“Do you know where the marshal is?”
“Two glasses south of Caluse on the north bank.”
“You want Fifth Battalion ready to move out at noon?”
“That’s my thought, but don’t have anyone mount up until you get word.”
Because we both know Deucalon doesn’t always move his forces with any haste. Quaeryt only nodded. “Is there anything else?”
“I hope not.” Skarpa flashed a sardonic smile, then walked back off the porch.
Quaeryt watched until the commander had ridden down the street, then turned and headed to find Zhelan. He also needed to find a way to dispatch his letter to Vaelora.
The town bells had already struck the first glass of the afternoon before Fifth Battalion actually mounted up and rode out of Caluse, once more in the vanguard.
Less than three milles west of Caluse, the River Aluse began a wide and sweeping curve that, over three milles, resulted in its course running almost due north, a course that would remain generally northward until well beyond Variana. Although Skarpa rode beside Quaeryt, the commander remained tight-lipped, even more self-contained than usual, for close to two glasses. Quaeryt did not press him, knowing that he would offer what he would when he would, although Quaeryt suspected that what Skarpa might say would be less than pleasant.
While he waited for Skarpa to speak, Quaeryt studied the road, the river, and the surrounding terrain, as well as listened intently to the scouts as they reported periodically to Skarpa.
Just after the vanguard rode onto the first few hundred yards where the river and the road both headed north, Quaeryt caught sight of a deep wagon wheel rut on the shoulder of the road, as if the wagon had been pulled over to allow something or someone else to pass. Yet he saw no disturbance, tracks, or gouges in the paving stones … nor any sign the stones had been removed or replaced. Yet the shoulder was of firm ground. There had been little rain, and the depth of the rut and the width of the wheel indicated a heavy load indeed.
Quaeryt couldn’t help but think that the wagon carried something like explosives, cannon shells, or worse … but that was only speculation.
The road itself had come more to resemble the Naedaran road since Caluse, in that it followed higher ground, and there were also few trees between the road and the river, and a cleared space of at least fifty yards to the west of the road before either fields or woods began, mostly fields, with low stone walls marking the edge of the lands. The cots, as usual, were tightly shuttered, and no traces of smoke rose from their chimneys. And there was no sign of any high holdings.
Several hundred yards farther along, Quaeryt saw another deep rut at the edge of the road, but where the wagon had moved back onto the paved area, the wheel had fractured the edge of one of the paving stones.
Definitely heavy.
“You were right, you know,” Skarpa finally said.
“About what?” replied Quaeryt cautiously.
“Deucalon summoned me personally. That was one reason we were later than I told you we would be. It did allow me to hand your letter to a courier. That was the easy part.” Skarpa readjusted his visor cap, still not quite looking at Quaeryt. “Deucalon was less than direct … in that way that he could deny what he conveyed. There was also no one else present.”
Quaeryt nodded.
“He said that we had an important task. That was to remove all Bovarian devices, tactics, and unusual forces that might have a disproportionate impact on the main body. I was to spare none of my forces in such efforts. In fact, if any such Bovarian units remained, especially if my forces appeared to have resorted to positional tactics to temporarily isolate, rather than remove, such Bovarian units, he would regard that as a lack of enthusiasm in carrying out my orders.”
“In other words, you’re to keep Fifth Battalion in the van and order us to destroy anything and everything that may pose a threat, regardless of whether better tactics or even accepting prisoners would accomplish the result of defeating those Bovarian units?”
“That was his point, without ever stating it.” Skarpa snorted. “He did ask if I understood what he expected. Twice. And he was careful not to ask or allow me to comment on what I thought of those orders.”
Some commanders never do. Even as he thought that, Quaeryt recognized that he’d been one of them more than once. “What do you suggest?”
“Whatever tactics will get the task accomplished without you and your battalion taking major casualties while never seeming to be out of the fight.”
“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt understood exactly what Skarpa was saying. Accomplishing that was likely to be far more difficult than it sounded, and it didn’t sound easy to begin with.
For another mille, neither officer said anything.
“Trouble ahead,” said Skarpa, turning in the saddle and ordering, “Column! Halt!”
Quaeryt had already reached the same conclusion, as soon as he’d seen the scout riding swiftly toward them and leading a riderless mount.
“Sirs!” called the scout, who reined up before Skarpa. “They’ve got musketeers ahead. Over that rise.”
“How far beyond the rise?” demanded Skarpa.
“Four hundred yards or so, sir.”
“How did the other scout get shot, then?”
“There were two of them and a squad hidden by bushes … much closer. Soon as we saw them, we turned. They got Vaern before we could get away.”
Quaeryt estimated the distance to the top of the rise as perhaps three hundred yards. “I’d like to take a look.”
“I don’t need a subcommander being shot,” said Skarpa.
“They won’t see me. There’s something not right about this.”
“That’s new?” rejoined Skarpa dryly.
“I want to see if the ground will allow us to spread out, or if we need to just move around the Bovarians and attack from the south or even the north.”
“It won’t. They wouldn’t have taken a position if we could.”
Quaeryt was afraid Skarpa was right, but he still wanted to see.
“Go ahead. Be careful.”
Quaeryt eased the mare forward, slowly, taking his time, and raising a concealment shield before him, as well as his personal full shields. When he neared the top of the rise in the road, as he passed a narrow lane that ran westward, he guided his mount onto the left shoulder of the river road, just in case someone might see dust or something and target the middle of the main road.
He was a good twenty yards from the crest when he could see the Bovarian position, and he reined up immediately. The musketeers were lined up across the road and a good fifty yards on either side, if not more, protected by a chest-high earthen berm. As the scout had reported, they looked to be a fifth of a mille to the north. There looked to be another battalion of foot dug in behind the musketeers, keeping low in shallow trenches behind the earth excavated from the trenches, and several other berms farther back, although he couldn’t see what kind of troops they sheltered. There were even berms between the lines of trenches, at the west end, as if the Bovarians expected a flanking maneuver of some sort.
The squad on the right side of the road had retreated and was more than a hundred yards north of the hill crest.
Quaeryt felt cold inside, even if he couldn’t have said why.
He kept studying the Bovarian position, then the ground to the west of the road, mostly consisting of fields and small holdings, with cots and outbuildings scattered here and there. The side lane that he had just crossed was little more than a path, as were most of those many they’d passed over the last few glasses, and ran due west from the river road. After perhaps a half mille, it split, or joined another narrower road running north parallel to the river road. Farther back was a long narrow lake that stretched for a mille or more to the north, confirming Skarpa’s skepticism about avoiding the Bovarians, although there was an area several hundred yards wide without defensive emplacements. Quaeryt shook his head. Getting there would still expose the Telaryn forces to musket fire.