“Yes, sir. Who’s in command?”
“You’re both under Major Arion’s command, but Shaelyt is in charge of concealment, and you decide when and where to image against the cannon. Just don’t get any closer than necessary. That’s for your own protection. Now … go join Major Arion and fourth company.”
Quaeryt watched as the two rode back past first company, then second.
Skarpa returned shortly, and saw Quaeryt watching as fourth company prepared. “You have to send them out on their own.”
“I’ve sent them out before.”
“Not on anything like this, I’d wager.”
Quaeryt knew the wager was rhetorical, but he didn’t have to like it, much as he knew sending the undercaptains out without him near was something he’d have to do more and more-even if the battle for Variana happened the next day and Bhayar won. That would be part of what imagers supporting Bhayar would have to do. You can’t do everything yourself.
“Subcommander, if you’d order your battalion off the road so the others can move up…”
“Yes, sir.”
Once Fifth Battalion cleared the road, Quaeryt watched as fourth company vanished from sight. Then he waited … and waited.
Nothing seemed to happen. Shaelyt held the concealment. The Telaryn forces remaining in formation on the river road did not move, and neither did the Bovarians, suggesting that the defenders had far too few troopers to attack … and were there only to force the issue by not allowing the Telaryn troopers to gallop through the gap between the lake and the river single file and widely spaced.
Close to a glass passed. That worried Quaeryt. Shaelyt had never had to hold a concealment that long, but the young undercaptain apparently was managing, because neither Quaeryt nor Zhelan could catch sight of fourth company.
“There!” said Zhelan, even as Quaeryt saw a small flare of light in one spot before the forest, much farther north than Quaeryt had estimated.
The first point of light was followed by several others, and then by explosions and a roar like muted thunder as a section of forest some hundred yards wide disintegrated into broken trees and saplings, with smoke billowing up. Even as Quaeryt watched, flames began to lick what were likely dead trees or limbs.
From the front of the column came a horn signal, and Third Regiment moved out at a quick trot. In time, the last squad of Fifth Regiment began to ride northward.
A section of the forest was in full flames by the time Quaeryt nodded to Zhelan, and the major ordered, “Battalion! Forward!”
Quaeryt kept glancing across the lake, but he saw nothing except smoke everywhere.
Before that long, even Fifth Battalion had ridden north of the area that the cannon had ranged … and never fired at again. Quaeryt kept looking across the lake and to the south, but between the almost imperceptible slope and the smoke, he could make out nothing.
When they reached a point near the north end of the lake, east of where the Bovarian foot had been formed up, there were few signs of the Bovarians, only the troops of Third and Eleventh Regiments. Peering at the fields farther to the west, just at the edge of the forest, Quaeryt could see a handful of Bovarians sprinting toward the woods, pursued by Telaryn troopers. Those who reached the trees survived, because the Telaryn forces obeyed the orders not to break formation and did not enter the forest.
Since there was little either Fifth Regiment or Fifth Battalion could accomplish by entering an already one-sided fight that was almost over, Meinyt and Quaeryt held their men in the five-front formation on the road, ready to move as necessary.
Later, as Third and Eleventh Regiments re-formed, Quaeryt began to look for Arion and fourth company. Finally he saw riders appear on the river road behind them, riding slowly toward them. He realized that fourth company had likely had little choice, given the swampy ground around the lake, but to retrace their path back to the river road.
“Major,” called Quaeryt, “I’m riding to the end of the battalion to meet fourth company. You’re in charge if the commander has any orders.” Not that it’s likely at the moment.
When he reached the rear of Fifth Battalion, fourth company was still a good half mille away. Quaeryt forced himself to wait, although he eased the mare onto the west shoulder of the road, so that he could see what was happening to the west, what Zhelan might be doing, and still watch fourth company.
