Antiagon Fire (14 page)

“What’s on your mind?” asked the submarshal.

“That there aren’t any boats on the canal.” Quaeryt went on to explain. “So I think we should sent someone ahead to see what the problem might be.”

“Meinyt. Just this morning he was telling me he wasn’t used to riding in Bovaria without being attacked.” Skarpa chuckled. “Besides, that will irritate Kharllon.”

“Is he getting to you?” asked Quaeryt.

“Only in the quiet way that he’s looking to find any mistake I might make.”

“Him and Meurn,” said Quaeryt.

“Would you have expected anything less of Deucalon?”

Quaeryt laughed.

In less than half a quint, Meinyt and one of the companies from his Fifth Regiment were moving westward at a good clip along the towpath. Almost two glasses passed before the subcommander and his company returned. Skarpa called a halt and let the troopers rest while the three senior officers and Vaelora met at the edge of the towpath.

“There aren’t any boats because there’s trouble in Laaryn,” Meinyt began. “That’s what the town councilor told me. An old white-bearded fellow. He came out to meet me with some factors. They said a full company of Bovarian foot has occupied the lock houses.” Meinyt shook his head. “Sounds like an alehouse tale, but I thought I’d report and see what you thought.”

“They must want something,” said Vaelora.

“Supposedly, they want Bhayar to allow them to rule western Bovaria as independent. The councilor says that they’ve drained all the locks and put barrels of gunpowder against the lock gates to destroy them.”

“Did you see that?” asked Skarpa.

“The locks are empty of water—one is, anyway. The councilor didn’t want me closer. He said the troopers would kill some hostages. They kept looking back at the lock houses. I didn’t see anyone moving—except for one trooper at the door of the closest lock house.”

“What’s to keep us from just moving in and taking them out?” asked Skarpa.

“They say they’ve captured the firstborn sons of fifty factors and merchants, and if their terms aren’t met, they’ll cut all their throats.” Meinyt shook his head. “I don’t like people who hold others for ransom. Don’t like folks who tell stories like that, either. Just as soon take ’em all out. Besides, I can’t believe they’d let their own troopers take so many hostages.”

“The locals can’t expect Bhayar to give in,” Skarpa pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” said Vaelora. “What matters is that we can’t appear weak.”

Quaeryt frowned.
But why block the canal? It would take weeks for Bhayar to find out.
He looked to Meinyt, then Skarpa. “Would any company you’ve ever commanded do something like this? Would anyone who’s ever commanded come up with a story like that?”

“It’s not likely,” said Skarpa.

Meinyt shook his head.

“Given the way Kharst punished men…” suggested Vaelora.

“So what do we do?” mused Skarpa.

“Did you see any troopers … or any men with arms? Besides the one?” asked Quaeryt.

It was Meinyt’s turn to frown. “No. The councilor begged me not to approach the lock houses too closely.”

“What are we supposed to do, then?”

“Send their request to Bhayar and wait for a response.”

“I’d like to try something different,” said Quaeryt.

Vaelora offered a concerned glance.

“I’d like you to march one of the regiments toward the locks. Stop a good half mille short and hold them there. Tell the councilor that you will wait there for Lord Bhayar’s reply.”

“And?”

“I’d like to see what is actually happening.”

“I take it,” said Skarpa dryly, “that they won’t happen to see you?”

“I’d be very surprised if they did.”

“We’ll just take the whole army until we’re about two milles from the edge of Laaryn,” Skarpa announced. “Fifth Regiment will be the one making the appearance.”

Meinyt nodded, as if he had expected nothing else.

“And your imager undercaptains will be in the van with Subcommander Meinyt and me,” Skarpa added.

A quint later Fifth Regiment rode westward at the front of the long column. Quaeryt and Vaelora rode behind Skarpa and Meinyt, with the eight imager undercaptains following them.

Vaelora eased her mount closer to his. “What are you thinking, dearest?”

“I think you know. Troopers wouldn’t take a canal, or hold the firstborn sons of factors for ransom. Who benefits from closing the canal, especially in wartime?”

“And they didn’t expect an army?”

He nodded.

