"Goa"

Less than half a quint after Zhelan vanished into the lurid gloom and smoke, Skarpa rode over to Quaeryt and reined up. "A good third of the survivors, it looks, have run down into those woods. Those who are left."

"You don't want to send troopers in there in the dark?"

"Would you?"

Quaeryt wouldn't. "Are there any of their catapults intact? Or any fire grenades left? That's about the only thing you might do. You might see if you could use their catapults and drop the Antiagon Fire grenades into the woods. There's enough open ground between where the trees end and the town proper. Then have the men wait for them to come out."

"The fire could still spread to the town, and we might lose men trying to figure out how to use them."

"It could," said Quaeryt. "And you could lose more men in the woods. Or you could post men around the woods and wait."

"And we could wait for days or weeks."

Quaeryt nodded. "Or you could just let them hide and slip away. Just post a company or two between the woods and the town."

"Your imagers can't do anything?"

"They're spent."

"I'd rather not endanger the town. We may be here for a while. And I'd rather not burn the survivors out. Would you?"

"No. It's one thing in battle, another afterward." Quaeryt snorted. "Not that Kharst would see the difference or care." The wind swirled around him, blowing past him from the northeast. He glanced at the meadow and the fires still burning in front of the stone walls, then said, "You may not have a choice if the wind continues."

Skarpa shook his head. "Rather not have that happen. If they surrender, we'll have a few days to work out something." He paused, then said, "Even in the dark, you look like something the Namer dragged in."

Quaeryt laughed hoarsely, then blotted his eyes with his sleeve.

"Once you've got your battalion back together, why don't you see if you can find quarters or the like for them." Skarpa's last words were not a question.

"Yes, sir."

Quaeryt couldn't disagree. Every moment was an effort. He watched as the commander rode toward the slightly higher ground behind the devastation around the stone walls. He just hoped the Khellans hadn't gotten too out of hand, but in the smoke and darkness there was no way he was going to be able to track them down.

He could only deal with it latera"if they had exceeded his ordersa"after the fact, because he was in no shape to do anything else.

That bothered him as well.

21.

Somehow, in the seeming chaos that followed the battle, if it could be called that, Quaeryt and Zhelan managed to muster Fifth Battalion, but it was well after the first glass past midnight by then, because while only some of the woods had burned, that had been enough to force out many of those defenders who had fled, and dealing with them had taken more time. Second glass had almost passed before they located a livery stable and adjoining sheds on the southeast side of Caernyn. The quarters, if they could be called such, were cramped, but he hadn't wanted to try to roust out locals in the middle of the night, not with the potential chaos and additional deaths such an effort might have caused. What with one thing and another, it had been after third glass before Quaeryt had collapsed on a pile of hay in the livery stable, his legs shaking so much he could barely stand, and his head pounding.

When he struggled awake in the grayness of Lundi morning, his lungs burned. He felt as though the smoke from the previous day had all settled in his nose, throat, and chest. He slowly rose and then staggered as much as walked, because his bad leg was giving him trouble, as it often did when he was overly tired, to the door of the stable where a pair of troopers stood guard.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning." Looking out over the trampled mud of what passed for a courtyard, all he could see was gray. A grayish sky, with haze and smoke still everywhere a and the stench of burned wood and flesh. He had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat.

"Sira" A junior squad leader hurried toward Quaeryt. "The commander would like you to meet him for breakfast at the River Inn. It's three blocks that way." He pointed.

"What about the men?"

The squad leader looked puzzled.

"I need to make sure they're fed, first." Quaeryt tried to sound calm and pleasant, even though his head still throbbed, and the burning sensation in his throat and lungs had not completely subsided.

"Ah a sir."

Quaeryt turned at the sound of Zhelan's voice.

"As you suggested, sir, we've taken over the stable owner's kitchen and spaces," said Zhelan. "It will take a bit longer to feed everyone, buta"

Quaeryt had suggested no such thing, but he appreciated, again, Zhelan's tact. "Thank you. I'm glad you were able to work that out." You shouldn't have said anything until you knew what was happening. But then he wasn't thinking well, not on as little sleep as he'd had. That was just another reason he had no business being a subcommander. He should have been up earlier to take care of things, but he didn't have the years of training and experience to be able to know what to do without having to think about it. And a he'd forgotten how much imaging took out of him. He turned back to the squad leader. "If you would let the commander know I'll be there shortly."

