Imager’s Battalion

4

Quaeryt rode out of Nordruil just after dawn with only half a squad as an escort. He would have preferred even fewer men, so that more would remain at the holding to protect Vaelora. She had pointed out that taking fewer men would have suggested to anyone who was watching that he was either foolhardy or a powerful imager. Needless to say, Quaeryt heeded her advice. He also carried full imaging shields the entire ride, the first time he had done so since the last battle. He’d only been able to hold partial shields on the ride to Nordruil, and not even all the way. Even though he was feeling much better, when he reached the fortified bridge over the Aluse, a quint before sixth glass, he felt tired from the strain of holding the shields.

After he crossed the bridge, now largely repaired, he noticed a small stone tower, three yards tall, on the east side of the approach. He couldn’t help but frown. He hadn’t seen that before, had he? Fretting that he was short of time, although he had no reason for such feelings, he urged the mare forward and then westward and into the courtyard, where he reined up behind the north wall before the chimes had announced the glass.

Zhelan was waiting for him. “Good morning, Subcommander.”

“Good morning, Major.” Quaeryt dismounted.

“The senior officers’ meeting is in the conference room on the second level. In moments.”

“Thank you. I’d like to meet with you after that.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll meet you in the corridor outside afterward.”

Quaeryt handed the mare’s reins to one of the rankers and hurried through the closest door and then up a back staircase. As he took off the visor cap and tucked it under his arm, he was obviously the last officer to enter the room, given the looks he received, but at least Bhayar wasn’t there yet. Meinyt and Quaeryt, as the only subcommanders, sat at the foot of the long table, below some fourteen commanders, although Quaeryt was seated beside Skarpa, who was clearly the junior regimental commander at the table.

As Quaeryt slipped into the chair, he murmured, “You didn’t mention the meeting.”

“It was announced at ninth glass last night,” Skarpa replied in a low voice. “By Deucalon’s adjutant.”

The one raising unnecessary questions … or just one of several? After a momentary hesitation Quaeryt nodded. Skarpa hadn’t been about to send a courier-or several couriers-through a driving rain in the middle of the night to make sure that Quaeryt arrived on time for a meeting where the only thing desired of him was his presence and his silence. Still …

The meeting-room door opened.

“Lord Bhayar!”

All the officers rose.

“As you were.” Bhayar’s voice was dry as he approached the end of the table, where he stopped and remained standing. “As Marshal Deucalon and some of you already know”-Bhayar drew out the silence before continuing-“we have seen no sign of Bovarian forces near Ferrravyl. It’s most likely that Kharst has pulled back his forces, possibly as far as Villerive, or at least to positions where the terrain is more favorable. I would prefer beginning this campaign tomorrow, but the first two regiments from Ruile will not be ready until Lundi. Unhappily.” Bhayar turned to Deucalon. “If you would.” He seated himself and looked politely at the marshal.

Deucalon did not stand, but his deep voice carried the length of the long table easily. “The best roads lie on the north side of the Aluse. So do most of the larger towns. So does most of the population of those that span the river, particularly Nordeau and Villerive. Variana is also largely on the north side. The northern army will advance along the north. Beginning at sixth glass on Lundi, we will begin barging men, mounts, and horses and wagons, unless, of course, the imagers can create another bridge from Ferravyl to Cleblois…” Deaucalon looked down the table.

“I fear not, Marshal,” replied Quaeryt. “Not unless you can create another massive warm rainstorm.” And be willing to sacrifice thousands of men and mounts. Or others. At that thought, he managed to keep from shuddering.

“I thought as much, but it was worth inquiring.” Deucalon cleared his throat in a fashion that strongly suggested disappointment. “So we will have to rely on barges and guidelines to cross the Ferrean. In the meantime, the southern army under Commander Skarpa will take the bridges and advance along the south. The southern army is not to proceed more than a day in advance of the northern army…”

Quaeryt listened as Deucalon described the general plan of attack, in essence to take both sides of the Aluse and all the towns while heading directly to Variana. What Quaeryt worried most about wasn’t the attack along the river, or even taking the Bovarian capital, although the campaign leading to Variana could not be anything but bloody. What followed might well be worse, since even if the initial campaign were a complete success, at the end Bhayar would hold little more than a tenth of Bovaria. Then what?

