She nodded. “I feel that she’ll be a girl.”
“Does Bhayar know?”
“No. And he won’t, not until long after you and he leave Ferravyl.”
Quaeryt didn’t know what to say.
“I … decided … on those last days in Tresrives. I knew you’d be safe. But … I still couldn’t let you go … not without … I just couldn’t.” Her eyes were bright.
Quaeryt leaned forward and folded his arms around her. “I love you. I love you both…” He could feel his own eyes tearing up.
2
As Quaeryt and Vaelora finished breakfast on Meredi, a meal taken somewhat later than was usual for them, Quaeryt lifted the small volume. “This is the book I was telling you about.”
“The one about Rholan?”
He nodded as he handed it to her, after opening it to the title page, which held only the title Rholan and the Nameless and the words “Cloisonyt, Tela.”
“The title is ironic, you know?” observed Vaelora, taking the small volume.
“More like a double meaning.” He paused, then rose from the table on the terrace and walked to stand at her shoulder. “There’s one page I thought you might find especially interesting. That’s where I put the bookmark.” He watched as she turned to the marked page, reading over her shoulder as she scanned the text.
Rholan spoke at many times and in many places about the vanity of attempting to achieve greatness, most notably at Gahenyara before his last trip to Cloisonyt, but it is interesting to note that he never spoke of the cost of actually accomplishing great deeds …
“He spoke in Gahenyara? There are no family stories about him, and you’d think there would be,” mused Vaelora.
“Read on,” suggested Quaeryt.
Many have suggested that Rholan was a giant of a man, a great warrior, with shoulders a yard across and thews like the trunk of an oak, green-eyed and black-haired with a full black beard, others that he was small and slender, almost frail, with fine red hair and piercing blue eyes. Neither description is accurate. In his prime, he was a man slightly larger than most other men, but by no more than a few digits in height. His eyes were black and his hair white-blond, and his left arm was shorter than his right, and crooked, as a result of breaking it while trying to chop down a young oak tree as a youth …
“A lost one?” asked Vaelora.
“The author never says … not in what I’ve read so far, anyway.”
“And you haven’t read it all while you were waiting for me?” teased Vaelora. “You just pined for me?”
“I did indeed pine for you, as you should be able to tell…”
Vaelora blushed, then closed the book and looked up at him. “Tell me you have not read every page of this volume.”
“I should have said that I have read nothing that names a lost one, or singles out Rholan as one of any such group.” Even as he spoke, Quaeryt frowned. Someone had said something like that … somewhere. When had that been…?
At the sound of boots on the terrace stone, Quaeryt turned to face the ranker who had hurried out through the double doors from the study. “Yes? What is it?”
“Lord Bhayar is riding up the drive, sir.”
Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “We will have to discuss my reading later, my lady. Shall we go greet your brother?”
“We should.” Vaelora rose. “He would be disappointed otherwise.”
Left unsaid, as they reentered the hold house and walked toward the main entrance, was that neither intended to disappoint Bhayar—at present.
The Lord of Telaryn had not yet reached the largely neglected circular garden around which the entry drive curved to the main entrance when Quaeryt and Vaelora took positions on the wide stone stoop. They watched the company of Telaryn troopers follow Bhayar and then rein up around the drive as Bhayar rode forward to the entry, followed by a single ranker, and halted the large gray gelding.
“You both look far happier than when I last saw either of you,” announced Bhayar as he dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to the trooper behind him. He walked up the steps briskly and stopped, surveying the couple. “I had hoped that would be the case.”
“Dear brother, you did more than hope,” said Vaelora. “You made it possible.”
“One still hopes. Not everyone knows what is in their best interests, even those to whom one is related.”
“You have always held our interests dear,” replied Quaeryt.
