Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “Like his not being able to verify that you used imagers?”

  “That, and the fact they all fled over the border to avoid meeting with us.”

  “They’re all pissing-in-their pants scared of you and the imagers, and they’re not about to admit it to Aliaro.”

  “Because they don’t want him coming to terms with Bhayar and because they want him to destroy the invading force so that they can secede and become part of Antiago?”

  “That’s the way it looks. They know that they’ve burned their bridges with Bhayar.”

  “That’s true … but they didn’t have to.”

  “People are like that,” Skarpa said. “They get an idea in their heads, and when things don’t go the way they think they should, they don’t think. They react and do something stupid … and they’ll blame someone else.”

  “I need to see what else I can find out.” Quaeryt gestured toward the two captives.

  “Let me know.” Skarpa slipped the dispatch back into the case and extended it back to Quaeryt. “Question them on the ride. We need to get moving.”

  “I’ll do that. Don’t you want to keep the letter?”

  The submarshal shook his head. “I can’t do anything with it, but it might help us both if you keep it safe. You’ll see Bhayar sooner than I will.” Skarpa smiled, then turned his mount.

  “Only if he’s displeased with me.” And that’s getting more and more likely.

  Quaeryt eased the mare over to where Jhalet waited with the captives, but didn’t begin questioning them until the entire column was moving south and he was riding between them behind Skarpa and Zhelan.

  “What’s your name?” Quaeryt asked the older captive.

  “Erlaet.”

  “Where did you leave High Holder Chaelaet?”

  “North of here … and east. Town called Vholia.”

  Quaeryt had to concentrate to understand, because the southern Bovarian accent was almost as heavy as that of the Antiagons. “How far south from Chaelaet?”

  “Two days’ ride.”

  Two quints and scores of questions later, he’d discovered very little else that shed light on where Chaelaet and the other fleeing High Holders might be, at least not until he could talk with someone who knew the geography and towns along the Lohan Hills.

  55

  For the next three days, under slightly hazy but sunny skies, Southern Army marched and rode southward through towns invariably similar in architecture and agriculture to Clianto and the lands surrounding it. Early on Meredi morning, Quaeryt and Skarpa sat at opposite sides of a small table in the study of a villa in Nankico, a town perhaps half the size of Laaryn. The villa was normally used by the orchard manager of a Shahib Alzonio, who was resident, unsurprisingly, in Liantiago.

  “We should reach Suemyran late the day after tomorrow,” said Skarpa. “That’s if we don’t run into trouble.”

  “I’d think that Aliaro might at least have a garrison or outpost there,” ventured Quaeryt.

  “You think we should see about surprising a post when we don’t even know if there is one and where it might be?”

  “I was thinking about sending a battalion around Suemyran and setting up a hidden picket line on the road to Barna. The local commander, if there is one, or the town administrator might just send a courier or a messenger to Barna and then on to Liantiago. We don’t have to know where the post is-just the route that a messenger might take.”

  “And you have your maps,” said Skarpa.

  The entire time Southern Army had been on the move, Quaeryt had made inquiries in all the towns and hamlets through which they had passed and, after Clianto, especially at the larger villas about maps of Antiago. The best maps had come from the villas, along with a growing confirmation that the Shahibs and Shahibas of Antiago were effectively the equivalent of High Holders-and that all of them seemed to live near Liantiago. Two maps in particular depicted the roads in and around Suemyran in detail.

  “They all show the same roads to the west. Both of them-the old road and the new road.”

  “That might help. It can’t hurt. You’d planned on sending one of Alazyn’s battalions?”

  “Whichever one he recommends,” Quaeryt replied.

  “It can’t hurt.”

  “You think someone has already sent a message to Aliaro?”

  “I’d be astounded if someone hasn’t.”

  “It won’t be any of the town administrators,” replied Quaeryt. “They’re not the type to volunteer anything unless they have to, and we haven’t raided town treasuries.” As much because there wasn’t anything in them. “More likely one of the orchard managers who’s sent a message to Liantiago to explain what happened to the grain and flour and mutton we’ve taken.”