The people in what had once been Khel might well flock to Bhayar, but that would still leave a large part of Bovaria unconquered.

“… now that you all have been briefed on the overall strategy of the campaign, you need to inform your officers and continue with your preparations. That is all I have.” Deucalon turned in his chair. “Lord Bhayar?”

“I have nothing else. You all know what to do better than I could tell you.” With a warm smile, Bhayar rose.

So did all the officers.

“Good day.”

Quaeryt watched as the Lord of Telaryn departed, followed by Deucalon.

That none of the commanders or the submarshal said a word as they filed out of the chamber did surprise Quaeryt, if only for a moment. No one wants to reveal anything. It also saddened him, after a fashion.

Once outside in the corridor, he started to turn to Skarpa, then paused. The commander was looking at the three officers who had met Submarshal Myskyl-two majors and a subcommander.

The black-haired major had a face even more forbidding than Bhayar’s seneschal in Solis, and his eyes flicked across Quaeryt and Skarpa, taking them in and instantly dismissing them. The slightly older-looking major, with longish sandy brown hair and a brush mustache, concentrated on Myskyl with what Quaeryt felt was a fawning intensity. The subcommander offered a warm smile, clearly directed at Skarpa, and inclined his head as well before returning his attention to Myskyl.

“Are those three part of Deucalon’s staff?” asked Quaeryt.

“Subcommander Ernyld is his chief of staff. I don’t know the majors,” replied Skarpa quietly, turning back toward Quaeryt.

“Is there anything else for now?”

“No. You and I and Meinyt should meet outside the senior officers’ mess two quints before dinner.”

“I’ll be there.”

Skarpa just nodded, then headed for the main staircase.

Quaeryt looked around for several moments before he saw Zhelan waiting at the end of the corridor and made his way to the major. “Sir?”

“Can you gather all the officers of the battalion for a quick meeting?”

“Yes, sir. I’d thought you might wish to talk to them after the senior officers met, and I told them to stand by. The best I could find was an empty storeroom off a tack room-”

“That will be fine. Lead the way.” After a moment Quaeryt asked, “I understand first company received reinforcements and replacements. How do they look to be?”

“Half of them have some experience, and I’ve had the squad leaders working the others hard.”

Quaeryt nodded.

“You know, sir … about the other three companies?”

“I know that they’re Khellan, and that few of the troopers speak either Tellan or Bovarian, and that each is commanded by an officer who was once a major or even a subcommander. What else have you found out?”

“They’re all pretty much Pharsi. Each company has two officers. One is a major, and the other a captain. They don’t like us much, but they hate the Bovarians.”

“You’re worried that if we’re too effective, they’ll try to massacre the survivors?”

“The way they were talking, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“How long have you spent with them?”

“Four or five glasses over the past few days. Commander Skarpa didn’t tell me until Mardi.” Zhelan handed Quaeryt a single sheet of paper.

Quaeryt scanned it.

2nd Co.

Major Calkoran D’Kors

Captain Eslym D’Kors

3rd Co.

Major Zhael D’Kors

Captain Wharyn D’Kors

4th Co.

Major Arion D’Kors

Captain Stemsed D’Kors

D’Kors … they can’t all be related … He almost shook his head. That was the Bovarian naming custom. D’Kors just meant they were cavalry officers. He folded the paper and slipped it inside his jacket, a jacket that was too warm even before eighth glass. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He image-projected a gentle sense of appreciation.

“Those are matters I can help with, sir.”

Quaeryt understood all too well what Zhelan wasn’t saying-that the major knew full well that Quaeryt was more than anyone, including Quaeryt, was admitting.

When they reached the stable storeroom, Zhelan stepped in first, announcing, “Subcommander Quaeryt.”

Quaeryt followed him into the storeroom, where all the officers stood waiting. “As you were.” Realizing the Khellans hadn’t understood, he repeated himself in Bovarian. After that, he said nothing for several moments, running his eyes across the battalion officers before him, some seven command officers, and the six imagers. All of the Khellan officers had brown or black hair, although two were old enough to have streaks of gray in it, and five of the six had the pale honey-colored Pharsi complexion.

