Imager’s Battalion ip-6

by L. E. Modesitt

  “They just left them?” Meinyt frowned.

  “Apparently they were worried about Quaeryt’s third company catching them.” Skarpa smiled.

  “After the way Zhael’s men ripped through their troopers,” said Quaeryt, “they were right to be worried.”

  Meinyt and Skarpa exchanged a quick glance, one that Quaeryt ignored.

  “Anyway…” continued Skarpa, “there’s about two milles of open ground east of the town, between that jungle and the river. They’ve thrown up revetments across most of the last mille, with ditches in other places. Most of the ditches are wide enough that a horse can’t jump them, and they’re filled with sharpened stakes and who knows what else…”

  “Filthy water and mud, most likely,” added Meinyt.

  “… it’s hard to tell how many men they’ve got, but it looks like they’ve got at least three, maybe four, regiments of foot behind those earthworks.”

  “At least some muskets, too,” said Quaeryt. “Where they’ve got a clear path of fire.”

  Skarpa continued using the map to point out what he’d learned from the scouts for another half quint before he finally said, “That’s what we know now. I’m in no hurry to attack. Not for a day or so, anyway. The men could use some rest-and so could you and the imagers, Subcommander. We need to feel out where their strong points are and see if there’s somewhere we can break through and then wheel and pin them against their own earthworks.” Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “Tomorrow, when you’re rested, I’d like you to ride closer and see what you think.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get some food and sleep. Leave everything else to Zhelan. That’s what he’s there for.”

  Quaeryt nodded, not trying even to smile pleasantly.

  Skarpa stood. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  For all that Skarpa said, it would be a while before the cooks had rations ready. While Quaeryt was sore and tired, he wasn’t sleepy. So he made his way to the eastern end of the hamlet, where Fifth Battalion was settling in around cots abandoned by their owners or tenants.

  Zhelan was the first to catch sight of him. “Sir … the first cot there … there’s space for you and the imagers.”

  “Thank you. You’ve told them?”

  “Yes, sir.” Zhelan stood waiting.

  Quaeryt knew Zhelan wanted to know what Skarpa had said, but wouldn’t ask. So he said quietly, “The Bovarians have thrown up earthworks and trenches across all the approaches to Ralaes…” He went on to summarize Skarpa’s words, then ended with, “We need to see that the men get rest, but that they’re ready in case the Bovarians try another surprise attack.”

  “Do you think they will?”

  “They very well might. We’re getting close to Villerive, and they can retreat behind all those earthworks after they try a strike.”

  “A few extra sentries might be in order … posted farther out.”

  Quaeryt nodded, then added, “Perhaps mounts already saddled for a squad … or two?”

  Zhelan offered a faint smile. “I’d thought that, sir.”

  After he talked over matters with the major, Quaeryt started toward the cot that Zhelan had pointed out. He was still some twenty yards away when Voltyr approached from where he had been standing under a small maple.

  “Sir?”

  “What is it, Voltyr?”

  “I hoped I could talk over a few things with you.”

  Quaeryt nodded, wondering if he could evade the thrust of the undercaptain’s inquiries, or if he should, for he had no doubt questions were on Voltyr’s mind. How could they not be after all that’s happened in the last day or so?

  “There have been times when we should have suffered from arrows. Those around us did. This morning, those closest to you were not injured by the first musket attack, while many farther away were. This afternoon, those near you were not injured.” The undercaptain paused. “You can extend shields some distance, can you not?”

  What do you say to that? “Learning shielding, from what I know, is difficult, but I’ve tried to give all of you instruction in imaging … as best I could. It takes time to learn and strengthen abilities, and there’s never been any imager who lived long enough or who worked with others enough to develop a way of teaching imagers. Not that I know.”

  “Until now,” said Voltyr quietly. “That’s what you have in mind, isn’t it? You’ve been pushing us as fast as you thought we could learn.”

  “It wasn’t fast enough for Akoryt,” Quaeryt said quietly.