  “Aliaro will find out soon enough. One way or another.”

  “But which Shahib will want to tell him?” asked Quaeryt, recalling just how few High Holders ever wanted to tell Bhayar anything negative-unless it enhanced their position, and Quaeryt couldn’t see how any Antiagon Shahib could benefit from reporting a Telaryn army.

  Although someone is bound to find a way to turn it to their benefit. Some holders and their like always do.

  “Someone will.” Skarpa paused. “I don’t trust any of those town administrators.”

  “I’d agree. They’re hiding what they feel, in a way that shows long practice. I have to wonder if the Autarch sends imagers out with the tariff collectors. You noticed how several of the administrators never answered my questions about who came with them?”

  “More here than meets the eye.” Skarpa nodded. “Do you think the Montagne has returned by now?”

  “We’re inland, but we haven’t seen any sign of storms. We should have if the weather over the Gulf has been bad. Then again, I’m not sure I trust Nykaal to press much, even in fair seas. I wouldn’t be surprised if Calkoran didn’t return before Khaern and his last battalions.”

  “I’d put the wager on Calkoran,” said Skarpa dryly. “Do you think Aliaro will send ships and troops to try to retake Kephria?”

  “It’s always possible, but it will take time. By then, hopefully, we’ll have given him a more immediate worry.” Quaeryt didn’t mention his concerns about Vaelora. There was little enough he could do now, and he’d given Baarl orders to withdraw if the Antiagons appeared in overwhelming force.

  “Anything else?”

  “Besides what we’ve already talked over?” Quaeryt shook his head. “Supplies will always be a problem.”

  “Before long, we’ll have other problems.”

  “Like Antiagon Fire, cannon, musketeers, and Antiagon imagers?”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  “It’s all possible, but we do have the advantage that we’re attacking from behind their defenses. It’s pretty clear that because of the Lohan Hills, the Sud Swamp, and the high deserts along the southern coast, the autarchs have always felt their warships were their best defense, and that attacks would come against Kephria and Liantiago … or Westisle.”

  Skarpa shook his head. “You may be right, but except for the wall, there weren’t many defenses in Kephria. There have to be more somewhere?”

  “We saw five warships on the way to Kherseilles, and a pair of different ones on the return, and that was just in the Gulf of Khellor.”

  “What about imagers?”

  “The Autarch has them. How many I don’t know,” admitted Quaeryt. “I’m not certain anyone knows. There have to be troopers because Aliaro wouldn’t have sent an entire regiment to Bovaria without others remaining here. We know about the Antiagon Fire.”

  “I don’t know,” said Skarpa. “There has to be more.”

  “I’m sure there is,” replied Quaeryt. “It’s just not here. That makes sense. There’s not much of value here, either, except olive orchards and crops. I’d wager that most of the defenses are around Liantiago and Westisle.”

  “You’re saying we’ll have an easy time of it until we get ne
ar there?”

  Quaeryt offered a rueful smile. “I’ll never say that. I will say that it will get harder as we near Liantiago. But you know that.”

  Skarpa nodded, then rose. “Time to head out.”

  56

  Although Skarpa and Quaeryt had discussed sending just one battalion to seal off the road from Suemyran to Barna and on to Liantiago, on Meredi evening the submarshal had drawn Quaeryt aside and said, “I’d feel better if you’d take all of Nineteenth Regiment and first company-just in case. They just might have a regiment and imagers.”

  So, in the dimness well before sixth glass on Jeudi morning, behind scouts and outriders, Quaeryt and Alazyn led Nineteenth Regiment and first company to the west and south of Suemyran, along a side road that was little more than a lane, if lightly graveled and well packed. The leaves of the olive orchards to the west of the lane looked gray in the early light, and the shoots in the fields to the east were already almost knee-high. Quaeryt had no idea what the plants might be, except that they were not maize, because maize took great amounts of water, and the ditches that flanked the fields were empty.

