Imager’s Battalion

“Yes?”

“You know very well what I’m about to say, Subcommander and Master Chorister.”

“I fear that I do. What choice do I have?” Quaeryt paused. “But only if it does not take away from what is necessary for a proper encampment.”

“We won’t hold services if we cannot do so safely and properly,” agreed Skarpa.

As they rode past the abandoned earthworks and into Villerive proper, Quaeryt noted that few if any windows were shuttered, and that, early as it was on Solayi, people were on the streets, and taking only passing notice of the Telaryn troopers. What does that mean? That they expect we’ll come and go? Or that it matters little who rules, so long as their lives are not disrupted?

Quaeryt suspected that indifference to who ruled combined with a recognition that Bhayar had not allowed and did not intend to allow his troopers to molest the locals was the most likely reason for the near-casual acceptance of the troopers. Even with the apparent calm in Villerive, he maintained full shields, rather than triggered shields, as much to try to build up his imaging strength as because he expected a sudden attack. Those will come once we’re nearing Nordeau.

When the outriders and scouts reached the approach to the bridge over the River Aluse, Quaeryt noted that all traces of the barricades that the Bovarians had erected had vanished, as had any traces of the battle-except for the fact that the stonework and pavement were far, far cleaner than was usual in any city he’d visited.

Behind him, he could hear Shaelyt’s quiet explanation to Khalis and Lhandor as they rode through the gap in the wall he’d imaged to block the Bovarians.

“Subcommander imaged that wall in place, except it was all the way across the bridge, until Threkhyl removed the middle part … Subcommander led the charge that broke their pikemen, and then rode three milles and took out the Bovarian catapults and their Antiagon Fire…”

Quaeryt winced, noticeably enough that Skarpa chuckled and said, in a voice that barely carried to Quaeryt, “You can’t keep what you’ve done that quiet.”

“Except among Deucalon’s senior officers,” Quaeryt murmured back.

“They don’t care much for scholars who are good commanders.”

“Or those officers who are the best commanders.”

“Too many marshals and submarshals are like ministers that swarm around a ruler. They toady up to him. Worried more that a better commander might replace them than about the best way to win. Might be why we got Khaern. He might show up some of Deucalon’s favorites.”

Quaeryt certainly hoped so. He’d been impressed by Khaern’s quiet assurance when they had met the afternoon before.

Once they were over the bridge and through south Villerive, Quaeryt couldn’t help but notice that locals had been digging where the imagers had buried defenders under the flattened earthworks. Scavengers … but how can you blame them with the way Kharst treats his own people?

While Quaeryt had anticipated that the road to Nordeau would quickly deteriorate once they left the more populated area, it did not. Less than a mille west of what remained of the earthworks, the south river road ended at a road that had come from the south-one that was narrower than the compacted clay and gravel way that had led out of Villerive, but constructed of a solid, if somewhat worn, gray stone, wide enough, if barely, for two wagons side by side. It was also far more level than the river road had been heretofore-except for the one stretch near the old canal.

Quaeryt looked south, but the road angled to the southwest, its course not following the valleys but low ridges and even cut into the gentle hillsides in places. The dust over the stone indicated it was seldom traveled to the south.

He turned to Skarpa. “This is a better road than the one out of Villerive. The maps don’t give an indication how good it is.”

“Could be that it won’t last. Might just be a stretch leading to a High Holder’s place.”

At Skarpa’s remark, Quaeryt realized that for the last thirty milles or so leading into Villerive, they’d seen no trace of a High Holder. Was that another reason why the Bovarians drove off the locals? Or aren’t there many High Holders around on this side of the river? There was so much he didn’t know and not enough time to find it out.

His eyes went back to the road, and then to a low retaining wall on the side of the road away from the river. He frowned. Where did you last see stonework like this? After a moment he remembered. The Naedaran canal!

Quaeryt wondered just how long the paving would last, but after five milles it showed no sign of vanishing. Although the map showed it as just the south river road, and did not depict the section running southeast from outside Villerive, Quaeryt had the feeling that the road might have once run all the way to Chelaes, not that he had any way of proving that at the moment. If so, it suggested that Villerive wasn’t nearly so old as it appeared, or that it had been little other than a village until recently, because if a city of any size had existed at the time the Naedarans had controlled the area, the road from Chelaes would likely have gone more directly to Villerive.

When they stopped to water the mounts and give the men a break just after noon, Quaeryt couldn’t resist saying to Skarpa, “Quite a stretch for a High Holder’s drive.”

Skarpa smiled back. “He must have wanted it badly.”

As Quaeryt considered the road, that gave him an idea for a homily-one that would be appropriate whether he had to conduct services that night or sometime in the future.

By late afternoon there was still no sign that the ancient stone road would disappear, but the scouts rode back and reported. “Sirs, about a mille ahead there’s a holding. Looks like a High Holder’s place. Gates are locked, but we can see the hold house, and it’s shuttered. Couldn’t see anyone around.”

“Might be a good place to stop,” Skarpa said to Quaeryt. “Why don’t you see?”

“Shaelyt, Khalis, join me. Undercaptain Ghaelyn … if you’d assign a squad to accompany us?”

“Yes, sir. First squad on the subcommander!”

A quint later Quaeryt reined up before the entry lane on the south side of the stone-paved road that continued westward into the distance. The iron gates to the holding were attached to pillars a yard square, each faced with dark red brick and topped with a square flat gray capstone. A low wall, less than two yards high, extended for thirty yards on each side of the gates before merging with ancient hedgerows. A large single lock held the chains that secured the gates.

Quaeryt turned to Shaelyt. “If you would remove the lock, Undercaptain.”

“Yes, sir.” Shaelyt dismounted, handed his mount’s reins to Khalis, and walked over to the gates. After a moment the lock hasp separated from the body, and Shaelyt caught the lock, then extracted the hasp from the chains.

“Squad Leader, if you’d have troopers open the gates,” ordered Quaeryt.

In moments Shaelyt had set the lock and hasp on the stone paving by the gate pillar and remounted, while two troopers were unwinding the chain and then opening the gates.

Once the gates were open, Quaeryt eased the mare forward and led the way. The lane to the hold house was paved in the same gray stone as the ancient road and ran straight back less than two hundred yards to the top of a rise so low that the incline was barely perceptible.

When Quaeryt reached the square paved area before the hold house, he reined up. The hold house itself was modest, at least for a High Holder’s dwelling, built of a dark reddish brick with a rose-colored tile roof and perhaps only a third again as large as Factor Saarcoyn’s dwelling. The main entry had a small roofed porch, not even a portico, behind which was the main section of the dwelling, large and square, from which extended two wings. The shutters, tightly closed, were of dark stained wood, while the wooden trim was painted an off-white. The wide single front door was of oiled oak and ironbound.

Quaeryt dismounted, handing the mare’s reins to Shaelyt, and walked to the door, carrying full shields. He pounded on the door, not expecting any response … and after a time was convinced that he would receive none.

He studied the door for a moment, then concentrated, trying to image away the door hinges. Nothing seemed to happen. He stepped forward and pressed on the door. It shivered, but did not move. Then he pulled on the door lever-and jumped to the side as the door leaned toward him and then crashed down on the stone paved entryway. In the archway behind the door was an iron gratework. Quaeryt could see the bolts holding it in place and imaged