“He suggested a week. I told him two days. He offered excuses. I told him they were excuses.” Bhayar paused. “Do you think someone’s passing information to the Bovarians?”
Quaeryt shrugged, and wished he hadn’t as pains shot across his chest. “I don’t know. It won’t hurt to act as if someone might be.”
“That’s true enough. What other recommendations do you have?” Bhayar’s voice was both tired and dry.
“You need more imagers, sir.”
Bhayar frowned. “I meant about strategies.”
“So do I.”
“Have I not found you a number sufficient for our needs.”
“Imagers have made a difference in a number of battles so far, but there are only nine imager undercaptains. I’ve trained them so that they are much more capable, but nine is a small number, and Bovaria is a large land … and together Telaryn and Bovaria are very large.”
“I can see that … but … the marshal and others will certainly worry about what will happen … in the future…”
“You need to worry, if I might say so, sir, about your needs and not their desires. What most people, indeed, most rulers do not understand is that there are too few imagers born in any land to be a threat to the people as a whole. They can only be a threat to individuals, and that threat exists because most imagers live in fear. What you can do is to bring those few imagers together to help deal with not only defeating Bovaria, but with keeping it under control. You keep the imagers in Variana, far from Solis.”
“Solis is the capital of Telaryn,” protested Bhayar. “The last thing I want is a group of trained imagers in Variana when I’m back in Solis.”
“How long can you rule Bovaria and Telaryn from Solis?”
“You are assuming…”
“Am I? Besides … do you really want to keep living in Solis?”
Bhayar laughed softly. “Go on.”
“You need a force large enough to be effective and small enough for you to control and strong enough to keep the High Holders in line, but one not requiring a large standing army.”
“You think your imagers could be that force?”
“Only as a quiet last resort, sir. What I would suggest is that you point out, as necessary, after you take Variana, and only then, is that by putting the imagers in one place, you reduce the danger to the people and you train the imagers to be useful to the ruler and the people. In return for safety and a good education, they will serve Telaryn … much as the scholars assured that I would serve you.” Quaeryt smiled wryly. “Even if they did not know it.”
“You are a dangerous man, Quaeryt.” Bhayar paused. “Assuming … just assuming … that I agree to all of this … what happens when Clayar succeeds me and you are gone?”
“That’s why you set up the school and the grounds and the training now … after you take control of Bovaria. You train all the young imagers in their roles as a pillar of the ruler, and you make sure they all know what happened to imagers in the past, and how they are treated in other lands across the world … Perhaps you even give a gold or silvers to parents who send their imager children to the school … you’ve already set a precedent similar to that.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Some of it for years, and some only for months,” Quaeryt admitted.
“What if we must leave Bovaria? While we are winning now … who knows?”
“Then send Vaelora and me and the imagers back to Extela, and we’ll set up the school and training there. That will still increase your power.”
Bhayar smiled, an expression both warm and calculating. “You have thought this through in great detail.”
“I’ve tried,” Quaeryt admitted. “Also, if we incorporate a scholarly element, with a school and a large library, it will seem more familiar to many.”
“It might also give me greater control over the scholars.”
“In a way that would not seem so.”
“Well … I have to say I’m intrigued, and I like the idea. It would also keep Vaelora busy. But you’d have to be the head of it. It wouldn’t work any other way.”
“For the next years,” Quaeryt said, “but it needs to be set up in a way that it doesn’t depend on who succeeds in power among the imagers.”
“That … that will take some doing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now … what do you think awaits us in Variana?”
“The largest army ever assembled in Lydar,” Quaeryt said bluntly. “Kharst will try to crush us so thoroughly that he can do what he will. You must destroy him in a way he does not see coming.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“You will have to merge both the northern and southern forces so that Kharst faces a united force. That way, he will believe that if he destroys that army, he can march down the River Aluse all the way to Solis.”
“Deucalon won’t like that. He is the marshal.”
“Insist on putting Fifth Battalion in front, backed and flanked by the rest of Commander Skarpa’s forces. That way, you can tell Deucalon that he can maneuver as he pleases after the Bovarians attack. You can also point out, by letting the imagers take the brunt of the attack first, that will assure fewer casualties among his troops.”
“Should we join forces together on the way to Variana?”
“No, sir. We should join somewhere south of Variana, so that Kharst will not know where we might strike.”
“Where would that be, Subcommander Marshal?” asked Bhayar ironically.
“Wherever necessary to make him attack us in full force.”
Bhayar laughed.
When Bhayar’s laugh died away, Quaeryt added, “I’d also suggest not telling Deucalon about massing forces until as late as possible and not before we’re close enough to know where Kharst’s forces are. Suggest that the marshal’s strategy of keeping the southern army small and mobile has worked so far and that you see no reason to alter it until circumstances change.”
“You don’t trust him much.”
“I have far more to gain if you win and everything to lose if you do. Whom would your father have trusted?”
Bhayar nodded.
Quaeryt wasn’t quite so sure what that nod meant.
