Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  Almost simultaneously, the first seven or eight yards of the attacker’s bow vanished, and another massive fireball flared against Lhandor’s shields.

  As the stricken vessel nosed into the swells and shuddered to a halt, without a single gun firing, thankfully, Quaeryt imaged out a chunk of the hull midships. He didn’t even feel light-headed.

  Another firebolt, far smaller than the first or second, splashed against Lhandor’s shields.

  Then Quaeryt could see crew members jumping off the waterlogged vessel. Some were caught in midair as the ship exploded with such violence that debris rained down from Lhandor’s shields, and the Pharsi undercaptain turned pale.

  Quaeryt immediately extended his own shields. “Lhandor … you can release shields.” He just hoped he didn’t have to weather another explosion, but he continued to hold the shields, even as he began to feel light-headed, until he was certain that there were no hidden survivors who might be imagers.

  Belatedly, he also realized why the Antiagons tended to attack without quarter-with all that they carried, they were also more than vulnerable, unless they could force another ship to surrender by pounding it with guns from a distance. But why didn’t anyone consider that?

  The answer was strangely obvious when he thought about it. Neither Bovaria nor Telaryn, nor Tilbor, when it had been ruled by the Khanar, had ever built a fleet because they were not trading powers, and the High Council of Khel probably hadn’t had the resources to do so.

  “Imagers. Stand down.”

  After another quint passed with no sign of other vessels, Quaeryt dismissed the undercaptains.

  “Do you think we’ll see more Antiagons?” asked Zhelan.

  “I have no idea,” Quaeryt admitted. “Over the past months, we’ve taken care of more than a few warships, but I have no idea how many the autarchs had. Once we get to Kephria, I hope we won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  “Someone will,” predicted Zhelan.

  “For a while. What exactly will they do? I doubt they usually carry imagers, and they’ll eventually have to port somewhere. If every port in Lydar belongs to Bhayar…”

  “They’ll surrender or become pirates.”

  “Most of those left will likely surrender, especially if Bhayar grants them a pardon if they serve him.” And he should, since he really doesn’t have a fleet.

  “You think he should?”

  “We’re not hunting down defeated Bovarian troopers or Antiagon troopers. I don’t see the difference, and he’ll get some serviceable warships.”

  “It might work,” Zhelan grudged, before easing away from Quaeryt.

  After several moments Sario eased closer to the commander. “The captains of those ships, they would like to remain captains. They will hear what you have done here. If Lord Bhayar grants a pardon, most will serve him.”

  “I would hope so.” Quaeryt was hoping that Bhayar would follow his advice, or that he’d suggest something along those lines without Quaeryt even mentioning it … and that the Antiagon captains would do as Sario predicted.

  “Did you notice, Captain, that we did nothing until we were attacked?” Quaeryt asked gently.

  “I saw that.” Sario shook his head. “Why did they do that?”

  “Because they know that we are a threat to everything they believe in.” Quaeryt gestured to the undercaptains. “In Liantiago, imagers live in buildings lined with metal. Each imager is apprenticed to an older imager, and they never left those buildings except to enforce the will of the Autarch. My undercaptains have a few more rules than the other undercaptains, but they have been able to do what the others do.” And you’re fighting as much to keep those comparative freedoms as for Bhayar.

  “But will they have those freedoms once Lord Bhayar rules all?”

  “That is part of what we seek, and the way I have tried to train them makes that far more likely.”

  For a long moment the captain did not speak. Finally, he said, “Then you are the one that Aliaro should have feared, not Lord Bhayar.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “Without Lord Bhayar, this would not have happened.”

  “From what I have seen and from what my crew has overheard, without you Lord Bhayar would not be feared and Rex Kharst would rule much of Lydar.”

  Quaeryt laughed softly. “All things great or terrible come from more than one man, or even one group of men, no matter what the scholars say or write.” And the only question is whether Bhayar remembers this … except that it’s your job-and Vaelora’s-to make him remember. He tried not to think about how things would be if something had happened to her.

  Before long, he was again pacing the deck and looking to the northeast, as if his glances and pacing could speed the Zephyr even more swiftly toward a destination he feared for as much as he hoped to see before long.

  72

  By early Vendrei morning Quaeryt was alternating standing on and pacing across the low sterncastle of the Zephyr, running full before the wind, as she angled in toward the thin and wispy trails of smoke rising from Kephria. To the west, not even smoke rose from the flattened and burned-out heap of rubble that had been Ephra. Quaeryt glanced to the schooner’s foremast, where flew the best replica of the Telaryn banner that Lhandor had been able to draw and Baelthm had been able to image. From the aft mast flew a replica, as well as Quaeryt could remember it, of Bhayar’s personal banner.

  Marshaled on the main deck was first company, weapons and gear ready, at Zhelan’s urging, although Quaeryt had his doubts whether such would be necessary, one way or the other. Behind Quaeryt, on the port side, were the imager undercaptains, while Zhelan stood beside their commander.

