“Your point is taken, dear.”
“Why did she tell the story to us?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve wondered about that.”
“She made a point of telling us. Not anyone else. I don’t think it was to please us or to entertain us.”
“No. It was to warn us. That was clear enough. We are young and carry Pharsi blood. She saw we had some power and position, and she wanted to warn us about wanting what we could never have.”
Vaelora nodded. “How did she know that? She’d never seen us before.”
“You’re suggesting…?” Farsight?
“I don’t know. It’s just … it’s bothered me on and off ever since.”
“Why did you bring that up now?”
“In a way … in a way, you need to look at the ice storm like that. You’ve said that no matter what you did, thousands would die. You had no choice about whether troopers died. Your only choice was which thousands died.”
“If I could have found another way…” Like you did with Rescalyn.
“The only choice we have is to do the best we can when we can. You’re thinking about Rescalyn, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“How could I not know? You’ve talked about it before. It’s bothered you as well, but by killing him in a way that made him a hero, you stopped a bloody revolt that would have slaughtered more thousands than you did at Ferravyl. Don’t you think that if Rescalyn had provoked a rebellion, whether he had been successful or not, it would have weakened Telaryn? That Kharst would have attacked even sooner? Then, how many more thousands would have perished?”
Quaeryt did not answer that. He knew the answer, and so did she. “Still … it doesn’t help that I’ve had to act as a chorister of the Nameless, giving homilies about virtue … mercy … and then…”
“You acted in accord with what you said, dearest.”
“That doesn’t help as much as I’d like.”
She let the silence grow for a moment, then repeated, “‘Do not argue over what is not and may never be.’ That includes arguing with yourself, dearest.”
“It’s hard not to think about the consequences when you’re the one who causes the deaths of so many.”
“Kharst decided to attack. His actions determined that thousands would die. Your actions merely determined which thousands.”
“Merely?” said Quaeryt dryly.
“You know what I meant. Are you determined to take on totally a responsibility that is only partly yours at best?”
“My dreams are suggesting it’s more than that.”
“You need to inform your dreams otherwise.” Vaelora’s voice was almost tart.
That’s easy enough for her to say. She wasn’t there when thousands froze because of what you did.
“Dearest … do you want Lydar to be a better place? Or do you want rulers like Kharst killing all the Pharsi, and Aliaro enslaving all the imagers?”
Quaeryt sighed. “I understand your words. I understand your logic. My head agrees with you. My heart, my feelings … they only comprehend all the deaths.”
“I thought that scholars were ruled by their minds.” A faint, almost mischievous smile lurked at the corners of Vaelora’s mouth.
“It’s easier to declare the mind superior when you’re in a scholarium,” replied Quaeryt. “It’s harder when you see the results of what your mind declares is the best course.”
“That was one reason why Bhayar was trained as a common trooper and went to Tilbor at the end of the conquest. He was twenty, then.”
“He went to Tilbor? I didn’t know that. He’s never mentioned it.”
“He wouldn’t. Everyone would assume he was either boasting or that he’d been protected by a full battalion. He wasn’t. He did have a pair of experienced troopers with him. Father worried the whole time. He said that was the hardest part.”
From what Quaeryt had heard about Lord Chayar, that seemed improbable. But then, he never would have guessed that Bhayar had served as an ordinary trooper, even in a somewhat protected position.
After a moment of silence, Vaelora spoke. “How are your imagers doing?”
“They’ve all improved, especially Threkhyl, Voltyr, and Shaelyt.” Quaeryt snorted. “I wouldn’t trust Threkhyl as far as I could throw my mare.”
“Believe in your feelings on that.”
“But not about the ice storm?” He raised his eyebrows.
“You have to learn when to trust your feelings and when not to.”
“Oh?”
“Women should take care in trusting their feelings with regard to men. Men should take care in trusting their feelings when it comes to battles and fighting, especially for power and glory. Both should take care in dealing with golds. Especially those of us raised without having to count them.”
Quaeryt smiled at the dryness of her last words.
“What about the others?” asked Vaelora. “Can you trust Voltyr and Shaelyt?”
“As much as one can trust anyone. They both have much to lose should anything happen to me.”
“As do I, dearest.” Vaelora pursed her lips. “You must take care … but not too much, for that is worse than no care at all.”
Quaeryt could see the brightness in her eyes. He stood and walked around the table, putting his hands on her shoulders, as comfortingly as he could. “I will balance heart and mind as best I can.”
Vaelora slipped from his grasp and stood, facing him. “We have a little time. Would you walk with me through the gardens?”
“There are gardens?”
“There are. They have been neglected, but there are remnants of their beauty.”
Quaeryt rose from the table and extended a hand. “I would be pleased to walk with you.”
Her fingers twined around his as they set forth from the terrace, not looking back.
“You see here … they planted matching birches on each side,” said Vaelora as she stepped onto the path that had once been white gravel, but now held gray and white pebbles, with patches of bare earth covered with moss in between the gray stones set unevenly into the ground. “There is also a gray cat, but it is fearful, and it is as still as a stone when it hears footsteps.”
