Antiagon Fire (53 page)

“What were they raiding?” asked Quaeryt, curious because one of the maps had shown Khoro as a small town to the west of Suemyran, practically at the foot of the rugged and rocky hills that separated the orchard regions of Antiago from the inhospitable high desert badlands of the south and east. He had to wonder what there might be of value there.

“Who could tell?” replied the captain. “We never caught any of them, and the locals wouldn’t tell us. They are not very bright, you know?”

Quaeryt suspected that the locals were far brighter than Sentio knew, if only because they knew enough to keep secrets. “Where are you from?”

“Liantiago.”

“Are all officers from Liantiago?”

“I would not say that all are, but most I have known are from Liantiago or from villas nearby.”

“What does your father do?”

“He is of the Ascendency, of course.”

“The Ascendency?”

“The Ascendents are the families who are the foundation of prosperity.”

“The large factors and landholders, the ones who own the olive orchards in the north and the palm oil plantations south of Liantiago?”

“And those who have built the great trading fleets.”

“Your father is one of those? A Shahib?”

“His fleet is modest compared to some.”

“How many older brothers do you have?”

“Five.”

Quaeryt almost nodded, but continued his questions as they rode.

Quaeryt and Nineteenth Regiment had not even reached the western edge of Suemyran when a squad from Southern Army rode toward them.

“Submarshal Skarpa holds the city,” announced the squad leader. “The Antiagons had a small post, but it was deserted.”

“We captured the company that held the post. If you’d carry that message back to the submarshal.”

“Yes, sir.”

By the first glass of the afternoon, Quaeryt and Nineteenth Regiment were riding along the wide central boulevard of Suemyran toward the central square. On one low rise along the western end of the city Quaeryt noted close to a hundred large villas. Two quints later, he was meeting with Skarpa in the gaming room of the largest inn of Suemyran, located on the north side of the main square. The inn was built like a two-story villa around a central courtyard that held a fountained garden.

“What do you think we should do with the prisoners?” asked Skarpa.

“Take their uniforms, weapons, and mounts, and leave them here. I doubt that many, if any, will want to walk to Barna … or Liantiago. Otherwise, we’d have to leave a detachment to guard them, and that doesn’t make much sense, one way or the other.”

“I don’t like it, but it makes sense.” Skarpa paused. “What about those two riders of Chaelaet’s?”

“Leave them here, too.”

“What do we do with whatever forces we encounter in Barna? If there’s a detachment posted here, there’s bound to be one there.”

Quaeryt shrugged. “I think we’ll have to make that decision when we get there. We may not have a decision to make, either. They may be ordered to fight to the last man … or to withdraw to Liantiago.”

“Or to harass us all the way there.”

Quaeryt nodded, but he was still thinking about the reaction of Captain Sentio and what it might mean … and what lay ahead of them in Barna and in Liantiago.

57

Over the next eight days, while Quaeryt had the sense that they were being watched as they rode westward toward Barna, none of the scouts could find any tracks that might have supported that feeling, and the people in the towns through which they passed seemed to know nothing about any Antiagon troopers.

On Solayi, near midmorning under a clear and bright winter sky, not that it seemed much like winter, Quaeryt stiffened in the saddle, glancing toward the northwest and a slightly higher hill, covered only at the top with trees bearing gold-tinted green leaves. Quaeryt hadn’t seen any trees like them until the past few days, and every time he’d seen them, he’d observed that each stand was on a hilltop unconnected to any other forested area.

“Gets to you after a while, doesn’t it?” asked Skarpa. “You have the feeling people are watching, but you never see them, and no one knows anything about them.”

“Or no one wants to tell you anything about them. It seems like everyone is too frightened to say anything about Aliaro or whatever Shahib owns the lands.”

“Don’t know what it is, but they’re scared. They’re not scared of the Antiagon troopers. They’re cautious around them, but not frightened,” added Skarpa.

