L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

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 I assume you’ve received reports that both bridge spans to the isle fort have been retracted, possibly removed.”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.

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 sight. 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!”