Imager’s Battalion (5 page)

D’Kors … they can’t all be related …
He almost shook his head. That was the Bovarian naming custom. D’Kors just meant they were cavalry officers. He folded the paper and slipped it inside his jacket, a jacket that was too warm even before eighth glass. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He image-projected a gentle sense of appreciation.

“Those are matters I can help with, sir.”

Quaeryt understood all too well what Zhelan wasn’t saying—that the major knew full well that Quaeryt was more than anyone, including Quaeryt, was admitting.

When they reached the stable storeroom, Zhelan stepped in first, announcing, “Subcommander Quaeryt.”

Quaeryt followed him into the storeroom, where all the officers stood waiting. “As you were.” Realizing the Khellans hadn’t understood, he repeated himself in Bovarian. After that, he said nothing for several moments, running his eyes across the battalion officers before him, some seven command officers, and the six imagers. All of the Khellan officers had brown or black hair, although two were old enough to have streaks of gray in it, and five of the six had the pale honey-colored Pharsi complexion.

Several of them were close to staring at him.

“Yes,” he said in Bovarian, “I am Pharsi by blood, but I was orphaned young and only know a few phrases in Pharsi.” Quaeryt could tell that most of the imagers hadn’t understood a word, but then they weren’t regular Telaryn officers, although he suspected the Bovarian of many Telaryn officers was marginal at best, at least given the reaction to the few homilies he’d given in Bovarian over the past year. He continued in Bovarian. “After this meeting, I will meet with the officers of each company in Fifth Battalion separately, beginning with first company. Fifth Battalion is part of the southern army, led by Commander Skarpa. Our task is to clear the southern side of the Aluse River…” He went on to summarize what Deucalon had passed on at the earlier meeting. When he finished, he looked to the Khellan officers. “If you have any questions, you can ask me personally when I meet with you. Is that clear?”

They all nodded.

“Now, if you please, I will meet with Major Zhelan and with the first company officer. I’ll meet with the undercaptains after I meet with the command officers. Those I’m not meeting with may wait in the tack room.” Quaeryt waited until the storeroom emptied and he was left with Zhelan and an older undercaptain, with a narrow face under brown hair. An old scar ran across his right jaw.

“I don’t believe you’ve officially met Undercaptain Ghaelyn,” said Zhelan, “recently promoted from senior squad leader.”

“I have not. It’s good to see you here, Undercaptain. We’ll be relying on you a great deal because we’ll have to use extra care with the other companies to begin with.”

“Yes, sir. The major made that clear.”

“Do you have any questions that the major hasn’t answered?”

“No, sir.”

“I wouldn’t think so. The major is very thorough, but it’s good to meet you officially.” Quaeryt refrained from smiling. The whole point of that meeting had been for Quaeryt to see Ghaelyn’s face … and little more.

After the undercaptain left, Quaeryt motioned to Zhelan. “I think it might be best…”

“For you to meet the Khellan officers alone? Yes, sir. I thought so. I’ve already talked to them. Major Calkoran is the most senior.”

“You ordered their companies by their seniority?”

“Yes, sir. It seemed the best way.”

“Remind me not to argue with you about procedures, Major.” Quaeryt smiled warmly.

Zhelan looked taken aback, and Quaeryt realized that he’d given Zhelan a statement that a good officer couldn’t really answer. Quaeryt laughed softly. “That wasn’t a fair order. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

In moments, both second company officers returned to the storeroom. Major Calkoran was stern-faced, with silver streaks in his black hair. Captain Eslym had short wavy brown hair and was probably about Quaeryt’s age. Both sets of dark eyes fixed on Quaeryt.

“You are young for a subcommander,” offered Calkoran. “The major says that you are brave and that you are experienced. You are a scholar and from the Pharsi. Is that not so?”

“I doubt I am any braver than you who have crossed the Montagnes D’Glace after fighting against the Bovarians for years. I am a scholar, and my parents were Pharsi. My wife has many Pharsi forbears as well.”

“You bear the marks of a lost one.”

“I have been called that more than once,” Quaeryt admitted. “I will not claim that … or disavow it. My acts define who I am.”

Calkoran smiled wryly. “You talk as one as well.”

