Vaelora looked out the inn window, then turned to Quaeryt. “Why is it so run-down?”
“Idiocy,” he replied, realizing he hadn’t explained to her what he’d already suggested to Skarpa. “Most ships with trade for southern Bovaria likely once ported here. I’d guess the Bovarians built the Great Canal to take advantage of that. Aliaro’s father was probably afraid that the Bovarians would take over Kephria, and he built the wall to keep the Bovarians out. The Bovarians didn’t want or couldn’t afford a war and built Ephra, and most ships stopped porting here because they couldn’t pick up Bovarian cargoes.”
“It all doesn’t make much sense. The autarchs built a wall that ruined the port and then largely neglected the town, and Kharst tried to burn it down, and then Aliaro shelled Ephra?”
Quaeryt offered an ironic smile. “If all goes well, we’ll end up restoring Kephria, taking trade from Geusyn, and turning Ephra into a ruin. It should make everyone better off in time.”
“People don’t like to wait for better times.”
“They don’t like to pay for them, either.” He returned his attention to the document before him. “I need to finish this and have you read it … and make any changes you think necessary before I show it to Skarpa.”
“You think he’ll want to sign it?”
“We’ll all be blamed if things go ill. If they go well, he might as well get the credit.”
“He will get the credit, you know, dearest?”
Quaeryt nodded, then resumed writing. After a time, he laid the pen carefully on the folded paper serving as a pen rest and handed the sheet to Vaelora. “If you would?”
As she took it and began to read, Quaeryt rose and stood behind her, rereading what he had set to paper, concentrating on the paragraph following the flowery salutation and greeting.
… In your wisdom, you directed Submarshal Skarpa, as well as Lady Vaelora, and Commander Quaeryt, acting as your envoys to those not within the domains of Bovaria and Telaryn, to secure the border with Antiago and to obtain the allegiance of the High Holders of southern Bovaria. Rather than pledge allegiance, those holders defied Submarshal Skarpa and even refused to meet with Lady Vaelora, then fled into Antiago. To comply with your orders, Southern Army is pursuing these traitors as necessary. In attempting to assure the safety and loyalty of the south, we have undertaken a campaign that has, of necessity, required a greater extension of your power than originally anticipated. As a result, Kephria is now a part of your domains. It may be that other areas of Antiago will also need to be subdued and annexed so that the southern border of your lands will be forever secure, and we will continue to keep you informed of events as they transpire …
“Transpire?” asked Vaelora. “That sounds more like ‘expire.’ Why not just say ‘happen’ or ‘occur’?”
“‘Occur’ is better,” Quaeryt agreed.
“You also might explain that we gave the traitors every opportunity to meet and pledge allegiance over a period of more than a month.”
“That’s better.”
All in all, after another quint of discussion, Quaeryt took the document and sat back down to redraft it. Before he picked up the pen, he looked up at his wife. “How are you feeling?”
“Well enough, except I feel like I’m wearing small tents instead of clothing, and it won’t be that long before I’m wearing large tents.”
“You can scarcely tell, and you still look lovely.”
“I still look lovely? Does that mean you expect I won’t before long?”
Quaeryt hid a wince and was about to issue a heated denial-until he saw the smile in her eyes. “I should have said that you will always be lovely.”
“To you. Others may think differently.”
Quaeryt decided there was little point in pursuing that further. “Can you remember anything else about Aliaro? Anything at all you heard in Solis or that Bhayar or your father might have said?”
“I think I’ve told you everything I recall…” Vaelora frowned. “Oh … there is one thing. Daesn-he died last winter-he was Father’s envoy to Liantiago. He arranged Chaerila’s betrothal. He mentioned something about Aliaro’s imagers having to live in metal-lined chambers-”
“Cells, I imagine,” snorted Quaeryt.
“No. He definitely said chambers. He said it was because they were unhappy.”
Unhappy? Abruptly Quaeryt understood … or thought he might.
