Finally, he nodded. If he took Fifth Battalion along the side road, under a concealment shield, and then they followed the side roads, they could flank the musketeers. He’d have to be careful though because the land flattened some to the west of the road, and after some fifty yards whoever rode on the side road would be exposed to the Bovarians, not that such would be a great problem if he and the other imagers could maintain concealment shields. He kept studying the land, but the cots were shuttered, and no smoke rose anywhere.
Finally, he turned the mare and rode back to rejoin Skarpa. He began, “I think we can flank them…” and then went on to describe the terrain, the positions, and what he proposed.
“You’ll need the entire battalion.”
“I intend to take all the companies.”
“We’ll move up to just below the crest of the road and re-form into a wide front. We’ll wait until you begin your attack. Then we’ll follow up as quickly as we can…”
When Skarpa finished, Quaeryt moved back and gathered all the Fifth Battalion officers. Once they were all present, he cleared his throat. “We have Bovarian forces with musketeers in position directly over that low rise before us. Our task is to swing out to the west and then flank them. Lhandor, Khalis, you’ll ride with me. Voltyr and Threkhyl, you’ll accompany Major Calkoran. Shaelyt and Horan, you’ll be with third company, and Desyrk, Smaethyl, and Baelthm will protect fourth company. Our first objective is to flank and then attack the musketeers. We’ll move out under concealment shields…” Quaeryt went on to explain, then repeated his orders in Bovarian to make sure the Kellan officers fully understood, then added, in both languages, one after the other, “Because we don’t know what else may be out there, I may have to take first company with me. If I move away from the attack on the musketeers, do not follow me. I repeat. Do not follow me. Your task is to take down the musketeers so that the regiments can advance without getting shot to pieces.”
Thankfully, no one mentioned the possibility that Fifth Battalion also risked getting shot to pieces if matters went ill.
Another quint passed before Fifth Battalion, moving slowly so as not to raise dust that would linger after the riders and their concealment shields passed, moved westward on the side road, first on the section hidden from the Bovarians and then on the more exposed part of the narrow clay and dirt road. After Quaeryt had ridden several hundred yards, he realized that the road was not nearly so rutted as most of the side roads, and, in places, the locals had filled in areas and packed the dirt.
That bothered him, and he glanced to the north to determine whether the musketeers were moving or tracking the battalion, not that they should have been able to see through the concealment shield. He saw no movement there. Then he glanced back over his shoulder to check the battalion’s progress. He’d hoped that the concealment shield would cover the battalion, but the road was so dry that Arion’s last squads were trailed by the faintest signs of dust.
Let’s just hope that the Bovarians don’t see that.
Thwump! Thwump!
The entire road shook, and Quaeryt swallowed as he saw men and mounts from the middle of third company hurled southward.
Cannon! Frigging cannon. Those repairs in the road weren’t from wear! They ranged the cannon and then concealed the impacts.
“Fifth Battalion! Off the road! Into the fields! On me!” Quaeryt image-projected the command back at the battalion, still holding the concealment shields between the battalion and the Bovarians.
Thwump! Thwump! Cannon balls exploded everywhere, as Quaeryt rode north, aiming the mare between the rows of harvested crop stubble toward a point to the west of the berm that sheltered the Bovarian musketeers facing the remainder of Skarpa’s forces.
More cannon shots tore into the dirt road, now empty of Fifth Battalion troopers-except for those already dead, dying, or wounded. Unable to see who lay there because of the smoke and dust, Quaeryt could only hope that his failure to anticipate the cannon fire had not caused too many deaths.
Quaeryt turned the mare toward the first line of musketeers, some of whom, he could see, were already trying to swivel their cumbersome weapons to the west, as if they knew that they faced an attack, while others were aiming at the oncoming troopers of Third Regiment. A moment later he saw that the westward-facing berms also had musketeers, and they were trying to sight their muskets, most likely based on the dust raised from the Telaryn mounts as they charged through the fields.
Namer-frigged mess!
He yanked his staff from the leathers and braced it against the front of the saddle, then at the last moment dropped the concealment and expanded his shields into an angled wedge, anchored to the mounts behind him, hoping that not too many of the musketeers behind the west-facing berms fired at once.
A muted roar sounded, and while he could feel impacts on his shields, they barely rocked him in the saddle as he leaned forward and extended his shields to the side as the mare jumped the berm. From the corners of his eyes, he saw musketeers and loaders crumple, and he turned northward again, angling toward the foot behind the second line of lower berms, not that he was that interested in them, but only because they protected the cannon emplacements farther back.
He had no doubts that Voltyr and Calkoran would continue against the musketeers, and that Shaelyt and Major Zhael-and what was left of third company-would as well.
The rearmost berms had to be those sheltering the cannon, but Quaeryt wasn’t about to charge them directly. Instead he urged the mare toward the Bovarian foot berms, where, since he saw no pikes, he hoped to demoralize the foot and push them back.
Except … the space behind the berms was empty … or mostly so, with just a few foot troopers sprinting away from Quaeryt and first company.
Had the Bovarians dug trenches to create the impression of a larger force just to get at the imagers?
He still wasn’t about to ride into the cannon. Instead … he imaged hundreds of tiny pieces of white-hot iron into the space behind each of the berms he could see. Surely … some of them …
That was as far as his thoughts went before thunder roared up around him and his shields shredded and squeezed him into darkness.
74
Quaeryt woke with someone sponging his face with a damp cloth. Where was he? He could smell dust, and blood, and sweat, but his eyes burned so much he could see almost nothing except a grayish haze. Then … a young face swam into view, leaning over him.
“Sir?”
Khalis … that’s who it was.
Quaeryt tried to speak, but only a croak issued forth. Somehow, he managed to swallow, and then say, “I’m here … I think.” His entire body felt sore, but … he slowly tried to move toes, fingers, hands … Everything felt as though it were still attached to him. He realized he was lying on something hard, the ground, most likely, except that there was a blanket under his head.
“Did I … get blown off … my horse?”
“Ah … yes, sir.”
“How is she?”
“Better than you, I fear, sir.”
That doesn’t sound good at all.
His expression must have alarmed the young imager undercaptain, because Khalis quickly added, “I don’t think you broke any bones. Your shields must have held until you and the mare hit the ground. You rolled clear. But … you have scrapes and gashes. You will have more bruises, I fear, sir.”
Quaeryt struggled into a sitting position, but Khalis had to help him before he could drink any of the lager from his water bottle. That helped some, although he still found it hard to see, given the painful flashes across his eyes. “What time is it?”