It was well past fifth glass when the riders were close enough for Quaeryt to see them clearly. Arion and a squad leader were at the front of the column. Behind the major rode two rankers, stirrup to stirrup with Threkhyl, his visor cap gone, the rankers clearly supporting him. Behind them was another ranker leading a mount with a body strapped across it. The body bore a green undress officer’s shirt.
Quaeryt swallowed, then rode forward as Arion signaled for a halt.
“The mission was successful, sir,” Arion reported, his voice somber.
Quaeryt glanced back along the company. He only saw a few empty saddles. “Thank you, Major.” After a silence, he asked, “What happened to the imagers?”
Arion offered a sad smile. “I fear they were too successful, sir. There was more powder than we expected. After he fired the powder, Undercaptain Threkhyl created smoke to stop the few musketeers remaining. Then he collapsed, but he looks to recover. Your young undercaptain shielded us from the great explosion … until he could take no more. We tried to revive him. His body … it is red all over.”
So much for setting an example of protecting others. “He was skilled and brave to the end.” Too skilled and brave. Quaeryt’s eyes were burning.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Major.” He paused. “The fighting here is almost over. We’re awaiting orders.” Then he turned the mare. It was best that no one saw the tears.
76
In the end, Skarpa ordered the regiments and Fifth Battalion to set up an encampment that took in the small hamlet near the battle, if it could even have been called that. Quaeryt did not seek out Skarpa, but made certain that Zhelan had Fifth Battalion well in hand … and that Threkhyl was only exhausted.
“… be fine,” mumbled the burly older ginger-beard before collapsing into a sleep that was as much unconsciousness as slumber.
After settling Threkhyl, Quaeryt gathered the remaining imager undercaptains and briefed them, quietly and quickly. All of them were somber, as if it had taken Shaelyt’s death to make the point that even shielded imagers could die. Then Quaeryt walked out into the gathering twilight, standing alone, his eyes looking vaguely south in the direction of the lake he could not see because of a slight slope.
Khalis followed, saying nothing, standing well back.
Finally, Quaeryt turned. “Yes?”
“Sir … you would have gone, wouldn’t you? Except the commander ordered you not to.”
Quaeryt nodded.
“With all due respect, sir…”
Quaeryt almost grinned at the phrase usually used by squad leaders coming from the youngest Pharsi undercaptain, but just waited.
“… he was right, sir. We can do much of what you can, but there isn’t anyone to replace you.”
“The commander made that point. He was right. I don’t have to like it.”
“Sir … there’s something else. Something Shaelyt told me.”
Again, Quaeryt waited.
“He … he said … that … if anything happened to you … there wouldn’t be another lost one … not for generations … maybe not ever…”
“He told you that?”
“He told me and Lhandor. He made us promise … well … to do what we could, sir.”
Wonderful … not only do you have to find a way to have Bhayar win against cannon and muskets … but you’re being told that the hopes of the Pharsi ride on your shoulders. What in the Nameless’s sake do you say to that?
“Shaelyt was a good man, a very good officer and imager, especially for one with so little experience. He may have thought I’m more than I am.”
More than any man could possibly be.
“Sir…”
“We all do what we can and what we must. I will do that, and I appreciate your loyalty and support. But … do not make me into more than I am. I’ve made mistakes, and I’ll doubtless make them again, as will you and every other officer. We can only learn from our failures and strive to do better.”
“Yes, sir.” After a pause, Khalis added, “Thank you, sir. I think I’ll check on Threkhyl.”
In the late twilight, Quaeryt slowly walked back to the cot that held the battered imager, thinking. Another handful or two of cannon … and one less imager … a good solid young man … and a bit more powder and Threkhyl might not have survived, either. You could have been killed the last time. He shook his head. There had to be another, better way to deal with muskets and cannon. And then there was also the risk associated with trying to gain even greater imaging abilities. At some point, will you just attempt too much?