Several of them were close to staring at him.

“Yes,” he said in Bovarian, “I am Pharsi by blood, but I was orphaned young and only know a few phrases in Pharsi.” Quaeryt could tell that most of the imagers hadn’t understood a word, but then they weren’t regular Telaryn officers, although he suspected the Bovarian of many Telaryn officers was marginal at best, at least given the reaction to the few homilies he’d given in Bovarian over the past year. He continued in Bovarian. “After this meeting, I will meet with the officers of each company in Fifth Battalion separately, beginning with first company. Fifth Battalion is part of the southern army, led by Commander Skarpa. Our task is to clear the southern side of the Aluse River…” He went on to summarize what Deucalon had passed on at the earlier meeting. When he finished, he looked to the Khellan officers. “If you have any questions, you can ask me personally when I meet with you. Is that clear?”

They all nodded.

“Now, if you please, I will meet with Major Zhelan and with the first company officer. I’ll meet with the undercaptains after I meet with the command officers. Those I’m not meeting with may wait in the tack room.” Quaeryt waited until the storeroom emptied and he was left with Zhelan and an older undercaptain, with a narrow face under brown hair. An old scar ran across his right jaw.

“I don’t believe you’ve officially met Undercaptain Ghaelyn,” said Zhelan, “recently promoted from senior squad leader.”

“I have not. It’s good to see you here, Undercaptain. We’ll be relying on you a great deal because we’ll have to use extra care with the other companies to begin with.”

“Yes, sir. The major made that clear.”

“Do you have any questions that the major hasn’t answered?”

“No, sir.”

“I wouldn’t think so. The major is very thorough, but it’s good to meet you officially.” Quaeryt refrained from smiling. The whole point of that meeting had been for Quaeryt to see Ghaelyn’s face … and little more.

After the undercaptain left, Quaeryt motioned to Zhelan. “I think it might be best…”

“For you to meet the Khellan officers alone? Yes, sir. I thought so. I’ve already talked to them. Major Calkoran is the most senior.”

“You ordered their companies by their seniority?”

“Yes, sir. It seemed the best way.”

“Remind me not to argue with you about procedures, Major.” Quaeryt smiled warmly.

Zhelan looked taken aback, and Quaeryt realized that he’d given Zhelan a statement that a good officer couldn’t really answer. Quaeryt laughed softly. “That wasn’t a fair order. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

In moments, both second company officers returned to the storeroom. Major Calkoran was stern-faced, with silver streaks in his black hair. Captain Eslym had short wavy brown hair and was probably about Quaeryt’s age. Both sets of dark eyes fixed on Quaeryt.

“You are young for a subcommander,” offered Calkoran. “The major says that you are brave and that you are experienced. You are a scholar and from the Pharsi. Is that not so?”

“I doubt I am any braver than you who have crossed the Montagnes D’Glace after fighting against the Bovarians for years. I am a scholar, and my parents were Pharsi. My wife has many Pharsi forbears as well.”

“You bear the marks of a lost one.”

“I have been called that more than once,” Quaeryt admitted. “I will not claim that … or disavow it. My acts define who I am.”

Calkoran smiled wryly. “You talk as one as well.”

“As we both know, acts define the man … or woman.”

“What would you have of us?”

“To be good officers. To follow orders.” Quaeryt paused, then added, “And to remember that your enemies are not the Bovarian people. Nor are your enemies the Bovarian troopers once they are defeated. Your true enemy is Rex Kharst and the senior officers and High Holders who support him.”

Calkoran fingered his chin, almost as if he had once had a beard that he had stroked. “The Bovarians fought as demons of the Namer, and they killed when they had no need.”

“I do not doubt that. But … would you be of the Namer? Lord Bhayar seeks to unite all Lydar and to create a land where all are equal, whether Bovarian, Telaryn, or Pharsi.”

“Even Pharsi?”

“You may ask any of the troopers in the southern army about how Lord Bhayar has punished those who attempted to defile Pharsi women or attack Pharsi men.”

