L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“Better with her than my parents.” Shaelyt smiled crookedly. “She once said I was more like my aunt.”

“How did you get conscripted … or found out as an imager?”

“Greed.” Shaelyt grinned. “I’d figured out how to image coppers. You make them dirty. I’d done that for years. You spend a copper here and there. People don’t notice.”

Quaeryt kept his smile to himself. “That’s true.”

Shaelyt’s grin vanished. “They ask questions when you have silvers. Too many questions, especially if your family are weavers.”

“But if a coin is pure silver…”

“That makes them even less happy. My father didn’t know what to do with me, and he was afraid someone would try to kill me. So when he heard Lord Bhayar was offering a gold for imagers to become undercaptains, he put me on a mule, and we rode to Cloisonyt.” Shaelyt shrugged. “He was right. Sooner or later, things would have gotten worse in Fuara, and I’d have had to flee or worse.” He looked to Quaeryt. “Voltyr said no one knew you were an imager. Why did you let it be known?”

Quaeryt laughed. “Partly to survive, and partly because of love. Bhayar suspected for years, but it wasn’t in his interest to pursue it, since I’d never caused anyone any trouble. But when his sister became interested in me, he decided having an imager married to his sister might be in his and her interest. Then, when we fell in love … there weren’t many choices. I didn’t want any of you knowing it to begin with because I wanted you to rely more on yourselves. Maybe that was a good idea. Maybe it wasn’t.”

“You protected us, didn’t you?”

“As I could … until Akoryt died. Then I decided that I couldn’t keep doing it. There were too many things I couldn’t control.”

“You’ve still done it.”

“So have you,” Quaeryt pointed out. “That’s why you’re all bruised and sore.” He took another swallow of the lager, then raised a hand to the serving girl who peered out from the kitchen. “Another lager here.” He pointed to Shaelyt.

“Yes, sir.” The serving girl hurried back into the kitchen, returning almost immediately with a mug she set before Shaelyt.

Quaeryt put three coppers on the table.

They vanished into her calloused hand. “Thank you, sir.” Then she was gone.

“You didn’t have to do that, sir.”

“It’s little enough. If you hadn’t held shields yesterday, scores of men would have died. They may not know that, but I do.”

Shaelyt lifted the mug and sipped, finally setting it down. “Sir, what will happen … afterward?”

“I’m working on that. I’d like to keep the imagers together in a way that would allow us to work under Lord Bhayar’s protection. That way everyone could have families and a more … customary … life.”

“It still wouldn’t be customary.”

“No … but wouldn’t it be a great improvement?” Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.

Shaelyt smiled. “Might I ask how…?”

“You might, but I’m not ready to answer that. We have to make sure Lord Bhayar triumphs and that he knows he owes us. After that…”

“If anyone can do that, you can.”

That might well be true, Quaeryt reflected, but that didn’t mean it was possible. He lifted his mug and took another swallow of lager, trying to ignore the aches all over his body.

On Meredi, Quaeryt felt worse than he had on Mardi, but in a way that told him he would recover. The good news, if it could be called that, was that Deucalon’s forces were not expected to reach Nordeau until late in the day. Quaeryt wondered what was taking the marshal so long, since he doubted that Deucalon was encountering any armed Bovarian opposition … or that any Bovarian forces remained anywhere close to Nordeau.

Pacifying or placating the High Holders? Or merely extracting supplies and equipment? Both? Quaeryt doubted that he’d learn anything about that from Skarpa, because neither Myskyl nor Deucalon would inform the commander.

By Meredi afternoon, he did force himself to direct imager drills for all the undercaptains except Shaelyt, although he had Shaelyt watch and offer advice to the newer undercaptains. A squad leader dropped by with a message from Skarpa to the effect that he and Khaern were to “hold the south city and keep the peace” and wait for further instructions.

Those instructions came early on Jeudi morning, when an undercaptain who was an aide to Bhayar arrived with a request that Quaeryt accompany the undercaptain to meet with Bhayar at his temporary quarters north of Nordeau. Quaeryt asked Calkoran to supply an escort squad and waited until the troopers were ready.

When Quaeryt did walk toward the front door of the inn, Shajan appeared.

“Subcommander, sir…?”

“Yes?”

“I must beg your pardon, sir.”

“For what?” asked Quaeryt gently, as always, in Bovarian.

“It is said … you suffered all your wounds … so your men would not…”

“So did Undercaptain Shaelyt.”

“The young Pharsi officer?”

Quaeryt nodded. “The same.”

“I must beg you to forgive me for thinking you an old one. No old one would ever have risked his life for another, and not for those he commanded.” The innkeeper bowed deeply. “I most humbly apologize.”

“I accept your apology,” replied Quaeryt, “but I must also apologize for not understanding your concerns. Despite your concerns and worries, you have been most helpful to me and to my men, and I do appreciate that.”

Shajan bowed again. “You are most kind.”

“Not always, I fear, although I try.” Quaeryt smiled and image-projected a certain slight warmth, not wishing to raise yet other concerns.

The squad from Calkoran’s fourth company was waiting outside the stable, along with Undercaptain Yaffon and Quaeryt’s mare. Mounting was still an effort, but Quaeryt managed it without falling or appearing too awkward.

Yaffon did not say much until they reached the bridge over the River Aluse. “Your imagers … created the newer stone spans, sir?”

“They did.”

“It’s said that your Fifth Battalion led the attacks on both the south city and the north city, yet did not suffer extraordinary casualties, yet you obviously have been injured.”

“So have others, and Fifth Battalion has suffered more than enough on this campaign, Undercaptain,” Quaeryt replied pleasantly.

“I did not mean…”

“I’m sure you did not…” I just don’t like probing and insinuations when the main force with almost ten times as many troopers is letting us do all the work … and I can’t say a Namer-frigged thing about it … except generalities. “… but Fifth Battalion has taken more than its share of attacks and casualties.” Quaeryt smiled, but did not volunteer more.

For the first mille beyond the square where the massed musketeer fire had come all too close to killing him-and Shaelyt-the buildings of Nordeau were essentially the same as those south of the river. Quaeryt could see why the Bovarians wouldn’t have risked cannon in the center of the town, especially since they would have been of limited usefulness anyway. And he understood the difficulties of moving the heavy cannon. Or is it that Kharst doesn’t have that many cannon because there’s no way to transport them easily? That seemed more reasonable … and it meant that they’d be more likely to face cannon the nearer they came to Variana-something he needed to keep in mind.

The wall enclosing what might have been called “the old city” on the north side was similar to the one on the south side, but the gates to the wall had clearly been removed years before. Outside the old walls, the buildings were set more widely apart, with far larger windows, and many of the larger dwellings had their outer walls constructed of blocks of gray stone, each block of exactly the same size. That told Quaeryt what had happened to the stone blocks in the walls of the last five milles or so of the ancient canal.