Quaeryt glanced around. He saw no cat, but a flash of blue and gold as a southern finch darted into a pine. “What else?”
“The housekeeper says that there’s a black coney deep in the garden, but that when it appears it’s a sign of ill fortune to come.”
Quaeryt almost laughed. A black rabbit a sign of misfortune? Abruptly he realized he’d never seen a black hare, not wild or domestic. “Then we’d best not look for it.” He pointed. “Those stone squares—there once were two stone pillars on this side of the birches.”
“Sometimes, nature does outlast the works of men.”
In the end, always. Quaeryt squeezed her hand.
“You can smell the wild roses. They’re so much more fragrant than the ones cultivated for gardens. Over there…”
As he walked with Vaelora, Quaeryt knew the day would be far too short, and that he would have to leave all too soon.
Before he knew it, fourth glass had arrived, and he had changed into a clean uniform and was leading the mare into the courtyard. Vaelora walked beside him, and they made their way to the drive in front of the hold house.
As he stood beside the mare, ready to mount, she turned to him. “Remember, with your thoughts and your heart, that you did not bring this war to pass. All you can do is your best for everyone … and for us, the three of us.” With her words came tears.
He held her for a long time, murmuring his love for her, before she released him and stepped back.
He mounted, and then looked at her. Neither spoke. What more can we say?
Her smile was unsteady.
He touched his fingers to his lips, then blew a last kiss to her before he turned the mare and rode to join his escorts waiting farther out on the drive.
; Halfway down the drive, as he glanced back one last time toward Nordruil, he wondered how long it would be before he saw her again.
His lips quirked into a wry smile. And to think, a year ago, you had met her but for a few moments, and had received one very scholarly letter.
A year had changed everything. He just hoped the year ahead did not undo all that the previous year had brought. He pushed that thought away and looked at the road ahead, leading to Ferravyl.
8
Quaeryt did not dream of ice on Solayi evening, nor did he wake before dawn on Lundi morning to frost coating the walls of the small stone chamber he rated as a subcommander. He dressed and hurried to the senior officers’ mess in the north side of the bridge fortification. Once there he quickly ate a breakfast of overcooked scrambled eggs and chopped mutton. He washed down his food with poor ale—which reminded him to image better lager into his water bottle when he reached the stables and saddled his mare.
Major Zhelan had Fifth Battalion largely formed up in position north of the bridge over the Aluse River when Quaeryt and the six imager undercaptains rode up. Quaeryt eased the mare over beside Zhelan’s chestnut gelding.
“Good morning, Subcommander.”
“Good morning, Major. Any difficulties?”
“No, sir. Not yet, anyway.”
“Have you learned anything more about or from the Khellan officers?”
“No, sir.”
“Once we’re over both bridges, I’ll spend a glass or so riding with each one of them, starting with Major Calkoran. Tonight we’ll talk over what I discover.” Or what you don’t, if you fail to learn anything of importance or interest.
After his initial meeting with the three majors, Quaeryt had decided that he’d learn little or nothing in any formal meeting, at least not until the Khellans were more comfortable with him, and he thought the only way to do that would be to ride with them for periods of time during the advance on Variana.
“Fifth Battalion stands ready, sir,” announced Zhelan formally.
“Thank you, Major. I’ll report that to the commander. I will be riding with him for a time. As always, you are in command in my absence.” Zhelan knew that, but Quaeryt made the statement to reinforce that fact to the imager undercaptains, and he was leaving them with Zhelan at the moment. Although Skarpa half requested, half ordered the imagers to ride in the van, Quaeryt didn’t think he’d mind at least until they had crossed the second bridge into Bovarian territory.
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Undercaptain Voltyr, you are in command of the imager undercaptains, but you answer to the major in my absence.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt turned the mare and rode toward the head of the column to meet with Skarpa, arriving just before Meinyt reined up.
“Good morning, Subcommanders,” said Skarpa.
“Good morning,” replied Quaeryt. “Fifth Battalion stands ready.”
“Fifth Tilboran is ready,” added Meinyt.
“Then we should proceed.” After a moment Skarpa added, “Whoever would have thought a major, a captain, and a scholar would have ended up where we are?” He grinned at Quaeryt. “Except for the scholar, and he didn’t expect to become a subcommander. I told him he ought to be an officer.”
“Everyone’s allowed some doubts,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh.
“Any last moment news about the Bovarians?” asked Meinyt.
“There’s no sign of any troopers within fifteen milles,” said Skarpa. “The scouts haven’t covered the area west of that except along the river, but there’s no indication of Bovarian forces.”
“First indication is when we lose someone or they attack,” said Meinyt.
“They won’t attack soon. They don’t have many men close enough to attack in force. They’ve barely had enough time to get a messenger to Variana and to ride back here.”
“Archers or crossbowmen and destroying bridges?” suggested Quaeryt.
