Imager’s Battalion ip-6

by L. E. Modesitt

  “Summon Major Zhelan and have him join me on the front portico.”

  “Yes, sir.” The trooper hurried off.

  Quaeryt made his way out to the front portico. There, as he waited for the riders-and Zhelan-to reach him, he stood and looked out to the west at the scattered clouds that were slowly breaking up. Despite there only having been partial sunlight that morning, the day was warm and humid, and he had to take off his visor cap and blot away sweat before replacing it. The oncoming riders were still some fifty yards away when Zhelan hurried around from the south porch to stand beside Quaeryt.

  “Has to be our replacements and reinforcements,” offered the major.

  Quaeryt looked to Zhelan.

  “Uniforms have more color.”

  Quaeryt smiled. Something else you hadn’t thought of.

  Leading the riders was a captain Quaeryt didn’t recognize, scarcely surprising since there were at least fifty captains and undercaptains in Deucalon’s forces, most of whom he’d never even seen, let alone met. The captain called the column to a halt, then rode forward, his eyes taking in the two on the portico.

  “Subcommander, Major, Marshal Deucalon is transferring these officers and troopers to your command.” He dismounted, handing his mount’s reins to one of the guard troopers who had hurried down, and climbed the steps. He extended a dispatch pouch. “There is a dispatch there. It confirms the transfer, and the number of officers and men involved.” His formal expression softened slightly. “There are also several other communications there.”

  “Thank you, Captain. We accept the transfer of the officers and men, as described in the dispatch.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The captain nodded sharply, stepped back, and turned. “You are all now assigned to Fifth Battalion, and Subcommander Quaeryt.” Then he walked down the steps and remounted his horse.

  “If you’d handle the trooper replacements and reinforcements,” Quaeryt said to Zhelan, “and have the undercaptains remain here with me.”

  “Yes, sir.” A faint amused smile appeared on Zhelan’s face. “Undercaptains! Forward!”

  After a brief hesitation, four men in undress green officers’ uniforms, without collar insignia, rode forward and reined up. They appeared passably comfortable in the saddle, but they should have been, reflected Quaeryt, given the days and possibly weeks they had been riding.

  “Undercaptains, remain here. Troopers! Follow me!” Zhelan hurried down from the steps and walked quickly down the lane toward the stables and outbuildings.

  As the troopers slowly rode after the battalion major, Quaeryt studied the undercaptains. Two, from their dark hair and eyes and light-honeyed skin, were most likely Pharsi, and probably younger than Shaelyt. The third undercaptain was sandy-blond, suggesting he was a norther. The last was a man close to forty, with a grizzled gray beard, recently trimmed, Quaeryt suspected, and a narrow lined face that had spent most days out in hard weather.

  “Undercaptains … welcome to Fifth Battalion. I trust that you’re all imagers.” Quaeryt paused and scanned the faces, catching the hints of nods. “You’re now part of the largest group of imagers assembled as part of a fighting force. You’re going to learn how to apply your talents in support of Lord Bhayar. If you’re like most imager undercaptains, you’ll be asking why you should put yourselves out for Lord Bhayar when you’ve likely been dragged from wherever you were and whatever you were doing. The answer to that is simple. It’s better than the alternatives, and you’re being paid reasonably well for your service. More important, it’s the only way that you, and all imagers, can obtain a place where you’ll be respected and appreciated. If Lord Bhayar succeeds in subduing Bovaria, we’ll have a better life and future. That will be true of all imagers. If he fails, we’ll all likely have neither life nor future. I don’t expect any of you to accept this until you’ve been with Fifth Battalion for a while. I do expect you to act as officers and to obey orders.” He paused.

  “And what if we don’t?” asked the older man, his tone verging on the insolent.

  “That wouldn’t be terribly wise, for a number of reasons,” replied Quaeryt mildly. “Why are you here?”

  “Governor threatened to kill my family.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “Do you really want to be unable to see them again, to be in hiding the rest of your life, not knowing when someone might recognize and kill you? That’s another reason why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  The undercaptain glared at Quaeryt, then nodded grudgingly.

