Imager’s Battalion ip-6

by L. E. Modesitt

“What about the others?” asked Vaelora. “Can you trust Voltyr and Shaelyt?”

  “As much as one can trust anyone. They both have much to lose should anything happen to me.”

  “As do I, dearest.” Vaelora pursed her lips. “You must take care … but not too much, for that is worse than no care at all.”

  Quaeryt could see the brightness in her eyes. He stood and walked around the table, putting his hands on her shoulders, as comfortingly as he could. “I will balance heart and mind as best I can.”

  Vaelora slipped from his grasp and stood, facing him. “We have a little time. Would you walk with me through the gardens?”

  “There are gardens?”

  “There are. They have been neglected, but there are remnants of their beauty.”

  Quaeryt rose from the table and extended a hand. “I would be pleased to walk with you.”

  Her fingers twined around his as they set forth from the terrace, not looking back.

  “You see here … they planted matching birches on each side,” said Vaelora as she stepped onto the path that had once been white gravel, but now held gray and white pebbles, with patches of bare earth covered with moss in between the gray stones set unevenly into the ground. “There is also a gray cat, but it is fearful, and it is as still as a stone when it hears footsteps.”

  Quaeryt glanced around. He saw no cat, but a flash of blue and gold as a southern finch darted into a pine. “What else?”

  “The housekeeper says that there’s a black coney deep in the garden, but that when it appears it’s a sign of ill fortune to come.”

  Quaeryt almost laughed. A black rabbit a sign of misfortune? Abruptly he realized he’d never seen a black hare, not wild or domestic. “Then we’d best not look for it.” He pointed. “Those stone squares-there once were two stone pillars on this side of the birches.”

  “Sometimes, nature does outlast the works of men.”

  In the end, always. Quaeryt squeezed her hand.

  “You can smell the wild roses. They’re so much more fragrant than the ones cultivated for gardens. Over there…”

  As he walked with Vaelora, Quaeryt knew the day would be far too short, and that he would have to leave all too soon.

  Before he knew it, fourth glass had arrived, and he had changed into a clean uniform and was leading the mare into the courtyard. Vaelora walked beside him, and they made their way to the drive in front of the hold house.

  As he stood beside the mare, ready to mount, she turned to him. “Remember, with your thoughts and your heart, that you did not bring this war to pass. All you can do is your best for everyone … and for us, the three of us.” With her words came tears.

  He held her for a long time, murmuring his love for her, before she released him and stepped back.

  He mounted, and then looked at her. Neither spoke. What more can we say?

  Her smile was unsteady.

  He touched his fingers to his lips, then blew a last kiss to her before he turned the mare and rode to join his escorts waiting farther out on the drive.

  Halfway down the drive, as he glanced back one last time toward Nordruil, he wondered how long it would be before he saw her again.

  His lips quirked into a wry smile. And to think, a year ago, you had met her but for a few moments, and had received one very scholarly letter.

  A year had changed everything. He just hoped the year ahead did not undo all that the previous year had brought. He pushed that thought away and looked at the road ahead, leading to Ferravyl.

  8

  Quaeryt did not dream of ice on Solayi evening, nor did he wake before dawn on Lundi morning to frost coating the walls of the small stone chamber he rated as a subcommander. He dressed and hurried to the senior officers’ mess in the north side of the bridge fortification. Once there he quickly ate a breakfast of overcooked scrambled eggs and chopped mutton. He washed down his food with poor ale-which reminded him to image better lager into his water bottle when he reached the stables and saddled his mare.

  Major Zhelan had Fifth Battalion largely formed up in position north of the bridge over the Aluse River when Quaeryt and the six imager undercaptains rode up. Quaeryt eased the mare over beside Zhelan’s chestnut gelding.

  “Good morning, Subcommander.”

  “Good morning, Major. Any difficulties?”