"Yes, sir."

Once the squad leader had left, Quaeryt turned to Zhelan and gestured for the major to follow him along the dried mud beside the stable for several yards, until they were well away from the troopers. "Thank you."

"Sir a that's what I'm here for."

To Quaeryt's ears, Zhelan didn't sound condescending, patronizing, but just matter-of-fact, and not in the resigned way he'd heard too often in Bhayar's court. "That may be, but I appreciate it."

"Thank you, sir." Zhelan paused. "We lost four more men this morning. I think the rest of the wounded stand a good chance of pulling through."

"What's the town like? And the Khellans?"

"They followed your orders. There were even wounded Bovarians where they fought."

Thank the Nameless. Even as that thought came to mind, Quaeryt almost smiled at the incongruity of his offering thanks, however inadvertently, to a deity he wasn't even certain existed. "That's good. Very good."

"Sir a the commandera"

"Oh a thank you."

Quaeryt pulled himself together, then headed in the direction that the squad leader had pointed, finding himself accompanied by a pair of troopers. Smiling wryly at that, he also checked his shields, holding only the lighter trigger shields, which weren't any effort to speak of, as he walked northward.

The River Inn was actually a solid three-story building, with a half squad of troopers stationed on the covered front porch.

"Good morning, sir," offered the squad leader as Quaeryt stepped onto the solid planks of the porch. "The commander is in the public room, the first arch on the right."

"Good morning, and thank you." He had just stepped through the doorway when he couldn't help but hear a few words behind him.

"a must have taken out half score himself with that staff of his a protecting the imagersa"

Had he? Did everyone watch him? Not many did, only those who weren't preoccupied with their own survival, but a few had, and they'd seen the overt physical things. That would change as the other imagers became more able and there were more imagers to watch. He pushed those thoughts aside and made his way into the public room where Skarpa sat alone at a circular table. In fact, except for a serving woman standing by the door to the kitchen, he was the only one in the room.

Quaeryt slid into the chair across from the commander. "I overslept this morninga"

"It's not quite seventh glass," replied Skarpa mildly. "That's not all that late."

"For a subcommander of a battalion? I told you I wasn't meant to be an officer a and after that mess last nighta" Quaeryt started to shake his head, but even beginning the gesture hurt. Instead, he reached for the mug of lager than Skarpa had waiting for him. After a swallow, he went on. "Zhelan kept me from making a fool out of myself this morning."

"There are times when everyone has to do that. You've done it for me, whether you know it or not."

When? Quaeryt couldn't think of a time when he could have done that.

Skarpa motioned to the server. "Breakfast for the subcommander."

The woman nodded and hurried into the kitchen.

"Zhelan understands something you don't," Skarpa said.

Quaeryt took another swallow of the lager, then waited for the other boot to come down.

"You can't do everything. Last night, what you and the imagers did saved hundreds of our troopers. I told him to make sure you weren't disturbed."

"But then I shouldn't be a subcommander."

"You have to be, or you won't have the authority to do what you need to do." Skarpa snorted. "There's not a man in your first company that doesn't know you'll put your life on the line to do what needs to be done. If you don't lead every charge, they all know it's because you're doing something else, and it's usually something that saves their ass. If the Khellans don't know it already, they will before long." He stopped as the server returned and set down a platter heaped with a mixture of rice fries and scrambled cheesed eggs, with a small loaf of dark bread.

Once the server moved back to the kitchen door, Skarpa went on. "Now a eat and stop worrying. I need you with a clear head so that you can get to work making sure that the patrols I set up are doing what they should. I told them to do what they did in Rivecote Sud. We also need to go over supplies." The commander shook his head. "I'm afraid we'll be here for a time."

"Have you heard from the marshal?" Quaeryt took a bite of the warm rice fries, surprisingly good, but that might have been because he was indeed hungry.

"No, but he's not likely to be able to move as fast as we have."

"Do they have a ferry here?"

"They've got slips, but no boats. Not exactly surprising, when you think about it."

"What have you learned from the Antiagons?"

