Princeps

63

Despite Skarpa’s misgivings, Third Tilboran Regiment approached the east side of Ferravyl just before second glass on Meredi. By then, Quaeryt’s dizziness had subsided, but his stiffness and soreness remained, so much so that he felt like a creaky old man whenever he mounted or dismounted, although he did his best not to show his discomfort. As they neared the city, and as small mean steads gave way to crowded huts and houses, Quaeryt found the air hazy and his eyes burning ever so slightly.

A major Quaeryt didn’t recognize was waiting with a squad of troopers on the river side of a set of ancient stone posts flanking the point where the stone-paved highway narrowed into the brick pavement of the city.

“Commander Skarpa!”

Skarpa did not halt the column, but motioned for the major to ride up beside him.

“Major Lewyn, sir. I’m attached to Fourth Telaryn, detailed to Marshal Deucalon’s staff. You and Subcommander Scholar Quaeryt are to join Lord Bhayar immediately at headquarters. Your regiment has been assigned to North Post…”

Quaeryt missed a few words as he considered what the major had said. Subcommander Scholar Quaeryt … What does Bhayar have in mind for you?

“… and would like you to have your men proceed there immediately. You’ll rejoin them within a glass or two. Lord Bhayar wanted me to convey that as well.”

“The beginning of the north river road isn’t that far from the main post,” Skarpa said. “Why didn’t you just wait there?”

“I was ordered out here so that you wouldn’t have to be away from the regiment for long, sir. The Bovarians could attack at any time.”

Skarpa turned in the saddle. “Major Meinyt to the fore! Pass it back!”

Quaeryt almost smiled. Meinyt was only riding a few yards behind them, at the head of Third Battalion, and within moments, the grizzled major pulled up beside Skarpa, easing between the commander and Major Lewyn, as if the headquarters major were insignificant.

“Yes, sir?”

“Major Meinyt, you’re acting commander until my return.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lewyn glanced from Meinyt and back to Skarpa, but said nothing as Meinyt dropped back slightly, allowing Skarpa and Quaeryt to move out at a fast trot, leaving Major Lewyn and his troopers momentarily behind.

Lewyn had to urge his mount almost to a canter to catch up. “I didn’t expect … You didn’t give any instructions…”

“You said time was important, Major. You wonder why I said nothing more,” said Skarpa. “Because I don’t have to. Meinyt knows what to do. All my battalion leaders do.”

“Yes, sir.” Lewyn looked forward.

Skarpa turned toward Quaeryt and raised his eyebrows.

Quaeryt managed not to laugh, instead asking, “How many posts are there around Ferravyl?”

“The main post on the point, the South Post crossing the river and the bridge, and the North Post. There are smaller posts farther up the Vyl and the Ferrean.”

From the maps he’d seen and from what he had read, Quaeryt knew that the two tributaries that joined the Aluse at Ferravyl were far smaller than either the Ruil or the Telexan, and he wondered why the border with Bovaria had developed that far west. Had it just been the way the rivers ran or that the previous rulers of Bovaria had been occupied more in dealing with Khel and Antiago … or the warlike nature of the Yaran rulers of Telaryn?

Quaeryt hadn’t ridden more than another half mille before he found that the air smelled and even tasted metallic and the burning in his eyes was not an annoyance but uncomfortable enough that they were tearing. He knew that Ferravyl was a mill city, with the ironworks built by Chayar on the northeast side, along a canal constructed for just that purpose, and that both coal and ore came down the Ferrean on barges from the north. What he hadn’t expected was that the air would be so foul, far worse than the rotten stenches off the harbor flats in Solis at low tide in midsummer. At least the rotten air in Solis hadn’t burned his eyes and throat.

People in Ferravyl were used to riders in a hurry, because they scattered out of the way, unlike those in Extela, or to a lesser extent, in Solis or Nacliano. Even while riding through the center of the city, Quaeryt gained the impression that Ferravyl was a mean town, worn down for all of its prosperity, where even the brick walls of an inn under construction off the pier square looked soot-smudged for all that masons were working on the walls as Quaeryt passed.

The smoke and haze were almost gone in the area around the main post, perhaps because it was located on a low bluff jutting out from where the Ferrean joined the Aluse, a point of land that Quaeryt suspected was being whittled away year by year by the rivers, and because a solid breeze blew out of the northwest.

