Treachery's Tools

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You wouldn’t have gone?”

  Alastar looked at Maurek. “Commander … you know what your men and weapons can do. I know what mine can do. We killed close to two companies worth of rebels. Possibly more. We did it with six imagers. That was all we could do today. Let us rest, and we can fight again. Insist that we fight when we’re spent, and you’ll lose most of the imagers … and you can’t replace them for another twenty-five years, if then. It’s that simple.”

  Maurek swallowed. “I’m sorry, Maitre. I hadn’t thought in those terms. It’s just that…”

  “You saw what seemed to be a lost opportunity. It was, but pursuing it would have cost you even more dearly.” Not to mention what it would have cost the Collegium … for almost no gain.

  Maurek started to say something, then stopped as Wilkorn entered the command tent.

  “How did it go?” asked the marshal.

  Alastar decided to state the case for the marshal quickly before Maurek could. “We encountered a rebel force of at least battalion size…” He quickly repeated what he had just told Maurek, adding, “The rebels have at least one imager, possibly two. We have no way of knowing whether either imager was killed or wounded. We searched the bodies but could find no traces.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because imagers look like everyone else. There was no one wearing gray, and none of the dead men was either of the two who deserted.”

  “That could be a problem,” mused Wilkorn.

  “The concealment aspect is more of a problem in fights with small forces,” Alastar pointed out. “It’s hard to maintain a consistent concealment over a large area and for any length of time. That was one reason I could spot the one in the orchard.”

  “How did you?” asked Maurek.

  “The area under the trees wasn’t clear, but the trees were, and so was the ground in front of the orchard.”

  “You knew what to look for,” said Wilkorn. “Even after what you’ve said, I don’t know as I’d recognize something like that.”

  “After you’ve seen it a few times, you would,” Alastar said. “Where are the rest of the rebel forces?”

  “We’re getting more reports, now that the scouts are aware of the kinds of traps the rebels were setting for them. The main force was just south of Caluse early this morning,” said Wilkorn. “Around noon it appeared that they were investing the town. They’re taking their time. It may be that the battalion you encountered was attempting to get into position to mount a flank attack or even one from the rear. We’ve sent more scouts west and positioned them well in advance so that the rebels will advance toward them, rather than having them advance into the rebel forces.”

  “That would minimize the effect of possible concealments,” Alastar agreed. “What’s your feeling about how long they’ll stay in Caluse?”

  Wilkorn shrugged. “I don’t see weeks. A few days. Who knows?”

  “If they stay a while, then we could do something to whittle them down,” suggested Alastar.

  “That might be necessary, but it seems that you won’t be doing much for the next day or so.”

  “I won’t, but Maitre Cyran and group two are ready. That’s another reason why it wasn’t a good idea to use all the imagers at once, at least in the beginning.”

  “I can see that,” said Maurek dryly.

  “We’ll decide on that once we have a better idea on what the rebels are likely to do,” added Wilkorn. “Or what the next reports from the scouts show.” He offered a sympathetic smile to Alastar. “You look like you could use something to eat and some rest.”

  “They might help,” admitted Alastar.

  “We’ll keep you informed.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alastar left the tent and walked several paces away, until the troopers who were posted weren’t looking. Then he wrapped a concealment around himself, knowing he couldn’t hold it too long and slipped back to the tent, stopping just outside the canvas and listening.

  “… how much did they do, Major?” Maurek’s voice was skeptical.

  “Everything he said, Commander. Likely more. Most of the bodies had wooden darts in them. Usually through the eyes or heart.”

  “What about the Maitre? He’s not a young man.”

  “Two of the younger ones helped shield him. I think that was so he could use all his abilities with the darts. Bodies were piled in front of him withers high.”

  “Would you go out again with imagers?” asked Wilkorn.

  “With him … anytime. Facing a battalion and a half and only losing a squad … that just doesn’t happen.”

  “That still leaves the rebels with two and a half regiments,” said Maurek.

  “The imagers did that with half their force. We’ll just have to keep using them.”

  Alastar would have liked to hear more, but his head was beginning to pound, and he could sense he was getting unsteady. Before he released the concealment, he did manage to walk far enough from the command tent so that it wasn’t likely anyone would see where he’d been.

  Rubbing his forehead in an effort to ease the throbbing, Alastar walked slowly back toward the imagers’ area, thinking over what he’d observed about the rebel imagers during the two skirmishes or battles. Had there been two … or just one? Given the timing between the two, one imager could have done both—except that placing an imager with the smaller attacking force seemed strange … unless the rebel commander was using the imager to strengthen the lesser force and the imager had retreated to the main force under a concealment.

  Had Bettaur been there? The more Alastar considered the matter, the less he thought that Bettaur had been present. Bettaur was a stronger imager than the one he and the first group had faced, but Ashkyr certainly could have handled what they had faced, and Bettaur could certainly have persuaded the younger imager to do his best and then withdraw. With only two imagers, the rebels would likely be more willing to let them avoid danger. Or at least save them until a more critical conflict.

