Imager’s Battalion

appeared.

After a time, he eased the mare along the wall back toward the undercaptains. Once he returned, he stopped and studied them. Akoryt was slumped over the neck of his mount. But the others were more upright in their saddles, although Shaelyt looked to be shivering … or shuddering.

Sweat dripped from under the visor cap, through his hair, and down Quaeryt’s brow, while tiny flashes of light flickered across his vision. After another glance around, he pulled out his water bottle and took several swallows of watered lager. Several swallows later, the light flashes subsided, but did not entirely vanish.

Should you have continued the charge with the battalion? Even though he knew he’d been able to do more from where he placed the imagers, letting Zhelan lead them had bothered him, much as he knew that the major was far better trained in that than he was, and that he’d survived by imaging skill and not skill in leadership or arms. He was also aware that he was getting tired, and that any more imaging might not be possible.

His eyes scanned the slope and stone walls once more.

The night had taken on a muted lurid light, with patches of Antiagon Fire still burning here and there, and other fires that had spread through the drier vegetation. The various kinds of smoke billowed and swirled in an unpleasant and acrid mixture.

Quaeryt’s head ached so much that he could barely see. His eyes burned from the smoke, and his guts were churning from the odor of burned flesh. Through tearing eyes, he tried to make out the walls, but in the gloom from all the dying embers, he could make out little, except that it was clear that the Bovarians and Antiagons had broken and were fleeing … and that there was little more that he could do for the moment.

Several defenders fled downhill. In the dim light, Quaeryt saw one man flail and then disappear into a hidden pit. With all the sound of horses, riders, and weapons, he couldn’t hear if the Bovarian cried out.

“Sir?” asked Voltyr, moving his mount up past the leading rank of the squad protecting the imagers. “Do we need to do anything more?”

Can any of you? Quaeryt didn’t ask that. He turned. “Not now. I hope not. We’ll see.” He glanced at the fires and the smoke and stifled a cough. Was there any way he could project small shields away from him-to stop the fire grenades right after they were launched, so that they would explode then and shower fire on the Antiagons? Should he have thought of that earlier?

It wouldn’t have mattered. You’d have to see them much earlier than you could in the dark. He shook his head. You need to teach some of the imagers about shields. At least, Voltyr and Shaelyt … and the others later. Some of them might have noticed the way the fire hadn’t struck him, but in the darkness, they couldn’t have been certain, and he doubted that they’d been looking at him all the time, not in a battle. Still … that was another problem.

He took a deep breath.

He was still watching the last of what appeared to have degenerated into a slaughter two quints later when Zhelan rode back out of the heavier smoke that surrounded the stone walls.

The major reined up. “Sir … the area is ours. Those defenders who remain are dead or in no way able to fight.”

“What did it cost?” asked Quaeryt. “Do you know yet?”

“No, sir, but it looks worse than it was. Ghaelyn reports he lost ten men and has five wounded. The Khellans … they don’t know yet.”

“You did better than I hoped, leading the attack.” Ghaelyn’s casualties didn’t sound too bad, not when he’d been the first to reach the defenders, but Quaeryt worried about exactly why the Khellans didn’t know. Hunting down fleeing Bovarians?

“They were bunched in too tight, and got in each other’s way. The smoke and pepper helped. At first, they couldn’t see much.” Zhelan paused. “If there’s nothing else, sir?”

Quaeryt managed a laugh. “Trying to gather up the Khellans?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go…”

Less than half a quint after Zhelan vanished into the lurid gloom and smoke, Skarpa rode over to Quaeryt and reined up. “A good third of the survivors, it looks, have run down into those woods. Those who are left.”

“You don’t want to send troopers in there in the dark?”

“Would you?”

Quaeryt wouldn’t. “Are there any of their catapults intact? Or any fire grenades left? That’s about the only thing you might do. You might see if you could use their catapults and drop the Antiagon Fire grenades into the woods. There’s enough open ground between where the trees end and the town proper. Then have the men wait for them to come out.”

“The fire could still spread to the town, and we might lose men trying to figure out how to use them.”

“It could,” said Quaeryt. “And you could lose more men in the woods. Or you could post men around the woods and wait.”

“And we could wait for days or weeks.”

Quaeryt nodded. “Or you could just let them hide and slip away. Just post a company or two between the woods and the town.”

“Your imagers can’t do anything?”

“They’re spent.”

“I’d rather not endanger the town. We may be here for a while. And I’d rather not burn the survivors out. Would you?”

“No. It’s one thing in battle, another afterward.” Quaeryt snorted. “Not that Kharst would see the difference or care.” The wind swirled around him, blowing past him from the northeast. He glanced at the meadow and the fires still burning in front of the stone walls, then said, “You may not have a choice if the wind continues.”

Skarpa shook his head. “Rather not have that happen. If they surrender, we’ll have a few days to work out something.” He paused, then said, “Even in the dark, you look like something the Namer dragged in.”

Quaeryt laughed hoarsely, then blotted his eyes with his sleeve.

“Once you’ve got your battalion back together, why don’t you see if you can find quarters or the like for them.” Skarpa’s last words were not a question.

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt couldn’t disagree. Every moment was an effort. He watched as the commander rode toward the slightly higher ground behind the devastation around the stone walls. He just hoped the Khellans hadn’t gotten too out of hand, but in the smoke and darkness there was no way he was going to be able to track them down.

He could only deal with it later-if they had exceeded his orders-after the fact, because he was in no shape to do anything else.

That bothered him as well.

21

Somehow, in the seeming chaos that followed the battle, if it could be called that, Quaeryt and Zhelan managed to muster Fifth Battalion, but it was well after the first glass past midnight by then, because while only some of the woods had burned, that had been enough to force out many of those defenders who had fled, and dealing with them had taken more time. Second glass had almost passed before they located a livery stable and adjoining sheds on the southeast side of Caernyn. The quarters, if they could be called such, were cramped, but he hadn’t wanted to try to roust out locals in the middle of the night, not with the potential chaos and additional deaths such an effort might have caused. What with one thing and another, it had been after third glass before Quaeryt had collapsed on a pile of hay in the livery stable, his legs shaking so much he could barely stand, and his head pounding.

When he struggled awake in the grayness of Lundi morning, his lungs burned. He felt as though the smoke from the previous day had all settled in his nose, throat, and chest. He slowly rose and then staggered as much as walked, because his bad leg was giving him trouble, as it often did when he was overly tired, to the door of the