Imager’s Battalion

68

Over the remainder of Solayi and all of Lundi, there were absolutely no signs of any Bovarian forces, reinforcing Quaeryt’s-and Skarpa’s-belief that Rex Kharst was amassing forces near Variana. Yet Quaeryt couldn’t dismiss the possibility that the Bovarians might attack at any point. While he rode and waited for that possibility, he spent time talking to each of the imager undercaptains. From some of them, such as Threkhyl and Horan, he learned little unexpected, only more detail about what they had initially told him. Quaeryt had already known that Threkhyl had been a small holder outside a small village northeast of Piedryn, far enough from the larger towns that no one noticed that he almost never bought tools or plows or saws or spades or that in even the worst of times his family somehow had enough to eat-until a local cooper tried to woo and marry his daughter. Threkhyl had turned the fellow down, and in weeks, Threkhyl had been rounded up by Bhayar’s men, with a pair of golds going to the cooper and the daughter who was likely now his wife.

Quaeryt could see how that had happened, or that a trapping rival had turned in Horan, since neither undercaptain was versed in subtlety.

Smaethyl was the essential loner, in some ways the closest to Quaeryt and in others totally foreign, as when he had observed, “I’d say that the Nameless doesn’t want anyone to have any glory, and most lords and High Holders don’t want anyone else to have many golds. That doesn’t leave much for most folks.”

It wasn’t that Quaeryt disagreed with Smaethyl’s observation, but the almost fatalistic attitude behind the words chilled him.

The three Pharsi undercaptains came from different towns, yet shared many similarities, all from their Pharsi heritage, the most notable being their quiet pragmatism.

Shaelyt, his words capturing the spirit of that practicality, had simply said, “Erion and the Nameless watch, but do not interfere often enough for any man to count on it. Stupid men end up dead. Dead men do not see the next dawn, and with the next dawn there is always hope.”

Quaeryt hadn’t been able to refrain from asking, “Doesn’t that open a man up to seizing the opportunities of the moment?”

“My mother told me that a man who cannot see beyond tomorrow is also a stupid man. I have not seen that she was wrong.”

Quaeryt had laughed.

As he rode beside Zhelan on Mardi morning, under high gray clouds that made the day both cooler and the air a bit damper, a quint before ninth glass, he couldn’t help reflecting on what more he’d learned-or hadn’t-about the imager undercaptains over the previous two days.

Shouldn’t you have done more of that earlier? Except that he’d been far too absorbed in teaching them what they needed to know. And to further your goals for them, perhaps? He couldn’t deny that, but there was also the problem that he didn’t have the experience to be a subcommander and that he’d been trying to learn how to be more effective as both an imager commander and a troop subcommander. There are always excuses. And there were, he acknowledged, and all he could do was learn from the experience of being sidetracked by excuses and move on as best he could. His ruminations were cut short as a scout rode back eastward along the road toward Fifth Battalion, once more in the van.

Quaeryt waited as the scout eased in beside him.

“Sir … there’s a High Holding two milles ahead, sir. The gates are chained, but it looks deserted. There are tracks on the road and on the shoulder heading west.”

“Go and let the commander know. He’ll decide who will look into it.” The scout would anyway, but reinforcing Skarpa’s precedence never hurt.

“Yes, sir.”

While he was waiting for Skarpa to receive the report, Quaeryt studied the road ahead, as well as the small shuttered cots and dwellings they passed, as well as the absence of livestock, noting what the scouts had kept reporting-that there were no signs of any Bovarian forces.

In less than half a quint, Skarpa was riding up the shoulder of the road. By then, Quaeryt had sent a ranker to notify Major Zhael that third company might be required to accompany him and several undercaptains on a reconnaissance mission.

“You have a company ready to ride out and see?” Skarpa was wasting no time.

“Third company, with Desyrk and Lhandor.”

Skarpa nodded. “Make it quick. If there are supplies, let me know as soon as you can. If not, just leave the place … unless you think there are weapons or other useful items.”

“I’d be surprised if there were either.”

“So would I,” replied Skarpa. “Do what you can. I’ll call a halt by the gates.”

