Imager’s Battalion ip-6

by L. E. Modesitt

  Namer-frigged mess!

  He yanked his staff from the leathers and braced it against the front of the saddle, then at the last moment dropped the concealment and expanded his shields into an angled wedge, anchored to the mounts behind him, hoping that not too many of the musketeers behind the west-facing berms fired at once.

  A muted roar sounded, and while he could feel impacts on his shields, they barely rocked him in the saddle as he leaned forward and extended his shields to the side as the mare jumped the berm. From the corners of his eyes, he saw musketeers and loaders crumple, and he turned northward again, angling toward the foot behind the second line of lower berms, not that he was that interested in them, but only because they protected the cannon emplacements farther back.

  He had no doubts that Voltyr and Calkoran would continue against the musketeers, and that Shaelyt and Major Zhael-and what was left of third company-would as well.

  The rearmost berms had to be those sheltering the cannon, but Quaeryt wasn’t about to charge them directly. Instead he urged the mare toward the Bovarian foot berms, where, since he saw no pikes, he hoped to demoralize the foot and push them back.

  Except … the space behind the berms was empty … or mostly so, with just a few foot troopers sprinting away from Quaeryt and first company.

  Had the Bovarians dug trenches to create the impression of a larger force just to get at the imagers?

  He still wasn’t about to ride into the cannon. Instead … he imaged hundreds of tiny pieces of white-hot iron into the space behind each of the berms he could see. Surely … some of them …

  That was as far as his thoughts went before thunder roared up around him and his shields shredded and squeezed him into darkness.

  74

  Quaeryt woke with someone sponging his face with a damp cloth. Where was he? He could smell dust, and blood, and sweat, but his eyes burned so much he could see almost nothing except a grayish haze. Then … a young face swam into view, leaning over him.

  “Sir?”

  Khalis … that’s who it was.

  Quaeryt tried to speak, but only a croak issued forth. Somehow, he managed to swallow, and then say, “I’m here … I think.” His entire body felt sore, but … he slowly tried to move toes, fingers, hands … Everything felt as though it were still attached to him. He realized he was lying on something hard, the ground, most likely, except that there was a blanket under his head.

  “Did I … get blown off … my horse?”

  “Ah … yes, sir.”

  “How is she?”

  “Better than you, I fear, sir.”

  That doesn’t sound good at all.

  His expression must have alarmed the young imager undercaptain, because Khalis quickly added, “I don’t think you broke any bones. Your shields must have held until you and the mare hit the ground. You rolled clear. But … you have scrapes and gashes. You will have more bruises, I fear, sir.”

  Quaeryt struggled into a sitting position, but Khalis had to help him before he could drink any of the lager from his water bottle. That helped some, although he still found it hard to see, given the painful flashes across his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “After fourth glass, sir.”

  “We prevailed?” You hope.

  “Yes, sir.”

  How that had happened, Quaeryt had no idea. The Bovarians had set up the whole situation as a trap, a trap for imagers. The one thing none of the imagers could have withstood, even Quaeryt, was a cannonball against his shields. And there was no doubt that Kharst, or his commanders, knew that Skarpa’s forces were protected by imagers who rode near the front. No doubt at all. The only question Quaeryt had was how the Bovarians knew. He also had an answer to the question of where the Bovarian cannon were-at least some of them.

  “Sir?”

  Quaeryt looked up at the second voice, one he recognized, belatedly, as that of Zhelan, who stood behind Khalis.

  “I’m here. How bad was it?” Quaeryt had to squint to see Zhelan because his eyes were still mostly blinded by the darts of light that stabbed into them.

  “Third company was hit the hardest,” replied the major. “Most of Zhael’s third squad was killed, and a few in fourth squad. Sixteen dead, five wounded. The wounded only got shallow cuts from rocks and pebbles blasted at them. The first and second squads weren’t touched. Second company lost the last three men in fourth squad to cannon. All the others were killed or hurt once we attacked the musketeers. Thirty-one dead, twenty-three wounded, over the whole battalion.”

  Quaeryt shook his head slowly. Only fifty-four casualties out of that mess?

  “Sir … we took most of the casualties for the entire force. The regiments only had forty men wounded, and not a single death.”

  Exactly what that bastard Deucalon wanted … and you obliged him.

  Rather than say anything, Quaeryt nodded, then took another swallow of lager from the water bottle. Finally, he said, “We were very fortunate. I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”

  “You were why it wasn’t worse. You got everyone off the road quickly.”

  Not quickly enough. “I did what I could.”

  Zhelan straightened. “Here comes Commander Skarpa.”

  Just what you need now. Quaeryt did not try to stand, but waited as Skarpa dismounted and walked toward him.

  “I see you’re in one piece,” offered the commander.

  So far. But how long can you keep pressing your abilities as an imager? “How many cannon did they have?” Quaeryt asked before Skarpa could ask him more.

  “Ten. We found pieces of ten, anyway.”

  “Just ten cannon … ten frigging cannon,” Quaeryt muttered.

  “It could have been much worse,” replied Skarpa. “I don’t see how you managed to incur so few casualties. After the first two shots, that entire lane went up almost at once.”

