Imager’s Battalion

He waited for a time, then looked to Horan. “Ready for another imaging?”

“Yes, sir.”

In between periods of imaging and resting, it took Horan more than four quints to replace and raise the causeway to within two handspans of the stone paving on each side.

“That’s enough, Undercaptain,” said Quaeryt.

“I can do more, sir.”

“You’re getting pale. You need to drink some more and rest. Otherwise you’ll collapse, and we may well need you again if the Bovarians have done the same thing on the far side.”

“Oh … yes, sir.”

Quaeryt got the impression that Horan had not thought about that.

“Undercaptain Smaethyl, forward!” Quaeryt waited until the former hunter, not quite so angular as he had been when he’d first joined the battalion, rode up and joined him. “I’d like a layer of gravel, small pebbles, to cover the stones smoothly.”

Smaethyl managed that quickly, and without sweating.

Quaeryt then had Zhelan summon a squad of troopers to walk back and forth on the gravel, even jumping on it, until the gravel and pebbles would no longer sift downward. Then Smaethyl imaged finer gravel, followed by paving stones.

Finally, he rode across the stones of the repaired road and causeway, but sensed no give in the road. You can only hope that it holds. Still the stones Horan had imaged looked solid, and while they might settle some, Quaeryt doubted that they would totally give way, at least not in the next few days.

“Fifth Battalion! Forward!” As he urged the mare forward, he glanced back. The van of Third Regiment had reached the crest of the rise that marked the edge of the swampy valley holding the River Sommeil and the bridge. They’ll likely catch us before we finish image-repairing things, especially if there’s another hole blown in the causeway on the other side. There was no help for that. Imaging took time, just not as much time as having rankers and engineers repair the gaps.

When they reached the base of the bridge and Quaeryt reined up, he smiled. The Bovarians had blown out most of the middle of the stone spans, but had left the center pier. While imaging the spans back in place would take a strong imager, it wouldn’t take the piecemeal effort that repairing the causeway had. He glanced down, past the ragged ending of the approach where some stones remained and others did not, to the water of the River Sommeil less than four yards below, where he could barely see the current. That suggested that the river was deeper than it looked. Then he straightened. “Undercaptain Threkhyl, forward.”

Threkhyl rode forward.

“Just the span from here to the pier. Without the side walls.”

A frown of puzzlement crossed the face of the ginger-bearded imager.

“I want the others to get some practice, but I need the basic span to be strong. I also want to make sure the pier is sound with weight on it before you expend the energy for the second span.”

At that, Threkhyl nodded and concentrated. In moments a gently arching stone span connected the approach to the center pier. The undercaptain turned to Quaeryt. “Sir.”

“Thank you. Undercaptain Lhandor, forward.”

“Sir,” said Lhandor as he eased his mount around Threkhyl’s big gelding.

“I’d like stone retaining walls a yard and a half high, no more that two handspans in width, their outside edges even with the edge of the span.”

Lhandor managed the walls on the south side, then had to rest, drink, and eat a biscuit before he could image the second set of walls.

Quaeryt, with some trepidation, urged the mare onto the span. He could feel no give, and there was no echo from his mount’s hooves. He kept riding, then turned back. “Imagers, forward! Just imagers.”

Quaeryt reined up on the new span several yards short of where it met and seamlessly joined the center pier. From there he studied the open water and the bridge approach. Once again, he had Threkhyl do the main span, but this time he called on Khalis to handle the side walls.

Quaeryt waited for Khalis to recover, then urged the mare onto the second span. The undercaptains followed, and then the rest of Fifth Battalion, behind Zhelan, followed over the spans. As Quaeryt’s mare stepped off the second span, Threkhyl moved forward, until his mount was close behind Quaeryt’s.

“You know I could have done all that … sir,” pressed Threkhyl. “I know you said they need practice. But I could have done it.”

Quaeryt refrained from sighing. “You might recall it took more than one or two imagers for us to take Nordeau, did it not?”

“It did.”

“What do you think will happen when we get to Variana? Can you and I and Shaelyt and Voltyr do it all?”

“We can, sir. I know we can.”

Because Quaeryt could sense that there was something Threkhyl wasn’t saying, he pressed on. “That’s all well and good to say, but what happens if we can’t?”

“We haven’t seen any other imagers, sir.”

What does that have to do with anything? Quaeryt was about to reply, then saw a darkness in the causeway ahead. He took a deep breath and pointed at another, even wider gap in the causeway. “Look ahead, there. I think you’ll need to help Horan with this one.” He smiled. “Remember, there’s always something unexpected in warfare.” Always … and sometimes even more unexpected than you think possible.

In the end, Quaeryt assigned Horan, Threkhyl, and Shaelyt to fill and pave the second gap in the causeway. While they worked, taking long breaks between imaging, at Quaeryt’s insistence, he continued to study the remainder of the causeway and then the space cut for the road through the forest and heavy undergrowth beyond the end of the causeway. The forest growth between the river road and the River Aluse appeared to be close to a half mille wide, but given the path of the road, the tree-filled area narrowed so that, most likely, several milles farther along, the road was much closer to the river. From where he was, Quaeryt could make out a brown line to the left of the river road, mostly straight, running roughly parallel to the road and equidistant between the road and the woods on the south side of the road. It was some sort of drainage ditch several yards wide.

Once the repairs were complete, Quaeryt had the three rest for another half quint before he had Fifth Battalion resume riding. As he rode along the causeway arcing gently northward to meet a tongue of land that the road followed through a narrow gap in a forest that might well be swamp forest at times of the year, Quaeryt tried to catch murmurs from the imagers.

“… not too bad…”

“… didn’t image himself…”

“… has … reasons…”

Quaeryt did indeed, and he hoped that his suspicions were unfounded.

Once they left the causeway and rode on the slightly raised road flanked mainly by knee-high and browning grasses-and red flies and mosquitoes-Quaeryt kept studying the trees, looking for anything that appeared less-or more-than it should have been. Then … he stiffened in the saddle, immediately turning. “Imagers! Mark the brown stump ahead and to the left. Stand ready to image iron darts into any Bovarians who appear! At my command.”

Quaeryt was partly guessing, but there were far more wilting and yellow leaves ahead to the left. He concentrated on removing all the leaves-or what seemed to be leaves-across a space some hundred yards wide.

Instantly, he heard screams and saw wooden frames, with musketeers and their loaders.

“Image darts! At the musketeers!” Then he extended his own shields at an angle just before a ragged volley discharged.

He reeled back in the saddle, but the impact was nothing compared to what he’d experienced in Nordeau. He contracted the shields to protect a smaller area, basically the imagers, and imaged iron darts at three musketeers.

Another volley, smaller than the first, ripped in the direction of Fifth Battalion. Quaeryt felt no impacts on his shields. He kept imaging darts. So did the other imagers, especially Voltyr, but that was one reason why Quaeryt