L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

Should we attack the defenders to the east from the rear? Or try to take the bridge? The first made more immediate sense … except that if the Bovarians rushed reinforcements from the north, he’d rather fight them in the narrow confines coming off the bridge than chance having them evade Fifth Battalion and join the defenders. Failing to stop forces coming from the bridge would only increase the number of defenders arrayed against Skarpa and Meinyt.

He kept riding, glancing to one side and the other as well as ahead, where the remnants of the Bovarian cavalry fled the Khellans, making for the bridge that was less than a half mille away.

Quaeryt glanced toward the bridge over the River Aluse. The road they had followed had turned and angled into the main avenue that, in turn, ran straight into the bridge approachway. At a point just beyond the end of the approach and the beginning of the bridge proper, there was a stone wall three yards in height. Two heavy iron-bound gates, now open, afforded the only break in that gray stone barrier.

The fleeing Bovarians, both those mounted and those on foot, sprinted toward the gates, clearly hoping to get behind them and close them, in order to deny the Telaryn forces access to the bridge and the main part of Villerive.

You need to get to them before they can close the gates and escape-and block you from being able to reinforce the Telaryn forces when they attack.

Calkoran understood that, because the Khellans pressed their mounts up the approach to the bridge, cutting down Bovarian stragglers … but the gates were beginning to close as the Bovarians on the bridge obviously decided to leave the last of the fleeing defenders to the Khellan blades.

Quaeryt turned. “Voltyr! Image something to break the gates or keep them from closing!”

“Yes, sir!”

For a long moment the gates continued to close. Then, the gate on the right sagged and crashed forward onto the paving stones of the approach.

The Bovarians behind the gates abandoned their efforts to close the gates and tried to flee, but the Khellans were through the gates in moments, their blades flashing.

Quaeryt signaled first company to a halt. Adding another company to the melee on an already narrow bridge wouldn’t help matters. He watched in not quite dispassionate awe as the Khellans destroyed the few handfuls of Bovarians remaining. While a Khellan occasionally fell, that was seldom indeed, Quaeryt could see.

After the last of the Bovarians went down under the Khellan sabres, or jumped or dived off the side of the bridge into the dark waters below, the three companies re-formed, one-fourth company, Quaeryt could tell-remaining beyond the gate. Major Calkoran led the other two back through the gates and toward Quaeryt.

“Sir?” asked the older major.

“Hold the approach to the bridge against any Bovarians.”

“Yes, sir.”

“First company! Hold here!” Quaeryt rode back toward the gates and through them along the east side of the bridge, wide enough for three wagons abreast, with an iron railing about a yard and a half high on each side. As he passed Major Arion, Quaeryt glanced to the other side of the bridge, taking in the second set of iron gates there, gates that were now closed.

Yet, in the distance, both in front of him and behind him to the southeast, Quaeryt heard horns and bells, both imbued with a frantic urgency, and that spoke to Skarpa’s success-and that the Bovarian defenders were calling for reinforcements.

Quaeryt looked back, but saw-besides first, second, and third companies-no other riders or troopers on the approachway or the main avenue to the south. Fifth Battalion was alone. When he looked to the north end of the bridge, he saw that the gates there, gates that had been closed, were now opening.

You had to have Voltyr destroy the gate on this end. Idiot! Unfortunately, what was done was done.

Even through that narrow, if widening aperture, he could see hundreds, if not thousands, of armed Bovarians lined up as far as his eyes could see, ready to storm across the bridge. Quaeryt had no idea where Skarpa and Meinyt were, but he doubted, fierce as the Khellans were, and comparatively narrow as the bridge was, that less than four hundred troopers could hold off thousands, not without severe losses, and not for that long.

“Imagers! On me!” Except he didn’t have time to wait on them.

He rode forward until he was less than fifty yards from the oncoming Bovarian foot, led, of course, by three rows of pikes. There, he reined up and concentrated on linking to the river below-there had to be warmth there, after such a long hot summer and harvest! He also concentrated on linking and drawing from the advancing mass of blue-gray clad Bovarian soldiers, all of them.

Then he pictured a stone wall to the north of the one holding the gates that had just opened to the flood of Bovarian troopers, a solid gray stone wall at the edge of the bluff to the west of the bridge, across the bridge and then at the edge of the east bluff.

A blinding flash of light seared across him, followed by a chill that cut through his body like a thousand knives. Then came thunder, and hail that slammed into his body, no longer protected by his personal shields, shields that had somehow vanished. His muscles felt like watery jelly, yet he could see, surprisingly, if barely, through a splitting headache and searing flashes of light that stabbed into his eyes like daggers.

When he could finally straighten up, hail and ice flowed off him and his uniform and down off the mare’s coat. The roadway of the bridge was also white with ice and hail. Slowly, he looked toward the north end of the bridge.

Beginning less than twenty yards from him, at least two hundred ice-covered troopers lay scattered and frozen on the bridge between him and the open gates. Beyond the gates were more ice-covered bodies, frozen where they stood, wedged and welded together in ice. Farther to the north was a featureless gray stone wall running along the river bluff and across the point where the approach ended and the bridge proper began. Quaeryt wondered yet how many more ice-covered bodies lay sprawled beyond the wall he had imaged.

Then he shook his head-and was rewarded with an even more intense flash of pain, so much so that he couldn’t see for a moment. He turned in the saddle … slowly. “Arion! Get your men to that gate, and get it closed.” He looked at Shaelyt and Voltyr who were riding slowly toward him. “You two need to image beams and bars in place on this side once they get those gates there closed. Follow Arion’s men!”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt just watched, squinting and massaging his forehead with one hand, while the fourth company rankers moved bodies and forced the gates shut and while the two imagers created brackets and beams to keep them shut.

Then he turned to Arion, whose eyes remained wide. “Major?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and your men are to make sure that no one gets past those gates.”

“Yes, sir.” Although Arion’s voice was firm, his eyes flicked to the bodies and the walls.

“Once the bodies aren’t frozen, you’ll need to have them cleared from the bridge.” Quaeryt paused. “I’d appreciate it if they weren’t thrown in the river. Thank you.”

Arion nodded.

Slowly, Quaeryt rode back across the bridge, followed by Shaelyt and Voltyr. When he reached first company, he saw that Threkhyl was in the saddle, but pale as ice, as were Desyrk and Baelthm.

“All imagers … please eat and drink something.” After a moment he reached for his own water bottle and began to sip the watered lager, hoping that his guts would settle down. He doubted he would even have been in the saddle if he hadn’t had the presence of mind to link his imaging to the warmth of the river.