Imager’s Battalion

43

When the sun cleared the eastern horizon on Lundi morning, Quaeryt and Fifth Battalion were riding westward on a narrow lane that circled a series of fields and would turn northward, less than a mille ahead, back toward the river and the western end of the earthworks around the southern part of Villerive. Because Fifth Battalion had the farthest to travel, Quaeryt and first company had been the first to leave Ralaes, shortly after daybreak.

Quaeryt studied the fields to his right, most holding some sort of bean plants that were near harvesting and stood waist-high. He would have preferred maize, because the taller plants would have concealed their movements, but then he doubted that his force would have gained much advantage from not being seen until later. The Bovarians had to know they were coming.

“Have the scouts reported anything more about where the defenders might be located?” asked Zhelan. “Or any areas where there might be fewer?”

“All they have reported is that the Bovarians have enough archers to keep them from getting too close to the earthworks. They could discover no pits or traps beyond two hundred yards, and there appeared to be few or none between one and two hundred yards.”

Zhelan glanced back at the undercaptains, then looked straight ahead. “In how many places will the imagers be able to weaken the defenses?”

“Three, at least.”

Although Skarpa was in favor of what Quaeryt would have called a measured and inexorable attack on Villerive, he had suggested that Meinyt and Quaeryt proceed as their men, their opposition, and circumstance allowed. Quaeryt intended to use imaging to change those circumstances.

He studied the lane ahead, where it curved northward toward the western end of the earthworks, and the fields of more beans that ran almost to the hurriedly built revetments. With the haze hanging over the fields and the woods farther east, Quaeryt couldn’t even feel the heat of the sun on his back.

He turned in the saddle as Threkhyl eased his mount forward.

“Sir … a question, if you would?”

“Go ahead.”

“You don’t care how we do this, sir?” asked Threkhyl. “In dealing with the earthworks? So long as we flatten them?”

“Whatever takes the least effort for you,” replied Quaeryt, his thoughts more on what lay behind the earthworks. “That way, you can open a wider gap. That will leave less cover for the defenders and more space for the troopers.”

“Yes, sir. I think we can do the same thing if we image the earth back, especially if they have trenches behind.”

“You can try it, but it’s got to be low enough for the troopers to go through without being slowed.”

“Yes, sir. We can do that.” Threkhyl let his mount drop back.

Another quint passed, and Fifth Battalion left the narrow way that had already dwindled to little more than a path and began to form up some 250 yards away from the earthworks, companies abreast with a five-man front. The area Quaeryt had picked was located just before the earthworks turned sharply north toward the low bluff that marked the edge of the river. The section of earthworks that ran north was less than fifty yards long, while the target area for Fifth Battalion ran roughly from east-southeast to west-northwest, so that the troopers would not be attacking into the morning sun. The earthworks before Quaeryt showed only two catapults rising above the defenses, not that there might not be smaller ones as well. He could see a few defenders here and there, but try as he might, he could make out no sign of muskets, or any sort of variation in the front of the earthworks that might conceal musketeers.

He heard bells or chimes clanging and thought he saw a few heads bobbing behind the earthworks, suggesting that the far side of the revetments were likely stepped, so that the defenders had some height, with trenches behind the space for supplies and others manning the earthen walls.

Zhelan and Quaeryt had decided on literally walking the mounts toward the earthworks, at least until the defenders reacted, whether with volleys by archers or a musket barrage or an attack from behind the earthworks. The longer the battalion could maintain a slow approach, the more likely the troopers could avoid stakes and hidden ditches or other pitfalls. That also meant that the imagers could get closer before having to image, and that would save their strength.

Of course, the Bovarians could put an immediate stop to that by attacking first.

“Sir … look at the bean plants,” said Zhelan.

Quaeryt looked, but all he saw was greenery. “What should I be seeing?”

“Some of them are like beans should be. Others are sagging and wilting.”

Frig! You should have seen that. “That’s where there are pits and they’ve tried to conceal them with nets and plants?”

“I can’t be certain, sir, but I’d wager a gold on it.”

“I won’t take that wager. You’d better pass that to the company officers now. We can wait until you do.”

Another half quint passed before a squad leader returned. “All companies informed, sirs!”

“Fifth Battalion! Forward! Measured pace!”

As the companies moved forward, heads popped up from behind the revetments, but no defenders left the cover of the earthworks. Not until Quaeryt’s troopers were about a hundred yards away did the first volley of arrows arch out over the earthworks and sleet down toward the battalion.

Quaeryt briefly extended an angled shield that diverted the first fall of arrows into the plants before the advancing battalion. “Imagers! Smoke and pepper! Now!”

