Conqueror

into the field before he fades to a sylph and gets worn down to a nub.'

'You underestimate me, sir. It's only been a week.'

'Nevertheless. Gerrin, you are hereby appointed Purple Commander.' He slid a clip of papers down to the other Descotter, who looked through them and began to hand them out to the men who would be his subordinates for the field maneuvers.

'I will be Orange Commander,' Raj said, and did likewise.

'Jorg, you'll be in charge of the referees, and I want it as realistic as we can get without massive casualties. We'll do a thorough briefing this afternoon, but in essence I want to get us better at marching divided-' he held out a hand, fingers splayed '-and fighting united.' The hand closed into a fist.

'Oh, and we'd better arrange some sort of substantial prize for the best units; the men are starting to think this is going to be a military picnic like the Southern Territories.'

'I doubt many who were in those boats with you think that, Raj,' Gerrin said soberly.

'Learning by experience can be prohibitively expensive,' Raj said. 'Next, the Brigaderos we sent back to East Residence. They'll need to be retrained, and then they'll need officers. We won't be in charge of that, but between us I think we can have some influence, and it'd be a shame to waste material that good under incompetents. Messers, I'd appreciate it if you'd each prepare me a list of men you think suitable, and we'll see what we can do. Next, promotions, demotions, and gold-of-valor awards.'

They worked their way through the huwacheros, toast and kave, then through a round of kave and cigarettes. He saved the disagreeable signing of death-warrants for last. There was always someone who didn't believe the stories about how hard-ass Messer Raj was about mistreating locals. None from the 5th Descott this time, thank the Spirit. .

'Does that wrap up the military end of it?' Raj said. He looked out the window; with a little luck, he could get his butt into the saddle this afternoon and do some hands-on work. A chance to avoid Bureaucrat's Bottom a little while longer.

'All but the Star question, oh Savior of the State,' Gerrin said. 'When do we get on with the rest of the bloody campaign?'

'According to the latest dispatches from East Residence,' Raj said judiciously, 'negotiations between the Ministry of Barbarians and General Forker are proceeding, mmmm, in an orderly but discreet fashion due to turbulent elements in Carson Barracks. Interpret that as you will.'

'Meaning, Messer,' Dinnalsyn said sourly, with the experience of a man brought up in East Residence, 'that Forker can't decide whether to crap or get off the pot, because the barb commanders are running around rubbing their heads and wondering what hit them. And the Ministry bureaucrats are sending each other memos consisting of competitively obscure literary allusions and strings of references to precedents back six hundred years. Which is probably what their predecessors were doing six hundred years ago when we lost the Old Residence to the Brigade in the first place.'

'Pen-pushers,' Zahpata said, striking his forehead with his palm.

'I'm assured that the relevant experts are working earnestly for a peaceful solution to the issues in dispute,' Raj went on dryly.

'That bad?' Kaltin said. He tore open a roll. 'With the relevant experts working for peace, you know we're going to have war, Messer-but not until the worst possible time.'

'Bite your tongue, major,' Raj said. 'My estimation is that between them Forker and the Ministry will do exactly that, string things out until the onset of the winter rains and then decide to fight after all. Decide that we should fight.'

This time the curses were genuine and heartfelt. With local variations the whole Midworld basin had a climate of warm dry summers and cool-to-cold wet winters. The northerly sectors of the Western Territories got snow, and the whole area had abundant mud. On the unmaintained roads of country under barbarian rule that meant morasses that clogged dogs' feet, sucked the boots off men and mired guns and wagons. Plus foraging would be more difficult, that long after harvest, and even hardy men were more likely to sicken with chest fevers if they had to sleep out in the rains. Disease had destroyed more armies than battle, and they all knew it.

Spring and fall were the best seasons for campaigning; early summer after the wheat harvest was tolerable, although bad water meant cholera unless you were very careful about the Church's sanitation edicts. High summer was bad. Winter was a desperation-only nightmare.

'Nevertheless, if it has to be done, we'll do it,' Raj said. He quoted from an ancient Civil Government military handbook: 'Remember that the enemy's bodies too are subject to mortality and fatigue; they are initiated also into the mysteries of death, as are all men. And even their rank-and-file include a good many landed men, their reservists particularly, who won't be used to living hard. I want us ready.

'Ehwardo,' he went on. The last living Poplanich looked up. Raj tapped several red-covered ledgers beside him. They had the Ministry of Barbarians seal on their covers, with the odd grain-sheaf subseal of the Foreign Intelligence division.

'Coordinate with Muzzaf and see what you can do about these intelligence reports. I want digests, including what new information you can get from local sources. Chop out the political bumpf and verbiage and the unfounded speculation; give me hard information. Manpower, weapons, road conditions, weather patterns, regional crops and yields and foraging prospects, what railroads the barbs have running, local landowners and Sysups and how they lean.'

'General,' Ehwardo said, already looking still more abstracted. Raj nodded; Thom's cousin was one of the few noblemen he knew who really appreciated numbers and their uses.

'Messers. . to work.'

The room felt larger after the officers had left, with a clack of the heel-plates of their boots and a jingle as they hitched at their sword-belts. Historiomo cleared his throat and glanced at Suzette and her protege.

'Messa Whitehall has my complete confidence,' Raj said.

'Ah. So I was given to understand.' A long pause. 'I am to understand, then, that the Most Valiant General is pleased with mine and my colleagues' work?'

'Pleasantly surprised,' Raj said. 'It's important to this war that we have a secure and productive forward base; Stern Isle is the obvious candidate.'

He ran his hand over a preliminary report on land tenure on Stern Isle as it had been under the Brigade and would be with the massive transfers of ownership following the conquest. Dry stuff, but crucially important. Cities and trade were the way a few people made their living and the odd merchant grew rich, but land was absolutely crucial to everything. Not just that the overwhelming majority everywhere were peasants, land tenure was the foundation of revenue and political and military power. His own studies, his instincts, and everything Center had taught him agreed that there was nothing more useless than an unconsolidated victory. Conquest without follow-up would crumble away behind him.

The problem was that he was to expert administration what say, Colonel Boyce was to combat command-he could recognize it when he saw it, but lacked inclination and talent himself for anything but the rough-and-ready military equivalent. Which was to the real thing as military music was to music.

'Yes.' Historiomo pushed his silver-rimmed glasses up his nose. He was the sort of soft little man you saw by the scores of thousands on the streets of East Residence, with carefully folded cravats and polished pewter buckles on their shoes and drab brown coats. So nondescript it was always a bit of a surprise to see him, as if you'd never met him before.

'Yes, Chief Administrator Berg did tell us that you and your household were not the general run of military nobility, Most Valiant-'

'Messer will do.'

'Messer General, then.'

'Berg,' Raj said with a cold smile, 'struck me as being not in the ordinary run of bureaucrat. Once he'd been convinced that I wanted him to cooperate, but intended to get the job done whether he did or not.'

'Indeed.' Historiomo took the glasses off again and polished them. His voice grew a touch sharper, as if the blurring of vision removed some constraint. 'You find us of the Administrative Service, ah, excessively cautious, do you not, Messer Whitehall?'

Raj shrugged. 'I have a job of work to do in this world,' he said. 'To do it, I have to take men as I find