“Thank you, sir.” Voltyr nodded.
Quaeryt scanned the faces of the undercaptains. “How many of you still have headaches? This isn’t a time for bravery or bearing pain without saying so.”
After a moment, Horan raised a hand, then so did Smaethyl, followed by Khalis, then Desyrk.
“Is there anyone who has trouble seeing?”
Every head shook “no.”
“Good. For those of you with headaches, it will help if you drink watered ale or lager. Not enough to get tipsy. That will only give you a second kind of headache, and you don’t need two right now.”
His words brought several smiles.
“Some walking and fresh air will help, but walk in groups of three if you do. If you can, take a nap this afternoon. You may need all the rest you can get before tomorrow…” He went on with a few more suggestions, then dismissed them.
When he finished with the imagers, Quaeryt reclaimed the mare from the inn stable, saddled and mounted, and rode up to the bridge to the isle fort under a sun that was already sweltering. It might be past the middle of harvest, but so far he hadn’t noticed any decrease in either the heat or the dampness of the air.
A full company was guarding the bridge approach, but three of the squads were engaged in sabre drills on foot, while the fourth squad was drawn up in loose formation just short of the gap between the approach and the isle fort. Quaeryt rode up the eastern edge of the roadway and reined up short of the formed-up squad.
A captain stepped forward. “Good morning, Subcommander.”
“And to you, Captain. Have you seen anyone in the fort today?”
“No, sir. The companies watching last night saw lots of lamps and lanterns. Nothing so far today. Not a soul. I’d not be surprised if they’ve left. That, or they want us to think so.”
Either wouldn’t have surprised Quaeryt, although he had the feeling that the Bovarians had left the small fort. “Just don’t let them surprise us.”
“No, sir.”
Quaeryt turned and eased the mare a bit closer to the end of the approach where he studied the fort. The foundation rising from the isle was not all that large, perhaps running thirty yards upstream to downstream, and although it was hard to tell from where he looked, about two-thirds of that from north to south. The fort proper was set on the western end, so that, were the bridge spans in place, riders or wagons would move straight across the span from one side of the river to the other. The stone roadway across the eastern end fort was bordered by a low stone wall a yard and a half high. The wooden span between the fort and the north shore had also been retracted so that the fort was truly an isle at the moment.
Quaeryt guided the mare down the approach and then westward on the narrow street bordering the bluff. Unlike in many towns and cities, there were no buildings or dwellings perched on the edge of the bluff, just the street, with a chest-high gray stone wall at the edge of the stone sidewalk.
Once he had ridden close to two hundred yards, he turned the mare and reined up so that he could see the isle. The span to the north approach had definitely been retracted. He squinted and looked again. He’d originally thought that the isle fort was in the middle of the river, but from the southern side and as far west as he’d ridden, it was clear that the gap between the fort and the northern shore was at least twice as far as between the fort and the southern shore.
That suggested that the Naedarans feared more from the north than from the south, not surprisingly, since the bulk of the Bovarian heartlands lay to the north and west of Nordeau. Still … with all the skill embodied in the stonework, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder how and why Naedara had declined without any record of a great war or conquest, with not even a story or a tale, except muttered references to “the old ones.”
While he had no doubts that Skarpa already knew what he’d just discovered, he turned the mare toward the Traders’ Bowl. There, after turning the mare over to a trooper, he found Skarpa where he expected to find him-in the plaques room of the Traders’ Bowl, seated at the table.
“Good morning, sir. I assume you’ve received reports that both bridge spans to the isle fort have been retracted, possibly removed.”
“Captain Faurot reported that early this morning.” Skarpa did not stand, nor did he gesture for Quaeryt to seat himself. “You think the Bovarians know we have imagers and that the fort offers little protection?”
“That’s possible,” Quaeryt agreed. “It’s also possible they’ve set a trap on the other side.”
“Musketeers again? Set to rake the entire approach from the bridge?”
“That thought had occurred to me.”