As the haze of acrid smoke and pepper covered the rear side of the earthworks, he watched to see if the undercaptains had followed their briefing, and so far as he could tell, the smoke and pepper blanketed the two-hundred-yard stretch that was Fifth Battalion’s target.

“Imagers! Breach the earthworks! Now!” Quaeryt did not immediately attempt to personally image gaps in the earthworks before Fifth Battalion, although he was ready to do so, if necessary.

His mouth opened. Directly before Fifth Battalion was a break in the defenses close to fifty yards wide. Moreover, the area behind it was flat, as if the defenses had been leveled and used to fill any trenches behind the walls. Two smaller breaches, slightly over ten yards wide and some fifty yards on either side from the main breach, had also appeared.

“Second company! Into the center breach!” ordered Zhelan.

Major Calkoran repeated the order in Pharsi, and second company swept toward the opening in the earthworks in a curved path around a stand of wilted beans. Even so, one rider and his mount went down.

“Third company! The right breach! Fourth company! The left breach!” commanded Zhelan.

“First company! On me!” ordered Quaeryt, keeping the mare moving at a fast walk while trying to study the charging companies and the defenders.

Not a single defender even appeared in the open space where the center breach was until the riders were within a handful of yards of the openings.

The movement of one of the catapults caught Quaeryt’s eye, and he tried what he’d suggested to Threkhyl-a quick shield in front of the basket being swung forward.

Fire-Antiagon Fire-flared up and around the basket, then cascaded down into the trench holding the catapult.

A few yells and screams pierced the morning, then died away.

Quaeryt kept riding, looking at the second catapult, then toward the cleared spaces in the earthworks ahead, and back to the catapult.

Around the middle breach, from both sides, scores of defenders rushed forward, a few handfuls with pikes or long spears. Most could not set their pikes firmly before the Khellans were upon them, at least in part because the gap in the earthworks was so wide.

The second catapult moved-or Quaeryt thought it did-and he realized he didn’t have time to keep watching it. So he imaged away one of the main timber supports and watched a moment longer, to make sure the frame sagged. He just hoped there weren’t too many catapults with Antiagon Fire on the east side of Villerive, where Skarpa and Meinyt were attacking. You can only do so much.

He shifted his attention to the other two breaches, where a number of defenders were already trying to fill the gap. Why so few defenders in the middle? He didn’t have an answer, or time to worry about that, but guided first company behind second company, since it appeared that the wider breach would offer less opposition. He wanted to keep the imagers clear of hand-to-hand fighting as long as possible in order to use them as necessary to reach the bridge over the River Aluse.

Thinking about hand-to-hand combat, he belatedly eased his staff from the leathers and continued riding forward. Second company had pushed back the defenders, many of whom had thrown down arms and were running toward the houses to the north of the earthworks. Another group of defenders had formed into a circle with pikes pointing out.

Should you use your shields to break the pikes? Guiding the mare to the right slightly, in the direction of the pikemen, Quaeryt glanced down as he rode through the wide breach in the earthworks, catching sight of the soles of a pair of boots, and then the backside of a figure in blue-gray. He swallowed, fully understanding what Threkhyl had meant by his question earlier. The ginger-bearded imager-and likely the others-had “simply” flattened the earthworks back into the trenches behind the raised clay and dirt, and that imaging had instantly buried any and all defenders standing on the stepped rear surface of the earthworks or in the trenches below.

No wonder there weren’t any defenders left standing behind the gaps.

At that moment Quaeryt heard the rumble of hoofs, and a company or more of horsemen charged along a narrow road from Villerive toward Calkoran’s troopers. The old major clearly expected something like that, because second company had already re-formed and rode toward the defenders.

Quaeryt didn’t want to see second company forced back into the pikemen.

“First company! On me!” He urged the mare forward, keeping his personal shields close to him and his mount-until the last moment before they reached the sharpened ends of the pikes, when he spread them like a wedge as he plunged into the tightly packed mass of men, linking the shields to the nearest first company mounts as well.

Weapons and pikemen sprayed everywhere, and Quaeryt immediately shrank and unlinked his shields, trying to save his imaging strength as much as possible. Behind him, Ghaelyn’s men began to cut down the defenders. Before him, defenders on the far side of the roughly circular formation dropped their pikes and ran, unable to turn the long and unwieldy weapons in time to face a charge from the rear.

Quaeryt turned gradually, leading first company toward the mounted forces of the defenders, only to find that few of them remained, as second company had been joined by third and fourth companies, and all three were riding toward the town along the road that appeared to lead to the bridge over the River Aluse.

As he led first company after the three companies, letting the Khellans take the lead, from what Quaeryt could see, the streets and sidewalks of the town were empty, the windows largely shuttered, and not even a stray dog ran into or out of the narrow alleyways. He eased back his cap and blotted his forehead and his temples to keep the sweat from running into his eyes, aware once more of just how hot and damp Villerive was in midharvest.

