Treachery's Tools (61 page)

“Would you like me to do the other side?” asked Seliora.

“No. It's better if you rest. There may be more to do later. Taurek, please match her pier with one on the other side.”

As Seliora moved her mount back, the broad-shouldered and stocky junior maitre moved his forward. In moments, an identical stone pier stood on the far side.

“Also good,” declared Alastar. “Now, Khaelis, a stone arch and roadbed to connect them.”

As the arch and span appeared, it vanished in white mist, and thin sheets of ice appeared on the slow-moving water before breaking up. More mist rose from the water.

“Arion, roadbed and fill to connect to the pier on this side.”

“Yes, sir.”

Akoryt eased forward. “I can do that on the other side.”

“If you would.”

Alastar studied the nearly completed structure, then spoke again. “Dylert, railings and posts on each side, a yard and a half high.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar had been intermittently watching the two scouts as the imagers created the small bridge. Both appeared to be stunned. “We should wait until the ice melts.”

“It's too warm for ice,” replied Landesh, “but it's there.”

Quellyn nodded in agreement.

When the last of the mist and ice cleared away, only a fraction of a quint later, Alastar turned the gelding toward the bridge. “Now … let's see where this lane leads.” He couldn't help but notice that the two scouts held their mounts back slightly, as if to see if the causeway to the bridge and the center span both held. They did.

Possibly a quint of a mille later, Landesh cleared his throat. “Maitre, sir … ah … are there not many bridges that could use repair?”

“There are, and we've repaired and built some. Imagers built the entire Boulevard D'Rex Regis some thirteen years ago. We've repaired sewers in L'Excelsis and built buildings. But there are only so many imagers who can do what these six did.” He laughed gently. “And how many roads and bridges are there in Solidar?”

The scout frowned for a moment, then nodded. “Never thought of it that way.”

Quellyn, on the other hand, still looked puzzled.

Alastar turned his full attention to the lands on each side of the dirt lane, whose sides were overgrown in places by creeping clingweed, a certain sign that few horses had passed and few cattle or sheep had been grazed nearby. The field to his right looked to be a pasture of some sort, but there was no sign that anything had been grazing there, at least not recently, while the field to his left held maize that was higher than the gelding's withers, but the plants that grew on the lower ground nearer the river had yellowed leaves at their base, while those nearer the lane were much taller and entirely green.
Too much water nearer the river?
He shook his head. He'd been raised to learn about the sea, not about crops.

The maize and pasture gave way to bushes, clearly planted to be harvested, although Alastar saw no signs of berries. They might have been blueberries, since they ripened early, but he wouldn't have known a blueberry plant from a redberry or a greenberry. Beyond the bushes, there was another field, filled with yellowing or tan plants that looked to have been flooded out, but the amount cultivated was only halfway to the embankment that held the river road, and the rain had turned the last hundred yards between the dead plants, most standing in several digits of water, into what looked to be a shallow pond.

Alastar signaled a halt and reined up. He turned to Landesh. “The river road seems fairly exposed from here.”

“A company formed up here would be just as exposed to their fire, and they'd see us long before they marched into range.”

“What if they couldn't see you?”

“But they—” The senior scout broke off his words. “You could hide a company?”

“If they stayed in a tight formation.”

“The rebels couldn't see muzzle flashes?”

“No.”

Landesh pursed his lips. “They'd still know we were here somewhere.”

“Would they charge through that water? If they did, wouldn't it slow them down?”

A slow smile crossed the scout's lips. “A hundred yards of knee-deep water and mud. That'd slow anyone down. They might send lancers, but they'd want to ride around the water.”

“If they went north, they'd have trouble with all those berry bushes. And if the marshal sent mounted infantry to man the ambush, they could mount up and withdraw before the rebels ever got too close,” suggested Alastar. “Think about it.” He eased the gelding forward.

