Imager’s Battalion

79

Almost exactly at the second glass of the afternoon on Jeudi, Quaeryt was standing at the north end of the lake that formed the southern end of the Telaryn encampment, still trying to improve his imaging by trying to draw heat from the lake water or, later, from a river, rather than from the rain that wasn’t likely to arrive when he needed it.

The first step had been easy enough. He’d managed that two days earlier. He’d just imaged a tiny stone tower, no more than the length of his middle finger, into being at the edge of the water, drawing heat from the surrounding water. A thin film of ice extended little more than two fingertips from the stone tower. The second step was to image the little tower out of existence while drawing heat from the water. That had taken him almost two days of intermittent effort to work out. Destroying the tiny tower hadn’t been hard at all, but finding a way to obtain the strength to do the imaging from the water had been the hard part. Once he’d mastered the technique, it was actually less tiring, he could tell, even on that small a scale, than imaging without seeking sources of heat.

Of course, it wouldn’t work all that well in the winter. Or if there isn’t a lake or a big river nearby.

“Subcommander, sir!”

He turned to see Lhandor riding toward him, leading Quaeryt’s mare. Riding beside the young Pharsi officer was another undercaptain Quaeryt did not recognize.

“Sir, Lord Bhayar would like to see you,” said the undercaptain. “I’m to escort you, but Undercaptain Lhandor may certainly accompany you.”

“Good,” said Quaeryt, taking the mare’s reins from Lhandor and mounting.

The undercaptain led the way around the northeast side of the lake, past the large briefing tent and then into an encampment surrounding a second tent barely smaller than the briefing tent. He reined up before the squad of troopers stationed in front of and around the tent.

A major, another officer Quaeryt had not met, stepped forward as Quaeryt dismounted. “Lord Bhayar awaits you, Subcommander.”

“Thank you.”

One of the troopers lifted the tent flap for Quaeryt, then dropped it behind him.

Inside, the tent was partitioned into two sections, one containing a camp bed and a chest, and no one. Quaeryt pushed aside the flap to the other side. Bhayar rose from a small desk, the kind that could be folded into a flat oblong to fit in a wagon. The wooden stool on which he had been seated had a thin cushion that fell to the plain gray carpet that covered the ground as Bhayar rose. Hangings ran from the tent ridge poles to the carpet, enclosing the area around Bhayar and the desk. A small noisy burbling fountain, clearly fed from a tank set on stakes, stood in one corner. The space felt confining, close, and Quaeryt couldn’t help but frown when his eyes lighted on the fountain.

Bhayar laughed. “The hangings and the fountain make it hard to overhear what is said here … if one speaks quietly and not at a great distance from me.”

“What might I do for you?” asked Quaeryt.

“Kharst has twice the troops we do, not to mention muskets and cannon,” said Bhayar mildly, adding, “And while there are high clouds, there do not appear to be any heavy rainstorms in sight. I understand you also lost one of your imager undercaptains.”

“Undercaptain Shaelyt. He was one of the most promising.”

“How did that come about?”

“I was injured in the first cannon attack last Samedi, and we ran into evidence of another cannon emplacement on Solayi…” Quaeryt went on to explain what happened.

“Skarpa was right,” said Bhayar. “You are not indestructible, Quaeryt.”

“I know that.”

“There are times when you have to let others die, and you will again.”

Quaeryt knew that as well, but he only nodded.

“You have lost two out of ten, or eleven if you count yourself. You must find a way to prevail, Quaeryt, one that preserves most of our forces and few of theirs.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I can claim that the valiant efforts of the imagers who sacrificed much made it possible … and you will have what you want for imagers.”

“If my plans meet your approval. And if you prevail … as a result of our efforts, but-”

“Do not mention such.” Bhayar paused, then added, “A debt is still a debt.” After yet another pause, he asked, “Do you have any plan that might work? Better than charging cannon and exploding the powder?”

“There is one possibility,” Quaeryt conceded, “but it can succeed only if you do not reveal all of it. And if Kharst has no imagers to counter us.”

“It appears he has few, or so we have been led to believe, and they remain far from him and close to his commanders. He distrusts them.”

That’s not exactly surprising, given what we’ve seen of how he handles High Holders. “You might think about this, sir. So far as I can determine, cannon and muskets are by far the most effective weapons against imagers. All imagers were on the south side of the River Aluse. So were all cannon and musket attacks, even though the forces on the north side of the river, until you reached Caluse, far outnumbered those on the south side.”

Bhayar frowned. “I had not heard that.”

“It is true, so far as Commander Skarpa has been able to ascertain. That is why I would ask that you not tell anyone all of what we are about to discuss.”

“I must be the judge of that.”

“Of course. But our lives and what we can do are then in your hands.”

“Tell me.”

Quaeryt did, beginning with those strengths and limitations of imaging that might apply to the attack on Kharst’s forces.

When he had finished, Bhayar asked, “Will this work? How much will it harm our forces?”

“I believe it is workable. It is also dangerous. Any great imaging is, even when it goes exactly as planned. And you have no idea whether this will.

“I fear we must risk it.”

“Are you certain that most of Kharst’s troops are surrounding his chateau or near the defensive earthworks?”

“They appear to be, but one can be certain of nothing in war. You should have learned that by now.”

“I have, but it is best to start from what is known.”

Bhayar began to point out positions on the map that lay on the small writing desk.

A quint later, Quaeryt left the tent.

Lhandor was still waiting.

Neither spoke until they had left Bhayar’s encampment.

“Can you tell me anything of what Lord Bhayar said?” asked Lhandor, riding closely beside Quaeryt.

“Very little,” replied Quaeryt. “He wants us to be careful that we do not waste our abilities on matters that will not count in affecting the result of the battle … and the war.”

“He told you not to hesitate in sacrificing us if it would preserve you, did he not?”

“No. He said that none of us were to waste ourselves.”

“I fear I did not say what I meant. I meant that you must be preserved to do what only you can.”

“Have you been talking to Khalis, Lhandor?” Quaeryt’s tone was skeptically sardonic.

“About what, sir? We often talk.”

“Never mind.” Quaeryt shook his head. “When we get back to the encampment, you need to gather the imager undercaptains and Major Zhelan.”

“Yes, sir!”

Don’t be so frigging enthusiastic, for the Nameless’s sake. Quaeryt was all too aware that what he planned could kill all of them if he didn’t do it perfectly … and might well, anyway.