It has to be imagers, because there isn’t any other thing it could be … or something else of power having to do with the Autarch or the Shahibs.
That bothered Quaeryt—a lot—because he wanted to build the imagers into a force to support Bhayar, but he didn’t like the aura of quiet fear he’d seen in the cities and towns of Antiago so far.
Would it be different if only High Holders and wealthy factors had to worry?
He didn’t have an answer for that question … as he didn’t for so many.

“You’re worried about an Antiagon attack,” observed Quaeryt. “Where would you attack us?”

“Right now,” replied Skarpa, not quite humorously. “We don’t know exactly where we are, and we’re really not in the best fighting formation, because you can’t travel as fast if you’re set for battle.”

“There’s no cover nearby,” Quaeryt pointed out.

“If they put cannon on one of those hills and aimed down along the road, we’d take casualties even if we broke and regrouped immediately. With all their warships, they must have cannon somewhere here in Antiago.”

“Cannon are heavy. That’s why Kharst didn’t have many except close to Variana.”

Skarpa grinned. “The road is paved, and how many large cities are left before us?”

“You’re saying we should expect cannon … soon.”

“I’ve ordered the scouts to look for any traces of heavy wear on the road or especially leaving it, and they’re scouting in squads.”

“So that someone is likely to return if they run into trouble?”

The submarshal nodded. “I don’t like it when things are too quiet and they shouldn’t be.”

“That’s why you have the scouts farther out than usual.” Quaeryt was just repeating what Skarpa had said earlier, trying to see if the older officer would add anything.

“The last thing we need to do is find ourselves riding into massed cannon, even with you and the imagers. Riding into heavy cannon fire in terrain we don’t know with a force as small as we have…”

“In short, when you’ve got almost thirty regiments you can take some fire, but not with six.”

“And not when we’re more likely to be facing gunners who know what to do with their weapons.”

That unfortunately made sense, and that was why Skarpa and Quaeryt had gone over orders with the regimental commanders on what to do if the Antiagons attempted to shell the column from a distance. Basically, those orders were a refinement on what Quaeryt had done in the last battles against the Bovarians—to move quickly, at an angle.

Skarpa cleared his throat. “You said you thought the Antiagons wouldn’t wait until we got too close to Barna or Liantiago. That, if they attacked us at all, they’d do so away from towns or cities.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’d be interested in why you thought so. We couldn’t maneuver as well in a town or city.”

“Have you noticed how well kept the towns are, even the older buildings in them?”

Skarpa nodded, even as his eyes scanned the road ahead and the gentle rolling hills, their heights generally tree-covered.

“I’m just guessing, but everything I’ve seen or heard suggests that they try to preserve what they have. Using troops and cannon inside a city would go against that. If they’re using imagers to build things—or repair them—what they can do at any one time has to be limited.”

“Limited? Your imagers rebuilt the entire Chateau Regis in less than three weeks.”

“They refinished it and modified some things, and we had the largest gathering of imagers in the history of either Bovaria or Telaryn. The autarchs may have been using imagers longer, and they may have gathered a greater number of imagers from those that they have, but Antiago is a smaller and less populous land—”

“Frig!” Skarpa gestured ahead to where a puff of smoke appeared above the trees on the hillside a good three-fifths of a mille ahead on the north side of the road. On the road to the south of the hilltop, a scouting patrol appeared, galloping back over a low rise in the road, and one trooper was waving a red banner—danger—trying to get Skarpa’s attention.

Almost instantly, the shoulder of the road ahead on the south side of the pavement erupted into a geyser of dirt, stones, and gravel.

“First company! On me!” Holding his imaging shields barely extended away from himself and the mare, Quaeryt urged her forward and to the north side of the road, across a field at an angle toward a stand of trees near the top of a ridge. The imager undercaptains and first company rode close behind him. As he glanced back, he could see Skarpa and Fhaen leading Third Regiment southeast at a quick trot.

Another explosion, even closer to him, so that stones and gravel rattled off his shields, momentarily blocked a better view of what the various regiments were doing. Quaeryt looked to the west, noting the location of the haze of smoke that marked from where the cannon were firing, then guided the mare more to the north so that first company would end up behind the trees.

