“And?”
“If we attack from the road, and we’re unsuccessful, we’ll have very few places to go. If by some chance we are successful in moving them, they can just head east and around Deucalon toward the bridge.”
Skarpa nodded. “So we’ll have to trample lanes and maybe the fields of all these poor growers to avoid getting trampled ourselves. We’ll have to leave a couple of squads with the riding wounded to guard the prisoners and their wounded, too. Hate doing that, but there’s no help for it.” He shook his head. “Might as well get on with it.” He rode forward to the lead squad, Quaeryt following him, and shortly, the entire regiment was moving down a lane heading east-northeast, with scouts spreading out to the north and east.
“Can you and the imagers do anything to get us closer … the way…”
Quaeryt rode without speaking for several moments. What could you get Shaelyt and Desyrk to do that would help so that the Bovarians wouldn’t see … or wouldn’t see clearly? He considered, then nodded.
“They can probably see us right now,” replied Quaeryt. “If we can pass by a woods or even a woodlot where they can’t see us for a bit, they might lose sight of us.”
“Might lose sight?” Skarpa raised his eyebrows.
“Might lose sight,” Quaeryt repeated flatly. “There’s also something else that might work, but I’ll need to talk to Shaelyt and Desyrk.”
The commander nodded.
Quaeryt eased the mare out to the side and then back to where the two undercaptains rode.
“Sir?”
“We’re going to have to attack the rear flank”-except it may not be the rear when we get there-“of a large Bovarian force. I’d like you two to try something when we’re not too far away from their lines.” He paused. “I’d like you to image the most acrid bitter coal and wood smoke you can possible think of across their lines.”
Desyrk looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded.
Shaelyt grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ve done something like that?” asked Quaeryt.
“Only in the cot, sir, when I was little and wanted to go outside. My da-”
“Good. Just stay close to me and listen for my command.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Follow me up front.” Quaeryt moved out and then back up beside Skarpa.
“I’ve given the orders to the majors,” Skarpa said. “We’ll hit their flank at an angle, then move north to join up with Deucalon. I wasn’t ordered to sacrifice the entire regiment, just to attack. Besides, sacrificing won’t do any good. We can always move across Deucalon’s rear and take on the Bovarians on the triangle. That would immobilize them and allow Deucalon to engage without being attacked from the rear.”
Left unspoken was the fact that the marshal might not appreciate Skarpa’s interpretation of his orders.
“The scouts have found a path-it’s not even a lane-up ahead that goes north past a small woodlot. There aren’t any Bovarians there, except there might be scouts.”
“They won’t matter,” Quaeryt said. “They’d have to ride back and report, and by then we should be close enough.” You hope.
“We’ll have to re-form on the flat beyond the woodlot and then advance as a body.”
“We’ll do what we can,” promised Quaeryt.
As the vanguard neared the end of the woodlot, Quaeryt dropped his personal shields and raised a concealment screen. He wasn’t even about to try to hold a concealment shield across the entire regiment for all that long, especially since the distance from where the small woodlot ended to the Bovarian flank was close to half a mille. But if we can get within half of that, and Desyrk and Shaelyt can smoke them …
That would help. Would it help enough?
Quaeryt kept scanning the main Bovarian force, which had formed up on the flatter ground a good half mille from the ridge where Deucalon’s regiments were positioned. So far the Bovarians were not moving.
Why? Because they want Deucalon to attack? That seemed more than likely, since any movement by Deucalon would put him at a disadvantage. That explained why Third Regiment was being ordered to attack.
Quaeryt was beginning to feel the strain of holding the concealment, but continued to wait as Third Regiment re-formed. He looked to Skarpa. “How much longer?”
“Another half quint, at least.”
Frig! Quaeryt managed a nod.
Skarpa added, “Don’t lead. Let Zhelan do it. I need you to hold back with me. We’ll move northeast and pick up the regiment as it withdraws after the first attack. They all have orders to hit hard and then turn north.”
