Imager’s Battalion ip-6

by L. E. Modesitt

  Rather than asking for the rationale for the exercise, as Voltyr had, Shaelyt looked at Quaeryt. “Might I ask, sir, what the Bovarians might have waiting for us at Nordeau?”

  Quaeryt eased back the visor cap and blotted his forehead before finally replying. “That could be anything we faced before or more, but I have to say that I’m more worried about what lies beyond Nordeau. Bovaria is a large land, and I’m guessing that all these battles are more to delay us so that Rex Kharst can gather a massive army to defend Variana-so that he can crush us there, and then march back down the Aluse and take Solis…”

  “Do you think Lord Bhayar expects that?”

  “Lord Bhayar has not volunteered that information, and I have not asked him. We have received almost twenty thousand troopers as reinforcements. Most have gone to northern army. He has also sent us another regiment and more imagers. It is clear that he understands we will face much more numerous Bovarian forces as we near Variana.” Quaeryt paused. “Now … I have a question for you. Exactly what did you tell Khalis and Lhandor about me and Fifth Battalion?”

  “Sir…?”

  Quaeryt grinned. “Undercaptain Shaelyt … I need to know what I’m supposed to live up to or live down, and what harm you may have done to their minds.”

  “Sir … I told them that you were the son of Erion who had returned to Terahnar to right all wrongs and to serve the cause of justice. I said that you were particularly hard on young Pharsi men who thought too highly of themselves…”

  Quaeryt managed not to laugh. He just looked at Shaelyt. “Besides telling them that I was a lost one doomed to serve others … what else?”

  “That all the hopes of the Pharsi in Lydar likely rested on your shoulders and that we should support you as best we could.”

  The absolute directness of Shaelyt’s last words cut through Quaeryt with the pain of a blunt blade. After a moment he said dryly, “You don’t expect much, do you?”

  “No more than you expect of yourself, sir.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “Then you’d better work your ass off on those shields, because I’ll need all the help you and the undercaptains can provide.” And more than that, most likely. “And remember to keep eating biscuits and drinking when you’re working on those shields.”

  With a smile, Quaeryt turned and walked to where Zhelan was waiting.

  “How is the fifth squad doing?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Better than Ghaelyn or I hoped. Not as well as they need to be. We’ll work in extra drills when we can.”

  “What about the replacements for the Khellan companies?”

  Zhelan smiled. “They’re good. A few … they’re still riding wounded, but they want to be here. You’re part of that.”

  “All three companies have good troopers and officers. We’re fortunate to have them … and you.”

  Zhelan looked slightly embarrassed, but was saved from having to say anything by the command that echoed back along the column. “Mount up! Move out!”

  “Time to get going.” Quaeryt nodded to Zhelan, walked to the mare, and mounted.

  The rest of Lundi and Mardi morning were uneventful, with no signs of Bovarians, and by fourth glass on Mardi afternoon, Skarpa’s forces had reached a village barely larger than a hamlet, set beside a creek that emptied into the River Aluse. The locals had fled, but not long before the Telaryn forces had crossed the gray stone bridge over the creek, because the cook fires in hearths were still burning.

  Even before the regiments and Fifth Battalion had begun to set up the encampment, while Quaeryt and Zhelan were discussing where to put which companies, a half squad of Telaryn troopers, escorting a dispatch rider, came down the road at a fast trot. Both officers looked at the dispatch rider, who had reined up before Skarpa.

  “We’ve barely stopped, and here come more orders, I’d wager.” Zhelan gestured to the southeast, where thickening gray clouds were massing and moving northwest, slowly covering the sky. “With rain coming. Might be here before we’re set up.”

  “More than likely,” agreed Quaeryt. “That’s why the commander stopped here.”

  “Better get on with it, then,” said Zhelan. “The undercaptains in the first cot here, and first company with that shed … and the others-”

  “The way we talked about,” said Quaeryt, still watching Skarpa.

  No sooner had Skarpa received the dispatch and read it than he gestured and three troopers from Third Regiment immediately departed-one heading for Quaeryt.

