Imager’s Battalion (25 page)

Some obstacle ahead in the road?
he wondered.

Then he glanced at the brush-covered slope to the right of the road, almost but not quite too steep for a mount to climb, with scattered trees rising out of the undergrowth, one of the few places they had passed throughout the morning that showed no signs of ever having been cultivated, grazed, or logged or used as an orchard or woodlot.
Is that because the ground beneath that brush is too rugged or rocky?

The air was heavy and almost oppressively still. Even though Quaeryt was a ways from entering the narrow cut, he could have sworn that some of the leaves on the bushes higher on the slope were moving, but he could feel no breeze. Nor could he see any other signs of even the lightest of winds.

Abruptly, more than a company of archers in the gray-blue uniforms of Bovaria appeared, rising out of the brush and from behind trees on the upper reaches of the north side of the cut, almost as if from nowhere. They immediately began loosing shafts down upon the last companies in Fifth Regiment.

Quaeryt immediately expanded his shields across the front of his own Fifth Battalion, but from the impact of at least one shaft on his shields before he did and from the yells behind him, he was too late to shield his battalion from the first volley.

“Imagers! Image on the archers!” he ordered. “Iron pieces to the head.”

Quaeryt followed his own advice, as quickly as he could, forcing himself to ignore the troopers ahead of him, trapped in the cut. He cut down one archer, then another, and a third, and a fourth …

Close to a score of troopers in Fifth Regiment turned their mounts uphill, deciding to try to reach the archers, rather than remaining as near-passive targets. Two of the mounts went down immediately, their legs going out from under them on the unsteady dirt and rocks beneath the leafy brush.

More troopers went down, but Quaeryt could also see archers other than those he was targeting toppling, one after the other.

Two troopers, near the eastern end of the cut, had found a place where the ground was firmer, and others began to follow them, although several went down with arrows in their chest and shoulders.

Then, as quickly as the attack had begun, the archers disappeared into the brush and trees at the crest of the ridge, while the squad or so of pursuing troopers were joined by others scrambling, if slowly, after the fleeing archers.

Quaeryt had the feeling that the pursuing troopers weren’t likely to have much success, not given the care behind the ambush. The archers had been placed on a slope that the Telaryn mounts could not climb, or not easily, and the shafts not loosed until the targeted troopers were effectively blocked in place by those in front of and behind them. There did not appear to have been any tracks in any place that scouts could have found them.

He turned in the saddle. “Good work, Undercaptains. Your efforts likely forced the archers to leave sooner than they would have, and that saved many troopers in Fifth Regiment.”

“Sir…” began Shaelyt, who broke off his words. “Nothing, sir.”

“Keep your eyes open. We’ll see more of that.”
Much more.

“Yes, sir.”

Once the rest of the Telaryn force had passed through the gap, now watched from the north side of the slope by two squads from Fifth Regiment that had reached the top of the cut, and casualties were taken care of, Skarpa called a halt in an open area another mille farther east, then summoned Meinyt and Quaeryt.

The three met under an oak that offered shade, but little other relief from the harvest heat and soggy still air … or the red flies that seemed to be everywhere. Quaeryt blotted his brow and waited for the commander to say what he would, absently shooing away the flies.

“We got too complacent,” Skarpa said bluntly. “We can’t afford losses like that. I mean, losses for no real purpose. They knew where we were and what we were doing.”

“We haven’t seen any scouts, and not even many boats on the river,” said Meinyt.

“That doesn’t mean there weren’t any.” Skarpa snorted. “It doesn’t mean there were, either.”

Quaeryt was afraid he knew exactly what the commander was suggesting, but decided to see if Skarpa would spell it out.

“They might have found it out from the other side of the river.”

“Spies in the main body, you think?” said Meinyt.

“Where there are golds and armies, there are spies. Here or there, doesn’t make much difference. From now on, we’ll have to be doubly careful of places where we could be ambushed. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many casualties?” asked Skarpa, looking to Meinyt and then to Quaeryt.

“Thirty-two dead, a hundred and two wounded,” replied the older subcommander, “and ten of those probably won’t make it.”

