L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“… how does he know all that?… never been here…”

“… doesn’t trust anyone…”

“Would you, after what they did to that hamlet…?”

“… you think, Shaelyt … have that expression … again…”

“… subcommander is a child of Erion … the hunter makes his own wary…”

Quaeryt wasn’t so sure about that, or that he’d been wary enough in the past. He looked back to the stable doors as a squad leader walked out, dust on his sleeves, trousers, and boots.

“There’s nothing at all in the stables, sir … except … a few barrels of oats, and I’d not trust ’em, not with a dead rat lying beside ’em.”

“We’ll make a more thorough search later,” said Quaeryt.

The next outbuilding’s entrance was trapped in a fashion similar to the stables. Once inside, Quaeryt could see that it had held various crafts, and held a smithy, a woodworking shop, a chamber used for carding and spinning. The third structure was a storehouse.

When Quaeryt reined up, Zhelan eased his mount alongside. “Do you think the entrance to every building is trapped?”

“Yes … but not terribly well. Enough to hurt the unwary, though.”

“Why…?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Quaeryt said quietly. “I’d like to see more before I say much.”

Unlike the other outbuildings, the storeroom doors were of heavy, ironbound oak, and were double-chained and double-locked. Voltyr and Shaelyt imaged away the locks. Once more, when the troopers probed the space behind the door, there was a reaction. Except this time, what dropped down behind the door were two huge timbers, either one enough to crush a man to a pulp. More probing released a third timber.

Yet when the area behind the doors was cleared, the troopers reported that the space inside was empty.

Quaeryt dismounted. “I think I need to take a look here.”

Inside the stone-walled structure was a large open space, but on one side were several smaller rooms. All were empty. In the front west corner of the building Quaeryt found a trapdoor. Under it was a staircase. He had to wait another half quint for the troopers to find and light a torch before he could descend the stone ramp that lay beneath the door.

When he reached the lower level, it, too, appeared empty, except for the score or so of barrels stacked two high and deep against the rear wall of the lower level. He moved warily and held full shields, stopping short of the barrels.

“Pull out these barrels and stack them against the side wall.”

Between two barrels in the second row, those against the rear wall, lay a dead rat. Quaeryt nodded. Then he studied the rear wall. There was something about it. He looked up to the beams overhead. While the spacing was even, the braces for the long beams had been added later, and they did not look as if they actually were weight-bearing. It’s worth a try. He turned and gestured. “Undercaptain Shaelyt … I believe this is a false wall. I’d like you to image an opening in it.”

“Yes, sir.” Shaelyt stepped forward without hesitation.

In moments a square opening appeared in the wall, revealing that it was of wood, faced with limestone to make it appear identical to the foundation walls.

Shaelyt wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Good. Thank you.” Quaeryt eased forward until he could see through the opening. On the other side of the false wall, he could see more barrels, perhaps hundreds, stacked three high. He couldn’t tell how deep. “We’ve found our supplies.”

Then he stepped back. “Desyrk and Akoryt, enlarge the opening so that someone can get inside and open the real door so that we can roll out the barrels.”

After Quaeryt was satisfied that Major Arion and fourth company could handle sorting and rolling the barrels from the lower level of the storehouse up to the ground floor, he sent Voltyr, Akoryt, Desyrk, and Baelthm-and third company-back to the stables to see if fodder or grain had been hidden somewhere behind false walls there. Then he inspected the last three outbuildings, all of which were little more than empty livestock sheds and barns. All held no traps, or none that he and the troopers could discover.

Finally, he rode back to the hold house with Threkhyl and first and second company.

Once there, he studied the dwelling, not so large as Fauxheld or some of the others, but clearly larger than Nordruil, if less appealing and more grim in appearance. Every window was shuttered tight, and the shutter hinges were attached to large, flat, and sturdy iron plates. He nodded, dismounted, and walked up the wide stone steps of the receiving portico to the main entrance. Threkhyl accompanied him. Above the doors, cut into the limestone, was the name “Laesheld.” The outer ironwork doors themselves showed no lock on the outside, but they would not open. Quaeryt studied them for several moments, then pointed through the narrow crack where the doors joined. “Undercaptain, there’s an iron bar across the back there. If you would remove a small section.”

“Yes, sir.”

A chunk of iron clanked somewhere, and Quaeryt pulled on the outer doors. They opened, creaking slightly as they did, revealing a set of carved and weathered goldenwood doors, with elaborate polished brasswork. They also did not budge. He turned to the undercaptain and gestured.

Threkhyl concentrated, and the lock and lock plates vanished, but when he tried to open the doors, they would move neither inward nor outward. “Sir … I’ll have to image away the doors.”

“Go ahead.” Quaeryt was getting irritated, especially since he’d tried to be gentle to the High Holder’s buildings and grounds.

With a puff of dust, and a brief flow of chill air over Quaeryt and Threkhyl, the goldenwood doors vanished. Behind where they had stood was a wall, its masonry fresh, the bricks certainly laid within the past few days.

“Undercaptain Threkhyl … if you would also remove this wall, preferably without destroying the archway.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt could see that Threkhyl was showing a certain tiredness, but that was fine. If he didn’t push the undercaptain to his limits, Threkhyl’s abilities wouldn’t improve.

Just after Threkhyl had removed the wall, behind which was a dark entry hall, Zhelan called out, “Sir, the commander is riding down the lane now.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt turned to wait for Skarpa.

In less than a fraction of a quint Skarpa rode to a point opposite the doors and reined up. He glanced back at the two companies and then at Quaeryt, clearly puzzled as to why Quaeryt was still at the entry of the hold house.

Before Skarpa could speak, Quaeryt did. “Commander, we’ve located supplies. Rather than start with the hold house, we began by going through the outbuildings. Fourth company is even now rolling barrels up from a hidden space in the main storeroom, and several imager undercaptains are searching the stables for possible hidden areas there that may contain fodder and grain. The main entry here was locked with iron doors, heavy wooden doors, and blocked with a masonry wall behind those. Undercaptain Threkhyl just finished removing the wall.”

Skarpa snorted. “We should see what lies inside that is of such worth.”

“Sir, most of the entries have held traps. I’ve had the troopers probe with planks and the like before entering.”

“Don’t let me stop you with what works,” said Skarpa dryly.

There were no traps behind the main entry door, nor elsewhere in the hold house. Some paintings had been removed, but not all, and there were no small items of value remaining. The main parlor did hold a magnificent clavecin-with an elaborately inlaid keyboard cover-and many of the pieces of furniture and carpets were of considerable value, Quaeryt suspected.