“It occurred to me as well. What can you do about it?”
“There are some possibilities…” Quaeryt went on to lay out what the imagers and he could do, although he did not differentiate his capabilities from those of the undercaptains, ending up with, “… about all that I can come up with, sir.”
“More than most. Prepare for that, and if they haven’t thought it out that well, we’ll count ourselves fortunate.”
That we will. “I’ve already gone over the possibilities with the officers.”
“Good. Plan for assembling on the bridge approach beginning at sixth glass.” Skarpa stood. “Sorry I can’t talk longer. Deucalon wants an immediate response. Friggin’ idiocy!”
Quaeryt nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Once he departed the Traders’ Bowl, he rode back to the bridge and the street fronting the river where he spent some three glasses studying the river, the fort, and what he could see of the north side of the river.
When he returned to the Stone’s Rest somewhat past midafternoon, he’d no sooner stepped into the small front hallway than Shajan stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Subcommander, sir, I hope that I did not trouble you unduly this morning.”
Quaeryt smiled politely. “No … I understand your concern. The inn is your livelihood, and you would not be diligent if you did not look to see that all was well. You have a responsibility to your wife and to your family.”
“Thank you, sir.” Shajan added, “I just returned your uniforms to your chamber.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate it. Is the usual fee two coppers for each?”
“Sir … you do not owe us.”
Quaeryt smiled again. “I cannot change what Lord Bhayar requires of you, but I can insist on paying for what I require of you.” He extended four coppers.
“Sir…”
“Please. Take them, if you will not for your services, as a favor to me.”
For a moment Shajan froze. Then he swallowed and took the coppers, as if he had no choice.
Quaeryt feared he’d used a phrase with a second meaning to those in Nordeau, and one he’d certainly not intended. He image-projected warmth and concern. “Shajan … I am not an old one. I am Pharsi, though I did not know it until I was well grown, and that is why I command a battalion that is largely Pharsi, but most are from Khel.”
Some, but not all, of the fear left the innkeeper’s face. “Thank you, sir.”
“It’s my pleasure, and I do appreciate having clean uniforms.”
As he walked up the steps to the third level to his chamber, where he wanted to wash up and rest before the evening meal, he wondered, once again, just what the old ones of Naedara had done that was so awful that folklore and legends could terrify a grown man after so many years.
61
By half past sixth glass on Lundi morning, Skarpa’s forces had assembled on the south side of the River Aluse, with Fifth Battalion taking up the bridge approach and Third Regiment directly behind. Quaeryt absently patted the mare’s neck, then straightened himself in the saddle and looked to the early morning sky-absolutely clear with only the faintest hint of a breeze-then across to the bridge approach on the north shore. Not a single figure was visible there, although there could have been Bovarians hidden behind the low bluff wall. Still … seeing no one only meant the Bovarians were out of s
ight. He couldn’t imagine they’d abandoned the city, yet it did seem as though they had not put a tremendous effort into holding it. Was that part of their plan to bleed Bhayar’s forces and draw them farther and farther into Bovaria. Quite possibly, but as soon as you believe that, you’ll find yourself outnumbered and in severe difficulty.
He looked to Voltyr, mounted and waiting beside him. “You can image a span twice as wide as the old wooden one? Just to the fort.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do it now, then.”
“Now? It’s not seventh glass.”
“The Bovarians couldn’t extend the bridge in time to get to us even if they were standing there on the other shore, and they’re not. This way, it will be longer before you have to do anything else.”
Voltyr nodded, then looked straight ahead.
A quick flash of light flared and vanished, followed by a gust of cool air. A gray stone span stretched from where the bridge approach ended to the roadway on the narrow isle fort. The side walls even matched and joined the narrow section on the east side of the fort.
Quaeryt studied the far approach, but no Bovarians appeared. Still, he had no doubts that there were sentries or observers watching and relaying what they saw to the Bovarian commander or commanders. “Undercaptains! Forward! Fifth Battalion, after the undercaptains!”
