“Fifth Tilboran is ready,” added Meinyt.
“Then we should proceed.” After a moment Skarpa added, “Whoever would have thought a major, a captain, and a scholar would have ended up where we are?” He grinned at Quaeryt. “Except for the scholar, and he didn’t expect to become a subcommander. I told him he ought to be an officer.”
“Everyone’s allowed some doubts,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh.
“Any last moment news about the Bovarians?” asked Meinyt.
“There’s no sign of any troopers within fifteen milles,” said Skarpa. “The scouts haven’t covered the area west of that except along the river, but there’s no indication of Bovarian forces.”
“First indication is when we lose someone or they attack,” said Meinyt.
“They won’t attack soon. They don’t have many men close enough to attack in force. They’ve barely had enough time to get a messenger to Variana and to ride back here.”
“Archers or crossbowmen and destroying bridges?” suggested Quaeryt.
“We’ll have to keep alert for those sorts of things,” said Skarpa. “I think Marshal Deucalon will face more of that, though. His force is larger, and the roads on the north side of the river are better.” He raised his arm and nodded to the hornist.
The call for the advance echoed across the north end of the river, and the outriders started forward. Meinyt nodded, then turned and rode back to Fifth Regiment, which brought up the rear and guarded the supply wagons.
“If you wouldn’t mind my riding with you, sir, for a bit?” asked Quaeryt. “It’s acceptable that the imagers remain with the battalion for a time?”
“For the morning, perhaps longer, depending on what the scouts report.” Skarpa urged his mount forward, and Quaeryt eased the mare in alongside him. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m not certain I have anything in mind. I was more interested in anything you might have considered.”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that we have all the elements of the Telaryn forces that might be considered suspect or different.”
“Piedryn forces that are less well trained, Khellan rebels, and imagers, you mean? Not to mention Tilboran regiments commanded by officers considered possibly less … traditional. With far fewer archers and engineers, as well. Have I missed anything?”
“You didn’t mention a subcommander married to the sister of the Lord of Telaryn. He is an officer with a habit of not respecting the privileged excesses of certain High Holders.”
“Has it been said like that?”
“Not quite. It might as well have been, though. Why do you think the forces were split that way?”
“The most obvious reason was because the forces on the north side of the Aluse will face greater opposition. A careful commander would place his strongest forces where he expects the greatest opposition.”
“That is certainly what Marshal Deucalon has said.”
“You don’t believe him?”
Skarpa smiled. “Do you think that Lord Bhayar is a gambler?”
Quaeryt shook his head. “He calculates, but he is anything but a gambler. He will let others take risks, but only so long as he will not be the one to pay if they lose.”
“That is why we were ordered not to get too far ahead of the northern force.”
“Because we have to be forward in order to be successful, more than a day, and if we fail, that failure falls on us?”
“I thought you would understand.”
As they reached the midsection of the fortified bridge, Quaeryt glanced to the western wall. It was difficult to tell the section that had been damaged by the Bovarian barge when it had exploded against the bridge pier below at the beginning of the battle for Ferravyl. Several of the replacement stones looked identical. Those Threkhyl imaged? “They repaired the bridge so well you can’t tell it was damaged.”
“The roadbed was hardly touched in the center. You and the imagers preserved it more than any would have believed possible.”
“They still have a lot to learn.”
“It’s interesting that you know so much about what they need to know.”
“Scholars need to know a great deal, and I’ve always enjoyed learning.” Skarpa might well suspect, or even be convinced, that Quaeryt was an imager, but he wasn’t about to admit it yet. And not in public.
“You do know quite a bit. Everything from imaging to rulers, even to the Nameless.” Skarpa grinned at Quaeryt. “You know we still don’t have a chorister in the southern army…”
Quaeryt groaned.
“I can’t really insist that a subcommander … but … the officers and men…”
“All right … but no offerings and no blessings.”
“I thought you might see it that way.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“No. That’s because you’re an honest man, and you worry about your officers and men.”
“And you’re a persuasive scoundrel,” countered Quaeryt.
“Of course. That’s why I’m a commander. In wartime, anyway.”
As he rode down the south half of the bridge, Quaeryt looked out at the triangle of land between the Aluse River and the Vyl River, and then at the stone bridge that he and the imagers had created. Two weeks before, the ground had been covered with ice and frozen bodies. Despite the comparative pleasantness of the morning, he shivered for a moment.
Two long mounded berms of freshly packed earth now crossed the triangle comprising the bluff above where the rivers met. The mounds were the final resting place of more than twelve thousand Bovarians. A smaller pyramidal mound with a stone before it was located to the north and east. For the Telaryn dead.
“You’d never believe what this looked like two weeks ago.” Quaeryt felt he had to say something.
“Lord Bhayar ordered every man in every regiment to spend time dealing with the dead,” replied Skarpa.
That was another thing Quaeryt hadn’t known, although he had seen hundreds toiling when, barely able to ride, he had been escorted to Nordruil. “How did they take it?”
“They complained when they thought no officers were listening. What else? Of course, many of them ended up with better weapons or a few more coins. But it was better than letting them just strip the dead and leave them. Had to do something, and do it quickly. That’s the problem with fighting in summer near a city.”
Quaeryt nodded.
As they rode along the road beside the berms and neared the imager-built bridge, Quaeryt could see wagon ruts in the still-soft ground. “The locals haven’t wasted much time in using the bridge.”
“Not at all.” Skarpa snorted. “Except the local ferryman wrote a complaint to the marshal. Said the bridge had destroyed his livelihood.”
There’s always someone. “All he has to do is move ten milles upriver. There aren’t any bridges there, and most people won’t travel ten milles downstream and then back to take a bridge if there’s a ferry.” Quaeryt paused, as a thought struck him. “But there’s likely already a ferryman there.”
“The same thing would have happened sooner or later. If Bhayar wins, he’d have built a bridge. Same thing if Kharst had won. Just would have taken longer.”
As the mare carried Quaeryt onto the bridge, he could see that it was not quite as large as he had thought from a distance, although it was wide enough for two farm wagons side by side-if with little space to spare. The side walls were low, only a little more than a yard high, but the paving stones were smooth and well fitted.
Skarpa looked to Quaeryt. “We’d best win this war, or this bridge will work against us.”
“We could explode it,” joked Quaeryt.
“After all the death around it, I’d hate to do that. Better just to conquer Bovaria. Might even be better for the Bovarians.”
“I’ve never heard much good about Rex Kharst.”
“Has anyone?” countered Skarpa. “He keeps everyone in line by killing anyone who disagrees. It works, but…”
“How does he keep the High Holders in line?”
“That’s what he used his troopers for … and his imagers. Among other things, I’ve heard.”