L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

Quaeryt managed not to laugh. He just looked at Shaelyt. “Besides telling them that I was a lost one doomed to serve others … what else?”

“That all the hopes of the Pharsi in Lydar likely rested on your shoulders and that we should support you as best we could.”

The absolute directness of Shaelyt’s last words cut through Quaeryt with the pain of a blunt blade. After a moment he said dryly, “You don’t expect much, do you?”

“No more than you expect of yourself, sir.”

Quaeryt nodded. “Then you’d better work your ass off on those shields, because I’ll need all the help you and the undercaptains can provide.” And more than that, most likely. “And remember to keep eating biscuits and drinking when you’re working on those shields.”

With a smile, Quaeryt turned and walked to where Zhelan was waiting.

“How is the fifth squad doing?” asked Quaeryt.

“Better than Ghaelyn or I hoped. Not as well as they need to be. We’ll work in extra drills when we can.”

“What about the replacements for the Khellan companies?”

Zhelan smiled. “They’re good. A few … they’re still riding wounded, but they want to be here. You’re part of that.”

“All three companies have good troopers and officers. We’re fortunate to have them … and you.”

Zhelan looked slightly embarrassed, but was saved from having to say anything by the command that echoed back along the column. “Mount up! Move out!”

“Time to get going.” Quaeryt nodded to Zhelan, walked to the mare, and mounted.

The rest of Lundi and Mardi morning were uneventful, with no signs of Bovarians, and by fourth glass on Mardi afternoon, Skarpa’s forces had reached a village barely larger than a hamlet, set beside a creek that emptied into the River Aluse. The locals had fled, but not long before the Telaryn forces had crossed the gray stone bridge over the creek, because the cook fires in hearths were still burning.

Even before the regiments and Fifth Battalion had begun to set up the encampment, while Quaeryt and Zhelan were discussing where to put which companies, a half squad of Telaryn troopers, escorting a dispatch rider, came down the road at a fast trot. Both officers looked at the dispatch rider, who had reined up before Skarpa.

“We’ve barely stopped, and here come more orders, I’d wager.” Zhelan gestured to the southeast, where thickening gray clouds were massing and moving northwest, slowly covering the sky. “With rain coming. Might be here before we’re set up.”

“More than likely,” agreed Quaeryt. “That’s why the commander stopped here.”

“Better get on with it, then,” said Zhelan. “The undercaptains in the first cot here, and first company with that shed … and the others-”

“The way we talked about,” said Quaeryt, still watching Skarpa.

No sooner had Skarpa received the dispatch and read it than he gestured and three troopers from Third Regiment immediately departed-one heading for Quaeryt.

“Best of fortune to us all, sir,” said Zhelan before turning and striding toward the nearest cot. “First company!”

In moments, a ranker hurried up to Quaeryt. “Sir…?”

“Commander Skarpa would like my presence?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt walked swiftly along the shoulder of the dirt path that would likely become mud with the slightest rain. He was the first of the senior officers to reach Skarpa.

“Good or bad?” he asked.

“About what you’d expect. Let me tell you all at once.”

As soon as Khaern and Meinyt joined them, Skarpa held up a single sheet of paper, at the bottom of which was a large crimson and green seal, then folded it and tucked it inside his uniform shirt. “I’ve just received an urgent dispatch from Marshal Deucalon. He’s ordered us to take that part of Nordeau on the south side of the river. We are to hold it until the northern forces reach the northern part. When that happens, we are to mount an attack on the remaining Bovarians in the north. We are not to destroy the bridge over the River Aluse. We are not even to block it unless required to hold the southern part of the city.” Skarpa paused. “Right now, they’re already two days behind us, and they don’t travel as fast.”

None of the three subordinate commanders said a word.

“I’m not one to stall. You all know that. I’m also in no hurry to fight if we’ll have to wait days for the marshal to arrive. Once this rain comes and goes, we’ll send out scouts to see why he’s so eager for us to move quickly. Do any of you know anything about Nordeau?” Skarpa looked at Quaeryt.

“I’ve only read a few things about it. It’s old. It might date back to the Naedarans.”

Skarpa raised his eyebrows.

“The road, sir. It was built to last, and the only place it can go is Nordeau, because the Naedarans never controlled Variana. That likely means Nordeau was a border city, and it will either have lots of stone walls and fortifications … or none.”

“Depending on whether some later rex kept them or tore them down?” asked Skarpa. “I’d wager the walls are still there and that’s why the Bovarians will make a stand there and why Deucalon wants us to attack first.” He looked to Khaern. “Any thoughts?”

“Not that I’d be wishing to guess what I don’t know, sir, but there are some old walls in Ruile and elsewhere. They’d be difficult to take without siege engines and more. If there are such walls in Nordeau…” Khaern shrugged.

“I’d like to hear what the scouts find out,” said Meinyt. “Rather not worry about things I don’t have to.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile at the grizzled subcommander’s pragmatism.

“We’ll see,” agreed Skarpa. “In the meantime, keep your men and provisions dry.”

As Quaeryt looked to the sky on his way back to tell Zhelan and the company officers about Deucalon’s orders, he had his doubts about how dry anything might remain.

Mardi night the rain began. By Meredi morning it was still coming down. Skarpa decided against moving on in the downpour, and by midday, the creek had risen by almost a yard, pouring a torrent of yellowish brown water into the dark gray-blue expanse of the Aluse. Shortly after the first glass of the afternoon, the deluge subsided to a gentle rain, and by midafternoon, the skies had cleared, and although the creek did not go down, it did not rise farther, either.

Once the rain ceased, Quaeryt went to work with the imagers, pressing Voltyr, Shaelyt, Desyrk, and Threkhyl on strengthening and improving their shields. What surprised Quaeryt the most was that Threkhyl could stop anything with his momentary shields from hundreds of yards, but could not maintain any continuous shield, something that even Desyrk could do, if only with very light shields so far. Yet Desyrk was limited in how far he could image, being unable to image anything except substances as light as smoke and pepper much more than a hundred yards or so. That underscored for Quaeryt the variability of imaging talents.

Perhaps because Shaelyt had taken an interest in the two younger Pharsi undercaptains, both Khalis and Lhandor had already begun to grasp the basics of shielding, although their attempts at holding shields were weak and flimsy indeed. Horan’s abilities seemed more like those of Threkhyl, in that he was strongest at imaging familiar objects, or those similar to them, while Smaethyl’s progress seemed like it would mirror Desyrk’s, although Quaeryt had the feeling that the norther had stronger innate imaging capabilities.

By Meredi evening, Quaeryt had exhausted them all, as well as himself, and he slept soundly, even on the uneven plank floor of the small cot.