“I have done so. They do not speak ill of Lord Bhayar. They say that you were a governor, and that you stood up for the Pharsi. We will follow you, and trust your judgment of Lord Bhayar.”

Quaeryt could sense the unspoken words-and hope that judgment is accurate. “I could ask no more.” He inclined his head just slightly.

Major Calkoran inclined his head more deeply. “Subcommander … sir.”

The captain inclined his head as well.

“I look forward to our working together to make Lydar a better place for all.”

“As do we.” Both officers bowed again “By your leave, sir.”

Quaeryt nodded.

While Quaeryt would have liked to have learned more from the Khellan officers, he understood that the present wasn’t the time to do so. He did plan to spend part of each day riding with each of them.

His meetings with Major Zhael and his captain, Wharyn, and with Major Arion and Captain Stensed were as short, as formal, and as satisfactory as the one with Calkoran had been, that is, acceptable and the beginning of a working relationship.

Quaeryt took a deep breath before Undercaptain Threkhyl appeared, then squared his shoulders and waited.

“Good morning, sir,” offered Threkhyl, pleasantly enough.

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t know as I’ve felt any better. Have felt worse.”

“Do you have any questions or thoughts about the campaign ahead?”

The ginger-haired imager frowned for a moment, then asked, “Is it going to be like the last battle, sir?”

“I would judge it will be more like the first skirmishes on the south of the Vyl. That’s until we get close to Variana. Then I’d think we’d see more fighting in larger groups. Have you been practicing your imaging?”

“Yes, sir.” After another pause the undercaptain added, “I never knew I could do some things.”

“Such as?”

“I built a stone tower, all neat like, like the one in Piedryn, in the square. Except mine was only three yards high.” He laughed. “It’s still there, on this side of the bridge, by the approach.”

That answered one question.

“I offered to help the masons on the bridge, but the engineering major … I don’t think he trusted me. I did image some cut stones for the side walls, and they used those. Had a bit of a headache when I finished on Meredi, but I didn’t have as much trouble yesterday.”

“Good.” While Quaeryt was pleased, he hoped the other imagers had worked at improving their skills as well. He still didn’t want to have to rely on just a few, especially if one of the few happened to be Threkhyl.

“Sir … there is one thing…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like having to listen to that Undercaptain Ghaelyn. He used to be a squad leader.”

Quaeryt repressed a sigh. “He won’t be giving you many commands. If he does, listen to him. He’ll only be doing it to save your skin. He knows far more than you do about staying alive in a fight. That’s especially true if you’re where you can’t image.”

“I’ll listen, sir.”

Quaeryt again could guess the unspoken words-but I don’t have to like it.

“Good. You might also start asking why various orders and formations are used.”

Threkhyl frowned.

“It could just happen that you might end up in charge of a squad if the squad leader is hurt. The more you know, the better.”

Threkhyl looked as if he hadn’t even considered that.

“That sort of thing was what got me into being a command officer,” explained Quaeryt. “During the Tilboran Revolt.”

“I don’t know that I’d planned to lead troops, sir.”

“There are many things we don’t plan for. With some fortune, you won’t have to, but it’s better to be prepared for … everything that you can.” Quaeryt had almost said, “prepared for the worst.” He smiled. “If you’d send in Shaelyt…”

“Oh … yes, sir.”

As Threkhyl left, Quaeryt considered. The ginger-bearded imager was acting more like an undercaptain, but Quaeryt still wondered how far he could trust the man.

Shaelyt arrived, stiffened, and said, “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Very well, sir. I’ve been accompanying Major Zhelan and watching him conduct training and maneuvers. Well … Voltyr came with me.” Shaelyt flushed slightly. “Actually, it was his idea.”

“His idea or not, you were wise to follow it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Shaelyt looked down for a moment, then back at Quaeryt. “Sir … begging your pardon, but I have been practicing imaging ever since I recovered-”

“I suspect you’re much, much better, are you not?” interjected Quaeryt smoothly.

“Yes, sir. I can create holes even in iron plate at over a hundred yards. That’s if I don’t have to do it over water, and I can image a handful of arrows out of the sky.”

