Imager’s Battalion (34 page)

Quaeryt reined up just short of the tie line that held the other imagers’ mounts, then dismounted, rather gingerly, and unsaddled the mare. Then he turned to Shaelyt.

“If you’d give Voltyr a hand … I’m going to meet with Commander Skarpa.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt nodded, then walked back to the cot where Skarpa was talking to Captain Lhastyn and asking questions about the sketches the captain was explaining. He eased up the steps and onto the covered porch, but stood back and let the captain continue his explanations.

“… could hold more than four regiments … sent a battalion of cavalry after us … Subcommander Quaeryt’s imager was able to create a diversion that halted them … suggests that they also have a large number of cavalry companies…”

After a time Skarpa nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll keep those sketches. I do appreciate the detail you’ve provided.” He rose from the table.

Lhastyn also rose and nodded. “If that will be all, sir…?”

“For now. After I discuss matters with the subcommanders, I’ll let you know what else we need to find out.” As Lhastyn left the porch, Skarpa motioned for Quaeryt to take one of the two stools, then seated himself again.

Quaeryt sat, wishing the stool was neither so low nor so hard, given the bruises on his body and his general stiffness and soreness.

“I’ve gone over what Lhastyn saw and sketched.” Skarpa raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You heard the last of it.”

Quaeryt nodded. He really didn’t know exactly what to say.

“Go on,” prodded the commander.

“I’d guess that they have more troopers around Ralaes than we anticipated.”

“Because they came after you so quickly?”

“Because they chased us so quickly and in such numbers.”

“That would be my first guess.” Skarpa smiled crookedly. “Then again, that could be exactly what they want us to think. Lhastyn didn’t see that many troops in all those revetments. It was almost as though they didn’t want you to see that.”

“They might have sent that battalion out to buy time.”

“That’s possible.”

“Still … the musketeers were in a great hurry to return,” mused Quaeryt.

“Maybe we should keep testing them for a day or so. What do you think?”

“Do you know where Marshal Deucalon’s forces are?”

“Just about opposite Caernyn, I’d judge.”

“Three days before they get to a point across the river from us?”

“More like four, unless Deucalon moves faster.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to spend this afternoon or tomorrow testing, then.”

“We’ll start early tomorrow. We’ll have more sentries out tonight, and several companies waiting.” Skarpa paused. “What exactly did you and the undercaptain do to stop that battalion?”

“Used the road, the forest, and imaging to block them and create a mess…” Quaeryt went on to explain in more detail, although he was a bit vague about who had done what.

“You still don’t like to admit what you do,” observed Skarpa when Quaeryt finished.

“No … and I still think it’s better that way.”

The commander nodded. “Have to say you’re probably right. We’ll try to test them tomorrow without imagers.”

Quaeryt looked directly at Skarpa.

“You’re still moving as if you hurt, and I’d rather have you in better health when we actually have to take the town. Go deal with your imagers.” Skarpa gestured.

Quaeryt couldn’t argue with Skarpa’s observation. He smiled and stood.

“See me early tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt turned and headed down the steps.

When he reached the cot where the imagers were staying, he saw Threkhyl sitting on the shaded side of the steps to the small cot. The undercaptain’s face was pale, and his thinning ginger hair was soaked with sweat. Voltyr stood at the foot of the steps, a concerned expression on his face. Shaelyt, Desyrk, and Baelthm stood on the narrow porch.

“What happened?” asked Quaeryt.

“I was trying to give Threkhyl instructions on shields,” explained Voltyr. “He created one … and then…”

“Better than anything you could do,” muttered Threkhyl in a voice that might have been belligerent had it been louder, rather than low and raspy.

“Then what?” Quaeryt asked Voltyr.

“He started turning red, and then he fell over. We couldn’t get to him until his eyes closed. His shield kept us away.”

Quaeryt frowned.
That kind of strength and stubbornness could kill him.

“Snotnose … didn’t know what he was talking about,” muttered Threkhyl.

Both Baelthm and Desyrk edged closer to Threkhyl, their eyes flicking from Voltyr to Quaeryt and back again. Shaelyt remained farther back on the porch, but Quaeryt thought he caught a hint of a smile.