“What is it?”
“Imaging is much harder in dealing with metal. If his imagers were unhappy, and they lived in metal-lined chambers…”
“They couldn’t image to harm the Autarch.” She frowned. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep them away from the palace?”
“Why do you think all the imagers report to me?” he asked.
“Oh … of course.” She shook her head ruefully. “That’s because Bhayar trusts you to keep them in line.”
“And why few rulers have had many imagers.” And why all too many died in strange circumstances … something you’ll always need to keep in mind. He waited. “Can you think of anything else?”
“Not right now.”
“Then I’d better rewrite this and get it to Skarpa.”
“You should.” She smiled. “You changed the subject rather deftly.”
He laughed. “Hardly. If I’d been deft, you wouldn’t have noticed.”
Her smile grew broader, then faded. “You’re still leaving tomorrow?”
“Seventh glass.”
“How long will it take to reach Suemyran? If you encounter no opposition?”
Quaeryt shrugged. “I can’t say. The road south looks better than those along the Aluse-except for the old Naedaran stone roads-but it might be as long as ten days. I’d be surprised if we had much opposition until we reach Barna. Aliaro’s never had a huge army, and he’s moved his forces by ship.”
“His ships will find out that you’ve taken Kephria and bring him word faster than a courier could.”
“That’s true, but he’ll have to gather forces and move them. He won’t have many, if any, stationed away from the coastal cities. And he won’t know if we’ve just taken Kephria or if we intend more. I suspect he’ll have trouble believing what we have in mind.”
“I do hope so, dearest.”
So do I. With a faint smile, Quaeryt reached for another sheet of paper and picked up the pen.
Vaelora walked to the window and looked out into the early evening.
54
Southern Army and Quaeryt’s forces departed from Kephria on Mardi morning almost two quints before seventh glass, heading south on the road to Suemyran, a road that proved over the next three days to be adequate and whose condition appeared to improve with each mille that Southern Army traveled.
Just after midday on Jeudi, a day so clear and warm that Quaeryt had removed his riding jacket, they approached a small town whose name-as chiseled on the millestone-was Clianto. To the north of the town were low hills covered with orchards, mostly of olives. Several hundred yards ahead, on the right, a young man leading a donkey pulling a cart stopped dead, as if frozen where he stood as he looked from the outriders to the troopers that followed. Then, after several moments, he immediately turned the cart down a lane and began to run, yanking on the donkey’s leads, trying to get the animal to move faster.
“There’s another poor boy who can’t believe what he’s seeing,” Quaeryt said to Skarpa, riding beside him. Every day since they’d left Kephria, Quaeryt had seen similar reactions by the Antiagons, and he couldn’t blame them. First was the shock, and then the fear.
“You can’t blame them. So far as I know, no one’s ever invaded Antiago.” Skarpa looked to Quaeryt. “You’re the scholar. Is that so?”
“The Naedarans held some of the Lohan Hills, but nothing this far south.”
“They got around, from what you’ve said.”
“It’s hard to say, but at the height of their power, their land was likely half the size of old Tela.”
“They had imagers, too. So why didn’t they expand more?”
“For the same reason no one’s used imagers effectively since then.” Quaeryt laughed softly. “Rulers don’t trust imagers, and they don’t use them effectively.”
“You’re trying to change that.”
“Trying is a good way of describing it.” Quaeryt didn’t want to go into more detail, not when part of the reason for invading Antiago was tied to his ambitions for assuring that life for imagers in all Lydar would be far better in the future than it was or had been.
As they neared the edge of the town, Quaeryt raised the heaviest shields he could, not because he expected any attack, but as another way of keeping in practice, then turned in the saddle. “Imagers! Full shields!” As he turned back to study the town, he could hear one set of words.
“… not like the attacks on Nordeau…”
Quaeryt wanted to shake his head at Threkhyl’s muttered comment. Instead, he ignored it and concentrated on learning what he could about Clianto and what the town might tell him about Antiago.
