Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  Solayi morning, after Southern Army had been on the road for a glass or so, Skarpa eased his mount in beside Quaeryt and his mare. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Fairly well … a little chill at times. Otherwise…” Quaeryt shrugged.

  “A little chill isn’t bad after almost being frozen to death. I still wish-”

  “That I wouldn’t do things like that?” Quaeryt laughed. “I wish I could think of better ways to deal with matters.”

  “You can when you deliver homilies,” Skarpa pointed out.

  “That’s because I have time to think about them. When something unexpected happens in the field, I don’t have that time.” Quaeryt looked quizzically at Skarpa. “You think that it would be useful for the army to have services? Is that it?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” replied Skarpa with a grin. “I had hoped. Some of the officers, especially the junior officers…”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “You always do. That’s why I keep saying that you’ll end up high in Bhayar’s councils.”

  “I may be listened to, but I doubt I’ll ever hold a rank or position higher than this.”

  “You keep saying that, but you’re a commander.”

  “And you’re a submarshal.”

  “Only because of you.” Skarpa paused. “Don’t think Kharllon and Meurn haven’t alluded to that.”

  “And they’re where they are because of Deucalon and Myskyl.”

  “Myskyl, I think. He seems to have a way of persuading people.”

  “I can’t say I’ve found him very persuasive,” said Quaeryt dryly.

  “You’re one of the few. Bhayar might find him persuasive as well, except for you. Don’t think Myskyl doesn’t know it.”

  “I wonder how he likes the frozen north.”

  “He’s either avoided it or settled himself into a high holding with a compliant widow.”

  “If not both.”

  Once Skarpa rode off, Quaeryt began to split his attention between the road ahead and the hills flanking it, because he didn’t want to be caught in another cannonade, and possible ideas for a homily. Since he had left Rholan and the Nameless with Vaelora, he wasn’t going to be able to page through that volume for ideas. As the glasses passed, though, there were no more cannon attacks, and not even a trace of Antiagon forces.

  Why? Why not more attacks as we near Liantiago?

  The only idea that Quaeryt had was that Aliaro’s forces were limited, and that he was saving them for the defense of Liantiago. In a way, that made perfect sense, because, given the way Antiago was governed, it was clear that without taking the capital city and capturing or removing Aliaro and his ministers and high officials, the entire Southern Army campaign would end up as an almost useless exercise. Not to mention undercutting everything you and Vaelora tried to accomplish in Khel.

  After pushing that line of thought away-for the moment-Quaeryt tried to concentrate once more coming up with an idea for a decent homily.

  By the fourth glass of the afternoon, Southern Army was settled into camp-a group of villas in the hills some ten milles from the outskirts of Liantiago-if both the maps and the millestones were to be believed. Unsurprisingly, the buildings had been largely stripped … except of common items such as heavy kitchen tables and common bedsteads and mattresses-and there were absolutely no supplies.

  In the late twilight at sixth glass, those who wanted to attend services gathered on the slope below the main villa, where Quaeryt stood on the terrace. By image-projecting his voice, he made his way through the opening and invocation, a hymn, and the confession-and that had always disturbed him, but the men and officers seemed to need it. Before he knew it, he was beginning the homily.

  “… and, as are all evenings under the Nameless, it is a good evening. If you don’t think so, you might recall that there are still several yards of snow covering Tilbor at the moment, and most likely a cold and drizzling rain is cloaking Solis right now, while the ground around Variana is either frozen solid or icy mud … and it’s no longer drizzling here … and no one is firing cannon at us.” Quaeryt paused for a moment. “All those examples could give you reasons for thinking it is a good evening. Whether for thinking it’s a good evening or one not so good, all of us have reasons for why we think matters are the way they are. When we left Suemyran for Barna, I kept wondering why these stands of trees with gold-tinged leaves were only planted on hilltops and why nothing except low grass was planted around them. When some cannon powder exploded, those of us in first company found out the reason why those trees were planted where they were. When they catch fire, they burn hot and fast.” Quaeryt did his best to image-project a sense of wry humor.

  “But there’s a problem with reasons and reasoning. We assume that there must be a reason for everything, and we tend to assume that other people reason in the same way and with the same motives as we do. When we discover that they do not, we often decide that such people are tools of the Namer or that they are not so bright as we are. Yet who is to say that those people are not in turn looking at us and thinking that we are tools of the Namer?

  “Why do I say this? Because reasoning is a tool. It is a tool of the mind, but like any tool it can be used for good or ill. An advocate who is skilled with words might well be able to reason well enough to convince any listener that Rholan the Unnamer was the Namer and the Namer was really the Nameless. The tool is only so good as the man who wields it, and there are two parts involved in using any tool. The first is how well it is used, and the second is the purpose for which it is used …

  “If the purpose for which reason is used is to distort what is and has been or if a man uses reason to persuade others to do that which is evil, then reason is no more than Naming through the use of clever words and logic…”

  His concluding words were simple enough. “… When we reason, let us strive to seek what is and not what we would wish to be, for reason in pursuit of passion, rather than in seeking truth, is Naming merely raised to a higher level of deception.”