He had too few imagers, and cannon had been more of an encumbrance than useful in all the fighting in Telaryn’s history. There might be a hundred cannon in all of Telaryn, and none of them particularly mobile or suited for land wars.
He was still pondering when Skarpa arrived. In fact, he only realized the commander was there when Skarpa spoke.
“I heard you lost Undercaptain Shaelyt. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded. He didn’t really want to say what he felt. “Undercaptain Threkhyl looks to recover, but he’ll not be at any strength for a few days.” If not longer.
“I had the engineers check things after the fires died down. There were more than twenty cannon there. They had enough of those explosive cannonballs to take out several regiments.”
“They didn’t have that many foot troops.”
“No. Three battalions at most. You know what that suggests, don’t you?”
“That they have plenty of cannon and that they’re saving their troops for the invasion of Telaryn after they smash us at Variana?”
“I don’t know it’s that bad. It is a matter of concern. I’ll be sending a dispatch to the marshal shortly. Is there anything you’d like to add?”
“You might make sure that your report mentions the death in action of imager Undercaptain Shaelyt, and the near-death of Undercaptain Threkhyl. I’m certain that the marshal and submarshal would wish to know that.”
Skarpa stiffened, just slightly, for a moment before speaking in a softer voice. “I’m sorry, Quaeryt, but it could have been you, especially since you’ve not fully recovered. We need you more than we needed the undercaptain, and there are times when good officers die, no matter how well we plan.”
But there are so few imagers … so few … “You’re right, sir, but he was one of the best and most talented.”
“Only because you trained him and pushed him. Remember that.” Skarpa turned. “Now get some rest. We’ll be at the edge of Variana tomorrow … or fighting another skirmish to get there. There will likely be more cannon.”
Is there any doubt? “We’ll do what we can, sir.”
“I know. You always do.”
After Skarpa rode off, Quaeryt looked into the night sky, where Erion was nearly overhead, seeming redder than usual, although that might have been his state of mind. So much for Erion favoring the lost ones of the Pharsi.
He took a long slow deep breath, still looking in the direction of the lake he could not see, with the acrid scents of exploded powder and wood smoke burning his nostrils and his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, not yet, not after brooding about Shaelyt. The young imager had shown such dedication, such promise, and then … he was gone, and not even in a major battle.
77
Even by seventh glass on Lundi morning, Skarpa had issued no orders to break camp and to proceed, and for a time Quaeryt wondered why … until he realized that they were most likely far less than ten milles from the outskirts of Variana. That was confirmed when he overheard one of the scouts saying that once over the rise to the north, there were cots and small holdings stretching to the north and west as far as the eye could see.
So he and Zhelan wrote up the papers dealing with the death of Shaelyt and the few others from fourth company who’d been killed. When Quaeryt finished signing them, he went outside the cot he’d taken and looked northward. The sky was still hazy with a few high thin clouds, and the faintest hint of a breeze out of the northeast.
He’d been standing there, thinking about Shaelyt, when a squad leader rode up and halted his mount.
“Subcommander, sir, the commander requests that all subcommanders join him outside the large cot with the hedge on the south side,” said the squad leader, pointing. “That way, sir. It’s about a hundred yards.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Once the trooper had ridden off, Quaeryt began to walk in the direction he had indicated. As he neared the next cot, he caught sight, if but for a moment, of a small gray cat in the calf-high grass at the side of the cot. Then it was gone, possibly under the dwelling.
Even the cats are wary of us.
As he neared the only cot with a hedge, Quaeryt saw Skarpa standing on the small square side porch, talking to his four battalion commanders and punctuating his words with quick sharp gestures. Rather than interrupt or distract Skarpa, Quaeryt stopped and eased close to a bush, one that he belatedly recognized as a black raspberry, although most of the berries had been long since picked.
He didn’t have to wait long before the majors departed and he could approach Skarpa.
“Good morning, sir,” offered Quaeryt as he walked up to the side porch.
