Imager’s Battalion

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Good.” The commander turned and made his way off the narrow porch, pausing beside the post, his eyes going to the River Aluse. “Don’t see why they build so close to the water.”

  “They don’t have to drag a boat too far or carry water for hundreds of yards,” replied Quaeryt. “That gets tiring after a while. Besides, the land’s so flat here that they’d likely get flooded even if they were hundreds of yards away.”

  Skarpa looked toward into the rapidly purpling eastern sky, where the three-quarters-full disc of Erion hung well above the trees in the distance. The smaller moon’s shade was more like amber, but would turn its usual reddish tint once the sky darkened. “Might just be full when we reach Variana.” Then he looked to Quaeryt. “How did you know the musketeers were there?”

  “I didn’t,” Quaeryt admitted. “I just knew that every time that there’s been a perfect place for an ambush by musketeers in the past few weeks … there has been. So when I saw all those trees and all that flat land and, most likely, a place where we couldn’t charge them without scores of horses breaking their legs, I thought it was more than likely.”

  Skarpa nodded. “Said you’d make a good commander.”

  “Only because I’m an imager.”

  The commander shook his head. “Every man has his strengths. The best know how to use them. The worst don’t know what they are. It’s the ability to use your strengths that makes you a good officer.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t help but think about all the small details he hadn’t known. “Is that why you assigned Zhelan?”

  Skarpa laughed. “I didn’t assign him. Myskyl did. He’s feared you ever since Rescalyn’s death. So he gave you a senior junior officer who knew squad-level combat, procedures, and discipline and not much more. He hoped the two of you would bungle things. He didn’t understand that Zhelan knew what you didn’t. You’ve both learned from each other, and he could command a battalion now.”

  “He already does,” said Quaeryt dryly. Some of the time, if not more.

  Skarpa shook his head. “You command. You delegate, but you still command. Don’t forget it.”

  Although the last words were spoken as evenly as those which preceded them, Quaeryt recognized them as a command, not a suggestion. “I won’t.”

  “We’re little more than sixty milles from Variana. How much opposition do you think we’ll face tomorrow or the next day?”

  “Who knows? They’re not defending the way I would or you would. After today, I’d be a bit surprised, but not astonished, if we faced more than delaying attacks tomorrow. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we faced a stronger attack on Vendrei.” Quaeryt laughed softly. “And that probably means we’ll get a heavy attack tomorrow and delaying harassment on Vendrei.”

  Skarpa smiled. “I still think you’re right about Kharst wanting to draw us in and crush us. The question is where … and how—in one blow or two.”

  “And how the marshal will attempt to have us take the brunt of it,” added Quaeryt.

  “How can you believe that of our most illustrious leader?”

  “Ignorance, I suppose,” said Quaeryt dryly. “I must not know him well enough.”

  “I won’t comment on that, but I will observe that he doesn’t know you well enough, and it’s best that way.” Skarpa untied his mount.

  After the commander mounted and departed, Quaeryt walked around the section of Byun that held Fifth Battalion, checking with each company commander. He didn’t discover anything he didn’t already know, but as he was about to leave Arion, the major said quietly, in Bovarian, as always, “Had you been with us in Khel, the Bovarians would not have defeated us, outnumbered as we were. Their musketeers made the difference.”

  “You didn’t mention this before.”

  Arion offered a slightly embarrassed smile. “We have found that none who have not seen what the muskets could do would believe their power.”

  “Lord Bhayar has worried about the muskets for some time. How many more do you think they have … waiting for us at Variana?”

  Arion shrugged. “I cannot say. They had more than a thousand at Khelgror. You have destroyed almost half that many.”

  But it’s been more than a few years since the battle of Khelgror, and Kharst has to have forged more muskets and trained more musketeers.

  Quaeryt frowned, remembering the meeting he’d had in Solis with Bhayar more than a year before when Bhayar had been asking about whether imagers would be able to image musket parts with enough precision. Had he known about Quaeryt’s abilities then … and been probing?