  “The old road runs almost three milles to the south of the new road … if the maps are correct,” he said to Alazyn. “That’s where this lane joins it. If the Antiagons withdraw from Suemyran, they’ll send most, if not all, of their troopers on the new road. Still … we need to cover the older road, just in case. How big a force do you think we should dispatch?”

  “I’d recommend a battalion, sir, with couriers standing by. That way, we can shift battalions as needed.”

  “Which battalion?”

  “Fourth. Major Daelor is good at independent operations.”

  Meaning that he’d like to be the subcommander. “Fourth it is. You can brief him and send the battalion off once we reach the new road.”

  By a quint past sixth glass, Nineteenth Regiment had reached the “new” road, the first paved thoroughfare Quaeryt had seen in Antiago-except for the short section of road Threkhyl had laid down through the taudis on the north side of Kephria. Before long, based on reports from the scouts, Quaeryt and Alazyn agreed that the best location to set up a possible ambush and entrapment was where the road curved around a low hill and past a small pond fed by a stream.

  Two battalions could move from behind the hill to block the road on the west, and the third could move up behind any Antiagon force on the east. While there were fields on the south side of the road, they were open and offered little cover, should the Antiagons attempt to flee southward. There was a lane leading south, farther back to the east, along which Major Daelor had taken fourth battalion to reach the old road to Barna. Just in case there might be stragglers who would try to reach the lane, Quaeryt had Alazyn station one company a half mille farther south along the lane.

  Then they settled in to wait.

  “How big a force do you think they have in Suemyran?” Alazyn finally asked.

  “They might not have any troopers at all. Or they might have a full regiment. I think it’s unlikely they’ll have more than a battalion this far from the coast … but we just don’t know.”

  “Do you know why they didn’t have more troopers in Kephria?”

  “No. Not really. I’d guess that it’s because there’s really nothing to protect there, and because, until we came along, there wasn’t any real threat, either. Although they squabbled, Kharst and Aliaro were essentially allies … at least in the sense that both opposed Bhayar.”

  “But didn’t they fight over Kephria and Ephra?”

  “Aliaro shelled Ephra. Kharst raided Kephria, and then Aliaro killed the raiders. That was it. They both decided, it appears, that Kephria and Ephra weren’t worth any more fighting.”

  “I could have told them that after looking at them,” replied Alazyn dryly.

  “Sometimes, rulers don’t see what others do.”

  By eighth glass, Quaeryt was about to believe that his idea of cutting off any Antiagon withdrawal had been a bad idea-or at least that there hadn’t been any forces to cut off. A quint later, a scout reined up beside him on the backside of the hill.

  “Sir … the Antiagons are coming.”

  “How many?”

  “More than a company, less than two. All mounted and one wagon.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt turned to Alazyn. “I think we have enough force that we might not even have to fight, but the men need to be prepared.”

  The subcommander nodded.

  Quaeryt waited until the Antiagon troopers were on the road almost between the hill and the pond before the three battalions moved into position.

  The Antiagon force consisted of perhaps a company of riders in maroon and white uniforms, riding quickly, followed by a single wagon heaped high with items covered by a canvas tarp and drawn by two dray horses. The driver kept looking back over his shoulder, perhaps because there was no rear guard, then reined up the team as he saw third battalion close off the road to the east.

  Quaeryt had taken a position on the lower gentle slope of the hill, high enough that he could see the road and all his forces. He watched, ready to order an attack, as the Antiagon company reined up.

  An officer near the front of the column, likely a captain, rode forward.

  “You can surrender, Captain,” said Quaeryt, image-projecting his voice, “or you can be attacked and likely perish to the last man. If you surrender, you and your men will be disarmed and taken prisoner.”

  “How do I know that?” shouted the captain in the thick Antiagon accent or dialect.

  At that moment the wagon driver turned the team, skidding slightly on the shoulder of the road, then flicked the reins as he guided the wagon back east toward the side land heading south.