  “He wasn’t strong enough yet. Shaelyt and I can barely hold shields for a fraction of a quint.” Voltyr stopped as Shaelyt walked around the end of the cot and then toward them.

  “Good afternoon,” offered Quaeryt.

  “The same to you, sir.” Shaelyt’s eyes went to Voltyr.

  The older undercaptain smiled. “I was telling the subcommander how it seemed more than fortuitous that anyone close to him suffered fewer, if any, wounds from arrows or musket balls, and that suggested shielding beyond just himself.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” said Shaelyt, “but none of the undercaptains thinks it’s fortune. Nor does most of Fifth Battalion. Wharyn told Shaelyt that you were not a lost one. He said you were the son of Erion. He said you rode down twenty-one musketeers, and their iron musket stands. Only two of those you struck survived. They counted twice.”

  “What do you two suggest I say, then?” Quaeryt kept his voice humorous. “No matter what Captain Wharyn says, I can’t claim I’m a son of Erion. I’m not, and claiming such wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “It might not hurt to let the rest of the undercaptains know you’re an imager, sir,” suggested Voltyr. “Quietly, of course.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “You’re probably right that the time for that has come. I’ll let them know after morning muster. I’d like to let them have the day to think it over.”

  “I have another question, sir,” ventured Shaelyt.

  “Yes?”

  “Many times when you have done what others would claim is not possible … you have been injured. Yet nothing has struck you. You are moving with great care even now…”

  “I don’t deny it. I’m a bit sore. You want to know why?”

  Both undercaptains nodded.

  “Beyond a certain point … I’ve learned from experience … when there are too many impacts on shields, the force of those impacts are born by the body.” Quaeryt paused for a moment. “It’s like a physical shield. If a sabre hits a shield that’s properly held, the shield-holder doesn’t feel much. If a horse rears and its hooves and a battle ax hit the shield, the man holding the shield is likely to have many broken bones, if he survives.”

  “You’ve survived worse than that with no bones broken,” Shaelyt pointed out.

  “At times that’s been true. But not at other times. You saw what happened to me at Ferravyl. And I was bruised all over when I came to Ferravyl because I’d used shields against explosives in a wagon. The more you work on shields the stronger they get-but there’s always a breaking point. I had shields, probably like yours, when I went to Tilbor. They weren’t enough to protect me against a crossbow bolt fired at close range. They slowed the bolt enough that it didn’t break my collarbone or go deep enough into my chest to kill me. But it was more than a month before I rode again. In the last battle in Tilbor, I wore myself out and was flattened by a heavy cavalryman. That broke my arm and tore up a few muscles.”

  The two exchanged glances again.

  “So … you’ve continued to fight when you knew…” Voltyr let his words break off.

  “When necessary,” Quaeryt admitted. “Sometimes you have no choice. Just as sometimes troopers and their commanders have no choice.” No good choices … there are always choices …

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ll go over this with the others in the morning.” Quaeryt nodded and turned.

  As he walked back toward the central cot near where rations were
being prepared, Quaeryt could feel their eyes on his back. Did you say enough? Too much? Did you make it clear enough?

  He could only hope so.

  34

  Quaeryt woke in the darkness to an off-key trumpet and the insistent clangor of a bell, followed by shouted commands, and then by the muffled sounds of weapons. For a moment he had no idea where he was, not until the undercaptains around him began to stir. Then he sat up on the thin pallet he’d covered with his single blanket and yanked on his boots and put on the uniform shirt he’d folded and laid aside to sleep in the too-warm night.

  “Imagers! Muster out front!” Quaeryt stood and hurried toward the door.

  When he reached the narrow porch of the cot, he glanced around, but while he heard sounds, they did not come from the river road to the west, but more from the southwest. That made sense. The Bovarians wouldn’t have attacked along the road if they wanted to surprise Skarpa’s forces.

  Both moons were but thin crescents. Neither shed much light, and in the near darkness, all he could see were the shadowy figures of troopers forming up.