Quaeryt and third company moved out from the vanguard, and little more than a quint later, they reined up in front of the gates on the north side of the road. Quaeryt could scarcely miss the hold house, situated as it was on a rise overlooking the river, and so large that even from the chained gates, the structure still loomed impressively above the extensive formal gardens and forest park that surrounded it.

Yet, once they opened the gates and went through the buildings, that inspection revealed that the entire hold house and outbuildings had been recently and completely emptied.

But who could have done that so quickly? Kharst? The holding was certainly large enough and well appointed enough to be his. Still, there was little point in spending time there, not when there were neither supplies nor weapons, and Quaeryt had the gates rechained.

For the rest of Mardi and for the first glasses on Meredi, Skarpa and his forces saw only traces of the withdrawing Bovarians, or perhaps they were tracks of retainers hurrying Kharst’s goods from the holding back to Variana, mused Quaeryt-if the hold had been Kharst’s at all.

A quint or two after ninth glass on Meredi, the scouts came riding back with the report that the span over the fair-sized river three milles ahead had been destroyed, most likely with explosives. Once more, Fifth Battalion was in the van, as it had been for most of the ride west from Nordeau.

Skarpa didn’t have to glance at his map, but responded immediately. “That has to be the River Sommeil.”

“Whatever it is, Commander,” replied the squad leader of the scouts, “it looks to be too wide and too deep to ford.”

Of course it is. They wouldn’t destroy it if it weren’t. Quaeryt merely smiled.

Skarpa turned in the saddle and looked at Quaeryt without saying a word.

“We’ll see what we can do. I’ll take first company and the undercaptains.”

“Take the entire battalion, Subcommander.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shortly, Fifth Battalion moved ahead of the main column at a moderately quick trot. After riding about two milles Quaeryt glanced to the north and noted that the paving stones of the river road were only perhaps ten or fifteen yards higher than the River Aluse, if that. Ahead was a slight rise, and when Quaeryt came to the crest and looked ahead, he could see that the Bovarians had indeed chosen well.

The River Sommeil meandered through a swampy flood plain a good three milles wide, and the only raised ground was a tongue of land that led to the bridge. The structure itself had been a solid-looking stone span connecting two tongues of more solid land, although for a good hundred yards on each side of the bridge the road had been constructed on a causeway that was more like a levee. What the scouts had not mentioned was that, some hundred yards short of the east end of the bridge was a large gap in the road … and the causeway that had supported it.

While the terrain suggested it was unlikely that Fifth Battalion would face Bovarian forces, at least on the east side of the bridge, the gap in the road and the missing spans of the bridge indicated more work for the imagers. Since the bridge itself blocked a clear view of the road on the far side, there might also be other gaps.

Quaeryt kept studying the causeway and the terrain on the far side of the bridge, but could see no sign of Bovarians. If they waited, they were concealed in the trees that flanked the open ground on each side of the road.

Once he had reached the missing section of the causeway, he reined up and studied the damage in the road. While the gap wasn’t that wide, no more than five or six yards, the material that comprised the levee and roadbed had been blasted away to the point that whatever base remained was below the water level of the swamp surrounding the levee. He turned the mare sideways. “Undercaptain Horan, forward!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re to start imaging rock into that gap. Not dirt because the water will turn it to mud.”

“Any kind of rock, sir?”

“Any kind that’s solid. Not sandstone or pumice. Do it in smaller amounts at a time, rather than trying it all at once.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt watched as the slightly grizzled imager concentrated. The water in the gap swelled as though a current pushed it upward, but Quaeryt did not see anything but more muddy water. A second swell of water followed, and when the current subsided, he could see grayish stones being washed by the swamp water. He glanced to Horan, whose forehead was glistening with sweat. “Wait a moment. Take a swallow of ale or whatever’s in your bottle.”

Horan needed little urging to reach for the water bottle.

Quaeryt once more surveyed the lands beyond the swamp to the west, thickly forested with trees and undergrowth that could hide regiments. He had his doubts that there were regiments concealed, but the flatness of the causeway on the far side concerned him, since it was a perfect situation to use musketeers. The road would only allow three riders abreast at any speed, and it would take time to cover the mille or so beyond the bridge.

But then, they wouldn’t be all that accurate at that distance, and they’d wait until we were closer to the woods. That was another worry.

He waited for a time, then looked to Horan. “Ready for another imaging?”