“Understood.” Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Shaelyt, Desyrk, you heard the commander. Stay with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt thought it was more likely to have been a full quint before Third Regiment began to move westward, but this time he’d taken the precaution of drinking more watered lager, and even eating several hard biscuits, the last of which he washed down hurriedly as the regiment trampled through half-grown maize, and then through a bean field. Finally, when the regiment reached what appeared to be meadow, Quaeryt ordered, “Image smoke! Now!”
Almost instantly, a thin brownish mist appeared-not across the entire front of the Bovarian flank, but for an expanse of perhaps a hundred yards-the center of where Third Regiment was headed. At that point, Quaeryt released the concealment and rebuilt his personal shields.
Third regiment covered almost another hundred yards before there was any noticeable reaction from the Bovarians, and only those to either side of where the smoke/mist had settled. Quaeryt could see more than a few of the foot on the flank that faced in the general direction of Third Regiment rubbing their eyes.
He also saw the pikes, not that the foot bearing them had all turned to face the Telaryn attack. Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Desyrk … Shaelyt! Stay with the commander. Stay with him.”
Whether Quaeryt liked it or not, if he didn’t do something, the attack would end in disaster. He urged the mare forward, glad that he’d finally learned to ride well enough to match the troopers, until he was in close to the first line. Then he took the half-staff and balanced it across the front of the saddle and extended his personal shields.
As he rode closer to the flank he urged the mare into almost a full gallop and angled her to the south, then with less than fifty yards between him and the pikemen, he turned her back so he would graze across the front line of the pikemen.
As he struck the first pike, a spike of pain vibrated through him, but he kept riding as the intensity of the pain built until he could barely see. Finally, after a sweep of perhaps a hundred yards he turned into the ranks of the oncoming Third Regiment, slowing and contracting his shield to cover but himself and the mare, and hoping the rankers could avoid him.
Miraculously, most did, except for one rider who bounced off the shields at an angle.
Quaeryt just let the mare move at a quick trot toward the company to the north where he trusted Skarpa was slowly moving to join up with Deucalon’s forces. Quaeryt glanced back over his shoulder.
The battalions of Third Regiment had most definitely torn a hole in the flank of the Bovarians and were already withdrawing. As the Telaryn cavalry troopers rode back north, most of them it appeared, Quaeryt could see that at least part of the Bovarian mounted was beginning to pursue.
He urged the mare into a faster trot. He felt damp spots on his face. Was he bleeding and not even aware of it? Then he realized that the sky had darkened, and a slight drizzle had begun. While the clouds directly overhead were light gray, those to the north appeared far darker and more ominous, but there wasn’t too much he could do about that.
“You got them all riled up. Here they come!” called Skarpa as Quaeryt neared. “I was hoping they’d do that. We’re headed east of Deucalon’s force. If there aren’t too many Bovarians on the triangle, we’ll take them. If there are, we’ll rein in and see if we can hold them in place.”
&n
bsp; As Quaeryt eased past the two imagers, Shaelyt, his eyes wide, looked at Quaeryt.
Quaeryt just nodded, slowing the mare to match Skarpa’s pace, looking back. From what he could tell, most of Third Regiment had disengaged … except for what looked to be a company at the south end of the attack that was largely surrounded. Quaeryt managed to get out his water bottle and take several swallows and then recork it.
At least some of the beleaguered company, or companies, managed to break free, if by heading back due east, and after a time, the Bovarians pursuing them turned back more north and moved to join the growing attack on the main Telaryn force.
Skarpa slowed his mount as he and his escort company reached the lower part of the sloping grassy ridge.
An undercaptain rode toward Skarpa. “Commander, you’re to hold the east flank. Those are Marshal Deucalon’s orders.”
“We’ll hold!” Skarpa called back, adding in a much lower voice that could not have carried to the undercaptain. “Until we see if there are any attackers at this end.”