  Once the officers and men had dispersed, Quaeryt walked toward the end of an outbuilding to the west of the others. There he stopped, and under the stars, and the nearly full orb of Artiema, he looked down the long slope toward the ribbon of road he could barely see. That line of gray stretched east and west across the rolling hills. Aware of someone approaching, he glanced up to see Commander Kharllon stopping several yards away.

  “It’s a long and narrow road,” said Kharllon, gesturing toward the road below.

  “But well paved,” replied Quaeryt noncommitally.

  “I’d heard that you had been a chorister,” offered Commander Kharllon. “It does show.”

  Quaeryt offered a polite smile. “Actually, I was a scholar.”

  “There’s not that much difference, is there? Both study the unknown and the impractical.”

  “Much like officers in peacetime, when war isn’t a problem, don’t you think?” replied Quaeryt gently. “Too often, what’s practical is defined as what we need now, as opposed to what we will need, or what we could do to avoid needing it in the future.”

  “Those who are effective in the present often assume that what they see is what others need.”

  “Isn’t that true of all of us?” replied Quaeryt with a soft laugh. “We all think that what we understand is what others should as well. We often get angry when we find they don’t see matters as we do.”

  “But the most dangerous men are those who are most persuasive, especially when their views are, shall we say, at variance with those who wield power.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Quaeryt. “That’s most likely why Rholan vanished. He was too persuasive and lacked the power to protect his vision of what should be.”

  For several moments, Kharllon did not speak, merely looked at Quaeryt. Finally, he said, “It will be interesting to see what comes of this campaign.”

  “The unification of all Lydar under Lord Bhayar, I woul
d hope,” replied Quaeryt.

  “So would I, but holding all Lydar together might prove even more daunting than conquering it.”

  “It all depends on which vision those in power embrace, I would judge,” said Quaeryt.

  “With that, I would agree.” Kharllon inclined his head. “Good evening, Commander. By the way, it was an excellent homily.”

  Quaeryt watched as the older senior officer walked away, then looked back down at the road. In the east, Erion was rising.

  61

  On Lundi morning a thin mist drifted in from the west, suggesting to Quaeryt that an even heavier fog might be covering the ground to the west. Either way, with the mist or fog there was less chance for another cannon attack on Southern Army, and Skarpa seemed slightly less worried as he ordered his forces onto the road westward.

  Once the order of march was established, with first company leading and Third Regiment riding immediately behind, Skarpa joined Quaeryt. “That was a decent homily last night.”

  “Decent is a good word for it. It wasn’t one of my best. Kharllon thought it was good.”

  “He talked to you?”

  “Not for long. He delivered a not-so-veiled message … something along the lines that I was a dangerous man because I was persuasive and my views were … at variance … with those who were in power. He wasn’t that direct, but that was what he meant.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him that was why Rholan vanished … and tried to suggest that my interests lay in seeing all Lydar united under Bhayar. He agrees with that, but not with what he feels I want to come after that.”

  “Did he say what he thought that might be?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask him to explain. In turn, he refrained from more than generalities. That seemed best.” Quaeryt looked directly at Skarpa. “You have something on your mind, don’t you? That feeling that something might happen?”

  “Not exactly. We’ve seen cannon, and we’ve seen troopers, but we haven’t seen musketeers or imagers or Antiagon Fire,” said Skarpa. “That worries me.”

  “They might not have that many imagers … or some of their imagers might not have talents that suited to battle.” Quaeryt was thinking about Baelthm, whose value in battle was limited largely to self-protection and the ability to stop one or two enemy troopers.

  “I can come up with reasons why we might not see imagers … but not Antiagon Fire. That’s what they’re known for. We even encountered it in Bovaria. Why not here?”

  “There’s one possibility,” suggested Quaeryt. “We always ran into it when they had a fortified position with catapults behind walls. Or when they had regiments of troops.”

  “That’s a thought. It doesn’t reassure me.” Skarpa shook his head.

  “It doesn’t reassure me, either, but I don’t have any other ideas-except that we’ll probably run into it sooner or later.”

  “That’s what I worry about.” After riding with Quaeryt for almost a glass, Skarpa left to brief the scouts, and then rode back along the column to see to each regimental commander.

  As Quaeryt rode eastward, he studied the land as well as he could, but saw nothing but recently planted fields and shuttered cots-with occasional villas on more distant hills. Midday came and went, although Quaeryt couldn’t have told by the sun because the hazy high clouds had thickened enough to block any hint of its position.

  Sometime close to first glass, Skarpa returned and reined in beside Quaeryt. “The scouts have found some tracks ahead, but there’s nothing heavy.”

  “Like cannon?”

  “No. A squad of riders, maybe a few more. It looks like they were scouting the road and the shoulders.”

  “How far ahead?”

  “A mille or so.”

  “How recent are they?”

  “Probably yesterday. Might have been the day before.”

  “Do the tracks continue toward us?”

  “No. They stop and retrace their way. That’s what the scouts report.”

