Antiagon Fire

62

Skarpa called a halt at fourth glass of Lundi afternoon, at a group of older villas just shy of the short stretch of rugged hills leading down to the lower lands that formed an arc around the bay on which Liantiago was located. Then he called a meeting of all the regimental commanders in the dining room of the largest villa, which held nothing but a long battered table and even more battered straight-backed chairs gathered from various places in the largely stripped villa. Once all seven regimental commanders and Quaeryt were present, from the head of the table Skarpa began, “We have several milles of hills ahead, five or six. At the west end, they drop steeply down to the lands around the bay. The mist is thickening, and it’s already hard to see anything in the hills. The scouts haven’t had time to cover more than a mille ahead. After what happened earlier today, I’d like to give the scouts plenty of time to scour those hills.”

“Do you think that will give the Antiagons more time to form their defenses?” asked Commander Kharllon.

“If they don’t have them already in place, I’d be astonished,” replied Skarpa. “A little caution on our part won’t give them that much more time, and it could save us quite a few troopers.” He smiled politely. “I believe that Marshal Deucalon made that observation a number of times when he was commanding Northern Army on the advance up the Aluse.”

“At times he did.” Kharllon smiled in return.

Quaeryt could almost hear the words left unspoken-“but not in a case like this.” He was about to say something when Alazyn cleared his throat.

“I’m one of the most junior here, but it seems to me that the submarshal will get the blame if anything goes wrong. Or have I missed something? It also seems to me that the submarshal’s old regiment and Commander Quaeryt’s first company have been taking the lead-and the brunt of the attacks. Now … I don’t decide any of that. I just follow orders, but it does seem a little strange to me when those who’ve been shielded are the ones urging against caution and a prudent advance.”

For a moment there was silence around the table. Then Kharllon looked at Alazyn, his eyes hard. Meurn looked aghast, but Quaeryt could see that Fhaen was having trouble concealing a smile. Both Fhaasn and Dulaek looked to Paedn, the senior subcommander. No one looked directly at Quaeryt.

Quaeryt thought he knew why Skarpa did not immediately reply, and he kept a pleasant expression on his face and waited.

Paedn laughed, warmly. “A subcommander not afraid to offer the obvious. Don’t look so astonished, Meurn. It does happen, now and again.” The senior subcommander looked to Kharllon. “You asked a good question, and you got a good answer. At least, I thought it was a good one, especially coming from a commander known to move far more quickly than the marshal. Why do you have reservations?”

“It seems to me that the Antiagons are unprepared. I’d prefer to keep them that way,” replied Kharllon, his voice open and pleasant.

“So would we all, I think, but the hills ahead are the last place from where they can mount a surprise attack. We escaped major casualties in the attack earlier today, but I wouldn’t be surprised if fending off those fire grenades left our imagers somewhat … depleted.” Paedn looked to Quaeryt.

“Several of them would not be able to offer the same level of imaging,” replied Quaeryt.

“After any battle, some troopers would like to claim that,” said Kharllon dryly.

“The submarshal has six imager undercaptains,” replied Quaeryt. “There are six regiments. If one or two of your regiments were at half strength, you’d likely be more cautious.” He paused just slightly, before adding, “I’d like to think you would be.”

Fhaen smothered a grin.

“As always,” replied Kharllon, “that would depend on the circumstances.”

“As it does here,” said Skarpa firmly. “Do any of you have any special needs or circumstances of which I should be aware?”

“We could use some boots or a bootmaker before long,” said Meurn. “Or even tanned leather for boot soles.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Skarpa.

“Would you like some fatted steers, too?” murmured someone, but Quaeryt didn’t see who it was, although he suspected Alazyn.

Once Skarpa dealt with other questions involving supplies, set the duty and standby regiments for the evening, and dismissed the senior officers, Quaeryt walked outside and nodded for Alazyn to join him.

“I know, sir. I shouldn’t have said anything, even in Northern Army he was like that. Always saying things without saying them. No one would say anything.”

“That might have been because he’s one of the marshal’s favorites.”

“That’s why he’s here, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but no one told me anything like that, and they didn’t tell the submarshal, either.”

