68
Quaeryt spent the first part of the day on Solayi thinking and writing, first about the homily he had to deliver that evening, and then about more exercises that would help develop the skills of his imagers.
Then he went to find Captain Zhelan, who was just finishing meeting with his squad leaders in a tack room in the second stable. Quaeryt stayed out of sight until the squad leaders dispersed, then stepped forward as Zhelan was about to close the door.
“A moment, if you will, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.” Zhelan stiffened, far more respectfully than the first time that Quaeryt had met him.
“I’ve been so busy trying to get the imager undercaptains into shape that I fear I’ve neglected meeting with you.”
Zhelan smiled. “I thought that might be so.”
“You were right.”
“What will you be needing from us, Subcommander?”
“When the time comes, escort duty to keep the imagers from getting killed while they do what they’re supposed to do. At times, it probably won’t be anything except keeping watch. Other times, it’s likely to be quite a bit more.”
“Begging your pardon, sir … but what can they do? I know imagers can kill people when they’re close. Some of them, anyway, but it seems to me that a blade or a quarrel or an arrow will do the same…”
“You’re right, Captain. But there are other things that they can do. What would happen if the Bovarians launched boats and barges to bring troops across the river … and a number of them sank in the channel? Should it ever come to a siege, and it probably won’t, what would happen if the Bovarian siege engines all failed? Those skills some of the undercaptains already have. I’m working to develop others.”
Zhelan nodded slowly, then spoke again. “Sir … if I offended you in any way when we first met…”
“You were surprised that I was a scholar. That’s understandable. I may be the first scholar ever to become a subcommander.”
“Commander Skarpa explained…”
Quaeryt smiled politely, but not coolly. “The commander and I have been through quite a bit together.”
“Yes, sir. He said he’d been trying to get you to take command of a unit for years.”
That was a bit of an overstatement, Quaeryt knew, but he merely said, “It’s probably better that I had the experience in Tilbor and Extela before it happened.”
“He said you were wounded several times.”
“That’s right. The first time because I didn’t duck quickly enough, and the second because I tried to hold the line against heavy armored cavalry just a shade longer than necessary.” That also wasn’t quite true, except in spirit, because he’d been holding his position to get to where he could keep Rescalyn from leading a revolt against Bhayar.
“He also said that those were just the times when you almost died.”
“In battle, Captain, as you must know, almost anyone who is seriously wounded is very close to dying. I was fortunate enough to survive and to learn from it.” Of course, what you learned was the necessity of building shields strong enough so that you don’t get put in such positions again. “I hope I’m never in a position to learn that way again.” Quaeryt punctuated his words with an ironic laugh.
“No, sir. None of us do.”
“I don’t know that I’ve totally answered your question, Captain, but it’s the best I can do right now.”
“Yes, sir. I appreciate it.”
After leaving Zhelan, Quaeryt again made his way down to the river south of the post, an area slightly less uneven, and without any trees or bushes. Before long he stood on what resembled a ridge some five yards back of the point where the ground dropped to the river, a low bluff whose lip was perhaps five yards above the shallows below, where the water swirled in a slight backwater. Where he stood on the south side of the post was more than another hundred yards farther from the piers than from the grassy knoll where he had tried imaging across the river earlier. The sky had cleared, and the air was so clean that the piers of Cleblois appeared far closer than they really were.
This time, Quaeryt concentrated on trying to remove the top of a bollard, the part above the uppermost iron band. He looked at the bollard, half wondering if he dared to try to remove the iron bands as well, then focused on the bollard … only to find himself thrown back by a wave of blackness and freezing chill, casting him into a deeper darkness.
A deep throbbing in his skull was the first thing he noticed. The next were rocks and sharp objects gouging his back. His eyes opened, and through intermittent flashes of light he could see the sky overhead. He realized that he was sprawled on his back, looking upward. Slowly, he rolled onto his side and then rose, slightly unsteadily, to his feet.
He had to squint to make out the piers. He swallowed. The entire upper section of the bollard, including the iron band, had vanished.
Your concentration varied just a little … and look what happened. He winced at that thought, a reminder of what care he needed to take in imaging.
He did his best to brush the dirt and grass off his uniform before walking slowly back to the post and through the main gates. He’d no more than approached the officers’ quarters when Major Meinyt hurried over.
“Sir … did you see what happened on the river a bit ago?”
“On the river?” Quaeryt frowned, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull.
“There was a line of ice across the entire river, and then it broke up in chunks. Never seen anything like it.”
“I have to say that I didn’t see it. A line of ice, you say?”
“Yes, sir. Right strange.”
Quaeryt nodded. “That sounds very unusual.” After a moment, he added, “Thank you for telling me.”
“It couldn’t be something one of your imagers was doing, could it?”
“I’ve never heard of something like that, but I’ll certainly check on it.”
“Well … I just thought you should know.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt smiled, then turned and made his way up the stairs to his quarters, thinking.