“Good morning. I’ve just received the marshal’s latest orders, but something else came with them. It’s for you.” Skarpa handed an envelope to Quaeryt as he stepped onto the porch.
“Thank you.” Quaeryt took the envelope. Only his name was written on it, in a hand he didn’t recognize, but he thought he felt another envelope inside. He thought about opening it, but then paused as he saw Khaern and Meinyt riding up. Instead, he tucked it inside his jacket.
Skarpa waited until the last two officers arrived. “We won’t be riding out today, but I do want full-squad patrols sent out in all directions, even back along the river road. We’re so close to Variana that the Bovarians could attack from any direction. The marshal has decided that we are to remain where we are for today, and perhaps tomorrow, when the main body will rejoin us. Then we will lead the advance on Variana. As some of you already know, we are less than five milles from the earthworks the Bovarians have thrown up just south of the city…”
“Aren’t there any city walls?” asked Khaern.
“Why would there be? No one’s ever attacked Variana. Until now.”
“What about cannon?” asked Meinyt.
“There are emplacements that could hold cannon. Quite a number, but the scouts weren’t able to approach close enough to determine the numbers. The earthworks run more than a mille, and there are two lines of them with the cannon emplacements on higher ground behind the second line.”
“Could we flank them?”
Skarpa laughed. “Anything’s possible, but the earthworks form an arc around Kharst’s personal grounds and his chateau. The ground is hillier to the north, especially along the river, and there are earthworks there as well. There are also at least thirty regiments, from the regimental banners. I’d wager there will be more once Kharst confirms that all our forces are on this side of the river. Now, we need to talk about patrol schedules…”
Since Fifth Battalion wasn’t included in the patrols, for which Quaeryt was grateful, he just listened as the other three discussed the schedule, which took another quint.
“That’s all,” concluded Skarpa. “I’ll let you all know when I hear more from the scouts or from the marshal.”
Once he had left Skarpa and had walked enough to be alone, Quaeryt opened the outer envelope to reveal a second one, addressed to him in Vaelora�
��s handwriting. While Quaeryt could not tell, he suspected the outer envelope had most likely come from Bhayar, although there were no markings indicating that. Before he returned to Fifth Battalion to relay Skarpa’s orders to Zhelan, the company officers, and the imager undercaptains, Quaeryt quickly read through Vaelora’s missive.
My dearest,
I have another letter from you, but it takes so long for them to reach me that I have no idea where you are or what has happened to you recently. I can but guess that you must be nearing Variana …
Good guess … or farsight? Either way, she was right.
… and making ready for that which will change the present and the future of all Lydar, one way or the other, although I pray most fervently that the outcome is the one for which you have striven.
I know nothing of matters military, nothing of arms, and who should attack what and how. Nor do I know about the glory of victory or the pain and suffering of defeat, although it seems to me that either engenders great suffering for both the one who is hailed as victor and the one who is derided and disgraced as the vanquished. I have also read and heard tales of those battles in which the outcome balanced on the blade of a knife, and for years thereafter resentments and rebellions simmered, much as what you witnessed in Tilbor. As in Tilbor, it would seem to me, frail woman that I am …
Frail? Hardly. Quaeryt almost snorted.
… conquests that never end bleed both the victor and the vanquished until neither prospers, and that all would be better for a victory so absolute that none would dispute it for years. Such a victory, alas, is usually beyond the power of those who contend …
In short, if you have the opportunity, don’t hesitate to repeat what you did at Ferravyl.
… Even when such a victory is within the victor’s power, often he will offer ill-considered mercy before it is clear that the defeated is truly vanquished …
That might well have been the problem in Tilbor.
Quaeryt smiled bitterly. It was well that a battle did not appear likely at the moment. In the mood that possessed him, he scarcely felt anywhere close to merciful, but the warmer lines with which Vaelora concluded the letter did lift his spirits somewhat.
Imager’s Battalion ip-6 Page 54
