Imager’s Battalion

36

By the time Quaeryt and Shaelyt returned to the hamlet serving as their base, it was still slightly more than a glass before midday. Captain Lhastyn hadn’t even asked about how they had halted the pursuing Bovarians … and that bothered Quaeryt in a different way.

The last thing we need is junior officers-or senior officers-expecting imagers to come up with near-impossible ways of dealing with the Bovarians. Except he realized that the more successful he and the imagers were and the more word passed through the companies, the greater the expectations would be.

Quaeryt reined up just short of the tie line that held the other imagers’ mounts, then dismounted, rather gingerly, and unsaddled the mare. Then he turned to Shaelyt.

“If you’d give Voltyr a hand … I’m going to meet with Commander Skarpa.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt nodded, then walked back to the cot where Skarpa was talking to Captain Lhastyn and asking questions about the sketches the captain was explaining. He eased up the steps and onto the covered porch, but stood back and let the captain continue his explanations.

“… could hold more than four regiments … sent a battalion of cavalry after us … Subcommander Quaeryt’s imager was able to create a diversion that halted them … suggests that they also have a large number of cavalry companies…”

After a time Skarpa nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll keep those sketches. I do appreciate the detail you’ve provided.” He rose from the table.

Lhastyn also rose and nodded. “If that will be all, sir…?”

“For now. After I discuss matters with the subcommanders, I’ll let you know what else we need to find out.” As Lhastyn left the porch, Skarpa motioned for Quaeryt to take one of the two stools, then seated himself again.

Quaeryt sat, wishing the stool was neither so low nor so hard, given the bruises on his body and his general stiffness and soreness.

“I’ve gone over what Lhastyn saw and sketched.” Skarpa raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You heard the last of it.”

Quaeryt nodded. He really didn’t know exactly what to say.

“Go on,” prodded the commander.

“I’d guess that they have more troopers around Ralaes than we anticipated.”

“Because they came after you so quickly?”

“Because they chased us so quickly and in such numbers.”

“That would be my first guess.” Skarpa smiled crookedly. “Then again, that could be exactly what they want us to think. Lhastyn didn’t see that many troops in all those revetments. It was almost as though they didn’t want you to see that.”

“They might have sent that battalion out to buy time.”

“That’s possible.”

“Still … the musketeers were in a great hurry to return,” mused Quaeryt.

“Maybe we should keep testing them for a day or so. What do you think?”

“Do you know where Marshal Deucalon’s forces are?”

“Just about opposite Caernyn, I’d judge.”

“Three days before they get to a point across the river from us?”

“More like four, unless Deucalon moves faster.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to spend this afternoon or tomorrow testing, then.”

“We’ll start early tomorrow. We’ll have more sentries out tonight, and several companies waiting.” Skarpa paused. “What exactly did you and the undercaptain do to stop that battalion?”

“Used the road, the forest, and imaging to block them and create a mess…” Quaeryt went on to explain in more detail, although he was a bit vague about who had done what.

“You still don’t like to admit what you do,” observed Skarpa when Quaeryt finished.

“No … and I still think it’s better that way.”

The commander nodded. “Have to say you’re probably right. We’ll try to test them tomorrow without imagers.”

Quaeryt looked directly at Skarpa.

“You’re still moving as if you hurt, and I’d rather have you in better health when we actually have to take the town. Go deal with your imagers.” Skarpa gestured.

Quaeryt couldn’t argue with Skarpa’s observation. He smiled and stood.

“See me early tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt turned and headed down the steps.

When he reached the cot where the imagers were staying, he saw Threkhyl sitting on the shaded side of the steps to the small cot. The undercaptain’s face was pale, and his thinning ginger hair was soaked with sweat. Voltyr stood at the foot of the steps, a concerned expression on his face. Shaelyt, Desyrk, and Baelthm stood on the narrow porch.

“What happened?” asked Quaeryt.

“I was trying to give Threkhyl instructions on shields,” explained Voltyr. “He created one … and then…”

“Better than anything you could do,” muttered Threkhyl in a voice that might have been belligerent had it been louder, rather than low and raspy.

“Then what?” Quaeryt asked Voltyr.

“He started turning red, and then he fell over. We couldn’t get to him until his eyes closed. His shield kept us away.”

Quaeryt frowned. That kind of strength and stubbornness could kill him.

“Snotnose … didn’t know what he was talking about,” muttered Threkhyl.

Both Baelthm and Desyrk edged closer to Threkhyl, their eyes flicking from Voltyr to Quaeryt and back again. Shaelyt remained farther back on the porch, but Quaeryt thought he caught a hint of a smile.

“What did he tell you that you think he didn’t know what he was talking about?” asked Quaeryt mildly, looking at Threkhyl.

“Doesn’t know anything…”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Threkhyl looked up at Quaeryt, but did not speak.

“If you’re going to accuse another officer, you’d best have a reason.”

“Idiot told me to think about holding the air together with little hooks. That didn’t work. So I made it into a wall. Except it fell on me, and no one could see it.”

Quaeryt nodded slowly. “What happened to you is exactly why Undercaptain Voltyr suggested the idea of hooks. It takes too much effort to make and hold a solid wall of air.”

“I did it!” snapped Threkhyl.

“You certainly did,” agreed Quaeryt. “With all your strength, you managed to hold that wall-like shield for only a fraction of a quint. I also would wager that you couldn’t move two paces holding it. If you’d tied it to yourself, you might even have been badly injured.” Quaeryt decided against mentioning death. That would only have made Threkhyl even angrier and less likely to listen. “How long does even a skirmish last?”

“I did it.”

“Doing it isn’t the question,” replied Quaeryt more patiently than he felt. “You have to do it in a way that you can keep doing it for much, much longer. How long does a skirmish last? A glass … half a glass?”

“Something like that,” Threkhyl admitted.

“A shield that you can’t maintain and can’t carry with you is useless. Voltyr was trying to give you an image of something that you can use right now and can build on and strengthen.”

“Tried that … soft like cheese with holes.”

“It’s a start,” Quaeryt said. “If you work on always holding lighter shields, you can carry them longer. Then you can strengthen them-”

“Weak stuff won’t protect you.”

“What happens when an archer looses a shaft through the leaves of a tree? Does the arrow have as much force?”

“No…”

“It just might lose enough strength that your tunic would stop it. Or keep you from being killed. My first shields were like that. They didn’t stop a crossbow bolt, but they slowed it enough that it didn’t kill me…” Quaeryt took a deep breath. Explaining to Threkhyl was going to be every bit as difficult as he’d feared. And if the ginger-bearded imager hadn’t tried to do so much with his first attempt, it would have been even harder.

For that, Quaeryt silently thanked Voltyr.

He looked up to the other four imagers. “We need to go over shields in a slightly different way…”