L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“Yes, sir.”

Then Quaeryt left the company officers to Zhelan and went to see to his own preparations. As he mentally reviewed what he planned, another thought came to him. You should have written one more letter to Vaelora.

He shook his head with a rueful smile. That’s too fatalistic. And yet, while he knew that thought might nag him, all he could do was push it away as he continued with his preparations.

Less than a quint later, as the regiments were forming, before Quaeryt had mounted, Skarpa rode up, not dismounting, but motioning for Quaeryt to join him well away from the others.

In the gray light before dawn, Quaeryt did so. “Yes, sir?”

“Once we assemble for the attack on Kharst’s defenses, we’ll form the second prong of the attack to the right of the main thrust-which the submarshal will direct. I’ve been ordered to place Fifth Battalion behind another regiment, and I’ve chosen Eleventh Regiment, but to allow you full freedom of movement. No one mentioned Fifth Battalion in the order of movement, and I was told not to tell anyone. Fifth Battalion is not even in the written orders of battle. That was your doing?”

“Yes, sir. Well … it was my request. That was to keep-”

“I know. It won’t keep them from finding out. It will just take longer.”

“That was the idea.” And it will also likely mean that some of the regiments in front will get pounded by cannon fire. Unhappily Quaeryt knew why Skarpa had chosen Eleventh Regiment, and Skarpa knew that Quaeryt knew or would figure it out.

“Will whatever you plan work?”

“Yes, sir. I just don’t know if it will work well enough.”

“And if it doesn’t work, it will be an even bloodier day?”

“Yes, sir.” As it will if it does.

Skarpa nodded. “You’ve got less than three quints to have Fifth Battalion in formation, ready to ride.”

“We’ll be there.”

Fifth Battalion was mounted in formation, if only half a quint before the glass. Quaeryt and Zhelan weren’t about to rush matters on what would be a too-long day.

At what was likely sixth glass, from well ahead of Fifth Battalion came the horn signals, but almost a quint passed before the last company in Eleventh Regiment began to move, and Fifth Battalion followed those troopers across the fields and onto the gray stone road toward Variana.

Quaeryt listened, almost absently, as he rode northward on the gray stone road.

“… subcommander hasn’t said much…”

“… never does before a fight…”

“… good … waste of breath … what will be will be…”

Unless you can change it, reflected Quaeryt.

As they passed more shuttered and abandoned cots along the river road, spaced ever more closely together as they neared the south of Variana, the already few comments died away, possibly because of Quaeryt’s palpable reserve.

The sun, struggling to break through the thin gray clouds that had been almost constant for the past several days, was barely visible above the rooftops of Variana on the east side of the River Aluse by the time the Telaryn forces were in position, almost a mille back from the first line of earthworks. The air was cool, but not chill, and still, without the slightest breeze.

Quaeryt surveyed the terrain as best he could, from the grass that had not so long before been cut, to the few perfectly placed trees and the lack of tenant cots that showed the fact that the area had indeed been a hunting park. Then he studied the Bovarian positions. While it was obvious that the defensive emplacements were fully manned, and primarily by men with pikes behind the first line of earthworks, Quaeryt noted that the top of the second line of earthworks was all exactly the same height, as if it had been measured with a spirit level.

Why would that be? Then he nodded. That was where the muskets were, high enough to fire over the first defenders, and low enough to rake the attackers on the level ground before the earthworks-as well as whatever imagers were riding in the fore. He could also see that Deucalon had recognized that also, because, behind the first line of regiments, the other regiments were being moved slightly, enough so that they could charge to the sides once the attack began in earnest.

Even so, Quaeryt could also see that huge numbers of Bovarian troops remained farther up the slope, presumably so that they could move down to wherever the lines were threatened, or to take the offensive in any place where the Telaryn attack showed vulnerability. In one place, their gray-blue uniforms almost seemed to blend into the light gray stone of the top of the Chateau Regis, a good mille to the north.

What he had planned would likely not work, or not work well, unless more of the Bovarians could be drawn farther downhill, nearer the initial fray. Quaeryt didn’t like what that would cost in Telaryn casualties, but it might be that he could use some targeted imaging to make the Bovarian commanders commit more troopers earlier.

In one respect, the entire battle was almost senseless, since neither side actually had to fight at the present time and place. Certainly losing Kharst’s chateau would not have been that great a loss for the rex, and Bhayar could have moved his troops around the massed Bovarians to take lands and wait for greater advantage. In another respect, it was absolutely necessary. Kharst couldn’t afford to leave more than twenty Telaryn regiments intact and operational in the middle of Bovaria, while Bhayar needed a decisive and absolute victory well before mid-fall in order to consolidate his position and gain control of the midsection of Bovaria-at the very least-before the onset of late fall and winter.

But then, Quaeryt reflected, similar rationales have been the reason for most large battles in history. He glanced to one side, then the other. The two Pharsi undercaptains were on his right, with Voltyr and Threkhyl on his left.

“… when they going to do something?” muttered Threkhyl under his breath.

“Soon enough,” replied Voltyr curtly, if in a low voice.

Quaeryt forced himself to wait. Doing anything too early would ruin his plans. And so would doing what was necessary too late.

Another quint passed … and still none of the Telaryn forces moved.

The horns sounded again, and the first Telaryn regiments began to move forward, slowly, giving themselves the chance to move quickly when necessary or to mitigate the effect of musket fire.

Quaeryt expected some cannon fire from the Bovarians almost immediately, but the morning was quiet, with only the sound of the horns and the drumming of hooves.

No cannon yet? Or muskets? Concern over powder? Or premeasured and ranged target points?

Quaeryt looked northward once more. The whitish gray walls of the Chateau Regis rose above everything, unsurprisingly, since it was a tall oblong structure with its longest sides running north and south located on the highest hill west of the River Aluse … more than a mille from the river and directly west of the single isle in the middle of the river, an isle used mainly by factors for warehouses, and piers for barges and flatboats, at least by its appearance and the weathered look of the structures.

Waste of a perfectly good isle, thought Quaeryt absently. Then he concentrated on what was beginning to happen before him … and what was not. The first line of defenders extended pikes, or more likely braced them against the rear of the narrow trenches in which they waited so that the first earthworks bristled.

Then Quaeryt watched as the last ranks of Eleventh Regiment’s fourth company began to move forward.

He could only estimate how far the leading squads of Eleventh Regiment had gone when the initial volley of musket shots ripped into the troopers of Khaern’s first company. A second volley did not follow immediately, but Quaeryt could see that one of the spindly catapults behind the musketeers composing the second line of defenders began to arch, as if being winched back to release something. With no doubts as to what that might be, Quaeryt imaged away the smallest chunk of ropelike cable.