Imager’s Battalion

80

Interestingly enough, at least to Quaeryt, was the fact Deucalon canceled without explanation the Jeudi evening briefing for senior officers, which had been scheduled for sixth glass. Even more interesting was the order waking the entire combined armies at fifth glass on Vendrei morning and ordering the advance on Variana to begin at sixth glass. Most interesting of all was the envelope sealed with Bhayar’s personal signet that the unnamed undercaptain delivered to Quaeryt at a quint past fifth glass Vendrei morning.

“You’re to open this, sir, read it, but not to tell me what it says, and then acknowledge that you have read it and will comply.”

Quaeryt studied the seal, then broke it, opened the envelope, and extracted the single sheet of heavy paper. The message was simple enough.

Proceed as we discussed. Use your own judgment as to timing and positioning after the assault begins. Fifth Battalion will be initially placed to the east of the center of the attack, directly behind another regiment of Commander Skarpa’s choosing. You are not to lead any charges.

Behind another regiment of Skarpa’s choosing?

Beneath the words was the single initial “B.”

Quaeryt folded the sheet and replaced it in the envelope, then looked up. “You can convey that I’ve read the message, that I understand it, and will comply.” To the best of my ability and that of the imagers.

“Thank you, sir.”

Once he’d seen the undercaptain off, Quaeryt gathered the imagers inside the cot. “It appears we’ll be attacking Variana today. It also appears that we will not be in the van, but slightly back. Once we move into position, we will assume a five-front formation, with Undercaptains Voltyr, Threkhyl, Lhandor, and Khalis flanking me, and Horan, Smaethyl, Baelthm, and Desyrk in the line behind us. First company will be directly behind us, and if necessary the other battalion companies may flank us…”

After finishing his briefing and ordering the imagers to make ready to mount up, Quaeryt then summoned and addressed the company officers. “We’re being ordered to attack Kharst’s defenses and his chateau at Variana. It’s called Chateau Regis, if anyone cares to know. Fifth Battalion will initially follow whatever regiment Commander Skarpa chooses, and we will be to the right of the center of the main thrust. First company will lead … with all imagers flanking or directly behind me … I have direct orders from Lord Bhayar to take independent action at any time I see fit…” When he finished, he asked, “Are there any questions?”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” offered Zhelan, “but we’re going to ride straight into the muskets and cannon of the Bovarians?”

“We likely won’t, but some of the marshal’s regiments will.”

“Sir…? Behind another regiment?”

“The Bovarians have muskets and cannon, as you’ve just pointed out. They know we’ve almost always led. If we’re in front, the imagers will spend all their imaging shielding, and none will be able to do any damage to the Bovarians. Whatever regiment leads us is Commander Skarpa’s decision. That’s up to him. We need to get as many of the Bovarians as close together as possible. Picking off isolated units doesn’t work very well when there are likely to be more troops in any of their isolated units than we have in three regiments.”

“That’s so you can do something with the imagers?”

“That’s the idea.” Whether it will work that way is another question. It should, Quaeryt thought. He’d tested all the aspects of it on a small scale. A much smaller scale. “Remember, keep your men from doing anything stupid. Even after this battle there are bound to be other battles, and we’ll need every man until this war is over.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Quaeryt left the company officers to Zhelan and went to see to his own preparations. As he mentally reviewed what he planned, another thought came to him. You should have written one more letter to Vaelora.

He shook his head with a rueful smile. That’s too fatalistic. And yet, while he knew that thought might nag him, all he could do was push it away as he continued with his preparations.

Less than a quint later, as the regiments were forming, before Quaeryt had mounted, Skarpa rode up, not dismounting, but motioning for Quaeryt to join him well away from the others.

In the gray light before dawn, Quaeryt did so. “Yes, sir?”

“Once we assemble for the attack on Kharst’s defenses, we’ll form the second prong of the attack to the right of the main thrust-which the submarshal will direct. I’ve been ordered to place Fifth Battalion behind another regiment, and I’ve chosen Eleventh Regiment, but to allow you full freedom of movement. No one mentioned Fifth Battalion in the order of movement, and I was told not to tell anyone. Fifth Battalion is not even in the written orders of battle. That was your doing?”

“Yes, sir. Well … it was my request. That was to keep-”

“I know. It won’t keep them from finding out. It will just take longer.”

“That was the idea.” And it will also likely mean that some of the regiments in front will get pounded by cannon fire. Unhappily Quaeryt knew why Skarpa had chosen Eleventh Regiment, and Skarpa knew that Quaeryt knew or would figure it out.