“Can’t believe how much warmer it is here than even in Kephria,” observed Skarpa. “Not even a sign of Antiagon troopers.”
“There hasn’t been time for Aliaro to learn that we’re here.” Quaeryt glanced to the slightly higher hills to the east, where he spied a white-walled villa, large, but not sprawling, and certainly not close to the size of a Bovarian or Telaryn high holding. Perhaps two milles farther south along the eastern hills was a second villa, somewhat smaller, whose walls were a pinkish off-white. A single rider galloped along the last few hundred yards of the road leading to the first villa, but no dust rose in his tracks, suggesting a far better surface than Quaeryt had seen on most roads in Bovaria.
The dwellings on the outskirts of the town were built of some sort of brick covered with stucco and then whitewashed, although the wash on many houses had faded or been turned faintly rose-colored by dust from the reddish dirt. Roofs were either flat or gently sloped, suggesting that excessive rain was not a problem.
While Quaeryt saw a few men and women farther toward the center of town hurrying into buildings, the streets, lanes, and alleys were empty as Southern Army rode down the main street. Not all shutters were closed, but most were. Those that were not likely could not be easily closed, Quaeryt suspected. Just as he was about to suggest that they stop in the central square to water mounts and see what they could learn, two riders in green livery rode out of a side street and turned their mounts south.
Quaeryt thought about trying to image, but the riders were already more than a hundred yards away, and anything he did at that distance that would be effective would likely also be fatal. “Zhelan! Send a squad after those two!”
“Yes, sir! Second squad! Forward!”
Second squad moved out after the liveried riders, but not at a gallop.
“Young idiots,” snorted Skarpa. “Charging off will tire their mounts too fast. Older riders would have walked their mounts down a side street and sneaked out of town. We never would have seen them.”
“Jhalet’s got some of the best mounts and riders,” said Zhelan from behind the two senior officers. “If anyone can catch them, he can.”
Quaeryt said nothing, well aware that he still knew far too little about horses and how to pace them. Instead, as first company reined up in the square, he quietly surveyed the buildings, taking in what likely passed for a chandlery, then a small cloth factorage.
On the west side was one of the pair of two-story structures in view, the other being the inn, and the only stone building fronting the square. After several moments, a white-haired man wearing dark gray trousers and a white shirt emerged from the stone structure and walked slowly toward Skarpa and Quaeryt, finally halting a good five yards away and bowing before speaking. “Honored sirs.”
It took a moment for Quaeryt to understand his words, as heavily accented as they were, so much so that the way the older man spoke was almost like another language. Quaeryt was glad it wasn’t. Having three languages in Lydar was bad enough. “Are you the councilor for Clianto?”
“No, sir. I am Khelito. I am the administrator appointed by the Autarch.” The man’s voice was pleasant, but edged with concern. “What would you have of us, honored sirs?”
“Water, and some supplies,” replied Skarpa.
“We have little. Clianto is not a wealthy town. Might I ask why armed men in strange uniforms are riding through Antiago?”
Skarpa looked to Quaeryt.
“The uniforms are those of Telaryn,” explained Quaeryt. “Lord Bhayar of Telaryn has combined Bovaria with Telaryn. Autarch Aliaro’s ships have attacked Telaryn ships without provocation, and a number of Bovarian High Holders have fled into Antiago rather than pledge allegiance to Lord Bhayar. That is why we are here.”
“There are no High Holders here, honored sir.”
“I am certain that is so, administrator”-Quaeryt almost said councilor-“but we are on our way to deal with the Autarch.”
“Then, Lord Bhayar intends to take our lands and make Antiago part of Telaryn?”
“He intends to make all Lydar one land. He has no intention of taking your lands. He will only take the lands of those who raise arms against him or who aid those who do.”
“We have no arms to raise. We have little enough to aid ourselves.”
