Free Imager's Battalion by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

Ferravyl …
    “… they try to split your forces and then butcher any who are cut off … They ask for surrender. If one does not surrender, they show no mercy … not to men or women…”
    Quaeryt continued to listen as he rode beside the major under a clear sky and a morning sun that was already hot and threatened to be sweltering by midday and intolerable by midafternoon.

 
    9
    Meredi morning dawned early and warm, promising to be even hotter and damper than the previous two days. The south river road had not narrowed, but it had become more and more rutted with each mille traveled toward Rivecote. The local people were mostly croppers and peasants, from what Quaeryt saw of their fields and cots, for not a person was visible when the regiments rode by dwellings or through hamlets. Nor was any livestock, and while he saw a few dogs, they were at a distance. He couldn’t blame the locals.
    Although there were no signs of Bovarians, Quaeryt continued to carry full imaging shields, rather than the lighter shields that triggered full shields, as part of his efforts to rebuild his imaging endurance. Just before eighth glass, Quaeryt was riding with Major Zhael, who had obviously talked with Calkoran, since Zhael asked no questions about Quaeryt’s background.
    “What did the Bovarians do that you did not expect them to do?” asked Quaeryt.
    “We thought they would do their worst, and they did.”
    “What sorts of things?”
    Zhael offered a sour smile. “They burned the grasslands so the forage for our horses was less. They burned every dwelling beside any road they traveled. When they could not burn crops they rode their horses through the fields and broke the plants.”
    “Did they offer any reasons?”
    “They did. They told those who survived that the destruction was because they had not accepted the merciful offers of Rex Kharst.” Zhael spat away from Quaeryt. “We know the mercy of the Bovarians. A generation ago all the Pharsi in Kherseilles had their shops and their lands taken after the Rex invaded. They were marched into the barrens north of Mantes and told to rebuild there. Many fled to Khel. Rex Kharst’s father demanded their return. Our High Council refused. The rex did not want them back. He wanted a reason to attack us. He did. We defeated his best, and sent them back to Variana with their tails between their legs, those that even had tails remaining, and we re-took Kherseilles.”
    “What was different this time?”
    “The Red Death. Some say that Kharst loosed sick rodents from merchant ships he had hired. Others say he worked the pus from victims into cheap woolens. The plague started in Eshtora, Ouestan, and Pointe Neiman. Almost half the young men in Khelgror died … and many of the young women.”
    Quaeryt had known of the plague that had ravaged the west of Lydar five years previously, and Vaelora had mentioned the deaths in Khelgror. But half the young men?
    “I see your doubt. Most great illnesses take the old and the children. This one did not. It took all ages, but mostly the young and hale.”
    “Why do you think Kharst was to blame?”
    “He had his armies ready in the spring after the cold of winter. We almost threw them back, but we had too few troopers. Even the women fought. They suffered horribly if they were captured. Most would not let themselves be taken.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” Quaeryt didn’t know what else to say.
    “You could not have known.” Zhael shrugged fatalistically. “Few who were not there would believe.”
    Quaeryt understood more why the Khellans were so determined to fight against Kharst. But can you keep their rage limited to the Bovarian fighting men?
    They rode quietly for a time, Quaeryt blotting his forehead now and again, continually readjusting his visor cap, wondering how much hotter it would get, and knowing that it would.
    Then, more than a mille ahead, above the trees on the south side of the road, Quaeryt saw smoke, more