Imager’s Battalion

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  Quaeryt washed up and shaved, a necessity for him in hot weather, because his skin developed rashes if he let a beard grow out, then began to dress when there was a rap on the door. He pulled on the least soiled of the uniform shirts and walked to the door. “Yes?”

  “Sir … it’s Shajan … the innkeeper, I would hate to disturb you, but there is the odor of smoke … I wished to know if you were all right…”

  And if you’ve damaged my family’s inn. Quaeryt wiped a wry smile off his face and opened the door, standing in such a way that the innkeeper could see everything, but not pass Quaeryt. “I smelled smoke last night as well … but I’m fine.”

  The innkeeper tried to study the room without looking too obvious. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but…”

  “I understand. You would not want a guest to suffer or the premises to be damaged. As you can see, I am fine, and so are the premises.” Quaeryt paused. “Could you wash some uniforms for me—for whatever the normal charges are—and have them ready by this evening?”

  “Why … yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll get them for you.” Quaeryt walked to the armoire and took the two sets of soiled uniforms and carried them back to Shajan, who had stepped into the room, his eyes studying everything, a puzzled expression on his face. “Here you are. My thanks.”

  “Yes, sir.” The innkeeper took the uniforms, glancing around the chamber a last time before stepping back into the narrow landing at the top of the stairs.

  Once Shajan departed, Quaeryt finished dressing before heading down to the public room for breakfast and the officers’ meeting to follow, in lieu of a formal muster.

  What the Stone’s Rest offered for breakfast was related to a domchana, Quaeryt thought, consisting of two pieces of egg toast dipped in batter a second time and fried around a slice of ham and topped with a drizzle of an apple-berry syrup. Each officer—and trooper—got two and an ale or lager.

  At the officers’ meeting, Quaeryt began, in Bovarian, “As I told Major Zhelan last night, unless the Bovarians mount an assault of some sort, we will not be undertaking any attacks today, but the bridge will remain guarded. We are to be ready to attack the north of Nordeau by early tomorrow.” He looked across the faces of the officers. “Major Calkoran, you have a question?”

  “Your imagers will create stone bridges for us?”

  “They will.”

  “If they reach from that tiny fort to one point on the far shore, the Bovarians may be able to blunt the attack. Unless you lead the charge.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be sure to spread out the attack in one or more ways so that your troopers are not crammed together and unable to fight their best. How we do that will depend on how the Bovarians are assembled to defend the north shore.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Quaeryt turned to Zhelan. “I had forgotten to ask you. The horses have been ridden a great deal on stone lately. Have we had more trouble with shoes or lameness?”

  “Some, sir, but so far we’ve had enough spare mounts. Wouldn’t hurt to gather more if we could after tomorrow.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “If you’d see what can be done when the time comes. What about grain?”

  “That’s in short supply, sir, but I have suggested that some of the factors would be well advised to see if they can find some.”

  Quaeryt wasn’t about to ask what Zhelan’s suggestions entailed, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they mentioned the relation of a subcommander to a certain ruler. “And?”

  Zhelan smiled. “They thought we might have some by this afternoon.”

  “Good!”

  After a few more items, and a report on the state of the troopers wounded in the assault, Quaeryt dismissed all the company officers, which left him alone in the public room with the imager undercaptains.

  He let the silence draw out before speaking. “Tomorrow you’ll have to image a stone span from the end of the approach to the isle. After we take the isle, you’ll have to do the same to the north shore. If they have troops arrayed there we’ll need at least two wide spans that aren’t too close together. I’ll be scouting that out later this morning, and I’ll let you know either tonight or in the morning what will be necessary.”

  “Will they have archers, sir?” asked Horan.

  “They have archers. They also have musketeers. We’ve seen the archers here, but we haven’t seen the musketeers. Yet.”

  “Why might that be?” asked Voltyr politely, in a tone that suggested he knew the answer and that Quaeryt should tell the others.

  “From what I understand from Major Calkoran, who has faced the Bovarian musketeers far more than any of the rest of us, the muskets are far more effective on open level fields or in places where they have a clear field of fire. The south quarter of Nordeau is not suited to that. Neither are the approaches to the bridge. It may be that there is a level square beyond the approach to the north side of the bridge. If so, that would be where we would be most likely to encounter musketeers.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Voltyr nodded.

  Quaeryt scanned the faces of the undercaptains. “How many of you still have headaches? This isn’t a time for bravery or bearing pain without saying so.”

  After a moment, Horan raised a hand, then so did Smaethyl, followed by Khalis, then Desyrk.

  “Is there anyone who has trouble seeing?”

  Every head shook “no.”

  “Good. For those of you with headaches, it will help if you drink watered ale or lager. Not enough to get tipsy. That will only give you a second kind of headache, and you don’t need two right now.”

  His words brought several smiles.

  “Some walking and fresh air will help, but walk in groups of three if you do. If you can, take a nap this afternoon. You may need all the rest you can get before tomorrow…” He went on with a few more suggestions, then dismissed them.

  When he finished with the imagers, Quaeryt reclaimed the mare from the inn stable, saddled and mounted, and rode up to the bridge to the isle fort under a sun that was already sweltering. It might be past the middle of harvest, but so far he hadn’t noticed any decrease in either the heat or the dampness of the air.