“Three wounded, one seriously,” added Quaeryt.

“Your imagers killed thirty-one of the archers.” Skarpa’s voice was even. “Our best count was that there were two companies up there.”

Quaeryt understood the unasked question. “Under those conditions, each imager has to concentrate on an individual archer. There are six imager undercaptains. That works out to more than five for each undercaptain in less than half a quint. The fact that they were killing archers is what prompted the Bovarians to withdraw when they did. Otherwise…”

“… they would have kept shooting down at us far longer.” Skarpa shook his head. “I’ll need to brief the scouts. Just because a place looks impossible to get to doesn’t mean that it is.”

“How did they get there, sir?” asked Meinyt.

“They used flatboats, probably in the dark last night or the night before, and pulled up in a cove on the north side of the point. You can’t even see it from the road because of the trees down there. Then they hiked up here and waited. The trail they took was too steep and narrow for the troopers to follow it down on horseback. By the time we had enough men to do that, they were on their flatboats heading across the river.” Skarpa looked to Quaeryt. “With everyone jammed up, I couldn’t get word to you quickly enough to get the imagers to where they could deal with the boats. That brings up another question. Could your imagers have set the upper slope afire? Could they do it again?”

Quaeryt considered before answering. “They might have been able to, but anything strong enough to fire green brush and kill archers might have been powerful enough to sweep down and kill some of our men.” He smiled wryly. “I’d like to claim I’d thought of that at the time. I didn’t. It just didn’t seem right.”

“You might keep that in mind in other places,” said Skarpa. “Sticky as it is right now, doesn’t mean we’ll get rain you can freeze.”

Quaeryt nodded.

“According to the scouts, there’s another town some eight milles ahead. Road looks clear, and there aren’t any more steep slopes or swamps along there, just fields and a bunch of orchards … and another holder’s place that looks deserted, but I’ll leave that to you and Fifth Battalion, Quaeryt.”

“Do you want us to take the lead?”

“Might as well. That way, you can stop and look the place over, then bring up the rear when you’re done. I’ll have the supply types bring up a couple of empty wagons just in case.”

“We can do that, but I’d wager it’ll be cleaned out.”

“I won’t be taking that … but you never know with High Holders.”

Quaeryt had known that for a long time, and the events of the last year had more than reinforced that lesson.

28

On Vendrei evening, the Telaryn forces occupied the small town of Fuenh eight milles west of the river point. Of the hundred or so dwellings, Skarpa had commandeered the large dwelling above the River Aluse that served as inn and public house. In the early evening, Quaeryt walked from the inn toward the stable that held the imager undercaptains.

Shaelyt and Akoryt were sitting astride a bench, playing plaques with a deck that appeared almost new. For a moment, Quaeryt wondered how that could be, then smiled and asked, “How many times have you imaged those plaques new, Shaelyt?”

The young undercaptain grinned. “These … not at all. They’re Akoryt’s. I do have a deck of fortune that’s been renewed a few times.”

“You didn’t have a sideline before you became an undercaptain, did you?” Quaeryt asked Akoryt.

“No, sir. Not that kind.” Akoryt offered a lopsided smile. “I did tell a few people that I could take their old plaque decks and trade them in for new ones cheaper than they could buy new ones. Mostly gamblers.”

“You’re from Estisle, right?”

“Yes, sir. Why do you ask?”

“It’s one of the few places where you could get away with that. Enjoy your game.” Quaeryt eased away, watching Baelthm, who leaned against the stable wall. The older man was watching … something. After several moments he could make out birds in a tree—a false olive with its silver gray leaves. He shook his head, remembering when, as a boy, he tried to eat one of the hard green false olives … and the bitter taste it had left in his mouth. He could see that the birds were young robins, trying to avoid the sharp thorns in getting to the fruit.

Baelthm looked from the tree to Quaeryt. “There’s a place for everything in the world. The robins love the false olives, and they’ll risk the thorns to get to them.”

Quaeryt nodded. “Sometimes, finding that place is hard.”

“That’s life, sir.” The older undercaptain smiled.