"They were sent to join the attack on Ferravyl, but Aliaro sent them by way of Variana." Skarpa laughed softly.

"What? That sounds like he was stalling."

"My thought as well. Then, on the way down the Aluse, their commander found that the Bovarians weren't too friendly on the north side of the river, and they took the bridge at Villerive. They were told to wait here for a Bovarian regiment from someplace called Asseroiles. By the time that regiment arrived, they'd learned of the defeat at Ferravyl, so they were ordered to hold Caernyn against any attackers."

"What did their commander say?"

"He didn't. He was killed when you and your imagers exploded that Antiagon Fire in their trench. One of his majorsa"the only one who surviveda"told me. He's got a broken leg. He was very upset. Apparently, when they use Antiagon Fire, everyone flees, and they just mop up the survivors. He can't understand what happened."

"We still lost too many."

"We always lose too many. That's war. We can only make sure the Bovarians lose a lot more. Now get back to eating so that we can get on with the day. Oh a and by the way, we're making better arrangements for all the troopers and officers while we're here in Caernyn. The officers will all be billeted here, and we've taken all the inns and the like for the regiments and your battalion."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. Thank you for keeping the damage from that Antiagon Fire to a minimum."

"I've got some ideas for handling it better. After we get the patrolling settled, I'm going to work with the imagers."

"Good. Eat," ordered Skarpa.

Quaeryt took another swallow of lager, a mouthful of cheesed eggs and more rice fries.

22.

After finishing with Skarpa, Quaeryt then had to deal with Meinyt and the companies from his regiment assigned to patrol duty in Caernyn. In the end, it was early afternoon before Quaeryt gathered the imager undercaptains and several engineer rankers together, and they walked toward the battlefield. Quaeryt had earlier sent one of the engineer rankers to confirm that at least one of the Antiagon catapults looked to be in working order. The other rankers carried baskets holding various empty fired-clay containers. One carried a small spade.

As they reached the top of the hill above the stone walls, Quaeryt could see that below the walls, Bovarian and Antiagon prisoners were still digging graves and carrying bodies to them, although a number of the formerly trapped and staked pits on the slope were already being used as communal graves. He recognized the mounted undercaptain overseeing the work on the northeast side of the slopea"Sengh, from Skarpa's first battalion.

"Undercaptain a we need to use one of the catapults for training. Will that be a problem?"

"I wouldn't think so, sir. We've already cleared out the area behind the walls. I'll just send word over to Captain Moragh. He's in charge of the other side. That's where the catapults are."

"I'd appreciate it. How are the prisoners taking it?"

"They're not happy, especially the Antiagons. They think we should have at least given their dead a common pyre. The commander said that if they wanted to burn they should have used their own fire when they had the chance." Sengh smiled wryly. "Funny how folks don't like the idea of taking their own poison."

"That's true of most of us." Quaeryt nodded. "Thank you. If you'd have your man tell Captain Moragh that we'll be flinging things toward the woodsa"

"Yes, sir."

As Quaeryt led the way across the top of the hill toward the southwestern end of the walls, he couldn't help but think about the Antiagon attitude toward burial. Does it really matter whether your corpse is buried or burned after you're dead? While Quaeryt frankly thought it more sanitary to be burned, he knew that there had been great debates over death and the dead. According to some choristers, Rholan had claimed that excessive attention to the body was a form of Naming. Although Quaeryt didn't recall anything offhand, he wondered, absently, if there were any passages in the little book about what Rholan had really thought about burial or burning, not that Quaeryt had had time or energy or light in which to read in the past days. If he ever got a chance, it might be interesting to see.

When they reached the end of the walls, beyond the area where the worst of the deflected Antiagon Fire had seared men and earth and everything else, the odor of burned vegetation and even burned flesh remained, if not so overpoweringly as it had been the night before.

Quaeryt swallowed, then turned to the engineer rankers. "Undercaptain Vaelt said you could operate the catapults."

"Yes, sir," replied the hard-faced older trooper. "Might take a bit to make sure we get it right." After a brief pause, he added, "You just want us to throw these pots?"

"We'll start with them empty. Then I'd like them filled with dirt or sand. That's why the spade."

"Yes, sir."