Quaeryt reined up, handed the mare’s reins to the courier, then dismounted. “I shouldn’t be long.” He hurried up the ancient stone steps to the upper level of the wall.
“Good work,” said Skarpa as Quaeryt approached. “You’ve probably gained us a bit of time. I’ve sent a message to Lord Bhayar and to Marshal Deucalon. The question is whether the diversion was to keep us here while the Bovarians attack somewhere to the south, or whether they’ll be attempting a crossing in force farther north. Or if they’ll attempt both.” Skarpa paused. “What do you think?”
“You have much more experience than I do, sir, but … I’d wager that there’s a crossing to the north, of some sort. It might only be a company or a battalion, but they’ll want to do something to keep you and some of the regiments away from Ferravyl itself. Preferably far away.”
“That would be my thought. I’m sending you and the imagers north with Meinyt and Third Battalion. I don’t know what you can do, but Meinyt will need any aid you can give. The Bovarian objective has to be Ferravyl and the destruction of the bridge and its fortifications and the capture of the city, and I can’t hazard more than a battalion until I know where the bulk of the attack is likely to be.”
That made sense to Quaeryt.
“There’s one other thing. You outrank Meinyt,” Skarpa said.
“I don’t have his experience, and I don’t intend to override him.”
“That’s for the best, but … if anything does happen to him, you will have to take over the battalion. I’ve already informed him of that.”
“You’re sending him, rather than another major, because of me.” Quaeryt offered the words as a statement, not a question.
“You’ve ridden with him before. He understands what you can do better than do the other battalion commanders. You’ve worked well together before.” Skarpa offered a barking laugh. “He’s almost ready to go. Have your men prepared for a week.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Quaeryt hurried back down the stone steps of the old post, he couldn’t help but worry about what awaited them to the north—and how he could best use his scarcely trained imagers. But because he also needed to thank the ostlers and their assistants, he headed for the stables first.
70
By midday on Lundi, riding with Meinyt some ten milles north of the post, Quaeryt was sweating heavily under a hot sun that reminded him too clearly that it was indeed full summer … and no longer spring.
“How far north do you think they are?” asked the major.
Quaeryt looked at the low hills beginning less than a mille ahead, hills that were especially rugged where the Ferrean had cut through them over the ages. “I’d guess another few milles at least.”
Meinyt nodded, then looked at the long gentle slope from the road down to the river. “Good time and place to take a break, water the mounts, and let the scouts see what more they can find.” He turned in the saddle. “Battalion! Halt!”
As the battalion came to a stop, Quaeryt rode back past Jusaph’s first company, serving as vanguard, to the imagers’ company, where he reined up before the undercaptains and Zhelan. “We’re taking a break here to rest and water both men and mounts—and officers. Undercaptains, we’ll wait until first company and Captain Zhelan have their squads watered.” Quaeryt nodded to Zhelan.
“First squad! Lead off on watering!”
“Imagers, dismount. Form a circle holding your mounts.” Quaeryt turned to Desyrk, who’d shown far more horsemanship than the others. “If you’d hold my mare as well, Undercaptain. That way you all can see and hear what I have to say.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt waited until the six had formed a rough circle, then said, “We’re likely to run into Bovarian forces in the next glass or so. Major Meinyt has sent out additional scouts, and I’ll let you all know once I do.”
“What do you expect we can do?” demanded Threkhyl.
“Well…” said Quaeryt, drawing out the word, “you can certainly image holes in Bovarians if they get close enough. Soldiers aren’t as tough as those boards you put holes in. I’d rather have you be able to do things like that from a greater distance, but in a war you don’t always get what you want, and when you do, you’re just as likely to discover that getting your wish is often worse than not getting it.”
“Begging your pardon, sir…” offered Desyrk, “but why are we here, then?”
Quaeryt smiled. “There are a number of answers to your question, Undercaptain. The first and most important is very simple. Because Commander Skarpa is in charge, and he ordered us to be here. The second is because no one knows what we can do, and the commander wants to find out before we get into a massive battle. The third is to give you all some understanding of what happens in a fight, because for most of you, it’s not like you thought it would be.”
Desyrk nodded.
“Any other questions?” Quaeryt glanced around.
None of the undercaptains spoke.
“Then stand by.” Quaeryt walked past Desyrk and the mare and to the river side of the road, where he surveyed the troopers walking their mounts to the water. Upstream from where the horses were being watered a detail was filling water bottles. Quaeryt wasn’t about to fill his water bottle with river water. Instead, he’d imaged watered lager into it. Admittedly, what he had imaged was still poor lager, but it was better than his first attempts and far cleaner than river water.
The river itself was far narrower—less than fifty yards wide—and deeper than it was in the stretch between Cleblois and North Post, and the water ran more swiftly. That suggested to Quaeryt that the Bovarians had to have made a crossing, assuming that they had, even farther north, and perhaps even a day or two earlier.
Behind him, he could hear mutterings.
“… didn’t do anything this morning,” murmured Threkhyl, “just sat on his horse and ordered us around.”
“He saw what the decoys were before anyone else,” countered Shaelyt.