Should we attack the defenders to the east from the rear? Or try to take the bridge? The first made more immediate sense … except that if the Bovarians rushed reinforcements from the north, he’d rather fight them in the narrow confines coming off the bridge than chance having them evade Fifth Battalion and join the defenders. Failing to stop forces coming from the bridge would only increase the number of defenders arrayed against Skarpa and Meinyt.

He kept riding, glancing to one side and the other as well as ahead, where the remnants of the Bovarian cavalry fled the Khellans, making for the bridge that was less than a half mille away.

Quaeryt glanced toward the bridge over the River Aluse. The road they had followed had turned and angled into the main avenue that, in turn, ran straight into the bridge approachway. At a point just beyond the end of the approach and the beginning of the bridge proper, there was a stone wall three yards in height. Two heavy iron-bound gates, now open, afforded the only break in that gray stone barrier.

The fleeing Bovarians, both those mounted and those on foot, sprinted toward the gates, clearly hoping to get behind them and close them, in order to deny the Telaryn forces access to the bridge and the main part of Villerive.

You need to get to them before they can close the gates and escape-and block you from being able to reinforce the Telaryn forces when they attack.

Calkoran understood that, because the Khellans pressed their mounts up the approach to the bridge, cutting down Bovarian stragglers … but the gates were beginning to close as the Bovarians on the bridge obviously decided to leave the last of the fleeing defenders to the Khellan blades.

Quaeryt turned. “Voltyr! Image something to break the gates or keep them from closing!”

“Yes, sir!”

For a long moment the gates continued to close. Then, the gate on the right sagged and crashed forward onto the paving stones of the approach.

The Bovarians behind the gates abandoned their efforts to close the gates and tried to flee, but the Khellans were through the gates in moments, their blades flashing.

Quaeryt signaled first company to a halt. Adding another company to the melee on an already narrow bridge wouldn’t help matters. He watched in not quite dispassionate awe as the Khellans destroyed the few handfuls of Bovarians remaining. While a Khellan occasionally fell, that was seldom indeed, Quaeryt could see.

After the last of the Bovarians went down under the Khellan sabres, or jumped or dived off the side of the bridge into the dark waters below, the three companies re-formed, one-fourth company, Quaeryt could tell-remaining beyond the gate. Major Calkoran led the other two back through the gates and toward Quaeryt.

“Sir?” asked the older major.

“Hold the approach to the bridge against any Bovarians.”

“Yes, sir.”

“First company! Hold here!” Quaeryt rode back toward the gates and through them along the east side of the bridge, wide enough for three wagons abreast, with an iron railing about a yard and a half high on each side. As he passed Major Arion, Quaeryt glanced to the other side of the bridge, taking in the second set of iron gates there, gates that were now closed.

Yet, in the distance, both in front of him and behind him to the southeast, Quaeryt heard horns and bells, both imbued with a frantic urgency, and that spoke to Skarpa’s success-and that the Bovarian defenders were calling for reinforcements.

Quaeryt looked back, but saw-besides first, second, and third companies-no other riders or troopers on the approachway or the main avenue to the south. Fifth Battalion was alone. When he looked to the north end of the bridge, he saw that the gates there, gates that had been closed, were now opening.

You had to have Voltyr destroy the gate on this end. Idiot! Unfortunately, what was done was done.

Even through that narrow, if widening aperture, he could see hundreds, if not thousands, of armed Bovarians lined up as far as his eyes could see, ready to storm across the bridge. Quaeryt had no idea where Skarpa and Meinyt were, but he doubted, fierce as the Khellans were, and comparatively narrow as the bridge was, that less than four hundred troopers could hold off thousands, not without severe losses, and not for that long.

“Imagers! On me!” Except he didn’t have time to wait on them.

He rode forward until he was less than fifty yards from the oncoming Bovarian foot, led, of course, by three rows of pikes. There, he reined up and concentrated on linking to the river below-there had to be warmth there, after such a long hot summer and harvest! He also concentrated on linking and drawing from the advancing mass of blue-gray clad Bovarian soldiers, all of them.

Then he pictured a stone wall to the north of the one holding the gates that had just opened to the flood of Bovarian troopers, a solid gray stone wall at the edge of the bluff to the west of the bridge, across the bridge and then at the edge of the east bluff.

A blinding flash of light seared across him, followed by a chill that cut through his body like a thousand knives. Then came thunder, and hail that slammed into his body, no longer protected by his personal shields, shields that had somehow vanished. His muscles felt like watery jelly, yet he could see, surprisingly, if barely, through a splitting headache and searing flashes of light that stabbed into his eyes like daggers.