“Vaelora said I should trust you above all others. Did you tell her to say that?”
“Nameless, no. I’d never tell her what to say to you … or anyone else.”
“You and anyone who knows her well.” Bhayar shook his head. “Is there anything else?”
“Nothing that you don’t already know, if you think about it.”
“You sound like my father, rather than my friend.”
“I only met him that one time, you know?”
Bhayar gave a short barked laugh. “You know what he said?”
“No. I have no idea.”
“He said you were the kind of man to keep as a friend, and never make an enemy. He was right, I’ve learned.” Bhayar smiled. “I almost forgot.” He reached down and picked up an envelope, extending it. “From Vaelora. It was enclosed in a letter to me. She mentioned fearing that her missives to you were experiencing ‘undue delay.’” His eyebrows lifted. “I assume you wrote her about it? Was that necessary? You did mention that to me earlier.”
Quaeryt took the missive. “I did write and tell her that the letter forwarded to me by the new governor of Montagne arrived with her last missive to me, even though the governor’s letter had been dispatched almost two weeks later.”
“I don’t need reminding from both of you, Quaeryt.”
Sometimes you do. “Yes, sir.”
“Keep that in mind.” Bhayar gestured toward the study door. “I need to think, and you need to write a letter.”
Quaeryt smiled, nodded, and bowed slightly, then turned and slipped from the study.
As he walked out from the vaulted entry hall into the hot harvest noon, Quaeryt wondered if another undercaptain would be waiting to accompany him back to
the Stone’s Rest.
There wasn’t.
The squad from fourth company formed up, and a ranker rode forward leading the mare.
65
Although Quaeryt desperately wanted to read Vaelora’s letter, trying to do so while riding wasn’t the best idea, especially given how sore he was. He had to content himself with knowing that it was tucked inside his uniform and that he would have more than enough time to read it once he returned to the Stone’s Rest. As he rode across the bridge to the old southern section of the city, he realized the letter would have to wait.
He turned to the squad leader. “We’ll need to stop at the Traders’ Bowl first.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Quaeryt did stop, Skarpa wasn’t there, and the duty squad leader could only say that the commander was meeting with the marshal. Quaeryt left word that he would like to talk to Skarpa when he returned.
Zhelan was waiting in the modest foyer when Quaeryt stepped out of a sun that felt entirely too hot for harvest and into the coolness of the Stone’s Rest. Quaeryt gestured toward the public room. “I’ve had a hot ride, and you could use something while we talk.”
“I’ll not complain about that, sir.”
Once they were seated in a corner away from the archways, with a mug in front of each of them, Quaeryt looked to the major. “You had a question?”
“I was hoping, seeing as you were headed to see Lord Bhayar, that you might have some idea as to when we’d be packing out.”
Quaeryt took a swallow of the lager, a trace more bitter than he liked, before he spoke. “At least two days, and not more than a week. I’d wager on two days, but I don’t think anyone’s been told. You should tell the men to plan on no more than two days, but that it could be longer. We may know when Commander Skarpa returns. How are you coming with getting grain?”
“We should have enough for a week…”
For almost a glass, Quaeryt went over matters concerning Fifth Battalion before he and Zhelan finished. Only then did Quaeryt retreat to the third floor, almost falling down the stairs between the second and third level when he caught the boot heel of his bad left leg on a stair riser. When he finally reached his chamber, he settled onto the chair and slit open the letter. The seal had been tampered with, most likely by Bhayar. After looking at the dates, he began to read.
Dearest!
Finally, a letter from you, one that I so looked forward to and enjoyed reading, although I must say that it appears my correspondence must have been misaddressed for it to have taken so long to reach you. I am responding as swiftly as I can. I have been more careful in addressing this and trust it will arrive more quickly. I was glad to hear that you remain well and trust and pray that you will continue so.
Your observations about how Rex Kharst maintains control over his High Holders were most disturbing. I share your belief that a ruler who wishes to remain both respected and loved should adopt methods more effective and yet less cruel and less obvious. I will be most interested in discussing such with you once we are reunited, though I fear that time will not be soon. Matters here in Solis have developed in much the way one might have guessed. They are not as good as one would like, nor as difficult as might be …
In short, Quaeryt thought, the ministers are quibbling about finances and making matters hard, but not defying you and Aelina outright.
My digestion has improved. That is good, because it has been a very hot summer. I have had to retreat to the coolness of the fountains more than in past summers, and there is no sign of the heat becoming any less. There is also little rain, and the harvest may be scant if more does not bless the lands of Piedryn.
In past letters we discussed to what extent those in power could trust those who provide them with counsel and advice. While at times, I have little else to do besides advise the lady who is as much my sister as if we share the same blood, interesting though that may be at times, some further thoughts have occurred to me in regard to who may be trusted and why and who may not. The man whose future can only improve if others fail or die is one who must be watched most closely, unless he is one who would prefer to serve than to lead. Yet there is an exception even to that, for there are those who would wish matters a certain way and would advise those they serve, who in turn directly serve a ruler, in such a way as to bring about such ends. Such men are seldom scrutinized for the effect of their advice by rulers because the ruler assumes that his direct subordinate is acting in either that subordinate’s interest or the ruler’s …
Quaeryt nodded. Has she heard about Myskyl’s actions from some other source?