  Unless you ask, you’ll never know. He smiled. Even if he did, he’d likely not get a conclusive answer, and it made little difference now … although the Bovarian muskets well might, especially if Kharst had more than a regiment and used the musketeers as a massed unit.

  Still … from what he knew, muskets could not be cast, not yet, at least, but had to be forged, and that took time and trained armorer-smiths.

  “Could we use the muskets you captured?” asked Arion.

  “We have several hundred captured muskets, but we don’t have much of the proper powder nor musket balls…” Quaeryt shrugged. “I believe Lord Bhayar had men working on this, but he did not expect war with Bovaria to come quite so quickly.”

  “Then it will come to whether you and your imagers or Kharst’s musketeers will triumph.”

  “And how badly we are outnumbered,” suggested Quaeryt.

  “So long as you stand, we are not outnumbered.”

  “No…” replied Quaeryt, with a slight smile, “so long as the imagers stand.” Because either most of us will stand, or none of us will survive either Kharst or Myskyl, if not both.

  “Some of the others are now more powerful. That I can see. But are they strong enough without you?”

  “The young Pharsi imagers could be very strong. They’re already able to do more than I could do two years ago.” Even if that was partly because you feared trying until you had no choice.

  “They will support you. They will never surpass you.”

  Quaeryt laughed, if softly. “You never know.”

  Arion shook his head. “I do not know, but Erion does, and I can see his words.”

  Quaeryt wasn’t about to argue about that. “I’ll leave it to him, then.”

  Arion nodded. “As you should, sir.”

  After Quaeryt left Arion and began to walk back toward the dwelling that held the imager undercaptains, he glanced at the eastern sky, where Erion was definitely taking on a clear reddish cast. Then he shook his head and laughed softly. For all the superstitions, in the end it came down to who accomplished what and how, not which moon hung overhead. Didn’t it?

  70

  Despite Quaeryt’s worries, none of Skarpa’s forces encountered any opposition or even caught sight of any Bovarian forces on Meredi, nor on Jeudi morning … until ninth glass when the scouts rode back to report that a vast shallow lake covered the road ahead. Skarpa immediately called a halt, and Quaeryt and Fifth Battalion rode forward another two milles. There Quaeryt reined up and studied what lay before him.

  Muddy water covered the road and the lower ground on each side, extending a half mille ahead and two hundred yards north to the raised bank of the River Aluse, but more than a mille to the south. Immediately before Quaeryt, the water was barely a few fingers deep, and he doubted that in the middle of the shallow lake created by the Bovarians the water was more than a yard or so deep, although it was difficult to tell under the high but comparatively thick gray clouds that had not reduced the harvest heat and only made the air seem stickier and damper.

  There were no cots or buildings rising out of the muddy water, although Quaeryt could see wooden fences and a low hedgerow to the south, suggesting that the area might well have flooded often. But you don’t know really how deep it is, not for certain, and you don’t know what else the water conceals. After a moment a second thought occurred to hi
m. That couldn’t have happened with a Naedaran road. They kept their roads on higher ground.

  There was something about the newly formed lake. He glanced to the north, then realized that the land covered by water was higher than the river itself. The water couldn’t have come directly from the river. He looked westward again, noting the gradual slope of the land upward in the distance.

  He turned in the saddle. “Undercaptain Ghaelyn, if you’d send a request for Major Calkoran to join me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Undercaptain Voltyr, forward. Undercaptains Horan and Smaethyl as well.”

  When all three faced him, he looked to Voltyr. “It’s likely that this lake was formed by some sort of breach in a stream or ditch to the south or west. I’m sending you with fourth company and Horan and Smaethyl to find and repair whatever was breached.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shortly, Calkoran rode up, and Quaeryt repeated his instructions in Bovarian, adding, “If you do encounter any large Bovarian forces, I’d appreciate prudence, Major, considering you have three regiments and a battalion behind you. I’d like to have you and your men have the satisfaction of helping take Variana.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Calkoran and the three imager undercaptains had ridden back to second company, Threkhyl moved his mount forward, pushing Khalis’s mount to the side, in order to reach Quaeryt. “Sir? Why didn’t you send me?”