“As I should, for those who are related and who hold a ruler’s interests as dearly as their own are few indeed.” Bhayar smiled, and for an instant even his dark blue eyes smiled as well. “But, alas, I am here to inform you of your increased responsibilities.” His eyes turned to his sister. “You should join us in the study as well, so that you may tell Aelina all that is planned when you return to Solis. You will return with my personal guard this time, because your husband will need every company under his command and that of Subcommander Meinyt.”
Subcommander Meinyt? Quaeryt didn’t like the sound of Meinyt’s promotion at all; not that Meinyt didn’t deserve it, but because it signified that Bhayar had something in mind that was potentially dangerous to Quaeryt and the imagers. Still, Quaeryt merely nodded as he and Vaelora followed Bhayar into the hold house.
Behind them the company of troopers rode slowly to the side courtyard.
When the three entered the study, Vaelora nodded to Quaeryt, then closed the door from the corridor before walking to the double doors and closing them.
Bhayar pulled a chair up to the small circular table, but waited for Quaeryt and Vaelora to move to the other chairs before seating himself.
The Lord of Telaryn looked to his sister. “I think this marriage has been good for you.”
“I don’t know that marriage has been good to me, but Quaeryt has been,” replied Vaelora.
“Good. Keep it that way … both of you.” After a pause, he went on. “Much as your domestic happiness pleases me, that is obviously not why I am here.”
“You’re here to tell us what our roles are in the coming campaign.” Vaelora smiled sweetly. “I am to provide you and Quaeryt with my thoughts and observations and then retire to Solis and console Aelina while you and Quaeryt begin the long and arduous conquest of Bovaria.”
“Not exactly, sister dearest. You and Aelina know the internal and court politics as well as anyone. You also have seen Quaeryt struggle with balancing the finances of a province, as Aelina has seen me do with all Telaryn. You will return to Solis with a document of financial regency which places you and Aelina in command of the finances of Telaryn until my return to Solis, with full access to all ledgers and accounts. In practice, what this means is that you two jointly have the power to stop any uses of tariff revenues that do not directly support the war against Bovaria. There is also a letter to Finance Minister Haaraxes that declares that any attempt on his part to thwart or oppose your exercise of that power will be regarded as treason. He may appeal a decision you make to me, but he must abide by it, until I decide.”
“In short, matters proceed as they always have unless we act, and in all likelihood, we will be limited in what we do.”
“Exactly. Except … except … it allows me to summarily execute Haaraxes if he indulges in more than petty thievery, with no complaints by the High Holders or other ministers. The document will make that most clear.” Bhayar turned to Quaeryt. “While you have been recovering, we have developed a plan of attack and restructured our forces to accomplish that attack. We have formed armies of the south and of the north. The army of the north will advance westward along the north river road of the Aluse directly to Variana. Because most of the population in the area is on the north side, this will be the larger force.”
Quaeryt had a good idea with which force he and his imagers would be placed, but he just listened.
“The initial force that will travel the south river road, or what passes for it, will be commanded by Commander Skarpa and will consist o
f two regiments and a full battalion. Those will be Skarpa’s Third Tilboran Regiment, the newly constituted Fifth Tilboran Regiment under Subcommander Meinyt, and the Fifth Montagne Battalion under you. That title is largely for effect and because you were governor of Montagne.”
Worse and worse … if interesting. Quaeryt nodded again.
“Marshal Deucalon, Submarshal Myskyl, and I were not at all pleased with the performance of the Second Ryntaran Regiment from Piedryn. So we have implemented a certain amount of reorganization. Two battalions from Second Ryntaran have been transferred to First Tilboran under Submarshal Myskyl. That allowed us to transfer two battalions from First Tilboran to Third, which in turn allowed Third and Fourth Battalion of Third Tilboran to be moved and become the core of the new Fifth Tilboran, along with the remaining two battalions from Second Ryntaran…”
That made sense to Quaeryt. Skarpa, Myskyl, and Meinyt were all good officers, and especially good at training and improving troopers, although Quaeryt trusted Myskyl not at all.
