Quaeryt studied the berms and the pikes embedded in them. There was nothing there that could burn, and he really didn’t want to fire the buildings behind the defenders. “We could probably kill a few at a distance, but not enough to make a difference.”
“Could you do anything to make them less able to fight?”
Quaeryt frowned. He’d put oil under the boots of slam-thieves, imaged bread into mouths and throats, and used imaging in a variety of lethal ways, but except for the ice rain, most of his imaging had dealt with only a single person at once, or at most a few.
In the momentary silence, from behind him, someone sneezed-loudly.
The fine black pepper appeared in a small circle.
Then he turned to Skarpa. “We might be able to do something.” He turned in the saddle. “Shaelyt, how long can you deflect arrows?”
“For a time, sir.”
“Threkhyl … you’re one of the stronger imagers. How far away could you image something that doesn’t weigh too much, say … a chunk of wood the size of a dagger?”
“A hundred yards, maybe two.”
“All right … now can you image pepper, just a small amount … ground fine, into your hand?”
A puzzled expression crossed Threkhyl’s face.
Shaelyt tried to hide a grin.
“Go ahead. I need to see if you can.”
“Ah … I might be better with the red peppercorns.”
“You might, but I want the kind that cause people to sneeze.”
“I could do both.” Threkhyl frowned.
A cloud of fine red and black flakes appeared above Threkhyl’s hand.
“Good,” said Quaeryt. “Now, get rid of it, gently.”
Threkhyl wiped his hand on his trousers, and even though most of the pepper was well below his face, he sneezed several times, once violently. “What…?”
“We’re going to move forward, slowly, until we’re close enough to image a cloud of pepper dust over the Bovarians.”
“Why not just charge them?” demanded Threkhyl.
“Because we’re still a long ways from Variana, and Commander Skarpa and I would like to arrive to fight the important battles with as many of our troopers as possible. Besides, most of the men in that group are locals, graybeards, and youths.” Quaeryt was guessing about the graybeards, but he’d seen the locals and youths. “If we charge them directly, most of them will die, and we’ll still lose men, and the Bovarians won’t lose any of their seasoned troopers.”
Skarpa cleared his throat, then said quietly, “You’ll still need troopers. They’ll attack you and the imagers immediately if you ride up alone.”
“I know,” replied Quaeryt in a low voice, then raised it. “Major Zhelan, Undercaptain Ghaelyn, forward!”
Both Zhelan and Ghaelyn rode up beside Quaeryt as if they’d been expecting the command, and they probably had, Quaeryt thought.
“Sir?” asked Zhelan.
“I need first company to escort the imager undercaptains up that slope. We’re planning a surprise, and if it works, there may not be much fighting. If it doesn’t, Major, you’ll have to charge the locals. I think there are staked pits across the slope, but if first company and the imagers can advance slowly, we may be able to see and avoid them.”
“They have a pike line, sir,” said Zhelan.
“If you have to charge, leave first company with me and the imagers on the slope and cut to the north side and try to circle back behind the pike line.”
Both Zhelan and Ghaelyn nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt looked to Skarpa.
“We’ll support you as necessary, Subcommander.”
Quaeryt understood what Skarpa hadn’t said-that any failure was on Quaeryt’s head, if only between the two of them, because commanders always got the credit … and the blame. Quaeryt also knew that Skarpa really didn’t want a slaughter on his hands.
Almost half a quint passed before Quaeryt got the word that Fifth Battalion was in position and ready, time that he had used to offer detailed instructions to the imagers. He turned to the undercaptains. “Keep a line abreast behind the first ranks of first squad.” That meant right behind him, although he didn’t say that. Then he nodded to Ghaelyn.
“First company … forward.”
The troopers rode forward at a walk.
First company and the imagers were within two hundred yards before a handful of arrows arched out from behind the berms, falling short by a good thirty yards.
“Shaelyt, don’t try for any arrows until we reach where those fell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Imagers, except for Shaelyt, no imaging until my command.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as the front rank crossed the ground where the arrows lay, another flight of shafts arched toward them. No more than a score, but all of them vanished.
A second volley followed, and those vanished as well as first company and the imagers continued forward. Quaeryt prepared to extend his own shields across the width of the front rank, not that he wanted to unless it was necessary.
“Threkhyl, image pepper.”
Quaeryt added some pepper of his own, and a fine cloud drifted down on the waiting Bovarians.
Another volley of arrows arched toward the company, loosed just before the imaging, and Quaeryt extended his shields, which was just as well, because only half the shafts vanished from the sky. The others dropped harmlessly onto the dirt and grass in front of the company. Quaeryt could feel some strain, but he wasn’t light- headed … not yet.
“All imagers, more pepper!” he ordered, imaging a second cloud of finely mixed red and black pepper across the middle of the uniformed Bovarians. “First company! Forward! At my pace!” He didn’t know a command for the deliberate pace he wanted.
For a moment the fog of pepper was so thick that it appeared like a cloud.
As he led the company toward the sneezing, coughing mass of defenders, Quaeryt could see a line of pits, not covered well, but obvious enough to a rider moving slowly. “Beware the pits!”
As first company moved forward, a handful of uniformed Bovarian troopers realized that the pepper was mostly where they were and dashed forward into clearer air, their blades out. Some of the uniformed troopers lifted blades, and a few of the locals waved and thrust a few pikes and spears wildly, but it was obvious that few could even see or react. Then, most of the locals in gray threw down whatever weapons they had and ran for the stand of brush and trees to the south side of their line.
“Fifth Battalion!..” came the order from Zhelan.
“Forward!” Quaeryt heard Skarpa’s command. “Deliberate pace. Beware the pits!”
As he continued to ride forward, imaging yet more pepper, Quaeryt could see the confusion, blindness, and sneezing among the defenders, and when first company neared the line of pits, he called to Ghaelyn, “Have them hold, arms ready!”
“First company!”
Within a quint, the skirmish was all over. The defenders, those who were able and had not already fled, found themselves attacked from behind and pushed toward their own staked pits. Only a handful even tried to fight.
Quaeryt hoped too many of those had not been killed or badly wounded, because he doubted most had really