“Looking and seeing isn’t hard,” replied the ginger-bearded imager. “Wager that nothing was ever that hard for the subcommander. Not since he married Bhayar’s daughter, anyway.”
“Would you want to have Lord Bhayar always looking at you, Threkhyl?” asked Desyrk.
“Wouldn’t bother me none.”
“Then you’re stupider than you look,” said Shaelyt quietly.
“Who are you—”
“Enough!” snapped Voltyr. “Do you want your arms broken with the subcommander’s half-staff?”
“What by the Nameless do you mean?” asked Akoryt.
“I asked around,” said Voltyr. “He’s been in battles, a lot of them, with this battalion. He’s killed so many men with that staff that no one could count them, and he’s an obdurate. Just how long will you last if he decides you’re not worth the trouble to keep around?”
“He is a lost one, too,” added Shaelyt.
“You keep saying that. What does it matter?” asked Threkhyl.
“The lost ones are under the protection of Erion.”
Quaeryt decided that the undercaptains’ current conversation had continued quite long enough, and he turned and started back toward the circle of undercaptains and their mounts.
“You make him sound like some sort of god…” Threkhyl’s voice died away.
“Time to water mounts,” Quaeryt announced, moving into the circle and taking the mare’s reins from Desyrk, then leading the way down toward the river, following Zhelan’s last squad.
Once the undercaptains had their mounts watered and had returned to the road, Quaeryt left the mare with Desyrk again and walked forward until he saw Meinyt talking to a ranker, presumably a scout or outrider. He waited until the two were finished, then approached the major.
“Subcommander. I was about to come looking for you.”
“I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
“There are two battalions headed our way, according to the scouts. One of foot a
nd one mounted. They’re less than two milles ahead.”
“What do you plan to do?” asked Quaeryt.
“Attack. What else? The ground south of us is so flat that we’d be at more of a disadvantage there. We can take a position on the heights just north of here.” Meinyt gestured toward the low ridge ahead on the east side of the road. “That way, if they try to get by, we can attack from above. They’ll be faced with a cavalry charge down on them, or they’ll have to come to us … or to try to go around us.”
Quaeryt glanced farther north, where the next ridge was even higher. “Why not the one farther north?”
“It’s too exposed and the ground leading to the road is too rough. If they take it, they’ll lose mounts trying to charge down on us, and they’ll wear out men climbing it. With us on the lower heights, I’m wagering that they’ll attack, especially if I only show their scouts two companies.”
“How will you do that?” Quaeryt didn’t see all that much cover.
“There’s a woods below the lower heights on the back side. There’s nothing like that on the northern ridge. That also gives us a way to withdraw if matters don’t go as planned. I’d prefer not to retreat, but…” Meinyt shrugged. “If it comes to that, it would give us the ability to attack in quick thrusts to slow them down while sending word back to the commander.”
“You’d rather try to inflict greater damage first, though?”
Meinyt nodded. “My men have fought recently. The Khellan War ended over two years ago, and I’d wager they have more men who’ve never seen battle.”
“Then we should see what we can do.” Quaeryt offered a smile.
Another two quints passed before the battalion finished watering mounts and re-formed on the ridge that Meinyt had selected. The two companies in plain view were first and third companies, while the forces concealed in the woods consisted of fourth company and the imager’s company. Quaeryt left Zhelan in charge and remained with Meinyt, insisting on that because he needed to see how the fight developed, at least in the beginning, in order to determine how and where to use the imagers and Zhelan’s men.
His initial plan was to have the imagers follow Zhelan’s regular troopers, because he felt that Meinyt would need every company he could muster and because the imagers would be safer in the rear than in remaining behind and largely unprotected on the ridge.
From the position of the sun, Quaeryt judged that it was slightly before the second glass of the afternoon when the first Bovarian outriders came around the gentle curve in the road that followed the course of the river. They immediately reined up, and one turned and galloped back north. Quaeryt could just make out a haze of dust farther north, which likely indicated the position of the main Bovarian body.
For the next quint, the outriders remained where they were, but the dust haze continued to move southward until a host of riders appeared on the road. The Bovarians moved to a point just below the larger northern ridge and then halted.
Another quint passed, and then a Telaryn trooper galloped up the ridge and reined in short of Meinyt. “Sir, there’s a troop of mounted circling around the east side of the large ridge there. It looks to be the size of a company.”
“Thank you. Head back where you can see them and let me know whether they’re going to attack on the flank or try to come up through the woods.”
“Yes, sir.”
Meinyt turned to Jusaph. “You may have to use two squads to keep them off us.”
“We could just use one, sir.”
“If the main body comes up the ridge at us, you’ll need two. If we attack them, you can use one.”
“Yes, sir.”
Meinyt looked to Quaeryt.
“I’ll send Zhelan wherever you need him. The imagers will follow.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be with them.”
“In the van, no doubt.”
“Close, but not in the first line.”
Meinyt nodded, but Quaeryt knew what he was thinking, and he couldn’t help thinking, Somehow you always end up in more action than you planned. No matter what else you had in mind.
More time passed, and then the Bovarians advanced once more, stopping less than three hundred yards from the Telaryn position.
