Princeps

74

Jeudi morning found Quaeryt riding southward on the river road on the east side of the Vyl, its channel barely more than thirty yards across, if deep enough to make crossing a chancy business. Still, during the previous day, they’d seen no sign of any Bovarian forces, although they had moved slowly through small village after small village, some barely even hamlets, resting men and mounts frequently. Quaeryt had ended up bringing Shaelyt and Desyrk with him, and leaving the others, because Threkhyl was still the strongest imager; Voltyr had a head on his shoulders; Akoryt was limited in what he could do, but helpful; and Baelthm wouldn’t do well in a battle, anyway.

“I don’t see why they didn’t cross somewhere along here,” observed Quaeryt. “You could run cable across between two trees, one on each side, and hand over hand the men and harness the mounts and pull them over. That’s if you didn’t want to cross at a known ford.”

“But they didn’t,” Skarpa said.

“So the whole point of all of this is to split our forces again?”

“Yes. We don’t have a choice. Not really. If we don’t find them and slow them down-or stop them-then they could circle and catch our forces from the flank or behind.”

“So they weaken Bhayar’s forces one way or another.”

“That’s what they hope. But Third Regiment’s better than they think, and you and that overlarge company are worth close to another regiment.”

Quaeryt snorted. “You actually told Bhayar that I’d end up with you? You’re going to get in trouble, my friend, wagering on me.”

“That may be, but those who wagered on others fared far less well,” replied Skarpa with a cynical grin.

“A mere matter of chance.” And Quaeryt wasn’t even certain Skarpa was right. Certainly, anyone who had wagered on Quaeryt’s ability to remain as governor of Montagne would have lost … although Quaeryt was less and less certain he personally had lost, since governing was a thankless position and since he had learned more than he’d originally wanted to admit, especially about trying to avoid situations where the choice was between getting something done and making people with power happy.

“I think not.”

At that moment a scout appeared, riding back north on the river road toward the outriders and the vanguard that Skarpa and Quaeryt led.

“The scouts have found the Bovarians,” suggested Quaeryt.

Skarpa just nodded and raised an arm, gesturing for the scout to join him and ordering, “Column! Halt!” Then he rode out to the side.

Quaeryt followed.

The scout, a junior squad leader, reined up.

“What did you find?” asked Skarpa.

“The Bovarians are about two milles ahead,” began the scout. “That’s where those hills are. They’ve formed up in two positions. One regiment is on the south hill, in plain view. The other is on the back side of a hill north and east of there. The space between the northern hill and the river road is mostly fields. I think they’re bean fields. There aren’t any walls, but there are ditches on the west end of the fields … look to be mixed regiments, maybe half foot, half mounted…”

When the scout finished, Skarpa asked, “How far apart are the two regiments?”

“Close to half a mille. Could be a bit more, sir.”

“Did they see you?”

“We tried to be careful, but they might have. Didn’t see anyone moving, though.”

Skarpa frowned. “I want you to go take another look, but stay off the road and out of sight. We need to know if they’re holding those positions or getting ready to move.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll move up another bit, but take our time.”

Once the scout had turned and headed his mount back southward, Skarpa turned in the saddle and looked at Quaeryt. “What do you think?”

“What if you form up on the flat in those bean fields?” asked Quaeryt. “They’d have to leave the heights to engage you.”

“They won’t. The longer they can keep us occupied…”

“Exactly,” said Quaeryt. “But what would happen if they were attacked from the rear? From behind the hill they’re on?”

“They’d see anyone coming. They’d pull back to the hilltop and use the heights,” Skarpa said.

“I think there’s a way to get close enough so that they’re surprised. The attacking company could split off before you get in eyesight of the nearer regiment. What if you posted scouts, so that when the Bovarians are surprised, you know when to start up the west side of the hill. The regiment to the south would likely wait, wouldn’t they? Even if they didn’t, it would take them time to reach the hill, and you’d have the higher ground.”

“I’d be caught between two regiments.”

“No, you wouldn’t, because you’d still have the north side of the hill open to withdraw, if you have to.”

“And you’re going to be the one to make that hidden attack?”

