Treachery's Tools

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  At the top of the gentle rise, Wilkorn halted the column.

  “On the northern slope—the one we just rode up—that’s where we’ll wait for them,” Wilkorn announced. “It’s not perfect, but it’s the best location for us anywhere along the river between L’Excelsis and Nordeau.”

  Alastar surveyed the position. With the river less than a hundred yards to the east of the road, there was no danger of being surprised from that quarter. The southern end narrow lake lay just about a mille away and was slightly downhill from the flat area just to the west of the river road. The eastern side of the lake was almost all a reedy marsh with no clean shoreline. That, too, would restrict the rebels’ maneuverability, although not as much as Alastar would have preferred. As with Lake Shaelyt, the far side of the lake was heavily forested.

  By making camp on the northern slope, also, the marshal’s force wouldn’t be nearly so visible to scouts, especially if Maurek ran patrols a few milles farther south.

  The ground to the southwest of the road held fields and small holdings, with cots and outbuildings scattered here and there. Ahead, perhaps two quints of a mille, Alastar could make out a side road that ended at the river road. From the river road it headed due west, gradually sloping down toward the fields and scattered cots. A thousand yards or so west, it split, or joined another narrower road running north parallel to the river road, leading northwest to the long narrow lake that they had ridden past several quints earlier.

  “The rebels are at least two days away?” Alastar’s words were barely a question.

  “At least. More likely three.”

  “I assume we don’t want to move into Caluse.” While Alastar had good reasons why they shouldn’t do so, he had not discussed the matter with Wilkorn, simply because he’d had more than a few other thoughts on his mind until they had left the Collegium.

  “No,” replied Maurek. “It’s a river town, and there are too many temptations. It’s also got narrow streets, and that would work against us. All the old tacticians thought that was ideal, and it is—if you’re fighting with blades and axes. With rifles, it’s another story, unless you take over every house. Then they bring in cannon, and you’re buried in debris, and you’ve let them kill the people and destroy everything that brings in tariffs.”

  “It also gives them another reason to hate the rex,” added Wilkorn. “We also don’t want a battle there because all the troopers may be wearing green.”

  “The local people won’t pay any attention to the scarlet and black armbands the rebel troopers are wearing,” added Maurek.

  “You didn’t mention those before,” Alastar said calmly, although he didn’t feel as calm as his words. “Does Lorien know?”

  “Not yet. Our daily dispatch will inform him. That was in the scouting report we got earlier today.”

  “So they’re fighting for the rex who will restore tradition and strength to Solidar?” asked Alastar sardonically.

  “I’m sure it’s something like that,” agreed Wilkorn. “The one who will make everything wonderful.”

  “For the High Holders, anyway,” replied Alastar.

  “When things aren’t going well, many will follow anyone who promises he can make things better, especially without more hardship, and who seems to have the arms, the golds, and the troopers.”

  “That’s why it just might be a good idea to get to work setting up,” declared Maurek.

  Alastar and Wilkorn exchanged amused smiles.

  37

  On Samedi morning, Alastar woke up slightly sore and stiff, not unexpectedly, considering that he’d been sleeping on the ground. The leaves and pine needles under his ground cloth hadn’t helped all that much, although the night had been warm enough that the only use for his blanket had been to keep the flies and mosquitoes from attacking too much of his anatomy. He woke thirsty, and while the replacement dark lager he’d imaged into his water bottles slaked his thirst, it was extremely bitter, unsurprisingly, since that wasn’t a kind of imaging he’d done much of in years, and he’d never been terribly good at it back then. But it was definitely safer than river water.

  Once he had washed up and shaved, he walked around trying to remove some of the stiffness from his back and legs, and then made his way to the imagers’ supply wagon where the teamsters had prepared a breakfast of sorts—a hot porridge, not-quite stale bread baked the previous morning, a handful of dried fruit, and overstrong hot tea. As Alastar tendered his mess kit to the teamster doing the serving, he saw that Seliora and Tiranya had already been served and stood at the side of the wagon, eating and talking. He could catch only a few words.

