Imager’s Battalion

although he had Shaelyt watch and offer advice to the newer undercaptains. A squad leader dropped by with a message from Skarpa to the effect that he and Khaern were to “hold the south city and keep the peace” and wait for further instructions.

Those instructions came early on Jeudi morning, when an undercaptain who was an aide to Bhayar arrived with a request that Quaeryt accompany the undercaptain to meet with Bhayar at his temporary quarters north of Nordeau. Quaeryt asked Calkoran to supply an escort squad and waited until the troopers were ready.

When Quaeryt did walk toward the front door of the inn, Shajan appeared.

“Subcommander, sir…?”

“Yes?”

“I must beg your pardon, sir.”

“For what?” asked Quaeryt gently, as always, in Bovarian.

“It is said … you suffered all your wounds … so your men would not…”

“So did Undercaptain Shaelyt.”

“The young Pharsi officer?”

Quaeryt nodded. “The same.”

“I must beg you to forgive me for thinking you an old one. No old one would ever have risked his life for another, and not for those he commanded.” The innkeeper bowed deeply. “I most humbly apologize.”

“I accept your apology,” replied Quaeryt, “but I must also apologize for not understanding your concerns. Despite your concerns and worries, you have been most helpful to me and to my men, and I do appreciate that.”

Shajan bowed again. “You are most kind.”

“Not always, I fear, although I try.” Quaeryt smiled and image-projected a certain slight warmth, not wishing to raise yet other concerns.

The squad from Calkoran’s fourth company was waiting outside the stable, along with Undercaptain Yaffon and Quaeryt’s mare. Mounting was still an effort, but Quaeryt managed it without falling or appearing too awkward.

Yaffon did not say much until they reached the bridge over the River Aluse. “Your imagers … created the newer stone spans, sir?”

“They did.”

“It’s said that your Fifth Battalion led the attacks on both the south city and the north city, yet did not suffer extraordinary casualties, yet you obviously have been injured.”

“So have others, and Fifth Battalion has suffered more than enough on this campaign, Undercaptain,” Quaeryt replied pleasantly.

“I did not mean…”

“I’m sure you did not…” I just don’t like probing and insinuations when the main force with almost ten times as many troopers is letting us do all the work … and I can’t say a Namer-frigged thing about it … except generalities. “… but Fifth Battalion has taken more than its share of attacks and casualties.” Quaeryt smiled, but did not volunteer more.

For the first mille beyond the square where the massed musketeer fire had come all too close to killing him- and Shaelyt-the buildings of Nordeau were essentially the same as those south of the river. Quaeryt could see why the Bovarians wouldn’t have risked cannon in the center of the town, especially since they would have been of limited usefulness anyway. And he understood the difficulties of moving the heavy cannon. Or is it that Kharst doesn’t have that many cannon because there’s no way to transport them easily? That seemed more reasonable … and it meant that they’d be more likely to face cannon the nearer they came to Variana- something he needed to keep in mind.

The wall enclosing what might have been called “the old city” on the north side was similar to the one on the south side, but the gates to the wall had clearly been removed years before. Outside the old walls, the buildings were set more widely apart, with far larger windows, and many of the larger dwellings had their outer walls constructed of blocks of gray stone, each block of exactly the same size. That told Quaeryt what had happened to the stone blocks in the walls of the last five milles or so of the ancient canal.

As he expected, the majority of the houses were shuttered, and none appeared to have been ransacked or damaged, but the only living things he saw on the streets were Telaryn armsmen and stray dogs. When he reached the walls around the much newer section of Nordeau, he could see they were lower, barely more than two yards and almost perfunctory.

Deucalon had to know this. Despite realizing that, and what it meant, Quaeryt managed to keep a pleasant expression on his face, but he did shift his weight in the saddle, because riding was less than comfortable.

“It’s another two milles,” Undercaptain Yaffon said apologetically. “On a little hill west of the side road.”

Side road? Quaeryt wondered. That became clear in less than two hundred yards, when the paved main road swung westward, presumably to parallel the river, and Yaffon gestured for them to continue along a much narrower, if paved way that appeared more like a lane.

Quaeryt could see that troopers had followed the lane because the graveled shoulders and even the grass beyond the shoulder had been trampled flat by hooves. The lane began to angle up a low rise, then came to a set of gates guarded by a full company of troopers. The lane split at the gate, an unpaved way continuing north, while the paved lane ran through the gray stone gates, constructed of a different stone than that of the canal and not cut or finished so well, and up the gentle slope to an imposing building that could have served as a palace.

A captain rode forward, took in Quaeryt’s face and collar insignia, and nodded. “Sir, Lord Bhayar is in the study in the main building.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but notice the withering glance the guard captain bestowed on Undercaptain Yaffon, who seemed oblivious to it, as they rode past him and through the gates.

Quaeryt led the squad to the front portico of the palatial hold house, a covered portico extending upward more than two stories, supported by massive square gray stone pillars. There he dismounted and handed the mare’s reins to one of the Khellan troopers who, unbidden, rode forward to take them.

“We’ll be waiting, Subcommander,” announced the squad leader.

“Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded and walked up to the entry door.

Yaffon had to scramble to catch up.

One of the troopers guarding the doors opened them for Quaeryt, who nodded his thanks and stepped into an arched entry hall with a black marble floor and shimmering white walls.

A captain hurried forward. “Subcommander, Lord Bhayar is still meeting with Marshal Deucalon. Submarshal Myskyl would like a moment with you.”

“Of course,” replied Quaeryt politely.

“This way, if you would, sir.”

Quaeryt followed the visibly nervous captain from the outsized entry hall down a side corridor into a small study-likely a lady’s study, given the delicate curves of the desk from which Myskyl rose.

“Greetings, Quaeryt.”

“And to you, Submarshal.” Quaeryt inclined his head just a touch more than would have been considered slighting.

“You do look like you encountered the Namer or one of his demons,” observed Myskyl, still standing.

“It sometimes happens when you get involved in the thick of things.”

“Really, Subcommander, you should delegate some of these matters-or have your undercaptains not attained … your capabilities?”

“They have done rather well, considering that I’ve only been able to work with them two months or so. There’s now a solid permanent bridge across the Aluse rather than those rickety wooden spans. But you should ask Commander Skarpa. The question isn’t how I feel they have performed, but whether he believes they have been useful and instrumental in accomplishing the tasks you have set him.”

“He professes to be most satisfied. But what else would he say?” Myskyl’s smile was cold, calculating.

“The commander has always been known to speak his mind, if perhaps more politely than I have upon occasion.”