  A full company was guarding the bridge approach, but three of the squads were engaged in sabre drills on foot, while the fourth squad was drawn up in loose formation just short of the gap between the approach and the isle fort. Quaeryt rode up the eastern edge of the roadway and reined up short of the formed-up squad.

  A captain stepped forward. “Good morning, Subcommander.”

  “And to you, Captain. Have you seen anyone in the fort today?”

  “No, sir. The companies watching last night saw lots of lamps and lanterns. Nothing so far today. Not a soul. I’d not be surprised if they’ve left. That, or they want us to think so.”

  Either wouldn’t have surprised Quaeryt, although he had the feeling that the Bovarians had left the small fort. “Just don’t let them surprise us.”

  “No, sir.”

  Quaeryt turned and eased the mare a bit closer to the end of the approach where he studied the fort. The foundation rising from the isle was not all that large, perhaps running thirty yards upstream to downstream, and although it was hard to tell from where he looked, about two-thirds of that from north to south. The fort proper was set on the western end, so that, were the bridge spans in place, riders or wagons would move straight across the span from one side of the river to the other. The stone roadway across the eastern end fort was bordered by a low stone wall a yard and a half high. The wooden span between the fort and the north shore had also been retracted so that the fort was truly an isle at the moment.

  Quaeryt guided the mare down the approach and then westward on the narrow street bordering the bluff. Unlike in many towns and cities, there were no buildings or dwellings perched on the edge of the bluff, just the street, with a chest-high gray stone wall at the edge of the stone sidewalk.

  Once he had ridden close to two hundred
yards, he turned the mare and reined up so that he could see the isle. The span to the north approach had definitely been retracted. He squinted and looked again. He’d originally thought that the isle fort was in the middle of the river, but from the southern side and as far west as he’d ridden, it was clear that the gap between the fort and the northern shore was at least twice as far as between the fort and the southern shore.

  That suggested that the Naedarans feared more from the north than from the south, not surprisingly, since the bulk of the Bovarian heartlands lay to the north and west of Nordeau. Still … with all the skill embodied in the stonework, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder how and why Naedara had declined without any record of a great war or conquest, with not even a story or a tale, except muttered references to “the old ones.”

  While he had no doubts that Skarpa already knew what he’d just discovered, he turned the mare toward the Traders’ Bowl. There, after turning the mare over to a trooper, he found Skarpa where he expected to find him—in the plaques room of the Traders’ Bowl, seated at the table.

  “Good morning, sir. I assume you’ve received reports that both bridge spans to the isle fort have been retracted, possibly removed.”

  “Captain Faurot reported that early this morning.” Skarpa did not stand, nor did he gesture for Quaeryt to seat himself. “You think the Bovarians know we have imagers and that the fort offers little protection?”

  “That’s possible,” Quaeryt agreed. “It’s also possible they’ve set a trap on the other side.”

  “Musketeers again? Set to rake the entire approach from the bridge?”

  “That thought had occurred to me.”

  “It occurred to me as well. What can you do about it?”

  “There are some possibilities…” Quaeryt went on to lay out what the imagers and he could do, although he did not differentiate his capabilities from those of the undercaptains, ending up with, “… about all that I can come up with, sir.”

  “More than most. Prepare for that, and if they haven’t thought it out that well, we’ll count ourselves fortunate.”

  That we will. “I’ve already gone over the possibilities with the officers.”

  “Good. Plan for assembling on the bridge approach beginning at sixth glass.” Skarpa stood. “Sorry I can’t talk longer. Deucalon wants an immediate response. Friggin’ idiocy!”

  Quaeryt nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  Once he departed the Traders’ Bowl, he rode back to the bridge and the street fronting the river where he spent some three glasses studying the river, the fort, and what he could see of the north side of the river.

  When he returned to the Stone’s Rest somewhat past midafternoon, he’d no sooner stepped into the small front hallway than Shajan stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Subcommander, sir, I hope that I did not trouble you unduly this morning.”

  Quaeryt smiled politely. “No … I understand your concern. The inn is your livelihood, and you would not be diligent if you did not look to see that all was well. You have a responsibility to your wife and to your family.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Shajan added, “I just returned your uniforms to your chamber.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate it. Is the usual fee two coppers for each?”

  “Sir … you do not owe us.”

  Quaeryt smiled again. “I cannot change what Lord Bhayar requires of you, but I can insist on paying for what I require of you.” He extended four coppers.

  “Sir…”

  “Please. Take them, if you will not for your services, as a favor to me.”

  For a moment Shajan froze. Then he swallowed and took the coppers, as if he had no choice.

  Quaeryt feared he’d used a phrase with a second meaning to those in Nordeau, and one he’d certainly not intended. He image-projected warmth and concern. “Shajan … I am not an old one. I am Pharsi, though I did not know it until I was well grown, and that is why I command a battalion that is largely Pharsi, but most are from Khel.”

  Some, but not all, of the fear left the innkeeper’s face. “Thank you, sir.”

  “It’s my pleasure, and I do appreciate having clean uniforms.”

