Imager’s Battalion

73

When Quaeryt woke abruptly in the grayness of dawn on Samedi morning, he was still trying to puzzle through the situation facing them. Was Kharst a ruler who simply could not believe that his land could be invaded and his capital threatened? Or was it all part of a strategy, as Quaeryt had believed all along, to suck all of Bhayar’s forces deep into Bovaria and then annihilate them?

All you can do is prepare for the worst … and don’t even hope for the best.

He washed, shaved, and dressed, then made his way down to eat, where he fended off questions from Zhelan and the company officers with the truth-that he hadn’t yet heard from the commander because, in all likelihood, the commander hadn’t heard from the marshal. As he finished eating, he overheard, more than once, words suggesting that there was all too much hurrying up to get places, only to sit and wait.

“You want to hurry on into something worst than Villerive or all those musket attacks?” asked Desyrk. “Go ahead. I’d rather wait.”

Overhearing those words, Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile.

A good glass after Quaeryt mustered men and officers, then sent out his own patrols through the town, he was standing on the porch of the Agile Coney, waiting, when Skarpa rode up, accompanied by a squad from Third Regiment. The commander reined up, vaulted off his mount, handed the reins to the nearest ranker, and jumped over the two steps to the porch. He walked over to Quaeryt and handed him a single sheet of paper.

In the same spirit, Quaeryt said nothing, but began to read, his eyes going quickly to the key phrases of the dispatch.

… You and your regiments, as well as Fifth Battalion, are to remain at Caluse until the bulk of Lord Bhayar’s forces have invested the town. At that point, once you receive orders, you are to begin the advance on Variana, using your regiments and the capabilities of Fifth Battalion, to remove all possible distractions and delays so that, after rest and resupply, the northern forces may proceed as then directed by Lord Bhayar …

Quaeryt managed to keep his face expressionless.

“Now you’ve read it. What do you think?”

Quaeryt knew very well what he thought. Bhayar had indicated he wanted to proceed behind Skarpa’s forces, but Deucalon didn’t want to. So he was reserving his options by not directly contradicting his lord, while he hoped to spend the next day changing Bhayar’s mind.

“Well?” pressed Skarpa.

“It reads as if the marshal is of two minds and has not decided whether to attack Variana with all forces united or to proceed separately. That is why he wishes to preserve control of the bridge.”

Skarpa snorted. “Something like that … except it smells worse than week-old fish in summer … or harvest here in Bovaria.”

“Land of endless summer,” added Quaeryt, keeping his voice light.

“Until we get cold rain and sleet out of nowhere when we least expect it.”

“Right about the time we face endless Bovarian hordes,” countered Quaeryt.

“Something like that.”

“Do you know where the marshal is?”

“Two glasses south of Caluse on the north bank.”

“You want Fifth Battalion ready to move out at noon?”

“That’s my thought, but don’t have anyone mount up until you get word.”

Because we both know Deucalon doesn’t always move his forces with any haste. Quaeryt only nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“I hope not.” Skarpa flashed a sardonic smile, then walked back off the porch.

Quaeryt watched until the commander had ridden down the street, then turned and headed to find Zhelan. He also needed to find a way to dispatch his letter to Vaelora.

The town bells had already struck the first glass of the afternoon before Fifth Battalion actually mounted up and rode out of Caluse, once more in the vanguard.

Less than three milles west of Caluse, the River Aluse began a wide and sweeping curve that, over three milles, resulted in its course running almost due north, a course that would remain generally northward until well beyond Variana. Although Skarpa rode beside Quaeryt, the commander remained tight-lipped, even more self-contained than usual, for close to two glasses. Quaeryt did not press him, knowing that he would offer what he would when he would, although Quaeryt suspected that what Skarpa might say would be less than pleasant.

While he waited for Skarpa to speak, Quaeryt studied the road, the river, and the surrounding terrain, as well as listened intently to the scouts as they reported periodically to Skarpa.

Just after the vanguard rode onto the first few hundred yards where the river and the road both headed north, Quaeryt caught sight of a deep wagon wheel rut on the shoulder of the road, as if the wagon had been pulled over to allow something or someone else to pass. Yet he saw no disturbance, tracks, or gouges in the paving stones … nor any sign the stones had been removed or replaced. Yet the shoulder was of firm ground. There had been little rain, and the depth of the rut and the width of the wheel indicated a heavy load indeed.

Quaeryt couldn’t help but think that the wagon carried something like explosives, cannon shells, or worse … but that was only speculation.