  “So … doesn’t it make sense to do the best you can do here, get your pay, and earn Bhayar’s gratitude, rather than run for the rest of your life?”

  “Life won’t be long here, anyway.”

  “You’d be surprised,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh. “Commander Skarpa’s done well at keeping casualties low, far lower than in the northern army.”

  “You didn’t tell me why I should obey you or anyone else.”

  “Because it’s a good idea. Besides, if you disobey, you’ll be punished. If you disobey in combat, you could be executed.” Quaeryt tried to image-project friendly reasonableness.

  “I’m likely to die anyway. Might just be better to off you and stop this nonsense.”

  “That wouldn’t be a very good idea.” What can you say or do to convince this idiot? In a way that won’t terrify the others and start them off with the wrong impression … if you haven’t already?

  “Why don’t you let me decide what’s a good idea?”

  “Because you don’t know enough to make a good decision,” said Quaeryt. “None of you do … yet. Now … it’s time for you to follow me down to meet the other undercaptains. After that, we’ll assign you quarters, and you can stow your gear.”

  “No. Not until we know more.”

  Idiot! Quaeryt looked at the graybeard and instantly clamped shields around him, so tightly that the man could not breathe. “You are in Fifth Battalion. You will obey orders, either mine or those of other senior officers, and if necessary, I or the senior undercaptains will take any steps necessary to assure that you do. Or you will no longer have to worry about anything at all.” He waited until the older man was turning red before he released the shields, then waited until the undercaptain stopped gasping. “I’d prefer not to have to do anything like that again.”

  “You can’t do that all the time. I’ve dealt with things larger and tougher than you.”

  Quaeryt image-projected absolute force and cold authority at the older man, and the absolute certainty that Quaeryt could shred him into bits smaller than grains of sand.

  The older imager’s face paled.

  So did the faces of the other three. The two Pharsi undercaptains exchanged a knowing glance.

  “Who … what…?” murmured the graybeard.

  “Subcommander Quaeryt Rytersyn. I’m a scholar, and the former governor of Montagne, former princeps of Tilbor, and I’ve survived more than a few battles along the way. Oh … and my wife is Lord Bhayar’s sister. Do you require any more explanations, Undercaptain?”

  “No…”

  “No, sir, if you please, and I don’t wish to correct you again. Ever.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me make this very clear once again. You are all undercaptains in the forces of Telaryn. Provisional undercaptains assigned to the first company of Fifth Battalion. That means you will obey not only my commands, but those of either Major Zhelan or Undercaptain Ghaelyn. Because it is very much in our personal interests not to have you killed, we will not give you orders that are foolish or unnecessary. At times, there will be risks, but all officers have the same risks as the troopers. Now … follow me.” Quaeryt walked down the steps, making certain his shields were fully in place.

  As the four followed him, Quaeryt listened for murmurs, but none of the four said a word. You tried to be persuasive and rational. But you couldn’t let the quibbling and arguing go on. Why do some people only listen to force?

  51

>   After introducing the new imagers to the other undercaptains, while Voltyr and Shaelyt arranged quarters in the upper levels of the house for the four new undercaptains and took care of other details, Quaeryt returned to the study. He wondered about the regiment likely to be assigned to Skarpa’s forces, but the commander would be the one to tell him-if and when Skarpa found out, and Quaeryt suspected that Deucalon would take his time.

  Once Quaeryt settled at the plaques table, he set aside the letter from Vaelora, as well as one for Shaelyt, and another for Baelthm, and opened the dispatch from Marshal Deucalon.

  Subcommander Quaeryt Rytersyn

  Fifth Battalion

  Attached is a listing of four undercaptains (provisional) and 182 troopers assigned to Fifth Battalion in order to bring the battalion up to full fighting strength.