“As we both know, acts define the man … or woman.”

“What would you have of us?”

“To be good officers. To follow orders.” Quaeryt paused, then added, “And to remember that your enemies are not the Bovarian people. Nor are your enemies the Bovarian troopers once they are defeated. Your true enemy is Rex Kharst and the senior officers and High Holders who support him.”

Calkoran fingered his chin, almost as if he had once had a beard that he had stroked. “The Bovarians fought as demons of the Namer, and they killed when they had no need.”

“I do not doubt that. But … would you be of the Namer? Lord Bhayar seeks to unite all Lydar and to create a land where all are equal, whether Bovarian, Telaryn, or Pharsi.”

“Even Pharsi?”

“You may ask any of the troopers in the southern army about how Lord Bhayar has punished those who attempted to defile Pharsi women or attack Pharsi men.”

“I have done so. They do not speak ill of Lord Bhayar. They say that you were a governor, and that you stood up for the Pharsi. We will follow you, and trust your judgment of Lord Bhayar.”

Quaeryt could sense the unspoken words—
and hope that judgment is accurate.
“I could ask no more.” He inclined his head just slightly.

Major Calkoran inclined his head more deeply. “Subcommander … sir.”

The captain inclined his head as well.

“I look forward to our working together to make Lydar a better place for all.”

“As do we.” Both officers bowed again “By your leave, sir.”

Quaeryt nodded.

While Quaeryt would have liked to have learned more from the Khellan officers, he understood that the present wasn’t the time to do so. He did plan to spend part of each day riding with each of them.

His meetings with Major Zhael and his captain, Wharyn, and with Major Arion and Captain Stensed were as short, as formal, and as satisfactory as the one with Calkoran had been, that is, acceptable and the beginning of a working relationship.

Quaeryt took a deep breath before Undercaptain Threkhyl appeared, then squared his shoulders and waited.

“Good morning, sir,” offered Threkhyl, pleasantly enough.

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t know as I’ve felt any better. Have felt worse.”

“Do you have any questions or thoughts about the campaign ahead?”

The ginger-haired imager frowned for a moment, then asked, “Is it going to be like the last battle, sir?”

“I would judge it will be more like the first skirmishes on the south of the Vyl. That’s until we get close to Variana. Then I’d think we’d see more fighting in larger groups. Have you been practicing your imaging?”

“Yes, sir.” After another pause the undercaptain added, “I never knew I could do some things.”

“Such as?”

“I built a stone tower, all neat like, like the one in Piedryn, in the square. Except mine was only three yards high.” He laughed. “It’s still there, on this side of the bridge, by the approach.”

That answered one question.

“I offered to help the masons on the bridge, but the engineering major … I don’t think he trusted me. I did image some cut stones for the side walls, and they used those. Had a bit of a headache when I finished on Meredi, but I didn’t have as much trouble yesterday.”

“Good.” While Quaeryt was pleased, he hoped the other imagers had worked at improving their skills as well. He still didn’t want to have to rely on just a few, especially if one of the few happened to be Threkhyl.

“Sir … there is one thing…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like having to listen to that Undercaptain Ghaelyn. He used to be a squad leader.”

Quaeryt repressed a sigh. “He won’t be giving you many commands. If he does, listen to him. He’ll only be doing it to save your skin. He knows far more than you do about staying alive in a fight. That’s especially true if you’re where you can’t image.”

“I’ll listen, sir.”

Quaeryt again could guess the unspoken words—
but I don’t have to like it.

“Good. You might also start asking why various orders and formations are used.”

Threkhyl frowned.

“It could just happen that you might end up in charge of a squad if the squad leader is hurt. The more you know, the better.”

Threkhyl looked as if he hadn’t even considered that.

“That sort of thing was what got me into being a command officer,” explained Quaeryt. “During the Tilboran Revolt.”

“I don’t know that I’d planned to lead troops, sir.”

“There are many things we don’t plan for. With some fortune, you won’t have to, but it’s better to be prepared for … everything that you can.” Quaeryt had almost said, “prepared for the worst.” He smiled. “If you’d send in Shaelyt…”

“Oh … yes, sir.”

