Imager's Battalion Read Online Free PDF Page A

squad as an escort. He would have preferred even fewer men, so that more would remain at the holding to protect Vaelora. She had pointed out that taking fewer men would have suggested to anyone who was watching that he was either foolhardy or a powerful imager. Needless to say, Quaeryt heeded her advice. He also carried full imaging shields the entire ride, the first time he had done so since the last battle. He’d only been able to hold partial shields on the ride to Nordruil, and not even all the way. Even though he was feeling much better, when he reached the fortified bridge over the Aluse, a quint before sixth glass, he felt tired from the strain of holding the shields.
    After he crossed the bridge, now largely repaired, he noticed a small stone tower, three yards tall, on the east side of the approach. He couldn’t help but frown. He hadn’t seen that before, had he? Fretting that he was short of time, although he had no reason for such feelings, he urged the mare forward and then westward and into the courtyard, where he reined up behind the north wall before the chimes had announced the glass.
    Zhelan was waiting for him. “Good morning, Subcommander.”
    “Good morning, Major.” Quaeryt dismounted.
    “The senior officers’ meeting is in the conference room on the second level. In moments.”
    “Thank you. I’d like to meet with you after that.”
    “Yes, sir. I’ll meet you in the corridor outside afterward.”
    Quaeryt handed the mare’s reins to one of the rankers and hurried through the closest door and then up a back staircase. As he took off the visor cap and tucked it under his arm, he was obviously the last officer to enter the room, given the looks he received, but at least Bhayar wasn’t there yet. Meinyt and Quaeryt, as the only subcommanders, sat at the foot of the long table, below some fourteen commanders, although Quaeryt was seated beside Skarpa, who was clearly the junior regimental commander at the table.
    As Quaeryt slipped into the chair, he murmured, “You didn’t mention the meeting.”
    “It was announced at ninth glass last night,” Skarpa replied in a low voice. “By Deucalon’s adjutant.”
    The one raising unnecessary questions … or just one of several? After a momentary hesitation Quaeryt nodded. Skarpa hadn’t been about to send a courier—or several couriers—through a driving rain in the middle of the night to make sure that Quaeryt arrived on time for a meeting where the only thing desired of him was his presence and his silence. Still …
    The meeting-room door opened.
    “Lord Bhayar!”
    All the officers rose.
    “As you were.” Bhayar’s voice was dry as he approached the end of the table, where he stopped and remained standing. “As Marshal Deucalon and some of you already know”—Bhayar drew out the silence before continuing—“we have seen no sign of Bovarian forces near Ferrravyl. It’s most likely that Kharst has pulled back his forces, possibly as far as Villerive, or at least to positions where the terrain is more favorable. I would prefer beginning this campaign tomorrow, but the first two regiments from Ruile will not be ready until Lundi. Unhappily.” Bhayar turned to Deucalon. “If you would.” He seated himself and looked politely at the marshal.
    Deucalon did not stand, but his deep voice carried the length of the long table easily. “The best roads lie on the north side of the Aluse. So do most of the larger towns. So does most of the population of those that span the river, particularly Nordeau and Villerive. Variana is also largely on the north side. The northern army will advance along the north. Beginning at sixth glass on Lundi, we will begin barging men, mounts, and horses and wagons, unless, of course, the imagers can create another bridge from Ferravyl to Cleblois…” Deaucalon looked down the table.
    “I fear not, Marshal,” replied Quaeryt. “Not unless you can create another massive warm rainstorm.” And be willing