Desyrk nodded.
“Any other questions?” Quaeryt glanced around.
None of the undercaptains spoke.
“Then stand by.” Quaeryt walked past Desyrk and the mare and to the river side of the road, where he surveyed the troopers walking their mounts to the water. Upstream from where the horses were being watered a detail was filling water bottles. Quaeryt wasn’t about to fill his water bottle with river water. Instead, he’d imaged watered lager into it. Admittedly, what he had imaged was still poor lager, but it was better than his first attempts and far cleaner than river water.
The river itself was far narrower-less than fifty yards wide-and deeper than it was in the stretch between Cleblois and North Post, and the water ran more swiftly. That suggested to Quaeryt that the Bovarians had to have made a crossing, assuming that they had, even farther north, and perhaps even a day or two earlier.
Behind him, he could hear mutterings.
“… didn’t do anything this morning,” murmured Threkhyl, “just sat on his horse and ordered us around.”
“He saw what the decoys were before anyone else,” countered Shaelyt.
“Looking and seeing isn’t hard,” replied the ginger-bearded imager. “Wager that nothing was ever that hard for the subcommander. Not since he married Bhayar’s daughter, anyway.”
“Would you want to have Lord Bhayar always looking at you, Threkhyl?” asked Desyrk.
“Wouldn’t bother me none.”
“Then you’re stupider than you look,” said Shaelyt quietly.
“Who are you-”
“Enough!” snapped Voltyr. “Do you want your arms broken with the subcommander’s half-staff?”
“What by the Nameless do you mean?” asked Akoryt.
“I asked around,” said Voltyr. “He’s been in battles, a lot of them, with this battalion. He’s killed so many men with that staff that no one could count them, and he’s an obdurate. Just how long will you last if he decides you’re not worth the trouble to keep around?”
“He is a lost one, too,” added Shaelyt.
“You keep saying that. What does it matter?” asked Threkhyl.
“The lost ones are under the protection of Erion.”
Quaeryt decided that the undercaptains’ current conversation had continued quite long enough, and he turned and started back toward the circle of undercaptains and their mounts.
“You make him sound like some sort of god…” Threkhyl’s voice died away.
“Time to water mounts,” Quaeryt announced, moving into the circle and taking the mare’s reins from Desyrk, then leading the way down toward the river, following Zhelan’s last squad.
Once the undercaptains had their mounts watered and had returned to the road, Quaeryt left the mare with Desyrk again and walked forward until he saw Meinyt talking to a ranker, presumably a scout or outrider. He waited until the two were finished, then approached the major.
“Subcommander. I was about to come looking for you.”
“I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
“There are two battalions headed our way, according to the scouts. One of foot and one mounted. They’re less than two milles ahead.”
“What do you plan to do?” asked Quaeryt.
“Attack. What else? The ground south of us is so flat that we’d be at more of a disadvantage there. We can take a position on the heights just north of here.” Meinyt gestured toward the low ridge ahead on the east side of the road. “That way, if they try to get by, we can attack from above. They’ll be faced with a cavalry charge down on them, or they’ll have to come to us … or to try to go around us.”
Quaeryt glanced farther north, where the next ridge was even higher. “Why not the one farther north?”
“It’s too exposed and the ground leading to the road is too rough. If they take it, they’ll lose mounts trying to charge down on us, and they’ll wear out men climbing it. With us on the lower heights, I’m wagering that they’ll attack, especially if I only show their scouts two companies.”
“How will you do that?” Quaeryt didn’t see all that much cover.
“There’s a woods below the lower heights on the back side. There’s nothing like that on the northern ridge. That also gives us a way to withdraw if matters don’t go as planned. I’d prefer not to retreat, but…” Meinyt shrugged. “If it comes to that, it would give us the ability to attack in quick thrusts to slow them down while sending word back to the commander.”
“You’d rather try to inflict greater damage first, though?”
Meinyt nodded. “My men have fought recently. The Khellan War ended over two years ago, and I’d wager they have more men who’ve never seen battle.”
“Then we should see what we can do.” Quaeryt offered a smile.
Another two quints passed before the battalion finished watering mounts and re-formed on the ridge that Meinyt had selected. The two companies in plain view were first and third companies, while the forces concealed in the woods consisted of fourth company and the imager’s company. Quaeryt left Zhelan in charge and remained with Meinyt, insisting on that because he needed to see how the fight developed, at least in the beginning, in order to determine how and where to use the imagers and Zhelan’s men.
His initial plan was to have the imagers follow Zhelan’s regular troopers, because he felt that Meinyt would need every company he could muster and because the imagers would be safer in the rear than in remaining behind and largely unprotected on the ridge.
From the position of the sun, Quaeryt judged that it was slightly before the second glass of the afternoon when the first Bovarian outriders came around the gentle curve in the road that followed the course of the river. They immediately reined up, and one turned and galloped back north. Quaeryt could just make out a haze of dust farther north, which likely indicated the position of the main Bovarian body.