  “Undercaptain Lhandor, image off the wagon wheels!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Major Zhelan, send a squad to capture the wagon and driver!”

  Only then did Quaeryt see two men along the side of the lane, apparently working on repairing a ditch. Both looked stunned as the team and wagon rolled in their direction, especially as the front wheels of the wagon vanished, and the wagon bed slammed down on the lane, then dug in. In moments, the wagon bed, the traces, and the horses were a tangled mess, and one was screaming in agony. A second look told Quaeryt that the wagon bed had skidded into one of the workers and knocked him down on the shoulder of the road.

  Quaeryt glanced back to the Antiagon captain, who had turned in the saddle and watched the wagon crash before looking back to Quaeryt. “Surrender or not?”

  “We will take your word, sir. We have neither imagers nor our Fire.”

  “I’ll send a squad down to collect your weapons.” Quaeryt turned. “Lhandor, Horan, you accompany the squad to collect arms. Your job is to shield the troopers collecting the weapons.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the two imager undercaptains moved forward to join the designated squad, Quaeryt turned to Alazyn. “We’d best send a messenger to Major Daelor.” Then he glanced back. “Major Zhelan, if you’d assign a squad to accompany Undercaptain Khalis to see about injuries in that wagon crash and to see about repairing the wagon.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In less than a quint, the Antiagon prisoners had been disarmed and were surrounded. Quaeryt rode down the slope, accompanied by five troopers from first company and Voltyr, and gestured for the Antiagon officer to join him.

  “I’m Quaeryt, Commander, Telaryn forces. You are?”

  “Captain Sentio A’Rhedir, Commander.”

  “We need to take a look at your wagon, Captain, and your teamster.”

  The faintest expression of puzzlement crossed the tanned face of the dark-haired Antiagon officer. “As you wish, Commander.”

  As they neared the wrecked wagon, Quaeryt saw Khalis kneeling by the injured ditch worker.

  The undercaptain looked up. “The wagon skidded into him and broke his leg. I’ve splinted it as well as I can. He’ll need a real healer, though.” />
  “Can you and Voltyr image the wagon back together?”

  “If someone will unload it.” Voltyr grinned. “We’ve learned more about wheelwrighting since the first time.”

  “What’s in the wagon?” Quaeryt asked the captain.

  “Weapons, rations, a paychest, spare riding gear, farrier supplies…” Sentio shrugged.

  “Fine. We’ll have some of your men unload it.”

  “But … they’re troopers, not loaders.”

  “At the moment they’re prisoners,” Quaeryt said dryly.

  “Ah … yes.”

  Quaeryt glanced sharply at the captain, who immediately looked down.

  True to their word, Voltyr and Khalis did return the wagon back to working order, although it took almost a glass before it was in shape to be reloaded.

  “You will bring him back to Suemyran?” asked Sentio as two troopers hoisted the injured worker onto the seat beside the trooper who had taken over as teamster.

  “There’s no reason not to, is there?”

  “But he will be leaving his lands.”

  “We don’t have time to seek out the local healer.” If there even is one.

  “He will be punished for leaving his lands.”

  Quaeryt tried not to show his astonishment, given that the worker had been injured because the Antiagon driver had tried to escape. Even so, he didn’t have a good reply, knowing that he and Skarpa didn’t have the forces necessary to garrison and govern even the major towns and cities along the way to Liantiago. Finally he said, “We can only do what we can.”

  Sentio did not reply.

  “What were your duties in Suemyran?” Quaeryt asked the Antiagon captain once Nineteenth Regiment and the prisoners were riding back eastward toward Suemyran.

  “We were posted here because of the bandits in the Khoro area. We sent patrols along the roads so that the cargoes of olive oil and other crops were not disturbed. No one ever raided where we patrolled.”

  “What were they raiding?” asked Quaeryt, curious because one of the maps had shown Khoro as a small town to the west of Suemyran, practically at the foot of the rugged and rocky hills that separated the orchard regions of Antiago from the inhospitable high desert badlands of the south and east. He had to wonder what there might be of value there.