… This is most common, or so I have heard, having no experience at all in such, where men go to war. I can but assume that such self-oriented advice is less common among those who bear arms and risk their lives, and more common among those who are farther from dangers of personal injury …
A smile spread across Quaeryt’s face. She wanted her brother to read those words. He shook his head in amusement.
When he set down her letter, he wondered what he should write. How much and how directly? After more than a glass of struggling with his own words, he looked down at the page on the desk.
My dearest,
Your latest letter arrived in far greater haste than those earlier, and it was with great pleasure that I read it, especially to hear that you are again enjoying your food. Here, of course, our food ranges at best from that prepared indifferently to hard rations or biscuits, or very occasionally less than that.
We are now recuperating from our efforts in the ancient town of Nordeau, which we now hold, the Bovarians, those who survived, having fled. Through some form of miscommunication, Commander Skarpa’s forces first took the southern part, and then two days later, the northern part. Marshal Deucalon’s forces arrived almost two days later. My undercaptains all survived, but several of us are rather bruised, still, and sore, but will certainly recover before we press on … whenever that may be.
As in Solis, harvest here has been especially hot and damp, and there is no sign of the weather becoming cooler, although we have had more rain here than has apparently fallen on Piedryn. It would be for the best, I fear, if the weather remains warm, but the Nameless will have things as they will be …
As for your thoughts on the trustworthiness of advice, in the end, the trust must rest in the character of the man or the woman, and not in the position that either may hold. You suggested that there is a greater risk of untrustworthiness among those of higher position, and I fear, alas, that such is indeed so, particularly when the ambitions of a man exceed his true abilities, especially of those men who have not been tested, always having been in secondary positions. Yet who of us can accurately judge what we may accomplish and what we may not …
Another glass passed before Quaeryt finished the letter and went to find a courier to dispatch it … and that took more than a glass before he finally entrusted the missive to one of Skarpa’s majors, with a silver for the dispatch rider.
66
On Vendrei, Quaeryt mustered the imager undercaptains and put them through imaging drills, both morning and afternoon, allowing several glasses rest in between. He did not press Shaelyt excessively, but Shaelyt did seem to be recovering somewhat more quickly than had Quaeryt, possibly because he was younger … or because he had not taken the brunt of the musket fire. By the end of the afternoon session, it was clear that both young Pharsi undercaptains had greatly improved. Quaeryt had to smile at the thought that they were now the “young” imagers, and Shaelyt, who he had thought was young, was now no longer so, at least comparatively.
But then, battles and death age us all, in mind if not in body. He paused, then had a second thought. Except for those not wise enough to age.
He went to bed on Vendrei evening having heard nothing from Skarpa, not that the lack of information surprised him. He was certain Skarpa had heard nothing, either.
On Samedi morning, after returning from arranging for the undercapta
ins to work with the best of Zhelan’s squad leaders on improving their use of the sabre, he was sitting alone in the public room of the Stone’s Rest, looking at a mug of lager that a serving girl had just brought him, when a trooper hurried in.
“Sir! Lord Bhayar is looking for you.”
“I’ll need to saddle the mare.” Quaeryt thought he was up to that, finally. He took a swallow of the lager that he had not even sipped and then stood. “That won’t take but a fraction of a quint, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“No, sir. He just reined up outside. He’s coming inside.”
Quaeryt barely managed not to choke on the lager. “Tell him I’ll be right there.” He glanced around, then headed for the kitchen. He’d no more than reached the archway when the woman he thought was the innkeeper’s wife appeared.
“Sir?”
“Do you have a small private room, like a plaques room?”
“Why … yes, sir. It’s the door right across from the entrance to the public room. Not used much these days.” She gave him a quizzical glance, as if to inquire why he hadn’t asked earlier.
“I just discovered Lord Bhayar is here, outside, and wants to meet with me. Is the room presentable?”
“Lord Bhayar?” The woman’s mouth opened. “The … Lord Bhayar?”
My thoughts exactly. “The same. Is the room fit to be used?” Quaeryt pressed again.
“Oh, yes, sir. We keep it clean all the time.” She hurried past Quaeryt, and he followed her to the door to the plaques room.
“I’ll be opening the shutters, sir.”
Quaeryt turned and headed for the front entry, meeting Bhayar outside. “Welcome, sir.”
Bhayar scanned Quaeryt. “You’re looking better. Not much, but better. We need to talk before I resume my tour.”
“There’s a small room just inside. Would you like a lager?”
“Not now. It’s early yet, and I’ll have to drink something when I see Commander Skarpa.” Bhayar turned to the major who had followed him. “Just wait out here, Major. I won’t be that long.” His eyes went to Quaeryt.
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