“Let’s see if they’ll come to us,” said Meinyt quietly.
Yet another quint passed before the scout returned.
“Sir, the Bovarian mounted company is preparing a flank attack. They’re at the base of the ridge, just out of sight.”
No sooner had the scout reported than the main body of the Bovarians began to move, with several mounted companies forming a wedge flanked on each side by the foot.
“Where do you think we’d be most effective?” asked Quaeryt, although he had his own ideas.
“If you can swing and hit them from the north…”
“We’ll see what we can do.” With that, Quaeryt turned the mare and rode to the north of the first two companies.
The two concealed companies were already moving out of the woods by the time Quaeryt reached Zhelan.
“Sir?” asked the captain as Quaeryt rode up beside him.
“Hold them back just a bit. Let the other company join up with the battalion. There’s a Bovarian mounted company coming. We’ll take their rear and then move downhill and north of their main body. The men aren’t to stop when we hit the first company. We’re to do what damage we can in passing. Then at the bottom of the slope, we’ll re-form and try to smash the rear of the main body. Pass that to your squad leaders.” Quaeryt slipped the half-staff from its leathers.
“Yes, sir.”
While Zhelan barked commands, Quaeryt watched. Two squads peeled off from the north side of the battalion to meet the oncoming Bovarian mounted. Quaeryt waited until the Bovarian cavalry was well engaged, then nodded to Zhelan. “Now!”
“Charge!”
Urging the mare forward, Quaeryt strengthened his shields, but extended them only slightly from himself to cover his mount.
Less than a squad of the mounted Bovarians saw and reacted to Quaeryt’s attack, and more than half of the riders in the rearmost squad went down as Zhelan and Quaeryt swept across the side of the hill.
Quaeryt edged the mare closer to the captain. He could see where the Bovarian foot was bunching up near the rear of the main body, too close to several mounted companies. He used a touch of image-projection to strengthen his voice. “Zhelan … the second standard—the gray and red one? Charge them right there. You take two squads after we hit there and swing more to the west before coming south. I’ll take three squads and push them into the force that’s fighting the rest of the battalion.” Quaeryt slipped the half-staff from its leathers.
Zhelan turned in the saddle. “Squads three, four, and five, on the subcommander! One and two on me! Charge!”
Most of the Bovarian foot did not see or hear Quaeryt’s force until the Telaryn mounts were within a score of yards. A handful turned, and then yelled. Others turned, but by then the three squads were almost upon them. With the momentum of the mare behind them, Quaeryt’s shields flung several men sideways into others before he contracted them close to his body so that he could use the half-staff.
A footman threw up a shield, more like large buckler in size, against Quaeryt’s staff, but Quaeryt just went over the top and slammed his staff into the man’s skull below the back of the helmet. Then he reversed the staff and braced it against his own shields to use it as a lance on the next footman, who went down.
For the next quint or so, the battle was at close quarters, but the charge had packed the Bovarian foot against the rear of the mounted Bovarians, who were being pressed from the front by Meinyt’s force.
Suddenly, the fight became a slaughter as the invaders found themselves with less and less space to move, surrounded on all sides, except the river, and being backed downhill and to the south toward the water.
Scores broke and ran for the river, flinging away shields and helmets. They we
re likely the fortunate ones, thought Quaeryt as he continued to wield the staff against any Bovarian within reach.
A good glass more passed before Quaeryt pulled the mare away from the continuing slaughter and rode back to the road where a squad had re-formed around the imager undercaptains.
Shaelyt’s eyes were wide as he studied Quaeryt.
The subcommander could lip-read the murmured words—or most of them. “… lost one … covered in the blood of his enemies … son of Erion…” Quaeryt just didn’t believe them, but it didn’t suit his needs or purposes to dispute them.
“All right! Did any of you image against the Bovarians?”
“Yes, sir.” Every undercaptain nodded.
Quaeryt couldn’t see any overt deception. “Good. Hold here. Take out any stragglers who try to escape in this direction.” He turned and rode in the direction of the Third Battalion standard, where he hoped Meinyt was—and that the major was uninjured.
As he passed the grouped imagers, he heard another comment.
“… didn’t even look back to us,” muttered Threkhyl. “Could have died, for all he cared…”
Voltyr and Desyrk glared at the ginger-bearded imager. Shaelyt shook his head, almost sadly.
Threkhyl closed his mouth.
Still holding a staff he realized was streaked with blood, Quaeryt said nothing as he rode past them and toward the standard, guiding the mare around the Bovarian bodies that seemed to be everywhere.
Meinyt and a half squad held a position on the road overlooking the slope where the troopers were now largely disarming the Bovarian survivors—of whom there looked to be only a few hundred. Quaeryt glanced to the river, where he saw the heads of scores of swimmers either letting themselves be carried downstream or trying to reach the western shore.
Quaeryt had no more than reined up beside the major than Meinyt announced, “We need to return to North Post. The battalions we fought weren’t that good. Some of the survivors say they’d only been conscripted and trained in the last few months. They were sent out to keep us occupied while the main attack goes on somewhere else.”
Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio Page 52