Imager’s Battalion

62

When Quaeryt finally reached the Stone’s Rest, he could barely dismount, and he had to request that someone else unsaddle and stable the mare. He hated asking for that, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the saddle. He almost tripped twice climbing the stairs to the third floor, and he was uncomfortable sitting in the desk chair and worried that he wouldn’t be able to move if he lay down.

He did anyway, but he hurt too much to sleep, and he kept thinking about what had happened at the square. He’d been prepared for muskets. He just hadn’t been prepared for hundreds of them all firing at him-or the front of the column. Had the Bovarians known that Skarpa would have the imagers near the front? Or had the attack in the square just been designed to catch the Telaryn forces off guard?

After thinking it over, Quaeryt still didn’t know. The comparatively small number of Bovarian defenders suggested that they’d been told to deliver enough of an attack to slow the Telaryn advance and then withdraw. Yet the defenders’ battle plan had been well thought out, and especially effective at minimizing the impact that the imagers otherwise might have had. Had it been an inspired plan designed by a junior commander who knew something about imagers and who’d seen their effect in the battle for the southern part of Nordeau? Or had it been planned by a senior commander who knew too much about Bhayar’s forces?

But even if any of those possibilities were so, why had the Bovarians risked-and lost-so many musketeers? Especially when there had been comparatively so few foot or cavalry to support them?

To Quaeryt that made little sense, and yet the planning of the defenders’ tactics showed considerable thought-although the sloppy execution had made matters less disastrous for Skarpa’s forces than otherwise might have been the case.

Quaeryt lay on the bed for several glasses, thinking, semidozing … and failing to come up with answers that satisfied him, only yet another question that he should have considered earlier. Why hadn’t he seen any cannon? The Bovarians had powder; the exploding barges had proved that. They had muskets, and plenty of those, and they had used those for years. Cannon had been used at sea for several decades, but nowhere had the Telaryn forces faced cannon.

Because they’re heavy and hard to move quickly, and Kharst didn’t expect to use them inside Bovaria?

He could think of no other answer, but the fact he couldn’t satisfied him not at all, because that suggested he hadn’t considered all the possibilities.

In time, he rose and struggled down to the public room to eat with the other officers, all of whom were polite enough-or tired enough-not to comment on his appearance and stiffness. He did indulge in having two mugs of lager, and that seemed to make the climb back up the stairs somewhat less painful.

Khaern’s combat surgeon, a squad leader, did not return to the south side of Nordeau until after seventh glass, and there were deep circles under his eyes and blood splatters all over his sleeves. Even so, he winced as he looked at the welts and incipient bruises across Quaeryt’s body … and the slight black eyes that were also forming.

“You’ve got a lot of bruises here, Subcommander, and I’d say you came as close as possible to fracturing at least one of your ribs, maybe all of them. Your whole chest is going to hurt for weeks, maybe longer. Your eyes might even swell shut. You shouldn’t be doing much.”

“I still need to ride before long.”

“We can wrap your chest with some stays, but if you get hit again like you did here, you could break a rib or two. If it’s a bad break…” He shook his head. “That doesn’t even count your eyes…”

Quaeryt understood all too well. He also understood that Myskyl or Deucalon would likely want to put him in that position again. And you can’t let them. “Wrap me up. I’ll have a few days to recover. After that, I’ll try to avoid getting hit.” He paused. “How about Undercaptain Shaelyt?”

“He’s better off than you. Not much.” The squad leader and field surgeon paused. “If I might ask, sir…”

“We were leading the charge. We … got pounded pretty hard.”

“You’d better let someone else lead for a while, Subcommander, or you won’t be leading again.” He paused. “I’ll bring by some canvas tomorrow, and we’ll figure out the best way to brace you and the undercaptain.”

“Thank you.”

After the combat surgeon left, Quaeryt eased out of the rest of his uniform and returned to the bed. He had absolutely no doubt that he faced a long and painful night.