The first companies of Third Regiment were halfway up the slope when Skarpa began to pass his commands. “Third Regiment, re-form uphill of the van! Attack formation! Uphill of the van.”
When Skarpa took his final position, Quaeryt moved beside him, then looked down the slope at the Bovarians moving forward across the last yards of the flat of the meadow at a measured pace. For all that he’d seen Third Regiment inflicting numerous casualties on the attackers, the mass that moved forward seemed little diminished. He glanced to the west, realizing that Deucalon’s force looked almost as large.
After studying Deucalon’s defenses, with the ranks of pikemen across the front, Quaeryt could see why the Bovarian mounted units weren’t moving at a faster pace. They’d wait until the foot engaged the pikemen … or until Deucalon sent mounted companies to stop the foot. Even as Quaeryt recognized the situation, a mounted battalion moved out from the west end of the Telaryn line and charged the Bovarian foot.
In turn, the foot companies split, half moving toward the pikes on the east and half toward those on the west, while a mass of Bovarian mounted charged forward to meet the Telaryn cavalry battalion. At that moment, flights of arrows arched from the rear of the Telaryn forces down into the Bovarian mounted, while the Bovarian archers targeted the pikemen on each end of the Telaryn forces.
Before long, Quaeryt suspected, the entire slope would be a confused mass.
“We may need to attack those foot,” Skarpa said.
Both looked to their right as an undercaptain rode toward them.
“Commander! The Bovarian forces on the triangle have split. Half are moving to engage the bridge defenses. The other half are moving toward our rear. You’re to take Third Regiment and stop those moving to our rear.”
“Third Regiment!..” Skarpa began to issue orders.
In moments, or so it seemed to Quaeryt, the entire regiment had reversed itself and was riding northward. Quaeryt and his company rode slightly behind and between Second and Third Battalion, close enough so that Quaeryt, after a fashion, could see Skarpa’s command group.
He glanced up. While the clouds had continued to thicken overhead, the raindrops falling remained scattered and intermittent. For now.
Before long, Quaeryt could see the dull gray-blue uniforms of the Bovarians-all mounted-as they charged up the back of the ridge. The riders of First Battalion ended up meeting the charge almost two-thirds of the way up the slope. Second Battalion attacked the middle of the Bovarian charge, and it appeared as though Major Aluin’s men would leave the leading Bovarian units isolated.
At that moment another Bovarian unit rode uphill, directly toward Quaeryt’s force.
“Sir!?” asked Zhelan.
“Charge them!” replied Quaeryt. One thing he had learned was that standing still in the middle of a battle was usually the prelude to a disaster.
Zhelan’s company moved downhill, and although Quaeryt rode with them, he let others lead the charge, which in less than half a quint had stalled into a mass of hand-to-hand fighting.
Quaeryt used his staff as necessary, trying to save his shields and energy until imaging might produce some results, but there were so many men and mounts that he didn’t see much point in trying anything except in using the shields for self-defense.
At some point, the Bovarians withdrew to the east, re-forming on the river road, but facing the ridge. Skarpa ordered, chivvied, and pushed Third Regiment back into formation on the east end of the ridge.
Quaeryt stood in the stirrups and tried to get a sense of what had happened as the rain began to fall more steadily, with large warm droplets splatting on his exposed skin. The Telaryn forces formed a unified front from the bridge approach across the ridge. The Bovarians began to form into a wide wedge.
Quaeryt looked farther south, where he could see yet another Bovarian foot regiment, possibly two, marching northward to join the massed Bovarian forces.
Where did that regiment come from? How many regiments do they have?
Quaeryt eased the mare forward, until he was positioned at the front edge of the defenders, then turned, “Shaelyt, Desyrk!”
Neither imager undercaptain looked particularly pleased, but both rode up beside him.
The rain began to fall even more strongly, still remaining warm.
Quaeryt looked to the road below, a narrow stone-paved strip in the middle of what was turning into a sea of mud. The weather is going to turn this against us, and we’re outnumbered. The frigging rain, hot warm rain.