“You and Major Zhelan face a challenge and an opportunity.” Bhayar did not smile as he spoke, for which Quaeryt was grateful. “Your first company will remain as it has. Your second, third, and fourth companies are not properly from Montagne. They actually consist largely of Khellan cavalry that spent nearly two years making their way through the Montagnes D’Glace after the battle of Khelgror. There were originally close to two regiments, but the mountains and the winters were hard on them…”
Khellan cavalry … riding for two years … Quaeryt had heard about the Bovarian savagery reputed to have followed the fall of Khel, but to cross the continent by way of the northern mountains?
“For reasons we all know,” Bhayar continued, “they wish to be part of the campaign against the Bovarians. They know of the background of our family, and they asked if there happened to be a Pharsi officer under whom they could serve. I told them that the best I could do was a Telaryn officer who was of Pharsi descent and married to my sister.” Bhayar did smile, if faintly. “I felt that was an accurate representation … was it not?”
More accurate even than you know, it appears. “That was accurate, sir,” replied Quaeryt.
Vaelora nodded.
“That will provide a full battalion under you, but Marshal Deucalon thought it might be best if Major Zhelan remained as your second in command. Major Zhelan expressed pleasure at remaining as well.”
“Zhelan is an accomplished and practical officer,” said Quaeryt.
“As are you, from all reports.” Bhayar leaned back slightly in the wooden armchair. “We have had to wait some for additional forces, and there are others that will join us as they can. Kharst has likely only received reports of what occurred at Ferravyl in the last week, and there will be no reports on what we plan to do. He will doubtless pull troops from the border with Antiago, but those will likely withdraw directly to the area around Variana. He will be using conscripts, perhaps heavily. We will move decisively, and it is likely that we will not face great resistance until we near Variana…”
As Bhayar continued to summarize the situation, Quaeryt and Vaelora listened.
“… unlikely Kharst has many imagers, if any, and they will be held in reserve. I would prefer that you not strain yourself or your imagers any more than necessary.” Bhayar stopped and cleared his throat. “And now, I must take my leave. I expect you to spend Vendrei and Samedi in Ferravyl with your forces. You may take Solayi off, as will all forces, and we will set out on Lundi, we for the west, sister dear, and you for Solis.” Bhayar rose from the table.
Quaeryt stood, as did Vaelora, although Vaelora did so in a deliberate if graceful way, almost as if grudgingly. Both accompanied Bhayar to the main door and outside.
There, Bhayar turned and inclined his head. “My personal guard will be here for you, Vaelora dear, by seventh glass on Lundi. There will be a leather folder with my authorization for you and Aelina.”
“You think of everything, brother dear.”
“I do attempt such, but dealing with you, as your husband will discover, if he has not already, can be a challenge.” With a broad smile, Bhayar mounted the gray.
Quaeryt and Vaelora watched as he rode down the drive and joined the waiting troopers.
“How much does he know?” asked Quaeryt.
“About you … being a lost one? Or as strong an imager as you are?” Vaelora paused. “I could not say. I doubt he actually knows everything, but one of Bhayar’s strengths has always been a feel for what is so, even when he does not know.”
“He also has no illusions about people.”
“Dearest … no successful ruler does.”
Quaeryt laughed, then took Vaelora’s hand as they turned and stepped back into the hold house.
3
On Jeudi morning, while Vaelora finished dressing, Quaeryt picked up the small book that appeared to be both a biography and a commentary on the life of Rholan, and as seemed often to be the case, he found himself rereading a section with particular interest.
No deity, should one exist, needs a name. Those who worship such a deity need that name, for otherwise how can they be certain that their prayers, their hopes, and their plaints go to whom they are meant to be addressed. Gods do not need worshippers, but most people need gods. Rholan addressed the paradox of names by calling the almighty “the Nameless,” a stratagem far more clever than either his contemporaries or those claiming scholarly insight have seemed able to recognize.