While Quaeryt had anticipated that the main post would be filled with troopers, especially given its four-yard-high stone walls, and even thicker siege walls on the three sides facing the two rivers, that was not obviously the case, because he initially saw only a few handfuls of rankers scattered around the stone-paved courtyard. Then he realized that the walls extended farther to the west, through a second gateway into a far larger courtyard, filled with troopers. Even so, the unrelieved grayness of paving, walls, and slate roofs created a mood of something close to grim isolated resolution.

The major reined up outside the large central structure dominating the front courtyard, three stories with a small tower extending another five yards above the west end. “Lord Bhayar is waiting within.”

Quaeryt had his doubts about that. Bhayar had never waited on anyone, not in his experience.

After dismounting and handing the reins of their mounts to one of Lewyn’s troopers, Skarpa and Quaeryt walked up two stone steps and through the weathered ironbound oak door and into a small rectangular hall with a large desk manned by two squad leaders.

One immediately jumped up. “Commander Skarpa? Subcommander Quaeryt? This way, sirs, if you would. Submarshal Myskyl was hoping you wouldn’t be long, and I’ll send a messenger to tell Lord Bhayar you’ve arrived.”

That overwhelming deference and politeness chilled Quaeryt all the way through, and it must have bothered Skarpa as well, because when Quaeryt looked to Skarpa as they followed the graying squad leader down the narrow hallway, the commander nodded slowly.

The squad leader stopped at one door and rapped on it. “They’re here, sir.”

“Take them to the conference room. I’ll be right there.”

“This way, if you would, sirs.”

The conference room was three doors down and on the other side of the hallway and contained a long table with six chairs on a side and one at the far end. Only the chair at the far end had arms.

The squad leader stood by the door, as if to say something, when Myskyl, wearing the single stars of a submarshal on his collars, hurried in, pausing just to nod to the squad leader, who stepped out without closing the door.

Myskyl looked the same as ever, gray-haired, with the faint scars across his left cheek and jaw that Quaeryt recalled. He also carried what appeared to be a rolled map. “Commander, Subcommander … welcome to Ferravyl.” Myskyl did not look at Quaeryt, but kept his eyes on Skarpa. “Lord Bhayar will be here momentarily. How was your trip from Extela?”

“Uneventful until the Bovarian spies tried to destroy the bridge over the Myal,” said Skarpa.

“Yes … yes. Good job in stopping them.”

“That wasn’t my doing. Subcommander Quaeryt and Captain Alusyk took care of that. As I noted in the report I sent along with our estimate of arrival.” Skarpa’s voice was cool, yet gruff.

“Yes. Subcommander Quaeryt is quite resourceful. He always has been.” Myskyl glanced toward the door of the conference chamber. He quickly looked back to Skarpa.

“Unlike some officers, sir,” Skarpa said, “he does not avoid danger if he deems it necessary to accomplish the task at hand.”

“Many have reported that, Commander.” Myskyl’s voice was even, not quite flat, and he continued to avoid looking in Quaeryt’s direction.

Quaeryt heard quick bootsteps on the stone floor of the corridor outside, and then a wiry man with slightly disheveled brownish black hair, wearing the green uniform of a Telaryn officer, if without insignia, stepped into the conference room and closed the door behind himself. Bhayar’s dark blue eyes rested on Myskyl momentarily, then moved to Skarpa, and then to Quaeryt.

“Please sit down.” Speaking in Tellan, Bhayar turned to Myskyl. “You have the maps?”

“Yes, sir.” Myskyl moved to the end of the table that held the single chair and unrolled the maps, placing one on top of the other and placing a square metal weight on each corner. Then he straightened and stepped back.

Bhayar moved the chair away and stepped up before the map, waiting until the other three flanked him. “This shows Ferravyl and the surrounding area. With the fortifications on the bridge and our cabling here”-he pointed to the lines depicting the bridge across the Aluse from the middle of Ferravyl to the far side-“we can prevent the Bovarians from coming downstream, unless they wish to incur terrible losses.” He smiled tightly. “They do not. So they will attempt to flank us to the north and south, with enough men so that we will be forced to move men from the city and weaken our defenses here to the point that they can destroy the bridge and use the Aluse to land forces behind us.”

Quaeryt nodded slightly, waiting to see what else Bhayar had to say.

“Commander Skarpa, it is most likely that the first threat will be across the Ferrean somewhere between two and ten milles from the post here.”

“Because the river is quieter there, sir?”