  Quaeryt tried to make out what lay ahead, but the combination of uncertain light diffusing through the high hazy clouds and the patches of mist made a clear view difficult. Still, he could see several low hills on each side of the road, rising above the recently planted fields between first company and the nearest hill. The closest hills were more like gentle rises on the north side of the road, with crests little more than twenty yards high, and the closest part of their bases were several hundred yards back from the edge of the road. All were wooded, but not with oil nut trees, and some of the woods extended almost into the fields.

  “What are you thinking?” asked the submarshal.

  “That sounds like ranging the road.”

  “My thought as well. I’ve asked the scouts to check any tracks leaving the road, especially on the side lanes. I’m calling a halt to give everyone a rest while they do.”

  That made sense to Quaeryt, because the column was on a section of road situated in the middle of rolling rises so low that the land around Southern Army seemed almost flat, and the scattered cots were shuttered tight, without a trace of smoke from the chimneys. The hills immediately ahead looked to be the beginning of the more rugged lands that surrounded Liantiago and the bay that held Westisle.

  “The hills beyond those little ones could hide a lot,” added Skarpa.

  Quaeryt nodded, his eyes on the nearer hills.

  “We’ll have to see what the scouts find. I’ll let you know.” With that, Skarpa rode off.

  Quaeryt gathered Zhelan, Ghaelyn, and the imager undercaptains at the side of the road.

  “We have problems ahead, Commander?” asked Zhelan.

  “We might,” Quaeryt admitted. “There are Antiagon tracks up ahead.”

  “Be hard to see in places with all that fog,” added Ghaelyn, first company’s undercaptain.

  “We could be facing anything,” said Quaeryt. “Or nothing. But we’re getting close to Liantiago, and it’s been several days since we’ve been attacked. I think cannon are unlikely because they’re heavy, and we haven’t seen enough tracks, not yet, for there to be too many troopers. To my way of thinking, that means we just might be hit with Antiagon Fire next. If that’s so, it will come from the hills. I’ll be posting imager undercaptains with each of the five squads of first company, and I’ll give the order for shields at the first sign of an attack.” Quaeryt looked at the undercaptains, especially at Threkhyl, before continuing. “If any of you see anything coming before I do, raise your shields and call out the attack. If there is an attack, they may wait until the first part of the company has passed.” He paused. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt turned to Zhelan and Ghaelyn. “If we get attacked by Antiagon Fire, the men need to stay close to their imager-unless the attack takes him out. That’s because the imagers can shield against the Fire. So you need to have your squad leaders watch the undercaptains.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt continued with the details for another half quint, including assigning each undercaptain to a squad. Even so, he and first company had to wait another three quints before Skarpa again returned to inform Quaeryt.

  “There are tracks up all the hills, but they don’t lead anywhere. They just end a hundred yards or so upslope and into the woods … like they rode up and decided that the hill wasn’t suitable for what they had in mind.” Skarpa shook his head. “I still don’t like it.”

  “You think that they started with the hills the farthest from Liantiago and then worked back toward the city.”

  “It looks that way.”

  “But you’re not convinced?”

  “No, but we can’t ride up every hill from here to Liantiago, either. Not unless we intend to take a season to get there.”

  “Where exactly do the tracks coming toward us end?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Up ahead … do you see where that sty over the low stone wall is?”

  “That’s what, a half mille
from the first of the hills?”

  “About that,” Skarpa confirmed. “Do you think they’ve measured out to that point?”

  “Not necessarily, but after that point, I’m going to be worrying and very careful.”

  “Good. I’ll let you and first company remain as the vanguard.”

  “And you’ll drop back with Third Regiment?”

  “Of course.”

  “I do so appreciate your confidence … and don’t tell me that this whole campaign was my idea. I could scarcely forget it.”

  Skarpa grinned, then said, “I won’t.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt shook his head ruefully, then watched as Skarpa turned his mount and rode back to Third Regiment. “Company! Mount up!” Once his men were mounted, he gave the order, “Forward!”

  Beside him, Zhelan turned in the saddle and relayed the order.

  Although he watched closely after they passed the sty on the stone wall, Quaeryt did not actually extend his personal shields to cover those around him and first squad until they were some four hundred yards from the first hill. At a hundred yards, he gave the order for shields, and he kept studying the first hill as they rode past it, gauging the distance-some hundred yards between its base and the edge of the road. Then he looked to the second and smaller one ahead, just slightly farther from the road.

  As they rode closer and then passed the second hill … nothing happened.

  Quaeryt looked ahead to the taller and somewhat more rugged hills that separated the rolling fields from lower lands around Liantiago.

  “Fire grenade! Fire grenade!” came the call from somewhere behind Quaeryt.

  He jerked his head around in time to see a splash of crimson-green-yellow flame rebounding from someone’s shields-Lhandor’s, he thought-and then there were splashes of flame everywhere, the heat intense despite the shields.

  With the mist that rose from the fields, it took Quaeryt several moments to make out from where the fire grenades were being launched-from the second and lower hill slightly farther from the road. Then it took him more time to make out several of the dark objects being catapulted out of the trees-and he began to image them back to where he thought the catapults were, one after the other. Some exploded in flight, and others vanished …