Imager’s Battalion

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  Quaeryt turned and led the way inside and through the small entry foyer, where the innkeeper’s wife stood to the side, bowing, and then to the open door. He gestured for Bhayar to enter the plaques chamber that could hold comfortably the round table and five chairs, then closed the door quietly but firmly, and turned to Bhayar. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  “I do try to inspect the areas we have acquired,” Bhayar said dryly, looking toward the high narrow window with its recently opened shutters. “I learn something about the towns and the people, and more about my commanders. Both are useful.” He settled himself at the table and gestured for Quaeryt to sit.

  Quaeryt did so, across the table from Bhayar. He forbore asking what Bhayar had learned in touring the south of Nordeau.

  “You and the imagers did a rather remarkable job in reducing a walled city without siege engines. Those stone ramps are quite something.” His voice turned wry. “We’d best not have to defend Nordeau in the future, though.”

  “It did take all of us,” Quaeryt said.

  “Given the distances between the imaged efforts, I gained that impression.” Bhayar leaned forward. “Since our last meeting, I’ve thought some more.”

  “You’ve always kept thinking,” Quaeryt said cautiously.

  “I know you’ve wondered how much I know about you, Quaeryt. I’ve always had suspicions that you were more than you represented yourself as. Vaelora loves you so much, and she would not, were you not more than you seem. That has created problems, as we both know. I am pleased that you are considering ways to extend your usefulness while solving a problem that has vexed every ruler in Lydar, if not across all Terahnar.”

  “The imagers?”

  Bhayar nodded, then went on. “About many things we agree. Do you know why?”

  “Not exactly, except that you’ve always known a great deal and taken care not to reveal nearly so much as you’ve learned.”

  “As have you. In that regard we are similar. I’m going to read you something that came from a very old book of my grandmere. She wouldn’t tell me from where it came, except that it had been in the family for a very long time.”

  Quaeryt waited.

  Bhayar extracted a single sheet of paper from his belt pouch, unfolded it, and smoothed it out. Then he cleared his throat.

  The older ones, how did they build so much

  to leave no quarries, tools, or plans and such?

  Ah, by image, wrenched from servant dreams,

  they built the roads and bridges over streams,

  with perfect stone no tool can mar or tame

  so they did dream and live the Namer’s Name.

  But when the dreamers dreamed full awake,

  their masters found the Namer’s fate and take …

  Who’er would seize the image and the dream

  know now that imaging holds more than seem.

  Bhayar looked directly across the table at Quaeryt. “When I saw the outer walls of Nordeau, for the first time I understood fully from where those verses came.”

  “The Naedarans,” said Quaeryt. “After I saw the canals—”

  “Canals?”

  “There are two ancient canals on this side of the river. The stonework is the same. The stones used to built the last five milles or so were removed and used to build many of the dwellings in the newer part of Nordeau.”

  “Was that why you proposed using the imagers the way you did?”

  “No, sir. That reinforced my feelings, but if you wish, you can ask Vaelora. This is something I have considered for some time.” Quaeryt paused just briefly. “Do you recall the bedchamber of the old chateau at Gahenyara?”

  Bhayar frowned for a moment. “The one with the storeroom that had shutters?”

  “It wasn’t a storeroom. It was a separate bedchamber for your great-grandmere. That’s where the book your grandmere gave you came from.”

  “There’s always been farsight in the family. That’s from the Pharsi.”

  “There are ten imagers in Fifth Battalion. At least four come from Pharsi stock.” Should you tell him? After a moment, Quaeryt went on. “Vaelora’s with child.”

  “I got that impression.”

  From reading her letters, no doubt. “There’s a very good chance the child will be an imager.” Quaeryt hadn’t realized it, but he knew that was so.

  Abruptly Bhayar laughed, a warm and amused sound, not the cold laugh that meant the worst. “So we both have every reason to create what you have in mind.”

  “I would hope so,” replied Quaeryt. “It’s in Vaelora’s and my interest, and it’s certainly in yours.”