“Then why not…? Oh … we’d have no idea…”

“Exactly, and it will be better if…”

Vaelora nodded, but said no more as they continued riding.

Noon had come and gone, and it was close to the first glass of the afternoon before they could see the buildings ahead spreading away from the Great Canal.

“The first lock house is a bit more than two milles from here,” Meinyt declared.

“Column! Halt!” ordered Skarpa.

In moments, or so it seemed to Quaeryt, he and the imagers were moving out with Skarpa and Fifth Regiment, leaving Vaelora with Zhelan and first company.

When the vanguard of Fifth Regiment reached the millestone with the number two on it, roughly a mille from the lower lock, Skarpa called a halt and looked to Quaeryt and Meinyt.

“Submarshal, I’d suggest that you ride forward with a squad and two imager undercaptains who can provide shields. I’d recommend that you announce to the town councilor that you’re stationing one regiment here for the moment, with the others slightly farther away, and that you’d like to talk to the leader of the mutineers.”

Meinyt raised his eyebrows as if to ask why Skarpa would be doing the talking.

“I’ll be there,” said Quaeryt. “The submarshal just won’t see me. I’d rather not walk that distance.” He turned to Skarpa. “I doubt that you’ll have to say much more, but if you do, just tell whoever it is that you’ll have to send a dispatch to Bhayar.”

“They’ll claim they won’t wait for that. They’ll threaten to kill people.”

“Then say that any deaths will be on their heads. Stall them however you can.” Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Voltyr! Desyrk! Forward.”

Before long, flanked by the undercaptains, Skarpa rode forward. Quaeryt rode just behind Desyrk, and following him was a squad of troopers. Quaeryt held a concealment shield only in front of himself and the mare, so that the troopers saw him perfectly, although Skarpa and the undercaptains could not.

To Quaeryt’s right was a lane that paralleled the canal. The riders continued on the towpath for another hundred yards before the lane curved away to the west-northwest, and Quaeryt rode past the first of several structures that looked to be traders’ or factors’ warehouses. As seemed to be common along the Great Canal, they were constructed of the same dull red brick that Quaeryt had observed day after day in the small towns through which they had ridden. Unlike in many towns, though, the buildings appeared to be roofed in fired clay tiles.

As Quaeryt had suspected would happen, when they neared the section of the towpath some fifty yards short of the lock gates of the lower lock, the white-bearded town councilor, accompanied by two muscular young men, hurried forward.

Skarpa reined up, as did the group. Quaeryt dismounted and walked the mare forward and to the right side of Desyrk, so that the undercaptain could see him. There he handed the reins to Desyrk, before stepping to the side and extending his concealment shield to surround himself. He stood, waiting to hear what the white-bearded man had to say.

“Sir … I told the other officer…”

“I’m Submarshal Skarpa of the Southern Army. There are nine regiments behind me. Who are you?”

“Town councilor Moraes … Please, sir, do not approach closer. They will kill too many.”

“Who are they?”

“The soldiers who hold the locks … and our sons.”

“What do you expect us to do, Councilor?” demanded Skarpa coolly. “I understand from Subcommander Meinyt that these mutineers have some ridiculous idea about governing their own land.”

“Yes, sir … yes, sir.”

“Then it’s our duty to remove them,” Skarpa declared. “Lord Bhayar isn’t about to stand for something like that.”

“Please, sir … please wait … please.”

“I’ll give them a glass to come out and talk to me. No more.”

“But … sir…”

“Tell them what I said.”

The councilor’s shoulders sagged. “Yes … yes … I will tell them.” He turned and began to trudge back, with the two muscular men, each with a truncheon, walking on each side of him, perhaps a pace back.

As Quaeryt followed them, he noticed a single canal boat, well appointed, tied to the wall just below the lower lock. When he was almost abreast of the boat, he saw that the shutters were closed and locked, and the hatches or doors were chained shut. Yet he could see marks in the towpath that indicated cargo had been rolled or carried to the boat, and that it rode lower in water, with the canal water slightly above its waterline. The doors of the warehouse across from it were chained shut as well.

Probably a factor trying to save his cargo from the rapacious Telaryn barbarians.
Quaeryt shook his head and returned his attention to the men he followed.

