L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

As he expected, the majority of the houses were shuttered, and none appeared to have been ransacked or damaged, but the only living things he saw on the streets were Telaryn armsmen and stray dogs. When he reached the walls around the much newer section of Nordeau, he could see they were lower, barely more than two yards and almost perfunctory.

Deucalon had to know this. Despite realizing that, and what it meant, Quaeryt managed to keep a pleasant expression on his face, but he did shift his weight in the saddle, because riding was less than comfortable.

“It’s another two milles,” Undercaptain Yaffon said apologetically. “On a little hill west of the side road.”

Side road? Quaeryt wondered. That became clear in less than two hundred yards, when the paved main road swung westward, presumably to parallel the river, and Yaffon gestured for them to continue along a much narrower, if paved way that appeared more like a lane.

Quaeryt could see that troopers had followed the lane because the graveled shoulders and even the grass beyond the shoulder had been trampled flat by hooves. The lane began to angle up a low rise, then came to a set of gates guarded by a full company of troopers. The lane split at the gate, an unpaved way continuing north, while the paved lane ran through the gray stone gates, constructed of a different stone than that of the canal and not cut or finished so well, and up the gentle slope to an imposing building that could have served as a palace.

A captain rode forward, took in Quaeryt’s face and collar insignia, and nodded. “Sir, Lord Bhayar is in the study in the main building.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but notice the withering glance the guard captain bestowed on Undercaptain Yaffon, who seemed oblivious to it, as they rode past him and through the gates.

Quaeryt led the squad to the front portico of the palatial hold house, a covered portico extending upward more than two stories, supported by massive square gray stone pillars. There he dismounted and handed the mare’s reins to one of the Khellan troopers who, unbidden, rode forward to take them.

“We’ll be waiting, Subcommander,” announced the squad leader.

“Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded and walked up to the entry door.

Yaffon had to scramble to catch up.

One of the troopers guarding the doors opened them for Quaeryt, who nodded his thanks and stepped into an arched entry hall with a black marble floor and shimmering white walls.

A captain hurried forward. “Subcommander, Lord Bhayar is still meeting with Marshal Deucalon. Submarshal Myskyl would like a moment with you.”

“Of course,” replied Quaeryt politely.

“This way, if you would, sir.”

Quaeryt followed the visibly nervous captain from the outsized entry hall down a side corridor into a small study-likely a lady’s study, given the delicate curves of the desk from which Myskyl rose.

“Greetings, Quaeryt.”

“And to you, Submarshal.” Quaeryt inclined his head just a touch more than would have been considered slighting.

“You do look like you encountered the Namer or one of his demons,” observed Myskyl, still standing.

“It sometimes happens when you get involved in the thick of things.”

“Really, Subcommander, you should delegate some of these matters-or have your undercaptains not attained … your capabilities?”

“They have done rather well, considering that I’ve only been able to work with them two months or so. There’s now a solid permanent bridge across the Aluse rather than those rickety wooden spans. But you should ask Commander Skarpa. The question isn’t how I feel they have performed, but whether he believes they have been useful and instrumental in accomplishing the tasks you have set him.”

“He professes to be most satisfied. But what else would he say?” Myskyl’s smile was cold, calculating.

“The commander has always been known to speak his mind, if perhaps more politely than I have upon occasion.”

“You do yourself an injustice, Quaeryt. Your speech has always been above reproach and as indirect as necessary without ever committing a falsehood. Most masterful, I’ve always thought.”

“I’ve only followed the examples with which you and Rescalyn provided me.”

Myskyl nodded, as if thoughtfully, then asked, “What do you believe lies before us?”

“Exactly what, I have no idea, except that Rex Kharst is unlikely to allow Variana to fall to Lord Bhayar without doing all in his power to prevent it. I am certain that this is not a new thought to you, given your far greater experience than mine.”

“Do you believe he has imagers?”

“I have no idea. If he does, no doubt we will learn of them outside Variana.”

“Have your Khellan officers mentioned imagers?”

“They have not. They have mentioned greed, treachery, and total brutality on the part of the Bovarians, but not imagers.”

Although Myskyl again nodded, Quaeryt had the feeling that, somehow, his response had disturbed the submarshal.

“Well … I should not keep you. Lord Bhayar did summon you, no doubt to be able to assure his sister that her husband was well.”

“That is indeed possible, but I have learned over the years that to guess at Lord Bhayar’s reasons is to be avoided if at all possible.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot that you were students together.”

Quaeryt doubted that Myskyl had forgotten any information that could be used in one way or another. Instead, he inclined his head. “A pleasure to see you again, Submarshal.” Then he turned and slipped out the study door, walking back to the main entry hall, where he waited for less than half a quint before another captain appeared.

“Subcommander … this way, sir, if you would.”

Bhayar was pacing back and forth in front of a set of long windows overlooking a formal flowering garden when Quaeryt stepped into the long white-goldenwood paneled study.

“Greetings…” Bhayar stopped and looked at Quaeryt. “What in the Nameless happened to you?”

Quaeryt quickly scanned the room. Bhayar was alone. “Several hundred muskets discharged at my battalion all at once.”

“Did you know that was likely?”

“I knew that there might be pikemen and musketeers. I didn’t expect hundreds. There might have been five hundred or more. Skarpa recovered over four hundred muskets. They all fired at once.”

“Then they know we have imagers.”

“They know we had imagers. We didn’t do any imaging after that.”

Bhayar fingered his chin. “You think they might be uncertain?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to think they’d be at least uncertain. What I think you should do is to tell Deucalon and Myskyl that the key imagers were badly injured, and you don’t know what they’ll be able to do at Variana, and that you’ll need to approach the city with care-”

“I’m not about to tell Deucalon that.” Bhayar’s words were low, but almost snapped out. “He’s already too Namer-cursed careful.”

“Has he said when he would plan to leave Nordeau?”

“He suggested a week. I told him two days. He offered excuses. I told him they were excuses.” Bhayar paused. “Do you think someone’s passing information to the Bovarians?”

Quaeryt shrugged, and wished he hadn’t as pains shot across his chest. “I don’t know. It won’t hurt to act as if someone might be.”

“That’s true enough. What other recommendations do you have?” Bhayar’s voice was both tired and dry.

“You need more imagers, sir.”

Bhayar frowned. “I meant about strategies.”

“So do I.”

“Have I not found you a number sufficient for our needs.”

“Imagers have made a difference in a number of battles so far, but there are only nine imager undercaptains. I’ve trained them so that they are much more capable, but nine is a small number, and Bovaria is a large land … and together Telaryn and Bovaria are very large.”