  “There are others who will oppose that.”

  “We can face that when the time comes. They may see that their worth and abilities are not threatened. If we are careful, they will, at least in time.”

  “Oh?”

  “It will take some time to … stabilize Bovaria—but you’ll need to come up with a new name for the land. And Autarch Aliaro will present certain problems.”

  “Quaeryt … first we need to defeat Kharst and capture Variana.”

  “True … but you need to think beyond that so that you are prepared. Not that you doubtless are not already.”

  “That’s also what you’re here for.” Bhayar stood. “You’ve done well. I would that all were both so capable and loyal. Too many who are capable are not loyal, and too many who are loyal are not capable.”

  Quaeryt rose, trying to do so smoothly, despite his aches and stiffness. “That is why you need to set up matters so that the capable must be loyal.”

  “After … Variana, we will talk of such.” Bhayar smiled broadly. “We will leave Nordeau tomorrow, but let your commander tell you so.”

  “I will.” With a nod, Quaeryt followed Bhayar out through the door that the Lord of Telaryn opened for himself.

  67

  In leaving Nordeau on Solayi morning, Skarpa rode with Fifth Battalion, once more in the van, along the wide and well-paved river road that led from the southwest gate of the old southern section of the city westward and, according to the maps, to Variana. For one of the few times in months, there was a trace of coolness in the air, but the sky was clear.

  Are we going to get a foretaste of fall? Quaeryt had his doubts, especially as the day quickly warmed as mille after mille passed. As it did, Quaeryt began to sweat, if less than on previous days, and he thought more and more about the road. Why, after hundreds of milles of generally poor roads, except for the stretches created by the ancient Naedarans, had Kharst or his predecessors built such a superb road on the south side of the river?

  The roadbed itself was wide and solid, but he did notice that it rose and fell more than the Naedaran road, which had maintained more of a level path, and the Bovarian road was, for the most part, closer to the river.

  He asked Skarpa, riding beside him, “Why do you think they built this road so well?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. Maybe they knew we were headed to Variana.” The commander offered a low laugh.

  “Or maybe there are more High Holdings on the south side from here to Variana,” countered Quaeryt, “and Kharst wanted to reach them more easily.”

  “Them or the holders’ ladies?”

  “Both, most likely.”

  The only problem with the idea of High Holdings was that Quaeryt didn’t see a trace of one for the first two glasses of the ride. He also realized, belatedly, that he really hadn’t talked to many of the undercaptains in days, except for Voltyr and Shaelyt, beyond instructing them or drilling them. So, when Skarpa rode back to check on Third Regiment, Quaeryt motioned for Baelthm to ride with him on his right, since the road was wide enough that Zhelan was already riding on his left.

  “Sir … have I done something…”

  “No. We have a long ride, and it’s been a while since I’ve really talked to any of you. You told me you’d agreed to be an imager undercaptain when Lord Bhayar’s men came for you. Wa
s that forced … or was it a better choice?”

  “Some of both, sir, I suppose. It wasn’t like I had that much choice. Fewer and fewer of the local tradespeople wanted me to image things for them, except maybe the masons, and in that part of Cheva, none were building houses that needed scrollwork or metal trim. The gold for going to join you, excepting that I didn’t know it was you, sir, would pay for food and more, enough that Rashyl could feed and clothe the boys. With her lacework, that is.”

  “Have you sent script for coin back to her?”

  “Most of my pay, sir. One of the dispatch riders brought me a note, a mere scrap. He didn’t take her coin. He said that taking notes to tell a man his pay scripts made it to his wife would have been a crime against the Nameless.” Baelthm chuckled in his deep voice. “Long as I live, they’ll be doing fairly well, and if I don’t … well … there’s the death golds. What is it, four golds for an undercaptain?”

  Quaeryt knew the death gold payment was two golds for a ranker, if he had a wife, none otherwise, but for an officer, he’d never asked, but Baelthm’s comment reminded him that he needed to check to see that the proper payment request had been lodged for Akoryt. Rather than answer Baelthm directly, he only said, “It could happen, but it’s best not to dwell on it.”

