies moving. That meant they were scattered over the two provinces-one of which had stayed in the Kingdom of Detina but still furnished soldiers to Grand Duke Geoffrey’s army, while the other had tried to leave but was, after a fashion, reconquered-and not in the best position to fight if they had to.

I’d better concentrate them, Doubting George thought gloomily. Then his scowl blackened as he shook his head. If I do, Ned of the Forest’s unicorn-riders will play merry hells with the glideways. Ned of the Forest was no ordinary commander of unicorn-riders, no ordinary raider. When he hit a glideway line, he didn’t just damage it. He wrecked it. His troopers and mages knew their business altogether too well.

Doubting George shrugged. Keeping the glideway lines intact mattered less than it had earlier in the year. Hesmucet’s men weren’t tied to them for food and firepots and crossbow bolts any more. They were living off the country now, living off the country and by all accounts doing well. Raids against the glideways would still be a nuisance. They wouldn’t be a disaster.