  Beneath the words was a seal, not even a signature. The second sheet held four names:

  Horan Horotsyn, Undercaptain

  Khalis Mhaersyn, Undercaptain

  Lhandor Lohansyn, Undercaptain

  Smaethyl Rytersyn, Undercaptain

  Quaeryt nodded. The names did match those the officers had given, not that he’d doubted it, but sometimes you never knew, Quaeryt reflected. The next five sheets held the names of the troopers. Quaeryt returned his attention to the second sheet, looking at the names and mentally connecting them to the undercaptains. Horan was the mountain steader and trapper who’d given him trouble and who would likely be less difficult as time went by. You hope. Khalis and Lhandor were Pharsi, but Khalis was from Estisle, while Lhandor was from Lucayl. Smaethyl was from a small town in Montagne that Quaeryt had never heard of-Taelyrd.

  He laid the dispatch on the table and studied Vaelora’s letter. Again, the seal had been carefully removed and then replaced. With a nod, he opened it and began to read.

  My dearest,

  The summer here in Solis has been long and hot. The first two days of harvest have been no cooler, and we have had no rain to cool the nights.

  You cautioned me that this war would be long and bloody. Lord Bhayar must feel the same way, as new regiments are being formed and trained every other week. At least, it seems that way, and Aelina told me that another ten regiments will be dispatched to join the northern forces early next week.

  Ten regiments? Had ten regiments arrived? Certainly Bhayar had given the impression that there were far fewer. He’d actually mentioned four. Why hadn’t he known there were ten? And if there weren’t ten, where had the others gone? Or had someone drawn the golds to supply ten and sent four or seven or whatever number less than that and pocketed the “extra” golds. Or were Myskyl and Deucalon keeping the exact number from Bhayar as long as possible-or at least until Skarpa and his command had left Villerive-so that more regiments weren’t assigned to Skarpa?

  … There are also some undercaptains being sent to assist you. I understand that most of them come from smaller towns. In the weeks and months ahead, there will likely be others found with talents that you can use, since local governors have been promised a bonus for those found, and since such discoveries may also suit both High Holders and larger factors.

  In short, they want to remove imagers. Quaeryt smiled. They should be careful in making such wishes. After a moment he thought, So should you.

  When he finished the letter, he studied the date-2 Agostas. Almost four weeks-and it had arrived with the reinforcements that had been dispatched a week later. Again, it appeared as though her letter had been opened and delayed. So you wouldn’t know the number of reinforcement regiments?

  He certainly had no proof of that, but the pattern was suggestive.

  Vaelora’s letter reminded him that he needed to send what he had already written to her, and what he would write later that evening-and that he had never replied to Gauswn.

  He stood and slipped her letter into his personal dispatch case, leaving it on the table, then picked up the two letters and the five sheets that held the names of the new troopers to give to Zhelan. Then he headed back down to the stable courtyard to evaluate the new imagers.

  Two quints later, Quaeryt stood fifty yards back from the stable wall, against which were two barrels set on their ends, the closed butt end up. A thick plank ran from one barrel to the other, set on its edge with each end propped in place with bricks. The four most recent imager undercaptains stood in a line even with Quaeryt. Voltyr and Shaelyt watched from the side.

  “Undercaptain Khalis,” said Quaeryt, “image an iron dart into the plank.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Pharsi undercaptain, a gawky young man, barely more than a youth, who looked to be two or three years younger than Shaelyt, concentrated. An iron dart, more like a knife that was made of iron, appeared in the heavy plank fifty yards way, its tip barely sticking into the wood before it wobbled and dropped to the dirt.

  “Less iron in the dart and more force into the plank next time,” commented Quaeryt before turning to Smaethyl. “Undercaptain Smaethyl, an iron dart into the plank.”

  Smaethyl’s dart was half the size of the previous one and buried half its length in the wood as it carried the plank to the back ends of the barrel butt, and then over, so that the plank dropped until it was wedged between the barrel and the stable wall, the iron dart still protruding.

  “Good,” declared Quaeryt. “Barbed blade?”

  “Yes, sir.” Smaethyl’s face showed momentary puzzlement.

  “You look like a hunter, and the blade didn’t move.” Quaeryt nodded to Voltyr. “If you’d image away the dart and re-set the plank.”

