Imager’s Battalion

Bovaria?

He could think of no other answer, but the fact he couldn’t satisfied him not at all, because that suggested he hadn’t considered all the possibilities.

In time, he rose and struggled down to the public room to eat with the other officers, all of whom were polite enough-or tired enough-not to comment on his appearance and stiffness. He did indulge in having two mugs of lager, and that seemed to make the climb back up the stairs somewhat less painful.

Khaern’s combat surgeon, a squad leader, did not return to the south side of Nordeau until after seventh glass, and there were deep circles under his eyes and blood splatters all over his sleeves. Even so, he winced as he looked at the welts and incipient bruises across Quaeryt’s body … and the slight black eyes that were also forming.

“You’ve got a lot of bruises here, Subcommander, and I’d say you came as close as possible to fracturing at least one of your ribs, maybe all of them. Your whole chest is going to hurt for weeks, maybe longer. Your eyes might even swell shut. You shouldn’t be doing much.”

“I still need to ride before long.”

“We can wrap your chest with some stays, but if you get hit again like you did here, you could break a rib or two. If it’s a bad break…” He shook his head. “That doesn’t even count your eyes…”

Quaeryt understood all too well. He also understood that Myskyl or Deucalon would likely want to put him in that position again. And you can’t let them. “Wrap me up. I’ll have a few days to recover. After that, I’ll try to avoid getting hit.” He paused. “How about Undercaptain Shaelyt?”

“He’s better off than you. Not much.” The squad leader and field surgeon paused. “If I might ask, sir…”

“We were leading the charge. We … got pounded pretty hard.”

“You’d better let someone else lead for a while, Subcommander, or you won’t be leading again.” He paused. “I’ll bring by some canvas tomorrow, and we’ll figure out the best way to brace you and the undercaptain.”

“Thank you.”

After the combat surgeon left, Quaeryt eased out of the rest of his uniform and returned to the bed. He had absolutely no doubt that he faced a long and painful night.

63

When the first gray light of Mardi morning oozed through the shutters of his room at the Stone’s Rest, Quaeryt tried to turn away from the window, except his neck was so stiff that his head barely moved. Eventually, he did manage to sit up. After an even longer time, he stood and tottered to the washroom where he viewed himself in the mirror.

Most of his forehead was turning bluish, as was the skin and flesh over his cheekbones, and he definitely had two bloodshot and black eyes. About the only parts of his body that didn’t ache were his legs below the knees and his feet. Washing up was painful and time-consuming.

Getting downstairs to eat felt as though it took more than a quint for the two flights of stone steps. Fortunately, the field surgeon did return with canvas and some bone stays, and the wrapping helped immobilize his ribs and chest, but even so, taking a deep breath shot pains through his entire chest.

Quaeryt was sitting in the public room, sipping on a lager, not wishing to climb steps or anything else, debating whether to try to make his way to see Skarpa when the commander arrived at the Stone’s Rest and slipped into the chair opposite Quaeryt, who had made no move to rise, although he would have, had he felt more able to move easily.

“I’d heard you’d been injured,” began Skarpa, “but how … like this?”

“Undercaptain Shaelyt and I were shielding the front of the columns as they came off the spans into the square. The Bovarians fired too many muskets…”

Skarpa frowned. “We recovered over four hundred muskets, but … you’ve faced them before.”

“Not five hundred all fired at once.”

“They fired all at once? That’s not…”

“That’s not the way they’re supposed to fire. They’re supposed to alternate volleys so that they can’t be rushed while reloading.”

“Why did they change? I’m not sure I understand…”

“Someone had an idea about how much protection an imager can provide. We can create shields, but if there’s too much … force … the shields give and crush in on our bodies.” That was an oversimplification, but Quaeryt wasn’t about to try to explain it all.

“You were able to do more than they thought, weren’t you? Was that why, even with so many muskets, there was so little damage to the troopers?”

Quaeryt gave a very small nod.

“That’s why Zhelan could get to the pikemen and muskets before they could do worse,” added Skarpa. “He thought you’d done something.”

“I think we helped,” Quaeryt admitted.

“More than helped. Made all the difference. Said you were a good officer. Too friggin’ brave, but good.”

Brave? I don’t think so. “Have you heard from the marshal?”

“Got a dispatch this morning. He wrote that they were slowed by logistical difficulties.” Skarpa snorted. “Logistical difficulties, my ass.”

“He wants to save his forces for the assault on Variana,” suggested Quaeryt.

“That’s where the glory is,” said Skarpa. “If he wins.”

“That’s just the beginning of the problems. You know that. How long did it take to bring Tilbor under control?”

“Ten years … and it’s less than a third the size of Bovaria.”

“If we defeat Kharst and his forces-decisively-at Variana,” said Quaeryt, “Bhayar could probably work out something with the people of Khel. That would leave the western part of old Bovaria. Pacifying that could take over a year and use all the forces Deucalon has.”

“He’ll stay in Variana and have Myskyl do it.”

Not if either of us has anything to say about it. “Lord Bhayar will have to decide about that, based on what happens at Variana and how.”

“You have something in mind, Quaeryt? When we get to Variana?”

“Only the general idea that I can’t do what I did yesterday again.”

“What else?”

“We need to make sure that Kharst masses his forces.”

“After what we’ve done to smaller forces along the way, that might not be a problem.”

Unless Kharst or his commanders understand what actually happened at Ferravyl. “I hope not. When will Deucalon arrive?”

“Not before tomorrow sometime.”

“Good and bad,” Quaeryt said.

“That will give you and the imagers more time to recover,” agreed Skarpa. “It will also give my men too much time to get in trouble.”

Quaeryt frowned.

“They said Villerive was a bawdy city.” Skarpa snorted. “The north side of Nordeau is far worse. You and Khaern are fortunate to have your men here.”

“They won’t think so once they’ve heard from the others.”

“They won’t hear until we’ve left for Variana.”

“And if we wait too long, that will give Kharst more time to amass forces there.”

“You seem convinced that he’ll have a huge army there.”

“Aren’t you?” countered Quaeryt.

“You almost convince me. I still have trouble seeing why, if he does, he hasn’t used it before now.”

“Because he has the same problem in Khel that Bhayar had in Tilbor, and getting troopers back from the west