The road itself had come more to resemble the Naedaran road since Caluse, in that it followed higher ground, and there were also few trees between the road and the river, and a cleared space of at least fifty yards to the west of the road before either fields or woods began, mostly fields, with low stone walls marking the edge of the lands. The cots, as usual, were tightly shuttered, and no traces of smoke rose from their chimneys. And there was no sign of any high holdings.

Several hundred yards farther along, Quaeryt saw another deep rut at the edge of the road, but where the wagon had moved back onto the paved area, the wheel had fractured the edge of one of the paving stones.

Definitely heavy.

“You were right, you know,” Skarpa finally said.

“About what?” replied Quaeryt cautiously.

“Deucalon summoned me personally. That was one reason we were later than I told you we would be. It did allow me to hand your letter to a courier. That was the easy part.” Skarpa readjusted his visor cap, still not quite looking at Quaeryt. “Deucalon was less than direct … in that way that he could deny what he conveyed. There was also no one else present.”

Quaeryt nodded.

“He said that we had an important task. That was to remove all Bovarian devices, tactics, and unusual forces that might have a disproportionate impact on the main body. I was to spare none of my forces in such efforts. In fact, if any such Bovarian units remained, especially if my forces appeared to have resorted to positional tactics to temporarily isolate, rather than remove, such Bovarian units, he would regard that as a lack of enthusiasm in carrying out my orders.”

“In other words, you’re to keep Fifth Battalion in the van and order us to destroy anything and everything that may pose a threat, regardless of whether better tactics or even accepting prisoners would accomplish the result of defeating those Bovarian units?”

“That was his point, without ever stating it.” Skarpa snorted. “He did ask if I understood what he expected. Twice. And he was careful not to ask or allow me to comment on what I thought of those orders.”

Some commanders never do. Even as he thought that, Quaeryt recognized that he’d been one of them more than once. “What do you suggest?”

“Whatever tactics will get the task accomplished without you and your battalion taking major casualties while never seeming to be out of the fight.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt understood exactly what Skarpa was saying. Accomplishing that was likely to be far more difficult than it sounded, and it didn’t sound easy to begin with.

For another mille, neither officer said anything.

“Trouble ahead,” said Skarpa, turning in the saddle and ordering, “Column! Halt!”

Quaeryt had already reached the same conclusion, as soon as he’d seen the scout riding swiftly toward them and leading a riderless mount.

“Sirs!” called the scout, who reined up before Skarpa. “They’ve got musketeers ahead. Over that rise.”

“How far beyond the rise?” demanded Skarpa.

“Four hundred yards or so, sir.”

“How did the other scout get shot, then?”

“There were two of them and a squad hidden by bushes … much closer. Soon as we saw them, we turned. They got Vaern before we could get away.”

Quaeryt estimated the distance to the top of the rise as perhaps three hundred yards. “I’d like to take a look.”

“I don’t need a subcommander being shot,” said Skarpa.

“They won’t see me. There’s something not right about this.”

“That’s new?” rejoined Skarpa dryly.

“I want to see if the ground will allow us to spread out, or if we need to just move around the Bovarians and attack from the south or even the north.”

“It won’t. They wouldn’t have taken a position if we could.”

Quaeryt was afraid Skarpa was right, but he still wanted to see.

“Go ahead. Be careful.”

Quaeryt eased the mare forward, slowly, taking his time, and raising a concealment shield before him, as well as his personal full shields. When he neared the top of the rise in the road, as he passed a narrow lane that ran westward, he guided his mount onto the left shoulder of the river road, just in case someone might see dust or something and target the middle of the main road.

He was a good twenty yards from the crest when he could see the Bovarian position, and he reined up immediately. The musketeers were lined up across the road and a good fifty yards on either side, if not more, protected by a chest-high earthen berm. As the scout had reported, they looked to be a fifth of a mille to the north. There looked to be another battalion of foot dug in behind the musketeers, keeping low in shallow trenches behind the earth excavated from the trenches, and several other berms farther back, although he couldn’t see what kind of troops they sheltered. There were even berms between the lines of trenches, at the west end, as if the Bovarians expected a flanking maneuver of some sort.

The squad on the right side of the road had retreated and was more than a hundred yards north of the hill crest.

Quaeryt felt cold inside, even if he couldn’t have said why.