“Well … I’m not very good at following other people’s orders…”

Skarpa shook his head. “You realize what will happen to me if you fail?”

“It won’t be any worse than what happens to me,” Quaeryt pointed out. “And you just said that the Bovarians would wait for days if we don’t attack.”

“You don’t have enough men to make that work. You need a battalion, at the very least.”

“See if Meinyt would support me.”

“He’d support you to the Namer’s door,” snorted Skarpa. “I don’t have to ask.”

What Quaeryt realized was that what Skarpa was also telling him, if indirectly, was that commanders had to know what their officers could and would do, and they had to know it without ever asking. He nodded. “Thank you.”

“You don’t learn everything in one campaign.”

At times, Quaeryt wondered if he’d ever learn near enough to survive the battles he kept getting caught in, let alone succeed in his long-term plans … plans that seemed further from realization than ever. And they’d seemed so simple back in Tilbor-just find a way to make life more secure for imagers and scholars.

“We’ll move up and rest everyone. While they’re resting, you and I and Meinyt can go over what you have in mind.”

What with one thing and another, it was close to midmorning when Quaeryt addressed the two imagers who had accompanied him. “Shaelyt, Desyrk, I want you to ride or stay just behind Commander Skarpa. Your orders are simple. Kill anyone who gets close enough to injure him. Don’t be fancy. Do whatever is easiest for you. If you know how, image pitricin into their brains…”

At that Shaelyt nodded, but Desyrk looked appalled.

“… or image a thin blade through their eyes. This isn’t honorable combat. It’s war, and we didn’t start it.”

With a nod, Quaeryt turned the mare and rode toward the rear of the column, where Meinyt and Zhelan had gathered their troops.

“We’re going to make a surprise attack on a Bovarian force that’s waiting to ambush the main body of Third Regiment.” Quaeryt looked to Zhelan, and then to the other company officers.

“Ambush the ambushers,” added Meinyt.

“That’s the idea. We’ll be taking a back lane to get in position. Once we get near, we’ll have to be silent. No noise at all, after I give the command for silence. No talking, clanking … swearing. We’re going to try to get as close to the rear of the Bovarians as we can. Being quiet means more surprise and fewer casualties. When we finish here, I want you to pass that on to your squad leaders, and they need to make sure every man understands that.” Quaeryt paused.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to have to travel a lane for part of the way that’s narrow, and when we get to the end of that lane, you’ll need to shift your men into an attack formation. Can you do it without calling out orders? With hand signals or something like that.”

“So long as we only have to do that once,” said Meinyt.

“Can you do that twice, once for the formation, and then a charge right after they’re in position?”

“Should be able to do that.” Meinyt looked to Zhelan.

“Yes, sir.”

“How fast can you shift your companies from a four abreast column to an attack formation?” Quaeryt asked.

“Be a lot quicker if I could use five abreast.”

Quaeryt considered, then said, “Then set them up five abreast, but they’ll be crowded on the lane.”

“Better crowded than taking too much time.”

Less than half a quint later, one of Skarpa’s scouts was guiding Quaeryt’s force through a meadow and past a woodlot, and then onto a rutted and slightly muddy lane that headed southward, if in a more winding way than the main river road. The lane followed a brook, in a general fashion, and moved in and out of woods. Farther ahead were several outriders, whom Quaeryt had cautioned to avoid being seen, if they could, and to return and report immediately if they saw signs of any Bovarian troopers.

Before that long, they came to a hamlet of less than a score of small houses, cots, dilapidated wooden outbuildings. Immediately, the handful of crofters and growers vanished into their dwellings … or into the woods to the east of the hamlet, as did their children. Seemingly, in moments, the entire hamlet was silent, and the only animal Quaeryt saw was a calico cat on a woodpile, regally surveying the troopers in the way only cats can, Quaeryt thought.

“Just keep riding,” Quaeryt said quietly.

Beyond the hamlet the lane moved through an area that was lightly wooded with grass between the trees, and then toward a narrow stand of trees below the low hillside that held the Bovarians, a hillside low enough that the trees provided somewhat of a block to seeing the lane.