Quaeryt moved on, toward the end of the stable, where Voltyr stood alone, looking through a gap between houses at the River Aluse. He turned as Quaeryt neared.

“Good evening, Voltyr.”

“Good evening, sir.”

“You have a pensive expression. What are you pondering on a night like this?”

“How you schemed to get Bhayar to send you to Tilbor, and how I am now an undercaptain in a war when I once thought that the greatest danger in life was scheming High Holders and jealous functionaries and scholars in Solis.”

“You’re suggesting a connection?”

“It’s more than a suggestion.” Voltyr looked directly at Quaeryt. “Sir … how many Bovarian archers did we kill?”

“You imagers, you mean? Twenty or so, I imagine.”

“Ah … sir … I was talking to Undercaptain Jusaph. He heard that it was thirty-one. I wondered about that. I talked to the other undercaptains and counted up what each of us did. It came to eighteen, and none of the troopers killed any.”

“And?” asked Quaeryt mildly.

“Others might also be able to count, sir, and come to certain conclusions.”

“That’s possible, but I’d like that to take as long as possible.”

“Might I ask why, sir?”

“You may. Let me ask you a question or two in return. Haven’t all of you undercaptains improved far more than you thought possible? Haven’t many of you been able to image in ways you never thought possible?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would any of you have felt pressed, especially in the beginning, to improve had you felt that someone else, say … a more powerful imager … stood behind you if you failed?”

Voltyr said nothing for a long moment.

“In dealing with the flatboat attack on the bridge at Ferravyl, or the attack on Caernyn … could any one imager, no matter how powerful, have accomplished all that you did?”

Slowly … Voltyr nodded. “No.”

“If we want imagers to have a better place in the world, or in Telaryn, there need to be more strong imagers. The only time to develop those abilities is when they are needed desperately. That is the only time those in power will allow matters to change—and even then only the best of rulers will allow that. Chayar would not have. Bhayar might not have except that he sees an opportunity.” Before Voltyr could reply, Quaeryt asked, “Have you had any success with what we discussed in Caernyn?”

“Of a sort, sir. For a few moments, but it takes much effort.”

“You might try letting the hooks be fewer or looser, and carrying the shield longer to build up your strength.”

Voltyr nodded slowly.

“Have you talked with Shaelyt about it?”

“Yes, sir. I think he’s better at it.”

“Better … or working harder?”

After a moment Voltyr offered a crooked grin. “Perhaps both.”

“What if one of those archers had targeted you today?”

“I thought about that, sir.”

“You might think about it more. You might also pass that along to Shaelyt quietly.”

“Yes, sir. I will.” After a pause Voltyr asked, “What do you plan, sir?”

“You’re assuming a great deal,” replied Quaeryt lightly.

“I think not. I thought you were a fool to get Bhayar to send you to Tilbor. But you had planned it all out, hadn’t you?”

Quaeryt laughed. “I wish I could claim that. I just knew that I couldn’t do any more than I had if I stayed in Solis, and the longer I stayed, the more enemies I’d make at the palace. Once I got to Tilbor, I didn’t much like the plaques I’d been dealt, but you play what you get.”

“To what end?” asked Voltyr quietly.

“Exactly what will depend on how the war turns out, but we need to develop the ability to support Lord Bhayar, so that he cannot do without imagers. There are too few imagers in the world for imagers to try to control or rule, but if we can find and train others, and we support him…”

“How do we know he will not turn on us?”

“Unlike some rulers, Lord Bhayar is very practical and thoughtful. He already frets and chafes about how the High Holders make his life difficult, and how his provincial governors rob him of his tariffs.” Quaeryt paused. “It is most costly to maintain a large army, but imagers might well be able to use their skills in many ways to enhance his rule … and that would make it worth his while to protect them…”

“And worth the while of the High Holders to oppose us,” suggested Voltyr.

“But not openly, not if the school or whatever it might be called were located near Bhayar and if the imagers were trained as you are … and as you should be.”

“But secretly they still could.”

“That might be difficult if most within the school and buildings were imagers.”

Voltyr looked at Quaeryt. “How do you propose to bring that about?”

“By showing Bhayar, over time, that it is to his advantage.”