  “No, sir. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Have you learned anything more about or from the Khellan officers?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Once we’re over both bridges, I’ll spend a glass or so riding with each one of them, starting with Major Calkoran. Tonight we’ll talk over what I discover.” Or what you don’t, if you fail to learn anything of importance or interest.

  After his initial meeting with the three majors, Quaeryt had decided that he’d learn little or nothing in any formal meeting, at least not until the Khellans were more comfortable with him, and he thought the only way to do that would be to ride with them for periods of time during the advance on Variana.

  “Fifth Battalion stands ready, sir,” announced Zhelan formally.

  “Thank you, Major. I’ll report that to the commander. I will be riding with him for a time. As always, you are in command in my absence.” Zhelan knew that, but Quaeryt made the statement to reinforce that fact to the imager undercaptains, and he was leaving them with Zhelan at the moment. Although Skarpa half requested, half ordered the imagers to ride in the van, Quaeryt didn’t think he’d mind at least until they had crossed the second bridge into Bovarian territory.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Undercaptain Voltyr, you are in command of the imager undercaptains, but you answer to the major in my absence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt turned the mare and rode toward the head of the column to meet with Skarpa, arriving just before Meinyt reined up.

  “Good morning, Subcommanders,” said Skarpa.

  “Good morning,” replied Quaeryt. “Fifth Battalion stands ready.”

  “Fifth Tilboran is ready,” added Meinyt.

  “Then we should proceed.” After a moment Skarpa added, “Whoever would have thought a major, a captain, and a scholar would have ended up where we are?” He grinned at Quaeryt. “Except for the scholar, and he didn’t expect to become a subcommander. I told him he ought to be an officer.”

  “Everyone’s allowed some doubts,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh.

  “Any last moment news about the Bovarians?” asked Meinyt.

  “There’s no sign of any troopers within fifteen milles,” said Skarpa. “The scouts haven’t covered the area west of that except along the river, but there’s no indication of Bovarian forces.”

  “First indication is when we lose someone or they attack,” said Meinyt.

  “They won’t attack soon. They don’t have many men close enough to attack in force. They’ve barely had enough time to get a messenger to Variana and to ride back here.”

  “Archers or crossbowmen and destroying bridges?” suggested Quaeryt.

  “We’ll have to keep alert for those sorts of things,” said Skarpa. “I think Marshal Deucalon will face more of that, though. His force is larger, and the roads on the north side of the river are better.” He raised his arm and nodded to the hornist.

  The call for the advance echoed across the north end of the river, and the outriders started forward. Meinyt nodded, then turned and rode back to Fifth Regiment, which brought up the rear and guarded the supply wagons.

  “If you wouldn’t mind my riding with you, sir, for a bit?” asked Quaeryt. “It’s acceptable that the imagers remain with the battalion for a time?”

  “For the morning, perhaps longer, depending on what the scouts report.” Skarpa urged his mount forward, and Quaeryt eased the mare in alongside him. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m not certain I have anything in mind. I was more interested in anything you might have considered.”

  “I’m sure you
’ve noticed that we have all the elements of the Telaryn forces that might be considered suspect or different.”

  “Piedryn forces that are less well trained, Khellan rebels, and imagers, you mean? Not to mention Tilboran regiments commanded by officers considered possibly less … traditional. With far fewer archers and engineers, as well. Have I missed anything?”

  “You didn’t mention a subcommander married to the sister of the Lord of Telaryn. He is an officer with a habit of not respecting the privileged excesses of certain High Holders.”

  “Has it been said like that?”

  “Not quite. It might as well have been, though. Why do you think the forces were split that way?”

  “The most obvious reason was because the forces on the north side of the Aluse will face greater opposition. A careful commander would place his strongest forces where he expects the greatest opposition.”

  “That is certainly what Marshal Deucalon has said.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  Skarpa smiled. “Do you think that Lord Bhayar is a gambler?”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “He calculates, but he is anything but a gambler. He will let others take risks, but only so long as he will not be the one to pay if they lose.”

  “That is why we were ordered not to get too far ahead of the northern force.”