  Quaeryt studied the harbor, as devastated as he had expected, if not more so. The bright sun brought the destruction into a clear focus. The harbor itself was empty, with not even a trace of a vessel or the smallest rowboat or skiff. The only colors visible beside the blue-gray of the water and that of dull brown mud were shades of gray and black-and a thin line of whitish smoke coming from the old fort beside the long main pier, the southernmost one. On the pier, the few remaining bollards were mere charred husks of what they had once been. To the south of the pier was the fort, a square stone structure constructed on a raised knoll. The walls that formed three sides of a rectangle were pitted and shattered in places, blackened in others, and the small building that had comprised the rear east wall was only a heap of rubble.

  Quaeryt turned his eyes more northward where, against the south side of the old river wall, was the northernmost stone pier, rising out of the mud and charred debris. From that pier the shoreline angled eastward downstream of the river wall, forming the northern side of the small harbor. What had been a muddy flat stretching southeast was now a stretch of baked mud and ashes that also covered parts of the old boulevard that had bordered the northern part of the harbor. Where there had been dwellings and shops, there remained nothing but charred brick and stone walls, half tumbled down. Not a single structure-except the stone fort-remained recognizable.

  Quaeryt glanced back toward Sario, who stood to the side and slightly forward of the helmsman.

  “Sir?”

  “Bring her in toward the southern pier, the long one.” Quaeryt turned. “At the seaward end on the north side.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They destroyed the entire town,” said Zhelan. “It was their town, and they burned it to the ground.”

  “That’s because the people failed-in the eyes of the Autarch,” Quaeryt said.

  “I don’t feel quite so bad about Liantiago right now,” murmured the major.

  As the Zephyr neared the pier, Quaeryt could see an officer-Khaern, Quaeryt thought from the graying and faded red hair under the visor cap-and a squad of troopers waiting near the end of the long main stone pier. They did not move as Sario maneuvered the Zephyr alongside and a crewman leapt from the bow to the pier, line in hand. The seaman had to run the line around the base of the charred bollard, barely above t
he stone of the pier itself. Another crewman leapt off near the stern and ended up tying the line around and under one of the pier stones.

  As Quaeryt stepped off the gangway and toward Khaern, he took in the pier itself. The gray stone was more worn, chipped, and weathered than he recalled, and blackened in spots. In other places, intense heat-likely from Antiagon Fire-had actually cracked the stone. Quaeryt looked at the subcommander, his face gaunt, with circles under his eyes. “I came as soon as I could.”

  “We thought you would-”

  “Vaelora? How is she?”

  “She’s the reason we’re mostly all alive, sir,” replied the subcommander.

  “How is she?” asked Quaeryt impatiently.

  “She was hurt, but she says she’ll be fine. She told me to tell you that. Two of the village healers are taking care of her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the fort … over there.” Khaern pointed. “The only things left are the stone structures. The Antiagons sailed up with three big warships and shelled the larger buildings. Some of the shells were Antiagon Fire. Then they landed almost a regiment of troopers and burned everything that would burn. From what we could see, they began by attacking here, but then they leveled and burned Ephra, and then the imagers-there were three of them-accompanied the troopers to Geusyn-”

  “They burned it to the ground, didn’t they?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Yes, sir, but your wife had us send word, and most of the people escaped.”

  “How badly was she hurt?”

  “She said to tell you that she will be fine, sir.”

  That was the same answer the subcommander had given before, and it didn’t satisfy Quaeryt, but he could see Khaern had his own concerns. So he said quickly, “On the way here, we destroyed three Antiagon warships and a ketch. Since they had imagers, I’d like to think that they were the ones who fired Kephria. No one survived. Not that such is much consolation for the deaths and destruction here.”

  “Ah … what about Liantiago, sir?”

  “Oh … Submarshal Skarpa holds Liantiago, and it appears that Antiago belongs to Lord Bhayar. There’s nothing left of the palace or any of the troopers and imagers who defended it.” Quaeryt paused. “If there’s nothing urgent … I’d like to see Vaelora.”

  “No, sir, there’s nothing urgent.”

  Quaeryt glanced toward the ship. “Zhelan! You’re in command for now. Have the men disembark and unload.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you’d lead the way, Subcommander?”

  Khaern turned, and Quaeryt stepped up beside him, almost losing his balance as the heel of the boot on his bad leg caught the edge of an upraised pier stone.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “I’m fine.” The question is how Vaelora is. “How many men did you lose?”

  “Only about a hundred, sir.”

  “With all this?” Quaeryt gestured at the seemingly endless grayness of destruction. “How did you do it?”

  “Ah … I didn’t, sir. Without the Lady Vaelora…”

  “Go on.”

  “It was a Jeudi, well before dawn. Lady Vaelora ran down the stairs at the River Inn and told me to get all the officers and men and mounts out of the town. She said that the Antiagons were coming and that nothing would be left of the town.” Khaern shook his head. “I didn’t believe her at first, but there were lights and shapes on the water … We’d gotten a battalion out when the first cannonballs struck the town. One way and another, we pulled back to north side of the wall, way back, almost to those rocky hills, while the cannonballs kept coming. Lady Vaelora-she directed the battalions where to go while I was getting the rest of them out of Kephria.”