“What did he tell you that you think he didn’t know what he was talking about?” asked Quaeryt mildly, looking at Threkhyl.

“Doesn’t know anything…”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Threkhyl looked up at Quaeryt, but did not speak.

“If you’re going to accuse another officer, you’d best have a reason.”

“Idiot told me to think about holding the air together with little hooks. That didn’t work. So I made it into a wall. Except it fell on me, and no one could see it.”

Quaeryt nodded slowly. “What happened to you is exactly why Undercaptain Voltyr suggested the idea of hooks. It takes too much effort to make and hold a solid wall of air.”

“I did it!” snapped Threkhyl.

“You certainly did,” agreed Quaeryt. “With all your strength, you managed to hold that wall-like shield for only a fraction of a quint. I also would wager that you couldn’t move two paces holding it. If you’d tied it to yourself, you might even have been badly injured.” Quaeryt decided against mentioning death. That would only have made Threkhyl even angrier and less likely to listen. “How long does even a skirmish last?”

“I did it.”

“Doing it isn’t the question,” replied Quaeryt more patiently than he felt. “You have to do it in a way that you can keep doing it for much, much longer. How long does a skirmish last? A glass … half a glass?”

“Something like that,” Threkhyl admitted.

“A shield that you can’t maintain and can’t carry with you is useless. Voltyr was trying to give you an image of something that you can use right now and can build on and strengthen.”

“Tried that … soft like cheese with holes.”

“It’s a start,” Quaeryt said. “If you work on always holding lighter shields, you can carry them longer. Then you can strengthen them—”

“Weak stuff won’t protect you.”

“What happens when an archer looses a shaft through the leaves of a tree? Does the arrow have as much force?”

“No…”

“It just might lose enough strength that your tunic would stop it. Or keep you from being killed. My first shields were like that. They didn’t stop a crossbow bolt, but they slowed it enough that it didn’t kill me…” Quaeryt took a deep breath. Explaining to Threkhyl was going to be every bit as difficult as he’d feared. And if the ginger-bearded imager hadn’t tried to do so much with his first attempt, it would have been even harder.

For that, Quaeryt silently thanked Voltyr.

He looked up to the other four imagers. “We need to go over shields in a slightly different way…”

37

Although Quaeryt saw several companies depart the hamlet on Mardi afternoon, and at least one return, Skarpa did not send for him or Zhelan. So he continued to work with the imagers. Even by the fourth glass of the afternoon, Threkhyl still could do little more than image solid shields or ones that were like cobwebs. Quaeryt couldn’t understand why someone who had so much raw power as an imager could create shields at either extreme but nothing in between.

Is it because he sees the world in those terms … one way or the other?

Since all the imagers were close to exhaustion, Quaeryt dismissed them. Tired and sore as he was, he just retreated to the porch of the small cot and settled onto the sole stool remaining there, letting the faint breeze off the river to the north cool him. For a time, he just sat silently before he realized that Voltyr was sitting on the top of the steps, less than a few yards away.

“Threkhyl will get himself killed before long, you know?” offered Voltyr quietly.

Quaeryt had his own ideas on that, but wanted to hear what the other had to say. “How do you figure that?”

“He’ll either try to do too much in the fighting, or he’ll get so angry that he’ll attack you. He might even do that in the middle of a battle so no one will think he did it.”

That’s been done before.
Even as Quaeryt could see Threkhyl attempting such an attack, he didn’t want to have that occur, ironic as it might be. “Do you have any idea why he’s as angry as he is?”

“He was an imager for a High Holder in Estisle … Ghasphar or some such. He was dismissed. He won’t say why.”

Quaeryt frowned. When he’d talked to Threkhyl, the imager had mentioned working for a metal factor in Estisle, imaging special parts and shapes, but not anything about a High Holder. Quaeryt had heard of Ghasphar before, but he couldn’t recall where. “Do you know anything about Ghasphar?”

“He’s into shipping. Threkhyl did say that.”

Quaeryt remembered. Ghasphar owned all the “diamond” ships, the ones with bronze long cannon that fired shells filled with Antiagon Fire. “And Threkhyl’s never said anything about Antiagon Fire?”

