Imager’s Battalion

71

By midday on Vendrei, Skarpa’s forces were within a few milles of Caluse, which appeared to be a moderate-sized town. Skarpa had summoned all the subcommanders, and he and Quaeryt waited for Meinyt and Khaern under a large oak tree that provided some relief from another day of blazing sun.

It may be harvest, but it’s more like midsummer … Does summer ever end here? Or is this just an unusual year? Quaeryt noted that even Skarpa had pushed back his visor cap and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve.

“Almost as hot as Solis,” muttered the commander.

“Hotter, it seems to me.”

“Could be. Like to think it’s why they’re not fighting.” Skarpa broke off as Meinyt and Khaern rode up, then dismounted, and turned their horses over to waiting rankers.

Once the two joined Quaeryt and Skarpa in the shade, all four standing well back from the shoulder of the wide but dusty gray stone road, Skarpa blotted his forehead again, cleared his throat, and spoke. “The town ahead is Caluse. Scouts can’t find traces of any Bovarian forces, and the place looks deserted. Everything’s shuttered, and there’s no one on the streets.” Skarpa shook his head. “Don’t know as I believe that, but I’ve sent out two squads and one even rode partway into town. What’s stranger is that there’s a three-span bridge across the Aluse, and they left it standing. Why’d they do that? Variana’s only twenty milles to the west … if we can believe the maps.”

“They didn’t expect us to get this far,” suggested Khaern. “Or this quickly, and they didn’t have time to destroy the bridge.”

“They want us to settle in here, comfortable-like, before they attack us while we’re sleeping,” suggested Meinyt. “Or not expecting them.”

“We have another problem,” Skarpa pointed out. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity. We’re a day ahead of the marshal’s forces. If we hold up here, we can join his forces, or he can join us.”

Not if Myskyl and Deucalon get their way, thought Quaeryt.

“Either way,” continued Skarpa, “it’s easy with the bridge not being damaged. That might be why the Bovarians left it intact.”

“As a trap to entice us to join up?” asked Khaern.

“What other reason could there be?” demanded Meinyt.

“You haven’t said anything, Quaeryt,” noted Skarpa.

“You’ve all suggested any of the possibilities I could think of.” Except total Bovarian incompetence, and I don’t believe that. “Most of the town is on the south side of the river. This is the first town with a bridge over the Aluse where most of the dwellings are on the south side. All the other towns have much smaller southern quarters.” He paused. “Except the old quarter of Nordeau on the north side was smaller than the old quarter on the south. But all the Bovarian-built towns, except this one, are larger on the north side of the river.”

“That’s so,” said Skarpa, “but there had to be one.”

But why this one? Quaeryt didn’t voice the question. He had no answer and had no doubt that none of the others did, either.

“Well…” drawled Skarpa, “it seems to me that we might as well spend the night here. The Bovarians can’t get us all right now, because we’re not all here, and it will be more than a day before the marshal reaches the north side of the bridge. We’ll set out extra sentries and keep more troopers on standby. I’ll send off a dispatch to the marshal declaring our intent to stay here until his forces can arrive to take over protecting the bridge and requesting his instructions. Then we’ll see.” After a pause he added, “We’ll enter the town with all arms ready, using the three different roads, with space between units to allow different points of attack.”

Khaern nodded, if skeptically, followed by Meinyt.

Skarpa took less than a quint to outline the plan of approach or attack, with Third Regiment leading the way, and Fifth Battalion moving out to cover the road from Variana.

By the first glass of the afternoon, despite all Quaeryt’s concerns, Fifth Battalion occupied the Agile Coney, one of the close to a score of inns that the town boasted, as well as two nearby inns and their outbuildings and stables. Once he was convinced that all the companies were not only settled, but ready to respond to any sort of immediate attack, with imager undercaptains assigned to each company, since their shields, limited as they were, would be of far greater advantage within a town, Quaeryt returned to the Agile Coney.

As he walked up onto the wide porch, empty of anything but a single plain wooden bench, his eyes took in the signboard that depicted a muscular rabbit leaping over a stone wall. Both the signboard and the name suggested to Quaeryt that Caluse had never been an integral part of Naedara. At least, the rabbit’s not black. He still wondered about why the black marble statuette of the coney had been smashed and buried under the stone with a chiseled inscription … and who had done it for what purpose.

Quaeryt located the innkeeper with whom he and Zhelan had dealt earlier. The slightly stooped but clean-shaven Culum was arranging tables in the public room.

“This is your inn?” Remembering to speak Bovarian, Quaeryt noticed, for the first time, that the man’s right arm was shorter than his left and his left hand was twisted slightly.

“Ah … it is my grandsire’s, sir, if he remains alive.”

“So far, we haven’t killed anyone. We told you that before. If we’re not attacked, we won’t. They left you here to see if you could manage? Or because they felt we wouldn’t slaughter a man who was crippled?”

“Might be both, Commander.”

“Subcommander. The insignia are gold for commanders. How long has your family owned the inn?”

“Since my great-grandsire, sir. That was when Rex Hrensol built the grand road on the south side of the river from Variana, and the first bridge.”

“Why did he build the road? There’s only a good road from Nordeau west. Farther east, the south road is little more than a trail in places.”

“I’m certain I wouldn’t be knowing that, sir. It was well before my time.”

“That may be, but an innkeeper-or an innkeeper’s son or grandson hears stories…” Quaeryt image-projected friendliness and curiosity.

“It’s only a story … but … well … some say that it was after the good rex built his white palace on the hill south of the River Aluse, and he wanted travelers to approach it along the great avenue beside the river.” Culum shrugged. “Others say it was because Hrensol wanted traders to avoid Kurmitag. That was the town where High Holder Kurm had his timber and woolen mills. Can’t say as which story might be true. Might be neither is.”

“Where did the name of the inn come from?”

“That’d be a strange question, sir.”

“Not so strange. Some of the folks to the east don’t seem too fond of coneys.”

Culum laughed. “Old aunt’s tales. My great-grandsire’s wife’s father raised rabbits … big fat juicy ones. He said that you had to be an agile coney to get around the old man, but he did, and he wed my great-grandmom. My grandsire laughs when he talks about it.” He paused. “Your men’ll be careful of the kitchen?”

“As best we can.”

“You’ll keep ’em from breaking the chairs and benches?”

“We haven’t broken any in other inns.” After a moment Quaeryt asked, “You have problems with Rex Kharst’s troopers?”

“It’d not be my place to say, sir.”

Quaeryt understood. He smiled. “You’ll find that Lord Bhayar’s troopers are far more careful.” And they’d Namer-well better be. “That’s something Lord Bhayar expects.”

Culum opened his mouth, then shut it, before finally speaking. “Be most appreciated, Commander.”

Quaeryt didn’t correct him.