Even so, Quaeryt signaled for silence, then dropped his personal shields and took a deep breath. After a few moments, he concentrated. How long can you hold a concealment shield this large? He’d already abandoned his personal shields, and he wasn’t even certain how long he could cover the front of the formation … but every yard that they could get closer to the Bovarians meant that much greater the surprise, even shock.

In another quint, the first part of the column neared the point on the lane where it wound around the base of the hillside. The Bovarian regiment was stationed on higher ground and facing westward, and away from the lane, except for a rear guard of perhaps a company, set a good hundred yards down the slope, arranged in four separated squads.

Quaeryt signaled to Meinyt, and the battalion moved out of the lane.

Quaeryt could see a number of the Bovarian rear guards looking around, clearly puzzled, but not yet seeing anything, but obviously hearing the muffled sounds of riders. He hoped they would think that the Telaryn force was simply much farther away.

Quaeryt himself could feel the strain of holding the concealment, but Third Battalion was still not in position.

Come on. Move! Get those mounts in place. Gritting his teeth, he eased his half-staff from its leathers.

He could see more than a few Telaryn troopers were as puzzled by the reaction-or the lack of it-by the Bovarians, but to their credit, none of Meinyt’s and Zhelan’s troopers said a word.

“Telaryns somewhere!” came the call-in Bovarian.

“Where?”

“Can’t see them!”

“Send scouts down that lane.”

“Scouts went up the path to the north!”

“Send more!”

Another half quint passed before Meinyt looked to Quaeryt.

Here goes! Quaeryt raised his staff … then dropped it.

Without a verbal command, not all the companies charged up the gentle slope exactly in an even line, but Quaeryt could see that they were all moving.

He decided against dropping the concealment, even when his company slammed into one of the rearguard squads, although the Bovarians could see within it, as could his own troopers, but it would appear to the Bovarian troops higher on the hillside that the rear guard had simply vanished-if many of them were even looking.

Without personal shields, Quaeryt found himself knocking aside one Bovarian’s sabre and then slamming his half-staff into the skull of another Bovarian.

“At the main force!” Meinyt yelled as the battalion largely swept through the scattered, outmanned, and confused rear guard.

Quaeryt dropped the concealment when the troopers before him were some fifteen yards short of the Bovarians. Even as he managed to rebuild personal shields he doubted he could hold for much longer, he could see the shock and consternation as Third Battalion crashed into and through the rear of the Bovarian regiment.

Two large cavalrymen, wearing breastplates and skullcap helmets, spurred their mounts toward Quaeryt, one swinging a sabre and the other thrusting. Quaeryt’s shields turned both blades, but not without him feeling like he’d been hammered across his upper body. Still, he managed a backcut with the staff that dropped one from the saddle before recovering the staff and bracing it against the saddle and using it as a lance of sorts against the next Bovarian.

For a time he couldn’t even guess, all Quaeryt did was try to avoid blows while delivering them.

Then he heard an unfamiliar horn signal, and the fighting around him and around Zhelan’s company seemed to fade, and Quaeryt could see that the foot and the cavalry of the first Bovarian force had scattered, although several companies on the south end of the hill managed to withdraw in a half orderly fashion toward the second Bovarian force.

“On the left flank … follow me!”

As Meinyt swung Third Battalion to the south, Quaeryt saw exactly what the major had in mind by pursuing the withdrawing companies into the other Bovarian force.

“Zhelan! Take the right of Third Battalion!” Quaeryt image-boosted his voice, despite the momentary light-headedness that caused, then swung the mare to parallel the captain’s charge.

Skarpa’s front moved slowly, almost hesitantly, and Quaeryt wondered why, until he saw the Bovarians charge downhill toward Third Regiment. Then the Third pulled back even more, redressing their lines. A good score of mounts of the heavy cavalry leading the Bovarian charge went down at the edge of the bean fields.

Must have been a bigger ditch there …

That was all Quaeryt had time to think about, because he and Zhelan’s company were almost upon the flank of the Bovarians, all foot. While the foot had turned to face the riders, none of them had spears or pikes, and most of the first few ranks went down under sabres and hooves. Quaeryt used the half-staff as a thrusting weapon, braced against his saddle and shields.