“Yes, sir.”

In between periods of imaging and resting, it took Horan more than four quints to replace and raise the causeway to within two handspans of the stone paving on each side.

“That’s enough, Undercaptain,” said Quaeryt.

“I can do more, sir.”

“You’re getting pale. You need to drink some more and rest. Otherwise you’ll collapse, and we may well need you again if the Bovarians have done the same thing on the far side.”

“Oh … yes, sir.”

Quaeryt got the impression that Horan had not thought about that.

“Undercaptain Smaethyl, forward!” Quaeryt waited until the former hunter, not quite so angular as he had been when he’d first joined the battalion, rode up and joined him. “I’d like a layer of gravel, small pebbles, to cover the stones smoothly.”

Smaethyl managed that quickly, and without sweating.

Quaeryt then had Zhelan summon a squad of troopers to walk back and forth on the gravel, even jumping on it, until the gravel and pebbles would no longer sift downward. Then Smaethyl imaged finer gravel, followed by paving stones.

Finally, he rode across the stones of the repaired road and causeway, but sensed no give in the road. You can only hope that it holds. Still the stones Horan had imaged looked solid, and while they might settle some, Quaeryt doubted that they would totally give way, at least not in the next few days.

“Fifth Battalion! Forward!” As he urged the mare forward, he glanced back. The van of Third Regiment had reached the crest of the rise that marked the edge of the swampy valley holding the River Sommeil and the bridge. They’ll likely catch us before we finish image-repairing things, especially if there’s another hole blown in the causeway on the other side. There was no help for that. Imaging took time, just not as much time as having rankers and engineers repair the gaps.

When they reached the base of the bridge and Quaeryt reined up, he smiled. The Bovarians had blown out most of the middle of the stone spans, but had left the center pier. While imaging the spans back in place would take a strong imager, it wouldn’t take the piecemeal effort that repairing the causeway had. He glanced down, past the ragged ending of the approach where some stones remained and others did not, to the water of the River Sommeil less than four yards below, where he could barely see the current. That suggested that the river was deeper than it looked. Then he straightened. “Undercaptain Threkhyl, forward.”

Threkhyl rode forward.

“Just the span from here to the pier. Without the side walls.”

A frown of puzzlement crossed the face of the ginger-bearded imager.

“I want the others to get some practice, but I need the basic span to be strong. I also want to make sure the pier is sound with weight on it before you expend the energy for the second span.”

At that, Threkhyl nodded and concentrated. In moments a gently arching stone span connected the approach to the center pier. The undercaptain turned to Quaeryt. “Sir.”

“Thank you. Undercaptain Lhandor, forward.”

“Sir,” said Lhandor as he eased his mount around Threkhyl’s big gelding.

“I’d like stone retaining walls a yard and a half high, no more that two handspans in width, their outside edges even with the edge of the span.”

Lhandor managed the walls on the south side, then had to rest, drink, and eat a biscuit before he could image the second set of walls.

Quaeryt, with some trepidation, urged the mare onto the span. He could feel no give, and there was no echo from his mount’s hooves. He kept riding, then turned back. “Imagers, forward! Just imagers.”

Quaeryt reined up on the new span several yards short of where it met and seamlessly joined the center pier. From there he studied the open water and the bridge approach. Once again, he had Threkhyl do the main span, but this time he called on Khalis to handle the side walls.

Quaeryt waited for Khalis to recover, then urged the mare onto the second span. The undercaptains followed, and then the rest of Fifth Battalion, behind Zhelan, followed over the spans. As Quaeryt’s mare stepped off the second span, Threkhyl moved forward, until his mount was close behind Quaeryt’s.

“You know I could have done all that … sir,” pressed Threkhyl. “I know you said they need practice. But I could have done it.”

Quaeryt refrained from sighing. “You might recall it took more than one or two imagers for us to take Nordeau, did it not?”

“It did.”

“What do you think will happen when we get to Variana? Can you and I and Shaelyt and Voltyr do it all?”

“We can, sir. I know we can.”

Because Quaeryt could sense that there was something Threkhyl wasn’t saying, he pressed on. “That’s all well and good to say, but what happens if we can’t?”

“We haven’t seen any other imagers, sir.”

