Imager’s Battalion

“But … the air … it’s nothing,” said Voltyr.

“You might recall that the air turned cold enough to freeze eight regiments. How did that happen if the air is nothing? The wind blows. Sometimes it can push people over. If there’s nothing there, how can it do that?” He paused. “You might think about the air as being tiny bits of invisible smoke … but if you hook them together with imaging … they become stronger. If you can image links strong enough, they might stop or slow arrows or blades.”

Once more the two exchanged glances. This time the expressions were knowing.

Quaeryt waited.

“If … any imager,” began Shaelyt, “could do this, wouldn’t he be most powerful?”

“I think creating and holding such a shield takes much practice to learn how to do it, and much effort to hold it for long.” Quaeryt offered a wry smile. “Why don’t troopers carry big heavy shields anymore?”

“You’re saying they get too heavy.”

“Could any of you have done any more imaging at the end of the battle the other night?” asked Quaeryt.

“Maybe a little,” said Voltyr.

“Could you have if you’d been carrying a shield weighing a half stone for the entire battle? Do you think that holding an imaging shield is any less work?”

“The best troopers could, sir … I mean, carry shields and blades in the old days,” said Shaelyt.

“The very best could. You’re right. How many years of training did it take them? You’re both better imagers than you were when you were made undercaptains. How much have you improved, and how long has it taken? I’ve been training you and trying to get you to strengthen and improve your abilities the whole time.” Mostly, anyway.

“How do you know we can do this?” asked Voltyr.

“I don’t,” replied Quaeryt. “I do know it can be done. I also suspect that not all imagers can, but I thought you two were the most able and likely, and that you should know that it’s possible.” He paused. “If you can create such shields, there may be ways to use them more effectively, but … first you have to see if you can. I’d also appreciate your not talking about it with the other imagers for now.”

“You’re just going to tell us it can be done … and that’s it?” asked Voltyr, not quite plaintively.

“Voltyr … can you explain how to image to anyone else, even another imager?”

“Of course.”

“Fine. Explain it to me. What do you do?”

“You create a picture in your mind and think about making it real.”

“How do you make it real?”

“You … just think about…” After a pause Voltyr stopped. “I see what you mean.”

“Description only goes so far. You both know, if you think about it, that some forms of imaging shields are possible. Knowing something can be done is the first step. Figuring out how to do it on your own is the second. In a way, it’s like many things. A child has to learn to walk on his own. Once he can walk and is older, a teacher can show him how to run better and faster…”

Voltyr nodded once more. So did Shaelyt.

“I’d like to hear how you progress on this, but I understand that it may take some time. Remember … we will be going into larger and larger fights and battles … and the better you can protect yourself…”

“Yes, sir,” said Shaelyt. “We understand.”

Quaeryt smiled. “Good. See what you can do. I suggest you practice where it’s not obvious.” With that, he turned and started back to the River Inn.

Behind him, he caught a few words.

“… told you…”

As he walked back toward the inn, he began to think about what he could do to improve his own skills.

When he reached the River Inn, looking for Skarpa, he discovered that the commander was meeting with the officers of Third Regiment in the public room of the inn. So he waited half a glass and then slipped into the public room as the officers were leaving.

Skarpa caught sight of Quaeryt and motioned to him.

“Did you find any supplies at the High Holder’s place?”

“No, sir. Everything was locked and shuttered, and there were no recent tracks or signs of anyone being there recently. The imagers undid the locks on the storerooms and all the buildings. They were empty. Just like his warehouses here in town. We replaced the locks and left the grounds and buildings untouched.”

Skarpa nodded. “No sense in ransacking if there’s nothing we need.”

“I thought I’d take some men to the next nearest High Holder tomorrow … if you didn’t have any reason I shouldn’t. His place is something like ten or twelve milles west.”

“How much of the battalion do you plan on taking?” asked Skarpa.

“I’d thought one of the Khellan companies would be sufficient.”

“Take two. The scouts haven’t seen signs of more Bovarians, but I’d feel better if you took two. And tell the officers the dispatch riders on Jeudi will also carry personal missives-for the usual considerations.” Skarpa smiled. “I imagine you might be using their services.”

“I just might,” Quaeryt agreed.

Skarpa nodded, effectively a dismissal, and Quaeryt left to check with Zhelan and the company commanders before the evening meal.

That night, after eating and handling other duties, Quaeryt settled into his chamber in the River Inn and wrote down his recollections of the high holdings and holders he had visited since he had left Ferravyl, while he could still remember details. Then he wrote a few more lines on his growing letter to Vaelora. Finally, he opened Rholan and the Nameless and began to page through it, trying to see if the unknown author had ever commented on death and the ceremonies surrounding it. He was about to turn past a chapter that seemed to deal with justice and mercy when a phrase caught his eye, and he went back and read through it once more.

Rholan spoke often of justice and mercy. While he deserves credit for addressing them both and for expounding the distinctions between them, he was even more astute in recognizing the fundamental difference between justice and law, perhaps because he had suffered from that difference as the bastard son of a High Holder. Rholan was far more competent than his younger half brother, who in fact inherited the lands of Niasaen upon the death of their father and who squandered it all before his early death in a drunken stupor in his hunting lodge, leaving his young widow no choice but to marry the second son of their father’s greatest rival …

It could not but have galled Rholan to be the one Thierysa requested to return Nial’s body to the hold house, for he had pled suit to her, and despite her affection for him, she rejected his suit in order to save her own family’s fortune … and in the end, she had to marry another she did not love to save herself.

It may well be that Rholan’s later views on funeral ceremonies took root after the death of his half brother, because in accepting the charge by his brother’s widow, he had to deal with a corpse that had putrefied greatly in the summer heat and doubtless sit through a lengthy memorial before Nial was quickly placed in the elaborate stone mausoleum that still dominates Niasaen Hold. All of that celebration of a younger half brother who was a wastrel likely had great impact, because Rholan held forth on more than one occasion upon the vanity of glorifying the body both in life and in death, and of the total emptiness of the gesture of elaborate tombs, claiming that a man’s worth lay in his deeds, not in the exaltation of his name after his death … and that the body might well be burned for all the good the cost of such funeral arrangements did a man, his family, or his reputation.

Quaeryt nodded slowly. What the writer had put down made sense, but it also raised another mystery, again. Who was the writer, that he knew so much about Rholan, and why had he chosen to remain nameless?

24

Quaeryt and third and fourth company left Caernyn promptly at seventh glass on Meredi morning, heading westward toward Fauxyn’s holding under a sky filled with puffy white clouds. From what he and the scouts could