For the next half mille, a large and overgrown woodlot covered the ground on each side of the narrow lane, which now rose somewhat and showed greater signs of use, unsurprisingly to Alastar, given the scattered cots to the west. But beyond the woodlot, he saw another flooded area beside the river road. Not only that, but because the lane was higher, any troopers posted on the lane would actually be firing down on the road, and any attack on the troopers would have to be through deeper water followed by an uphill slog.

Alastar looked to Landesh.

“Be even better here, sir.”

“What if we did both?”

“They'd likely act quicker the second time. Might be better to have our men fire from the saddle.”

Alastar could see that, but he still wanted to see where the lane led.

The imagers kept riding for another mille. While the river and the river road angled slightly more to the southeast, the lane kept heading south. Then, from the top of the next rise in the lane, Alastar could see a hamlet or small town. He judged it to be another two milles away. At the bottom of the rise, the lane widened into more of a road, with cots on plots of land spaced much more closely together. He looked eastward. Even from the rise, he could barely make out the river road.
But you can … barely.
“It looks like the lane or road goes to that hamlet before turning back east and meeting with the river road.”

“Yes, sir. We came down the river road and took it to the hamlet. The locals told us this lane just ended, and only a few small holders lived on it.”

“The rebels would get the same answer, but they might not believe it.”

“Be easy enough to put a scout right here. Quellyn could let us know when the rebels reached that bend, and if some were headed to the hamlet.”

“That's a very good idea.” Alastar smiled. “I think we can head back now.”

 

38

Alastar had hoped to meet with Wilkorn and Maurek when he and the imagers returned so that the three of them could talk over what he had discovered on his scouting mission and work out what he had in mind, but both Wilkorn and Maurek were out doing their own scouting. Then the two senior officers held a meeting with the battalion commanders. In the end, Alastar wasn't able to gain a moment with Wilkorn until after the imagers and troopers had been fed. Even then Alastar had to hurry to catch up with the marshal, who was walking up the road and had almost reached its crest. Maurek was nowhere to be seen.

“Thought I'd see how the road looked in low light,” offered Wilkorn.

“You don't think they'll attack at dawn or dusk?”

“You can't ever tell.” Wilkorn stopped at the edge of the road's crest, looking southward across the fifty yards stretch immediately before him, a section with an incline almost imperceptible, one so gradual that the paving stones looked almost level.

Alastar waited.

“Understand you've been looking for me,” Wilkorn finally said. “How did your scouting mission go?”

“Fairly well. I've located several places where we could conceal a company, and they could open fire on the rebels, but where the rebels wouldn't be able to get to our company before we could withdraw.”

“I'd like to hear more.” Wilkorn's tone was even, neither encouraging nor discouraging.

“You know that road partway down from the crest of the road, the one that heads almost due west…” Alastar went on to describe the terrain and what he and the scouts had worked out as a rough plan of attack.

When Alastar finished, Wilkorn frowned slightly, then said, “I like the idea, and we could spare a company, but getting a full company moving and then set up again in a space of less than three milles might be asking too much, especially on that narrow a lane. There's also the problem of mounts. They take up space. If you have the men mounted, so that they can move—”

“I see your point,” Alastar replied. “We couldn't conceal mounts and men unless the horses were farther away, and then all the men couldn't get to their mounts, and if they're mounted there wouldn't be enough space for a full company.”

“My thought would be to place two squads in the first position and have the other two squads wait near the second position … I'll talk it over with Maurek, see what he thinks. We can work something out.” Wilkorn glanced away.

“There's also something else,” Alastar added. “It's not as pleasant.”

“What's the problem?”

“It's not a problem. It's an opportunity. You remember the poisoned bullets that the brown-shirts used to kill our imagers?”

“I do.”

“We've managed to duplicate a thousand cartridges just like them. We thought they might be useful for whatever company you wanted to employ them. I'd think they'd likely be more useful at closer range after initial contact, but how they're used is up to you. There is one restriction. I've heard that sometimes troopers chew bullets to make them more deadly. These shouldn't be chewed. They can be handled, but not chewed.”

