“The Bovarians have assembled the largest army in the history of Lydar. The largest, but not the best. You’re the best. Commander Skarpa’s scouts have provided very thorough reports. So have the scouts we have dispatched to reconnoiter Bovarian positions on both sides of the river. We believe that by tomorrow and certainly by Vendrei, Kharst’s commanders will have more than forty regiments in position between us and Kharst’s chateau. Half are foot…”
While we have maybe five regiments of foot troopers, thought Quaeryt, and who knows how good they are?
“We cannot determine with certainty the exact number of musketeers,” the marshal continued, “but it appears that there are the equivalent of two regiments. These are in addition to the more than two regiments of musketeers already destroyed by Commander Skarpa’s forces. The number of cannon is unknown, but the emplacements the scouts have seen could hold between fifty and a hundred…”
Enough to destroy all of our imagers, thought Quaeryt.
“… Kharst has left at least three regiments, if not more, guarding the east river road into Variana. It is possible that more Bovarian regiments will arrive, but that appears unlikely for a number of reasons I will not address at the moment. At the very least, our arrival has forced Rex Kharst to tear up his rather large hunting park and private grounds to dig trenches and throw up earthworks…” Deucalon smiled, and murmurs of low laughter ran through the tent.
It also suggests that he’s confident enough that he believes he can defeat us easily and wants to be able to chase down survivors, reflected Quaeryt, which he couldn’t do if his troops were actually inside the city or even within his chateau.
“… the comparative openness of the terrain will allow us greater opportunity to maneuver at will and to concentrate our forces as necessary as well as to move quickly enough that we do not suffer significant casualties from cannon fire…”
Deucalon continued to talk in generalities for almost another quint before he finally said, “Please convey this to your battalion and company officers. Unless matters change suddenly, there will be another briefing for all of you, here, tomorrow evening at the same time.” Deucalon stepped back, and a major Quaeryt did not recognize stepped forward.
“That is all, sirs.”
By the time the major had delivered those few words, the marshal had vanished from the tent. In moments, Myskyl and the commanders around him were also gone.
Skarpa said nothing until he and his three subcommanders were well away from the briefing tent. Then he looked to Quaeryt. “What do you think?”
“He didn’t mention who will lead the attack.”
“He didn’t, did he?” Skarpa smiled sardonically. “What do you think that means?”
“That we will,” growled Meinyt from behind Quaeryt. “He’s not saying because he doesn’t want anyone to notice that we keep getting thrown into the fire.”
“Or that he doesn’t want the Bovarians to know,” suggested Quaeryt.
“How would that…” Meinyt stopped abruptly. “You don’t think…?”
“I don’t know what to think, except it’s more than a little unusual that our forces are much smaller and yet the only musket and cannon attacks have been against us.”
“Even Myskyl wouldn’t do that,” Meinyt admitted.
“Exactly,” said Skarpa. “I doubt any of the senior officers would, either, but with over a hundred majors … the marshal might not want to say anything yet. He didn’t tell us anything that the Bovarians wouldn’t already know.”
“I didn’t see Lord Bhayar,” said Khaern.
“He doesn’t usually attend briefings,” said Skarpa. “He gets briefed first.”
“Why is Lord Bhayar even here?” asked Khaern abruptly. “If the marshal is making the decisions…?”
Skarpa looked to Quaeryt and smiled. “You might explain that best.”
“It was his decision to attack Bovaria when we did. He’ll be the one executed if Kharst wins. His family will be destroyed. And … he was trained by his father to make those kinds of decisions. He can and will override the marshal if he thinks it necessary.”
“And … if you think so…?” pressed Khaern.
“I can occasionally tell him what I think. He still decides,” replied Quaeryt dryly. “That’s why I’m a subcommander and not on his staff or the marshal’s.”
“It’s also why you’re married to his sister,” said Skarpa. “He didn’t give you any choice there, either.”
“You’re … married to Lord Bhayar’s sister?” asked Khaern. “And he put you where you’d be leading charges?”
Belatedly, Quaeryt realized that he’d never mentioned Vaelora to anyone outside Fifth Battalion except Skarpa and Meinyt, and it was clear that neither of them had told Khaern. “Why not? He’ll be where he can be killed when we meet the Bovarians.” That wasn’t quite true, because Bhayar would be farther from the action than Quaeryt would be, but Quaeryt had no doubts that Bhayar would not survive if the Telaryn forces were routed. “His father sent him as a ranker to Tilbor during the fighting there, and his grandsire sent his father into battle as well.”
“No other rulers in Lydar do that,” Khaern said.
“No other rulers are descended from Yaran warlords.” Quaeryt’s words were dry.
“Do you think we’ll attack on Vendrei?” asked Meinyt.
“It won’t be tomorrow,” replied Skarpa. “That’s about all we know.”
With Deucalon advising Bhayar, Skarpa was absolutely right, Quaeryt reflected.
The four kept walking, with Erion slowly rising in the east behind them, Artiema almost ready to set in the west, even before the sun.
79
Almost exactly at the second glass of the afternoon on Jeudi, Quaeryt was standing at the north end of the lake that formed the southern end of the Telaryn encampment, still trying to improve his imaging by trying to draw heat from the lake water or, later, from a river, rather than from the rain that wasn’t likely to arrive when he needed it.
The first step had been easy enough. He’d managed that two days earlier. He’d just imaged a tiny stone tower, no more than the length of his middle finger, into being at the edge of the water, drawing heat from the surrounding water. A thin film of ice extended little more than two fingertips from the stone tower. The second step was to image the little tower out of existence while drawing heat from the water. That had taken him almost two days of intermittent effort to work out. Destroying the tiny tower hadn’t been hard at all, but finding a way to obtain the strength to do the imaging from the water had been the hard part. Once he’d mastered the technique, it was actually less tiring, he could tell, even on that small a scale, than imaging without seeking sources of heat.
Of course, it wouldn’t work all that well in the winter. Or if there isn’t a lake or a big river nearby.
“Subcommander, sir!”
He turned to see Lhandor riding toward him, leading Quaeryt’s mare. Riding beside the young Pharsi officer was another undercaptain Quaeryt did not recognize.
“Sir, Lord Bhayar would like to see you,” said the undercaptain. “I’m to escort you, but Undercaptain Lhandor may certainly accompany you.”
“Good,” said Quaeryt, taking the mare’s reins from Lhandor and mounting.
The undercaptain led the way around the northeast side of the lake, past the large briefing tent and then into an encampment surrounding a second tent barely smaller than the briefing tent. He reined up before the squad of troopers stationed in front of and around the tent.
A major, another officer Quaeryt had not met, stepped forward as Quaeryt dismounted. “Lord Bhayar awaits you, Subcommander.”