maybe

for his horse. The nag was off in a field some thirty yards distant. The soldier pursed his lips and whistled. The nag looked at him, defecated, and trotted away.
“Damn the beast!” snarled the soldier. “Now I’ll have to finish the charge on foot.”
“Is there a battle ahead?” I asked.
The soldier looked at me like I was retarded.
“Would I be charging into a battle?” he demanded. “Haven’t you heard? The palace burned down! The heirs to the throne are all dead. The word is we’ll have a new government.” He swelled his scrawny chest. “A military government!”
He dusted off his clothes. “So, anyway, the captain ordered us to charge the tavern up the road. Free drinks, there’ll be.” He puffed out his chest again. “After that, we’ll maybe burn one or two villages.”
He retrieved his sword from the road and waved it above his head.
“For junta and country!” he cried, and began a shambling run up the road.
After I resumed my seat, Gwendolyn started the cart in motion.
“That sounds bad,” I commented.
“What do you care about the Royal Palace?” demanded Gwendolyn.
“Not that. Favor to the world, burning down that pile of refuse. No, I meant the part about the military government. You heard him. It’s obvious the soldiery’ll take it as an excuse to commit atrocities on the population.”
Gwendolyn laughed. Behind me, Wolfgang giggled.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, in a resigned voice. I was getting tired of being the butt of their humor.
“This is Goimr, my boy,” cackled Wolfgang. “Now, if this was Sfinctria, or even Pryggia, your fears would have substance. Quite the proper committers of atrocities,