L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

Although there were no signs of Bovarians, Quaeryt continued to carry full imaging shields, rather than the lighter shields that triggered full shields, as part of his efforts to rebuild his imaging endurance. Just before eighth glass, Quaeryt was riding with Major Zhael, who had obviously talked with Calkoran, since Zhael asked no questions about Quaeryt’s background.

“What did the Bovarians do that you did not expect them to do?” asked Quaeryt.

“We thought they would do their worst, and they did.”

“What sorts of things?”

Zhael offered a sour smile. “They burned the grasslands so the forage for our horses was less. They burned every dwelling beside any road they traveled. When they could not burn crops they rode their horses through the fields and broke the plants.”

“Did they offer any reasons?”

“They did. They told those who survived that the destruction was because they had not accepted the merciful offers of Rex Kharst.” Zhael spat away from Quaeryt. “We know the mercy of the Bovarians. A generation ago all the Pharsi in Kherseilles had their shops and their lands taken after the Rex invaded. They were marched into the barrens north of Mantes and told to rebuild there. Many fled to Khel. Rex Kharst’s father demanded their return. Our High Council refused. The rex did not want them back. He wanted a reason to attack us. He did. We defeated his best, and sent them back to Variana with their tails between their legs, those that even had tails remaining, and we re-took Kherseilles.”

“What was different this time?”

“The Red Death. Some say that Kharst loosed sick rodents from merchant ships he had hired. Others say he worked the pus from victims into cheap woolens. The plague started in Eshtora, Ouestan, and Pointe Neiman. Almost half the young men in Khelgror died … and many of the young women.”

Quaeryt had known of the plague that had ravaged the west of Lydar five years previously, and Vaelora had mentioned the deaths in Khelgror. But half the young men?

“I see your doubt. Most great illnesses take the old and the children. This one did not. It took all ages, but mostly the young and hale.”

“Why do you think Kharst was to blame?”

“He had his armies ready in the spring after the cold of winter. We almost threw them back, but we had too few troopers. Even the women fought. They suffered horribly if they were captured. Most would not let themselves be taken.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Quaeryt didn’t know what else to say.

“You could not have known.” Zhael shrugged fatalistically. “Few who were not there would believe.”

Quaeryt understood more why the Khellans were so determined to fight against Kharst. But can you keep their rage limited to the Bovarian fighting men?

They rode quietly for a time, Quaeryt blotting his forehead now and again, continually readjusting his visor cap, wondering how much hotter it would get, and knowing that it would.

Then, more than a mille ahead, above the trees on the south side of the road, Quaeryt saw smoke, more than was likely from a hamlet’s chimneys in summer. “Excuse me, Major, I need to see what the scouts have reported.”

“The smoke?” Zhael shook his head. “It may be crops burning. Kharst would not hesitate to burn his own people’s yields.”

“I hope you’re wrong.”

Zhael lifted his eyebrows.

Quaeryt guided the mare onto the shoulder of the road and urged her into a faster pace. Even so, more than half a quint passed before he reached Skarpa at the head of the column.

“What is it?” he asked as he eased the mare beside the commander.

“Crops burning. Winter wheat corn.”

“Where?”

“To the south of the river road. The road’s clear.”

“The Bovarians aren’t even trying to stop us, but burning the crops of their own people? What’s the point of that?” Quaeryt shook his head. “We can’t harvest it yet, and all that does is beggar the people.”

“That’s Kharst for you. If he can’t have it, neither will we.” Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “Do you have something in mind?”

“I’d like to look into it. It might not hurt if we could get rid of the Bovarians firing the fields.”

“They may be counting on that,” Skarpa pointed out. “Just don’t hazard your troops unnecessarily, and don’t pursue for very long.”

“I’ll just take first company.”

Skarpa nodded.

Quaeryt rode back to Fifth Battalion where he explained the situation to Zhelan. Then he went on, gesturing to the southwest. “The fields are there. The Bovarians won’t come this way, and they probably won’t take the river road back west. That means that they have to move south or hole up. Let’s see if we can find them. Just first company. I’ll accompany them, but the imagers will stay with you and the rest of the battalion.”

Zhelan offered a concerned look, but said nothing.

“The Bovarians can’t have that many troopers here, not after Ferravyl and not on this side of the river, and you’ve told me that Undercaptain Ghaelyn is very experienced.”

“That’s true, sir.”

“The entire battalion can’t move that quickly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt smiled. “We’ll be all right. We might not even find anyone.”

“I’m not certain the Bovarians have enough sense to flee. When there’s a fight, there’s always a chance…”

“I know. I will be careful.” Just not in the way you think.

Zhelan gestured behind him, and Ghaelyn rode forward.

“Undercaptain, the subcommander has a mission for first company. He’ll direct you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Undercaptain,” said Quaeryt. “We need to keep the Bovarians from burning crops. More crops. That means we need to get about two milles to the southwest, and not by the river road, so that we can get behind the Bovarian raiders who seem to be firing the fields of the local peasants.”

“Well, sir … there was a clear track south a few hundred yards back.”

“We might as well try it,” replied Quaeryt.

Almost half a quint later, Ghaelyn and Quaeryt followed the scouts and three outriders down a dusty dirt track that headed south. After less than a mille, the track curved to the southeast around a pond surrounded by rushes and cattails. On the far side of the pond was a meadow or pasture, with a cot and a large shed, not quite big enough to be a barn, set farther back on a low rise. Behind the buildings was a stand of trees, possibly a woodlot.

Beyond the trees, Quaeryt thought he saw another smoke trail, and he gestured to Ghaelyn. “See that?”

“It looks like they might be burning another field or two.”

“Can we swing south and then west?” Quaeryt stood in the stirrups and looked for a path or a trail.

“There looks to be a narrow way over there.” Ghaelyn pointed.

“Call in the scouts,” ordered Quaeryt. “Until they’re just fifty yards or so ahead. Then have them lead the way.”

The undercaptain frowned.

“Go ahead. I don’t want to give the Bovarians much warning.”

Quaeryt waited until the outriders and scouts repositioned themselves, then nodded to Ghaelyn. “Quiet riding from here on.”

“Quiet riding. Pass it back.”

Quaeryt extended a concealment across the company, including the scouts. He could feel a definite strain, and dropped his personal shields to the lightest of triggered shields. He’d promised Vaelora never to ride without shields. You didn’t say how strong a shield. Still, he hated the idea that he wasn’t following exactly what she’d meant.

The narrow path barely allowed two mounts abreast, and riders’ trousers and boots continually brushed the bushes and vegetation.