  The dart vanished from the plank and reappeared at Voltyr’s feet. He picked it up and handed it to Quaeryt. Then he and Shaelyt walked forward to the barrel and replaced the plank, then returned to their position behind Quaeryt.

  Quaeryt kept his smile within his face after watching Horan’s face as Voltyr imaged away the knife. The older imager had clearly been surprised. Good. After a few more surprises, he might not be so arrogant. “Undercaptain Lhandor, your turn.”

  Lhandor’s dart was more elegantly shaped, but buried itself in the plank as deeply as had that of Smaethyl.

  “Your turn, Undercaptain Horan.”

  Horan didn’t image a dart, but something more like an ax that splintered the top of the plank.

  Quaeryt looked at the perspiration and the redness suffusing the older imager’s face. “If you would do that again.”

  Horan opened his mouth, then shut it, and turned to face the plank. A second ax dart wedged itself into the plank, but not nearly so deeply. Horan staggered, then lowered his head for several moments.

  “Undercaptain Horan,” said Quaeryt firmly but not angrily. “We’re training for war, not for hunting. If you use all your strength in the first effort, the least experienced trooper will be able to knock you out of the saddle in moments. The idea is to be able to repeat the effort, quickly time after time.”

  Horan straightened.

  Quaeryt could almost read the other’s thoughts. He concentrated.

  One after the other, five iron darts buried themselves in the plank, with such force that they went through the wood and pinned the plank to the stable wall, so quickly that the plank was not slanted in the slightest.

  “Do you see?” asked Quaeryt, smiling.

  Horan swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now … one of the tactics that has been most useful in dealing with the Bovarians is imaging thick and acrid smoke mixed with the finest grains of pepper. For some reason,” continued Quaeryt, “they find it hard to concentrate on trying to kill us when they have trouble seeing and they are sneezing violently. Undercaptain Shaelyt will demonstrate…”

  Quaeryt, Voltyr, and Shaelyt worked with the newest undercaptains until two quints past fourth glass, when Quaeryt dismissed them all in time to wash up before mess. He returned to the factor’s house and washed as well, for although he had not been exhausted from imaging, the afternoon had still been hot and damp, and his face was damp and coated in
dust and sweat.

  After he cleaned up, he went down to the study, where he sat down at the plaques table and considered what he had seen of the four imagers. All of them were as accomplished, if not slightly more so, than Shaelyt had initially been. That made sense, because accomplished imagers who were either more isolated or more accomplished might not have been so easily discovered.

  Then, a good quint before the evening mess, Quaeryt raised a concealment shield and slipped out of the study when no one was looking and eased down the hallway to a point near the archway into the main dining chamber where the officers were beginning to gather.

  Smaethyl was talking to Desyrk, and Quaeryt could only catch some of the words.

  “… always … work that hard … so quick…”

  “… had us out working and seeing what we could do the morning after he showed up.”

  “… always wants us to do more,” murmured Baelthm. “… find you can…”

  Horan looked at Threkhyl and lowered his voice. “The officers in the other army never said the subcommander was a master imager. They said he was a scholar.”

  “More than a master imager,” said Threkhyl curtly.

  “He is both,” replied Shaelyt, “and more.”

  The other two Pharsi undercaptains, who flanked Shaelyt, both nodded.

  “How do you two know that?” asked Horan. “You never saw him before.”

  “We saw him today,” replied Lhandor. “It is worth your life to cross one such as he.”

  “He is a lost one,” added Khalis. “Or … as you easterners might say, a Namer-cursed spawn of Erion.”

  You easterners? thought Quaeryt. Where is Khalis from? Another Khellan refugee? But he speaks Tellan without an accent.

  “Except the lost ones are doomed to do good, no matter what it costs them,” added Shaelyt. “That’s why so many curse them.”

  Shaelyt didn’t quite let you know that, either.

  “True what he said about being a governor and all?”

  “Every word of it,” interjected Voltyr. “He didn’t tell you, but he’s known Lord Bhayar since they were students as youths.”