“Will whatever you plan work?”

“Yes, sir. I just don’t know if it will work well enough.”

“And if it doesn’t work, it will be an even bloodier day?”

“Yes, sir.” As it will if it does.

Skarpa nodded. “You’ve got less than three quints to have Fifth Battalion in formation, ready to ride.”

“We’ll be there.”

Fifth Battalion was mounted in formation, if only half a quint before the glass. Quaeryt and Zhelan weren’t about to rush matters on what would be a too-long day.

At what was likely sixth glass, from well ahead of Fifth Battalion came the horn signals, but almost a quint passed before the last company in Eleventh Regiment began to move, and Fifth Battalion followed those troopers across the fields and onto the gray stone road toward Variana.

Quaeryt listened, almost absently, as he rode northward on the gray stone road.

“… subcommander hasn’t said much…”

“… never does before a fight…”

“… good … waste of breath … what will be will be…”

Unless you can change it, reflected Quaeryt.

As they passed more shuttered and abandoned cots along the river road, spaced ever more closely together as they neared the south of Variana, the already few comments died away, possibly because of Quaeryt’s palpable reserve.

The sun, struggling to break through the thin gray clouds that had been almost constant for the past several days, was barely visible above the rooftops of Variana on the east side of the River Aluse by the time the Telaryn forces were in position, almost a mille back from the first line of earthworks. The air was cool, but not chill, and still, without the slightest breeze.

Quaeryt surveyed the terrain as best he could, from the grass that had not so long before been cut, to the few perfectly placed trees and the lack of tenant cots that showed the fact that the area had indeed been a hunting park. Then he studied the Bovarian positions. While it was obvious that the defensive emplacements were fully manned, and primarily by men with pikes behind the first line of earthworks, Quaeryt noted that the top of the second line of earthworks was all exactly the same height, as if it had been measured with a spirit level.

Why would that be? Then he nodded. That was where the muskets were, high enough to fire over the first defenders, and low enough to rake the attackers on the level ground before the earthworks-as well as whatever imagers were riding in the fore. He could also see that Deucalon had recognized that also, because, behind the first line of regiments, the other regiments were being moved slightly, enough so that they could charge to the sides once the attack began in earnest.

Even so, Quaeryt could also see that huge numbers of Bovarian troops remained farther up the slope, presumably so that they could move down to wherever the lines were threatened, or to take the offensive in any place where the Telaryn attack showed vulnerability. In one place, their gray-blue uniforms almost seemed to blend into the light gray stone of the top of the Chateau Regis, a good mille to the north.

What he had planned would likely not work, or not work well, unless more of the Bovarians could be drawn farther downhill, nearer the initial fray. Quaeryt didn’t like what that would cost in Telaryn casualties, but it might be that he could use some targeted imaging to make the Bovarian commanders commit more troopers earlier.

In one respect, the entire battle was almost senseless, since neither side actually had to fight at the present time and place. Certainly losing Kharst’s chateau would not have been that great a loss for the rex, and Bhayar could have moved his troops around the massed Bovarians to take lands and wait for greater advantage. In another respect, it was absolutely necessary. Kharst couldn’t afford to leave more than twenty Telaryn regiments intact and operational in the middle of Bovaria, while Bhayar needed a decisive and absolute victory well before mid-fall in order to consolidate his position and gain control of the midsection of Bovaria-at the very least-before the onset of late fall and winter.

But then, Quaeryt reflected, similar rationales have been the reason for most large battles in history. He glanced to one side, then the other. The two Pharsi undercaptains were on his right, with Voltyr and Threkhyl on his left.

“… when they going to do something?” muttered Threkhyl under his breath.

“Soon enough,” replied Voltyr curtly, if in a low voice.

Quaeryt forced himself to wait. Doing anything too early would ruin his plans. And so would doing what was necessary too late.

Another quint passed … and still none of the Telaryn forces moved.

The horns sounded again, and the first Telaryn regiments began to move forward, slowly, giving themselves the chance to move quickly when necessary or to mitigate the effect of musket fire.

Quaeryt expected some cannon fire from the Bovarians almost immediately, but the morning was quiet, with only the sound of the horns and the drumming of hooves.

No cannon yet? Or muskets? Concern over powder? Or premeasured and ranged target points?