“We’ll have to keep alert for those sorts of things,” said Skarpa. “I think Marshal Deucalon will face more of that, though. His force is larger, and the roads on the north side of the river are better.” He raised his arm and nodded to the hornist.
The call for the advance echoed across the north end of the river, and the outriders started forward. Meinyt nodded, then turned and rode back to Fifth Regiment, which brought up the rear and guarded the supply wagons.
“If you wouldn’t mind my riding with you, sir, for a bit?” asked Quaeryt. “It’s acceptable that the imagers remain with the battalion for a time?”
“For the morning, perhaps longer, depending on what the scouts report.” Skarpa urged his mount forward, and Quaeryt eased the mare in alongside him. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m not certain I have anything in mind. I was more interested in anything you might have considered.”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that we have all the elements of the Telaryn forces that might be considered suspect or different.”
“Piedryn forces that are less well trained, Khellan rebels, and imagers, you mean? Not to mention Tilboran regiments commanded by officers considered possibly less … traditional. With far fewer archers and engineers, as well. Have I missed anything?”
“You didn’t mention a subcommander married to the sister of the Lord of Telaryn. He is an officer with a habit of not respecting the privileged excesses of certain High Holders.”
“Has it been said like that?”
“Not quite. It might as well have been, though. Why do you think the forces were split that way?”
“The most obvious reason was because the forces on the north side of the Aluse will face greater opposition. A careful commander would place his strongest forces where he expects the greatest opposition.”
“That is certainly what Marshal Deucalon has said.”
“You don’t believe him?”
Skarpa smiled. “Do you think that Lord Bhayar is a gambler?”
Quaeryt shook his head. “He calculates, but he is anything but a gambler. He will let others take risks, but only so long as he will not be the one to pay if they lose.”
“That is why we were ordered not to get too far ahead of the northern force.”
“Because we have to be forward in order to be successful, more than a day, and if we fail, that failure falls on us?”
“I thought you would understand.”
As they reached the midsection of the fortified bridge, Quaeryt glanced to the western wall. It was difficult to tell the section that had been damaged by the Bovarian barge when it had exploded against the bridge pier below at the beginning of the battle for Ferravyl. Several of the replacement stones looked identical. Those Threkhyl imaged? “They repaired the bridge so well you can’t tell it was damaged.”
“The roadbed was hardly touched in the center. You and the imagers preserved it more than any would have believed possible.”
“They still have a lot to learn.”
“It’s interesting that you know so much about what they need to know.”
“Scholars need to know a great deal, and I’ve always enjoyed learning.” Skarpa might well suspect, or even be convinced, that Quaeryt was an imager, but he wasn’t about to admit it yet. And not in public.
“You do know quite a bit. Everything from imaging to rulers, even to the Nameless.” Skarpa grinned at Quaeryt. “You know we still don’t have a chorister in the southern army…”
Quaeryt groaned.
“I can’t really insist that a subcommander … but … the officers and men…”
“All right … but no offerings and no blessings.”
“I thought you might see it that way.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“No. That’s because you’re an honest man, and you worry about your officers and men.”
“And you’re a persuasive scoundrel,” countered Quaeryt.
“Of course. That’s why I’m a commander.
In wartime, anyway.”
As he rode down the south half of the bridge, Quaeryt looked out at the triangle of land between the Aluse River and the Vyl River, and then at the stone bridge that he and the imagers had created. Two weeks before, the ground had been covered with ice and frozen bodies. Despite the comparative pleasantness of the morning, he shivered for a moment.
Two long mounded berms of freshly packed earth now crossed the triangle comprising the bluff above where the rivers met. The mounds were the final resting place of more than twelve thousand Bovarians. A smaller pyramidal mound with a stone before it was located to the north and east. For the Telaryn dead.
“You’d never believe what this looked like two weeks ago.” Quaeryt felt he had to say something.
“Lord Bhayar ordered every man in every regiment to spend time dealing with the dead,” replied Skarpa.
That was another thing Quaeryt hadn’t known, although he had seen hundreds toiling when, barely able to ride, he had been escorted to Nordruil. “How did they take it?”
“They complained when they thought no officers were listening. What else? Of course, many of them ended up with better weapons or a few more coins. But it was better than letting them just strip the dead and leave them. Had to do something, and do it quickly. That’s the problem with fighting in summer near a city.”
Quaeryt nodded.
As they rode along the road beside the berms and neared the imager-built bridge, Quaeryt could see wagon ruts in the still-soft ground. “The locals haven’t wasted much time in using the bridge.”
“Not at all.” Skarpa snorted. “Except the local ferryman wrote a complaint to the marshal. Said the bridge had destroyed his livelihood.”
There’s always someone. “All he has to do is move ten milles upriver. There aren’t any bridges there, and most people won’t travel ten milles downstream and then back to take a bridge if there’s a ferry.” Quaeryt paused, as a thought struck him. “But there’s likely already a ferryman there.”
“The same thing would have happened sooner or later. If Bhayar wins, he’d have built a bridge. Same thing if Kharst had won. Just would have taken longer.”
Imager’s Battalion Page 6