  What can you do that will be most effective? As soon as he asked himself the question, he realized how stupid it was, since he had only a general idea of from where the Bovarian attack was coming … and none about what Telaryn forces were responding and how.

  When the imagers all appeared, after what seemed like a quint, but was closer to a few moments, he ordered, “On me! To the headquarters house.” At least we can protect Skarpa, if necessary.

  But by the time they had reached the large dwelling, it was clear that Skarpa and the other officers had already left.

  “We’ll move up the river road,” Quaeryt stated firmly. “Be ready to image. Smoke first, then iron darts. Only on my command.”

  “… can’t see … friggin’ thing…”

  Quaeryt had no trouble recognizing Threkhyl’s loud and surly voice.

  “… is night, you know?” replied Desyrk. “You expect the moons to shine for you?”

  “… be helpful…”

  “Quiet,” Quaeryt ordered firmly, but not loudly, image-projecting his voice back at the undercaptains. He strained to hear and to see any moving shadows, but the only sounds nearby were those of his men. Even the noise of fighting to the south had died away.

  After walking another hundred yards or so, Quaeryt heard movements to his left, coming from the south, and he immediately extended shields. “Stand ready!”

  At that moment a good squad of Telaryn troopers charged out from a small grove of trees on the left side of the river road toward the imagers.

  The two troopers in the lead ran into Quaeryt’s shields and rocked back. One stumbled, and the other fell at the edge of the road, then scrambled to his feet.

  “Imagers! Halt!” snapped Quaeryt in Tellan. Then he image-projected his voice at the troopers. “As you were!”

  The troopers stiffened, and a squad leader hurried forward, blade at the ready.

  “Sir?”

  “Subcommander Quaeryt. The imagers and I couldn’t do much in the dark where every one is all mixed up. So I thought we’d cover the river road.” Quaeryt hadn’t thought it out quite that precisely. He’d gone more on instinct.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t know.”

  “You wouldn’t have. No damage done,” said Quaeryt. But there could have been. The last thing we need is to take out our own troops-or have them take out an unaware imager. “We haven’t seen any Bovarians. Have you?”

  “Not here, sir. The ones who came from the south withdrew when we hit them. Well … after they hit us and we pushed them back. The captain sent us here to make sure they didn’t circle us.”

  As the squad leader explained, Quaeryt could see more troopers gathering and forming up in the trees.

  “It’s just the imagers and Subcommander Quaeryt, sir!” the squad leader called.

  A captain strode out of the trees. “Subcommander, sir, Subcommander Meinyt didn’t tell us you’d be here.” The accent suggested he was from one of the battalions from Piedryn.

  “He didn’t know. There wasn’t time to inform him.” Quaeryt gestured. “We can move west on the road together.”

  “Yes, sir. Appreciate it, sir.”

  As Quaeryt led the imagers along the road, flanked by the Telaryn company, his eyes searched the dimness ahead, barely illuminated by the stars and thin crescents of Artiema and Erion, but a portion of his thoughts were elsewhere.

  Holding shields was the only imaging that was even halfway effective in deep darkness or where the imagers couldn’t see, for one reason or another, and he was the only imager proficient in doing that. Yet … Have you delayed too long in trying to start them in learning shields?

  He didn’t think he could have started much sooner … but the question still nagged at him.

  35

  Quaeryt was up early on Mardi, dressed quickly despite muscles that were still sore, and saw to the imagers, telling them that they would meet again after breakfast. Then he met with Zhelan about Fifth Battalion before hurrying to the house that served as Skarpa’s temporary headquarters. As he drew near, three tiny gray kittens darted under the front porch. He couldn’t help but smile.

  Meinyt arrived just as Quaeryt did.

  “Good morning,” said Quaeryt.

  “Morning. Better than last night.” Meinyt paused, then said, “Some of the Piedryn troopers said that they ran into you and the imagers last night.” The older subcommander stepped up onto the covered porch.

