Imager’s Battalion

29

Before seventh glass on Samedi morning, as the two regiments and Fifth Battalion were forming up, Skarpa, Meinyt, and Quaeryt met on the narrow porch of the inn at Fuenh. As they stood there, Quaeryt shifted his weight off his bad left leg, and felt the planks underfoot sway ever so slightly.

“We’ve gotten back reports from the scouts. They’ve confirmed that the maps are mostly accurate,” said Skarpa. “That’s the good part. There are hamlets spaced almost every five milles apart from here all the way to Villerive. There’s only one town of any size. That’s Ralaes. It’s some twenty-five milles from here, and a good ten from there to the outskirts of Villerive. Maybe fifteen.”

“The bad part?” asked Meinyt.

“The roads aren’t any better, and we’ve got company. The scouts haven’t been able to discover where they are. There might be as much as a regiment out there. They’re not riding together, either, but as separate companies.”

“More of what happened at the river point yesterday, then?” asked Quaeryt.

“That’s possible. Or hit-and-run attacks with archers or…” Skarpa shrugged. “Who knows? We haven’t fought true Bovarian regulars yet.” He paused. “Well … except at Ferravyl, but they didn’t get much of a chance to show what they might do.”

“Better that way, if you ask me,” said Meinyt.

“What happened at Ferravyl might be why they’ve split up for now,” added Skarpa. “Do you have any thoughts on what they’re most likely to attempt?”

“More ambushes,” said Meinyt. “Pits and fixed emplacements take too much time.”

“An attack from the rear, the way the Tilborans did when we went to relieve Boralieu,” suggested Quaeryt.

“I’d thought about that. We’ll put the supply wagons in the middle of the column for now. That will allow whoever has rearguard duty to attack without worrying about supplies. Fifth Battalion will serve as vanguard today.”

That alone told Quaeryt that Skarpa was worried. When the commander finished, Quaeryt left the inn and hurried to where Fifth Battalion was mustering. There he called for all the officers to join him. Once they all were present, he spoke, in Bovarian, because all officers were supposed to understand it, and because he wanted to make sure the Khellan officers did, in particular. “Yesterday, the Bovarians tried an ambush. This morning, Commander Skarpa told me that there are more Bovarian forces ahead. They’ll try to inflict casualties on us and then withdraw so quickly that we either can’t chase them or so that we’ll follow them into another ambush. The best way to blunt them is to be ready. If you see anything strange-or anyone in a blue-gray uniform-have your men ready to fight and tell me or Major Zhelan immediately. We will be the vanguard. Now, for you imagers, if I’m not here, Undercaptain Voltyr is in charge, and you’re to use your abilities to bring down the Bovarians as quickly as you can. Is that clear?”

There were nods, although Quaeryt suspected some of those from the imagers were perfunctory because several understood little Bovarian.

Major Calkoran immediately asked, “Can we not attack them?”

“You can, Major, but only if you can see clearly where your men will fight. You’re not to move more than half a mille from the rest of the battalion without my approval. They’ll try to draw us out and then cut off individual companies.”

“They must have more than a few companies, then.”

“Commander Skarpa believes they have almost a regiment nearby. That’s not enough men to take us all on, but enough to wipe out individual companies.”

Calkoran nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Any other questions?” No one volunteered any, and Quaeryt had to wonder if he’d been too curt, although he certainly had attempted to be open to questions. “Then form up.”

As the other officers began to return to their companies, Quaeryt beckoned to Zhelan.

“What do you think, Zhelan? Did I leave something out?”

A slow smile crossed the major’s face. “No, sir. Not this time.”

Quaeryt managed not to wince at the gentle reminder that he had before.

“The Khellans need to be reminded that they could be outnumbered. By including all the officers, you didn’t offend their pride.” Zhelan’s smile became a grin. “They have a lot of pride.”

Quaeryt grinned back, shaking his head. “We’d better get moving.”

Even so, it was another two quints before Fifth Battalion began to move out at the head of the column, with Skarpa riding beside Quaeryt.

Once the troopers were settled into a good pace, Quaeryt turned to the commander. “You’re worried. Did the scouts see something else?”

Skarpa shook his head. “Just a feeling. Always get into trouble when I don’t trust that kind of feeling.”

Unlike on previous days, which had been hazy, the sky was crystal clear, the morning already warm and promising to become a blistering harvest day. Even the River Aluse somehow looked to be flowing more slowly, as if struggling against the warmth.

