Imager’s Battalion

44

More than two glasses had passed, and Quaeryt had moved the undercaptains-and himself-to the Bluff Point, an old inn just west of the approach to the bridge-where he’d made sure that everyone was fed and resting. At close to the second glass of the afternoon, the supply wagons arrived, with gear. Shortly afterward, Skarpa returned, and he and Quaeryt met in the plaque room of the inn. Quaeryt had decided that the closer they came to Variana, the more likely inns were to have plaque rooms, although the innkeeper couldn’t tell him why.

“Have the Bovarians tried to climb that wall you put up?” asked Skarpa.

“Arion reported that one or two looked over, but no one has tried to climb it or reclaim the bodies.” Quaeryt took a deep breath, then used his right hand to massage his forehead, trying to ease the pain and pressure there. Even the creaking of the old stairs outside the room seemed to worsen the headache. “When it gets later in the day, we’ll unbar the old gate at that end and pull out the bodies. We’ll need to do that before we’re ready to do whatever the marshal wants.”

“He wants us to attack this afternoon. Then he’ll move against the city.”

Quaeryt laughed, roughly and not humorously, but broke it off as light knives flashed across his vision. “He’ll have to wait until tomorrow if he wants any imaging. Two glasses ago, I had two imagers who couldn’t see, one who kept puking his guts out, and the other three of us who couldn’t have imaged a false copper right now.”

“And now?” asked Skarpa.

“I have five imagers who might manage a false copper and one who might be able to image a single silver.” Quaeryt took another swallow of the too-bitter lager from the mug he’d brought with him, hoping that would help him regain some strength.

“He won’t like hearing that.”

“I’m sure he won’t. How many regiments did the Bovarians have here on the south side? Not on the bridge. On the south side?”

“The Bovarian officers who survived claim they had four regiments. I’d say three and a half at most. We’ve got half a regiment in captives, mostly wounded, and maybe another five or six hundred escaped.” Skarpa paused. “I know where you’re going. We’ve taken out another four and a half regiments, and lost almost a battalion in casualties. The marshal won’t see it that way. He wants to hit them now.”

“After dawdling up the river for a month?” Quaeryt shook his head. “I won’t send Fifth Battalion into battle without imagers, not when we’re not threatened.”

Skarpa smiled wryly. “I guess I’d better wait a while and then send a message saying that because the effort of destroying two regiments left the imagers unconscious or otherwise incapacitated, you moved them to safety, and it took a while to determine the status of Fifth Battalion and the regiments. By then, hopefully, he’ll decide on an attack tomorrow.”

“Your way is better,” said Quaeryt. “Maybe I’m just too tired to be tactful.”

“He’ll know what we think,” replied Skarpa. “This way he just won’t be able to prove it. He’ll be just as unhappy.”

“His men weren’t the ones dying.”

“No … but he’s lost more troopers than we have. More than two regiments worth in dead and wounded. That’s what I heard from the dispatch couriers.”

Quaeryt frowned. “There are more and larger towns on the north side of the river. That’s why he needed a bigger force.”

“He’s losing a greater proportion than we are. That’s because … he says … he doesn’t have Fifth Battalion.”

“He didn’t want us. Even without Fifth Battalion, you wouldn’t be losing as great a proportion as he is.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Skarpa sighed. “He thinks if a trooper can move, he can fight. He doesn’t understand. Not sure I would if I hadn’t seen what happened to you.”

“Tell him imagers are like blades. When they’re pushed too hard, they break. Rest can reforge them. Trying to make them fight when they’re broken destroys them beyond hope of reforging.” Quaeryt massaged his forehead again.

“He might understand that.”

Quaeryt saw Skarpa had his doubts. “They’re like muskets when the powder’s gone.”

“I’ll think of something.” Skarpa paused. “Where are they?”

“Sleeping … or lying on a bed so tired they can’t move.”

“Your head is pounding, and you have trouble seeing, don’t you?”

“Something like that,” Quaeryt admitted.

“Might not be a bad idea if you turned things over to Zhelan and got some sleep.”

“I mostly have, but I thought I’d better wait to see what you had to say.”

“You’ve heard. Go get some rest.” Skarpa stood.

So did Quaeryt, not quite so quickly or vigorously.