  “We went to cover the river road. We met up there. Never saw any Bovarians.” Quaeryt moved toward the door, about to open it.

  At that moment Skarpa stepped out and gestured to the stools and the table, still in place from the afternoon before. “We’ll meet out here. Too hot inside already.”

  As soon as the three were seated, Skarpa began. “We lost close to fifty men last night, with another sixty wounded.” His eyes focused on Quaeryt questioningly.

  “It’s hard to image when the imagers can’t see where to image,” replied Quaeryt. “It’s also hard to figure out what sort of imaging will work.”

  “They imaged at night at Caernyn,” Meinyt said.

  “That worked because they knew where our troops were, and where the enemy was. Once our forces mixed with the Bovarians and Antiagons, we had to stop imaging.”

  Skarpa nodded slowly.

  After a moment so did Meinyt.

  “There’s also the problem that none of them have ever been in combat, and some of them are limited as imagers. We have worked to improve that, but for example Undercaptain Baelthm will never be the strongest of imagers. He is, however, very precise.”

  “It’s too bad we don’t have more imagers,” said Skarpa blandly. “I did suggest in one of my dispatches to the marshal that having more would be useful, particularly if you were in charge of training and deploying them.”

  “Deucalon doesn’t like changes,” said Meinyt with a snort. “That why you suggested they be assigned to you?”

  “That had occurred to me.” Skarpa grinned, but that expression faded quickly. “It also has occurred to me more than once that imagers reduce overall casualties. Unhappily, we’re going to have to take Ralaes with what we have. That’s why we’re going to scout all the approaches very carefully.”

  “I’d like to accompany one of the companies or squads doing the scouting, with one of the imagers,” requested Quaeryt.

  “That would be for the best. They’ll be departing in less than a glass. That’s Captain Lhastyn’s company-third company of First Battalion. They’ll form up on the road here while I give the captain his orders. We didn’t have enough sentries last night, and they were posted too far apart. The Bovarians may try again tonight … given their success last night…”

  Quaeryt listened intently as Skarpa went on to outline his plans for the day and evening.

  A quint later he was walking back to the smaller cot where the imag
ers were waiting for him. He said nothing until all of them had gathered on the narrow porch.

  “First off, we most likely won’t be attacking Ralaes today. Undercaptain Shaelyt and I will be accompanying one of Third Regiment’s companies scouting the Bovarian defenses. Second, the rest of you are to work on your imaging under the direction of Undercaptain Voltyr. There is also a third matter.” Quaeryt paused. “As some of you have already guessed, and quietly suggested, I am an imager…” He let the silence draw out before continuing. “There were reasons why I was asked not to make that known when first company and then Fifth Battalion were formed. I’m going to ask that, for now, you not speak of it except among yourselves. This is in your interest as much as in mine.”

  “Why is that?” demanded Threkhyl, quickly adding, “Sir?”

  “Because the longer the rest of the battalion sees that I’m impartial and that the imagers help everyone, the more favorably you’ll be regarded. The more favorably you’re regarded, the better the position imagers and especially each of you will be in when the fighting is over.”

  Shaelyt nodded. So did Voltyt. After a moment Desyrk offered a faint smile. Baelthm looked skeptical, while Threkhyl’s expression held puzzlement and doubt.

  “That’s if we live through it,” Threkhyl finally said. “You’ll do just fine.”

  Quaeryt would have liked to point out that he’d suffered more injuries than they had, which had been the case-until Akoryt’s death. Instead, he replied, “I’ve been at the front all the time.”

  “You can protect yourself,” countered Threkhyl. “We’ve all seen it.”

  “That’s true. That’s also why I’ve been in front, trying to protect as many of you as possible until you can learn how to protect yourselves.”

  “The subcommander’s right about that,” said Baelthm.

  Quaeryt was surprised that the oldest imager was the one to speak up.

  “You’ve not shown me one thing like that,” insisted Threkhyl.

  “Well … you can start working on that with Voltyr while I’m gone this morning. When I get back, I’ll go over it with you.”