Antiagon Fire

66

In the end, on Meredi afternoon, after the battle over the wall across the road into Liantiago, Skarpa had Southern Army advance into the western edge of the city proper, where his forces took over two adjoining walled villas that provided some barriers to the attacks he and Quaeryt anticipated, but which never occurred.

Quaeryt took a small room on the main level of the small villa, but while he slept soundly, he woke just before dawn with a jolt. He washed and dressed quickly, conferred briefly with Zhelan, told the imager undercaptains to get ready to move out, and then went looking for Skarpa. He found the submarshal in the study of the larger villa, studying a map laid out on a whitewood conference table that matched the elegantly carved desk, the chairs upholstered in a green velvet, and the settee before the built-in whitewood bookcases. Each corner of the map was weighted down with a leatherbound book, one of which looked older, to Quaeryt, than anything he’d seen in the scholarium in Solis, reminding him, again, that he really needed to replace the book he’d borrowed and lost in the shipwreck, although the replacement would have to be with a different volume, since he doubted that another copy of the one he had lost existed.

“What are you thinking?” asked Skarpa.

“About a lost book.” Quaeryt shook his head. “It’s a long story. Some other time. And you?”

“I’m worried,” Skarpa said bluntly, brushing back hair that seemed grayer than Quaeryt recalled.

“Why?”

“Because the scouts haven’t discovered a single barrier on the avenue leading north to the palace. There are no troopers anywhere in sight in the city, and every house and shop between us and the palace is shuttered and abandoned. We settled in here last evening, and by midnight, everyone was gone. There hasn’t been a single Antiagon scout seen, and there’s no sign of any troopers anywhere but inside the walls of the palace complex.”

“What about the rest of the city?”

“We haven’t checked more than a mille or two, except toward the harbor. Everything’s closed and shuttered, but there are traces of people farther away, just not within a mille or so of the palace.”

“You’re suggesting that Aliaro has weapons that will destroy this entire quarter of Liantiago … and us with it. And that someone warned the people … or they know that.”

Skarpa barked a laugh. “He must have said he does, and maybe he does. The thing is … the scouts also reported that no one has left the palace complex, and there are more walls and more catapults behind those walls this morning.”

“So he had imagers building walls last night, and that means he has imagers to spare…” Quaeryt paused. “It all could be a bluff.”

“He hasn’t sent us a warning or anything like that. That’s one thing that makes me think it’s anything but a bluff.”

Quaeryt nodded. “He didn’t send any messages when he shelled Ephra after Rex Kharst attacked the harbor at Kephria.”

Skarpa stood and gestured at the map before him on the table. “The scouts-and my own eyes-tell me that the map is accurate. Accurate enough for us, anyway.” He pointed. “The palace is in the center of this square. It’s called the Square of the Autarch.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“I didn’t think it would. By the way, each side is about fifteen hundred yards long. There is a low wall, two yards high, around the square. Where there were gates there’s now solid stone. The north wall of the square is fifty yards from a sheer cliff, and the hill is sculpted to be hard to climb. Looks like one of the autarchs had imagers carve the hill that way. It’s too far from the palace for archers and too close for cannon, even if we had them.”

Quaeryt took several moments to study the map. “The gardens are all in the rear of the palace it looks like.”

“There are at least three separate gardens, all separated by walls three to four yards high. With all the ponds and pools and walls, trying to get to the palace from the rear…”

“Wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“What would be a good idea?” Skarpa looked at Quaeryt.

“Not trying to attack the palace at all, but getting close enough to bring it down on Aliaro’s crown.”

“What if he’s not there?”

“Where else would he be? Your scouts haven’t seen any large bodies of men leaving. The harbor’s been empty for the last two days, and they couldn’t have pulled out everyone who’s in the palace. The earlier battles showed that they can’t match us on open ground or in the field. So they’re going to concentrate their forces and make us come to them. I told you earlier. They know that until we take Liantiago, we haven’t won.”

“Aliaro could have fled,” Skarpa pointed out.

“It won’t make any difference. Once the palace is destroyed, so is his authority. But that’s why he’ll be there.”

“I don’t see that.”

“Think about it. Everywhere we’ve been there’s been little or no local control. Everyone defers to either the Autarch or their Shahib, out of fear of their power. Everything’s referred to Liantiago. That’s where the decisions are made. What happens if the palace is gone and Southern Army holds Liantiago?”

“Everything falls apart.”