  “Best of fortune to us all, sir,” said Zhelan before turning and striding toward the nearest cot. “First company!”

  In moments, a ranker hurried up to Quaeryt. “Sir…?”

  “Commander Skarpa would like my presence?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt walked swiftly along the shoulder of the dirt path that would likely become mud with the slightest rain. He was the first of the senior officers to reach Skarpa.

  “Good or bad?” he asked.

  “About what you’d expect. Let me tell you all at once.”

  As soon as Khaern and Meinyt joined them, Skarpa held up a single sheet of paper, at the bottom of which was a large crimson and green seal, then folded it and tucked it inside his uniform shirt. “I’ve just received an urgent dispatch from Marshal Deucalon. He’s ordered us to take that part of Nordeau on the south side of the river. We are to hold it until the northern forces reach the northern part. When that happens, we are to mount an attack on the remaining Bovarians in the north. We are not to destroy the bridge over the River Aluse. We are not even to block it unless required to hold the southern part of the city.” Skarpa paused. “Right now, they’re already two days behind us, and they don’t travel as fast.”

  None of the three subordinate commanders said a word.

  “I’m not one to stall. You all know that. I’m also in no hurry to fight if we’ll have to wait days for the marshal to arrive. Once this rain comes and goes, we’ll send out scouts to see why he’s so eager for us to move quickly. Do any of you know anything about Nordeau?” Skarpa looked at Quaeryt.

  “I’ve only read a few things about it. It’s old. It might date back to the Naedarans.”

  Skarpa raised his eyebrows.

  “The road, sir. It was built to last, and the only place it can go is Nordeau, because the Naedarans never controlled Variana. That likely means Nordeau was a border city, and it will either have lots of stone walls and fortifications … or none.”

  “Depending on whether some later rex kept them or tore them down?” asked Skarpa. “I’d wager the walls are still there and that’s why the Bovarians will make a stand there and why Deucalon wants us to attack first.” He looked to Khaern. “Any thoughts?”

  “Not that I’d be wishing to guess what I don’t know, sir, but there are some old walls in Ruile and elsewhere. They’d be difficult to take without siege engines and more. If there are such walls in Nordeau…” Khaern shrugged.

  “I’d like to hear what the scouts find out,” said Meinyt. “Rather not worry about things I don’t have to.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile at the grizzled subcommander’s pragmatism.

  “We’ll see,” agreed Skarpa. “In the meantime, keep your men and provisions dry.”

  As Quaeryt looked to the sky on his way back to tell Zhelan and the company officers about Deucalon’s orders, he had his doubts about how dry anything might remain.

  55

  Mardi night the rain began. By Meredi morning it was still coming down. Skarpa decided against moving on in the downpour, and by midday, the creek had risen by almost a yard, pouring a torrent of yellowish brown water into the dark gray-blue expanse of the Aluse. Shortly after the first glass of the afternoon, the deluge subsided to a gentle rain, and by midafternoon, the skies had cleared, and although the creek did not go down, it did not rise farther, either.

  Once the rain ceased, Quaeryt went to work with the imagers, pressing Voltyr, Shaelyt, Desyrk, and
Threkhyl on strengthening and improving their shields. What surprised Quaeryt the most was that Threkhyl could stop anything with his momentary shields from hundreds of yards, but could not maintain any continuous shield, something that even Desyrk could do, if only with very light shields so far. Yet Desyrk was limited in how far he could image, being unable to image anything except substances as light as smoke and pepper much more than a hundred yards or so. That underscored for Quaeryt the variability of imaging talents.

  Perhaps because Shaelyt had taken an interest in the two younger Pharsi undercaptains, both Khalis and Lhandor had already begun to grasp the basics of shielding, although their attempts at holding shields were weak and flimsy indeed. Horan’s abilities seemed more like those of Threkhyl, in that he was strongest at imaging familiar objects, or those similar to them, while Smaethyl’s progress seemed like it would mirror Desyrk’s, although Quaeryt had the feeling that the norther had stronger innate imaging capabilities.

  By Meredi evening, Quaeryt had exhausted them all, as well as himself, and he slept soundly, even on the uneven plank floor of the small cot.

