Imager’s Battalion

50

Immediately after the morning muster of Fifth Battalion on Vendrei, Quaeryt met with Voltyr and Shaelyt. The three of them decided on a sheltered courtyard behind the stable to test the arriving undercaptains, then gathered the necessary materials. Although Quaeryt had not yet received word as to when the reinforcements would arrive, he knew he would need every moment he had to assess them and to begin instructing them in the basic imaging in combat. He left Voltyr in charge of setting up the barrels and stands for testing.

While the imagers were so occupied, Quaeryt and Zhelan reviewed the supply situation in turn with each of the company officers. Quaeryt was relieved to learn that Zhelan had been successful in dealing with the local factors and Skarpa’s supply major and that enough provisions had been obtained to fill all the wagons.

After he and Zhelan left Major Arion, Quaeryt looked at Zhelan. “I didn’t wish to ask around the company officers how you managed all that. But you’ve worked wonders. How?”

Zhelan tried to smother a grin, then shook his head. “I was most polite, sir. I just kept asking the factors and the supply types in the other regiments for what we needed. If they weren’t as helpful as they might have been, I just said that you’d be disappointed if you couldn’t support the battalion and the imagers after all the work Lord Bhayar had done to create the battalion. I didn’t ask for too much from any of them.”

“You’re a rogue, Zhelan.” Quaeryt shook his head.

“The locals are scared to death of imagers, more so than in Telaryn. Don’t know why, sir, but they are, and the supply types in the other regiments know that Fifth Battalion has saved a lot of their men. The ones who are smart want to help. Those who aren’t don’t want you upset.”

That worried Quaeryt, after a fashion, because it suggested that someone, most likely Myskyl, was depicting Quaeryt as vengeful and possibly petty.

Once he and Zhelan finished, Quaeryt returned to the study to go over the maps he had, trying to learn as much as he could from them about what the battalion might expect on the ride to Nordeau. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw what might have been a part of another old Naedaran canal branching off from the River Aluse just east of Nordeau. At least there was something that looked like a too-straight section of river that paralleled the River Aluse in a general way and ran almost to Nordeau. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other canals there had been running to the Aluse or from the lake on which Chelaes was located.

At slightly past first glass, one of the troopers acting as guards rapped on the study door. “Sir … there’s close to two companies riding up here.”

“Summon Major Zhelan and have him join me on the front portico.”

“Yes, sir.” The trooper hurried off.

Quaeryt made his way out to the front portico. There, as he waited for the riders-and Zhelan-to reach him, he stood and looked out to the west at the scattered clouds that were slowly breaking up. Despite there only having been partial sunlight that morning, the day was warm and humid, and he had to take off his visor cap and blot away sweat before replacing it. The oncoming riders were still some fifty yards away when Zhelan hurried around from the south porch to stand beside Quaeryt.

“Has to be our replacements and reinforcements,” offered the major.

Quaeryt looked to Zhelan.

“Uniforms have more color.”

Quaeryt smiled. Something else you hadn’t thought of.

Leading the riders was a captain Quaeryt didn’t recognize, scarcely surprising since there were at least fifty captains and undercaptains in Deucalon’s forces, most of whom he’d never even seen, let alone met. The captain called the column to a halt, then rode forward, his eyes taking in the two on the portico.

“Subcommander, Major, Marshal Deucalon is transferring these officers and troopers to your command.” He dismounted, handing his mount’s reins to one of the guard troopers who had hurried down, and climbed the steps. He extended a dispatch pouch. “There is a dispatch there. It confirms the transfer, and the number of officers and men involved.” His formal expression softened slightly. “There are also several other communications there.”

“Thank you, Captain. We accept the transfer of the officers and men, as described in the dispatch.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The captain nodded sharply, stepped back, and turned. “You are all now assigned to Fifth Battalion, and Subcommander Quaeryt.” Then he walked down the steps and remounted his horse.

“If you’d handle the trooper replacements and reinforcements,” Quaeryt said to Zhelan, “and have the undercaptains remain here with me.”

“Yes, sir.” A faint amused smile appeared on Zhelan’s face. “Undercaptains! Forward!”

After a brief hesitation, four men in undress green officers’ uniforms, without collar insignia, rode forward and reined up. They appeared passably comfortable in the saddle, but they should have been, reflected Quaeryt, given the days and possibly weeks they had been riding.

“Undercaptains, remain here. Troopers! Follow me!” Zhelan hurried down from the steps and walked quickly down the lane toward the stables and outbuildings.