“Exactly. Aliaro has to know that. So do his ministers or advisors. He can’t leave, because if he does, and they defeat us, they’ll know that they don’t need him. If he does, and we take the palace, his life is forfeit anywhere he goes, and everyone will be looking for him. So he can’t leave, and he won’t let them leave.”

“You make it sound like, win or lose, we’ve got problems.”

“The problems are much less if we win-when we win. As Bhayar’s regional governor, you replace Aliaro, and life goes on-with more than a few changes, although you’ll have to make them gradually, just like Rescalyn did in Tilbor.”

“Regional governor? Aren’t you assuming a lot?”

“You really think Bhayar will give up Antiago? He’ll have to let you be governor for a while, and promote you to marshal. That way, you get a generous stipend. If he really wants to replace you, though, he’ll probably give you a small high holding in an out-of-the-way place. If he did any less, he’d face trouble from the other senior officers.”

“We can talk about your dreams for me after we deal with Aliaro,” replied Skarpa dryly. “How do you propose that we bring down the palace?”

“By not letting Aliaro know that’s our intention.” Quaeryt went on to explain what he had in mind.

When he had finished, Skarpa nodded slowly, then asked, “Will it work?”

“I think it will … but until we try it, who knows? What I do know is that we have to get the Antiagon imagers involved from the beginning, and the imager undercaptains have to be able to handle them … at least for a little while. That’s why we’ll use three columns, and why I want the approaches by Fourteenth and Third Regiments to lag the initial attack by first company and Nineteenth Regiment.”

Skarpa looked squarely at Quaeryt. “Answer me honestly. Do you really think we should attack? Why?”

“From a tactical point of view, I can’t think of a single good reason to attack-except that I don’t know anything else that will work. And after seeing what I’ve seen just so far, I’d find it hard to live with myself if we walked away. I also think that trying to get out of here without getting rid of Aliaro and his imagers would be almost as bad as fighting and losing.”

Skarpa nodded slowly. “I have the same feelings. Just looking at the palace complex tells me that.” He took the books off the corners of the map and rolled it up. “Now we just have to brief the senior officers … and ignore Kharllon’s unbelieving expression when I tell him that we’re going to attack the most fortified stronghold in all Lydar without cannon, siege engines, and with only a handful of imagers when the other side has as many troopers, scores of catapults, archers, and likely twice as many imagers. Except I’ll leave all that out.” Skarpa snorted. “Good thing I believe you.”

Let’s just hope you can deliver. In the back of Quaeryt’s mind was the fear that someday he wouldn’t be able to deliver. Except that already happened. You couldn’t deliver Khel, and that’s why you’re here. After a moment, he had another thought. A perfect example of tripling an already risky wager.

He said nothing, just turned and followed Skarpa.

Almost to the instant when the first distant bells rang seventh glass-since all of the anomens near the palace were silent-Quaeryt led first company and Nineteenth Regiment out through the white stone gates of the villa to the southeast of the palace complex and onto the wide white stone boulevard leading to the Square of the Autarch.

Kharllon’s expression had been close to incredulous, as Skarpa had predicted, and the senior commander had asked twice whether he would have to complete an assault on the palace walls, despite Skarpa’s assurance that such would not be required.

Quaeryt’s own briefing of the imager undercaptains, all now with him and first company, had been direct and simple. “We have to look like we’re the spearhead of a full assault on the palace and get their imagers to try to stop us. Threkhyl … you and Horan need to take out as many catapults as you can. Horan, you’ve got the ones on the right, Threkhyl the ones on the left. Khalis, Lhandor, you’ll be shielding; Khalis, the left; Lhandor, the right. Voltyr … you’ll be standing by to handle whatever new they throw at us.”

As first company led the way up the wide boulevard, the only sounds that Quaeryt heard were those of hooves on stone and the low susurration of muted voices.

Every street, lane, and alley they passed was silent and empty under the clear sky and early morning sun. No rainstorms to help, and we’re more than a half mille from the harbor, but there haven’t been that many storms since we’ve been in Antiago. That wasn’t surprising, given the land’s reputation for being hot, dry, and sunny.

Quaeryt noticed several other things. All the ways, from boulevard to streets to lanes to alleys, were paved … and all the buildings looked to be about the same age and constructed in the same style. Because that’s what the autarchs wanted? Or because this entire part of Liantiago was destroyed and rebuilt? Both? Either way it suggested very strong local control … and a great deal of imaging.

When they were less than two blocks from the Square of the Autarch, the one- and two-story stone dwellings and shops gave way to taller and more ornate private dwellings, clearly with central courtyards-most likely for Shahibs or wealthy factors, if not both, and possibly for high functionaries at the palace.

