L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt turned the mare and looked across the ancient canal, but there was no sign of the Bovarian musketeers. He urged the mare southward toward where the others were re-forming. In moments, he reined up beside Zhelan. “They’ve already cleared the isle, it appears. Every musket stand is gone. Do you know our casualties?”

“Thirteen men are dead, ten wounded,” replied Zhelan, “most from first company.”

“Make that eleven wounded. Undercaptain Akoryt took a musket ball in the chest.”

Zhelan glanced at Quaeryt almost in disbelief.

“Imagers aren’t invulnerable, especially less experienced ones,” said Quaeryt.

“How badly is he hurt?”

“Badly. I don’t know how severely, but he was having trouble breathing.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Quaeryt finally caught sight of Skarpa. “I’ll see what the commander wants, but keep them well back from the canal. The Bovarians might fire from the trees.”

“Yes, sir.” After a moment Zhelan began to issue orders to move the battalion farther south.

Quaeryt rode toward Skarpa and reined up.

“Fifth Battalion took most of the fire, Subcommander. How bad was it?”

“Thirteen dead, eleven wounded, including Undercaptain Akoryt. He looks to be in a bad way.”

“I had a feeling about today.”

Quaeryt forbore to mention that Skarpa had had a bad feeling for the last several days.

Skarpa shook his head. “Musketeers, no less.”

“The imagers took out almost half a company of them,” Quaeryt said.

“How did they do that?”

“Imaged iron darts into them.”

“Ha! Good for your imagers. Might give them second thoughts. Except it won’t. They’ll still fear Kharst more than us.”

Quaeryt had no doubts about that. But isn’t it somehow terrible that fear of one’s leader is greater than the fear of death at the hands of the enemy? That suggested, in another fashion, just how important it was for Bhayar and Telaryn to succeed.

“We’ll see what the scouts discover, but I’d wager that the musketeers are withdrawing by boat already.”

“You think so, sir?”

“Be most surprised if they weren’t. Muskets and musketeers are too valuable to leave unguarded and outnumbered. They’ll pull them back and use them against us again.”

And again, thought Quaeryt.

“If that’s so, we’ll form up and keep moving.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll tell my officers.” Quaeryt slowly rode back toward Fifth Battalion, but caught sight of the red banner that marked the surgeon, and turned his mount that way.

When he neared the banner, he saw Voltyr and Shaelyt. Both looked pale as he reined up beside where they stood holding the reins to their mounts.

“How is he?” asked Quaeryt.

Voltyr shook his head. “The surgeon-he’s really a senior squad leader who’s a field surgeon-said you’d stopped the bleeding, sir. Mostly … but that wasn’t enough. Something with the lungs. He stopped breathing.”

“He just gasped and gasped,” said Shaelyt. “Then he didn’t anymore.”

Quaeryt didn’t hide the wince. Yet what else could you have done? After a moment he said, “We’ll need to form up again. The commander wants to keep moving.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Quaeryt turned the mare back toward Fifth Battalion, he couldn’t help thinking, Should you have started training all of them on shields earlier? But that wouldn’t have helped Akoryt, because he couldn’t have developed enough strength as an imager to hold shields all the time, and the attack had come without warning. Almost without warning.

With that thought, he turned his mount toward second company and Major Calkoran.

The major was waiting for him.

“Subcommander, sir … your imagers … they kept us from greater casualties.”

“They did. Undercaptain Akoryt took a musket ball. He died.”

“I am sorry for him … and for us. He will be missed.”

For a moment Quaeryt was stunned by Calkoran’s coolness. He had to remind himself that the major had suffered incredible losses and seen far greater slaughter, and that the death of less than a score of men and a young officer could not compare to what Calkoran had experienced. “Major … how did you know they had musketeers on that island?”

“I saw those strange trees. Except they are not real trees. Each is a … screen … around the musket stand. The Bovarians used them to hide their musketeers in Khel,” said Calkoran, adding, “Or something like them. The muskets … do not fire accurately, either uphill or downslope. They are terrible when they can be fired in mass across a level ground, and where they cannot be charged quickly.”

Terrible … Quaeryt could see that. Four volleys into first and second company, and in a fraction of a quint, thirteen men were dead, and another eleven were wounded. Fourteen dead, now, with Akoryt.

Without the imagers-again-the results could have been much worse.

But the question of shields lingered in the back of his mind.

After he finished with Calkoran, Quaeryt rode to the front of first company, his eyes going to the trees on the north side of the road and the canal, not quite seeing either. You tried to protect them … you just didn’t think about muskets in a side volley. He shook his head again.

No matter how much he told himself that in the few weeks he’d had the imagers he couldn’t have taught them what it had taken him well over a year to learn and develop, he had the feeling that Akoryt’s death … and perhaps those of others … would haunt him.

But he did need to give the others a better chance. They might surprise you.

One way or the other …

He glanced northward again, for a moment.

Just slightly after midday, Skarpa ordered resumption of the advance toward Ralaes, leaving Fifth Battalion as vanguard. He also sent out two squads of scouts and remained at the head of the column with Quaeryt as they rode alongside the ancient canal.

A mille or so past the spot where the Bovarians had attacked, the canal turned southward. Quaeryt couldn’t help but study what the Naedarans had done. The far side of the canal was clearly a stone wall, backed by an earthen levee. On the far side of the levee was a marsh that extended northwest and joined the River Aluse. An ancient stone bridge-repaired in more recent times-crossed the canal, and on the far side of the bridge, the ancient stone road swung west to again parallel the river.

As he adjusted the visor cap and blotted the sweat off his forehead in the early afternoon heat, Quaeryt’s eyes followed the canal. Why isn’t it swamp? There has to be water flowing from somewhere or it would have long since filled itself in. Quickly taking out his map, he located where he thought they were. While the canal wasn’t shown on the map, nor the bridge, the isle was. So was a large lake to the south, with a town called Chelaes located along the western side of the unnamed lake. Chelaes must have been important for Naedara.

“What are you thinking about? You’ve got that expression,” said Skarpa.

“The canal and why it was built.”

“It was built to get boats to the river. That was a long time back. Right now, the Bovarians used the canal wall to get off that isle. They have carts or wagons and they’re moving west at a good clip.”

“So they can set up another ambush or withdraw to meet their main body,” suggested Quaeryt.

“Most likely both,” replied Skarpa dryly.

Another glass passed before one of the scouts rode up beside the commander.

“What did you find?”

“The wagons that carried the musketeers and their muskets took another road just ahead. It’s headed south. The millestones say that there’s a place called Chelaes eleven milles south.”