The three were silent until they reached the long stone ramp that angled up beside the lower lock.

“You should have tried harder, Moraes…” said the taller younger man.

“With a Telaryn submarshal?” The older man’s voice was plaintive. “You heard what they did at Variana.”

“What do we care about that?”

The other man with the truncheon turned and looked back.

Quaeryt froze.

“What is it?”

“Coulda sworn I heard someone else.”

“There’s no one else around, not close enough you could hear steps. Just keep walking,” said the tall man.

The north side of the lower lock was almost ten yards wide. Quaeryt glanced up. From what he could see, a lock house stood at each end, one just short of the eastern lock gate and one just below the western lock gate. The ramp rose until it was level with the top of the lock at the west end, and then flattened out for some fifty yards. Besides of the one trooper standing outside the easternmost lock house, Quaeryt saw no one else near the locks or the canal.

That single trooper standing by the lock-house door paced back and forth.

Pacing … not marching.
Quaeryt frowned.

The lower lock looked to be largely empty of water, although he could not see the bottom of the lock from where he was.
At least one lock empty, the one that leads to Eluthyn. What about the one that serves that part of the canal that meets the River Laar?
The town councilor had said that both lock gates were charged with gunpowder. Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. Just placing bags of gunpowder against oak-timbered locks and lighting them off might only create superficial damage and might not even strain the lock-gate timbers. He glanced toward the closed gate to the upper lock, but there was no way to tell whether it was full or empty.

Abruptly the three men turned to the right, walking toward a narrow stone-paved lane between two brick buildings.

At the far end of the lane, Quaeryt could see that the street was blocked with barrels set on their butts, with ropes wound around each barrel and then stretched to the next. Behind the barrels stood men with truncheons and clubs, facing north and away from Quaeryt. Beyond them were more than a few men and women.

As Quaeryt stepped into the partly shaded lane, he strained to see if he could hear some of what was being said. Most of the words were lost, but he did catch a few louder phrases.

“… no, you can’t go there. Lord Bhayar’s got an army coming through…”

“… you want to get trampled?”

“… don’t care if it is market Samedi…”

The three men he followed turned left into an open archway, and Quaeryt had to hurry to catch up to them as they stepped through two battered doors that were swung back. In the open space before rows of bales and barrels stood nine men.

Immediately a tall and stout gray-bearded man turned. He wore a rich brocade jacket and black woolen trousers, with a silver stripe down the outside seam of each leg. “What happened?”

“They’ve got a submarshal there, like Moraes told you. He says he’s got nine regiments. He said we had a glass to get one of the mutineers out there to talk.”

“We can’t get everyone out that fast, not all the men who are manning the barriers.”

“They’ll talk…”

“How were we to know that bastard Bhayar would send an army this way so soon? None of those in Variana—”

“They probably traveled faster than any messengers…”

“… don’t know if the Telaryns let anyone ride out…”

“… have to do something…”

Quaeryt surveyed the interior of the warehouse for several moments, before imaging a thin layer of stone across the far door, then across the two windows. A whitish mist filled the warehouse, caused by the chill of the imaging. While holding full protective shields, he dropped the concealment shields.

The factors turned. As their faces took in the uniform, several swallowed.

One younger and burlier factor pulled out a blade and charged Quaeryt. When he hit Quaeryt’s unseen shields, the force of his impact threw him off balance, but the blade did not leave his hand until he slammed down on the stone floor. His head twisted, and the side of his face hit the stone as well.

Another factor raised a heavy pistol, awkwardly starting to cock it.

Quaeryt imaged the weapon out of existence, then image-projected his voice with absolute authority. “None of you are going anywhere. Not for a time.”

“Who are you?” demanded the tall and stout gray-bearded man.

“Commander Quaeryt Rytersyn, in the service of Lord Bhayar. I can tell you also that he will not appreciate the attempted closure, even temporarily, of the Great Canal.” Quaeryt once more studied the inside of the warehouse for several moments, then imaged more stone across two other possible exits, a boarded-up window, and what looked to be a trapdoor, behind the barrels. Then he stepped back and imaged a stone barrier to fill the archway.