Quaeryt glanced toward the palace-an imposing white stone structure, with walls within walls, beginning with the low stone wall around the square. Behind that was the recently imaged mid-square wall, a good hundred yards back from the outer wall and another hundred forward of the palace walls, four yards high, with catapults behind the second wall. Then there was the palace wall proper, more than thirty yards high and running all the way around the palace, which in turn rose another forty yards above the walls with six towers, each at a point on the hexagonal main building within the hexagonal walls.

Quaeryt quickly returned his attention to the immediate tasks at hand. He could see men scrambling into position on the scores of catapults behind the higher walls in the middle of the square, walls whose whiteness confirmed that they had been recently imaged into place on the level stone surface of Autarch’s Square, a stone plaza some three quarters of a mille on a side, without a single fountain, statue, or other ornamentation-a different kind of declaration of power, Quaeryt felt.

“Voltyr … take down the center part of the square wall … but so that it doesn’t block our advance. And stand ready to open the gaps for the other two regiments.”

“Yes, sir.”

No sooner had the first ranks ridden through the gap in the outer square wall than a fire grenade, and then another, arched from behind the mid-square wall, toward first company. Quaeryt imaged them back toward the catapults, but the first grenade started to explode, and then turned to ice pellets that showered harmlessly on the white paving stones of the square. The second grenade just vanished.

They know as much as you do … and likely more. We need to keep them busy, then.

“Threkhyl and Horan! Start to work on taking down those catapults.”

Immediately two catapults sagged, and then two more.

Quaeryt imaged a flurry of red-hot iron needles into the areas where he thought the catapult magazines of fire grenades would be.

Not only did he feel resistance, but nothing happened.

He couldn’t say he was totally surprised.

One of the catapults suddenly was surrounded with an icy mist, but a third one exploded into fragments.

“Got the bastard anyway!” Threkhyl’s voice held satisfaction and determination.

“Voltyr! Open the other gaps!” ordered Quaeryt, knowing that he needed to keep the Antiagon imagers concentrating on the attackers.

This time, as the vanguards of the flanking regiments moved into the square, arrows arched from somewhere, not toward first company, but toward Fourteenth Regiment and Third Regiment.

Quaeryt managed to block the first flights with short, broad shields, trying not to use too much energy, yet understanding all too clearly that, somehow, the Antiagon imagers knew where the Telaryn imagers were.

Two more catapults went down with explosions, and another collapsed in a shower of ice.

For a long instant … the entire square was silent.

Then … a shower of flame-not merely a few score fire grenades-but a huge curtain of flame, a vast expanse of Antiagon Fire that turned the very sky crimson-yellow-green, arched down toward the Telaryn forces.

“Shields!” ordered Quaeryt.

While Khalis and Lhandor created a wedge-shaped shield over the center of Southern Army, the near-curtain of Antiagon Fire cascaded down each side of the shield, growing and building with intensity enough that Quaeryt could sense that that immense concentration of heat could easily incinerate the troopers on each side of first company and Nineteenth Regiment, as well as those in Fourteenth Regiment and Third Regiment.

Heat! Of course. With that much heat so close, Quaeryt didn’t even have to draw that much from the Antiagon forces, as he concentrated on imaging away rock and soil from under the entire palace, from well below where the shields of the Antiagon imagers were anchored and locked, yet he did extend a thread of imaging to the harbor … just in case. Even as he concentrated and hurried, he made, from well below where the shields of the Antiagon imagers were anchored and locked, a huge empty space, imaging the material that had been there into the air above the rear of the palace. Even as he concentrated and hurried, he made certain that he imaged away more rock from under the rear of the palace complex than from the front so that when it all collapsed the rubble would largely tumble away from the Telaryn forces.

“Hold shields!”

The ground trembled … then shook … and a huge groaning drowned out everything.

Behind the high hexagonal walls, the palace shivered, and the tall towers began to shake, and then collapse … except that the entire palace complex shuddered, sagged, and then dropped from sight-just as a small mountain of soil, gravel, and stones cascaded from the sky into the depression from which not even the top of the palace walls protruded.

The stone paving under the mare’s hooves shook and trembled, and the trembling got worse. From the corners of his eyes, even as Quaeryt tried to hold shields to protect first company, he could see buildings in the distance trembling and shaking.

Gale force winds whipped toward him, so cold that ice pellets dropped everywhere, but he still tried to hold his shields …

… until a wall of whiteness, so cold he could do nothing … toppled from nowhere onto him … and froze him in burning ice.