  “… years since I ate anything this bad…”

  “… better than the early slop I got…”

  Alastar thought they both were smiling, but the smiles vanished as he walked toward them, mess kit in one hand, his tin mug in the other. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Maitre,” they both replied.

  “Is there any news about the rebels?” asked Tiranya.

  “I haven’t heard anything since yesterday. How are you two feeling?”

  “Sore,” admitted Seliora.

  Tiranya nodded in agreement.

  The three of them had finished eating and had rinsed their mess kits with water from a bucket provided by the teamsters, and Alastar was still sipping his way through the tea when Cyran and Akoryt appeared. Both had apparently already eaten.

  “Do we just wait here?” asked Akoryt.

  “In general, yes. We’ll hold this position.”

  “Just stand and wait, or walk and wait?”

  “Among other things, we could think about new and deadly ways to kill or wound the rebel forces—and try them out well away from the rest of the army … and wait,” replied Alastar. “War is much like imaging. A great deal of preparation, a flurry of action, and more waiting, with time, hopefully, to recover and prepare for the next part of the fight.”

  “Will they even attack? Couldn’t they just withdraw and march up the east side of the river?” asked Cyran.

  “Oh, they could, but there’s no ford and no bridge between Caluse and L’Excelsis, and the road is better on this side. With all the rain over the past season, no army is going anywhere fast except on a paved road. If they took the east side of the river we could withdraw back to the Sud Bridge, cross and be in position at least two days before they arrived, and they’d still have to attack.”

  “What about waiting us out?”

  Alastar smiled wryly. “Strangely enough, time is on our side. Armies have to be fed and paid. Even the wealthiest High Holder could not support three regiments for months, and some of the rebels, if not most, are short on golds. Oh … they have vast lands, but with two years of poor harvests, even the wealthiest are limited. Just to pay and feed three regiments costs several thousand golds a week, and they’re likely already short on supplies since Ferravyl was provisioned for one regiment, not three. The two battalions that left L’Excelsis likely used most of their provisions in joining up with Commander Aestyn’s regiment. Sea Marshal Tynan is loyal, and he holds Solis. We’re blocking them from reaching L’Excelsis, of course. With all the rain and flooding along the river, what they can get from the locals is also limited.

  “They have to triumph and remove the Army High Command and Rex Lorien quickly, within a month, two at the outside. The longer they wait, the fewer resources they have, and the more Wilkorn can bring to bear. It’s a desperate gamble, a high-stakes wager, and if they can pull it off, it will change Solidar forever, and for the worse for everyone—except the High Holders.”

  “All because they want powers they never had, and no High Holder has had in hundreds of years?” Akoryt sounded exasperated.

  “That’s not totally true. At least on their own lands and in more than a few instances, a great number of High Holders haven’t changed all that much, but they see that they’ll have to, and they don’t want to. They see their entire way of life as being destroy
ed … and they’re right.” Alastar snorted. “It’s past time that they changed. Well past time.”

  “Right now … in the meantime,” began Tiranya, “isn’t there something more we can do?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is. I’ll need to talk to the marshal and Commander Maurek first, but I do have some ideas.” Alastar bolted down the last of his tea, trying not to wince, then turned to Akoryt. “If you get group one ready to ride…” He smiled. “As I recall, you were the one who didn’t want to stand and wait.”

  “Yes, sir.” Akoryt grinned sheepishly.

  Alastar turned and walked to the bucket, used it to rinse the tin cup, then carried his mess kit and cup back to where his gear was and put them in the saddlebags. He set out to find Wilkorn.

  That wasn’t terribly difficult, since the marshal turned out to be less than a hundred yards away, seated on a camp stool under an awning, looking at maps set out on a collapsible table. Maurek stood by his shoulder. Both looked up and stopped talking as Alastar approached.

  “Good morning, Maitre,” offered Wilkorn. “You look like a maitre on a mission.”