  “At the first shot … I realized how stupid I’d been.”

  “Stupid?”

  “Stupid,” said Quaeryt. “The road wasn’t rutted enough. There were places where it had been repaired and packed down. The cannoneers had been practicing. They’d ranged the entire frigging road … They knew we were imagers and that they’d be firing blind.”

  Skarpa shook his head. “Do you know how many officers could have reacted that fast?”

  “A really good officer would have seen those patches in the lane and known instantly,” said Quaeryt.

  “How? We haven’t seen any cannon at all … until now.”

  “No … but we’ve talked about it, wondered why there weren’t any…”

  “Stop second-guessing yourself. None of your officers even knew what was happening. You’ve trained them well enough that they didn’t even hesitate, and they carried out your orders after you were out of the battle.”

  At least you did something right. But will you next time … or the time after that?

  “How many Bovarians did you capture?” Quaeryt asked, almost as an afterthought.

  “Maybe thirty.”

  “They must have had at least a battalion supporting the musketeers. Did the rest escape?”

  “No. When they saw you and Fifth Battalion smash through, most of them dropped their weapons and fled. They were running past the cannon emplacements…”

  “Oh…”

  Skarpa nodded. “It was bloody. Your men saw you go down. They weren’t exactly gentle with the survivors.”

  Quaeryt didn’t know what to say.

  “Undercaptain Lhandor told me that your shields saved most of first company, but they weren’t happy about what it did to you. Neither were the Khellan officers and men.”

  For some reason, this time, that didn’t bother Quaeryt. It didn’t even bother him that it didn’t, although he suspected he’d feel guilty later. “Do you know how many Bovarians there were in position before…?”

  “Two battalions.”

  “Only two battalions. They were sent out just for us.”

  “That’s likel
y. I don’t like it, either.”

  “We’ll have to be more careful.” Quaeryt paused. “We’ve stopped here for the night?”

  “Maybe longer. I’ve sent a dispatch to the marshal. I reported that Fifth Battalion faced cannon fire and took the heaviest casualties of all my units. Then I asked if he wanted us to press on tomorrow.”

  “He will.”

  “That may be, but I’d wager we won’t get a response until sometime in the morning.”

  Quaeryt nodded, but he had his doubts about that. Deucalon might lag with his forces, but he’d have no qualms about pushing Skarpa and Fifth Battalion.

  “You need some food and rest.”

  That, Quaeryt didn’t doubt.

  75

  Quaeryt was standing outside one of the temporarily abandoned cots west of the battle site before seventh glass on Solayi morning, still thinking about the results of the cannon. You’ve worried about trying to do too much with your imaging, but somehow it’s always worked out. Can you count on that?

  He was still pondering that when Skarpa rode up and dismounted.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” asked the commander.

  “Sore. What else would you expect?” Sore was an understatement, since every movement hurt to some degree, and his chest, which had almost felt healed, ached once more.

  “A dispatch rider showed up about a quint ago. I thought you’d like to see what the marshal’s orders are.” Skarpa extended the sheet of heavy paper.

  Quaeryt took it and began to read, skipping past the salutation and flowery first words.

  … Given the likelihood that favorable weather will not last, you are to press on with deliberate haste until you reach a favorable staging position for a final attack on Variana. Such a position should be no farther than a half day’s travel from the city’s edge unless you earlier encounter any defensive works too great for your forces to surmount without exorbitant cost …

  Quaeryt handed the sheet back to Skarpa. “What cost is exorbitant? When you don’t have enough troopers left to hold off the Bovarians before Deucalon can arrive?”

  “Something like that.”

  “When should we be ready to ride out?”

  “Well…” drawled Skarpa, “the orders say deliberate haste. Say around ninth glass. By then I should have good scouting reports for the river road over the next ten milles. That’s almost to the outskirts of Variana.” He offered a crooked smile. “I told the scouts to look for places on the side roads with recent smoothing or repairs. Also for really deep ruts anywhere.”

  “Do you think we’ll see more cannon before we reach Variana?”

  “I’d not be surprised if there might be one or two that try to loft a shot or two into the front of the column.” Skarpa shrugged. “Also wouldn’t be surprised if there were none, and all that Kharst has could be waiting for us outside Variana.”

  “The maps don’t show any bridges over the Aluse between Caluse and Variana.”

  “Might be because there aren’t any. That also might be why Deucalon didn’t have much choice in crossing the Aluse.”

  “Because Kharst wouldn’t want us to take his chateau?”

  “That … and most of the city is east of the River Aluse. So Deucalon would have to take the city first just to get to the bridges in order to reach the chateau. Also … once we take the chateau and defeat Kharst, the folk in the city will give Lord Bhayar less trouble. Makes sense.”

  “It also makes sense for us to soften things up for the marshal.”

  “That’s what junior commanders and subcommanders do. Even when they’re not imagers.”

  Quaeryt smiled wryly, accepting the modest rebuke. “We’ll be ready by ninth glass.”

  “We likely won’t see any Bovarians for a bit, but you never know.” Skarpa nodded, slipped the order sheet back into his uniform, then returned to his horse and mounted.