As Vaelora stepped from the dressing chamber, Quaeryt closed the small book, smiling in spite of himself.
“Is that smile for what I’m wearing?” asked Vaelora, her voice mock-stern.
“Hardly, dear. I’d smile were you wearing nothing.”
“You’d smile far more than that. You always do.”
“Can I help the fact that I find you beautiful?”
“Lust can make any woman beautiful.”
Quaeryt had strong doubts about that, because one of the aspects of Vaelora he found so appealing was her intelligence. After all, her letters had captured him even when he’d had no thought of anything more. “You will write me … as you did before?”
Vaelora blinked, as if what he’d said had no relation to what they’d been discussing. “What…?”
“I was thinking about your letters, that I found what you wrote so entrancing…”
She laughed softly. “You still surprise me.”
“I hope I always will … in a good fashion.”
From the bedchamber, with its antique stone walls, walls softened somewhat by the not quite so ancient cloth hangings, they made their way down the stone steps barely wide enough for two abreast and then to the small breakfast room, rather than the terrace, since the night had brought rain and drizzle.
Again, as he ate the near-perfect omelet that the serving woman placed on his platter, he thought about the days ahead with hard rations, or worse. He smiled wryly.
“What are you finding so amusing?” Vaelora’s tone was openly curious.
“How life changes. A year ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of having so much good food, when even decent meals strained my purse, and there were times when regimental rations would have seemed a luxury. Now…” He shrugged.
“Dearest … it comes with a price. Have you not noticed? Did not our stay in Extela…?”
He nodded. “Part of that price was because I chose accomplishment over popularity when I had not time to achieve both.”
“Dearest … there is always that choice.”
Quaeryt smiled. “Not if the one who seeks accomplishment is not the one who needs popularity … or one to whom little attention is paid. We talked of this before. Perhaps as a mere subcommander…”
“Even that is dangerous…”
“Perhaps,” Quaeryt replied, “but my idea of costs and prices may not be what you have in mind. What are yours?”
“Little more than a year ago, you could have walked away from danger, or handle
d it quietly, with no one being the wiser. In fact, I’d wager you did. Can you do that now? A year ago, the only one whom you hazarded by your acts was you. Now … tell me what might have happened had you failed in the warm rain.”
“I would have died,” he replied dryly, “but that wasn’t what you meant. Thousands of troopers would have died as well.”
“And…?”
“Your point is taken, dearest.” Of course, Quaeryt had known what she meant. He still didn’t like thinking about matters in those terms.
“You don’t like admitting that you have hostages to fortune. You also do not wish to admit that your sense of responsibility makes you a captive of others and of fate.” Vaelora sipped her hot tea.
“Does any man with any sense wish to admit that?” Quaeryt lifted a beaker of lager and took a swallow. In the summer, at least in the hot midlands, tea was too warm for him even at breakfast, even when breakfast was early, not that this morning it was anywhere close to early.
“There is a difference between admitting it publicly and admitting it to one’s self.”
“You’re all too right, dear, but there are those who publicly profess to have hostages to fortune, and who in the end act as if those hostages have no worth to them at all. More than a few rulers—or those who wish to rule—have been such.”
“Are you saying Bhayar is?” Vaelora raised her eyebrows.
“I suspect he is of the other type, who denies that those who are close to him have any value, while quietly valuing them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Think upon our marriage. Ostensibly, he punished you for your apparent willfulness by marrying you to someone beneath your station. Yet…” Quaeryt shrugged.
“Yet what, dearest?”
Quaeryt grinned and ignored the slight edge in her voice. “He did not go against your wishes and marry you to someone you could not stand.”
“There are times,” she responded, her voice holding a hint of playfulness.
Quaeryt was about to respond when he heard bootsteps. He waited.
“Sir … there’s a Commander Skarpa who just arrived from Ferravyl to see you…” offered one of the rankers from the door to the breakfast room.
Imager’s Battalion Page 2