Antiagon Fire (61 page)

Before Quaeryt could say anything or ride forward, two massive explosions, one right after the other, filled the air, clearly coming from somewhere north of the eastern end of the wall. Quaeryt turned in the saddle, but all he could see were two pillars of thick smoke.
Powder bags or cannonballs … or both?
He stood in the stirrups, looking back to the northeast, trying to see what had happened there, but from what he could determine, the fighting around the wall had ended there as well and since no troopers in maroon were headed toward them, and the uniforms he could see were greenish, that meant that Kharllon had been successful … and that the fighting had ended possibly even sooner than it had for Nineteenth and Third Regiments. That suggested that either Volytr or Horan had torched the cannon emplacements, and that Kharllon would find a way to inflate his success, sooner or later. In any case, Fourteenth and Fourth Regiments looked to be in control, and he’d find out soon enough what had happened.

“What was that?” asked Khalis, easing his mount up beside Quaeryt.

“Let’s hope it was Voltyr setting off Antiagon powder.”

“No … the two fighting on the wall here, and the one who jumped off.”

“He didn’t jump. He was an imager. He imaged the gold to kill himself.”

“You can do that?”

“You can.” Quaeryt didn’t remind Khalis that he’d pointed that out months before. “That’s why imaging golds is dangerous.”

“But why did he do it?”

Quaeryt shook his head. “The officer didn’t want him taken captive, and he apparently didn’t want it, either.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Quaeryt was all too afraid that it did. He looked around for Zhelan, finally spotting the major some twenty yards away, giving orders to a squad leader. While he waited for Zhelan to finish, he decided to repeat a few things to Khalis. “Gold is one of the heaviest metals and one of the hardest to image…”

When Zhelan had finished, Quaeryt cut short his impromptu homily and rode over and reined up short of the major.

“Sir?”

“If there are any captives wearing white uniforms with maroon cuffs, I want to see them immediately. But have the men be careful with them. Some might be imagers.”

The major’s eyebrows lifted.

“That’s a guess on my part, but one of the imagers was wearing that kind of uniform.” Quaeryt gestured back toward the body on the stone pavement. “He killed himself, rather than let himself be captured.”

Zhelan shook his head.

“I won’t keep you. I imagine the submarshal will be here before long.” Quaeryt nodded and eased the mare back to where Khalis and Baelthm waited, easing out his water bottle and hoping that the watered lager would help his throbbing head and various aches he hadn’t realized that he had.

He still wondered why Threkhyl hadn’t been able to image a larger gap in the Antiagon stonework.

65

As Quaeryt waited for reports from Alazyn and Zhelan, he surveyed the battlefield, trying to determine exactly what the Antiagon strategy had been, yet so far as he could determine, the Antiagon commander had apparently decided that a strong stone wall, imagers, and Antiagon Fire and cannon could turn away Southern Army.
And they could have, except for our imaging.
Was that what had happened to the Naedarans? That they lost, one way or another, enough imagers that they could no longer maintain their power?
Can you make that point, convincingly enough, to Bhayar?

Alazyn rode toward Quaeryt and reined up, putting an end to Quaeryt’s reflections and concerns.

“How bad was it?” asked Quaeryt.

“Not so bad as it could have been. A hundred twenty dead, two hundred seventy one wounded, and we’ll likely lose half of them—third company in fourth battalion got hit with three fire grenades at once.”

Quaeryt winced. Fourth battalion had turned to the northeast after going through the gap in the wall, and there hadn’t been any imagers to bring down those catapults.
You only have so many imagers,
he reminded himself.

“Could have been worse, except one of the imagers with Fourteenth Regiment brought down the other catapults.”

“Voltyr, most likely. Were there many casualties after that?”

“Not for us. Some of the foot regiments lost men until the Fourteenth Regiment got the cannon.”

“Are there many prisoners?”

Alazyn shook his head. “There were two kinds of Antiagon troopers. Some fought well, and most of them died. The others fled well, and it didn’t make sense to chase after them. We didn’t pick up many mounts, either. Most of their troopers were foot. No musketeers, though.”

“We haven’t seen one musketeer here.”

“Wonder what the Antiagons have against them?” asked Alazyn.