Eighth glass came and went, and so did ninth glass, and there were no hints of any possible trouble. The huts and cots of the peasants and croppers were shuttered as the southern army passed, but the scouts reported no signs of Bovarians. That just made Quaeryt more certain that something would happen. A quint or so before noon, as Fifth Battalion began to ride up a gentle rise in the road toward higher ground, from somewhere behind the battalion came a faint trumpet call-the one that meant the some company was being attacked.

“Keep a watch here, Subcommander, but keep them moving unless I send word otherwise.” With that, Skarpa galloped rearward along the shoulder of the river road.

Quaeryt immediately urged the mare to the shoulder of the road so that he could take a quick look back eastward, but he could see nothing for a good half mille, past the supply wagons. Beyond that, the road curved southward around a low rise. That the Bovarians would attack when the front of the column could not see the rear wasn’t exactly surprising.

As he watched, a wave of riders in gray-blue uniforms charged from out of a woodlot set back a good two hundred yards south of the road, aimed straight at the supply wagons, set in the middle of Third Regiment. Almost as quickly, two companies from the regiment swung from the column to cut off the attackers.

“Imagers! Fifth Battalion!” Quaeryt turned in the saddle, looking at the six undercaptains. “Third Regiment is fighting off a hit-and-run attack on the supply wagons. Fifth Regiment is being attacked from the rear. Stand ready.” He had the feeling that the Bovarians would wait for a time before attacking. He just had no idea how long, only that they’d seek a time and place to their advantage. “Major, pass it back!”

At that thought, Quaeryt glanced forward, only to see two large wagons, without a team before them, rolling down the road from the rise. The lead wagon was filled with large rocks, not quite boulders, and it was already less than a hundred yards from the outriders.

“Shaelyt! Threkhyl! Voltyr! Image the front wheels or axles off those wagons!”

Within moments, the front wheels of the lead wagon exploded away from the wagon bed, and the wagon nosed into the road. With the impact, the front end and empty seat gave way and round boulders began rolling downhill toward Fifth Battalion. The second wagon crashed into the wreckage of the first, and more boulders bounced and rolled downhill.

Because the grade was comparatively gentle, Quaeryt could see that most if not all of the large stones and small boulders would not reach Fifth Battalion, but all of the stones scattered on the road and the shoulder would certainly slow any massed charge by the Telaryn forces, unless they could get past the rubble quickly.

He glanced uphill, but saw no one, then turned to Zhelan. “Can we get past the stones quickly and re-form?”

“Yes, sir.” Zhelan turned in the saddle. “First company! Forward and re-form!”

Quaeryt kept the mare close to the major as he threaded his way through the stones, but first company was barely in position above the stones when at least one company of Bovarians charged over the crest of the hill.

“Imagers! On me! Smoke and pepper across the front ranks! Now!” Quaeryt glanced to Zhelan. “First company forward!” Then he quickly guided the mare to the river side of the road, filled with brushy ground that sloped some two hundred yards down to the river.

“First company!” ordered Zhelan. “Charge! Second company! Forward past the rocks and re-form!”

Quaeryt watched as the mist of pepper and smoke spread across the first ranks of the Bovarian riders, who had angled to the south side of the road to avoid the rocks hurled from the broken wagons. The Bovarians did not move out of formation except slightly, but Quaeryt could see that many were rubbing their eyes and a number were sneezing.

He imaged more pepper and smoke, this time farther back in the ranks, then glanced up the slope on the river side of the road, feeling that more Bovarians were headed in their direction.

In moments, another company came charging over the low crest.

“Imagers! Smoke and pepper!”

Because the shoulder and area clear of brush on the river side of the road were narrower, the Bovarians were bunched much closer together.

Quaeryt waited until the second company was less than fifty yards away, then concentrated on creating an angled stone wall no more than five yards wide and a yard and a half high, just in front of the Bovarians.

The entire front line of riders went down, and those following plowed into the mass of men and mounts.

“Third company! On the river side!” ordered Quaeryt. “Imagers, clear the way! On me!”

Even before third company finished surging past the imagers and toward the attackers, the Bovarians on the north side of the road-those who could-were withdrawing. In moments, so were the trailing Bovarians on the south side. The others were quickly surrounded by Major Zhael’s Khellans.

Quaeryt rode forward and eased his mount beside Zhael.

