L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

Arion offered a bitter laugh. “Many times. They would burn any village that did not surrender. They would kill anyone who tried to stop their torches. In the end, when winter arrived, many froze. Most were women. The men had already died or were in the forces chased into the Montagnes D’Glace.”

“They didn’t treat their own people much better.”

“Kharst trusts no one who does not obey his every word. That includes his subjects and his High Holders. His father before him was like that, and his grandsire before him.”

“That’s against the precepts of the Nameless,” suggested Quaeryt.

“The Nameless is different in Bovaria.” Arion’s sarcastic tone would have curdled fresh cream. “As are many things. Why do you think every rex has needed so many troops?”

Quaeryt nodded, although he hadn’t thought of using armsmen that way. Still … to keep High Holders in line, a ruler has to have some leverage. Bhayar and his sire had used rewards and prestige, and … occasional force. Kharst appeared to use terror, in one form or another.

After the briefest pause, Quaeryt asked, “Is the Nameless truly different in Bovaria, or are the ideas attributed to the Nameless just different?”

“So far as men are concerned, is there any difference?”

Quaeryt laughed, ironically. “Well taken, Major.”

After another set of wind gusts, the rain subsided to less than intermittent, with drops occasionally striking Quaeryt, as if to remind him that it could resume at any time. For the next glass, the raindrops splattered down infrequently. Then the sky began to clear in the northeast, and by the second glass of the afternoon, only a few clouds remained, and the afternoon became even more hot and steamy.

Skarpa called a halt slightly before third glass, and immediately thereafter came riding back along the side of the road. He eased his mount in beside Quaeryt’s mare and dismounted, handing the reins to his mount to the ranker who held the mare’s reins and walking to join Quaeryt and Zhelan.

“There’s a high holding a bit more than a mille ahead on the left. I’d like you and your imagers to look into it and see what supplies-or anything else of value to the campaign-might be there … and if it would be suitable for sheltering the troops tonight.” He looked to the northeast, where another set of clouds-far darker than those earlier in the day-had begun to mass and move slowly toward the River Aluse and the Telaryn forces.

“It looks empty?”

“It does. Whether that’s so…” Skarpa shrugged.

“We’ll look and see.” Quaeryt glanced toward Zhelan, who had already mounted.

A half glass later Quaeryt, at the head of Fifth Battalion, had reined up before a pair of weathered and stained limestone gateposts. The iron gates themselves were secured with a rusted iron chain and a single lock. A wall of limestone, only two yards high, extended from the gateposts some twenty yards on each side, ending in earthen berms perhaps a yard and a half high, on the top of which were planted a form of spiky juniper. The berms stretched as far as the eye could see.

Through the iron bars of the gates, the holding looked to be far less opulent than Fauxheld, almost modest by comparison, with a good-sized hold house and several modest outbuildings. All were constructed of the same limestone as the gates, and all had weathered gray tile roofs. There was no sign of a single person or any livestock, nor did any of the chimneys show traces of smoke.

“I don’t like this,” muttered Zhelan. “They burned a hamlet, and they left an entire holding empty and untouched? It doesn’t make sense.”

Quaeryt was certain that it did, especially given that it wasn’t the first time. He just didn’t know in what way. Like Zhelan, he felt uneasy. He studied the gates, noting the deep wagon or coach ruts running from where the pavement ended onto the road itself. Those ruts had been softened by the rain that had fallen earlier that morning. Then his eyes went to the pavement. Outside the gate were tracks, but the pavement had been swept inside the gate-but only for a distance of fifteen yards or so. Yet there were no tracks or ruts in the uneven grass on each side of the swept portion of pavement.

“Look at the pavement inside the gate,” Quaeryt said to Zhelan.

“It’s some sort of trap.”

“There may be a few.” Quaeryt gestured to Desyrk. “Remove the lock, if you would.”

“Yes, sir.”

Desyrk studied the chain and lock. In moments, the lock was in two pieces, and one of the first company rankers stepped forward and unwound the old chain, then swung the gates open and outward.

“Undercaptain Threkhyl, forward. Image something heavy onto the paving stone just inside the gate.”

Despite a puzzled look, the ginger-haired undercaptain immediately replied, “Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt thought he could hear a grinding sound. “Another boulder, if you would.”

A second boulder appeared, next to the first, and abruptly the entire paved section of lane that had been swept collapsed, leaving a pit a yard deep.

Zhelan glanced to Quaeryt.

Quaeryt only nodded, then said, “Imagers forward.”

Once the undercaptains were lined up facing the open gate, he added, “I’d like that pit filled in solidly and the paving stones replaced. Undercaptain Voltyr, you coordinate the effort.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make certain it’s firm. You six will be the first to ride across it.”

Desyrk and Akoryt exchanged quick glances, but Voltyr only nodded, as if he’d expected nothing else. A faint smile flicked across Shaelyt’s lips. Once again, Threkhyl looked puzzled, if but for a moment.

The undercaptains took almost a quint to fill and repair the pit. All were sweating from the combined effort of imaging and the mugginess of the day by the time they finished, mounted, and rode to the far side-which remained solid.

Baelthm was pale, Quaeryt noted, and he called out, “All of you eat something … and get a drink from your water bottles.” He gestured to Zhelan. “Have the battalion follow … slowly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt rode forward and joined the imagers, then motioned for them to follow him and the two outriders along the lane toward the hold house. As they neared the main dwelling, he called back to Zhelan. “Leave the main house alone for now. We’ll start by looking for supplies.”

The outbuilding nearest the hold house was the stable. The two strap handles of the main doors were not chained, but fastened with heavy rope tied into a simple knot. Quaeryt reined up and looked to Ghaelyn. “Have your men untie the knot. Then have them find something they can use to push the stable doors open. When they do, have them stand back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt waited while the troopers followed his orders, then watched as they used weathered planks they’d found stacked in the rear of the stable to push open the doors. Nothing happened.

“Have them take the planks and wave them around inside the doors, and prod the ground there.”

Ghaelyn conveyed that order to the troopers, and the men began to wave and prod.

Abruptly heavy sacks filled with something crashed down onto the packed clay just inside the stable doors, followed by what looked to be a small anvil.

“It might not hurt to prod some more,” said Quaeryt.

More prodding resulted in no more objects falling.

“Now they can look inside … but carefully.”

“Yes, sir.” Ghaelyn raised his voice. “You heard the subcommander. Time to look for supplies, but watch where you put your heads, hands, and feet.”

Quaeryt and the imagers waited, along with the remainder of first company, and the other companies of Fifth Battalion. He also listened to the low murmurs among the imagers.