Quaeryt looked northward once more. The whitish gray walls of the Chateau Regis rose above everything, unsurprisingly, since it was a tall oblong structure with its longest sides running north and south located on the highest hill west of the River Aluse … more than a mille from the river and directly west of the single isle in the middle of the river, an isle used mainly by factors for warehouses, and piers for barges and flatboats, at least by its appearance and the weathered look of the structures.

Waste of a perfectly good isle, thought Quaeryt absently. Then he concentrated on what was beginning to happen before him … and what was not. The first line of defenders extended pikes, or more likely braced them against the rear of the narrow trenches in which they waited so that the first earthworks bristled.

Then Quaeryt watched as the last ranks of Eleventh Regiment’s fourth company began to move forward.

He could only estimate how far the leading squads of Eleventh Regiment had gone when the initial volley of musket shots ripped into the troopers of Khaern’s first company. A second volley did not follow immediately, but Quaeryt could see that one of the spindly catapults behind the musketeers composing the second line of defenders began to arch, as if being winched back to release something. With no doubts as to what that might be, Quaeryt imaged away the smallest chunk of ropelike cable.

The catapult buckled, and whatever was in the sling or bucket tumbled backward and dropped just behind the catapult frame. Then Antiagon Fire flared up from the earthworks that held the catapult. Quaeryt could not hear, but could imagine, the screams of men being consumed by living fire of crimson-green and yellow.

He looked to the Bovarian reinforcements, but unsurprisingly none of them had moved from their reserve positions higher on the low slope.

The sound of another volley of musket shots echoed back toward Quaeryt, but the smoke indicated that it had been aimed from defenders well away from Eleventh Regiment and opposite the western side of the Telaryn forces, at some of the marshal’s regiments who were advancing more slowly than was Eleventh Regiment. Everything he does is slower … but it won’t help him that much today.

Quaeryt looked to a second catapult, but it wasn’t moving. He concentrated on imaging several tiny pieces of white iron into a space where he thought the Antiagon Fire canisters might be … but nothing happened. He decided against trying again, because trying to replicate his success with the first catapult through blind imaging could easily wear him out before the Bovarians reacted in the way he needed. And then he would need all the strength he could muster … and more.

He didn’t want to think about the “more” part yet.

Another volley of musket fire ripped into Eleventh Regiment, and troopers went down, and horses screamed.

Then a rolling rumble echoed out of the north. For a moment Quaeryt thought it must have been thunder, but a quick glance skyward confirmed that the moderately high gray clouds were not that dark, and that there were no lightning flashes.

Gouts of dirt, turf, stones, and who knew what else erupted into the air less than a hundred yards in front of Eleventh Regiment’s first company.

As he kept riding, Quaeryt tried to judge the distance between the first riders of Eleventh Regiment and the earthworks ahead. “Imager Horan, forward! Beside me.”

Horan rode forward. “Sir?”

“Do you see the earthworks directly before Eleventh Regiment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you to image them flat, as wide a section as you can without exhausting yourself. Just push the dirt and fill back over the defenders.” Quaeryt lurched in the saddle as the mare rode over something uneven, then caught himself.

“Now, sir?”

“Now. That’s so that Eleventh Regiment can gallop through and put a break in the defenses.” And so that the cannoneers won’t be able to fire there without hitting the defenders who will rush to fill the breach. “Threkhyl! Can you do the same for the earthworks directly behind the one Horan is targeting?”

“Yes, sir!”

In moments, there was a space some fifty yards wide where there had been an earthen barrier, and some fifty yards behind that and several yards higher was an even wider area of flattened earth.

Quaeryt glanced at Horan, whose face had paled, and at Threkhyl, whose face had not, then back at the Bovarians. For a moment all action seemed to stop on the low slope that held the Bovarians.

Then Khaern reacted immediately, putting Eleventh Regiment into a full gallop toward the gap in the Bovarian lines.

Unfortunately, within several moments, the Bovarian cannoneers reacted as well, and cannonballs tore into the midst of the charging troopers.

Quaeryt began to smell the acrid odor of powder, as well as the dryness of dust thrown into the air by the impacts of the cannonballs. Ignoring the bitterness in his nostrils, he turned to his left. “Voltyr … can you image a spray of white-hot iron fragments into the cannon emplacement directly up the slope from us?”

“Yes, sir.”

In moments a series of small explosions crescendoed into a large roar, and the ground shook. Then white and black smoke rose from the emplacement and began to drift slowly downhill and then across the Bovarian earthworks.