  Jeudi morning saw Fifth Battalion and the three regiments on the old stone road once more. Skarpa alternated riding with his senior officers, beginning with Khaern, since Eleventh Regiment led the column, and then Quaeryt, because Fifth Battalion was next.

  “What have the scouts found?” asked Quaeryt as soon as Skarpa joined him.

  “So far, there’s still no sign of any Bovarian forces nearby. No tracks at all.”

  “They could have come downriver by boat.”

  “They could scout that way, but you can’t see much from the river, and once they set foot on shore, they’ll leave tracks. How are your new imagers coming?”

  “They’re solid, but they need training and experience. I did get in some extra training yesterday. That was helpful, even if I suspect the marshal didn’t like the delay.”

  “He might not, but one of the old armsmen’s sayings is ‘Don’t fight two enemies at once.’” Skarpa offered a short barked laugh. “I’m not about to try to fight the weather and the Bovarians at the same time. I’d wager he didn’t, either.”

  No, but Deucalon’s the type to claim you could because you’ve got fewer men to lead.

  “If the maps and the millestones are accurate, we’re about fifteen milles short of the outskirts of Nordeau,” Skarpa went on. “I have the scouts looking for places to stay tonight … or longer. That depends on what the defenses look like. And whether we get more rain. Sky’s clear now, but you never can tell once you get past midharvest.”

  Quaeryt adjusted his cap and blotted his forehead. The clear sky and blazing sun suggested to him that Vendrei would also be hot and without rain.

  “If they’ve got stone walls, can your imagers pull them down or put gaps in them?”

  “A few might be able to create gaps. With stone, they’d be narrow. It might be easier to destroy the gates or build earth ramps up the lower walls. I’d have to see the walls before I could say.”

  “What about Antiagon Fire?”

  “We’ve been working on dealing with that in a number of ways.”

  “You’re sounding more and more like Meinyt. You don’t talk the same, but you’re like every other experienced commander. You don’t like to promise anything.”

  “That’s because I have the feeling that the Bovarians are going to spring some surprises, probably some here, and then a lot more as we near Variana. Don’t you?”

  “I’ve been expecting more than we’ve seen,” Skarpa admitted. “Why do you think they haven’t shown more?”

  “Because Rex Kharst underestimated Lord Bhayar. I have the feeling he thought Bhayar was a weak successor to his father, and that the revolt in Tilbor proved that. Kharst may have thought he could take Ferravyl and then slowly carve out chunks of western Telaryn. When he lost most of his army in eastern Bovaria and Bhayar attacked, all he could do was withdraw slowly while he called in troops from everywhere else. At some point, we’re going to encounter more troops than we have.” A whole lot more.

  “I’ve thought something like that myself.”

  “Has Deucalon?”

  “I hinted at it. He dismissed what I said, but he thinks the same thing.”

  “You think that’s because he doesn’t want to admit that a junior commander came up with the same thought?” Or because he wonders if I came up with it?

  “Might be. Also might be because he doesn’t have any proof.”

  “If we’re right,” said Quaeryt dryly, “we’ll get the proof when we find forty Bovarian regiments facing us at Variana.”

  “I’ve had a similar thought about that, too.”

  Quaeryt just nodded.

  After discussing possible tactics for another quint, Skarpa eased his mount off the road and onto the shoulder, riding back to talk to Meinyt.

  At a quint or so past the first glass of the afternoon, with the sun beating down as if it were still midsummer, as Quaeryt rode around a sweeping turn to the northwest, to his right he caught sight of a shimmering straight line running westward from the River Aluse, roughly paralleling it, bounded by darker gray, and then by trees on the northern side. The road turned due west just south of where the canal entered the River Aluse, with stone walls rising from the river. The ancient road continued beside the canal as far as Quaeryt could see. Unlike the first canal Quaeryt had encountered, though, the water in the canal was shallow and stagnant, and in less than a half mile from where the canal ended at the river, the shallow water became a marsh. After another half mille, the marsh turned to swampy grassland between the gray stone walls.