The major glanced at him. “They are like all Bovarians. When matters become difficult, they vanish.”

“The problem is that when they vanish like that, they survive to try again,” replied Quaeryt dryly.

“Some of these did not.”

“No, but have the captives that are healthy start clearing those boulders off the road. If any try to run away, ride them down.”

“We can do that, sir.”

“The rocks first.” Quaeryt nodded and rode back to rejoin the imagers.

“Where’d that wall come from?” demanded Threkhyl, even before Quaeryt had finished reining up.

Shaelyt glanced at Quaeryt, then at Voltyr. “Voltyr and I did it!”

“Excellent work!” added Quaeryt, although his words applied to the quick thought from the young undercaptain.

“We do what we can, Subcommander, sir,” replied Shaelyt with a quick smile that vanished immediately.

“I could do that,” announced Threkhyl.

“I’m sure you could,” replied Quaeryt. “I saw what you did in Ferravyl after the battle, but it’s also knowing when to do it.”

“If you’d told me, I could have done it,” Threkhyl reiterated.

Quaeryt held in a sigh and nodded. “I’ll remember that.” He was just glad Threkhyl hadn’t seen Voltyr roll his eyes.

“Is there anything else you need from us now, sir?” asked Voltyr.

“See if you and the others can image those wagons back together. They might come in useful.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the undercaptains rode toward the ruined wagons, Quaeryt turned to Zhelan, who had returned from talking to Undercaptain Ghaelyn. “Send fourth company to hold the crest of the road up there while we clean up the mess here.”

“Yes, sir.”

A quint or so later Voltyr rode back to Quaeryt. “We got one wagon back together. The other one was … well … we made some mistakes, sir, but the one is sturdy.”

“Good.”

Quaeryt rode over to the image-repaired wagon, studying it carefully. From what he could tell, it looked sturdy. They’d had to use the wheels from the other wagon, possibly because none of them knew enough about wheelwrighting, but the bed and seats looked strong and smoothly fit together. “You all did a good job. Thank you.”

He could see Skarpa riding up the road. He turned the mare. “I need to talk to the commander.”

Shortly, Skarpa reined in beside Quaeryt, looked over the hillside, then asked, “How many attacked here?”

“Two companies, maybe three. They hit and when we surprised them, they immediately withdrew.”

“They attacked, and you surprised them?”

“The imagers hit them with smoke and pepper and took apart the wagons they sent down the road…” Quaeryt summarized as quickly as he could, finishing up with the rebuilt wagon.

“I’m sure the quartermasters can use another wagon, especially since we got shorted leaving Ferravyl.”

“What about the supply wagons and Fifth Regiment?” asked Quaeryt.

“The same sort of thing as here. The regiments had more casualties than you did, but so did the Bovarians.” The commander glanced up the road to the top, where fourth company held the crest. “Have you seen any of the scouts?”

Quaeryt had no doubts that the scouts were captured, or dead, most likely the latter. “No. None of them returned. They were likely ambushed somewhere up ahead.”

“Now we’ll have to send out scouts in full squads,” said Skarpa sourly. “Before long, they’ll have to go in companies.”

Quaeryt understood. That meant losing more men. “Won’t they also lose more troopers?”

“They might.”

Given Skarpa’s tone of voice, Quaeryt didn’t press.

More than a glass passed before the road was clear, and the casualties taken care of. Fifth Battalion’s first and second company had suffered no deaths and only a handful of wounded, possibly because of the pepper and smoke, but the Bovarians had lost twenty men, and thirty six had been captured, half of them wounded, most severely.

A mille farther to the west, they found the bodies of five Telaryn scouts, thrown in a heap beside the road. Three had been hacked down and died fighting, it appeared. Two others had been wounded, but then had had their throats cut.

Skarpa looked from the dead scouts to Quaeryt. “Never thought much of Kharst before. Think even less of him now.”

Quaeryt agreed. There was no reason the Bovarians just couldn’t have left the wounded men behind … without cutting their throats. For a time, after Skarpa made quick arrangements for the dead scouts, they rode without speaking.

A glass later, as they passed a marsh that looked to be drying out, Skarpa turned in the saddle and cleared his throat. “There’s another matter we need to discuss.”

“Yes?” replied Quaeryt warily.

“We’ve had quite a few weeks without proper services, Subcommander.” Skarpa snorted. “Not even improper services. After everything today … well, tomorrow is Solayi…”

“I’d be happy to conduct services.” Quaeryt wasn’t about to argue, even though he had no idea what he might offer as a homily. Still … he had a day to think about it.