An expression of confused puzzlement crossed Voltyr’s face. “No. Why?”

“Because Ghasphar has imagers—or uses some—who can create Antiagon Fire. Didn’t Threkhyl say he knew nothing about Antiagon Fire?”

Voltyr’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, clearing trying to remember. “He said … I think … that he had no idea how it was made.”

Quaeryt snorted. “That covers a multitude of various Namings.”

“What … if I might ask … do you intend to do about it?”

“I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Why?”

“Because … if he knew … Ghasphar would never have let him go … or let him live.”

“But why…?”

“If you had imagers with the secrets of Antiagon Fire, would you want Threkhyl working with it … or knowing the secrets.”

“I see your point.”

“Still … he bears watching.”
As if you didn’t already know that.

“Closer watching,” suggested Voltyr.

By the time cold rations were handed out for the evening meal, Quaeryt felt somewhat recovered, if still stiff and sore. That, he had discovered during the Tilboran revolt, was only normal. After eating, he slipped away and tried to concentrate on what he recalled of the Bovarian emplacements guarding the approaches to Ralaes, thinking about what he and the imagers could do to make any attack easier for Fifth Battalion and the rest of Skarpa’s forces.

… what about using shields to block the ends of trenches closest to the attackers …

Except, Quaeryt realized, he was the only one capable of doing that at a distance, and for any length of time. The more he considered the problems, the more apparent it became that, so far, the imaging techniques the undercaptains had already used remained the most practical for them … at least until their techniques and capabilities strengthened.

Quaeryt had no more than drifted off to sleep—or so it seemed—than he heard the alarm chimes and trumpets. When he bolted awake, it was pitch-dark … and before he more than had his boots on, another trumpet sounded the recall. The same thing happened twice more at intervals of several glasses, and Quaeryt woke in the early gray before dawn feeling sore and grouchy. He could understand the Bovarian tactics, but that understanding didn’t leave him feeling any less uncharitable toward Kharst’s troopers and their commanders.

Breakfast, such as it was, consisted of hard biscuits and harder cheese, with relatively fresh apples, and Quaeryt found himself alternating bites of each. After eating, Quaeryt went to find Skarpa, only to encounter Meinyt heading in the same direction.

“Long night for your men?” asked Quaeryt.

“For my second battalion. There weren’t that many attackers. Just enough to require a response and to try to keep everyone from getting any rest.” Meinyt laughed softly. “Didn’t disturb most of the veterans that much.”

By that token, you’re still not a veteran,
thought Quaeryt.

Skarpa was waiting and waved them to the stools around the table, then immediately spoke. “I think we ought to use the Bovarians’ tactics against them. With a few twists.”

“Such as?” Quaeryt inquired, since Skarpa was looking at him.

“What if we make sallies against them all day and into the night—except that the one that would be, say, two glasses before dawn wouldn’t be just a sally?”

“What—just smash along the road to the top of the hill?” asked Meinyt. “Then hold the high ground and then move down as we can? Leave Third Regiment at the bottom and catch them in between?”

“Something like that.” Skarpa turned back to Quaeryt. “Where do you think Fifth Battalion and the imagers might serve best?”

“With Fifth Regiment, I’d say. We can offer smoke and pepper and other things that will disconcert the defenders, and the undercaptains need to be closer to do that.”

“I’d felt that, but I wanted your thoughts.” Skarpa paused. “In the past, you’ve been able to get closer to the enemy than would seem possible…”

“We can try. What we’ve done in the past isn’t as effective at night because sentries can’t see as well and they’re using their ears more.”

“Anything you can do will help.” Skarpa looked back to Meinyt. “Since your men were up much of the night, we’ll use companies from Third Regiment for the early feints and sallies today.”

After Skarpa dismissed them, Quaeryt and Meinyt walked away from the cot together. Once they were well clear, the older subcommander spoke. “What would help you with getting us closer before being seen?”

“At night … or before dawn, silent riding would be the most important. I’d guess that would require a slower approach, but the need to charge immediately once the Bovarians realize we’re attacking.”

“Quick response to a single command. We’ll set it up that way.”