Imager’s Battalion

Then there was a pounding on the door.

“Subcommander! Sir! Are you all right!”

Quaeryt recognized Zhelan’s voice and slowly walked to the door, removing the bar. “I’m fine now.” Should you open the door? If you don’t, he and everyone else will think the worst. With a sigh that turned into a cough, he slowly opened the door. “You might as well come in, Major.”

Zhelan stepped inside, his eyes widening. “I smelled smoke. It came drifting down the steps. What … happened?”

Quaeryt closed the door. “One of the dangers of imaging. Every so often, just like everyone else, imagers have nightmares. I had one where I was freezing. In my nightmare, I tried to start a fire … I got more than I wanted.” Quaeryt started to laugh, then began to cough from the little bit of smoke still in his chest.

“Sir … can I do anything?” Zhelan glanced at the soot on the walls and the charred table. Then his eyes went to the bruises on Quaeryt’s thighs and arms, widening slightly.

“No. I can probably remove most of the damage. Just tell anyone who asks that smoke drifted in through my open window.”

“Yes, sir.” Zhelan looked dubious.

“I can. If not tonight, tomorrow. I’d appreciate your not mentioning this to any of the company commanders or the imagers. The majors are uneasy enough, and this sort of thing won’t hurt anyone but me. As for the undercaptains, they’re not experienced enough to worry about it.” Yet.

“I can do that, sir.”

“Thank you.”

After Zhelan left, and Quaeryt closed the door, he thought about his last words. How soon before that sort of thing happened to some of them? And how could he prevent it or deal with it? Clearly, when imaging nightmares happened, it wasn’t exactly safe for anyone sleeping nearby …

At that moment he recalled the small stone-walled sleeping chamber in the dwelling in Gahenyara, the one occupied by Vaelora’s great-great-grandmere. She wasn’t only Pharsi; she was an imager! That’s why she slept alone … because of imaging nightmares.

That raised other questions … such as how much Bhayar knew about his family’s past. Was that why he wasn’t unsettled about Quaeryt and Vaelora marrying? Or did he have plans for Quaeryt, just as Quaeryt had plans for him?

How could he not? But were they instinctive, as Vaelora believed, or were they more focused? Quaeryt suspected the instinctive and opportunistic, but he’d have to be very careful in laying the groundwork for his own plans.

He still had a slight headache, but he needed to do something about the sooty mess his nightmares had created … and working on that might well tire him enough so that he didn’t have any more unsettling dreams … or feelings of guilt and concern about what he had done. And what you might yet have to do?

He looked at the charred desk and chair … and then at the soot streaks and smudges on the white plaster walls and ceiling … and the puddles of water on the floor.

60

Solayi was the first of Erntyn, the second and supposedly cooler month of harvest. It didn’t feel any cooler when Quaeryt woke. He had only a trace of a headache, but he felt tired and drained. When he looked around the room, he didn’t see any obvious sign of damage. Unfortunately, there were problems. The chair that he’d repaired with imaging had a smooth, if aged, golden oak finish. The same was true of the writing desk. He hadn’t been about to try to duplicate the battered and scratched finishes. Likewise, the plaster walls and ceiling were a clean off- white, rather than showing the uneven patina of age and dirt, but the innkeeper might not notice that.

Quaeryt washed up and shaved, a necessity for him in hot weather, because his skin developed rashes if he let a beard grow out, then began to dress when there was a rap on the door. He pulled on the least soiled of the uniform shirts and walked to the door. “Yes?”

“Sir … it’s Shajan … the innkeeper, I would hate to disturb you, but there is the odor of smoke … I wished to know if you were all right…”

And if you’ve damaged my family’s inn. Quaeryt wiped a wry smile off his face and opened the door, standing in such a way that the innkeeper could see everything, but not pass Quaeryt. “I smelled smoke last night as well … but I’m fine.”

The innkeeper tried to study the room without looking too obvious. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but…”

“I understand. You would not want a guest to suffer or the premises to be damaged. As you can see, I am fine, and so are the premises.” Quaeryt paused. “Could you wash some uniforms for me-for whatever the normal charges are-and have them ready by this evening?”

“Why … yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll get them for you.” Quaeryt walked to the armoire and took the two sets of soiled uniforms and carried them back to Shajan, who had stepped into the room, his eyes studying everything, a puzzled expression on his face. “Here you are. My thanks.”

“Yes, sir.” The innkeeper took the uniforms, glancing around the chamber a last time before stepping back into the narrow landing at the top of the stairs.

Once Shajan departed, Quaeryt finished dressing before heading down to the public room for breakfast and the officers’ meeting to follow, in lieu of a formal muster.

What the Stone’s Rest offered for breakfast was related to a domchana, Quaeryt thought, consisting of two pieces of egg toast dipped in batter a second time and fried around a slice of ham and topped with a drizzle of an apple-berry syrup. Each officer-and trooper-got two and an ale or lager.

At the officers’ meeting, Quaeryt began, in Bovarian, “As I told Major Zhelan last night, unless the Bovarians mount an assault of some sort, we will not be undertaking any attacks today, but the bridge will remain guarded. We are to be ready to attack the north of Nordeau by early tomorrow.” He looked across the faces of the officers. “Major Calkoran, you have a question?”

“Your imagers will create stone bridges for us?”

“They will.”

“If they reach from that tiny fort to one point on the far shore, the Bovarians may be able to blunt the attack. Unless you lead the charge.”

“Thank you. We’ll be sure to spread out the attack in one or more ways so that your troopers are not crammed together and unable to fight their best. How we do that will depend on how the Bovarians are assembled to defend the north shore.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Quaeryt turned to Zhelan. “I had forgotten to ask you. The horses have been ridden a great deal on stone lately. Have we had more trouble with shoes or lameness?”

“Some, sir, but so far we’ve had enough spare mounts. Wouldn’t hurt to gather more if we could after tomorrow.”

Quaeryt nodded. “If you’d see what can be done when the time comes. What about grain?”

“That’s in short supply, sir, but I have suggested that some of the factors would be well advised to see if they can find some.”

Quaeryt wasn’t about to ask what Zhelan’s suggestions entailed, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they mentioned the relation of a subcommander to a certain ruler. “And?”

Zhelan smiled. “They thought we might have some by this afternoon.”

“Good!”

After a few more items, and a report on the state of the troopers wounded in the assault, Quaeryt dismissed all the company officers, which left him alone in the public room with the imager undercaptains.

He let the silence draw out before speaking. “Tomorrow you’ll have to image a stone span from the end of the approach to the isle. After we take the isle, you’ll have to do the same to the north shore. If they have troops