Imager’s Battalion

40

After Skarpa dismissed Quaeryt and Meinyt, Quaeryt put his gear in a small room in the inn, as had Meinyt, in order to leave the larger chambers for majors and company officers to share, and washed and shaved. It was well after ninth glass when he began the four-block-long walk to the smaller Black Pot Inn, where Fifth Battalion and its company officers were based, to meet with Zhelan. He already told the imager undercaptains to be ready to meet with him at second glass in the side courtyard at the South River Inn.

A light misty rain sprinkled down intermittently from light gray clouds, but died away as Quaeryt neared the blocklike two-story inn, with wooden walls stained almost the gray of the clouds. Zhelan was standing and waiting on the side porch, empty of anyone but the major himself. Quaeryt took the sagging wooden steps carefully, because he found himself limping again, a sign that he was more tired than he realized.

“How are you feeling, Subcommander?” Zhelan glanced to the pair of chairs.

Quaeryt needed no reminders and seated himself. So did the major.

“About the same as everyone else, I imagine. Tired and sore.” Quaeryt cleared his throat. “A little hoarse, too.” After another pause, he went on. “We’ll be here for another day, possibly longer. I don’t know if word has reached you from other officers, but the morning scouting patrols reported that the Bovarians have pulled back to Villerive, and it’s fortified all the way around…” From there Quaeryt passed on the rest of the information that Skarpa had divulged about the general disposition of the Bovarian troops and the likelihood that the northern forces might be several days in arriving.

“None of that’s exactly a surprise, sir.”

“No,” replied Quaeryt with a slight laugh.

“Sir … might I ask … but it seemed that some of the undercaptains are…?”

“Getting more accomplished as imagers? I certainly hope so. We’ll need everything that they can do at Villerive and later.” And especially at Variana.

“Sir … it’s also been said … ah … that you…”

Quaeryt nodded. “It has been said.” He paused. “Imaging is very difficult, and it takes a great amount of strength. By the end of a battle or skirmish, even at the beginning if an imager tries to do too much, imagers can be very vulnerable. At times, improper imaging can kill an imager.” Quaeryt smiled sardonically. “And yes, I was an imager from the first battles in Tilbor. I’ve learned a great deal from that, and I’m trying to see that the undercaptains don’t make as many mistakes as I did. They’ll probably make as many, though; they’ll just be different ones.”

Quaeryt could still see the hint of a question in Zhelan’s expression. “Being an imager is a bit like being an armored heavy cavalryman. You have better weapons and protection, but it takes more strength to use both, and if you’re in the wrong place or make the wrong decision, all your weapons and armor may not be enough to help you survive. They may even weigh you down more. That’s why it’s better that too many people don’t know who’s an imager and who isn’t. Especially since we have so few.”

After a moment Zhelan nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re more than welcome. Without first company, I doubt any of us would have made it this far.”

“You would have, sir.”

“Perhaps … but the others wouldn’t have, and we’ll need them more and more.”

“I can see that, sir.”

“Now…” said Quaeryt, “you need to tell me about how the rest of Fifth Battalion is doing, and if there’s anything you or they need.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve got maybe a hundred mounts could stand reshoeing…”

Quaeryt listened for a good two quints before rising and heading back toward the South River Inn. As he strode back through the warm damp air, he decided that before he started working with the imagers, he needed to make arrangements for one of the farriers attached to either Fifth Regiment or Third Regiment to work on the battalion’s mounts, since Fifth Battalion hadn’t been assigned a farrier.

That took almost a glass, before he ran down Skarpa’s farrier in the stable beside yet another inn, The Overflowing Bowl, and extracted a firm commitment from the trooper, officially a senior squad leader, to report to Zhelan first thing on Vendrei morning. As he crossed the courtyard, he saw a brown dog lying on a heap of straw beside the stable door.

“Hello there,” he said warmly.

The dog lifted its head slightly, and its tail gave a single thump.

“You’re right,” replied Quaeryt. “It has been one of those days.”

“Careful, sir.” A stable boy stepped out of the stable. “He can bite. That’s why the chain.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt hadn’t noticed the chain. He decided against trying to give the dog a pat, mournful as the canine looked.

By the time he neared the South River Inn, it was nearly second glass … and he had to retrieve his staff from his room before working with the imagers. The two bells of the afternoon chimed out as he hurried down the steps with his staff in hand. Not only was he later than he would have liked getting back to undercaptains who he expected would be both tired and restless, but he was also late, and he hated that, even if it happened to be by only a few moments.