When he could finally straighten up, hail and ice flowed off him and his uniform and down off the mare’s coat. The roadway of the bridge was also white with ice and hail. Slowly, he looked toward the north end of the bridge.

Beginning less than twenty yards from him, at least two hundred ice-covered troopers lay scattered and frozen on the bridge between him and the open gates. Beyond the gates were more ice-covered bodies, frozen where they stood, wedged and welded together in ice. Farther to the north was a featureless gray stone wall running along the river bluff and across the point where the approach ended and the bridge proper began. Quaeryt wondered yet how many more ice-covered bodies lay sprawled beyond the wall he had imaged.

Then he shook his head-and was rewarded with an even more intense flash of pain, so much so that he couldn’t see for a moment. He turned in the saddle … slowly. “Arion! Get your men to that gate, and get it closed.” He looked at Shaelyt and Voltyr who were riding slowly toward him. “You two need to image beams and bars in place on this side once they get those gates there closed. Follow Arion’s men!”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt just watched, squinting and massaging his forehead with one hand, while the fourth company rankers moved bodies and forced the gates shut and while the two imagers created brackets and beams to keep them shut.

Then he turned to Arion, whose eyes remained wide. “Major?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and your men are to make sure that no one gets past those gates.”

“Yes, sir.” Although Arion’s voice was firm, his eyes flicked to the bodies and the walls.

“Once the bodies aren’t frozen, you’ll need to have them cleared from the bridge.” Quaeryt paused. “I’d appreciate it if they weren’t thrown in the river. Thank you.”

Arion nodded.

Slowly, Quaeryt rode back across the bridge, followed by Shaelyt and Voltyr. When he reached first company, he saw that Threkhyl was in the saddle, but pale as ice, as were Desyrk and Baelthm.

“All imagers … please eat and drink something.” After a moment he reached for his own water bottle and began to sip the watered lager, hoping that his guts would settle down. He doubted he would even have been in the saddle if he hadn’t had the presence of mind to link his imaging to the warmth of the river.

Almost a glass passed before riders appeared coming from the south on the main avenue to the bridge. They wore the green of Telaryn.

Quaeryt continued to wait, slowly eating the hard biscuits he’d taken from the inn that morning.

In time, Skarpa rode forward and reined up. “Even from here I can see there’s another wall on the north side of the bridge, and ice formed around the bridge piers … and probably on the river earlier.” Skarpa’s voice was half sardonic and half dry.

“There was some ice,” Quaeryt admitted.

“Why the wall?”

“Fifth Battalion wasn’t ready to face two regiments or more of Bovarians.” Quaeryt paused. “I suppose there are fewer than that now.”

“They’re frozen?” Skarpa’s voice held little surprise.

Quaeryt nodded.

Skarpa glanced beyond Quaeryt to where fourth company rankers were piling corpses on a wagon that they’d found somewhere. “Two regiments less, I’d wager … or close enough. The marshal won’t be pleased, especially since the bridge is blocked.”

“When Threkhyl and the other imagers have recovered and the northern army holds Villerive, the imagers can create an opening in the wall.”

Skarpa chuckled.

“You hold all the southern part now?” asked Quaeryt.

“After you cut through the west part, the Bovarians lost heart. They didn’t expect you to just wipe out chunks of their earthworks and ride through them. Or to take out their catapults and spill their own Antiagon Fire on them. We tried to avoid the catapults, but we lost a good hundred troopers to the fire…”

Catapults … there was something about catapults, but Quaeryt couldn’t think of what it might be.

“… The Bovarians also didn’t expect you to wipe out so many defenders so quickly. Or turn their reinforcements into icy corpses. You keep this up, Subcommander, and…” Skarpa shook his head.

“What?”

“No matter what they’ve said about Kharst, before long, they’ll fear Bhayar more than they ever did their rex.”

“I don’t see why. Over the years he’s slaughtered more than we ever could.”

“The numbers of dead matter less than the manner of their death.”

Quaeryt was all too afraid that Skarpa was right. Yet, again, what else could he and the imagers have done?

“I’ll be sending a boat with a courier to the marshal informing him that we hold the south side and the bridge.”

“Do you think the Bovarians will withdraw now?” asked Quaeryt.

“Do you?”

Quaeryt shook his head. “Not from what we’ve learned about Kharst.”

“I don’t think so, either. I need to get that courier off. I’ll leave it to you and Fifth Battalion to hold the bridge for now. Third and Fifth Regiments will finish up with the defenders and take positions just south of the bridge.”

“Yes, sir.”

Skarpa turned and rode off the bridge, his mount’s hooves clicking dully on the gray paving stones.

Quaeryt looked back to the north. The ice had vanished. Most of the bodies remained.