L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“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 likely. 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.

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.