  43

  Wilkorn summoned Alastar well before fifth glass on Meredi. Alastar woke Cyran, then finished getting ready.

  “Why do you want me there?” asked Cyran as the two walked toward the command tent in the gray light before dawn.

  “Because there’s likely a problem that requires imagers, and group one isn’t up to it, and, frankly, I’m still sore and tired. So it’s your turn. I did tell you this would happen.”

  “You did,” replied Cyran with a short laugh.

  “And you thought I was just placating you.” Alastar grinned. “Anyway, I want to make certain that Maurek doesn’t put you and group two in an impossible position. As I told you last night, he still doesn’t understand, at least with his feelings, the limits to what imagers can do.”

  “Do any of us, really?”

  Alastar smiled. “Probably not, but we’re likely to be closer.”

  “I still don’t understand why Bettaur threw in with the rebels.”

  “If he did, he may have felt he didn’t have a choice.”

  “If he did? You said you faced an imager…”

  “That’s what bothered me. It was more like we faced Ashkyr, but with all the trouble Bettaur took to help the young man, why would he leave him out there alone?”

  “Maybe the rebels didn’t give Bettaur much choice.”

  Alastar frowned, considering Ryentar’s personality, and the attitudes manifested in the acts of Hehnsyn, Marryt, and Aestyn, then nodded. “With only two of them, that’s possible.”

  “More than likely, if you ask me.”

  What Cyran said made sense, but Alastar still had his doubts.

  Both Maurek and Wilkorn were waiting in the command tent.

  “Good morning, Maitres,” offered Wilkorn cheerfully. “Commander Maurek has some ideas … and some questions.” He moved toward the camp table that held a large map.

  The commander already stood behind the table. “The rebels are definitely settling into Cal
use, here.” Maurek pointed. “They’re patrolling the river road north of the town and the side road that leads to Luasne—that’s a small town seven milles west … right here.”

  “Does the road to Luasne lead on to the hamlet where we fought yesterday?” asked Alastar.

  “It does.”

  “Are they garrisoning Luasne?”

  “Not yet, according to the scouts.”

  “Have any more scouts vanished?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” Maurek’s brow furrowed.

  “That suggests they’ve pulled the imagers back. At least for now. Or that they have another use for them at the moment.”

  “Could they have been as exhausted as yours were?” asked Wilkorn.

  “That’s possible.” Alastar realized, if belatedly, he hadn’t even considered that, possibly because it hadn’t seem to him that the rebel imagers had done all that much compared to the Collegium imagers.

  “You have another group ready, I recall,” said Maurek.

  “We do. That’s why Maitre Cyran is here.”

  “We have a plan to deal with the company that is patrolling the river road to the north of Caluse,” said Wilkorn. “If we attack there, it might force them to consider keeping their forces closer together.”

  Alastar frowned. “I thought the idea was to fragment them so that we could pick them off and reduce their numbers.”

  “We don’t want them too fragmented,” Maurek replied. “If they spread into separate battalions and attack at different times and places, that would be hard to defend.”

  “In any case,” said Wilkorn smoothly, “we think there’s a chance to totally destroy a patrol company and then set up an ambush for the force that comes after us. We’d like to take advantage of your imagers as much as possible before the rebels realize that their best chance is an all-out attack on our main force. Commander Maurek will be in command.”

  Alastar nodded and waited to hear what more either the marshal or the commander had to say.

  “About two milles north of Caluse,” began Maurek, “the river road swings away from the river around a huge rocky outcropping. The space in front of the rock is bare. There’s some grass there, but not a lot, and no trees, and no cover. If your imagers could conceal a company there, and in the open space north of the outcropping, we could put several squads in plain sight on the road in the open…”

  Alastar and Cyran listened as the commander laid out the plan.

  “What do you think?” asked Wilkorn when Maurek had finished.

  “It sounds like a good plan,” replied Alastar, “but you’d be splitting the imagers into two groups.”

  “We’re only asking for concealments,” pointed out Maurek. “We could wipe out at least a company.”

  Alastar looked to Cyran. “You’re going to be the one implementing it. What do you think?”

  “How long is the outcrop … how far does it go beside the road?” asked Cyran.

  “About half a mille.”

  “How much space is there between the rock outcropping and the river?”

  “None. The rock is a sheer cliff straight down into the water.”

  “What about between the road and the rock at the west end?”

  “No more than a few yards for most of the way.”

  “What about the west side of the road?”

  “Low rocky hills. No trees … some bushes.”

  Cyran nodded slowly. “I have some ideas, but we’ll have to see. When do you plan to leave?”

  “Sixth glass.”

  “Second group will be ready.”

  Less than half a quint later, after the details had been finalized, Alastar and Cyran walked back toward the imager area.

  “I don’t have to tell you this,” Alastar said, “but I will. Think of it this way. Every imager is worth a battalion.”

  Cyran’s laugh was low and humorless. “A good thought to keep in mind with Maurek in command.”

  “He is right about reducing the numbers of rebels while we can … unfortunately.”