For the next quint, the outriders remained where they were, but the dust haze continued to move southward until a host of riders appeared on the road. The Bovarians moved to a point just below the larger northern ridge and then halted.
Another quint passed, and then a Telaryn trooper galloped up the ridge and reined in short of Meinyt. “Sir, there’s a troop of mounted circling around the east side of the large ridge there. It looks to be the size of a company.”
“Thank you. Head back where you can see them and let me know whether they’re going to attack on the flank or try to come up through the woods.”
“Yes, sir.”
Meinyt turned to Jusaph. “You may have to use two squads to keep them off us.”
“We could just use one, sir.”
“If the main body comes up the ridge at us, you’ll need two. If we attack them, you can use one.”
“Yes, sir.”
Meinyt looked to Quaeryt.
“I’ll send Zhelan wherever you need him. The imagers will follow.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be with them.”
“In the van, no doubt.”
“Close, but not in the first line.”
Meinyt nodded, but Quaeryt knew what he was thinking, and he couldn’t help thinking, Somehow you always end up in more action than you planned. No matter what else you had in mind.
More time passed, and then the Bovarians advanced once more, stopping less than three hundred yards from the Telaryn position.
“Let’s see if they’ll come to us,” said Meinyt quietly.
Yet another quint passed before the scout returned.
“Sir, the Bovarian mounted company is preparing a flank attack. They’re at the base of the ridge, just out of sight.”
No sooner had the scout reported than the main body of the Bovarians began to move, with several mounted companies forming a wedge flanked on each side by the foot.
“Where do you think we’d be most effective?” asked Quaeryt, although he had his own ideas.
“If you can swing and hit them from the north…”
The two concealed companies were already moving out of the woods by the time Quaeryt reached Zhelan.
“Sir?” asked the captain as Quaeryt rode up beside him.
“Hold them back just a bit. Let the other company join up with the battalion. There’s a Bovarian mounted company coming. We’ll take their rear and then move downhill and north of their main body. The men aren’t to stop when we hit the first company. We’re to do what damage we can in passing. Then at the bottom of the slope, we’ll re-form and try to smash the rear of the main body. Pass that to your squad leaders.” Quaeryt slipped the half-staff from its leathers.
“Yes, sir.”
While Zhelan barked commands, Quaeryt watched. Two squads peeled off from the north side of the battalion to meet the oncoming Bovarian mounted. Quaeryt waited until the Bovarian cavalry was well engaged, then nodded to Zhelan. “Now!”
“Charge!”
Urging the mare forward, Quaeryt strengthened his shields, but extended them only slightly from himself to cover his mount.
Less than a squad of the mounted Bovarians saw and reacted to Quaeryt’s attack, and more than half of the riders in the rearmost squad went down as Zhelan and Quaeryt swept across the side of the hill.
Quaeryt edged the mare closer to the captain. He could see where the Bovarian foot was bunching up near the rear of the main body, too close to several mounted companies. He used a touch of image-projection to strengthen his voice. “Zhelan … the second standard-the gray and red one? Charge them right there. You take two squads after we hit there and swing more to the west before coming south. I’ll take three squads and push them into the force that’s fighting the rest of the battalion.” Quaeryt slipped the half-staff from its leathers.
Zhelan turned in the saddle. “Squads three, four, and five, on the subcommander! One and two on me! Charge!”
Most of the Bovarian foot did not see or hear Quaeryt’s force until the Telaryn mounts were within a score of yards. A handful turned, and then yelled. Others turned, but by then the three squads were almost upon them. With the momentum of the mare behind them, Quaeryt’s shields flung several men sideways into others before he contracted them close to his body so that he could use the half-staff.
A footman threw up a shield, more like large buckler in size, against Quaeryt’s staff, but Quaeryt just went over the top and slammed his staff into the man’s skull below the back of the helmet. Then he reversed the staff and braced it against his own shields to use it as a lance on the next footman, who went down.
For the next quint or so, the battle was at close quarters, but the charge had packed the Bovarian foot against the rear of the mounted Bovarians, who were being pressed from the front by Meinyt’s force.
Suddenly, the fight became a slaughter as the invaders found themselves with less and less space to move, surrounded on all sides, except the river, and being backed downhill and to the south toward the water.
Scores broke and ran for the river, flinging away shields and helmets. They were likely the fortunate ones, thought Quaeryt as he continued to wield the staff against any Bovarian within reach.
A good glass more passed before Quaeryt pulled the mare away from the continuing slaughter and rode back to the road where a squad had re-formed around the imager undercaptains.
Shaelyt’s eyes were wide as he studied Quaeryt.
The subcommander could lip-read the murmured words-or most of them. “… lost one … covered in the blood of his enemies … son of Erion…” Quaeryt just didn’t believe them, but it didn’t suit his needs or purposes to dispute them.
“All right! Did any of you image against the Bovarians?”
“Yes, sir.” Every undercaptain nodded.
Quaeryt couldn’t see any overt deception. “Good. Hold here. Take out any stragglers who try to escape in this direction.” He turned and rode in the direction of the Third Battalion standard, where he hoped Meinyt was-and that the major was uninjured.
