After he crossed the bridge, now largely repaired, he noticed a small stone tower, three yards tall, on the east side of the approach. He couldn’t help but frown. He hadn’t seen that before, had he? Fretting that he was short of time, although he had no reason for such feelings, he urged the mare forward and then westward and into the courtyard, where he reined up behind the north wall before the chimes had announced the glass.
Zhelan was waiting for him. “Good morning, Subcommander.”
“Good morning, Major.” Quaeryt dismounted.
“The senior officers’ meeting is in the conference room on the second level. In moments.”
“Thank you. I’d like to meet with you after that.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll meet you in the corridor outside afterward.”
Quaeryt handed the mare’s reins to one of the rankers and hurried through the closest door and then up a back staircase. As he took off the visor cap and tucked it under his arm, he was obviously the last officer to enter the room, given the looks he received, but at least Bhayar wasn’t there yet. Meinyt and Quaeryt, as the only subcommanders, sat at the foot of the long table, below some fourteen commanders, although Quaeryt was seated beside Skarpa, who was clearly the junior regimental commander at the table.
As Quaeryt slipped into the chair, he murmured, “You didn’t mention the meeting.”
“It was announced at ninth glass last night,” Skarpa replied in a low voice. “By Deucalon’s adjutant.”
The one raising unnecessary questions … or just one of several? After a momentary hesitation Quaeryt nodded. Skarpa hadn’t been about to send a courier-or several couriers-through a driving rain in the middle of the night to make sure that Quaeryt arrived on time for a meeting where the only thing desired of him was his presence and his silence. Still …
The meeting-room door opened.
“Lord Bhayar!”
All the officers rose.
“As you were.” Bhayar’s voice was dry as he approached the end of the table, where he stopped and remained standing. “As Marshal Deucalon and some of you already know”-Bhayar drew out the silence before continuing-“we have seen no sign of Bovarian forces near Ferrravyl. It’s most likely that Kharst has pulled back his forces, possibly as far as Villerive, or at least to positions where the terrain is more favorable. I would prefer beginning this campaign tomorrow, but the first two regiments from Ruile will not be ready until Lundi. Unhappily.” Bhayar turned to Deucalon. “If you would.” He seated himself and looked politely at the marshal.
Deucalon did not stand, but his deep voice carried the length of the long table easily. “The best roads lie on the north side of the Aluse. So do most of the larger towns. So does most of the population of those that span the river, particularly Nordeau and Villerive. Variana is also largely on the north side. The northern army will advance along the north. Beginning at sixth glass on Lundi, we will begin barging men, mounts, and horses and wagons, unless, of course, the imagers can create another bridge from Ferravyl to Cleblois…” Deaucalon looked down the table.
“I fear not, Marshal,” replied Quaeryt. “Not unless you can create another massive warm rainstorm.” And be willing to sacrifice thousands of men and mounts. Or others. At that thought, he managed to keep from shuddering.
“I thought as much, but it was worth inquiring.” Deucalon cleared his throat in a fashion that strongly suggested disappointment. “So we will have to rely on barges and guidelines to cross the Ferrean. In the meantime, the southern army under Commander Skarpa will take the bridges and advance along the south. The southern army is not to proceed more than a day in advance of the northern army…”
Quaeryt listened as Deucalon described the general plan of attack, in essence to take both sides of the Aluse and all the towns while heading directly to Variana. What Quaeryt worried most about wasn’t the attack along the river, or even taking the Bovarian capital, although the campaign leading to Variana could not be anything but bloody. What followed might well be worse, since even if the initial campaign were a complete success, at the end Bhayar would hold little more than a tenth of Bovaria. Then what?
The people in what had once been Khel might well flock to Bhayar, but that would still leave a large part of Bovaria unconquered.
“… now that you all have been briefed on the overall strategy of the campaign, you need to inform your officers and continue with your preparations. That is all I have.” Deucalon turned in his chair. “Lord Bhayar?”
“I have nothing else. You all know what to do better than I could tell you.” With a warm smile, Bhayar rose.
So did all the officers.
“Good day.”
Quaeryt watched as the Lord of Telaryn departed, followed by Deucalon.
That none of the commanders or the submarshal said a word as they filed out of the chamber did surprise Quaeryt, if only for a moment. No one wants to reveal anything. It also saddened him, after a fashion.
Once outside in the corridor, he started to turn to Skarpa, then paused. The commander was looking at the three officers who had met Submarshal Myskyl-two majors and a subcommander.
The black-haired major had a face even more forbidding than Bhayar’s seneschal in Solis, and his eyes flicked across Quaeryt and Skarpa, taking them in and instantly dismissing them. The slightly older-looking major, with longish sandy brown hair and a brush mustache, concentrated on Myskyl with what Quaeryt felt was a fawning intensity. The subcommander offered a warm smile, clearly directed at Skarpa, and inclined his head as well before returning his attention to Myskyl.
“Are those three part of Deucalon’s staff?” asked Quaeryt.
“Subcommander Ernyld is his chief of staff. I don’t know the majors,” replied Skarpa quietly, turning back toward Quaeryt.
“Is there anything else for now?”
“No. You and I and Meinyt should meet outside the senior officers’ mess two quints before dinner.”
“I’ll be there.”
Skarpa just nodded, then headed for the main staircase.
Quaeryt looked around for several moments before he saw Zhelan waiting at the end of the corridor and made his way to the major. “Sir?”
“Can you gather all the officers of the battalion for a quick meeting?”
“Yes, sir. I’d thought you might wish to talk to them after the senior officers met, and I told them to stand by. The best I could find was an empty storeroom off a tack room-”
“That will be fine. Lead the way.” After a moment Quaeryt asked, “I understand first company received reinforcements and replacements. How do they look to be?”
“Half of them have some experience, and I’ve had the squad leaders working the others hard.”
Quaeryt nodded.
“You know, sir … about the other three companies?”
“I know that they’re Khellan, and that few of the troopers speak either Tellan or Bovarian, and that each is commanded by an officer who was once a major or even a subcommander. What else have you found out?”
“They’re all pretty much Pharsi. Each company has two officers. One is a major, and the other a captain. They don’t like us much, but they hate the Bovarians.”
“You’re worried that if we’re too effective, they’ll try to massacre the survivors?”
“The way they were talking, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“How long have you spent with them?”
“Four or five glasses over the past few days. Commander Skarpa didn’t tell me until Mardi.” Zhelan handed Quaeryt a single sheet of paper.