He stiffened in the saddle, as the words of Vaelora’s letter came to him.… the warmest rain can turn to ice, and ice can imprison the unwary … Warm rain turning to ice? Was that what she had foreseen?
Could he and the other two imagers imprison the Bovarians in ice? But he couldn’t very well just image ice. The ice came as a result of imaging something else, something massive.
“Desyrk, Shaelyt … you need to image a stone bridge, from the lower ground south of the point of the triangle over to the far side of the Vyl.”
“What?”
“Don’t argue with me. Not now. We need a stone bridge over the Vyl. Make it two spans with a single central pier. I want you to concentrate on that when I give you the command. Do you understand?”
Shaelyt nodded. After a moment, Desyrk nodded, although his eyes held confusion and puzzlement.
“Desyrk … when I tell you, just image the stone for the bridge, as much as you can.”
He looked again at the massed Bovarians. Do you dare to try? Should you?
A horn call echoed through the rain, and as one, the Bovarians began to advance.
Quaeryt cleared his throat, extended his shields to encompass Desyrk and Shaelyt, then called, “Image the bridge! Now!”
He visualized the structure he imagined, with high slight arches to a central pier, and knowing he needed power, he didn’t limit himself to just the rain. So he attempted to draw warmth from the Bovarian mounts, with thin tendrils of thought, and from the river itself-it had to have heat somewhere because when it didn’t the water froze into ice. He even tried to link to the imagers who weren’t near them … somehow.
From everywhere came lances of pain, strikes like cold lightning.
In instants, the clouds darkened from thick gray to black masses … and liquid ice poured down like sheets in an arc around him.
Quaeryt could feel that pervasive chill trying to suck heat from himself, yet being blocked by his shields, but that intense cold impacting his shields, even though they were not against his skin, made him feel as though ice were building all around him and the other two imagers.
Brilliant lines of white ice-lightning flared through his skull, and his tears seemed to freeze for an instant on his cheeks, and white fog billowed below him …
… and icy whiteness froze him into stillness.
77
Hot rain swirled around Quaeryt, and he shivered, even as lightnings of jagge
d ice cut him, and blood dripped into scarlet icicles hanging from his face and arms and legs … and when he turned and looked into the fog, a stone span receded and vanished … and ice flowed over him once more …
Quaeryt shivered … and slowly opened his eyes.
He was lying in a wide bed. Quilts covered him, but he could feel sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He tried to push back the quilts, but his arms did not seem to want to move. He tried again. Every muscle in his arms quivered, and lines of pain flared from shoulder to fingertip. Slowly … oh, so slowly, he pushed back the covers, barely enough that he did not feel as though he were being roasted alive.
Then he turned his head, although the movement sent lightning through his skull, to see a young man sitting on a chair lean forward, his mouth opening-Shaelyt.
“You’re awake!”
“I … am,” Quaeryt attempted to say, but the words were muddled. He wanted to sit up, but wondered if he even could.
“No one knew…”
“Knew what?” His lips were stiff and chapped, and each word was an effort.
“When they found you in the middle of the ice … you were warm … but no one could rouse you, sir.”
“Help me … sit up.” Quaeryt hated to ask, but his body was anything but cooperative.
“Yes, sir.” Shaelyt stood and leaned forward, easing pillows behind Quaeryt and steadying him.
Quaeryt just leaned back against the pillows for several moments, not that he had any choice, weak as he was. “What … about … you … the others?” He found himself still unable to speak clearly because his mouth was dry.
“All of us … we made it. We were cold for a long time, but not like you.” Shaelyt handed him a mug. “It’s watered lager.”
Quaeryt eased himself forward just enough to be able to drink, glad that Shaelyt was supporting the mug. His stomach muscles ached as well.
“You did something-”
“No … all of you worked together. You must have,” Quaeryt added quickly, ignoring the furrowing in Shaelyt’s brow. “I just gave you the ideas.” He frowned. “You and Desyrk … how is he?”
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