Imager’s Battalion

He still wasn’t about to ride into the cannon. Instead … he imaged hundreds of tiny pieces of white-hot iron into the space behind each of the berms he could see. Surely … some of them …

That was as far as his thoughts went before thunder roared up around him and his shields shredded and squeezed him into darkness.

74

Quaeryt woke with someone sponging his face with a damp cloth. Where was he? He could smell dust, and blood, and sweat, but his eyes burned so much he could see almost nothing except a grayish haze. Then … a young face swam into view, leaning over him.

“Sir?”

Khalis … that’s who it was.

Quaeryt tried to speak, but only a croak issued forth. Somehow, he managed to swallow, and then say, “I’m here … I think.” His entire body felt sore, but … he slowly tried to move toes, fingers, hands … Everything felt as though it were still attached to him. He realized he was lying on something hard, the ground, most likely, except that there was a blanket under his head.

“Did I … get blown off … my horse?”

“Ah … yes, sir.”

“How is she?”

“Better than you, I fear, sir.”

That doesn’t sound good at all.

His expression must have alarmed the young imager undercaptain, because Khalis quickly added, “I don’t think you broke any bones. Your shields must have held until you and the mare hit the ground. You rolled clear. But … you have scrapes and gashes. You will have more bruises, I fear, sir.”

Quaeryt struggled into a sitting position, but Khalis had to help him before he could drink any of the lager from his water bottle. That helped some, although he still found it hard to see, given the painful flashes across his eyes. “What time is it?”

“After fourth glass, sir.”

“We prevailed?” You hope.

“Yes, sir.”

How that had happened, Quaeryt had no idea. The Bovarians had set up the whole situation as a trap, a trap for imagers. The one thing none of the imagers could have withstood, even Quaeryt, was a cannonball against his shields. And there was no doubt that Kharst, or his commanders, knew that Skarpa’s forces were protected by imagers who rode near the front. No doubt at all. The only question Quaeryt had was how the Bovarians knew. He also had an answer to the question of where the Bovarian cannon were-at least some of them.

“Sir?”

Quaeryt looked up at the second voice, one he recognized, belatedly, as that of Zhelan, who stood behind Khalis.

“I’m here. How bad was it?” Quaeryt had to squint to see Zhelan because his eyes were still mostly blinded by the darts of light that stabbed into them.

“Third company was hit the hardest,” replied the major. “Most of Zhael’s third squad was killed, and a few in fourth squad. Sixteen dead, five wounded. The wounded only got shallow cuts from rocks and pebbles blasted at them. The first and second squads weren’t touched. Second company lost the last three men in fourth squad to cannon. All the others were killed or hurt once we attacked the musketeers. Thirty-one dead, twenty-three wounded, over the whole battalion.”

Quaeryt shook his head slowly. Only fifty-four casualties out of that mess?

“Sir … we took most of the casualties for the entire force. The regiments only had forty men wounded, and not a single death.”

Exactly what that bastard Deucalon wanted … and you obliged him.

Rather than say anything, Quaeryt nodded, then took another swallow of lager from the water bottle. Finally, he said, “We were very fortunate. I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”

“You were why it wasn’t worse. You got everyone off the road quickly.”

Not quickly enough. “I did what I could.”

Zhelan straightened. “Here comes Commander Skarpa.”

Just what you need now. Quaeryt did not try to stand, but waited as Skarpa dismounted and walked toward him.

“I see you’re in one piece,” offered the commander.

So far. But how long can you keep pressing your abilities as an imager? “How many cannon did they have?” Quaeryt asked before Skarpa could ask him more.

“Ten. We found pieces of ten, anyway.”

“Just ten cannon … ten frigging cannon,” Quaeryt muttered.

“It could have been much worse,” replied Skarpa. “I don’t see how you managed to incur so few casualties. After the first two shots, that entire lane went up almost at once.”

“At the first shot … I realized how stupid I’d been.”

“Stupid?”

“Stupid,” said Quaeryt. “The road wasn’t rutted enough. There were places where it had been repaired and packed down. The cannoneers had been practicing. They’d ranged the entire frigging road … They knew we were imagers and that they’d be firing blind.”

Skarpa shook his head. “Do you know how many officers could have reacted that fast?”

“A really good officer would have seen those patches in the lane and known instantly,” said Quaeryt.

“How? We haven’t seen any cannon at all … until now.”

“No … but we’ve talked about it, wondered why there weren’t any…”

“Stop second-guessing yourself. None of your officers even knew what was happening. You’ve trained them well enough that they didn’t even hesitate, and they carried out your orders after you were out of the battle.”

At least you did something right. But will you next time … or the time after that?

“How many Bovarians did you capture?” Quaeryt asked, almost as an afterthought.

“Maybe thirty.”

“They must have had at least a battalion supporting the musketeers. Did the rest escape?”

“No. When they saw you and Fifth Battalion smash through, most of them dropped their weapons and fled. They were running past the cannon emplacements…”

“Oh…”

Skarpa nodded. “It was bloody. Your men saw you go down. They weren’t exactly gentle with the survivors.”

Quaeryt didn’t know what to say.

“Undercaptain Lhandor told me that your shields saved most of first company, but they weren’t happy about what it did to you. Neither were the Khellan officers and men.”

For some reason, this time, that didn’t bother Quaeryt. It didn’t even bother him that it didn’t, although he suspected he’d feel guilty later. “Do you know how many Bovarians there were in position before…?”

“Two battalions.”

“Only two battalions. They were sent out just for us.”

“That’s likely. I don’t like it, either.”

“We’ll have to be more careful.” Quaeryt paused. “We’ve stopped here for the night?”

“Maybe longer. I’ve sent a dispatch to the marshal. I reported that Fifth Battalion faced cannon fire and took the heaviest casualties of all my units. Then I asked if he wanted us to press on tomorrow.”

“He will.”