“I can do another, sir!” called Voltyr.

“Do it, then! But just one more.”

A second cannon emplacement went up in a roar.

Quaeryt glanced across to the west side of the battlefield, finally standing in the stirrups before he saw another series of musket volleys rip into Deucalon’s forces, this time at the middle of the assault. Still standing in the stirrups and knowing that he was making himself a target, he scanned the earthworks and the slope, trying to see the damage and the gaps in the defenses.

There were a few gaps here and there, but what were a few hundred yards at most across a mille of defenders?

Yet the Bovarian reserves remained planted on the upper slope.

“Voltyr! Can you take out a cannon emplacement to the left of the last one?” Quaeryt hoped that the smoke from such an explosion would create an impression among the Bovarian commanders of more damage to the defenses than was actually the case.

“Yes, sir!”

Quaeryt caught sight of a third catapult being winched back. “Smaethyl! The catapult to the right of the breach ahead! Take it down! Now!”

“Yes, sir!”

Quaeryt could barely hear the response, but he did, and he watched as the catapult bent forward in its release-and the cable snapped and released the canister almost straight up. The dark object went upward end over end and then came down forward of the emplacement, spewing Antiagon Fire largely in front of the earthworks.

At least it didn’t land in the middle of eleventh company.

“Subcommander! Down, sir!” That was Zhelan’s voice.

Quaeryt dropped back into his saddle. Instants later he heard and half felt a volley of musket balls pass overhead.

More cannonballs ripped into the rear of Eleventh Regiment, less than twenty yards ahead of Fifth Battalion, with more acrid smoke drifting toward Quaeryt and Fifth Battalion, but the first companies of the regiment had reached the gap in the defenses and were cutting down the defenders who were trying to fill the gap.

As more of Eleventh Regiment surged forward into the gap, finally a mass of Bovarian reinforcements began to hurry down from their reserve positions toward the attacking Telaryn troopers.

Despite heavy musket fire from the west side of the defensive emplacements, one of Deucalon’s regiments had broken through as well.

Yet more and more troops, mostly foot, poured over the hill and down toward the advancing Telaryn forces, a mass that had to outnumber the attackers by twice … if not three times-and Quaeryt had no idea how many more might be held in reserve.

Not only that, but he could see that he and Fifth Battalion, despite his efforts to keep some space, were so hemmed in by the other regiments that they had nowhere to go except continuing forward into the cannon fire.

Another gout of soil, grasses, and far worse erupted just ahead and to Quaeryt’s left.

Like it or not …

You can’t wait any longer. You can’t!

Quaeryt did not even attempt to draw in the other imagers … but instead reached out to the River Aluse, and then across the entire hillside before him, seeking any source of heat possible …

Lines of heat and cold crisscrossed over him and through him, but he continued to concentrate on three things-seeking heat, flattening and destroying everything in front of the Telaryn forces, and, just to be sure, imaging a coating of impenetrable white alabaster across every exterior surface of the Chateau Regis-the last, because he wasn’t quite certain that what he was doing would work without at least some constructive imaging. At the same time, he concentrated on holding links to the river, and to the warmth of thousands of bodies of poor hapless Bovarian troopers and officers, and even to all those within the Chateau Regis, for they too would pay … as would Quaeryt.

Of that, he had no doubt, even before the last links of his imaging all came together, and he felt himself frozen in place in the saddle, both moving and motionless, as if time itself had solidified into a solid block of ice around him, yet from nowhere he could feel the needles of ice being jabbed into him by winds that, using those ice needles, were scouring everything before them, leaving nothing standing anywhere, no trees, no bushes, no cannon, no catapults, no Bovarians, no earthworks … nothing …

Nothing except the wailing and pleading of those whose warmth he had seized, whose voiceless voices screamed in the white darkness …

And blinding bitter white wrapped itself around him and the block of ice that held him, locked to him and to his shields, shields that seemingly had done little or nothing to protect him from the devastation he had unleashed onto the Bovarians-and Eleventh Regiment and those Telaryn troopers brave and determined enough to have breached the Bovarian defenses.

With the white chill came a soaring roaring cyclone of ice needles that felt as though they had shredded Quaeryt’s uniform, all he wore, and flensed even the very flesh from his skin.

And then the flames of the Namer burned him even while he found himself in frozen agony … unable to speak or move … unable to close his eyes, unable to escape into unconsciousness …

… unable to escape the tens of thousands of wailing voices …