saw that most of the troopers could not swim.
Then the current pulled the flatboat, now totally awash, back toward the center of the Aluse River. More troopers jumped off the apparently sinking craft.
Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. If they had just hung on to the boat, awash as it was, they likely could have lasted until it eventually grounded. Belatedly, he realized that there were too many troopers for all of them to do that, but even the last ones ignored the pilot who was clearly trying to tell them to stay with the boat.
Quaeryt turned away. “Form up. We need to catch up with the battalion.”
“You’re going to let them drown, sir?” asked Baelthm.
“What would you suggest?” asked Quaeryt. “We can’t do anything from here. What’s left of the boat is floating downstream faster than we can ride. Even if we could help, should we? They wanted to attack us from the rear. If they had, we would have had to stop them, and that would have meant killing some, if not all of them. For now, some can swim and will survive.”
“It seems … wrong … sir.”
“What is the difference between killing Bovarians directly by imaging ice rain and sinking their boat?”
Baelthm was silent.
“We are at war, Undercaptain, and they attacked us. They even burned the crops of their own people.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt could tell that Baelthm was not convinced, but he only said, “I’d like you to think about it. If you still have questions, we’ll talk later.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt turned the mare. “Forward!”
12
For another three days, Skarpa led the southern army westward. At one point, the river road ended at a swamp, and it took most of Samedi for Fifth Battalion and the regiments to make their way through marshy ground, fields, and along paths barely wide enough for a single rider before they reached another section of road … that lasted for ten milles before they had to detour yet again, a delay made longer by the need to replace the axle of a wagon that collapsed at the narrowest part of the path they followed when they tried to get around a section of the road washed out years before and never repaired.
The imagers were of little help, because none of them had any experience with wagons, and imaging, Quaeryt was reminded, required a knowledge of what needed to be imaged … or a great deal of time and experimentation. In a bitter sort of way, Quaeryt realized that he knew far more about how bridges were constructed than he did about wagons and axles.
Unfortunately, there was enough of the clayey soil in the rugged area they crossed on Samedi and Solayi to create mud, so that his boots and his trousers below the knees were mud-spattered, as were the lower quarters of all the horses.
Given the sorry state of men and mounts, Skarpa did not call on Quaeryt to conduct services for the Nameless on Solayi evening, but after locating a rocky and sandy area on the edge of the river, he had the regiments and Quaeryt’s battalion clean up themselves, their mounts, and their equipment.
Lundi dawned slightly cooler and drier, and the condition of the south river road improved as well, so that there were only occasional patches of mud.
“The road’s better because we’re nearing Rivecote Sud,” said Skarpa, riding beside Quaeryt.
“I still wonder why Kharst let the roads get so bad.”
Skarpa shrugged.
“Do you think they’ll use the cable ferry to send troopers across to stop us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. They might not even know we’re here, but I don’t think we’ll be that fortunate.” Skarpa laughed. “I’m not even sure how we managed to get here.”
“We haven’t seen any new signs of Bovarians or their scouts,” Quaeryt said.
“That only means they haven’t left tracks where we could see them. Even if they didn’t send out scouts, some of the locals might have passed on word.”
“Or some of the troopers who survived the flatboat sinking.”
“Someone did. One way or another. We’ll likely run into some opposition before long.”
Quaeryt glanced at the fields on the south side of the road. While the cots and outbuildings were less ramshackle than those he’d seen on the two previous days, they were still placed comparatively far apart, and there were places where the only thing that seemed to grow was a big-leafed ground cover that swallowed everything. Or was the plant so hardy that it was the biggest problem for the locals? “It should be a while yet. The cots are so far apart that I can’t believe we’re that close to even a village of any size.”
“I wouldn’t think so … but, with Bovarians, how would we know?”
By the time they had ridden another glass, the cots and barns were larger and closer together, and looked more prosperous, some even with brick and mortar walls and slate roofs. The scouts returned and reported that the outskirts of the town were less than two milles away. They also had observed a force blocking the road just outside the town.
Skarpa called a halt and ordered the troopers to arms, then sent out more scouts in all directions. “Doesn’t make sense to put a small force on the road outside of the town.”
“Are they trying to delay us?”
“Might be. They also might be trying to use the cable ferry to bring over more troops.”
“Or destroying it to keep us from using it,” suggested Quaeryt. “Could we advance slowly, while you have Fifth Regiment circle the town and move in from the southwest?”
“That was my thought. I’m waiting for Meinyt.”
Scarcely had Skarpa finished speaking than Meinyt rode up the shoulder of the still-narrow road and reined up facing the commander. “Sir?”
“I have a mission for you.”
“You want us to circle and attack from the west?”
“See if you can take the cable ferry. Before they cut the cables, if you can.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else?”
“Try not to make a mess of the town or the people, but don’t hazard your troops.”
“We’ll do what we can.” Meinyt nodded. “Anything else?”
“No. You know what to do.” As Meinyt rode off, Skarpa turned to Quaeryt. “Let’s start our deliberate advance.”
A half mille later, after rounding a curve in the river road, Quaeryt and Skarpa were at the end of a gentle slope. Three-fifths of the way up a slope covered in low bushes, grass, and patches of dirt were the Bovarians, a ragtag force arrayed behind a makeshift line of pikes embedded in the small earthen berms that had to have been hastily piled up across the road and for some fifty yards on either side-until they reached stands of trees and brush. In the center was a company or so of regular Bovarian troopers, or at least men wearing those uniforms. On either side were men and even youths in gray shirts with bows and spears. Quaeryt even saw several ancient halberds. Another fifth of a mille behind them were several houses, and a row of shops.
“This could be a slaughter,” said Skarpa, “unless they’ve got another force hidden.”
“What do the scouts say?”
“They’ve circled the town. They can’t find any sign of any other forces.”
“There have to be other tricks that they have in mind,” offered Quaeryt.
“My thought as well. They want us to attack. There’s straw all across the ground, and most likely pits with stakes concealed there.” Skarpa smiled ironically. “Or they want us to think that there are.”
“What if we don’t attack? What if we stand off and shoot arrows into them?”
“We’ve only got one squad of archers,” said Skarpa. “Almost all of Bhayar’s archers are on the other side of the river. Can you and the imagers do something?”