“That is part of the reason. The other part is that the farther north one goes, the more and more rugged the hills on the east side become. The terrain favors us, because, to take Ferravyl, which is Rex Kharst’s objective, those troopers will have to march and ride back south. The longer that march, the more men they will lose before reaching the city.”

“You want Third Regiment to hold the east side of the river for a distance of ten milles?” Skarpa raised his eyebrows.

“I’m optimistic, Commander. I’m not an idiot. I want you to keep small groups from crossing and to delay and cause great casualties if larger groups manage to cross. I believe they will try a north crossing first, but I do not want to commit forces there because they will see that and attack in the south. By leaving forces at the main post, ready to move, we have the best chance of repulsing their attacks with the least loss of men. While you are holding and delaying, we will be moving to reinforce you. Subcommander Quaeryt and his men may also be of some help in slowing or stopping their advance.”

Quaeryt noticed that Myskyl did not even blink at that announcement.

“The subcommander will be in charge of a special group, which includes imagers and a company of troopers. While his command is independent of Third Regiment, he will report to you operationally. Is that clear?”

A wry smile flitted across Skarpa’s face. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Bhayar gestured to the map again. “At present, from what we have learned and observed, Kharst’s main force is located across the Ferrean and about two milles north in the town of Cleblois. There is no suitable ford or crossing there, but the piers were built to allow barges coming downstream to make their way across the main channel to the east side to dock at the old piers just north of the post here. He has four to five regiments in Cleblois, roughly half of foot and half cavalry. There are archers, but how many is uncertain He has a second, if smaller force, comprising three regiments, on the south side of the Aluse and west of the Vyl…” From there, Bhayar, with occasional additions by Myskyl, pointed out the possible routes of attack, and then went on to note the placement of the Telaryn troops, with three regiments south of Ferravyl, three more in Ferravyl, another deployed in companies to the south along the Vyl, and another to the north along the Ferrean, leaving Third Regiment to hold North Post, a position roughly across the river from Cleblois.

“That should give you a view of what we face.” Bhayar rose. “I’ll need a few moments with Subcommander Quaeryt. Commander, you can discuss any courier or dispatch schedules or other matters with Submarshal Myskyl in his study. Then you and Subcommander Quaeryt can rejoin Third Regiment.”

Bhayar waited for Skarpa and Myskyl to leave the conference room before clearing his throat and continuing, switching to court-Bovarian, the language used in the palace and among intimates. “There are a few other matters we need to discuss.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but be amused at the circumstances surrounding a war with Bovaria that had Bhayar speaking Bovarian to an imager with whom he had studied, and who’d been a loyal Telaryn governor, princeps, and scholar assistant. But then, that somehow fit in the chaos that seemed to surround and infuse all conflicts, at least all those with which Quaeryt had been familiar, either through study or experience.

“There are a pair of uniforms waiting for you at the front duty desk. They’re tailored to fit you. They’re a brownish green, rather than the lighter green of regular officers, but they’re close enough that you shouldn’t stand out too much. You’re going to take command of a special company-five squads of troopers and as many imagers as I’ve been able to have rounded up.”

“But…”

“They’ve been told that you’re familiar with imagers and that I don’t want a known imager in charge of imagers. I’ve also conscripted your friend Voltyr … as well as others from across Telaryn. None of them will be happy, but we’re going to need imagers, and it’s your job to make them understand that. You also need to make them effective.”

“Does Kharst have imagers?” asked Quaeryt.

“It’s likely, but we don’t know how many. He can’t have more than a few, because he’s killed off most of them. Most came from Khel or the parts of Bovaria bordering Khel before he conquered it. They’d be little more than slaves.”

Quaeryt wondered about that, but he wasn’t about to question Bhayar. “What exactly am I supposed to do with this group?”

“Whatever you can to support Third Regiment and create disruption and chaos among the Bovarians.”

“You seem to have close to equal forces, and at least half of yours are experienced in battle and well trained. Why do you need more?”

“I’ll answer that in a moment. Why do you think I relieved you as governor?”

“Begging your pardon, Lord Bhayar, but that’s what I’d like to know,” said Quaeryt quietly.

“Oh … I’ll tell you why. You’d have turned Montagne into a wonderfully well-governed province, and every governor and High Holder in Telaryn would have been demanding your head … or your replacement. Governing isn’t just doing it well; it’s doing it in a way where no one is truly satisfied, but no one with power is fiercely dissatisfied.”