As he passed the grouped imagers, he heard another comment.
“… didn’t even look back to us,” muttered Threkhyl. “Could have died, for all he cared…”
Voltyr and Desyrk glared at the ginger-bearded imager. Shaelyt shook his head, almost sadly.
Threkhyl closed his mouth.
Still holding a staff he realized was streaked with blood, Quaeryt said nothing as he rode past them and toward the standard, guiding the mare around the Bovarian bodies that seemed to be everywhere.
Meinyt and a half squad held a position on the road overlooking the slope where the troopers were now largely disarming the Bovarian survivors-of whom there looked to be only a few hundred. Quaeryt glanced to the river, where he saw the heads of scores of swimmers either letting themselves be carried downstream or trying to reach the western shore.
Quaeryt had no more than reined up beside the major than Meinyt announced, “We need to return to North Post. The battalions we fought weren’t that good. Some of the survivors say they’d only been conscripted and trained in the last few months. They were sent out to keep us occupied while the main attack goes on somewhere else.”
“What were our casualties?”
“A score or two killed in the battalion. Don’t know about your company. Less than a hundred wounded. We’ll lose some of those. That’s not bad for this kind of mess.” Meinyt shook his head. “The scouts can’t find any sign of any other Bovarian troops anywhere on this side of the river. Not within milles.”
“So they’ll be attacking Ferravyl from somewhere else now?”
“I’d guess that right after we left there was an attack on south Ferravyl, on the far side of the Aluse.”
“Anything to keep us spread out.”
“That’s my guess.”
“I’ll have my company ready to go.” Quaeryt paused. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Only that this is going to be a bloody mess. But you already knew that.”
Quaeryt did, as did every man and officer that had come out of the Tilboran revolt.
71
Third Battalion-and some three hundred Bovarian captives-reached the gates of North Post just before seventh glass on Lundi night. Zhelan had reported eleven deaths and twenty-two wounded, three seriously. In both the battalion and in Quaeryt’s command men and mounts were exhausted, and none of the imager undercaptains looked particularly pleased. That might have been partly due to the fact that they’d missed the evening meal and had to rely on travel rations of dried meat, hard cheese, and harder biscuits.
The first officer to reach Meinyt and Quaeryt was Major Fhaen. “Commander Skarpa is at the main post. He departed as soon as he received your dispatch, Major. He left word that you were in command in his absence, Subcommander.”
With the hope that you don’t do anything stupid. “Thank you. Has there been anything happening across the river since he left?”
“No, sir.”
“Do we have word of any attacks elsewhere?” Quaeryt pressed.
“Not yet, sir.”
“Once we dismount and deal with mounts and gear, I’ll be on the upper west wall, checking the river, if anyone needs to find me.”
“Yes, sir.”
In less than a quint Quaeryt and Meinyt were looking out from the old stone ramparts at the river, seemingly peaceful under the orangish light of the setting sun.
“What’s the weakest point of the defenses of Ferravyl?” Quaeryt finally asked.
“Where we are here is the weakest point. If the Bovarians cross the river to the north, and get beyond where we stopped them, there are a score of ways to attack the city. Three regiments couldn’t cover the ways they could come. Doesn’t make sense that they sent two weak battalions.”
Quaeryt frowned. “Maybe that’s not the right question. What is the key to holding Ferravyl…” He stopped. “No. That’s not righ
t, either. What does Kharst want? Really want? He wants unfettered use of the Aluse all the way to the sea. If he gets it, in time he can dominate Telaryn. What keeps him from that?”
“The Narrows Bridge,” replied Meinyt.
Quaeryt had never seen the bridge, only heard and read about it. “How narrow is the river there?”
“Can’t be much more than fifty yards in the channel. Maybe another twenty or so on each side in the shallows, but the water there is barely head-high. Swift, though.”
“How many spans?”
“Four, as I recall. But you can’t take a boat under the end ones. Well … maybe a shallow draft flatboat or a small rowboat.”
Quaeryt looked back toward the Ferrean River without really seeing it. “Skarpa and Deucalon have likely already thought of this, but why did the Bovarians use flimsy copies of barges, if they were just going to sit at the piers at Cleblois? Why weren’t there plenty of real barges around? Especially if they weren’t going to be damaged?”
Meinyt frowned, but did not answer.
“I’d guess,” Quaeryt said slowly, “that’s because they have another use for those barges, and one that’s far more destructive.”
“They’re going to fill them with powder and iron and send them against the Narrows Bridge? To try to take out the bridge?”
“All they need is to take out enough that it would take months to rebuild the center part, and then they’ll bring all their forces across the Vyl and take all the Telaryn lands on the south side of the span. Without the bridge, Lord Bhayar would have problems getting his men across the river, especially under fire, and it would be impossible to rebuild it if the Bovarians held the south side. Commander Skarpa and Marshal Deucalon likely know that, but I wonder if they’ve thought about the barges. It wouldn’t hurt to send a dispatch off immediately.”
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