"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 armya"

Quaeryt groaned.

"I can't really insist that a subcommander a but a the officers and mena"

"All right a 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 sidea"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, buta"

"How does he keep the High Holders in line?"

"That's what he used his troopers for a and his imagers. Among other things, I've heard."

"Oha"

Skarpa nodded. "That's another problem you might have to face. If it comes to that, and after what you did at Ferravyl, it probably will."

As if you needed another one. "At least, if that's true, his imagers were killing High Holders and not merchants and the common people."

Skarpa frowned. "That's better?"

"How many High Holders who support Kharst is Bhayar likely to allow to retain their lands? You can't punish every factor and merchant in Bovaria, but you coulda" Quaeryt paused, then shut his mouth.

"Could what?"

"I was going to say that Bhayar could replace most of the High Holders, but he can't. Not unless he wants chaos."

This time, Skarpa was the one to shake his heada"again.

Once the entire column was clear of the bridge, Quaeryt cleared his throat. "Sir a if you don't minda"

Skarpa smiled. "Go."

After a nod, Quaeryt turned the mare and rode down the shoulder of the narrow dirt road that was barely wide enough for a single wagon. He finally eased the mare in beside Major Calkoran.

"Sir?" The Khellan officer did not conceal his surprise at Quaeryt's presence.

"It will be some time before we encounter any Bovarians. You fought them for a long time." Quaeryt kept his Bovarian as precise as he could.

"On the borders for years. Almost a year after they invaded. We almost broke them at Khelgror. There were too many of them."

"You have seen how they fight. You know what they do well a and what they do not. I have fought the Tilborans, but not the Bovarians. I would like to hear what you can tell me about the Bovarians."

"You know we do not trust any of the rulers in Lydar."

"I do." Quaeryt laughed softly. "One must take care with all rulers, but I believe Lord Bhayar to be the best of those who remain."

"So it is said." Calkoran shrugged. "Why do you think so?"

"His father punished those who attacked Pharsi women in Tilbor. The son upheld the same values in Extela."

"The word is that you upheld those values and were removed." Calkoran fixed his dark eyes on the subcommander.

Quaeryt shook his head. "I was removed because I angered the merchants and the High Holders. I would not let them charge too much for flour after the eruption in Extela. I supported the Pharsi who stopped a soldier from violating a girl, and Lord Bhayar supported me in that." That was close enough to the truth, although the reality had been more complex.

"Did you take any golds?"

"No."

"Not a one?"

"Only what I was paid as governor."

"That is what the major who is paymaster said." Calkoran laughed. "You must be the only governor who did not fill his purse."

Quaeryt shrugged.

"Why?"

Quaeryt decided to tell the truth behind it all. "I would not be content with golds. My dreams are larger. I want a land where Pharsi, scholars, and imagers can all be what they will, under the same laws as everyone else."

Calkoran looked at him, then said quietly, "You are either mad a or a lost one."

"Is there any difference?"

The major smiled and shook his head. "Let me tell you what I know about the Bovarians. They follow their officers, but most follow like they are sheep a They attack in mass formationsa"

That was what they did at Ferravyl a "a they try to split your forces and then butcher any who are cut off a They ask for surrender. If one does not surrender, they show no mercy a not to men or womena"

Quaeryt continued to listen as he rode beside the major under a clear sky and a morning sun that was already hot and threatened to be sweltering by midday and intolerable by midafternoon.

9.

Meredi morning dawned early and warm, promising to be even hotter and damper than the previous two days. The south river road had not narrowed, but it had become more and more rutted with each mille traveled toward Rivecote. The local people were mostly croppers and peasants, from what Quaeryt saw of their fields and cots, for not a person was visible when the regiments rode by dwellings or through hamlets. Nor was any livestock, and while he saw a few dogs, they were at a distance. He couldn't blame the locals.

Although there were no signs of Bovarians, Quaeryt continued to carry full imaging shields, rather than the lighter shields that triggered full shields, as part of his efforts to rebuild his imaging endurance. Just before eighth glass, Quaeryt was riding with Major Zhael, who had obviously talked with Calkoran, since Zhael asked no questions about Quaeryt's background.

"What did the Bovarians do that you did not expect them to do?" asked Quaeryt.

"We thought they would do their worst, and they did."

"What sorts of things?"

Zhael offered a sour smile. "They burned the grasslands so the forage for our horses was less. They burned every dwelling beside any road they traveled. When they could not burn crops they rode their horses through the fields and broke the plants."

"Did they offer any reasons?"

"They did. They told those who survived that the destruction was because they had not accepted the merciful offers of Rex Kharst." Zhael spat away from Quaeryt. "We know the mercy of the Bovarians. A generation ago all the Pharsi in Kherseilles had their shops and their lands taken after the Rex invaded. They were marched into the barrens north of Mantes and told to rebuild there. Many fled to Khel. Rex Kharst's father demanded their return. Our High Council refused. The rex did not want them back. He wanted a reason to attack us. He did. We defeated his best, and sent them back to Variana with their tails between their legs, those that even had tails remaining, and we re-took Kherseilles."

"What was different this time?"

"The Red Death. Some say that Kharst loosed sick rodents from merchant ships he had hired. Others say he worked the pus from victims into cheap woolens. The plague started in Eshtora, Ouestan, and Pointe Neiman. Almost half the young men in Khelgror died a and many of the young women."

Quaeryt had known of the plague that had ravaged the west of Lydar five years previously, and Vaelora had mentioned the deaths in Khelgror. But half the young men?

"I see your doubt. Most great illnesses take the old and the children. This one did not. It took all ages, but mostly the young and hale."

"Why do you think Kharst was to blame?"

"He had his armies ready in the spring after the cold of winter. We almost threw them back, but we had too few troopers. Even the women fought. They suffered horribly if they were captured. Most would not let themselves be taken."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Quaeryt didn't know what else to say.

"You could not have known." Zhael shrugged fatalistically. "Few who were not there would believe."

Quaeryt understood more why the Khellans were so determined to fight against Kharst. But can you keep their rage limited to the Bovarian fighting men?

They rode quietly for a time, Quaeryt blotting his forehead now and again, continually readjusting his visor cap, wondering how much hotter it would get, and knowing that it would.

Then, more than a mille ahead, above the trees on the south side of the road, Quaeryt saw smoke, more than was likely from a hamlet's chimneys in summer. "Excuse me, Major, I need to see what the scouts have reported."

"The smoke?" Zhael shook his head. "It may be crops burning. Kharst would not hesitate to burn his own people's yields."

"I hope you're wrong."