  While Cyran readied the second group, Alastar worried. He was still worrying when the six imagers rode south to form up with the three-company group commanded by Maurek. Part of that was his worry that Cyran was too defensive in his outlook.

  But it could be said that you take the offensive too readily. And how much of Cyran’s apparent reluctance was deference? Alastar didn’t know, but suspected he might just find out over the next week or so, if not sooner.

  By the fourth glass of the afternoon, Alastar found himself glancing to the south all too often, even though he knew it was hardly likely that Cyran and the second group of imagers could return before fifth or sixth glass.

  At fifth glass, Alastar noticed companies of troopers mounting up and riding south.

  He immediately made his way to the command tent where Wilkorn offered a knowing glance. “I thought I’d be seeing you. We just got a messenger from Maurek. The ambush went well, and they’re on the way back. He’s being chased by almost a mounted battalion. We’re sending reinforcements.”

  “The imagers?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  “Maurek had almost a battalion when he left here,” Alastar said. “If the ambush went well…”

  “He wouldn’t withdraw if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”

  From the commander’s words the day before, Alastar had no doubts about that, but a withdrawal raised other questions. Had the imagers run into trouble? Or was more than a battalion in pursuit? Yet there was little he could do … except gather the first group of imagers if it became necessary.

  At two quints past sixth glass, a messenger galloped up to the command tent. Before he could even dismount, Alastar and Wilkorn were standing there.

  “The rebels saw the reinforcements and turned back, sirs. A little less than three milles south of here.”

  “Thank you. You can go.”

  That was all that Wilkorn said, but Alastar could read the relief in the marshal’s face and posture.

  Once the messenger had ridden off, the marshal shook his head. “That’s closer than either of us planned.”

  “Everything’s been that way.”

  “From the beginning.” Wilkorn shook his head. “Told you, Maitre, that I was getting too old for this sort of thing. Even with two good arms.” He glanced down at the still-splinted arm.

  * * *

  Almost another glass passed before the vanguard of the returning troopers rode up the road and into the encampment. Alastar made his way toward the imager encampment, then waited and watched, counting the riders as Cyran reined up. He hurried toward the Maitre D’Esprit. Cyran wasn’t pale. He was ashen, his face a sickly gray.

  Alastar didn’t ask. He just grabbed Cyran’s empty water bottle from his saddlebag, uncorked it, and imaged it full of passible if bitter dark lager, then thrust it at the Maitre D’Esprit. “Drink! Now!”

  Cyran didn’t argue.

  Alastar glanced across to the other five. Tiranya was merely pale, as were Taryn and Belsior. Chervyt’s face and neck were grayish green, and Julyan’s skin looked white.

  Alastar made his way to Chervyt first. “Have you had any lager?”

  The Maitre D’Aspect just looked at Alastar blankly. Alastar immediately took the junior maitre’s water bottle and imaged dark lager into it, then returned it with the same command he’d given Cyran. He did the same with Julyan. When he turned toward Tiranya, she shook her head. “Just a little. We shared what I had.”

  Alastar still filled all the water bottles. None of the three remaining imagers protested.

  More than a quint passed while Alastar and the imagers of the first group helped unsaddle and groom the mounts of the returning imagers. Both Chervyt and Julyan had to be helped from the saddle.

  In time, Alastar and Cyran sat at the base of an oak that had seen better days, scattered yellow leaves clearly showing that it had suffered from the earlier drought despite its closeness to the
river.

  “What happened?”

  “We won … but we almost didn’t survive the victory.” Cyran took another swallow from the water bottle he still held. “You image lousy lager, Alastar … except it’s better than what I can do.”

  Alastar forced himself to wait.

  “The ambush … went fine. The company patrolling the road was infantry. They marched right into the crossfire Maurek set up. They lost almost the whole company right off. But there were two companies on the hills, under a concealment, and they opened fire, ripped right into the lead ranks of Maurek’s men—even if they couldn’t see them.”

  “But … if they were there … why wait?” Alastar didn’t understand.

  “The company that walked into the ambush … they weren’t troopers—serfs, tenants, prisoners…”

  “They sacrificed a hundred men … in cold blood?”

  “That was the plan.” Cyran offered a ragged grin. “We upset it a bit. Between Maurek’s reserves and the imagers, we pretty much took care of the two companies on the rocky hills. The problem was that the rebels brought in two more companies from the northwest, and another two from Caluse.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Imaged a bridge along the east side of the road, got our imagers together and formed a shield wedge. We used the wooden dart trick to cut through the two companies to the north, and between us and the troopers, we broke through. Likely killed more’n half of those troopers, but we had three mounted companies chasing us, and the troopers were running out of ammunition. A lot of it was passed to the rear-guard. Rear-guard kept up running fire on the rebel troopers behind us. Slowed them down, and cost them more troopers. It was a long ride back. We were too exhausted to image anything, and we only stopped for fractions of a quint at a time. The rebels didn’t turn back until a couple of milles south of here. They saw the reinforcements coming from the north, decided maybe they’d lost enough.”

  “How many troopers did Maurek lose?”

  “A good company’s worth, maybe more.”

  “And the rebels?”