Imager’s Battalion

No help for that now.

He concentrated on the nearest catapult, almost directly uphill from him, and as the dark object that had to be a fire grenade soared free, he imaged it back, back onto the group of officers higher on the slope. The crimson- greenish-yellow that burst from the grenade enveloped the center of the group. Quaeryt immediately looked toward the second catapult, waiting, waiting … and the second fire grenade soared … and then vanished-reappearing as it smashed into the remnants of the command group. When the third catapult began to move, Quaeryt returned the grenade to the base of the catapult, and the structure and those operating it flared into ugly flame. Then he returned his attention to the first catapult.

Quaeryt’s skull was splitting by the time all three catapults were flaming masses.

But by then the Bovarian lines had totally crumbled, and what had been a static melee was turning into a rout.

Quaeryt, the imagers, and the company detailed to protect them just held their position as the Telaryn forces surged past them and into the hand-to-hand fighting. Quaeryt could still maintain his personal shields, although he doubted that he could have done much more than that, and in the growing confusion he decided against trying to find Fifth Battalion. Skarpa and Fifth Battalion can come to us.

In less than half a glass, the Bovarians had fragmented into small clusters surrounded by Telaryn forces. A glass later the hillside and the lower grounds of the estate were littered with bodies in bluish gray, and hundreds, if not more than a thousand Bovarians, had fled away from Villerive and the River Aluse, heading north and west.

The one Bovarian force he had not seen had been musketeers. Had they attacked earlier and been dispersed? Or did they take so much time to set up that they had never been in position? Even from what he’d seen, that appeared to be the strongest possibility … but it was only a half-informed guess on his part. But aren’t too many conclusions you’re making just that these days?

As the fighting dwindled away, Quaeryt watched as Deucalon dispatched patrols from the northern army to ride down every lane and road, as much as to fragment the survivors and chase them away from ever regrouping as to cut them down, Quaeryt suspected.

Not that some probably weren’t cut down, he thought, massaging his forehead.

This time, he could still see, and that amazed him, even as it strengthened his belief that continually stretching himself to his limits seemed to extend those limits once he recovered. But for how long? Is there a point when your body can do no more?

46

What Skarpa called follow-up operations took most of the rest of Mardi, and early on Fifth Battalion was dispatched to occupy and guard a large manor house a half mille west, beyond the estate and ridge on which the morning’s battle had taken place. The Khellan companies patrolled the area around the near-palatial dwelling with great diligence, a diligence, Quaeryt suspected, that assured that no Bovarian troopers would have dared even to approach the grounds and well-tended gardens. He’d posted troopers at the front and rear entrances to the house, more to create a certain respect than because he thought anyone would likely try to break in or attack anyone inside.

Once he and Zhelan had worked out the details of quartering and patrolling, Quaeryt found himself at a loss, walking the first floor of the dwelling and the terraces from which he could observe the Khellan patrols, and in the distance the gathering of some regiments around the High Holder estate that had seen too much blood and fire.

The bells had just struck third glass when the house assistant steward, the steward having fled with the family, cautiously eased up to Quaeryt, who stood in the shade of the east porch, again studying the hold house below which all too much, if necessary, carnage had occurred.

“Sir…?” The man, a few years older than Quaeryt, and balding, looked nervously up to the taller subcommander, his eyes seemingly focusing on the silver crescent moon insignia on Quaeryt’s collars rather than meeting his eyes.

Quaeryt half turned. “Yes?”

“Will … we … I mean … you have men to feed…”

“Yes, they will need to be fed. Is there a problem, Chaefur?”

“The head cook, the second cook … they went with the family. Just two assistant cooks…”

Chaefur’s Bovarian held the trace of a regional accent, but whether that was local or not, Quaeryt had no idea.

“The troopers and officers don’t expect meals for a High Holder. If your cooks…” Quaeryt paused. “The battalion has several cooks. They’ll be in the kitchen as well.” That way they can make certain nothing untoward gets into the food.

“Yes, sir…” Chaefur paused. “Might I ask how long…?”

“That’s up to Lord Bhayar.”

“Lord Bhayar? Not … Is Lord Bhayar here? Here in Villerive?”

“I haven’t seen him lately, but I think I’d know if he weren’t.”

“Oh … oh, dear … what shall we do if he comes here?”

“He might summon me,” Quaeryt said, “but he won’t come here. Why do you worry about that?” There should be more of concern to you and the staff than whether Bhayar appears.

“Master Saarcoyn … he always wants everything to be proper … whoever might arrive…”

“Master Saarcoyn, of what is he a master?”

“He’s a master factor, sir. A grain and timber and metals factor. He’s got three factorages, sir … and some mines to the north.”

Quaeryt glanced at the stone pillars that ran up three stories, supporting the porch roof, then out over the iron filigree of the railing bordering the porch and down to the precisely trimmed hedges of the formal garden on the terrace below the porch. “He obviously does well.”

“That he does, sir. But now…”

“We’ll do our best to leave his house undamaged. That is, if we have no trouble.”

“No, sir … you’ll have no trouble. No, sir.”

At the sound of hooves, Quaeryt turned to see a squad of Telaryn troopers riding up the narrow limestone- paved drive to the front entrance. One of the mounts, led by a ranker, held an empty saddle. That doesn’t look good. “You’ll have to excuse me, Chaefur. If I’m not here, direct any questions you have to Major Zhelan.”

“But … sir … dinner?”

“Plan on fifth glass. Set up serving tables for the troopers in the courtyard off the kitchen. The servers can dish the food into the troopers’ mess kits. They’ll serve me and the officers in the dining room after the men are all fed.” Quaeryt turned and followed the porch that circled the entire dwelling back to the front.

Chaefur did not follow. Quaeryt only had to wait a few moments under the roof of the entry portico before a squad leader dismounted and hurried up the four wide limestone steps, halting and inclining his head politely before he addressed Quaeryt.

“Subcommander, sir, Lord Bhayar would like to see you. We have a spare mount.”

“One moment, Squad Leader.” Quaeryt turned to the pair of troopers flanking the front door. “Troopers … if one of you would immediately convey to Major Zhelan that Lord Bhayar has summoned me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded to the troopers, then followed the squad leader to the mount, a chestnut gelding far larger than Quaeryt’s mare. The fact that he had no trouble mounting, or riding down the drive, was another indication of how much had changed for a scholar who had seldom ridden until a year earlier.

The squad leader headed almost due east, back to the hold house that Quaeryt had been observing less than