Quaeryt had no idea, even though he’d puzzled over the lack of musketeers earlier. “It can’t be that they don’t know how.”

“We don’t have many, either,” Alazyn pointed out.

“Lord Bhayar decided against fielding musketeers for several reasons. First, they slow down most regiments. Second, they weren’t much good in Tilbor. And third, each musket has to be forged separately because the barrels burst if they’re cast, and forging enough muskets to make a difference would have reduced the number of regiments he could have raised.” Quaeryt was actually guessing at the third reason, but Bhayar had talked about the first two, even before he’d sent Quaeryt to Tilbor.

“Won’t always be like that,” suggested Alazyn.

“No,” said Quaeryt with a laugh. “That’s why we have to get Lydar unified now.”

“Do you really think we can do it?”

“I think we have to try.” Quaeryt paused. “Don’t you?”

After a moment the subcommander nodded. “If you don’t need more from me, sir…”

“Go…” said Quaeryt.

No sooner had Alazyn ridden away than Zhelan rode up, accompanied by a squad. Riding beside him, rather thoroughly wrapped in chains, was an Antiagon trooper—or rather, Quaeryt suspected from the white jacket and the youthful face, an apprentice imager, with a large bruise across his forehead.

“I sent squads up and down the wall, sir,” said Zhelan after he reined up. “They found seven bodies wearing those white uniforms. Four were older men, and three were much younger. There was one youngster in white. He’d been knocked out, and we wrapped him in chains before he woke.”

“Where did you find chains?”

“Around the catapults. They must have chained slaves to them.”

The more Quaeryt found out about Antiago, the less he liked what he was discovering.

The major gestured. “He won’t talk to us.”

Quaeryt turned in the saddle, and image-projected his voice. “Undercaptain Khalis!” Then he looked back to Zhelan. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Khalis immediately rode over from where he had been waiting with first squad. As he reined up, the black-haired youth in the white jacket with the maroon cuffs looked at Quaeryt. His eyes widened as he took in Quaeryt’s silver white hair and eyebrows. Then he shuddered, but the shudder passed, and his eyes came to rest on Khalis. An expression, half puzzled, half quizzical, crossed his honey-shaded face.

“Talk to him,” murmured Quaeryt.

Although Quaeryt had not directed Khalis to speak in Pharsi, the undercaptain did so.

The Antiagon imager’s face expressed surprise, but he did reply, if in only a few words.

Khalis spoke again, and the Antiagon studied Quaeryt, then looked away.

“Ask him about why that officer tried to kill the older imager here,” prompted Quaeryt.

Khalis spoke again in Pharsi, and the younger imager replied.

“He says that the life of any imager or apprentice who tries to leave Aliaro’s service is forfeit. So is that of all members of their family.”

“So why is he alive?”

Khalis spoke again and listened. “He’s not a very good imager, and he’s an orphan. He was assigned to the most difficult master.”

“So he actually learned something?” Quaeryt let a little sardonicism permeate his voice.

Khalis offered a faint smile before speaking once more.

“He believes so, but you would have to judge.”

“Not at the moment. Right now, we’ll need to restrain him, but he doesn’t need to be wrapped in chains.” Quaeryt rode closer to the young imager and unwound some of the chains around his arm and right hand, then concentrated on imaging an iron wristband with an attached shackle, and then imaged one of the lengths of chain to the shackle. Lights flashed before his eyes, and he felt light-headed by the time he finished.

The Antiagon apprentice paled and began to shake. Finally, he spoke to Khalis.

“What did he say?” Quaeryt paused, then took another swallow of the watered lager.

“That you have proved to be his master, and the chain is unnecessary.”

That didn’t make sense to Quaeryt. At least one of the Antiagon imagers had been able to create iron darts and direct them at first company.

“Only the masters can image iron like that,” added Khalis.

“Do you think you can handle him?” asked Quaeryt. “I’d like to see if we could eventually use him.”

“I can see,” replied Khalis. “Right now, he’s just scared.”

“Try to keep him respectful and worried without making him piss himself.” Quaeryt glanced up to see Threkhyl and Lhandor riding toward him. “What’s his name?”