Halfway into the foot formation, the charge slowed, and some of the riders went down, their mounts cut from under them, and more foot swarmed toward Third Battalion.

Quaeryt found himself near the edge between the armed foot and stalled cavalry. Widening his shields slightly, and hoping he could hold them long enough, he urged the mare forward, and then turned her upslope at a slight angle. The impact of the shields threw back the footmen enough, Quaeryt thought, that the rest of the company could press forward.

After riding some fifty yards, as the mare slowed, he turned her back downslope, again at an angle. By the time he pulled back from the front edge of the fighting, he could barely see, but he could sense that Zhelan and Third Battalion had broken through the foot and were attacking the rear of the main Bovarian body … and they had the higher ground.

Quaeryt just pulled up in an open space, holding on to his shields, hoping he didn’t have to use them more, barely able to hang on to the half-staff.

After another quint or so, gradually and then in a rush, the remaining Bovarians broke, fleeing westward into and through the marshy ground to reach the river, struggling in various ways to cross. More than a few drowned, Quaeryt judged, although he could barely see at all by that time, between the throbbing pain in his head, and the flashes of fire in his eyes.

Shouldn’t be making a habit of this.

In the end, Quaeryt remained reined up on the middle of the slope of the southern hill, hardly noting the squad of Zhelan’s troopers that surrounded him. Every so often, he could see enough to determine that the Bovarian casualties had been enormous, with bodies everywhere, horses standing as if shocked in places and other horses sidling out of the way of Telaryn riders.

Sometime later, how much Quaeryt couldn’t tell, Meinyt reined up beside Quaeryt, who was bent over, his head practically against the mare’s neck and mane.

“Sir?”

Quaeryt straightened slowly. “Yes, Meinyt?”

“The Bovarians never saw us, did they? The first ones, I mean.”

“They didn’t seem to. I hoped they wouldn’t. I’d appreciate it if we could leave it like that.”

Meinyt smiled. “I can do that, sir. So long as you ask for Third Battalion if you can.”

“I can do that.” I certainly can. Quaeryt forced a smile, not that he didn’t appreciate Meinyt’s words, but his head throbbed, and he could barely see. “Thank you.”

“Our thanks to you, sir. I think the commander would like to see you, sir.”

Quaeryt rode slowly downhill, through the dead and dying, the mare avoiding fallen men and mounts.

Skarpa was waiting on the road. He waved the two imager undercaptains away and rode over beside Quaeryt, then reined up almost stirrup to stirrup.

“How did you manage that?”

“Manage … what?” Quaeryt replied, his mouth so dry he could hardly speak. Belatedly, he realized he should drink something, and he was about to reach for his water bottle when he realized he still held the bloody half-staff in his left hand. Slowly, he replaced it in the leathers and then extracted the water bottle, taking a long but slow swallow of the watered lager.

The flashes across his eyes lessened slightly, as did the pounding in his skull, and he finally looked at Skarpa.

“You broke the entire flank by yourself.”

“No. I just gave them a little space so that they could attack.”

“That’s the same thing,” snorted the commander.

“How many did we lose, do you think?”

“More than I’d like, but less than anyone would believe. Probably three hundred, at a guess, another couple hundred wounded. Some of those won’t make it.” After a pause he added, “The Bovarians had about as many survivors as we had casualties.”

“That’s a victory, isn’t it?”

Skarpa nodded. “Meinyt said you managed to get them close enough that the first regiment was completely surprised.”

“We were fortunate.”

“No. The only fortune involved was that you were with us.”

Quaeryt took another swallow of the watered lager. It tasted better than he recalled.

Skarpa smiled. “At least, I won’t have to explain how you got yourself killed.” Another pause followed. “Or why you didn’t when anyone else would have.”

Just don’t ask.

Skarpa didn’t. Instead, he turned in the saddle and looked to Shaelyt and Desyrk. “Undercaptains, you’d best escort the subcommander to his company.”

“Thank you,” murmured Quaeryt.

Skarpa just nodded.