Holding full personal shields, Quaeryt urged the mare forward, relieved as he heard the solid sound of her hooves on the stone and as he could feel no vibration beneath them. No one emerged from the isle fort, even as he and Voltyr approached, followed by Threkhyl, Horan, and Smaethyl and the other undercaptains and first company, with the remainder of Fifth Battalion moving forward as quickly as the troopers could.
Quaeryt turned. “Undercaptain Ghaelyn! A detail to check the fort before we proceed!”
“Yes, sir. First squad! Dismount and inspect the fort!”
As the troopers hurried through an unsecured door-a good sign that the fort was empty, Quaeryt thought, he eased the mare forward until he was less than a yard from the gap between the fort and the north shore. He still could detect no movement on or around the north approach to the bridge. There was a large open space to both sides of the bridge approach on the north shore of the river, but because of the wall along the northern bluff, he could not see whether it was a square or a park or even a lake. He suspected it was a square of some sort, and from the buildings behind it-the upper part of the first floors he could see-there did not appear to be any mounted forces or catapults or the like. But then, there might well be thousands of troopers below his line of sight and behind low barricades, or pikemen, or musketeers … or all three.
Almost half a quint passed before the troopers from first squad emerged from the gray stone walls of the narrow isle fort.
“Not a soul here, sir! Nothing at all.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt looked back. Fifth Battalion was ready to move. “Undercaptains Threkhyl, Horan, and Smaethyl! Forward!”
When the three undercaptains were in position, Quaeryt ordered, “Image now!”
Almost instantly, two wide spans angled from the north side of the roadbed section of the isle fort. The right-hand one merged with the north bridge approach. The left span merged with the bluff wall and then angled down into what Quaeryt thought had to be a square.
Quaeryt gave the three undercaptains a quick look, but all three were still in the saddle, then glanced down and to his right. On the surface of the River Aluse, the thin film of ice caused by their imaging was already moving east of the bridge with the water, while fragmenting into shimmering pieces, already melting in the orangish white light of the early morning sun.
“Undercaptains Shaelyt, Desyrk, Lhandor, and Khalis forward!”
“Ready, Undercaptains?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Fifth Battalion! Forward!”
Ghaelyn and Zhelan echoed the orders as Quaeryt urged the mare forward onto the gray stone of the new span. Khalis rode beside Quaeryt on the right-hand span while Shaelyt, Desyrk, and Lhandor led the way on the left. Baelthm was farther back behind Quaeryt, who could only hope that Shaelyt’s shields were up to what was likely to strike them.
Even before Quaeryt reached the point where the newly imaged stone span met the roadway of the old bridge, he was scanning what lay ahead-a gray stone square roughly two hundred yards on a side, surrounded on three sides by gray stone buildings of two and three stories that could have been identical to the structures on the south side of the river. Quaeryt extended his shields to cover the front of the column he led, looking for Bovarian defenders.
Why a square on this side of the river and not on the other? Quaeryt pushed that thought aside. A second glance revealed that in the center of the far side of the square was a low stone barricade no more than fifty yards long, behind which crouched troopers. What looked to be a low brown earthen berm crossed the square some ten yards in front of the stone barricade.
Then from the two streets leading from the square arched hundreds of arrows, some directed at Quaeryt’s column, the remainder toward the western column where Shaelyt led the riders into the far side of the square. Quaeryt barely felt the shafts impact on his shields. He kept riding forward, down into the square. Behind him Fifth Battalion’s first and second companies began to spread out. He glanced to his left, where third and fourth companies were already doing the same behind Shaelyt, forming up side by side with a five-man front.
There have to be more defenders! Where are they?
He looked beyond the low barricade at the featureless gray stone front of the line of buildings.
Featureless? How could the buildings have no windows or doors?