  “Because I need you here to do a bigger job.”

  The expression of puzzlement that was beginning to irritate Quaeryt more and more appeared on the older undercaptain’s face.

  “Undercaptain … even once Undercaptain Voltyr and the others repair whatever caused this … overgrown puddle, the water isn’t going to vanish. It’s filled a big depression. Maybe it was once a lake. You and the others need to image a stone-paved top to the existing road, and you need to do it carefully and slowly, bit by bit. If you do it all at once, you’ll freeze the water, and you may well create ice between the old roadbed and what you create. By the time three regiments ride over it, the stone might crumble or break.”

  Threkhyl still looked puzzled.

  “Take my word for it, Undercaptain.” Quaeryt didn’t want to get into the fact that great imaging might freeze the lake solid, because it would still melt fairly quickly, leaving the same muddy water that now faced them. “Imager Undercaptains, forward!”

  Quaeryt had Desyrk begin the work, and a stretch of stone running some five yards appeared. Then came Baelthm, who could only add a few yards. It had been clear to Quaeryt that the process would take some time … and the imagers were proving that. Still … after a glass, the raised section of the road extended some three hundred yards.

  A little more than a glass later, Voltyr returned with second company, then rode forward to report to Quaeryt.

  “Sir. As you suspected, there was extensive damage to an irrigation ditch to the south. We repaired it and strengthened it. But the ground is so flat here that there’s no way to drain the water away. If we had created a breach all the way through the ditch, it just would have flooded the other side, and then the water would have kept rising on both sides of the ditch.”

  “Thank you. Somehow … that doesn’t surprise me. Now we’ll need what help you can give to raise the roadbed here.”

  With all the imagers alternating, and with generous rest breaks, it took until the second glass of the afternoon before the work to raise the roadbed a third of a yard or so above the water was completed. Immediately, Skarpa’s scouts rode out once more.

  Fifth Battalion moved forward behind them, beyond the lake onto the section of the road beyond the water, where the land sloped gently, barely noticeably, upward, but it was almost a half mille farther to the west before there were any cots or outbuildings near the road.

  Skarpa rode forward and eased in beside Quaeryt. Zhelan dropped back, deferentially.

  “Took you a while to fix that,” offered the commander. “Good job, though.”

  “Building up a half mille of road takes time and effort, even for imagers. I also wanted to rest them as I could, just in case we ran into more Bovarians.”

  “Good thought, but the scouts haven’t returned. So they’re not likely to be too close.”

  “I’d hope not. Some of the undercaptains won’t be able to do much imaging until tomorrow.”

  “I’d thought as much, but we don’t have to press that hard. We’ll stop earlier tonight. We’ve made good progress.”

  Quaeryt nodded, waiting.

  “We’d better hang on to all the lands we’ve taken,” said Skarpa sardonically. “Be a shame to let Kharst benefit from all the improvements you and the imagers have made.”

  “I’m beginning to think more and more like that. They were his lands, and people, and he’s destroying things, and we’re supposedly conquering them, and we’re rebuilding and improving things.” After a brief pause Quaeryt added, “Except for the gates at Nordeau.”

  “They were old,” rejoined Skarpa. “Besides, we need to leave reminders here and there.”

  Besides thousands and thousands of dead Bovarians?

  Skarpa said nothing else, and neither did Quaeryt for the moment as they continued westward toward Variana.

  71

  By midday on Vendrei, Skarpa’s forces were within a few milles of Caluse, which appeared to be a moderate-sized town. Skarpa had summoned all the subcommanders, and he and Quaeryt waited for Meinyt and Khaern under a large oak tree that provided some relief from another day of blazing sun.

  It may be harvest, but it’s more like midsummer … Does summer ever end here? Or is this just an unusual year? Quaeryt noted that even Skarpa had pushed back his visor cap and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve.