As Threkhyl left, Quaeryt considered. The ginger-bearded imager was acting more like an undercaptain, but Quaeryt still wondered how far he could trust the man.

Shaelyt arrived, stiffened, and said, “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Very well, sir. I’ve been accompanying Major Zhelan and watching him conduct training and maneuvers. Well … Voltyr came with me.” Shaelyt flushed slightly. “Actually, it was his idea.”

“His idea or not, you were wise to follow it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Shaelyt looked down for a moment, then back at Quaeryt. “Sir … begging your pardon, but I have been practicing imaging ever since I recovered—”

“I suspect you’re much, much better, are you not?” interjected Quaeryt smoothly.

“Yes, sir. I can create holes even in iron plate at over a hundred yards. That’s if I don’t have to do it over water, and I can image a handful of arrows out of the sky.”

“That’s excellent!” Quaeryt didn’t have to counterfeit the enthusiasm in his voice.

“But … begging your pardon, sir, even working together, Voltyr and I couldn’t create a bridge. The best we could do was a piece of stone wall maybe four yards long and two yards high. Neither one of us could see much for a day. Our heads split for two.”

“That might well be because you weren’t facing eight regiments of Bovarians. That sort of threat can concentrate your effort more than one might realize. You also weren’t doing it with others.”

“Sir…” Shaelyt looked down. “It’s said that some of the lost ones … well … they looked like you.”

“I’ve been called a lost one by more than one Pharsi,” Quaeryt admitted. “It’s pretty clear that I’m from Pharsi blood, but as for being a lost one…” He shook his head, then asked quickly, “What else? Did you understand what the Khellan officers were saying?”

“Mostly. They speak a little differently from the way we do at home. They’ll do what you say, sir. Some of them think you’re a lost one. Some of the younger ones think … well … that you’re not.”

“They think I’m a fraud, and that Bhayar’s having me pretend to be something I’m not?”

“Something like that.”

Quaeryt nodded.
If you show you’re not, you’ll likely reveal for certain that you’re an imager, and if you don’t …
Once again, no matter what he did, there were negative consequences. Then he laughed, softly, but ironically. “I don’t pretend well or convincingly, Undercaptain.”
Misdirect fairly well, yes, but out and out pretending isn’t exactly your strength.

This time Shaelyt nodded. “If you’ll pardon me, sir. They worry that you are less than you seem. I can see that you are more than you wish anyone to know.”

“Time will show whether you’re right, Shaelyt. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that thought to yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” Shaelyt’s response was warm and cheerful. “I’d thought to, sir.”

“Do you have any other thoughts or questions?”

“No, sir. Not now.”

“Then you may go. Send in Voltyr, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Almost as soon as Shaelyt had stepped out through the storeroom door, Voltyr entered quickly, closed the door behind himself, and looked directly at Quaeryt. “You’re an imager … sir. Isn’t that what being a lost one means?”

Quaeryt shook his head. “Being a lost one means being favored of Erion and also being slightly physically flawed. Blond Pharsi with dark eyes are considered as possible lost ones. I look like a lost one, and I limp like one. Being an imager would be a possible mark of favor, but it’s not the only mark.”
Not that anyone ever let you know what any of the marks of favor are.

“You didn’t answer my question, sir.”

“You didn’t ask one, Undercaptain. Do you really want an answer? If I don’t answer, you won’t have to lie.”

“Why should I…?” Abruptly Voltyr broke off his words. “I think I understand.”

“The less anyone knows about what you undercaptains—and I—can do, the greater the advantage we possess. I was telling you the absolute truth about my goals when I said I wanted to make Telaryn—and all Lydar, if it comes to that—safe for both scholars and imagers. A secret shared between two people can usually be kept. One between three usually can’t. Shaelyt suspects. He may even know. We have not discussed that. I’d ask you not to discuss whatever you believe me able to do. You can certainly speculate about what the rest of you can do. You can even suggest, if pressed, that there might be something about an obdurate multiplying the effect of imaging.” Quaeryt smiled ruefully. “Is that acceptable?”

“Even being married to Lord Bhayar’s sister, sir, you tread a dangerous path.”

“No more dangerous than yours. Mine is just different.”

Voltyr nodded. “Given all you risk, you have my word, sir.”