The time it took first company to reach the trees, the same ones with the gold-tinged leaves, seemed like a full glass, but was far less than half a quint. Once Quaeryt had the company temporarily out of sight, he immediately raised sight shields and led them, at a fast walk, down the far side of the ridge and then along the fields to the west, trying to gauge how to reach the lower edge of the woods from which the Antiagon gunners were firing.

The field grass was barely ankle high as he led first company toward the larger hill from which the cannon were firing, but then, Quaeryt reflected, it was still supposedly late winter, and the meadows and fields in most of Bovaria and Telaryn were still likely cold and possibly frozen, and certainly still snow-covered in Tilbor. He could almost feel the passage of cannonballs across the sky to the south before they landed and exploded, but with the ridge between him and the road, he had no idea how effective the Antiagon gunners were being. He did know that he and first company had to put the cannon out of action as soon as possible.

The grassy field sloped down to a depression before slowly rising toward the trees that held the cannon still firing eastward at Southern Army. As he rode closer, all Quaeryt could see was a narrow expanse of dirt and mud, an indication that a stream had run there intermittently. Once he felt that first company was close enough that the cannon could not be depressed enough to fire at first company, he dropped the concealment shields and raised full shields across the front of the column.

“Imagers! Shields!”

Quaeryt had barely issued the order when a hail of arrows arched out from the trees, the clattered off his shields.

Under the cover of the archers, two squads of troopers in maroon and white uniforms advanced from the woods, half of them bearing long pikes.

“Advance and plant!” called a voice from the trees.

“Threkhyl,” said Quaeryt in a low voice image-projected to the undercaptain, “bring the trees down on them.”

A sound like rainfall followed a series of creaks and cracking sounds as the greenish gold leaves shivered while the limbs and the trunks bearing those limbs shuddered and then toppled northward onto the advancing pikemen.

Only a handful of the pikemen escaped the tangle of leaves, branches, and limbs, but behind the welter of fallen trees some hundred yards wide were several hundred troopers bearing small round shields larger than bucklers and blades longer than the sabres of first company. Behind them were archers, not quite a company’s worth, Quaeryt judged, although it was hard to tell with so many of them partly concealed by the shadows of the tall trees with their green-golden leaves.

Almost absently, Quaeryt noted that the trees were planted in rows.
Another kind of orchard?

Above them on the hillside, the sound of yet another round being fired echoed down the slope, reminding Quaeryt that the objective was not the archers and the troopers in the woods, but the cannon on the slopes above. Unfortunately, bringing down the line of trees had made charging the archers all but impossible.
And you’ll lose too much of first company if you don’t deal with the archers.

“Imagers! Iron darts on the archers!”

As the archers began to fall, the footmen glanced around, then began to break. With that so did the remaining archers.

“Khalis, Lhandor, Voltyr! Hot iron to the cannon!” Quaeryt followed his order by imaging scores of hot iron splinters to the area where the cannon appeared to be. When there was no apparent reaction, he tried again, and a faint flash of pain seared across his eyes, then faded. He took a deep breath.

For several moments nothing seemed to happen. Then the top of the hillside erupted into a geyser of flame, and the ground under the mare’s hoofs shook for several moments before subsiding. The remaining handful or so of Antiagon troopers staying in the trees glanced uphill, then turned and sprinted for the woods to the west.

“First company! Hold!” ordered Quaeryt.

“Hold!” echoed Zhelan.

Quaeryt quickly scanned the tree debris between first company and where the Antiagon force had been, but he saw no movement, but it was more likely that any surviving Antiagons were lying low than that the toppling trees had killed or wounded them all.

The flames rising from the top of the hill faded into an orangish yellow light, but did not die away. Slowly, as first company re-formed and as fourth squad took charge of the few handfuls of Antiagon prisoners, that orangish light began to intensify. Before long, thick gray smoke began to billow upward, and a sweetish, almost perfume-like odor filled the air, rather than the acrid scents Quaeryt associated with fire.

“The whole top of the hill’s on fire,” declared Horan. “Must be oil nut trees.”