  “Almost as hot as Solis,” muttered the commander.

  “Hotter, it seems to me.”

  “Could be. Like to think it’s why they’re not fighting.” Skarpa broke off as Meinyt and Khaern rode up, then dismounted, and turned their horses over to waiting rankers.

  Once the two joined Quaeryt and Skarpa in the shade, all four standing well back from the shoulder of the wide but dusty gray stone road, Skarpa blotted his forehead again, cleared his throat, and spoke. “The town ahead is Caluse. Scouts can’t find traces of any Bovarian forces, and the place looks deserted. Everything’s shuttered, and there’s no one on the streets.” Skarpa shook his head. “Don’t know as I believe that, but I’ve sent out two squads and one even rode partway into town. What’s stranger is that there’s a three-span bridge across the Aluse, and they left it standing. Why’d they do that? Variana’s only twenty milles to the west … if we can believe the maps.”

  “They didn’t expect us to get this far,” suggested Khaern. “Or this quickly, and they didn’t have time to destroy the bridge.”

  “They want us to settle in here, comfortable-like, before they attack us while we’re sleeping,” suggested Meinyt. “Or not expecting them.”

  “We have another problem,” Skarpa pointed out. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity. We’re a day ahead of the marshal’s forces. If we hold up here, we can join his forces, or he can join us.”

  Not if Myskyl and Deucalon get their way, thought Quaeryt.

  “Either way,” continued Skarpa, “it’s easy with the bridge not being damaged. That might be why the Bovarians left it intact.”

  “As a trap to entice us to join up?” asked Khaern.

  “What other reason could there be?” demanded Meinyt.

  “You haven’t said anything, Quaeryt,” noted Skarpa.

  “You’ve all suggested any of the possibilities I could think of.” Except total Bovarian incompetence, and I don’t believe that. “Most of the town is on the south side of the river. This is the first town with a bridge over the Aluse where most of the dwellings are on the south side. All the other towns have much smaller southern quarters.” He paused. “Except the old quarter of Nordeau on the north side was smaller t
han the old quarter on the south. But all the Bovarian-built towns, except this one, are larger on the north side of the river.”

  “That’s so,” said Skarpa, “but there had to be one.”

  But why this one? Quaeryt didn’t voice the question. He had no answer and had no doubt that none of the others did, either.

  “Well…” drawled Skarpa, “it seems to me that we might as well spend the night here. The Bovarians can’t get us all right now, because we’re not all here, and it will be more than a day before the marshal reaches the north side of the bridge. We’ll set out extra sentries and keep more troopers on standby. I’ll send off a dispatch to the marshal declaring our intent to stay here until his forces can arrive to take over protecting the bridge and requesting his instructions. Then we’ll see.” After a pause he added, “We’ll enter the town with all arms ready, using the three different roads, with space between units to allow different points of attack.”

  Khaern nodded, if skeptically, followed by Meinyt.

  Skarpa took less than a quint to outline the plan of approach or attack, with Third Regiment leading the way, and Fifth Battalion moving out to cover the road from Variana.

  By the first glass of the afternoon, despite all Quaeryt’s concerns, Fifth Battalion occupied the Agile Coney, one of the close to a score of inns that the town boasted, as well as two nearby inns and their outbuildings and stables. Once he was convinced that all the companies were not only settled, but ready to respond to any sort of immediate attack, with imager undercaptains assigned to each company, since their shields, limited as they were, would be of far greater advantage within a town, Quaeryt returned to the Agile Coney.

  As he walked up onto the wide porch, empty of anything but a single plain wooden bench, his eyes took in the signboard that depicted a muscular rabbit leaping over a stone wall. Both the signboard and the name suggested to Quaeryt that Caluse had never been an integral part of Naedara. At least, the rabbit’s not black. He still wondered about why the black marble statuette of the coney had been smashed and buried under the stone with a chiseled inscription … and who had done it for what purpose.