Antiagon Fire

59

Meredi dawned hazy, and by midmorning thick gray clouds rolled in from the west, promising the first rain since before Southern Army had taken Kephria. By noon a warm but light drizzle was falling, but the rain’s warmth seemed to vanish when the droplets struck men, mounts, or the road and the ground, creating a knee-high mist and a dampish chill that settled over the land, cloaking the sheep that had earlier seemed ubiquitous … if always at a goodly distance from the stone-paved road that stretched westward through the endless low rolling hills.

“Looks like this will last for days,” observed Zhelan, who rode beside Quaeryt while Skarpa was headed back along the column to check with his regimental commanders. “Reminds me of the fall in Cheva. The mist and rain would come in right after harvest and stay until it snowed. Sometimes, the mist turned to an ice fog and stayed.”

“You make it sound pretty dismal,” said Quaeryt.

“It was. That was when I joined up. Late fall when I was seventeen. I told my father I couldn’t take another cold damp year. He said I’d take it and like it. I walked off and joined the old Ninth Regiment-that was one place I knew he couldn’t get me.”

“Did he try?”

“No idea. We rode off to deal with Tilbor, and I never went back.”

“You didn’t write?”

“Wasn’t much point in it. What would I have said? That I didn’t miss the beatings? Or Ma crying when she didn’t think anyone saw? Besides, he couldn’t read. She couldn’t either. I barely knew my letters. Learned more when I saw that those who could read and write got promoted.”

“Those who could read and write and fight?” suggested Quaeryt.

“Anyone can fight. Fighting smarter is harder-”

Crumptt! The shoulder of the road ahead of Quaeryt exploded, and gobbets of mud and wet grass struck his shields and splattered everywhere.

The mist and drizzle were just heavy enough that at the moment Quaeryt had no idea from where the Antiagons were firing, only that it had to be from somewhere to the east of Southern Army, and most likely not too far from the road.

“First company! Left! On me!” Quaeryt had no reason to head left, but that decision was as much as because the last time he’d led first company to the right. He urged the mare off the pavement and across the shoulder, through a shallow stretch of water that had pooled in a depression below the shoulder, and then up onto the grassy expanse that stretched southward for a good half mille.

Another explosion-this one on the south side of the road and less than ten yards east of the middle of first company-sprayed more mud, dirt, gravel, and debris across the troopers-and Quaeryt’s shields and those of the imager undercaptains-he hoped. The next cannonball exploded well behind first company, but when Quaeryt glanced back, it seemed as though the entire road and the road shoulders as well were a mass of explosions.

He looked to the east and could make out, just barely, what he thought was a flash of orange from a distant hilltop, possibly a good mille or more away. He could see that there was no way that he and first company could reach the gun emplacement through the rain and over wet ground with any speed, not before the heavy bombardment wreaked havoc on Southern Army. The warm drizzle had made the ground even softer and more treacherous than a colder rain might have.

Behind him, more explosions wracked the road, and he could hear men yelling, and the screams of at least one horse.

Warm rain … heat. Do you dare? The whole invasion was your idea. How can you not try?

Trying to draw strength and warmth from the rain and the clouds, Quaeryt concentrated on sending thousands of tiny red-hot iron needles to the area where he had seen the drizzle-cloaked cannon smoke.

Instantly he was cloaked in ice, cold and so imprisoning that he could not breathe. He tried to escape and found that neither his arms nor his legs could move. Nor could he move anything else, no matter how hard he tried. Then, just as suddenly, the ice shattered, and he rocked forward in the saddle gasping for breath.

Two thunderclaps rocked him-one a distant explosion and the other a white hammering slashing impact that rocked his skull, then slashed his vision into tattered shards before another hammer pummeled him into darkness.

When the darkness lifted, Quaeryt was lying on his back, shivering, even though someone had wrapped a blanket around him.

“Sir … can you see me?”

Quaeryt blinked, trying to make out who was speaking. Finally, he saw a face. “Khalis … that you?”

“Yes, sir. Can you sit up and drink? It’ll be cold, but it will help.”

“Yes … I think…” Quaeryt managed, with the undercaptain’s help, to get to a sitting position, but his hands were shaking so much that Khalis had to help him hold the water bottle as he sat on a second blanket. After several swallows, his vision began to clear, but the shaking continued, despite his riding jacket and the blanket around him. From where he sat, he could see, intermittently, that a light dusting of snow covered the ground for almost half a mille. Beyond that, the ground was brown and wet. The clouds overhead looked lighter in color, but those farther east were still thick and gray.

“The cannon … did … get them…?”

“Yes, sir. The whole hilltop exploded.” There was a slight pause. “It was more than a mille away. You imaged hot iron that far?”

“I … tried.”

“You succeeded, sir. The scouts reported that there’s nothing left except shattered bronze … and ashes. They couldn’t get too close.”

“They put the cannon … in another oil nut tree orchard?”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt frowned. “How long has it been?”

“Sir?”

“Since the Antiagons started shelling us.”

“Two glasses or so.”

Two glasses? Quaeryt sat there for several moments without speaking.

“You might drink some more lager, sir.”

Quaeryt did.

He finally stopped shaking and was able to stand when Skarpa rode up from whatever he had been doing, dismounted, and walked over to Quaeryt.

He’s been totaling the casualties, no doubt. Quaeryt waited.

“It’s good to see you on your feet, Commander. Even if you look as white as deep winter ice.”

“I’m glad to be on my feet.”

“You know I don’t like it when the only thing that saves us from huge losses is something you do that almost kills you.” Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “Someday, you’ll do too much.”

“It didn’t kill me.”

“It would have if Zhelan hadn’t smashed you out of that ice coffin you created for yourself … and then kept you from falling out of the saddle.” The submarshal gave a nod to Zhelan, who had edged closer to the three.

Quaeryt didn’t want to dwell on his idiocy in getting himself frozen in ice. “Were there any Antiagon troopers that attacked?”

“No. We didn’t see any, and the scouts haven’t found any tracks. This time they were relying on cannon. They had the entire road ranged, it looks like.”

“How many did we lose?” Quaeryt found he was holding his breath.

“A hundred and fifty outright, another sixty, seventy with wounds.”

Quaeryt let his breath out slowly. “That’s all?”

“That was all they had time for. You took them out of action in a fraction of a quint. At the rate they were firing they might have had twenty cannon. They could have taken out an entire regiment before long.” Skarpa paused. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Nothing seems to be broken. I’m sore all over, and it’s hard to see, but that’s happened before.”

Skarpa looked to Khalis. “Try to keep him from doing anything else for a while.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Skarpa had mounted and ridden off, Quaeryt looked to Zhelan. “Thank you. I know I wouldn’t be here-”

“Lots of men wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t done what you did.”

“How bad was it for first company?”

“Four men in third squad have shrapnel wounds.”

“How serious?”

“Cuts and bruises except for one. A rock broke his arm. It’s shattered. He’ll likely lose it.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but wince, but the wince brought on another wave of pain so agonizing that he couldn’t see for a time.

“You need to be careful for a while, sir,” interjected Khalis.

“That’s … clear.”

“The scouts have located some villas a few milles ahead. We’ll be taking quarters there until the weather clears.”

That was fine with Quaeryt.

Later, as he rode slowly eastward, he wondered why the ice hadn’t happened before. He hadn’t been encased in ice at Ferravyl or at the battle at Variana. Except you made an effort to hold shields against it both times. This time, he’d been so worried about the casualties to Southern Army that he hadn’t even thought about strengthening his shields. Anything you do without thinking it through … He didn’t need to finish the thought.