L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

Skarpa slid into the seat between the other two officers. “We just got a dispatch from Deucalon.”

Quaeryt decided to say nothing.

Meinyt snorted.

“Neither of you looks pleased.” Skarpa took the ale that the serving woman had left and took a swallow. “Can’t say that you’re wrong.” He set down the mug. “They’re still in Rivecote Nord. Their casualties were few, since the battalion stationed there decided to withdraw after initial contact rather than face destruction. They’ve got the cable ferry working. The rest of the dispatch is politely worded. We’re not to advance precipitously. He wants better descriptions of where we are, since the places we’ve been aren’t on the maps he has.”

“Did he say anything about our taking Rivecote Sud?” asked Quaeryt.

“Not a word. I wrote a dispatch before we left to be sent to him once they got the cable ferry back. Told him your imagers had made our capture of Rivecote Sud almost without casualties.” Skarpa grinned momentarily. “I also mentioned the winch repair. His dispatch said it was still holding up after they replaced the cables and restored the ferry service.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Quaeryt.

Skarpa took another swallow of the ale, then looked up toward the gray-haired woman.

She hurried over. “Yes, sir?”

“Appreciate your serving the three of us.”

“Yes, sir.” She scurried off.

“I’ll have to reply, right after we eat,” Skarpa went on, “since the marshal requested that I confirm his orders, and commanded the dispatch rider to wait for my response.”

“Worries about your initiative, does he?” said Meinyt.

“All marshals worry about their commanders’ initiative, whether they have too much or too little. Just as commanders worry about that in their subcommanders.”

“Some commanders,” suggested Quaeryt, “are less uncomfortable with initiative in subordinates.”

“Only when they trust them,” said Skarpa dryly, “and I can trust you two to overextend yourselves and your men … and somehow make it work.” Before either subcommander could say more, he added, “Is there anything you haven’t told me that the marshal should know?”

Meinyt shook his head.

“The locals don’t seem to have any great affection for Rex Kharst,” Quaeryt said. “The marshal might see if that’s so on his side of the river, or just here because it’s more isolated.”

“I’ll mention that. Anything else?”

“Not that we haven’t told you.”

“Good. We might as well eat hearty.” Skarpa glanced at the server approaching with three platters.

Later on Solayi, Quaeryt and first company rode out to the local high holding, only to find that the dwelling was shuttered and secured, as were all the outbuildings, with no sign of retainers or tenants. That, Quaeryt suspected, was likely true for many holdings as they neared Villerive. They left everything untouched and returned to Roule where, thankfully, Skarpa did not require services, perhaps because he had the men readying themselves to set out on Lundi morning. Quaeryt did notice that Skarpa sent a dispatch to Deucalon announcing his actions just as they left Roule.

By Meredi evening, a dispatch courier caught up with them, bearing orders for Skarpa to stop in the next sizable town and to inform the marshal of their location, and not to advance unless attacked or required to deal with Bovarian forces … or unless he received orders.

Skarpa made no comment, but only passed the dispatch to Meinyt and Quaeryt.

“Does he want to take until winter to reach Variana?” groused Meinyt.

“Marshal Deucalon is very cautious,” suggested Quaeryt.

Skarpa raised his eyebrows, then said, “We’d best find a good sizable town, then.”

That took another three days, because the commander deemed all those through which they passed as hamlets or “little better than hamlets,” although several were almost as large as Roule or Rivecote Sud. Skarpa did send off dispatch riders every day, reporting on each of the hamlets or small towns, and their locations, while observing the lack of sizable towns on the south side of the river that met Deucalon’s criteria.

Finally, just before ninth glass on Solayi morning, the scouts reported a millestone stating that Caernyn was six milles ahead.

“That’s even on the map,” observed Skarpa.

Both subcommanders, riding on each side of him, laughed.

The scout looked puzzled, but set off once more to investigate the town.

Two glasses later, the scouts returned, riding hard before they reined up. “Sir … they’ve got troops. More than we’ve seen since Ferravyl. They’re dug in behind stone walls, not really exactly forts, on the slopes south of the town. There’s a long swamp on the south.”

Skarpa looked to the subcommanders “Had to happen sooner or later.” Then he asked the scout, “What about the troops? How many?”

“It’s hard to tell, sir. They look to have more than a regiment, and some are wearing maroon uniforms.”

“Maroon uniforms? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. I couldn’t say that they all are, but most of those we saw were.”

“What else? Did you see any catapults? Or cannon?”

“There weren’t any cannon ports in the walls, sir, but we couldn’t rightly see what was behind them. We had to ride hard to escape one of their patrols.”

“How does the river road approach the town and those slopes…?” Skarpa asked questions for almost a quint before he sent the scout off to discover what else he could. Then he ordered the regiments forward once more.

“Maroon uniforms,” offered Meinyt. “They wouldn’t be Antiagon troops, would they?”

“Who else would be in maroon? But why would they be here? It’s more than five hundred milles to the nearest part of Antiago.”

“The Autarch did wed Kharst’s niece,” offered Quaeryt. “It just could be that Aliaro fears that if Bhayar takes even the eastern half of Bovaria, he’ll turn his sights to taking Antiago.”

“That’s more likely, except that regiment had to be in Bovaria before we even set out from Ferravyl,” said Skarpa.

“Maybe the Autarch thought Kharst would defeat us, and he wanted his share of the spoils,” suggested Meinyt.

“We need to give him his fair share,” said Skarpa sarcastically. “If we can.”

“If we can?” asked Meinyt. “They’ve only got a regiment.”

“They’re using stone walls,” said Quaeryt. “Do you think they might have imagers and Antiagon Fire? Was that why you asked about catapults?”

“With Antiagons, that’s possible.” He frowned. “They probably won’t have imagers, not in Bovarian territory. Antiagon Fire-that’s more likely. If they do, we’ll need your imagers.”

Quaeryt frowned. “I’ll have to think about what they can do.” He glanced to the hazy but clear sky. No chance of rain. Not soon, anyway.

“One of them can deflect arrows. Why not a fireball thrown from a catapult?”

“Arrows don’t weigh nearly as much.”

“And a bridge doesn’t weigh anything?” asked Skarpa.

“They weren’t trying to stop it or move it,” Quaeryt pointed out. “They’ve never dealt with Antiagon Fire. Neither have I.” You’ve only watched it being fired from a cannon in a strange shell … and only once at that.

“None of us have,” Skarpa said, “but we’re likely to find out sooner or later.”

“I need to talk to the imagers.” Quaeryt guided the mare back along the narrow shoulder of the road until he reached Fifth Battalion. As he eased in beside Major Zhelan, he called out, “Undercaptain Voltyr, forward.”

Voltyr rode forward.