“It doesn’t matter. I never expected to make subcommander, and I’ll be Namer-fired if I’ll scrape and bow to a commander who hides behind other regiments.”

“Don’t scrape and bow. Smile warmly and politely to him from now on. That will upset him more than anything, now.”

Alazyn grinned. “I can do that.”

After a few more moments with Alazyn, Quaeryt watched as the dark-haired officer hurried back to his regiment. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that Alazyn had worked his way up through the ranks-and would probably have spent the rest of his time in service as a permanent undercaptain or captain if Kharst hadn’t attacked Ferravyl. But then, you’d probably have rotted away as a princeps somewhere … with a very unhappy wife. He couldn’t help but smile at the irony in that observation, since two years earlier he would have been astonished to have been named a princeps.

He shook his head and made his way to the small building that would serve first company, where he summoned the imager undercaptains. After relaying what Skarpa had in mind, he then looked at Horan. “Have you ever imaged leather?”

The middle-aged imager laughed. “More than once. Wasn’t much of a cobbler or bootmaker, but leather I could do.”

“One of the foot regiments needs boot leather. Is that possible?”

“Should be. Let’s see what I can do. Be a welcome change from what we’ve been doing.”

More than a glass later, just before the cooks were about to begin feeding the troopers, Quaeryt made his way back to the villa Skarpa was using, and then to the study.

The submarshal looked up from the maps on the table too small to be a proper desk. “I haven’t heard yet.”

“Oh … it’s not about that. We have a wagon filled with tanned boot leather out here. I thought you might like to let Subcommander Meurn know about it.”

“One of your imagers?” Skarpa brushed hair that was more gray than Quaeryt remembered back off his forehead, then looked directly at the commander.

“He used to be a trapper and lived out from others. The leather looks to be good and sturdy.”

“Leave the wagon here. I’ll send word. Meurn won’t like it.”

Quaeryt nodded.

“How do you expect me to deal with Kharllon after what happened?” asked Skarpa, half humorously.

“Keep him in reserve until we reach Liantiago. Then have Fourteenth Regiment lead an attack.” Quaeryt’s tone was ironically dry.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“It doesn’t hurt to have a heroic senior officer now and again.”

“I would ask, wouldn’t I?”

“You’re in charge.”

“I wonder, at times, if any of us are truly in control. Or are we playthings in a vast game between the Namer and the Nameless?”

“Rholan wondered that as well. At least, he said that professing a great destiny was inviting the Namer and the Nameless to make one a plaque in a game.”

“Is that why you disclaim everything?” asked Skarpa.

“No.”

“Why then?”

“Most would not believe that what I seek is possible. Too many of the few who could see it is possible would do anything they could to stop it.”

“And what do you seek that is so dangerous?”

“Among other things, a fairer and more just world for those without power and privilege.”

“You’re right,” said Skarpa with a bark of laughter. “If the High Holders of Lydar believed you could bring that about, they’d line up with cannon and Antiagon Fire … for both you and Bhayar.”

And that’s just part of what I seek. “So I don’t say much, except that I’m a loyal supporter of Lord Bhayar.”

“What does Lord Bhayar think?”

“He knows I’m absolutely loyal.”

Skarpa nodded slowly. “Another reason why you gather enemies.”

“If it weren’t that, it’d be something else. There’s always something.”

“There is. Speaking of that, you might also suggest to Alazyn that Kharllon does carry grudges.”

“I already talked to him.”

“Good. How many attacks do you think the Antiagons will make before we reach the city?”

“As many as they think they can without great losses. I’d expect something tomorrow, from the hills, and maybe even a fortified position somewhere short of the city. The fortified position might be long on walls and Antiagon Fire and short on troopers.”

“To see what losses they can inflict without taking too many casualties.”

“That’s my thought. Has Kharllon offered any observations?”

“Of course not. He’s just expressed the utmost confidence in my ability to direct an attack on a city that’s supposedly never even been threatened, let alone taken.”

“Oh?”

“By his quiet silence and his obedience … not by anything else.” Skarpa snorted.

“I assume you want first company in the van tomorrow.”

“Where else?”

“We’ll be ready.” With a nod, Quaeryt slipped away, leaving Skarpa and his maps.