  “Where is everyone?” asked Quaeryt. “There’s nowhere to stay, and I don’t see a camp.”

  “We’ve only got a company here, sir. That’s because Lady Vaelora said we had to maintain a presence here. Most of Calkoran’s men-”

  “He’s here?”

  “They arrived a little more than two weeks after you left, and I and the rest of Eleventh Regiment came two days later, just before the Antiagons attacked. Well … four days before they did, just long enough for that bastard Nykaal to claim he never saw them.”

  “He said that?”

  “No, sir. We’ve never seen him or the other captain since they dropped us off. Didn’t really see much of him, either, on the trip here, just his officers, especially the junior officers, ensigns, whatever they’re called. Anyway, we’ve got battalions garrisoned in the smaller towns along the hills to the east, at least for now.”

  At the end of the pier, Khaern turned south and then followed a path through the rubble at the east end of the fort and inside the solid stone structure. In the middle of the south side of the fort was a low bed. A gray-haired woman saw Quaeryt and Khaern and eased away from the bed. Khaern stopped.

  Quaeryt moved quickly toward Vaelora.

  She offered a wan smile, and tired as it was, he could feel the relief that she could do that much. Still … regardless of what Khaern had said, Vaelora looked worn and tired, and there was a bruise on her left cheek, and a scabbed scar across her forehead just below the hairline that angled into her hair, which had been cut short, barely longer than a boy’s. In places, that wavy hair was almost frizzy. How close had she been to Antiagon Fire?

  Quaeryt’s eyes took in her form, slender under the blankets … and he knew. He swallowed, and his eyes burned. “How … did it happen?”

  “I got hit … with a tree. It was a branch. One of the Antiagon cannonballs came over the wall, the big wall. I was there … trying to tell the majors and Calkoran where to send the men so that the cannonballs wouldn’t hit them. It didn’t even hurt all that much…”

  Then Quaeryt was on his knees beside the low bed, his arms around her.

  “… but then it hurt so much … she was so pretty … even…” Great racking sobs convulsed Vaelora.

  All Quaeryt could do was hold her.

  In time, the sobs subsided, and she eased away from his shoulder. “I’m all right. We … we really can…”

  There were more sobs, and Quaeryt’s face was as damp as Vaelora’s, even as he tried to reassure her. “It will be all right … do love you…”

  In time, they gathered themselves together once more.

  “How did you know the Antiagons were coming when they were?” Quaeryt asked.

  “I didn’t at first. I did, but I didn’t. You remember that I told you I had a farsight vision that I thought was well in the future…”

  “Yes…” ventured Quaeryt warily. “You wouldn’t tell me.”

  “You know why. What you said about it might have colored what I recalled-and that would be dangerous. I didn’t know what to make of it. It was just a vision of a harbor with burning buildings … and I didn’t even recognize it … with the fire … and then I had another vision…” Tears began to stream down Vaelora’s cheeks once more. “Someday … I’ll tell you about it.”

  Quaeryt just held her once more.

  After several moments she blotted her face and went on. “I woke up, and I looked out the inn window … and I saw a light out in the Gulf … and another one.” She looked at Quaeryt. “I knew then. Khaern didn’t want to believe me, but he saw the lights too, and we started to rouse the men and get them moving. He agreed that it was better to take precautions. He might have been humoring me. He insisted I go with the first company … The cannonballs came down first, near the water, and … we just did what we had to. I think hundreds of townspeople died. They didn’t believe us, and by the time they did … some of them couldn’t get away.”

  “But how did you escape the troopers?”

  Vaelora shook her head. “They never came after us. They used cannon the first day. The second day, they used Antiagon Fire … Then they spent a day destroying Ephra before they came back and used the troopers to get the imagers far enough north along the river to burn down Geusyn. Once it w
as gone, they got back on the ships and left.”

  Trying to get back to Liantiago in case we were attacking? That was likely, but Quaeryt doubted that he’d ever know for certain. Nor did it matter … now.

  “They’re all dead,” he said. “At least, we destroyed three warships and a ketch.”

  “What about Aliaro?” Vaelora’s voice was cold.

  “He’s dead. Everyone in the palace and everyone in the Autarch’s Square who was trying to defend the palace is dead. Skarpa holds Liantiago as acting regional governor.”

  “That was too good a death for him.” Her voice caught. “I was going to name her Chaerila…”

  For several moments Quaeryt could say nothing as he held her hands in his.

  Then, abruptly, Vaelora cleared her throat and looked at Quaeryt. “Once I recover fully, dearest, I will need some new clothes. Most everything got burned up, and I was a little … occupied.”

  Quaeryt swallowed. Clothes? How could she … Then he almost shook his head, realizing that she was trying to divert him … and herself. He managed to offer a smile. “We should be able to manage that, after all you’ve been through.”

  “I didn’t lose everything, though. Almost, but I did save this.” Vaelora held up a small leatherbound volume.

  Somehow, Rholan and the Nameless didn’t seem so terribly important as, still on his knees, he leaned forward and put his arms around her once more.

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