“You have fine olive orchards.” The plea of poverty was getting on Quaeryt’s nerves, given that the town looked moderately prosperous.
“We do not own the orchards. Shahib Folinero does.”
“Is one of the villas to the east his?”
Khelito laughed gently. “No. The larger one belongs to Orchard Master Ghario. He manages the orchards for the Shahib. The lesser one belongs to Orchard Master Zheno. He manages the orchards to the south for Shahiba Shenia.”
“And they both live in Liantiago?”
“Of course. How could it be otherwise?”
“You don’t see Antiagon armsmen near here, I take it?”
“Not often. Last spring, many marched through here on their way north.” The administrator shrugged. “They must have returned to Liantiago another way. They did not return by the north road.”
“Do you collect the tariffs for Autarch Aliaro?”
“Who else would do so?” Khelito’s voice was tinged with puzzlement, as if any other arrangement would have been unthinkable.
“Who collects them from you?”
“Those who come from Liantiago who serve the most noble Autarch.”
“Who are these collectors?”
“They are the regional tariff collectors.”
“Do armsmen accompany them? How many?”
“I have not counted them. There are not many.”
“Who besides collectors and armsmen?” Quaeryt could tell that Skarpa was puzzled at the line of questioning.
“I would not know who they are, only that the tariff collectors defer to them.”
“Do the armsmen defer more to those you do not know than to the tariff collectors?”
There was the slightest trace of hesitation before Khelito replied, “I could not say, honored sir.”
While Skarpa issued orders for regiments to water their mounts and then re-form on the south side of the town, Quaeryt dismounted and continued to talk with the town administrator.
“What maps do you have of the land, and the way to Suemyran?”
“Maps? There might be one…”
More than a glass later, when the regiments were re-formed on the south side of town, and several wagons loaded with grain for the mounts, Quaeryt watched as Jhalet led second squad-and two men in green livery with gold piping on their jackets and trousers, their hands bound, and their mounts on leads-back up the road.
“One of them threw this into a false olive hedgerow,” reported Jhalet, riding up beside Quaeryt and extending a brown leather dispatch folder.
Both captive riders looked to be young, if o
lder than Quaeryt’s youngest undercaptains, and neither looked directly at Quaeryt. “Who do you serve?”
The younger of the two shook his head.
The other rider said, “High Holder Chaelaet.” He glanced at the other. “They’ll find out soon enough.”
Quaeryt glanced toward Skarpa, who had ridden over. He held up the case. “Do you want to read it first?”
“Go ahead.”
Quaeryt turned to Jhalet. “If you would hold the prisoners over there until we finish?”
“Yes, sir.”
After waiting until the captives were out of earshot, Quaeryt opened the case and extracted the single folded and sealed sheet, breaking the green wax and unfolding the parchment, then began to read.
Your most puissant power-
Most puissant power? Talk about trying to curry favor. Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile as he continued reading.
As a longtime admirer and ally, which you know well, I regret that I must be the bearer of tidings less than favorable. As I reported in an earlier dispatch, the tyrant Bhayar insisted on a fawning and impoverishing allegiance on the part of High Holders in southern Bovaria. When we refused to meet with his submarshal, he leveled five holds so thoroughly that nothing remains. It is said that this was accomplished by imagers, but I cannot verify this. The invading army is apparently comprised of three to four battle-tested regiments, mixed foot and mounted, far too large for our forces, but certainly not beyond your capabilities, especially since, knowing you to be a just and reasonable ruler, we would be willing to place our resources at your disposal in repelling the invaders …
After finishing the letter or dispatch-Quaeryt wasn’t sure what to call it-he extended it to Skarpa and waited.
When Skarpa finished, he smiled sardonically. “What do you think?”
“It’s a veiled plea and bargain. Chaelaet is saying he and the other High Holders will support Aliaro if Aliaro will destroy us. But there’s so much evasion and distortion…”
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