As the afternoon neared fourth glass, Quaeryt saw plumes of smoke ahead, at least two milles ahead, and possibly three. “I wonder if the Bovarians are burning more crops.”

“Something’s burning,” replied Skarpa. “We’ll know what when the scouts return.”

Quaeryt nodded. So far, the tracks of the attackers had followed the river road westward. From all indications Skarpa and his forces were following close to a battalion of Bovarians toward Villerive. “You think they’ll rejoin a larger force before we get to Ralaes?”

The commander shrugged. “They’ve got to have more troopers ahead. The ones that tried to surprise us are setting a good pace. That means they don’t have to delay us.”

“And they would if there weren’t reinforcements waiting?”

“That’s my guess.” Skarpa laughed humorously. “But I’ve been wrong before.”

Not often when it comes to battles and fighting, thought Quaeryt.

Less than a quint passed before Quaeryt could smell smoke, but the plumes had largely dissipated. What remained was an acrid miasma that did not rise much above the treetops, but created a spreading haze over fields and meadows. The few cots they passed looked vacant, with shutters tightly fastened, sheds closed, and no livestock visible anywhere.

Then two scouts from the squad sent out earlier rode back toward the head of the column, where they turned and rode along beside Skarpa.

“Sir … the Bovarians burned the hamlet ahead. Every last dwelling and shed. They drove out the livestock … and more.”

“Do you see any Bovarians?”

“No, sir. They must have fired the place a while ago. It’s mostly burned out now.”

Skarpa nodded. “Report back to your squad leader. He’s to make certain that no Bovarian troopers are within two milles of the hamlet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the two had galloped off back down the road and northwest around the bend, Quaeryt asked, “You intend to set up an encampment there?”

“It’s too far to reach Ralaes. Be even a stretch tomorrow. We need an open area that’s not swamp or muddy fields.” Skarpa gestured toward the gray clouds to the north. “We’ll likely get rain, and the hamlet’s on higher ground.”

Left unspoken was the fact that going significantly farther, to another hamlet, risked putting the regiments in unfamiliar territory in fading light.

Once around the bend, with the road less than a hundred yards from the river and once more heading west, Quaeryt’s eyes burned more with smoke that was markedly stronger and more acrid. Ahead, on the left side of the road, was the blackened shell of a small cot, no more than five yards by four, with the burned-out remnants of a shed behind it. A hundred yards beyond the first ruined cot were two others, one on each side of the road. Before Quaeryt and Skarpa reached them, an outrider gestured to the left side of the road. A heap of bodies lay there, mostly men, able-bodied, but all at least partly gray-haired, and one white-haired woman. Quaeryt counted quickly-eleven bodies, most with blood across their heads.

“Looks like some of the villagers didn’t like the idea of having everything burned,” said Skarpa.

“They probably protested, and the Bovarians made an example of them,” suggested Quaeryt. “That seems to be the way Kharst works … or the local commander decided that was the best way to slow us down and deny us supplies.”

“Something like that.” Skarpa’s voice held a trace of skepticism.

Quaeryt glanced ahead, toward a small stand of trees, an orchard in fact. The closer he rode, the more puzzled he was. “That’s an apple orchard, and most of the fruit is ripe, or close to it. Why wouldn’t they burn it?”

“Ah … sir…” came a voice from behind Quaeryt. “You can torch a cot real quick. Takes a real fire to put a green tree to flame in spring, summer, or harvest. There’s no wind, either, and those trees aren’t that close together. That small shed, there, the one that’s burned. It’s not close enough to the trees. Might have had a cider press there. Lots of apples in the grass, though. They probably rode through and smashed what they could.”

Quaeryt turned, realizing that Ghaelyn was the one who had spoken. “Thank you. They must have been in a hurry.” But why? We weren’t that close to them.

“Might have orders to fall back to Villerive.” After a moment Skarpa raised his arm. “Column! Halt!”

The order echoed back along the long line of riders.

“Subcommander,” Skarpa ordered Quaeryt, “have your companies patrol an area out to a mille in an arc around the hamlet. Have them check for tracks, any sign of the enemy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll do the best we can here, for the night.”

“Imagers, two undercaptains each with second, third, and fourth companies…” Quaeryt went on to organize the perimeter patrol.