  Ahead to the left was a small hamlet of a score or so small dwellings and outbuildings, with fields and woods alternating in an irregular pattern, much as had been the case for most of the ride that day. Narrow paths wound in and around both fields and woods, and the fields were marked off by sagging split-rail fencing. Once again, Quaeryt realized that they had seen no high holdings. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any around, just that they’re not along the river road. Given that the road was excellent, he couldn’t help but wonder why High Holders had not positioned themselves close to it.

  Another two glasses passed, with one short break. The road and the dry grassy canal continued westward together. Quaeryt checked his map, and then had Zhelan, now riding beside him, check as well, thinking that they must be within ten milles of Nordeau and wondering when and where Skarpa would call a halt for the evening.

  Less than a quint later, a squad leader came riding back along the shoulder, then eased in beside Quaeryt. “Subcommander, sir, Commander Skarpa has requested that you and Fifth Battalion make your encampment in the second hamlet ahead. The first one is larger, and that will be for Fifth Regiment. The smaller one is about a mille ahead.”

  “What about the other regiments? Do you know?”

  “There’s a village not quite a mille south of the hamlet where Fifth Battalion will be, and another just to the west of you. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to tell Subcommander Meinyt.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.” Quaeryt gestured for the squad leader to depart.

  With a nod, the trooper pulled out and headed down the shoulder.

  Quaeryt turned to Zhelan. “If you’d pass word to the company officers?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Before long, Fifth Battalion neared the first hamlet mentioned by the squad leader, a gathering of close to forty dwellings and more than a few outbuildings, one or two of which looked to be large and solid. All the dwellings and buildings were of timber, much of it unpainted or stained so long ago that the wood had grayed to the shade of untreated and weathered wood. A few wisps of smoke rose from some of the chimneys, but it was clear the villagers had fled.

  Zhelan, again riding beside Quaeryt, shook his head. “Poor folks. Don’t even know what it’s all about. Just hope that we leave them something.”

  “We’ve left more than Kharst
’s men have.”

  “Just hope we haven’t ended up leaving it for them.”

  So did Quaeryt.

  Another quint brought Quaeryt and Fifth Battalion to the smallest hamlet-the one assigned to Fifth Battalion. It looked to be far older than the hamlet Meinyt’s regiment was doubtless already occupying. As Zhelan directed the companies, Quaeryt remained mounted, half watching as Third Regiment rode by on the old stone road. When they had passed, Quaeryt took a moment and crossed the road to take a look at the narrow, grass-filled canal that still seemed to him that it once had led to Nordeau. He frowned. The stone walls ended less than half a mille west of the hamlet. Beyond that point, a low swale continued westward in a straight line, but there was no sign of stonework.

  Someone must have mined the canal for stone. But who? And why?

  With that thought in mind, he rode back across the road and toward the large center cot, where Zhelan had positioned himself. “What do you think?”

  “Most of them will want to sleep outside. The cots … they … well, they stink.”

  That didn’t surprise Quaeryt. Still … he wondered. Most cots, humble as they might be, didn’t. So he dismounted and tied the mare to a tree beside the cot, then walked to the dwelling.

  The roof was barely level with his eyes. Why would anyone build a house with such a low ceiling? Then he looked at the entry and realized, belatedly, that the steps led down to the doorway, and that the lower section of the walls were constructed of finely fitted gray stone, while the upper walls consisted of rough planks, with a reed-thatched roof above that. They used the foundations of an older building for the lower wall.

  The door was open, and a trooper stepped out and looked to Quaeryt. “Sir … no one’s here. Banked the hearth and ran, it looks like. There’s even food.” He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t smell inside, but it sure does here.”

  Quaeryt could sense a faint odor, but it eased as he moved to the steps. When he moved back along the side of the cot, the odor was greater, almost as if wastes had been dumped around the cot. He shook his head and walked to the next cot, a smaller dwelling, and then around it. The lower side walls were of the well-fitted gray stone, but the lower rear wall, while of the gray stone, showed almost crude workmanship, as did the lower walls flanking the front door and, again, steps led down to the door, offering entry to the cot a yard or so below ground level.