  “Because we have to be forward in order to be successful, more than a day, and if we fail, that failure falls on us?”

  “I thought you would understand.”

  As they reached the midsection of the fortified bridge, Quaeryt glanced to the western wall. It was difficult to tell the section that had been damaged by the Bovarian barge when it had exploded against the bridge pier below at the beginning of the battle for Ferravyl. Several of the replacement stones looked identical. Those Threkhyl imaged? “They repaired the bridge so well you can’t tell it was damaged.”

  “The roadbed was hardly touched in the center. You and the imagers preserved it more than any would have believed possible.”

  “They still have a lot to learn.”

  “It’s interesting that you know so much about what they need to know.”

  “Scholars need to know a great deal, and I’ve always enjoyed learning.” Skarpa might well suspect, or even be convinced, that Quaeryt was an imager, but he wasn’t about to admit it yet. And not in public.

  “You do know quite a bit. Everything from imaging to rulers, even to the Nameless.” Skarpa grinned at Quaeryt. “You know we still don’t have a chorister in the southern army…”

  Quaeryt groaned.

  “I can’t really insist that a subcommander … but … the officers and men…”

  “All right … but no offerings and no blessings.”

  “I thought you might see it that way.”

  “Did I have a choice?”

  “No. That’s because you’re an honest man, and you worry about your officers and men.”

  “And you’re a persuasive scoundrel,” countered Quaeryt.

  “Of course. That’s why I’m a commander. In wartime, anyway.”

  As he rode down the south half of the bridge, Quaeryt looked out at the triangle of land between the Aluse River and the Vyl River, and then at the stone bridge that he and the imagers had created. Two weeks before, the ground had been covered with ice and frozen bodies. Despite the comparative pleasantness of the morning, he shivered for a moment.

  Two long mounded berms of freshly packed earth now crossed the triangle comprising the bluff above where the rivers met. The mounds were the final resting place of more than twelve thousand Bovarians. A smaller pyramidal mound with a stone before it was located to the north and east. For the Telaryn dead.

  “You’d never believe what this looked like two weeks ago.” Quaeryt felt he had to say something.

  “Lord Bhayar ordered every man in every regiment to spend time dealing with the dead,” replied Skarpa.

  That was another thing Quaeryt hadn’t known, although he had seen hundreds toiling when, barely able to ride, he had been escorted to Nordruil. “How did they take it?”

  “They complained when they thought no officers were listening. What else? Of course, many of them ended up with better weapons or a few more coins. But it was better than letting them just strip the dead and leave them. Had to do something, and do it quickly. That’s the problem with fighting in summer near a city.”

  Quaeryt nodded.

  As they rode along the road beside the berms and neared the imager-built bridge, Quaeryt could see wagon ruts in the still-soft ground. “The locals haven’t wasted much time in using the bridge.”

  “Not at all.” Skarpa snorted. “Except the local ferryman wrote a complaint to the marshal. Said the bridge had destroyed his livelihood.”

  There’s always someone. “All he has to do is move ten milles upriver. There aren’t any bridges there, and most people won’t travel ten milles downstream and then back to take a bridge if there’s a ferry.” Quaeryt paused, as a thought struck him. “But there’s likely already a ferryman there.”

  “The same thing would have happened sooner or later. If Bhayar wins, he’d have built a bridge. Same thing if Kharst had won. Just would have taken longer.”

  As the mare carried Quaeryt onto the bridge, he could see that it was not quite as large as he had thought from a distance, although it was wide enough for two farm wagons side by side-if with little space to spare. The side walls were low, only a little more than a yard high, but the paving stones were smooth and well fitted.

  Skarpa looked to Quaeryt. “We’d best win this war, or this bridge will work against us.”

  “We could explode it,” joked Quaeryt.

  “After all the death around it, I’d hate to do that. Better just to conquer Bovaria. Might even be better for the Bovarians.”

  “I’ve never heard much good about Rex Kharst.”