Just as that thought crossed his mind, the far side of the square exploded, and Quaeryt felt as though his shields had been compressed into an iron jacket that instantly slammed thousands of spear-points into his chest, upper body, forehead, and face. He contracted his personal shield to cover just himself as he struggled to stay upright in the saddle. He did manage to see hundreds of musketeers revealed from behind gray drapes just in front of the buildings at the end of the square.
A quick horn triplet followed, and what Quaeryt had thought was a berm turned out to be pikemen huddled under brown cloth as they struggled to throw off the cloth and take their positions, trying to raise pikes against the oncoming Telaryn troopers.
“Fifth Battalion! Charge!” ordered Zhelan.
Quaeryt let the troopers surge past him, knowing that there was little he could do at the moment … or perhaps for some time. Again, he was grateful for Zhelan. He did manage to pull to the side, out of the way of troopers coming off the bridge and to order, “Undercaptains! On me!”
While he was anything but content to let others charge while he remained stationary behind what remained of his shields, he doubted that he could even have lifted his staff, let alone used it in any meaningful way.
Should you have tried?
He almost snorted. His shields wouldn’t have held, and with his stiffness and inability to move or ride well, he’d likely have lost his staff at the first contact and become more of a liability than a help. Again, he was lucky that he had Zhelan as a second in command, and even more fortunate that Skarpa understood that.
In what seemed moments, Fifth Battalion was reinforced by the lead companies of Third Regiment, then by the rest of Skarpa’s regiment, and by Eleventh Regiment. From what Quaeryt could see, Fifth Regiment poured into the square from the western span.
In less than two quints, Quaeryt, the undercaptains, and a squad from first company detailed to protect them were almost alone in the square, except for the dying and the wounded of both Telaryn and Bovaria. Quaeryt had taken some time to drink a little lager from his water bottle, but reaching for it had been painful.
Desyrk had guided Shaelyt and Lhandor over to join the group. Shaelyt was slumped in the saddle, and Quaeryt could see red marks across his face and neck. He had no doubts that they were
everywhere, as they likely were on his own body.
Quaeryt swallowed, then asked Desyrk, “Did Shaelyt’s shields take the brunt of the muskets?”
“I … think so, sir. No one seemed wounded by the volley, but he nearlike fell out of the saddle. I … we.. caught him. He’s hurt … maybe … bad…”
“He’s bruised all over,” Quaeryt said.
Desyrk looked at Quaeryt. “Like you, sir?”
“The same reason. I’m a little stronger than he is.”
“You took much more fire,” said Khalis from beside Quaeryt. “I saw it. You saved hundreds.”
“Some. Probably not hundreds.” Quaeryt looked out over the fallen lying across the square, but most of those wore blue-gray, rather than the faded green of Telaryn, and there were pikes lying everywhere.
The shields must have helped. He hoped so, because every one of his ribs hurt, and sharp pains stabbed across his chest with every movement he made. But what had also helped the Telaryn forces was that the musketeers hadn’t been able to fire a second volley without doing in their own pikemen, and the pikemen hadn’t been able to properly form up and set their pikes before Zhelan had charged them. The defense had been too complex, but it had revealed the weakness in Quaeryt’s plan. Too complicated, and too much reliance on imagers doing too many things.
He looked over at Shaelyt again. The Pharsi undercaptain was no longer slumped, but he was pale, and clearly in great pain. Quaeryt eased his mount over beside Shaelyt. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Not … much.” After a long pause, Shaelyt said slowly, “Your shields … hurt like this?”
“They hurt,” Quaeryt admitted. “It’s hard to move.”
Shaelyt looked as if he wanted to shake his head, but decided against it.
“That’s why I don’t want any of us getting into the habit of shielding troopers. You and I just covered the front. What would have happened if you’d tried to shield them all?”
“I … wouldn’t be … here?”
“No. You’d be dead. So would I, if I’d tried that.” Quaeryt winced. He’d spoken too forcefully, and his body had let him know. “Drink some lager or ale, whatever’s in your bottle. It will help.”
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