As the troopers slowly rode after the battalion major, Quaeryt studied the undercaptains. Two, from their dark hair and eyes and light-honeyed skin, were most likely Pharsi, and probably younger than Shaelyt. The third undercaptain was sandy-blond, suggesting he was a norther. The last was a man close to forty, with a grizzled gray beard, recently trimmed, Quaeryt suspected, and a narrow lined face that had spent most days out in hard weather.

“Undercaptains … welcome to Fifth Battalion. I trust that you’re all imagers.” Quaeryt paused and scanned the faces, catching the hints of nods. “You’re now part of the largest group of imagers assembled as part of a fighting force. You’re going to learn how to apply your talents in support of Lord Bhayar. If you’re like most imager undercaptains, you’ll be asking why you should put yourselves out for Lord Bhayar when you’ve likely been dragged from wherever you were and whatever you were doing. The answer to that is simple. It’s better than the alternatives, and you’re being paid reasonably well for your service. More important, it’s the only way that you, and all imagers, can obtain a place where you’ll be respected and appreciated. If Lord Bhayar succeeds in subduing Bovaria, we’ll have a better life and future. That will be true of all imagers. If he fails, we’ll all likely have neither life nor future. I don’t expect any of you to accept this until you’ve been with Fifth Battalion for a while. I do expect you to act as officers and to obey orders.” He paused.

“And what if we don’t?” asked the older man, his tone verging on the insolent.

“That wouldn’t be terribly wise, for a number of reasons,” replied Quaeryt mildly. “Why are you here?”

“Governor threatened to kill my family.”

Quaeryt nodded. “Do you really want to be unable to see them again, to be in hiding the rest of your life, not knowing when someone might recognize and kill you? That’s another reason why you’re here, isn’t it?”

The undercaptain glared at Quaeryt, then nodded grudgingly.

“So … doesn’t it make sense to do the best you can do here, get your pay, and earn Bhayar’s gratitude, rather than run for the rest of your life?”

“Life won’t be long here, anyway.”

“You’d be surprised,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh. “Commander Skarpa’s done well at keeping casualties low, far lower than in the northern army.”

“You didn’t tell me why I should obey you or anyone else.”

“Because it’s a good idea. Besides, if you disobey, you’ll be punished. If you disobey in combat, you could be executed.” Quaeryt tried to image-project friendly reasonableness.

“I’m likely to die anyway. Might just be better to off you and stop this nonsense.”

“That wouldn’t be a very good idea.” What can you say or do to convince this idiot? In a way that won’t terrify the others and start them off with the wrong impression … if you haven’t already?

“Why don’t you let me decide what’s a good idea?”

“Because you don’t know enough to make a good decision,” said Quaeryt. “None of you do … yet. Now … it’s time for you to follow me down to meet the other undercaptains. After that, we’ll assign you quarters, and you can stow your gear.”

“No. Not until we know more.”

Idiot! Quaeryt looked at the graybeard and instantly clamped shields around him, so tightly that the man could not breathe. “You are in Fifth Battalion. You will obey orders, either mine or those of other senior officers, and if necessary, I or the senior undercaptains will take any steps necessary to assure that you do. Or you will no longer have to worry about anything at all.” He waited until the older man was turning red before he released the shields, then waited until the undercaptain stopped gasping. “I’d prefer not to have to do anything like that again.”

“You can’t do that all the time. I’ve dealt with things larger and tougher than you.”

Quaeryt image-projected absolute force and cold authority at the older man, and the absolute certainty that Quaeryt could shred him into bits smaller than grains of sand.

The older imager’s face paled.

So did the faces of the other three. The two Pharsi undercaptains exchanged a knowing glance.

“Who … what…?” murmured the graybeard.

“Subcommander Quaeryt Rytersyn. I’m a scholar, and the former governor of Montagne, former princeps of Tilbor, and I’ve survived more than a few battles along the way. Oh … and my wife is Lord Bhayar’s sister. Do you require any more explanations, Undercaptain?”

“No…”

“No, sir, if you please, and I don’t wish to correct you again. Ever.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me make this very clear once again. You are all undercaptains in the forces of Telaryn. Provisional undercaptains assigned to the first company of Fifth Battalion. That means you will obey not only my commands, but those of either Major Zhelan or Undercaptain Ghaelyn. Because it is very much in our personal interests not to have you killed, we will not give you orders that are foolish or unnecessary. At times, there will be risks, but all officers have the same risks as the troopers. Now … follow me.” Quaeryt walked down the steps, making certain his shields were fully in place.

As the four followed him, Quaeryt listened for murmurs, but none of the four said a word. You tried to be persuasive and rational. But you couldn’t let the quibbling and arguing go on. Why do some people only listen to force?