have to. Meinyt knows what to do. All my battalion leaders do.”
“Yes, sir.” Lewyn looked forward.
Skarpa turned toward Quaeryt and raised his eyebrows.
Quaeryt managed not to laugh, instead asking, “How many posts are there around Ferravyl?”
“The main post on the point, the South Post crossing the river and the bridge, and the North Post. There are smaller posts farther up the Vyl and the Ferrean.”
From the maps he’d seen and from what he had read, Quaeryt knew that the two tributaries that joined the Aluse at Ferravyl were far smaller than either the Ruil or the Telexan, and he wondered why the border with Bovaria had developed that far west. Had it just been the way the rivers ran or that the previous rulers of Bovaria had been occupied more in dealing with Khel and Antiago … or the warlike nature of the Yaran rulers of Telaryn?
Quaeryt hadn’t ridden more than another half mille before he found that the air smelled and even tasted metallic and the burning in his eyes was not an annoyance but uncomfortable enough that they were tearing. He knew that Ferravyl was a mill city, with the ironworks built by Chayar on the northeast side, along a canal constructed for just that purpose, and that both coal and ore came down the Ferrean on barges from the north. What he hadn’t expected was that the air would be so foul, far worse than the rotten stenches off the harbor flats in Solis at low tide in midsummer. At least the rotten air in Solis hadn’t burned his eyes and throat.
People in Ferravyl were used to riders in a hurry, because they scattered out of the way, unlike those in Extela, or to a lesser extent, in Solis or Nacliano. Even while riding through the center of the city, Quaeryt gained the impression that Ferravyl was a mean town, worn down for all of its prosperity, where even the brick walls of an inn under construction off the pier square looked soot-smudged for all that masons were working on the walls as Quaeryt passed.
The smoke and haze were almost gone in the area around the main post, perhaps because it was located on a low bluff jutting out from where the Ferrean joined the Aluse, a point of land that Quaeryt suspected was being whittled away year by year by the rivers, and because a solid breeze blew out of the northwest.
While Quaeryt had anticipated that the main post would be filled with troopers, especially given its four- yard-high stone walls, and even thicker siege walls on the three sides facing the two rivers, that was not obviously the case, because he initially saw only a few handfuls of rankers scattered around the stone-paved courtyard. Then he realized that the walls extended farther to the west, through a second gateway into a far larger courtyard, filled with troopers. Even so, the unrelieved grayness of paving, walls, and slate roofs created a mood of something close to grim isolated resolution.
The major reined up outside the large central structure dominating the front courtyard, three stories with a small tower extending another five yards above the west end. “Lord Bhayar is waiting within.”
Quaeryt had his doubts about that. Bhayar had never waited on anyone, not in his experience.
After dismounting and handing the reins of their mounts to one of Lewyn’s troopers, Skarpa and Quaeryt walked up two stone steps and through the weathered ironbound oak door and into a small rectangular hall with a large desk manned by two squad leaders.
One immediately jumped up. “Commander Skarpa? Subcommander Quaeryt? This way, sirs, if you would. Submarshal Myskyl was hoping you wouldn’t be long, and I’ll send a messenger to tell Lord Bhayar you’ve arrived.”
That overwhelming deference and politeness chilled Quaeryt all the way through, and it must have bothered Skarpa as well, because when Quaeryt looked to Skarpa as they followed the graying squad leader down the narrow hallway, the commander nodded slowly.
The squad leader stopped at one door and rapped on it. “They’re here, sir.”
“Take them to the conference room. I’ll be right there.”
“This way, if you would, sirs.”
The conference room was three doors down and on the other side of the hallway and contained a long table with six chairs on a side and one at the far end. Only the chair at the far end had arms.
The squad leader stood by the door, as if to say something, when Myskyl, wearing the single stars of a submarshal on his collars, hurried in, pausing just to nod to the squad leader, who stepped out without closing the door.
Myskyl looked the same as ever, gray-haired, with the faint scars across his left cheek and jaw that Quaeryt recalled. He also carried what appeared to be a rolled map. “Commander, Subcommander … welcome to Ferravyl.” Myskyl did not look at Quaeryt, but kept his eyes on Skarpa. “Lord Bhayar will be here momentarily. How was your trip from Extela?”
“Uneventful until the Bovarian spies tried to destroy the bridge over the Myal,” said Skarpa.
“Yes … yes. Good job in stopping them.”
“That wasn’t my doing. Subcommander Quaeryt and Captain Alusyk took care of that. As I noted in the report I sent along with our estimate of arrival.” Skarpa’s voice was cool, yet gruff.
“Yes. Subcommander Quaeryt is quite resourceful. He always has been.” Myskyl glanced toward the door of the conference chamber. He quickly looked back to Skarpa.
“Unlike some officers, sir,” Skarpa said, “he does not avoid danger if he deems it necessary to accomplish the task at hand.”
“Many have reported that, Commander.” Myskyl’s voice was even, not quite flat, and he continued to avoid looking in Quaeryt’s direction.
Quaeryt heard quick bootsteps on the stone floor of the corridor outside, and then a wiry man with slightly disheveled brownish black hair, wearing the green uniform of a Telaryn officer, if without insignia, stepped into the conference room and closed the door behind himself. Bhayar’s dark blue eyes rested on Myskyl momentarily, then moved to Skarpa, and then to Quaeryt.
“Please sit down.” Speaking in Tellan, Bhayar turned to Myskyl. “You have the maps?”
“Yes, sir.” Myskyl moved to the end of the table that held the single chair and unrolled the maps, placing one on top of the other and placing a square metal weight on each corner. Then he straightened and stepped back.
Bhayar moved the chair away and stepped up before the map, waiting until the other three flanked him. “This shows Ferravyl and the surrounding area. With the fortifications on the bridge and our cabling here”-he pointed to the lines depicting the bridge across the Aluse from the middle of Ferravyl to the far side-“we can prevent the Bovarians from coming downstream, unless they wish to incur terrible losses.” He smiled tightly. “They do not. So they will attempt to flank us to the north and south, with enough men so that we will be forced to move men from the city and weaken our defenses here to the point that they can destroy the bridge and use the Aluse to land forces behind us.”
Quaeryt nodded slightly, waiting to see what else Bhayar had to say.
“Commander Skarpa, it is most likely that the first threat will be across the Ferrean somewhere between two and ten milles from the post here.”
“Because the river is quieter there, sir?”
“That is part of the reason. The other part is that the farther north one goes, the more and more rugged the hills on the east side become. The terrain favors us, because, to take Ferravyl, which is Rex Kharst’s objective, those troopers will have to march and ride back south. The longer that march, the more men they will lose before reaching the city.”
“You want Third Regiment to hold the east side of the river for a distance of ten milles?” Skarpa raised his eyebrows.
“I’m optimistic, Commander. I’m not an idiot. I want you to keep small groups from crossing and to delay and cause great casualties if larger groups manage to cross. I believe they will try a north crossing first, but I do not want to commit forces there because they will see that and attack in the south. By leaving forces at the main post, ready to move, we have the best chance of repulsing their attacks with the least loss of men. While you are holding and delaying, we will be moving to reinforce you. Subcommander Quaeryt and his men may also be of some help in slowing or stopping their advance.”
Quaeryt noticed that Myskyl did not even blink at that announcement.
“The subcommander will be in charge of a special group, which includes imagers and a company of troopers. While his command is independent of Third Regiment, he will report to you operationally. Is that clear?”
A wry smile flitted across Skarpa’s face. “Yes, sir.”