  As he walked up the steps to the third level to his chamber, where he wanted to wash up and rest before the evening meal, he wondered, once again, just what the old ones of Naedara had done that was so awful that folklore and legends could terrify a grown man after so many years.

  61

  By half past sixth glass on Lundi morning, Skarpa’s forces had assembled on the south side of the River Aluse, with Fifth Battalion taking up the bridge approach and Third Regiment directly behind. Quaeryt absently patted the mare’s neck, then straightened himself in the saddle and looked to the early morning sky—absolutely clear with only the faintest hint of a breeze—then across to the bridge approach on the north shore. Not a single figure was visible there, although there could have been Bovarians hidden behind the low bluff wall. Still … seeing no one only meant the Bovarians were out of sight. He couldn’t imagine they’d abandoned the city, yet it did seem as though they had not put a tremendous effort into holding it. Was that part of their plan to bleed Bhayar’s forces and draw them farther and farther into Bovaria. Quite possibly, but as soon as you believe that, you’ll find yourself outnumbered and in severe difficulty.

  He looked to Voltyr, mounted and waiting beside him. “You can image a span twice as wide as the old wooden one? Just to the fort.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do it now, then.”

  “Now? It’s not seventh glass.”

  “The Bovarians couldn’t extend the bridge in time to get to us even if they were standing there on the other shore, and they’re not. This way, it will be longer before you have to do anything else.”

  Voltyr nodded, then looked straight ahead.

  A quick flash of light flared and vanished, followed by a gust of cool air. A gray stone span stretched from where the bridge approach ended to the roadway on the narrow isle fort. The side walls even matched and joined the narrow section on the east side of the fort.

  Quaeryt studied the far approach, but no Bovarians appeared. Still, he had no doubts that there were sentries or observers watching and relaying what they saw to the Bovarian commander or commanders. “Undercaptains! Forward! Fifth Battalion, after the undercaptains!”

  Holding full personal shields, Quaeryt urged the mare forward, relieved as he heard the solid sound of her hooves on the stone and as he could feel no vibration beneath them. No one emerged from the isle fort, even as he and Voltyr approached, followed by Threkhyl, Horan, and Smaethyl and the other undercaptains and first company, with the remainder of Fifth Battalion moving forward as quickly as the troopers could.

  Quaeryt turned. “Undercaptain Ghaelyn! A detail to check the fort before we proceed!”

  “Yes, sir. First squad! Dismount and inspect the fort!”

  As the troopers hurried through an unsecured door—a good sign that the fort was empty, Quaeryt thought, he eased the mare forward until he was less than a yard from the gap between the fort and the north shore. He still could detect no movement on or around the north approach to the bridge. There was a large open space to both sides of the bridge approach on the north shore of the river, but because of the wall along the northern bluff, he could not see whether it was a square or a park or even a lake. He suspected it was a square of some sort, and from the buildings behind it—the upper part of the first floors he could see—there did not appear to be any mounted forces or catapults or the like. But then, there might well be thousands of troopers below his line of sight and behind low barricades, or pikemen, or musketeers … or all three.

  Almost half a quint passed before the troopers from first squad emerged from the gray stone walls of the narrow isle fort.

  “Not a soul here, sir! Nothing at all.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt looked back. Fifth Battalion was ready to move. “Undercaptains Threkhyl, Horan, and Smaethyl! Forward!�
��

  When the three undercaptains were in position, Quaeryt ordered, “Image now!”

  Almost instantly, two wide spans angled from the north side of the roadbed section of the isle fort. The right-hand one merged with the north bridge approach. The left span merged with the bluff wall and then angled down into what Quaeryt thought had to be a square.

  Quaeryt gave the three undercaptains a quick look, but all three were still in the saddle, then glanced down and to his right. On the surface of the River Aluse, the thin film of ice caused by their imaging was already moving east of the bridge with the water, while fragmenting into shimmering pieces, already melting in the orangish white light of the early morning sun.

  “Undercaptains Shaelyt, Desyrk, Lhandor, and Khalis forward!”

  “Ready, Undercaptains?”

  “Ready, sir.”

  “Fifth Battalion! Forward!”

  Ghaelyn and Zhelan echoed the orders as Quaeryt urged the mare forward onto the gray stone of the new span. Khalis rode beside Quaeryt on the right-hand span while Shaelyt, Desyrk, and Lhandor led the way on the left. Baelthm was farther back behind Quaeryt, who could only hope that Shaelyt’s shields were up to what was likely to strike them.

  Even before Quaeryt reached the point where the newly imaged stone span met the roadway of the old bridge, he was scanning what lay ahead—a gray stone square roughly two hundred yards on a side, surrounded on three sides by gray stone buildings of two and three stories that could have been identical to the structures on the south side of the river. Quaeryt extended his shields to cover the front of the column he led, looking for Bovarian defenders.

  Why a square on this side of the river and not on the other? Quaeryt pushed that thought aside. A second glance revealed that in the center of the far side of the square was a low stone barricade no more than fifty yards long, behind which crouched troopers. What looked to be a low brown earthen berm crossed the square some ten yards in front of the stone barricade.