He kept studying the Bovarian position, then the ground to the west of the road, mostly consisting of fields and small holdings, with cots and outbuildings scattered here and there. The side lane that he had just crossed was little more than a path, as were most of those many they’d passed over the last few glasses, and ran due west from the river road. After perhaps a half mille, it split, or joined another narrower road running north parallel to the river road. Farther back was a long narrow lake that stretched for a mille or more to the north, confirming Skarpa’s skepticism about avoiding the Bovarians, although there was an area several hundred yards wide without defensive emplacements. Quaeryt shook his head. Getting there would still expose the Telaryn forces to musket fire.

Finally, he nodded. If he took Fifth Battalion along the side road, under a concealment shield, and then they followed the side roads, they could flank the musketeers. He’d have to be careful though because the land flattened some to the west of the road, and after some fifty yards whoever rode on the side road would be exposed to the Bovarians, not that such would be a great problem if he and the other imagers could maintain concealment shields. He kept studying the land, but the cots were shuttered, and no smoke rose anywhere.

Finally, he turned the mare and rode back to rejoin Skarpa. He began, “I think we can flank them…” and then went on to describe the terrain, the positions, and what he proposed.

“You’ll need the entire battalion.”

“I intend to take all the companies.”

“We’ll move up to just below the crest of the road and re-form into a wide front. We’ll wait until you begin your attack. Then we’ll follow up as quickly as we can…”

When Skarpa finished, Quaeryt moved back and gathered all the Fifth Battalion officers. Once they were all present, he cleared his throat. “We have Bovarian forces with musketeers in position directly over that low rise before us. Our task is to swing out to the west and then flank them. Lhandor, Khalis, you’ll ride with me. Voltyr and Threkhyl, you’ll accompany Major Calkoran. Shaelyt and Horan, you’ll be with third company, and Desyrk, Smaethyl, and Baelthm will protect fourth company. Our first objective is to flank and then attack the musketeers. We’ll move out under concealment shields…” Quaeryt went on to explain, then repeated his orders in Bovarian to make sure the Kellan officers fully understood, then added, in both languages, one after the other, “Because we don’t know what else may be out there, I may have to take first company with me. If I move away from the attack on the musketeers, do not follow me. I repeat. Do not follow me. Your task is to take down the musketeers so that the regiments can advance without getting shot to pieces.”

Thankfully, no one mentioned the possibility that Fifth Battalion also risked getting shot to pieces if matters went ill.

Another quint passed before Fifth Battalion, moving slowly so as not to raise dust that would linger after the riders and their concealment shields passed, moved westward on the side road, first on the section hidden from the Bovarians and then on the more exposed part of the narrow clay and dirt road. After Quaeryt had ridden several hundred yards, he realized that the road was not nearly so rutted as most of the side roads, and, in places, the locals had filled in areas and packed the dirt.

That bothered him, and he glanced to the north to determine whether the musketeers were moving or tracking the battalion, not that they should have been able to see through the concealment shield. He saw no movement there. Then he glanced back over his shoulder to check the battalion’s progress. He’d hoped that the concealment shield would cover the battalion, but the road was so dry that Arion’s last squads were trailed by the faintest signs of dust.

Let’s just hope that the Bovarians don’t see that.

Thwump! Thwump!

The entire road shook, and Quaeryt swallowed as he saw men and mounts from the middle of third company hurled southward.

Cannon! Frigging cannon. Those repairs in the road weren’t from wear! They ranged the cannon and then concealed the impacts.

“Fifth Battalion! Off the road! Into the fields! On me!” Quaeryt image-projected the command back at the battalion, still holding the concealment shields between the battalion and the Bovarians.

Thwump! Thwump! Cannon balls exploded everywhere, as Quaeryt rode north, aiming the mare between the rows of harvested crop stubble toward a point to the west of the berm that sheltered the Bovarian musketeers facing the remainder of Skarpa’s forces.

More cannon shots tore into the dirt road, now empty of Fifth Battalion troopers-except for those already dead, dying, or wounded. Unable to see who lay there because of the smoke and dust, Quaeryt could only hope that his failure to anticipate the cannon fire had not caused too many deaths.

Quaeryt turned the mare toward the first line of musketeers, some of whom, he could see, were already trying to swivel their cumbersome weapons to the west, as if they knew that they faced an attack, while others were aiming at the oncoming troopers of Third Regiment. A moment later he saw that the westward-facing berms also had musketeers, and they were trying to sight their muskets, most likely based on the dust raised from the Telaryn mounts as they charged through the fields.

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.