When Khalis asked, the response was “Elsior.”

“Just wait over there. I need to talk to Threkhyl and Lhandor.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Khalis.

“Will you need anything more, sir?” asked Zhelan quietly, as if not wishing to interrupt, but wanting to call attention to his other duties.

“I’m sorry to have kept you, Major. Not at the moment.”

As Zhelan rode off, Quaeryt waited until the two arriving imagers reined up before speaking. “Threkhyl … you seemed to have trouble imaging a wide gap in the wall. What happened?”

“That was as wide as we could make it, sir.” Threkhyl’s tone was almost belligerent. “Took the two of us.”

Lhandor looked to Quaeryt. “I had to drop the concealment early to help Threkhyl. It was like there was metal or something inside the stone. Then, all of a sudden it was gone.”

An imager, trying to use shields to protect the wall?
Quaeryt frowned, then asked, “Could it have been shielded somehow?”

Lhandor tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “It might have been. I’ve never tried to image through someone’s shields. It might have been easier after we broke through, but … well … I couldn’t image more.”

Threkhyl shook his head. “Me neither.”

“Against shields, you did well.” Quaeryt saw Skarpa riding toward him. “We need to talk about this later, but I need to discuss some matters with the submarshal. Don’t forget to drink a lot of watered ale or lager and eat some biscuits. That will help you recover your strength. If you’d join Khalis and his friend over there. He can fill you in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt managed another swallow of watered lager and a few bites of a hard biscuit before Skarpa arrived, escorted by a half squad from Third Regiment, all of whom reined up well away from the two senior officers.

“It was a good thing you could attack the rear here,” said Skarpa. “The gap in the wall wasn’t wide enough to get enough troopers through quickly enough. When you attacked from the rear, a lot of them panicked, and we could break through.”

“I’m just glad I saw it in time,” replied Quaeryt.

“You’re good about that.” Skarpa paused. “They had more than five regiments here…”

“And several master imagers and apprentices, from what we’ve discovered.”

“One junior imager for each senior one?”

“I’d guess so … at least in the field. We captured one…” Quaeryt went on to explain what had happened. “… and for the moment, he’s over there with Khalis.”

“Are you going to try to recruit him?”

“If we can. Since he hasn’t seen much kindness, and since his life is forfeit in Antiago, there just might be a chance.”

“You’re an opportunist in everything, Quaeryt.”

“When it makes sense.”

Skarpa laughed. “You have a way of assuring that.”

“Not always.” Quaeryt couldn’t help thinking about how matters hadn’t worked out for him and Vaelora in Extela.
But they’ve worked out better for the people.
He had to remember that, not that anyone else besides Vaelora would.
And Bhayar … perhaps.

“I still don’t understand why the Antiagons waited so long to use their cannon,” mused Skarpa.

“When was the last time they actually fought a war—on the ground?” asked Quaeryt, not quite rhetorically.

“You’re the scholar. You tell me.”

“A real war? I’m not sure they ever have. There were some skirmishes along the Lohan Hills in the time of Bhayar’s great grandsire. I’d be willing to wager they’ve never had that many armsmen, and most of them have probably been used as naval marines. Who really ever wanted to attack the place against Antiagon Fire?”

“You do.”

“It’s only as part of a greater goal, and I’m wagering that it will cost far less than trying to use force to take Khel.”
And that’s an enormous wager …
So enormous that Quaeryt didn’t even want to dwell on it, even in his mind.

“It would take someone like you and a ruler like Bhayar…”

Quaeryt said nothing.

Skarpa shook his head. “I need to see Kharllon.”

“Do you want to ride on this afternoon?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Skarpa left, Quaeryt was about to ride east along the wall in search of Voltyr and Horan when he caught sight of the pair riding toward him. As they neared, and then reined up, he could see that both looked exhausted.

“Are you two all right? I was getting concerned that one or both of you might have been hurt when the cannon emplacement went up.”

“We’re fine.” Voltyr offered a disgusted expression. “I had to suggest to Commander Kharllon that the submarshal would be less than pleased if we didn’t return as directed to first company.”

“The implication being that he was the senior commander and his commands were to be obeyed over mine.”