“That’s excellent!” Quaeryt didn’t have to counterfeit the enthusiasm in his voice.

“But … begging your pardon, sir, even working together, Voltyr and I couldn’t create a bridge. The best we could do was a piece of stone wall maybe four yards long and two yards high. Neither one of us could see much for a day. Our heads split for two.”

“That might well be because you weren’t facing eight regiments of Bovarians. That sort of threat can concentrate your effort more than one might realize. You also weren’t doing it with others.”

“Sir…” Shaelyt looked down. “It’s said that some of the lost ones … well … they looked like you.”

“I’ve been called a lost one by more than one Pharsi,” Quaeryt admitted. “It’s pretty clear that I’m from Pharsi blood, but as for being a lost one…” He shook his head, then asked quickly, “What else? Did you understand what the Khellan officers were saying?”

“Mostly. They speak a little differently from the way we do at home. They’ll do what you say, sir. Some of them think you’re a lost one. Some of the younger ones think … well … that you’re not.”

“They think I’m a fraud, and that Bhayar’s having me pretend to be something I’m not?”

“Something like that.”

Quaeryt nodded. If you show you’re not, you’ll likely reveal for certain that you’re an imager, and if you don’t … Once again, no matter what he did, there were negative consequences. Then he laughed, softly, but ironically. “I don’t pretend well or convincingly, Undercaptain.” Misdirect fairly well, yes, but out and out pretending isn’t exactly your strength.

This time Shaelyt nodded. “If you’ll pardon me, sir. They worry that you are less than you seem. I can see that you are more than you wish anyone to know.”

“Time will show whether you’re right, Shaelyt. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that thought to yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” Shaelyt’s response was warm and cheerful. “I’d thought to, sir.”

“Do you have any other thoughts or questions?”

“No, sir. Not now.”

“Then you may go. Send in Voltyr, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Almost as soon as Shaelyt had stepped out through the storeroom door, Voltyr entered quickly, closed the door behind himself, and looked directly at Quaeryt. “You’re an imager … sir. Isn’t that what being a lost one means?”

Quaeryt shook his head. “Being a lost one means being favored of Erion and also being slightly physically flawed. Blond Pharsi with dark eyes are considered as possible lost ones. I look like a lost one, and I limp like one. Being an imager would be a possible mark of favor, but it’s not the only mark.” Not that anyone ever let you know what any of the marks of favor are.

“You didn’t answer my question, sir.”

“You didn’t ask one, Undercaptain. Do you really want an answer? If I don’t answer, you won’t have to lie.”

“Why should I…?” Abruptly Voltyr broke off his words. “I think I understand.”

“The less anyone knows about what you undercaptains-and I-can do, the greater the advantage we possess. I was telling you the absolute truth about my goals when I said I wanted to make Telaryn-and all Lydar, if it comes to that-safe for both scholars and imagers. A secret shared between two people can usually be kept. One between three usually can’t. Shaelyt suspects. He may even know. We have not discussed that. I’d ask you not to discuss whatever you believe me able to do. You can certainly speculate about what the rest of you can do. You can even suggest, if pressed, that there might be something about an obdurate multiplying the effect of imaging.” Quaeryt smiled ruefully. “Is that acceptable?”

“Even being married to Lord Bhayar’s sister, sir, you tread a dangerous path.”

“No more dangerous than yours. Mine is just different.”

Voltyr nodded. “Given all you risk, you have my word, sir.”

“Thank you. Do you have any other questions or observations?”

“Only that you should never trust Threkhyl, however useful he may be.”

“I’ve worried about him.”

“I would keep worrying.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing else that cannot be discussed before all the officers.”

“Then … if you would send in Desyrk.”

“That I will.” Voltyr smiled, almost sympathetically, and turned.

As Quaeryt waited for Desyrk to come in, he just hoped that he didn’t have to deal with too many more questions and that he could get on with more imager training, including getting them more practice with sabres, as well as having Meinyt or one of the other officers give them some instruction in mounted unit maneuvers … and if and when that took place, he’d be there as well.