Quaeryt did not reply for several moments, thinking about the implications of what Bhayar had said.… no one with power is fiercely dissatisfied … but that also means that those who are or will be greatly dissatisfied must not be allowed great power …

“Quaeryt…?” prompted Bhayar.

“I was thinking, deeply, about what you said.” Quaeryt smiled tightly. “I take it that wasn’t the only reason.”

“No … Vaelora had to be checked in a way you could not. I hadn’t anticipated how much you’ve come to love her…”

I was supposed to check Vaelora’s desires for villas and a lifestyle you provided … when you insisted that I “respect” her? Quaeryt managed not to react as Bhayar continued.

“… Besides, this way Markyl will be far more bounded than if he had succeeded Scythn directly. He was the one all the High Holders wanted to follow Scythn, you know.”

“I might have guessed.”

“My placing you as governor also served notice, in an indirect way, that any of them could be replaced immediately if they become too greedy. You proved you could be an effective governor, and you’re far more valuable as a governor in waiting, so to speak, than an actual governor.”

“Thank you,” replied Quaeryt dryly. He extracted a folded sheet of paper and extended it.

“This is?” asked Bhayar as he took it.

“A copy of what I left behind for Governor Markyl, with a note that you had a copy.”

Bhayar laughed. “Excellent! Excellent … you’ve just proved you make a wonderful governor in waiting.” He paused. “That leads us to why you’re really here. That’s the problem of Bovaria itself.”

“Bovaria itself?”

“Bear with me,” said Bhayar. “The only port that can handle Bovarian sea trade that is even remotely close to Variana is Ephra, and it’s on the north side of the River Laar, opposite Kephria, which belongs to Antiago. The Autarch has enough ships to shut down trade there anytime he’d like. In addition, all the trade that would come down the Aluse can’t so long as we hold Ferravyl. That’s because Kharst doesn’t want his merchants to pay tariffs, and I’m not about to let them use the Aluse to strengthen Bovaria without getting a healthy stream of golds to build up our defenses. So his traders have to use barges from the Aluse south of Variana along the Great Canal to the Laar and then go down the Laar to Ephra. That takes longer, and it costs more.”

Quaeryt understood the higher costs of trading, but Bhayar had more than that in mind. “What you’re saying is that Kharst wants Ferravyl so that he can eventually take Solis. Why doesn’t he just take Antiago instead?”

“He’d take heavy losses, especially with all that Antiagon Fire, and he still wouldn’t have direct access to a good port. The great canal is long and very narrow. It costs thousands of golds a year to maintain.”

“But he can’t possibly conquer Telaryn, even if he takes Ferravyl.”

“Not this year or next. Perhaps not in ten years. He’s thinking for the long term. If he can gain control of Ferravyl, he’ll control the Aluse. Once he has that, it won’t take him long to build up forces to take the grain lands from Solis to Piedryn. And then there’s the iron.”

“Iron?”

“Iron ore. Why do you think my predecessors fought to keep Ferravyl? The largest amounts of high grade iron ore in all Lydar lie to the northeast of Ferravyl. With control of that iron and the grain lands, it would only be a matter of time before…” Bhayar shrugged. “So … it’s best we act…”

“You have something else in mind?”

“I have thoughts. Whether they become more than thoughts depends on how much damage we can inflict on Kharst’s forces. According to Submarshal Myskyl, your very presence multiplied the losses suffered by the rebels and reduced regimental casualties comparatively. I expect you to do the same here once the Bovarians attack.”

“How long do we have?”

“They could attack tomorrow … or next week. I wager it’s sooner rather than later.”

“Why did you pick me for this?”

“You’re the only one that might be able to wield the imagers into a coherent force. That’s always been a problem in using imagers.”

Quaeryt wasn’t satisfied with that answer, knowing that there had to be more. “What else?”

“There’s a price for everything, Subcommander. If you don’t pay it, what you get will eat you away until you’re a shadow of yourself.”

Quaeryt managed a smile and a nod. “There is indeed a price, one way or another.” And there’s one you’ll pay as well when this is all over.

“Is there anything else you need to know from me, Quaeryt?”

“There doubtless is, but at the moment, I have no idea what it might be.”

“Then I will let you and Commander Skarpa be on your way to North Post.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Bhayar walked to the door of the conference room and opened it, waiting for Quaeryt.

They walked out almost together.