  Alastar stopped about a yard from the table. “I’ve been thinking about ways the imagers might be able to make a difference even before the rebels arrive.…” He smiled politely.

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Wilkorn.

  “What I have in mind will depend on the terrain. I’m certain that your scouts are excellent, but they’re not imagers. There are likely places we might be able to use imaging to reduce the number of rebel troopers well before they reach our position here. There might be other possibilities as well.”

  “I could assign a squad…” ventured Maurek.

  Alastar shook his head. “We can deal with any small forces they may send, if they’re even close enough to do that right now. What we can’t deal with is massed force and concentrated cannon fire. The more we can reduce their numbers…”

  “Would you mind if a couple of my scouts went with you?” asked Maurek.

  “That would be good.” Alastar should have thought of that himself. “That way they could let me know if something isn’t feasible and offer their experience.”

  “You’re not taking all the imagers?” asked Wilkorn.

  “Just one group. The second group, under the command of Maitre Cyran, will remain with the command company.”

  “When will you leave?” asked Wilkorn

  “As soon as we can.”

  “I’ll let the sentries and patrols know, and I’ll send the scouts to where your mounts are tied,” said Maurek.

  “Thank you.” Alastar inclined his head, then turned and strode back to where Akoryt and the first group were saddling up. He hoped Cyran was nearby. The Maitre D’Esprit was. Alastar, after saddling his gray, gathered the first group of imagers and Cyran together.

  “We need to do some scouting ourselves,” Alastar said.

  Cyran raised his eyebrows, but both Akoryt and Taurek nodded.

  “We’re outnumbered. I’d like to find ways to reduce the number of attackers before they get here. We can’t do that effectively unless we can find a number of places from which we can attack or where we can conceal some of our troopers and allow them to open fire on the rebel troopers. We’ll also have two of Commander Maurek’s scouts with us. They should prove useful in keeping me from selecting less than optimal locations for troopers.” Alastar looked to Akoryt. “Have your group mount up. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Then he turned to Cyran. “While we’re gone, have your group practice. See how far they can image pepper in a thick mist. You might also try smaller but still lethal darts at a distance.”

  Cyran nodded. “We can do that.”

  Alastar had barely mounted the gray and started the group forward, up toward the top of the rise when he saw two troopers riding toward them. He motioned for the two to join him.

  The first trooper, narrow-faced and dark-haired, reined in a yard away from Alastar, matching pace with the gray. “Maitre, senior scout Landesh.” He gestured to the round-faced younger trooper. “This is scout Quellyn. Commander Maurek said we were to accompany you.”

  “We both thought your experience would be useful. We’re going to do a different kind of scouting. We’ll be looking for places where our imaging can attack the rebel column where they can’t respond effectively. We’ll also be searching for places where we could conceal a company of troopers in almost plain sight and from where the troopers would have a field of fire that could remove a great number of rebel troopers in a very short time. We know what we can do. We don’t necessarily know if what we think would be ideal for troopers would work.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now … there’s a road, a lane really, on the south side of this rise? It heads west. Can you tell me more about it?”

  “Well, sir, it goes west a fair distance, could be three to four milles.”

  “Are there any lanes or the like heading south off it?”

  “Just one. Could be a mille and a quint or so. There’s a dirt track that heads south. It peters out at a small creek. There are the ruins of a bridge there. On the other side you can see where the track goes on.”

  “Good. We’ll start there.” Alastar saw the puzzled expression cross Landesh’s face. “Don’t worry. You’ll see. Now … if you’d ride with me, Landesh, and tell me everything you’ve seen about the terrain between our position and Caluse, I’d be most appreciative.”

  “Yes, sir. Hard to know where to start.”

  “How far does the road descend from our position before it levels out … or start to rise?”

