L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“By showing Bhayar, over time, that it is to his advantage.”

“He’s not even here.”

“No, and it’s better that he’s not. He would expect too much too soon. Rulers always do, and others, who have their own goals, encourage them to do so, if only to distract the ruler from their own failures and shortcomings.”

Voltyr tilted his head to the side. “There is great risk to what you seek.”

Quaeryt looked back. “Why not try? Could it be any worse than what … imagers have faced in the past?”

After another thoughtful pause, Voltyr shook his head.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that between you and me … and Shaelyt, if you wish.”

“That might be best.”

Quaeryt smiled. “Have a pleasant evening with your thoughts.”

“You, too, sir.”

Quaeryt turned and walked toward the false olive, then stopped, but the robins had flown away.

Before seventh glass on Samedi morning, as the two regiments and Fifth Battalion were forming up, Skarpa, Meinyt, and Quaeryt met on the narrow porch of the inn at Fuenh. As they stood there, Quaeryt shifted his weight off his bad left leg, and felt the planks underfoot sway ever so slightly.

“We’ve gotten back reports from the scouts. They’ve confirmed that the maps are mostly accurate,” said Skarpa. “That’s the good part. There are hamlets spaced almost every five milles apart from here all the way to Villerive. There’s only one town of any size. That’s Ralaes. It’s some twenty-five milles from here, and a good ten from there to the outskirts of Villerive. Maybe fifteen.”

“The bad part?” asked Meinyt.

“The roads aren’t any better, and we’ve got company. The scouts haven’t been able to discover where they are. There might be as much as a regiment out there. They’re not riding together, either, but as separate companies.”

“More of what happened at the river point yesterday, then?” asked Quaeryt.

“That’s possible. Or hit-and-run attacks with archers or…” Skarpa shrugged. “Who knows? We haven’t fought true Bovarian regulars yet.” He paused. “Well … except at Ferravyl, but they didn’t get much of a chance to show what they might do.”

“Better that way, if you ask me,” said Meinyt.

“What happened at Ferravyl might be why they’ve split up for now,” added Skarpa. “Do you have any thoughts on what they’re most likely to attempt?”

“More ambushes,” said Meinyt. “Pits and fixed emplacements take too much time.”

“An attack from the rear, the way the Tilborans did when we went to relieve Boralieu,” suggested Quaeryt.

“I’d thought about that. We’ll put the supply wagons in the middle of the column for now. That will allow whoever has rearguard duty to attack without worrying about supplies. Fifth Battalion will serve as vanguard today.”

That alone told Quaeryt that Skarpa was worried. When the commander finished, Quaeryt left the inn and hurried to where Fifth Battalion was mustering. There he called for all the officers to join him. Once they all were present, he spoke, in Bovarian, because all officers were supposed to understand it, and because he wanted to make sure the Khellan officers did, in particular. “Yesterday, the Bovarians tried an ambush. This morning, Commander Skarpa told me that there are more Bovarian forces ahead. They’ll try to inflict casualties on us and then withdraw so quickly that we either can’t chase them or so that we’ll follow them into another ambush. The best way to blunt them is to be ready. If you see anything strange-or anyone in a blue-gray uniform-have your men ready to fight and tell me or Major Zhelan immediately. We will be the vanguard. Now, for you imagers, if I’m not here, Undercaptain Voltyr is in charge, and you’re to use your abilities to bring down the Bovarians as quickly as you can. Is that clear?”

There were nods, although Quaeryt suspected some of those from the imagers were perfunctory because several understood little Bovarian.

Major Calkoran immediately asked, “Can we not attack them?”

“You can, Major, but only if you can see clearly where your men will fight. You’re not to move more than half a mille from the rest of the battalion without my approval. They’ll try to draw us out and then cut off individual companies.”

“They must have more than a few companies, then.”

“Commander Skarpa believes they have almost a regiment nearby. That’s not enough men to take us all on, but enough to wipe out individual companies.”

Calkoran nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Any other questions?” No one volunteered any, and Quaeryt had to wonder if he’d been too curt, although he certainly had attempted to be open to questions. “Then form up.”

As the other officers began to return to their companies, Quaeryt beckoned to Zhelan.

“What do you think, Zhelan? Did I leave something out?”

A slow smile crossed the major’s face. “No, sir. Not this time.”

Quaeryt managed not to wince at the gentle reminder that he had before.

“The Khellans need to be reminded that they could be outnumbered. By including all the officers, you didn’t offend their pride.” Zhelan’s smile became a grin. “They have a lot of pride.”

Quaeryt grinned back, shaking his head. “We’d better get moving.”

Even so, it was another two quints before Fifth Battalion began to move out at the head of the column, with Skarpa riding beside Quaeryt.

Once the troopers were settled into a good pace, Quaeryt turned to the commander. “You’re worried. Did the scouts see something else?”

Skarpa shook his head. “Just a feeling. Always get into trouble when I don’t trust that kind of feeling.”

Unlike on previous days, which had been hazy, the sky was crystal clear, the morning already warm and promising to become a blistering harvest day. Even the River Aluse somehow looked to be flowing more slowly, as if struggling against the warmth.

Eighth glass came and went, and so did ninth glass, and there were no hints of any possible trouble. The huts and cots of the peasants and croppers were shuttered as the southern army passed, but the scouts reported no signs of Bovarians. That just made Quaeryt more certain that something would happen. A quint or so before noon, as Fifth Battalion began to ride up a gentle rise in the road toward higher ground, from somewhere behind the battalion came a faint trumpet call-the one that meant the some company was being attacked.

“Keep a watch here, Subcommander, but keep them moving unless I send word otherwise.” With that, Skarpa galloped rearward along the shoulder of the river road.

Quaeryt immediately urged the mare to the shoulder of the road so that he could take a quick look back eastward, but he could see nothing for a good half mille, past the supply wagons. Beyond that, the road curved southward around a low rise. That the Bovarians would attack when the front of the column could not see the rear wasn’t exactly surprising.

As he watched, a wave of riders in gray-blue uniforms charged from out of a woodlot set back a good two hundred yards south of the road, aimed straight at the supply wagons, set in the middle of Third Regiment. Almost as quickly, two companies from the regiment swung from the column to cut off the attackers.

“Imagers! Fifth Battalion!” Quaeryt turned in the saddle, looking at the six undercaptains. “Third Regiment is fighting off a hit-and-run attack on the supply wagons. Fifth Regiment is being attacked from the rear. Stand ready.” He had the feeling that the Bovarians would wait for a time before attacking. He just had no idea how long, only that they’d seek a time and place to their advantage. “Major, pass it back!”