The five of them were indeed in the east courtyard, beside the roofed porch holding neither stools nor chairs. Quaeryt did not bother with much of an introduction to what he had in mind. “You have all been working to see if you can learn another imaging skill. This afternoon we’ll see how well you’re coming. I’ll be testing your shielding skills.”

He took in the resigned expressions and grinned. “I’ve told you before. You only improve when you’re required to do more when you’re already tired. That makes this afternoon a perfect time to try to improve.”

He gestured toward Shaelyt. “Step forward.”

The youngest undercaptain did so.

“I’m going to try to hit you with my staff. It won’t be that hard. Try to block the blow with an imaging shield. Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt took the staff in the two-handed grip of a seaman, feinted, and then came forward with the lower end of the staff. He could feel some resistance slowing the staff, but the end struck Shaelyt’s thigh. Quaeryt stepped back. “Try to tighten the hooks or whatever image you’re using. Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The second time Shaelyt managed to stop the staff, although Quaeryt thought he could have pushed through if he’d used more strength. “Better. I’m going to use more force this time. Ready?”

Shaelyt nodded.

Quaeryt struck, but from the other side. Shaelyt’s shield stopped the staff, but the force knocked him back half a yard, and the Pharsi almost fell. “Much better.” Quaeryt lowered his staff. “What happened there is something else you all need to understand. Imaging shields spread the force of a blow across the whole shield. If you’re not balanced, you can stop a blow and still end up pushed from your mount and trampled or worse. Still”-Quaeryt nodded to Shaelyt-“you have the idea, and you need to build up your strength.”

“How do we do that, sir?” asked Desyrk. “Are we supposed to beat each other bruised?”

“No. You can build up strength by holding the shields as long as you can, then taking a brief rest, and doing it again and again. It’s even better if you do it while walking or riding.” Quaeryt motioned to Voltyr, ignoring the slight wince. “You’re next.”

Voltyr’s shields were more like unseen soft cheese, slowing but not completely stopping the staff. Desyrk’s effort slowed the staff, then collapsed. Baelthm was unable to mount any sort of shield. On the other hand, Threkhyl could block anything-for a few moments-but was so exhausted after three tries by Quaeryt that he was shaking and almost collapsed.

Quaeryt lowered the staff and looked at the ginger-bearded imager. “When you can raise a shield, it will likely stop almost anything, but you can’t keep doing what you’re doing and have any strength left. I’d like to suggest something else for now. What about creating momentary shields, solid ones-when you see or feel something headed in your direction-but holding them just long enough to block something. Perhaps, if you start that way, you can do it more quickly and more often without exhausting yourself.”

Threkhyl frowned, then nodded slowly. “I can do that.”

“There’s one other thing,” offered Quaeryt.

“Yes, sir?” Threkhyl’s words were cautious, his eyes wary.

“I’d like to commend you, again, on creating that stone span across the dry moat. You reacted quickly. You made taking out those musketeers much easier and allowed us to do it much more quickly. Subcommander Meinyt said it likely saved a good hundred of his troopers. I thought you ought to know.” Quaeryt smiled as warmly as he could.

Surprise flickered in Threkhyl’s eyes for an instant before he spoke. “Thank you, sir.”

“You did a good job. You should know it.” Quaeryt stepped back and surveyed the undercaptains. After his testing, he had the feeling that none of the imagers really understood how shields could and should work, and that even Shaelyt and Voltyr had little more than a vague idea. And that’s your fault, not theirs.

He cleared his throat. “It’s clear that all of you think about shielding in a slightly different way. I’m going to offer some thoughts and observations that I trust will be helpful. The first is going to sound strange, but I’d like you to consider it.” He turned to Voltyr. “Undercaptain, can you walk as quickly through waist-deep water as you can out of the water?”

Voltyr looked appropriately surprised. “No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“The water gets in the way.”

“It’s thicker than air, isn’t it?”

Voltyr nodded.

“But what if you made the air-somehow-as thick as water? Then wouldn’t you have as much trouble walking right here?”

“Well … yes … I suppose.”