The marshal winced, and a slightly appalled expression crossed his face. “That doesn't feel right…”

“No, it's not. It's nasty; the Nameless would call it evil; and those poor misguided rankers don't deserve it—but our rankers, the factors, and the people of Solidar certainly don't deserve what those Namer-cursed idiots commanding those poor rankers will get if we lose.”

“I can't argue that. I don't like it, but I can't argue it.”

“Think of it this way: If Aestyn had better bullets, would he hesitate to use them? Or Hehnsyn? Or Marryt?”

“I can't argue that, either.” Wilkorn shook his head. “Maurek and I will have to talk it over, but I'm inclined to have the company assigned to you and your imagers be the one with those bullets. Do you have any objections to that?”

“No. That makes sense.”
For a great number of reasons.
First of which was that while the bleufleur killed quickly, its effect wasn't instantaneous.

Wilkorn smiled sadly. “I would have to end up commanding in a war where both sides are fighting for what they believe is their very survival.”

“The High Holders believe that, and they're wrong. Most of them will survive as High Holders for generations, if not longer. They just won't have the power they once did. If the Collegium fails, in three generations, imagers will be being killed or be in hiding again, and Solidar will suffer the loss of all we provide, which costs almost nothing.”

“You really think that?”

“No. I know it. Name me another land on Terahnar where imagers are not slaves or in hiding.”

Wilkorn frowned, then shook his head once more. “After all these years, I should know better than to argue with you.”

Alastar managed a laugh. “You weren't arguing, only questioning, and it was a fair question.”

“It was a question I shouldn't have asked. I already knew the answer. Must be getting old.”

“You're not that old,” protested Alastar.

“My muscles ache when I ride all day. My bones ache, even when they're not broken.” The marshal glanced down at his splinted arm. “I worry when I know there's nothing to worry about, and I let a rebellion happen under my own eyes and didn't see it. That's another reason why I have to be here.”

“Who could have imagined—”

“You did.” Wilkorn shrugged. “I didn't. If anything happens to me, make sure that Maurek is the next vice marshal. He'll be a good successor to Vaelln.”

“You'll likely be in a better position than I will to assure that.”

“That could be, and then it might not be.” The marshal smiled. “I need to find Maurek and talk some matters over with him.”

After leaving Wilkorn, Alastar walked slowly back toward where the rest of the imagers were settled in. Wilkorn wasn't that much older than Alastar, perhaps five years … maybe slightly more than that.
And he thinks he's getting old?

 

39

Alastar slept even less well on Samedi night, even though he was more tired, most likely because he kept worrying about what lay before him … and the imagers. While he could still image as strongly as ever—at any one time—he had the feeling that he didn't quite have the resilience and stamina he'd once had. That had been reinforced by the awareness that it took him longer to recover from heavy imaging. He also worried about what other stratagems Ryel and Ryentar had in mind, or possibly had already put in play. Then there was the matter of Bettaur, who had clearly been doing his best to increase his strength as an imager—and who had likely thrown in with the rebels. And behind it all was the feeling that the High Holders wouldn't have rebelled if they hadn't believed that they had a decent chance of prevailing.

After Alastar woke and ate, he went over the strategy that he and Wilkorn had developed with both Akoryt and Cyran, although he made it clear that only one imager group at a time would be away from the main body. Even as he did so, he half wondered if Commander Maurek might make additional suggestions … or find some reason that it wasn't feasible—which was certainly possible.

Once he was sure that both Akoryt and Cyran understood what he had in mind, he spent much of the morning working with both groups on imaging iron darts—refining the size and shape so that each imager was more effective … and so that each would use less strength when they needed to image those darts against the rebels. That was as much because he couldn't think of anything else that would improve the imagers' chances of affecting the battle or battles to come. He also worked on getting them to alternate imaging so that three of them could maintain a steady stream of darts. Then he had them work on thick fogs of red pepper mist.