  “You’d be right about that, sir.”

  “Have there been any other imagers in your family?”

  “None that I know of. I wonder at times if my youngest might not be growing in that direction.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s but four.” Baelthm added immediately, “I did not wed young. Few women in Cheva would willingly wed an imager, especially one with a Pharsi grandmother. But Rashyl … her sweetness was a boon and well worth waiting for.”

  “What sort of lacework does she do?”

  Baelthm beamed. “Any kind that needs doing.” The broad smile faded. “At times, the ladies wanted more from her than the masons did from me.”

  “Was your father an imager?”

  “Who could say? I don’t remember much of him. He was a boatman on the river. He died when I could barely walk. Drowned, my mother said. She never spoke much of him, and the way she didn’t, I didn’t ask much. Not after she said that he was a boatman and that was all I needed to know.”

  Quaeryt nodded and waited.

  “Not that it’d be good to dwell on it, sir, but you did say something about how things might be better for us after the campaign…”

  “After the war is settled, one way or another,” Quaeryt affirmed. “Lord Bhayar has agreed not to forget the imagers, and he has always kept his word on such matters.”

  “And you being an imager, then, and wed to his sister…” Baelthm raised his eyebrows.

  Quaeryt nodded.

  “What about families, sir?”

  “I’d like them to be able to join you.” You can’t promise that. Not now.

  “Be good to think that I might not have to return to Cheva. The whole province…” The oldest undercaptain shook his head.

  “The folk of Piedryn haven’t been as charitable as they might have been to imagers…”

  “Those words, sir, are all too charitable for the folk of Piedryn.”

  Quaeryt wasn’t about to point out that those words applied to all too many people in Lydar and that was one reason why he was risking so much for Bhayar. “That may be, but we do what we can do.”

  Quaeryt talked for another quint before he felt he’d spent enough time with the older imager and sent Baelthm back to the undercaptains. But before summoning another undercaptain to talk with, Quaeryt turned to Zhelan. “I know it’s late, and I should have realized it earlier, but the death payments for Akoryt?”

  “You had much to do, sir. I took care of it when we had time in Ralaes, then sent it off after we took Villerive. Be a few weeks before his wife receives those golds, and she’ll grieve again.” Zhelan added quietly, “It’s five golds for an undercaptain.”

  “Thank you.”

  Desyrk was the next undercaptain Quaeryt gestured to ride beside him.

  The blond undercaptain looked quizzically at Quaeryt. “Sir?”

  “You’d told me you were a potter before you became an undercaptain. You avoided talking much about it, and I didn’t press … then. Why didn’t you want to say more?”

  “Just didn’t.”

  “I need to know more now.” Quaeryt image-projected a hint of warmth and curiosity.

  “Might I ask why, sir?”

  “The more I know about you, now that your imaging has improved, the more I can try to put you where you’re the most effective,” replied Quaeryt. “Did you like being a potter?”

  “Well enough.”

  “How much imaging did you do to help in forming or throwing pots?”

  “Couldn’t have been any kind of potter without it.” Desyrk paused, then went on. “My pots’d sag. Didn’t have my brother’s touch. He was even better than our da.”

  “Your father was a master potter, then?”

  “Hardly! We made pots and jugs for the poorer folk north of Thuyl. They were strong and solid, and they didn’t leak. Other than that…” He shook his head.

  “Was anyone else in your family an imager?”

  “Not that I know. Until my brother caught me imaging a pot, even my folks didn’t know. He was the one who told Bhayar’s men. Even kept the gold, the miserable whelp.”

  “Why did he turn you in?”

  “He didn’t know how come I could form pots as good as they were. He’d see ’em sagging and lumpy, and I’d image ’em better before we put them in the kiln … when no one was looking. But he kept watching closer and closer, and he caught me. Said I wasn’t doing it right. Said a potter had to work the clay, not just image it. I told him it was work one way or the other. He didn’t want to hear it. Da didn’t believe it, and Jorj went and told the local constable or whatever, and they put me on an old mule and sent me to Solis and then to Ferravyl.” Desyrk shrugged. “You know the rest.”

