Imager’s Battalion

sky or that the lesser moon’s position in the sky would make much difference, not when neither moon was offering that much light.

As they came to the end of the flat section of the road, the sounds of horses breathing in the moist warm night air seemed preternaturally loud to Quaeryt, yet he knew that was his own sensitivity. He heard nothing at all from the revetments ahead. In one respect, that should be the case. If the Bovarian lookouts and sentries saw nothing and heard nothing, why would they say much of anything in the middle of the night?

Except that, after several attacks, they should be jumpy and saying things, shouldn’t they? And why hadn’t they had sentries posted farther out? Or had they … and had the sentries hurried back to warn the Bovarian commander?

First company continued forward as Quaeryt held concealment shields over the first ranks of first company. Nearly a quint passed as first company rode slowly up the slope toward the point where the two revetments nearly joined. Quaeryt could see lanterns, or torches, in a few places at the top of the hill, well above the defensive revetments on the slope, but not a glimmer of light from any of the revetments. For a moment he wondered why. Then, recalling his days as a quartermaster, he realized that the defenders could see better if their eyes were used to the darkness. It was the same reason as why ships that spread sails at night kept the open decks dark.

Or … it’s because there aren’t very many troopers down there.

He still felt that someone on the Bovarian side should have noticed something … or would before long.

“Attackers! On the road!” The words came from the revetment on the south side of the river road.

“Smoke and pepper in the revetments nearest the road. Now!” Quaeryt dropped the concealment shields and raised his own personal shields. “First company to the right!”

He edged the mare forward. While he could not see the smoke, first company was close enough to the earthworks that he could smell a hint of the acridity within instants.

“Column! Charge!” came the order from Meinyt, along with a trumpet call, and the first companies of Fifth Regiment galloped past Quaeryt and first company, with Meinyt joining the charge-but after the first company.

A metallic clanging issued from beyond the crest of the road, near the lanterns or torches that Quaeryt could barely see, given the slope of the road up toward the town beyond.

Half a battalion had ridden past before armsmen with bucklers strapped to their left forearms and blades longer than the Telaryn sabres swarmed toward the road, with some headed toward Quaeryt and the imagers. The first defenders from the revetments launched themselves toward the legs of first company’s horses, holding their bucklers up as if to ward off down-cuts from the Telaryn sabres.

For just a moment Quaeryt expanded and extended his shields, knocking the Bovarians back. He didn’t know what else he could do, not with Fifth Regiment thundering by them and filling the road. He hadn’t expected the defenders to ignore the regiments. But you should have. You’re sitting swans.

“Imagers! First company! Forward with me and Fifth Regiment!” Quaeryt didn’t see much point in holding longer. You just hope this will work.

He contracted his shields into a wedge extending perhaps a half yard on either side and urged the mare forward, riding past the edge of the revetment and inadvertently throwing several Bovarian defenders back into the trench behind the earthworks. He only could see the trench for an instant-and not much of it at that. But it appeared empty, as if the few handfuls of defenders were all that had held the position. He was past the first revetment too quickly to be sure, but that worried him. There should have been more defenders. Many more. And if the Bovarians had merely withdrawn … why would they have left any defenders at all?

Unless the Bovarian commanders didn’t tell the poor bastards.

He tried to catch a glimpse of the revetments on the slope to the south side of the river road, but between the darkness and the troopers of Fifth Regiment to his left, he could make out nothing at all. There might have been thousands of Bovarians or none at all.

When, still on the shoulder of the road, he rode past the second revetment, some fifty yards farther uphill, and saw no troopers at all, he could only wonder what trap lay over the crest of the road … and what, if anything, he could do about it.

Quaeryt and first company were less than a hundred yards from the top of the rise when he heard the thunder of muskets-one volley, then a second, and a third. No defenders issued from the last line of revetments before the slope flattened out onto level ground.

In the dim light of a few lanterns hung on widely spaced posts and that of Artiema, Quaeryt could see that Meinyt had done exactly what he had said was necessary. He’d thrown his first battalion right at the musketeers- arrayed behind earthworks midway between waist-high and chest-high. The first troopers to actually reach the earthworks had tried to jump them, and some had succeeded. Others had left their mounts, or perhaps their mounts had been shot from under them, and climbed or vaulted over the earthen revetments.

Then the Bovarian heavy cavalry had smashed into Meinyt’s right flank. In turn, from what Quaeryt could see, Fifth Regiment’s second battalion had hit the Bovarians on the flank and rear, and the Bovarians were being hacked down-but by the sheer numbers of Fifth Regiment, and the two Telaryn battalions were taking heavy casualties in the process.

“Desyrk! Baelthm! Voltyr! Into the middle-just the middle-of the Bovarian armor, smoke and pepper! Hold here and do what you can!”

Quaeryt turned in the saddle, trying to make sense out of the confusion in the dimness, looking from the north end of the hilltop ridge to the south.

Another roll of thunder shook the hilltop, and Quaeryt rocked in his saddle as musket balls slammed into his shields-from the south. He struggled to widen his shields slightly, enough to cover the imagers. A flicker of red- orangish lights appeared some hundred yards away, but before he could say or do more, another volley ran out, and his shields again shivered, sending jolts of pain into his body, or so it seemed.

He turned the mare. “Shaelyt! Threkhyl! After me, behind me!”

How long it took him to get near to the second musket emplacement he couldn’t have said. But as he neared it, he could see a dark space between the musketeers and the mare. A pit moat, for the Namer’s sake. Frig!

“Threkhyl! Image a bridge across this pit moat wide enough for a mount, and stay behind me!”

Quaeryt half wondered if Threkhyl could-and would-do so, and was ready to turn the mare, but just before he started to do so, a flat white stone ramp appeared before Quaeryt, and he urged the mare forward onto the stone, hoping it would hold. The stone didn’t even shiver, and the next volley from the musketeers didn’t even strike his shields.

Because you’re too close?

Abruptly he realized he needed his staff and struggled to get it free of the leathers, barely getting it into position before he was at the end of the stone. He almost flew over the mare’s neck, but managed, somehow, to keep his seat as she jumped from the low rampart to which Threkhyl had linked the stone bridge. He came down among the second row of musketeers, staggered, to afford them a clean line of fire. His shields threw one musketeer and his stand to the side before Quaeryt managed to turn the mare back east and start down the line of Bovarians. Several saw him coming and tried to scramble out of the way.

As he had done with the musketeers hidden behind false haystacks, he braced the staff against the front of the saddle and linked the shields to the saddle, trusting the girths held. He could only hope that Threkhyl and Shaelyt could use their sabres effectively, or follow him. He didn’t look back. There was no point whatsoever in doing that.

But when he neared the end of the second line of musketeers, he slowed the mare enough to turn her back to where she was just behind the front line. From there he could see that Threkhyl had gone the other way and was applying his sabre to the musketeers he could reach. While some clearly managed to scramble away, the effect was the same, in that by the time Quaeryt neared the far end of the first line he had to ease the mare to the side to avoid plowing into Threkhyl.

“Hold up! They’re all gone!”

“So they are!” Threkhyl offered a booming laugh. “Stopped those bastards, we did.”

Quaeryt looked around again, but was relieved to see Shaelyt coming up to join them, his sabre also at the ready. Quaeryt looked back to the north, where more Telaryn horsemen poured onto the hilltop, but re-formed almost immediately.

Quaeryt realized that no one was left fighting near him and that most of the sounds issued from wounded