What does that have to do with anything? Quaeryt was about to reply, then saw a darkness in the causeway ahead. He took a deep breath and pointed at another, even wider gap in the causeway. “Look ahead, there. I think you’ll need to help Horan with this one.” He smiled. “Remember, there’s always something unexpected in warfare.” Always … and sometimes even more unexpected than you think possible.

In the end, Quaeryt assigned Horan, Threkhyl, and Shaelyt to fill and pave the second gap in the causeway. While they worked, taking long breaks between imaging, at Quaeryt’s insistence, he continued to study the remainder of the causeway and then the space cut for the road through the forest and heavy undergrowth beyond the end of the causeway. The forest growth between the river road and the River Aluse appeared to be close to a half mille wide, but given the path of the road, the tree-filled area narrowed so that, most likely, several milles farther along, the road was much closer to the river. From where he was, Quaeryt could make out a brown line to the left of the river road, mostly straight, running roughly parallel to the road and equidistant between the road and the woods on the south side of the road. It was some sort of drainage ditch several yards wide.

Once the repairs were complete, Quaeryt had the three rest for another half quint before he had Fifth Battalion resume riding. As he rode along the causeway arcing gently northward to meet a tongue of land that the road followed through a narrow gap in a forest that might well be swamp forest at times of the year, Quaeryt tried to catch murmurs from the imagers.

“… not too bad…”

“… didn’t image himself…”

“… has … reasons…”

Quaeryt did indeed, and he hoped that his suspicions were unfounded.

Once they left the causeway and rode on the slightly raised road flanked mainly by knee-high and browning grasses-and red flies and mosquitoes-Quaeryt kept studying the trees, looking for anything that appeared less-or more-than it should have been. Then … he stiffened in the saddle, immediately turning. “Imagers! Mark the brown stump ahead and to the left. Stand ready to image iron darts into any Bovarians who appear! At my command.”

Quaeryt was partly guessing, but there were far more wilting and yellow leaves ahead to the left. He concentrated on removing all the leaves-or what seemed to be leaves-across a space some hundred yards wide.

Instantly, he heard screams and saw wooden frames, with musketeers and their loaders.

“Image darts! At the musketeers!” Then he extended his own shields at an angle just before a ragged volley discharged.

He reeled back in the saddle, but the impact was nothing compared to what he’d experienced in Nordeau. He contracted the shields to protect a smaller area, basically the imagers, and imaged iron darts at three musketeers.

Another volley, smaller than the first, ripped in the direction of Fifth Battalion. Quaeryt felt no impacts on his shields. He kept imaging darts. So did the other imagers, especially Voltyr, but that was one reason why Quaeryt had kept one of the stronger imagers fresh.

There were only a few musketeers who fired a third volley, and there was no fourth volley. Quaeryt saw some Bovarians crawling or scuttling back into the thick forest.

“Shaelyt! Image pepper and smoke across the whole area where the musketeers were.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Major Zhelan, forward!”

Zhelan moved up beside Quaeryt. “Sir?”

“We need to send a message back to the commander, telling him what happened and warning him that there might be a musketeer or two left.”

“You don’t want to send troopers in to clean them out?” Zhelan’s voice was level.

“I think we’ve put them to rout, and I’m not inclined to send troopers across uneven ground, maybe even with swampy spots, not to mention a wide ditch just to have them try to catch a few Bovarians in a thick forest that doesn’t look friendly to horses.” Quaeryt looked at Zhelan. “If I’m wrong, please tell me. I value your judgment.”

“Sir … you have to make the decision … but you wouldn’t catch many.” Zhelan paused. “You were busy, sir, but whatever you did at the beginning killed about half of them, ripped off arms and the like.”

Quaeryt winced. He had heard screams, but he’d only meant to remove the musketeers’ camouflage. “I didn’t realize.”

“That’s why any troopers might not find much.”

“We’ll leave it that way, but the commander needs to know.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it … and we can send out the scouts now.”

That was another thing Quaeryt had forgotten.

As he looked southward at the gash in the trees, Quaeryt swallowed again. He hadn’t done that kind of imaging before … and with any new imaging … there were often costs. That one … you just didn’t expect.

He kept riding, looking for other ambush spots, although he doubted there would be another too close. Still …