  “You never married.”

  “Couldn’t raise the bride price. Pots don’t bring a lot.”

  “What do you think about being an imager?”

  “It’s not great, sir. A lot better than being a potter in Thuyla, though.”

  Quaeryt continued to ask questions and listen as they rode westward along the well-paved road that led to Variana.

  68

  Over the remainder of Solayi and all of Lundi, there were absolutely no signs of any Bovarian forces, reinforcing Quaeryt’s—and Skarpa’s—belief that Rex Kharst was amassing forces near Variana. Yet Quaeryt couldn’t dismiss the possibility that the Bovarians might attack at any point. While he rode and waited for that possibility, he spent time talking to each of the imager undercaptains. From some of them, such as Threkhyl and Horan, he learned little unexpected, only more detail about what they had initially told him. Quaeryt had already known that Threkhyl had been a small holder outside a small village northeast of Piedryn, far enough from the larger towns that no one noticed that he almost never bought tools or plows or saws or spades or that in even the worst of times his family somehow had enough to eat—until a local cooper tried to woo and marry his daughter. Threkhyl had turned the fellow down, and in weeks, Threkhyl had been rounded up by Bhayar’s men, with a pair of golds going to the cooper and the daughter who was likely now his wife.

  Quaeryt could see how that had happened, or that a trapping rival had turned in Horan, since neither undercaptain was versed in subtlety.

  Smaethyl was the essential loner, in some ways the closest to Quaeryt and in others totally foreign, as when he had observed, “I’d say that the Nameless doesn’t want anyone to have any glory, and most lords and High Holders don’t want anyone else to have many golds. That doesn’t leave much for most folks.”

  It wasn’t that Quaeryt disagreed with Smaethyl’s observation, but the almost fatalistic attitude behind the words chilled him.

  The three
Pharsi undercaptains came from different towns, yet shared many similarities, all from their Pharsi heritage, the most notable being their quiet pragmatism.

  Shaelyt, his words capturing the spirit of that practicality, had simply said, “Erion and the Nameless watch, but do not interfere often enough for any man to count on it. Stupid men end up dead. Dead men do not see the next dawn, and with the next dawn there is always hope.”

  Quaeryt hadn’t been able to refrain from asking, “Doesn’t that open a man up to seizing the opportunities of the moment?”

  “My mother told me that a man who cannot see beyond tomorrow is also a stupid man. I have not seen that she was wrong.”

  Quaeryt had laughed.

  As he rode beside Zhelan on Mardi morning, under high gray clouds that made the day both cooler and the air a bit damper, a quint before ninth glass, he couldn’t help reflecting on what more he’d learned—or hadn’t—about the imager undercaptains over the previous two days.

  Shouldn’t you have done more of that earlier? Except that he’d been far too absorbed in teaching them what they needed to know. And to further your goals for them, perhaps? He couldn’t deny that, but there was also the problem that he didn’t have the experience to be a subcommander and that he’d been trying to learn how to be more effective as both an imager commander and a troop subcommander. There are always excuses. And there were, he acknowledged, and all he could do was learn from the experience of being sidetracked by excuses and move on as best he could. His ruminations were cut short as a scout rode back eastward along the road toward Fifth Battalion, once more in the van.

  Quaeryt waited as the scout eased in beside him.

  “Sir … there’s a High Holding two milles ahead, sir. The gates are chained, but it looks deserted. There are tracks on the road and on the shoulder heading west.”

  “Go and let the commander know. He’ll decide who will look into it.” The scout would anyway, but reinforcing Skarpa’s precedence never hurt.

  “Yes, sir.”

  While he was waiting for Skarpa to receive the report, Quaeryt studied the road ahead, as well as the small shuttered cots and dwellings they passed, as well as the absence of livestock, noting what the scouts had kept reporting—that there were no signs of any Bovarian forces.