  “Has anyone?” countered Skarpa. “He keeps everyone in line by killing anyone who disagrees. It works, but…”

  “How does he keep the High Holders in line?”

  “That’s what he used his troopers for … and his imagers. Among other things, I’ve heard.”

  “Oh…”

  Skarpa nodded. “That’s another problem you might have to face. If it comes to that, and after what you did at Ferravyl, it probably will.”

  As if you needed another one. “At least, if that’s true, his imagers were killing High Holders and not merchants and the common people.”

  Skarpa frowned. “That’s better?”

  “How many High Holders who support Kharst is Bhayar likely to allow to retain their lands? You can’t punish every factor and merchant in Bovaria, but you could…” Quaeryt paused, then shut his mouth.

  “Could what?”

  “I was going to say that Bhayar could replace most of the High Holders, but he can’t. Not unless he wants chaos.”

  This time, Skarpa was the one to shake his head-again.

  Once the entire column was clear of the bridge, Quaeryt cleared his throat. “Sir … if you don’t mind…”

  Skarpa smiled. “Go.”

  After a nod, Quaeryt turned the mare and rode down the shoulder of the narrow dirt road that was barely wide enough for a single wagon. He finally eased the mare in beside Major Calkoran.

  “Sir?” The Khellan officer did not conceal his surprise at Quaeryt’s presence.

  “It will be some time before we encounter any Bovarians. You fought them for a long time.” Quaeryt kept his Bovarian as precise as he could.

  “On the borders for years. Almost a year after they invaded. We almost broke them at Khelgror. There were too many of them.”

  “You have seen how they fight. You know what they do well … and what they do not. I have fought the Tilborans, but not the Bovarians. I would like to hear what you can tell me about the Bovarians.”

  “You know we do not trust any of the rulers in Lydar.”

  “I do.” Quaeryt laughed so
ftly. “One must take care with all rulers, but I believe Lord Bhayar to be the best of those who remain.”

  “So it is said.” Calkoran shrugged. “Why do you think so?”

  “His father punished those who attacked Pharsi women in Tilbor. The son upheld the same values in Extela.”

  “The word is that you upheld those values and were removed.” Calkoran fixed his dark eyes on the subcommander.

  Quaeryt shook his head. “I was removed because I angered the merchants and the High Holders. I would not let them charge too much for flour after the eruption in Extela. I supported the Pharsi who stopped a soldier from violating a girl, and Lord Bhayar supported me in that.” That was close enough to the truth, although the reality had been more complex.

  “Did you take any golds?”

  “No.”

  “Not a one?”

  “Only what I was paid as governor.”

  “That is what the major who is paymaster said.” Calkoran laughed. “You must be the only governor who did not fill his purse.”

  Quaeryt shrugged.

  “Why?”

  Quaeryt decided to tell the truth behind it all. “I would not be content with golds. My dreams are larger. I want a land where Pharsi, scholars, and imagers can all be what they will, under the same laws as everyone else.”

  Calkoran looked at him, then said quietly, “You are either mad … or a lost one.”

  “Is there any difference?”

  The major smiled and shook his head. “Let me tell you what I know about the Bovarians. They follow their officers, but most follow like they are sheep … They attack in mass formations…”

  That was what they did at Ferravyl …

  “… they try to split your forces and then butcher any who are cut off … They ask for surrender. If one does not surrender, they show no mercy … not to men or women…”

  Quaeryt continued to listen as he rode beside the major under a clear sky and a morning sun that was already hot and threatened to be sweltering by midday and intolerable by midafternoon.

  9

  Meredi morning dawned early and warm, promising to be even hotter and damper than the previous two days. The south river road had not narrowed, but it had become more and more rutted with each mille traveled toward Rivecote. The local people were mostly croppers and peasants, from what Quaeryt saw of their fields and cots, for not a person was visible when the regiments rode by dwellings or through hamlets. Nor was any livestock, and while he saw a few dogs, they were at a distance. He couldn’t blame the locals.