L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

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.