L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

After a moment Zhelan nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re more than welcome. Without first company, I doubt any of us would have made it this far.”

“You would have, sir.”

“Perhaps … but the others wouldn’t have, and we’ll need them more and more.”

“I can see that, sir.”

“Now…” said Quaeryt, “you need to tell me about how the rest of Fifth Battalion is doing, and if there’s anything you or they need.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve got maybe a hundred mounts could stand reshoeing…”

Quaeryt listened for a good two quints before rising and heading back toward the South River Inn. As he strode back through the warm damp air, he decided that before he started working with the imagers, he needed to make arrangements for one of the farriers attached to either Fifth Regiment or Third Regiment to work on the battalion’s mounts, since Fifth Battalion hadn’t been assigned a farrier.

That took almost a glass, before he ran down Skarpa’s farrier in the stable beside yet another inn, The Overflowing Bowl, and extracted a firm commitment from the trooper, officially a senior squad leader, to report to Zhelan first thing on Vendrei morning. As he crossed the courtyard, he saw a brown dog lying on a heap of straw beside the stable door.

“Hello there,” he said warmly.

The dog lifted its head slightly, and its tail gave a single thump.

“You’re right,” replied Quaeryt. “It has been one of those days.”

“Careful, sir.” A stable boy stepped out of the stable. “He can bite. That’s why the chain.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt hadn’t noticed the chain. He decided against trying to give the dog a pat, mournful as the canine looked.

By the time he neared the South River Inn, it was nearly second glass … and he had to retrieve his staff from his room before working with the imagers. The two bells of the afternoon chimed out as he hurried down the steps with his staff in hand. Not only was he later than he would have liked getting back to undercaptains who he expected would be both tired and restless, but he was also late, and he hated that, even if it happened to be by only a few moments.

The five of them were indeed in the east courtyard, beside the roofed porch holding neither stools nor chairs. Quaeryt did not bother with much of an introduction to what he had in mind. “You have all been working to see if you can learn another imaging skill. This afternoon we’ll see how well you’re coming. I’ll be testing your shielding skills.”

He took in the resigned expressions and grinned. “I’ve told you before. You only improve when you’re required to do more when you’re already tired. That makes this afternoon a perfect time to try to improve.”

He gestured toward Shaelyt. “Step forward.”

The youngest undercaptain did so.

“I’m going to try to hit you with my staff. It won’t be that hard. Try to block the blow with an imaging shield. Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt took the staff in the two-handed grip of a seaman, feinted, and then came forward with the lower end of the staff. He could feel some resistance slowing the staff, but the end struck Shaelyt’s thigh. Quaeryt stepped back. “Try to tighten the hooks or whatever image you’re using. Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The second time Shaelyt managed to stop the staff, although Quaeryt thought he could have pushed through if he’d used more strength. “Better. I’m going to use more force this time. Ready?”

Shaelyt nodded.

Quaeryt struck, but from the other side. Shaelyt’s shield stopped the staff, but the force knocked him back half a yard, and the Pharsi almost fell. “Much better.” Quaeryt lowered his staff. “What happened there is something else you all need to understand. Imaging shields spread the force of a blow across the whole shield. If you’re not balanced, you can stop a blow and still end up pushed from your mount and trampled or worse. Still”-Quaeryt nodded to Shaelyt-“you have the idea, and you need to build up your strength.”

“How do we do that, sir?” asked Desyrk. “Are we supposed to beat each other bruised?”

“No. You can build up strength by holding the shields as long as you can, then taking a brief rest, and doing it again and again. It’s even better if you do it while walking or riding.” Quaeryt motioned to Voltyr, ignoring the slight wince. “You’re next.”

Voltyr’s shields were more like unseen soft cheese, slowing but not completely stopping the staff. Desyrk’s effort slowed the staff, then collapsed. Baelthm was unable to mount any sort of shield. On the other hand, Threkhyl could block anything-for a few moments-but was so exhausted after three tries by Quaeryt that he was shaking and almost collapsed.

Quaeryt lowered the staff and looked at the ginger-bearded imager. “When you can raise a shield, it will likely stop almost anything, but you can’t keep doing what you’re doing and have any strength left. I’d like to suggest something else for now. What about creating momentary shields, solid ones-when you see or feel something headed in your direction-but holding them just long enough to block something. Perhaps, if you start that way, you can do it more quickly and more often without exhausting yourself.”

Threkhyl frowned, then nodded slowly. “I can do that.”

“There’s one other thing,” offered Quaeryt.

“Yes, sir?” Threkhyl’s words were cautious, his eyes wary.

“I’d like to commend you, again, on creating that stone span across the dry moat. You reacted quickly. You made taking out those musketeers much easier and allowed us to do it much more quickly. Subcommander Meinyt said it likely saved a good hundred of his troopers. I thought you ought to know.” Quaeryt smiled as warmly as he could.

Surprise flickered in Threkhyl’s eyes for an instant before he spoke. “Thank you, sir.”

“You did a good job. You should know it.” Quaeryt stepped back and surveyed the undercaptains. After his testing, he had the feeling that none of the imagers really understood how shields could and should work, and that even Shaelyt and Voltyr had little more than a vague idea. And that’s your fault, not theirs.

He cleared his throat. “It’s clear that all of you think about shielding in a slightly different way. I’m going to offer some thoughts and observations that I trust will be helpful. The first is going to sound strange, but I’d like you to consider it.” He turned to Voltyr. “Undercaptain, can you walk as quickly through waist-deep water as you can out of the water?”

Voltyr looked appropriately surprised. “No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“The water gets in the way.”

“It’s thicker than air, isn’t it?”

Voltyr nodded.

“But what if you made the air-somehow-as thick as water? Then wouldn’t you have as much trouble walking right here?”

“Well … yes … I suppose.”

“That’s another way to look at shielding yourself. You’re trying to make a thin skin, if you will, of air thicker, stronger … strong enough to stop things like staffs or shafts or quarrels. Each of you may have to find your own way of doing that. For me, I’ve thought about tiny unseen hooks linking pieces of air together like armor. That may or may not work for you, but you all can see that you can create shields to protect yourselves…”

As he finished his talk, Quaeryt saw that Skarpa had been standing on the porch watching. He didn’t know how long, but it was clear the commander had seen at least some of the shield instruction and practice.

“Undercaptains.” Quaeryt waited until the five were looking at him. “That’s all the formal instruction for today. You need to practice for another half glass. After that, you’re free until the evening meal. If you leave the inn, you’re to go in pairs at least, and with your sabres. I’d also suggest you practice shields as long as you can everywhere you go.” He turned and climbed the steps to the porch.