  As the commander rode off, Zhelan appeared. “Sir?”

  “We’re to be ready to ride by ninth glass.”

  “With all due respect, sir…”

  “It’s not the commander’s decision, but the marshal’s.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The way in which Zhelan agreed suggested the major was less than impressed by Deucalon’s orders.

  By ninth glass, Quaeryt was still sore, but not quite so stiff when he mounted the mare, who seemed wholly untroubled or bruised. “You’re hardier than I am.”

  “Sir?” asked Khalis, who’d had a tendency to hover around Quaeryt, and who was already mounted and waiting.

  “Just telling my mare she was tougher than I am.”

  Khalis shook his head.

  “She’s fine. I’m the one who’s sore.”

  “That’s because you shielded her, sir. She knows that.”

  Quaeryt had his doubts about that, but only said, “She’s been good to me.” He wasn’t looking forward to the day’s ride, and he had the feeling many of the troopers likely weren’t, either, especially those in third company.

  Fifth Battalion led the column, and Skarpa rode beside Quaeryt under a hazy sky. Again, they saw no High Holdings anywhere near, and only two that might have been, in the distance to the west, down narrow lanes. Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder why there were so few. He would have thought there would be more nearer to Variana. Then again, maybe it was just that there weren’t that many High Holdings. Even a thousand High Holders spread over a land the size of Bovaria would mean not that many all that close together.

  So why were there so many more closer to Ferravyl? Because of the Naedaran influence and affluence in the past? Trade on the river? Quaeryt had no idea, only possibilities.

  As the time neared third glass, Quaeryt noted that the sky had turned slightly darker with thin high gray clouds.

  “It’s a bit cooler,” observed Skarpa in the early afternoon. “Might get more so.”

  “I’ll take the heat if it means we don’t get cold rain,” replied Quaeryt.

  At a quint past first glass, a scout galloped back toward Quaeryt and Skarpa and pulled in beside the commander. “Sir! There are repaired holes on the side of the road ahead, and it looks like some of the paving stones have been replaced.”

  Skarpa turned in the saddle. “Column! Halt!” Then he turned his attention to the scout. “How far ahead?”

  “You see that pair of lowland pines on the right side of the road up there? Maybe a hundred yards past that … where that big lake and swamp begin, right west of the road. There are foot troopers on the flat farther along, but they’re not dug in. Didn’t see anything like cannon.”

  “What about repairs?” asked Skarpa. “Are they longwise, running the length of the road, or sideways?”

  “More like an angle, sir.”

  Skarpa and Quaeryt studied the terrain. Farther west was a thickly forested area that seemed to stretch for milles, with but a single narrow dirt road angling south and then west from the small hamlet north of the swamp-fringed lake. The forest came to within a few hundred yards of the lake at the south end, and within a mille or so farther north, the trees were practically on the shore.

  Quaeryt could also see that the narrow strip of land between the road and the river was low and open as well.

  “What do you think?” asked Skarpa.

  “The cannon have to be somewhere in front of the woods on the other side of south end of the lake,” suggested Quaeryt. “Maybe just inside the trees.”

  “That would account for the angle of the gouges in the road that they repaired.” The commander paused. “We couldn’t ride through the road ahead or the land flanking it without taking a lot of casualties … if they have cannon.”

  “Then we’ll have to see if they do and take their cannon. Once they’re gone, dealing with whatever forces are waiting beyond the low rise there shouldn’t be too great a problem.”

  Skarpa motioned the scout away, waited, then turned to Quaeryt. “Subcommander, I don’t do this often, but I’m orderin
g you not to lead or participate in this mission. You need to recover. Lord Bhayar and I will need you even more when we reach Variana. You are to send whatever imager undercaptains necessary, but you are not to be anywhere near those cannon. Fifth Battalion will bring up the rear when we attack the Bovarian forces ahead. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I will leave the details of how you plan and staff the imager operation to you. While you do, I’m going to inform the other subcommanders.”

  As Skarpa rode back along the column, Quaeryt considered, then sent for Major Arion and Shaelyt and Threkhyl.

  Once the three officers arrived, Quaeryt explained, in Bovarian. “The Bovarians appear to have set up another cannon trap, and from what we can tell, they’ve ranged the guns to the road and the land on this side of the lake. The woods there are too extensive to send all the regiments that way.”

  “What do you need from us, sir?” asked Arion.

  “I need fourth company to escort Undercaptain Shaelyt and Undercaptain Threkhyl close enough to where we believe the cannon are so that they can remove them. If the cannon aren’t there, of course, you’ll just return the way you came.”

  “We stand ready, sir,” replied Arion.

  “Good. Once I brief the undercaptains, they’ll join you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the major rode away, Quaeryt addressed the two undercaptains in Tellan. “Shaelyt, your duty is to shield the company with a concealment from the time you leave the river road until you can get close enough for Threkhyl to take out the cannon.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” demanded Threkhyl.

  “The same way I did yesterday. You image hundreds of tiny pieces of white-hot iron into the area where the cannon are. You keep doing it until one of them hits the powder and everything starts to explode. You’re a very strong imager, Undercaptain Threkhyl, and I have no doubts that you can do that.”