  “Steepest part of the road is the half mille just south of us. After that, it sort of flattens out…”

  Alastar listened intently, asking questions as necessary, for the quint or so that it took them to reach where the narrow dirt lane ended. A handful of rotted posts protruding from the reedy grasses on each side of the creek were all that remained of what had once been a bridge. The distance from bank to bank was roughly fifteen yards, but most of that was composed of the marshy grasses surrounding the creek and the creek banks themselves. The actual watercourse was no more than three or four yards wide.

  “You can see, sir. We tried to go through it, but the bottom’s a soft sandy mud. Quellyn’s mount near-on got stuck.”

  “I can see how that could happen.” Alastar turned in the saddle. “Seliora, would you image a stone pier on this side of the creek. Put its base a yard from the water and make it deep. The top should be wide enough for a wagon or two horses.”

  “Yes, sir.” Seliora eased the dapple forward and reined up. Lines appeared in her forehead, then vanished.

  A slab of stone appeared a good three yards wide. Immediately, the top was covered in white. Almost as suddenly mist swirled up from the stone, and Alastar felt a cool breeze sweep across him. He rode forward and to the side of the narrow lane. The pier looked solid. “Good.”

  “Would you like me to do the other side?” asked Seliora.

  “No. It’s better if you rest. There may be more to do later. Taurek, please match her pier with one on the other side.”

  As Seliora moved her mount back, the broad-shouldered and stocky junior maitre moved his forward. In moments, an identical stone pier stood on the far side.

  “Also good,” declared Alastar. “Now, Khaelis, a stone arch and roadbed to connect them.”

  As the arch and span appeared, it vanished in white mist, and thin sheets of ice appeared on the slow-moving water before breaking up. More mist rose from the water.

  “Arion, roadbed and fill to connect to the pier on this side.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Akoryt eased forward. “I can do that on the other side.”

  “If you would.”

  Alastar studied the nearly completed structure, then spoke again. “Dylert, railings and posts on each side, a yard and a half high.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alastar had been intermitt
ently watching the two scouts as the imagers created the small bridge. Both appeared to be stunned. “We should wait until the ice melts.”

  “It’s too warm for ice,” replied Landesh, “but it’s there.”

  Quellyn nodded in agreement.

  When the last of the mist and ice cleared away, only a fraction of a quint later, Alastar turned the gelding toward the bridge. “Now … let’s see where this lane leads.” He couldn’t help but notice that the two scouts held their mounts back slightly, as if to see if the causeway to the bridge and the center span both held. They did.

  Possibly a quint of a mille later, Landesh cleared his throat. “Maitre, sir … ah … are there not many bridges that could use repair?”

  “There are, and we’ve repaired and built some. Imagers built the entire Boulevard D’Rex Regis some thirteen years ago. We’ve repaired sewers in L’Excelsis and built buildings. But there are only so many imagers who can do what these six did.” He laughed gently. “And how many roads and bridges are there in Solidar?”

  The scout frowned for a moment, then nodded. “Never thought of it that way.”

  Quellyn, on the other hand, still looked puzzled.

  Alastar turned his full attention to the lands on each side of the dirt lane, whose sides were overgrown in places by creeping clingweed, a certain sign that few horses had passed and few cattle or sheep had been grazed nearby. The field to his right looked to be a pasture of some sort, but there was no sign that anything had been grazing there, at least not recently, while the field to his left held maize that was higher than the gelding’s withers, but the plants that grew on the lower ground nearer the river had yellowed leaves at their base, while those nearer the lane were much taller and entirely green. Too much water nearer the river? He shook his head. He’d been raised to learn about the sea, not about crops.

  The maize and pasture gave way to bushes, clearly planted to be harvested, although Alastar saw no signs of berries. They might have been blueberries, since they ripened early, but he wouldn’t have known a blueberry plant from a redberry or a greenberry. Beyond the bushes, there was another field, filled with yellowing or tan plants that looked to have been flooded out, but the amount cultivated was only halfway to the embankment that held the river road, and the rain had turned the last hundred yards between the dead plants, most standing in several digits of water, into what looked to be a shallow pond.