A line of ice that broke up into chunks? Abruptly, he recalled that when he’d tried to create a shield out of fog that ice pellets had fallen around him … and he’d always been uncertain about one of the skirmishes in the Boran Hills, right after he’d expanded his shields to deal with pikes. Drizzle had been falling everywhere else, except there had been ice around him. And when he’d imaged lager, the mug had gotten noticeably colder in his hands.
Is there something about greater use of imaging that creates cold, even ice? Why would that be?
He considered. If one put ice in a pot over a fire or on a stove, the heat melted the ice, and if the pot got hot enough, the water turned into steam. Did imaging do the opposite? Did it actually require heat, so that when great imaging was done, things turned much colder where the imaging was accomplished? He’d wondered about that in Extela, but never followed up on it.
How could you test that? With his head still aching, he decided any testing would have to wait … for at least a while.
After resting a bit, Quaeryt spent more time thinking about how he might train imagers to deal with arrows in flight, as well as other drills. Before long, or so it seemed, it was time for dinner.
Later, after the meal, Quaeryt once again acted as a chorister in the small post anomen, pushing back his qualms about it, although he doubted that any local chorister would know or care about what happened inside the gates of a totally military establishment involving an officer. The problem in Extela had been as much that he’d been governor as that he’d acted as a chorister … and that he’d been trying to deal with too many problems at once. Yet what were the alternatives? He almost smiled wryly. The problem was that you didn’t want to accept alternatives that hurt the troopers or the people … and that resulted in High Holders and factors opposing you.
He was almost relieved when he finally began the homily.
“Under t
he Nameless all evenings are good, even those with the Bovarians a few hundred yards away…”
Quaeryt waited for the smiles to subside, then went on. “In these times, there seems to be a preoccupation with golds, as if golds alone will resolve every problem, provide a solution to every difficulty. But golds themselves seldom solve any problem. Let us think of it in this way. If you are starving and in the middle of a desert or on a raft in the middle of the ocean, can you eat golds? Can you drink golds? If you are in a battle, can you stop a blow from a sabre with a handful of golds? Yes … I’d be the first to admit that, in most cases, golds will buy food or weapons, or many other things, but golds are only a tool. They are one way to obtain the necessities of life, and I’d also be among the first to admit that in most cases, having golds, or silvers, or coppers makes life far, far easier. But we should never forget that golds are a tool, a highly useful tool. How do we obtain golds? If we’re honest, we work for them. Those golds represent our effort. But other things also represent effort, and those other things are sometimes more important than golds. Golds cannot buy courage … or discipline. Those come from within. Golds are bought by skill, courage, or determination, if not all three. For that reason all the things that golds purchase are paid for by someone’s skill, courage, or determination. Gold is merely a way of making the exchange easier … but we tend to forget that, and concentrate on the golds … and not what lies behind them…”
When he finished, he saw Skarpa nod.
That was good … at least until he had to come up with another homily next Solayi.
69
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In the grayness after dawn and before sunrise, Quaeryt had just pulled his boots on when he heard the alarm. He immediately hurried down to the courtyard, looking for Skarpa. He found the commander with the battalion majors gathered around him … and listened as Skarpa issued orders.
“Barges are loaded up at Cleblois. They’re likely heading toward the point. Maybe beyond. Form up your battalions on the road, spaced at quint-mille intervals. First Battalion, take position just south of the south wall. Second Battalion…”
Quaeryt listened as Skarpa gave his directions for spacing out the battalions, then looked to Quaeryt. “Subcommander, take action as you see fit, so long as you don’t put your men directly between the enemy and a battalion about to engage the enemy.”
“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt turned and hurried to a less crowded section of the courtyard where he image-projected his voice. “Imagers! On the double! Mount up and form on me!”
Zhelan appeared even before Quaeryt’s words died away.
“Sir?”
“The imagers will be moving to the bluff on the south side of the post. For now, form up just on the side of the road toward the river to let the other battalions move into place. Once I get the imagers mustered, we’ll see what we can do with the enemy barges.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Imagers aren’t used to discipline, and I haven’t had enough time to make it clear.” Except you should have set up procedures for where to muster if an alarm were sounded and told them what to do. Quaeryt realized that he’d taken for granted all the procedures he’d learned with the regiment, and that he hadn’t instilled all of them in the imager undercaptains. I just hope I survive learning yet another thing I should have thought out earlier.
As he waited impatiently, about to head for the officers’ quarters to roust out the imagers, if they did not appear momentarily, another thought came to him. He couldn’t help but appreciate the irony that, after all the time and effort he’d spent trying to instill and improve skills, they might not even be able to use them because he’d forgotten the elementary point of telling them when to muster and where.
At that moment Shaelyt appeared, still pulling on his uniform shirt as he ran from the junior officers’ quarters, followed by Voltyr and then Desyrk, then the others, although Threkhyl was bringing up the rear.
“Get your horses and mount up right here, as fast as you can! Any time an alarm sounds, this is where we assemble.”
When Shaelyt returned almost immediately and mounted up, Quaeryt was relieved—the ostlers had obviously saddled the imagers’ mounts, for which he was grateful. He made a mental note to thank them personally.
