L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“The road’s better because we’re nearing Rivecote Sud,” said Skarpa, riding beside Quaeryt.

“I still wonder why Kharst let the roads get so bad.”

Skarpa shrugged.

“Do you think they’ll use the cable ferry to send troopers across to stop us?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. They might not even know we’re here, but I don’t think we’ll be that fortunate.” Skarpa laughed. “I’m not even sure how we managed to get here.”

“We haven’t seen any new signs of Bovarians or their scouts,” Quaeryt said.

“That only means they haven’t left tracks where we could see them. Even if they didn’t send out scouts, some of the locals might have passed on word.”

“Or some of the troopers who survived the flatboat sinking.”

“Someone did. One way or another. We’ll likely run into some opposition before long.”

Quaeryt glanced at the fields on the south side of the road. While the cots and outbuildings were less ramshackle than those he’d seen on the two previous days, they were still placed comparatively far apart, and there were places where the only thing that seemed to grow was a big-leafed ground cover that swallowed everything. Or was the plant so hardy that it was the biggest problem for the locals? “It should be a while yet. The cots are so far apart that I can’t believe we’re that close to even a village of any size.”

“I wouldn’t think so … but, with Bovarians, how would we know?”

Are people that different? Quaeryt did not voice the thought.

By the time they had ridden another glass, the cots and barns were larger and closer together, and looked more prosperous, some even with brick and mortar walls and slate roofs. The scouts returned and reported that the outskirts of the town were less than two milles away. They also had observed a force blocking the road just outside the town.

Skarpa called a halt and ordered the troopers to arms, then sent out more scouts in all directions. “Doesn’t make sense to put a small force on the road outside of the town.”

“Are they trying to delay us?”

“Might be. They also might be trying to use the cable ferry to bring over more troops.”

“Or destroying it to keep us from using it,” suggested Quaeryt. “Could we advance slowly, while you have Fifth Regiment circle the town and move in from the southwest?”

“That was my thought. I’m waiting for Meinyt.”

Scarcely had Skarpa finished speaking than Meinyt rode up the shoulder of the still-narrow road and reined up facing the commander. “Sir?”

“I have a mission for you.”

“You want us to circle and attack from the west?”

“See if you can take the cable ferry. Before they cut the cables, if you can.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything else?”

“Try not to make a mess of the town or the people, but don’t hazard your troops.”

“We’ll do what we can.” Meinyt nodded. “Anything else?”

“No. You know what to do.” As Meinyt rode off, Skarpa turned to Quaeryt. “Let’s start our deliberate advance.”

A half mille later, after rounding a curve in the river road, Quaeryt and Skarpa were at the end of a gentle slope. Three-fifths of the way up a slope covered in low bushes, grass, and patches of dirt were the Bovarians, a ragtag force arrayed behind a makeshift line of pikes embedded in the small earthen berms that had to have been hastily piled up across the road and for some fifty yards on either side-until they reached stands of trees and brush. In the center was a company or so of regular Bovarian troopers, or at least men wearing those uniforms. On either side were men and even youths in gray shirts with bows and spears. Quaeryt even saw several ancient halberds. Another fifth of a mille behind them were several houses, and a row of shops.

“This could be a slaughter,” said Skarpa, “unless they’ve got another force hidden.”

“What do the scouts say?”

“They’ve circled the town. They can’t find any sign of any other forces.”

“There have to be other tricks that they have in mind,” offered Quaeryt.

“My thought as well. They want us to attack. There’s straw all across the ground, and most likely pits with stakes concealed there.” Skarpa smiled ironically. “Or they want us to think that there are.”

“What if we don’t attack? What if we stand off and shoot arrows into them?”

“We’ve only got one squad of archers,” said Skarpa. “Almost all of Bhayar’s archers are on the other side of the river. Can you and the imagers do something?”

Quaeryt studied the berms and the pikes embedded in them. There was nothing there that could burn, and he really didn’t want to fire the buildings behind the defenders. “We could probably kill a few at a distance, but not enough to make a difference.”

“Could you do anything to make them less able to fight?”

Quaeryt frowned. He’d put oil under the boots of slam-thieves, imaged bread into mouths and throats, and used imaging in a variety of lethal ways, but except for the ice rain, most of his imaging had dealt with only a single person at once, or at most a few.

In the momentary silence, from behind him, someone sneezed-loudly.

Sneezing … of course … if we can do it. He concentrated, trying to image pepper flakes on the back of his hand that held the reins.

The fine black pepper appeared in a small circle.

Then he turned to Skarpa. “We might be able to do something.” He turned in the saddle. “Shaelyt, how long can you deflect arrows?”

“For a time, sir.”

“Threkhyl … you’re one of the stronger imagers. How far away could you image something that doesn’t weigh too much, say … a chunk of wood the size of a dagger?”

“A hundred yards, maybe two.”

“All right … now can you image pepper, just a small amount … ground fine, into your hand?”

A puzzled expression crossed Threkhyl’s face.

Shaelyt tried to hide a grin.

“Go ahead. I need to see if you can.”

“Ah … I might be better with the red peppercorns.”

“You might, but I want the kind that cause people to sneeze.”

“I could do both.” Threkhyl frowned.

A cloud of fine red and black flakes appeared above Threkhyl’s hand.

“Good,” said Quaeryt. “Now, get rid of it, gently.”

Threkhyl wiped his hand on his trousers, and even though most of the pepper was well below his face, he sneezed several times, once violently. “What…?”

“We’re going to move forward, slowly, until we’re close enough to image a cloud of pepper dust over the Bovarians.”

“Why not just charge them?” demanded Threkhyl.

“Because we’re still a long ways from Variana, and Commander Skarpa and I would like to arrive to fight the important battles with as many of our troopers as possible. Besides, most of the men in that group are locals, graybeards, and youths.” Quaeryt was guessing about the graybeards, but he’d seen the locals and youths. “If we charge them directly, most of them will die, and we’ll still lose men, and the Bovarians won’t lose any of their seasoned troopers.”

Skarpa cleared his throat, then said quietly, “You’ll still need troopers. They’ll attack you and the imagers immediately if you ride up alone.”

“I know,” replied Quaeryt in a low voice, then raised it. “Major Zhelan, Undercaptain Ghaelyn, forward!”

Both Zhelan and Ghaelyn rode up beside Quaeryt as if they’d been expecting the command, and they probably had, Quaeryt thought.

“Sir?” asked Zhelan.

“I need first company to escort the imager undercaptains up that slope. We’re planning a surprise, and if it works, there may not be much fighting. If it doesn’t, Major, you’ll have to charge the locals. I think there are staked pits across the slope, but if first company and the imagers can advance slowly, we may be able to see and avoid them.”