L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

He laid the dispatch on the table and studied Vaelora’s letter. Again, the seal had been carefully removed and then replaced. With a nod, he opened it and began to read.

My dearest,

The summer here in Solis has been long and hot. The first two days of harvest have been no cooler, and we have had no rain to cool the nights.

You cautioned me that this war would be long and bloody. Lord Bhayar must feel the same way, as new regiments are being formed and trained every other week. At least, it seems that way, and Aelina told me that another ten regiments will be dispatched to join the northern forces early next week.

Ten regiments? Had ten regiments arrived? Certainly Bhayar had given the impression that there were far fewer. He’d actually mentioned four. Why hadn’t he known there were ten? And if there weren’t ten, where had the others gone? Or had someone drawn the golds to supply ten and sent four or seven or whatever number less than that and pocketed the “extra” golds. Or were Myskyl and Deucalon keeping the exact number from Bhayar as long as possible-or at least until Skarpa and his command had left Villerive-so that more regiments weren’t assigned to Skarpa?

… There are also some undercaptains being sent to assist you. I understand that most of them come from smaller towns. In the weeks and months ahead, there will likely be others found with talents that you can use, since local governors have been promised a bonus for those found, and since such discoveries may also suit both High Holders and larger factors.

In short, they want to remove imagers. Quaeryt smiled. They should be careful in making such wishes. After a moment he thought, So should you.

When he finished the letter, he studied the date-2 Agostas. Almost four weeks-and it had arrived with the reinforcements that had been dispatched a week later. Again, it appeared as though her letter had been opened and delayed. So you wouldn’t know the number of reinforcement regiments?

He certainly had no proof of that, but the pattern was suggestive.

Vaelora’s letter reminded him that he needed to send what he had already written to her, and what he would write later that evening-and that he had never replied to Gauswn.

He stood and slipped her letter into his personal dispatch case, leaving it on the table, then picked up the two letters and the five sheets that held the names of the new troopers to give to Zhelan. Then he headed back down to the stable courtyard to evaluate the new imagers.

Two quints later, Quaeryt stood fifty yards back from the stable wall, against which were two barrels set on their ends, the closed butt end up. A thick plank ran from one barrel to the other, set on its edge with each end propped in place with bricks. The four most recent imager undercaptains stood in a line even with Quaeryt. Voltyr and Shaelyt watched from the side.

“Undercaptain Khalis,” said Quaeryt, “image an iron dart into the plank.”

“Yes, sir.” The Pharsi undercaptain, a gawky young man, barely more than a youth, who looked to be two or three years younger than Shaelyt, concentrated. An iron dart, more like a knife that was made of iron, appeared in the heavy plank fifty yards way, its tip barely sticking into the wood before it wobbled and dropped to the dirt.

“Less iron in the dart and more force into the plank next time,” commented Quaeryt before turning to Smaethyl. “Undercaptain Smaethyl, an iron dart into the plank.”

Smaethyl’s dart was half the size of the previous one and buried half its length in the wood as it carried the plank to the back ends of the barrel butt, and then over, so that the plank dropped until it was wedged between the barrel and the stable wall, the iron dart still protruding.

“Good,” declared Quaeryt. “Barbed blade?”

“Yes, sir.” Smaethyl’s face showed momentary puzzlement.

“You look like a hunter, and the blade didn’t move.” Quaeryt nodded to Voltyr. “If you’d image away the dart and re-set the plank.”

The dart vanished from the plank and reappeared at Voltyr’s feet. He picked it up and handed it to Quaeryt. Then he and Shaelyt walked forward to the barrel and replaced the plank, then returned to their position behind Quaeryt.

Quaeryt kept his smile within his face after watching Horan’s face as Voltyr imaged away the knife. The older imager had clearly been surprised. Good. After a few more surprises, he might not be so arrogant. “Undercaptain Lhandor, your turn.”

Lhandor’s dart was more elegantly shaped, but buried itself in the plank as deeply as had that of Smaethyl.

“Your turn, Undercaptain Horan.”

Horan didn’t image a dart, but something more like an ax that splintered the top of the plank.

Quaeryt looked at the perspiration and the redness suffusing the older imager’s face. “If you would do that again.”

Horan opened his mouth, then shut it, and turned to face the plank. A second ax dart wedged itself into the plank, but not nearly so deeply. Horan staggered, then lowered his head for several moments.

“Undercaptain Horan,” said Quaeryt firmly but not angrily. “We’re training for war, not for hunting. If you use all your strength in the first effort, the least experienced trooper will be able to knock you out of the saddle in moments. The idea is to be able to repeat the effort, quickly time after time.”

Horan straightened.

Quaeryt could almost read the other’s thoughts. He concentrated.

One after the other, five iron darts buried themselves in the plank, with such force that they went through the wood and pinned the plank to the stable wall, so quickly that the plank was not slanted in the slightest.

“Do you see?” asked Quaeryt, smiling.

Horan swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Now … one of the tactics that has been most useful in dealing with the Bovarians is imaging thick and acrid smoke mixed with the finest grains of pepper. For some reason,” continued Quaeryt, “they find it hard to concentrate on trying to kill us when they have trouble seeing and they are sneezing violently. Undercaptain Shaelyt will demonstrate…”

Quaeryt, Voltyr, and Shaelyt worked with the newest undercaptains until two quints past fourth glass, when Quaeryt dismissed them all in time to wash up before mess. He returned to the factor’s house and washed as well, for although he had not been exhausted from imaging, the afternoon had still been hot and damp, and his face was damp and coated in dust and sweat.

After he cleaned up, he went down to the study, where he sat down at the plaques table and considered what he had seen of the four imagers. All of them were as accomplished, if not slightly more so, than Shaelyt had initially been. That made sense, because accomplished imagers who were either more isolated or more accomplished might not have been so easily discovered.

Then, a good quint before the evening mess, Quaeryt raised a concealment shield and slipped out of the study when no one was looking and eased down the hallway to a point near the archway into the main dining chamber where the officers were beginning to gather.

Smaethyl was talking to Desyrk, and Quaeryt could only catch some of the words.

“… always … work that hard … so quick…”

“… had us out working and seeing what we could do the morning after he showed up.”

“… always wants us to do more,” murmured Baelthm. “… find you can…”

Horan looked at Threkhyl and lowered his voice. “The officers in the other army never said the subcommander was a master imager. They said he was a scholar.”

“More than a master imager,” said Threkhyl curtly.

“He is both,” replied Shaelyt, “and more.”