While it seemed as though a glass had passed, little more than a quint after the alarm had sounded, Quaeryt and the six imager undercaptains reined up on the flat just above where Quaeryt had prostrated himself on Solayi. Still in the saddle, Quaeryt peered through the grayness. The barges were still tied at the piers, except for a pilot boat with a guide rope back to the piers. Where had they come from? A stream entering the Ferrean River upstream … or from somewhere concealed even farther north?
From what Quaeryt could determine, the barges contained heavy foot, with spears, since he could see more than a few spear shafts and points protruding above the high sides of the nearer barges. The pilot boat moved slowly toward the middle of the river, propelled by a good twelve men at long oars that resembled sweeps more than oars. The boat then appeared to halt, holding position against the current, as if it had dropped anchor, and the men at the oars stopped stroking.
Why are they waiting? They’ve already lost time for surprise. At the thought of time, Quaeryt stiffened for a moment, then looked to the undercaptains. “Imagers!”
“Sir?”
“At my command, when I call out the word ‘Image!’ you all concentrate on putting holes in the hull of that boat in the middle of the river. Make sure you put the holes in the part of the hull below the water. They need it as a guide of some sort. If it sinks, then they’ll be delayed. Stand by … Image!”
As he gave the command, Quaeryt concentrated on putting a pair of holes in the pilot boat, one fore and one aft. Possibly because the boat was closer, or because the hull was thinner than the bollard, or because he was feeling stronger, he did not get a headache or pains in his eyes, and not even a momentary feeling of light-headedness.
For several moments, nothing happened. The pilot boat remained stationary in the middle of the Ferrean River, the current rippling by it. Then, abruptly one of the rowers dropped his oar and began to bail with a small bucket. The others began to row, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pilot boat turned toward the southwest heading toward the western shore and the marshy land there. Even after moving less than a score of yards, the boat was noticeably lower in the water, and moved less with each sweep of the oars. Before long, the gunwales were awash, and several rowers jumped from the craft, trying to stay afloat and swim toward a marshy spit of land. The remaining rowers clung desperately to the largely submerged hulk that the current carried southward past the marshes and toward the point where the smaller Ferrean joined the mighty Aluse.
Quaeryt managed not to frown, for he hadn’t seen any ice on the river. Because it wasn’t as far and the wood was softer? Those kinds of questions would have to wait.
“Imagers!”
The undercaptains stiffened in the saddle.
“This time, I want holes in those barges at the piers. Again, at my command. Ready … image!” Quaeryt concentrated on the lead barge, imaging what he hoped was a line of holes across one side.
Light flashed across his eyes, but his head didn’t throb, and there was none of the pain that had accompanied either of his efforts on recent days involving the Cleblois piers. He squinted at the piers once more, then looked to the undercaptains. Baelthm was swaying in his saddle, and Akoryt appeared pale. Threkhyl, Voltyr, and Shaelyt had sheens of perspiration on their foreheads. Desyrk was massaging his forehead with the hand that didn’t hold the reins to his mount.
Quaeryt had no idea how much the others had contributed, or if any of them had been able to reach the piers at Cleblois and put holes in the barges there, but for the moment, that didn’t matter. He could only hope that the effort improved their skills, and that they’d be able to offer more before long.
Again … there seemed to be
no motion around the barges, save for one or two dockworkers walking back and forth and doing seemingly meaningless acts with the hawsers tying the barges to the piers. Despite his headache, Quaeryt frowned. There was something about the hawsers …
Then he noticed something even stranger. The lead barge was sinking, and not slowly. But no one leapt out. The barge just went under, and the bow hawser ripped away the entire forward cleat.
“Look at that!”
“… didn’t know we could do that…”
“… did we … really…?”
Quaeryt understood immediately—and wished he had even earlier. Certainly the signs were there. “Captain Zhelan! To me!”
Zhelan trotted over and reined up. “Sir?”
“Send a courier to Commander Skarpa. The barges and the pilot boat were decoys. The Bovarians may already have crossed the Ferrean to the north, or they may have something else in mind, but those barges were flimsy copies of real barges. That’s why they didn’t move, and we could sink the one at the piers so quickly and why no troops tried to swim away. There weren’t any.”
As Zhelan rode off to relay the message, Quaeryt turned his eyes back to the river. The waterlogged hulk that had been the pilot boat was out of sight, and the dockhands on the barge piers had moved another barge dummy forward, as if they hoped no one had noticed. Looking closely, Quaeryt could see that the dummy rode higher and that the “hull” was far from as battered as any real barge would be.
In less than a third of a quint, Zhelan and a courier rode toward Quaeryt.
“The commander requests your presence, Subcommander,” announced the captain.
Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Imagers! Hold your position here. Undercaptain Voltyr is in command until I return. Voltyr, you’re to take orders from Captain Zhelan, as necessary.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Voltyr.
Quaeryt eased the mare around, then followed the courier back to the post and to the river side of the post, where he could see Skarpa standing just back of the ramparts, surveying the river.
Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio Page 51