“That’s another way to look at shielding yourself. You’re trying to make a thin skin, if you will, of air thicker, stronger … strong enough to stop things like staffs or shafts or quarrels. Each of you may have to find your own way of doing that. For me, I’ve thought about tiny unseen hooks linking pieces of air together like armor. That may or may not work for you, but you all can see that you can create shields to protect yourselves…”

As he finished his talk, Quaeryt saw that Skarpa had been standing on the porch watching. He didn’t know how long, but it was clear the commander had seen at least some of the shield instruction and practice.

“Undercaptains.” Quaeryt waited until the five were looking at him. “That’s all the formal instruction for today. You need to practice for another half glass. After that, you’re free until the evening meal. If you leave the inn, you’re to go in pairs at least, and with your sabres. I’d also suggest you practice shields as long as you can everywhere you go.” He turned and climbed the steps to the porch.

“We should go inside,” suggested Skarpa.

Quaeryt followed the commander back to a corner of the empty public room, where the two sat.

Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “Falossn didn’t get that much out of the assassins. That was because they didn’t know that much. There are several Bovarian companies that specialize in assassinating enemy commanders. That’s why the small crossbows. They infiltrate towns and wait. Their orders were specific. They were ordered to target those who are subcommanders and higher. Preferably higher, much higher.” Skarpa shook his head. “Another thing we’ll have to keep an eye out for.”

“They were after you because you’ve been more effective?”

“Who knows?” Skarpa smiled sardonically. “Falossn asked if they had other duties … such as dealing with those who gave Rex Kharst … difficulty. They do … but only High Holders.”

Quaeryt nodded.

“You don’t look that surprised.”

“It makes sense. You can’t train assassins in a few weeks. They knew what they were doing. It also explains the actions of some of the High Holders we’ve encountered.”

“They would have been effective here, except for you. After what happened this morning, I’ve been thinking. Then I saw your drill outside.” Skarpa gestured in the direction of the east courtyard. “You were working on something like that with your imagers, weren’t you?”

“We’ve just started on that in the last week or so. Right now … none of them can do it for long or even with enough strength to protect themselves except briefly. As I mentioned earlier today, doing that takes great strength, not to mention skill. Second, it doesn’t always work. If the imager is tired, he can’t do it. Second, most imagers can’t hold even weak shields. Some can’t at all. It’s basically a skill that might allow some of them greater personal protection so that they can do what else they need to do.”

“If they get stronger, they could protect others…”

“Then they become almost useless,” said Quaeryt. “If they even can do shielding, they can’t do things like image iron darts into musketeers. And their shields are small. If they try a larger shield, it’s good only for moments, a faction of a quint at best. If they had been far enough along to raise shields against musket attacks, you’d have lost two or three times as many troopers as you did because they wouldn’t have been able to attack the musketeers or image smoke and pepper.”

“I still don’t see why they can’t do both…”

“Why don’t your troopers carry large iron shields?” asked Quaeryt. “Large shields would certainly protect them … wouldn’t they?”

Skarpa frowned, then smiled and shook his head. “I think I see.” Then he frowned again. “But why teach them that at all?”

“So that they can survive long enough to do what is most useful for you.” Should you hint at more? “If they can protect even themselves, then they can image smoke, pepper, iron darts. Holding a shield for a quint-and that’s something none of them can do yet-would render them useless for the rest of a skirmish or battle. There are reasons why I’ve kept them close to me or away from the worst of battles, but I cannot be everywhere. I would like to send imagers out with other companies. Without being able to shield themselves, they risk dying-like Akoryt did. And there are too few of them to risk them unnecessarily. I wish we had more.” For more than one reason.

“You can do that for longer.”

Quaeryt nodded. “I have my limits, too. You’ve seen that.”

“I’ve seen you go beyond them.”

“And there I’ve been most fortunate. Twice, at least, I could have died.”

Skarpa grinned. “More like four or five times.” The grin faded. “I understand. Try not to risk that much again. I’ll talk to Meinyt about it as well.” He rose from the table.

“Thank you.” Quaeryt stifled a yawn as he stood. It had been a long day, indeed.

“You look like you need some sleep.”

“Don’t we all?” replied Quaeryt wryly.

Skarpa chuckled, then turned and strode out of the public room.

Quaeryt had thought to go to bed early on Jeudi evening, after supper, and making a final round of the battalion and checking once more with the imager undercaptains and with Zhelan. That didn’t happen, because he ended up working out patrol schedules for the town with Meinyt and Skarpa, so that it was after eighth glass when he collapsed on the bed in his room at the South River Inn.