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you would serve under Count Thraxton, he being of higher rank than you,” Edward said.
    You would serve under the man you’ve just called a blunderer , was what he meant, though he was too gracious to say any such thing. James of Broadpath sighed. “The good of the kingdom comes first,” he declared. “It is my duty” — my accursed, unpleasant duty — “to serve its needs before mine.”
    And there, for the first time in the conversation, he touched a chord with Duke Edward, who bowed to him and said, “Duty is the sublimest word in Detinan. You cannot do more than your duty. Prepare a memorial proposing this move, and I shall submit it to his Majesty with the recommendation that it be approved.”
    “Thank you, your Grace,” James replied, bowing in return. He wondered why he was thanking the duke. Serving under Edward was sometimes humbling but more often a pleasure and always an education. Serving under Thraxton, by everything James had heard, was an invitation to an apoplexy. Hesitantly, he said, “Tell me it isn’t true, sir, that Count Thraxton once picked a quarrel with himself.”
    “I believe that, as regimental quartermaster, he refused to issue himself something to which, as company commander, he believed himself entitled,” Edward said—which meant it was true.
    James grimaced. “I wish the king would have found someone, anyone, else to command our armies in the east. Thraxton . . . is not a lucky man.”
    “He is the man we have,” Duke Edward replied. “As I told you, he is the man under whom you will serve if your army fares east. Bear that in mind, your Excellency. Also bear in mind that, from all reports, Count Thraxton requires prompt, unquestioning obedience from those under his command.”
    “I understand, your Grace,” James said. Unquestioning obedience didn’t come easy to him. The duke had to know as much; James had never been afraid to tell him he was wrong when he believed that to be so. And James had been right a couple of times, too. If the charge hadn’t gone up that hill by Essoville in the face of massed stone- and dart-throwers and whole brigades of crossbowmen sheltered behind stone walls . . . It had been grand. It had been glorious. It had also been a gruesome disaster. James had warned it would be. Duke Edward had thought one more push would carry the day against the southrons. If it had . . . But it hadn’t.
    To his credit, the duke had never shown the least resentment against James for proving himself correct. “Do always bear in mind,” Edward said now, “that Thraxton will do as he will do, and that he makes all the vital decisions for his army himself.” He was still driving home that same point.
    “Rest assured, sir, I shall never forget it,” James of Broadpath replied. “But I also know that we here in the west have learned more about how to fight a war than they know in the east. Let me get my men there and I will show Count Thraxton and everyone else how it’s done.” He bowed to Duke Edward. “After all, I’ve studied under the finest schoolmaster.”
    Courteous and modest as always, Edward murmured, “You do me too much honor, your Excellency,” while returning the bow. He went on, “As I told you, I shall forward your request to King Geoffrey with my favorable endorsement. I do not promise that that will guarantee his approval, of course.”
    “Of course,” James said. Even more than Count Thraxton, King Geoffrey was a law unto himself. Maybe that was why he left Thraxton in command in the east: one kindred spirit recognizing another.
    “Even so, however,” Duke Edward continued, “you might do well to keep your men ready to move to a glideway at a moment’s notice.”
    “Yes, sir !” James said. The duke bowed again, this time in dismissal. More pleased with himself than he’d expected to be, Earl James left his commander’s pavilion.
    On the way back to his own, he met Brigadier Bell, who commanded a division of