As Quaeryt rode toward the front entry, a brick-paved area with a roof extending over the drive and supported on the far side of the drive by two brick pillars, he saw a tall, dark-haired man, flanked by two others, standing on the brick stoop in front of the double goldenwood doors.
“First company, halt!” Quaeryt turned in the saddle and looked to Shaelyt, Akoryt, and Ghaelyn. “Hold here.” Maintaining full shields, Quaeryt rode forward and reined up short of the stoop. “Greetings,” he offered in Bovarian.
“Greetings to you, officer,” returned the tall man.
“Are you High Holder Cassyon?”
“Why might you suggest that?”
“Your reputation,” replied Quaeryt.
The man laughed, if with a slight nervousness. “I’m Cassyon, but what is it about my reputation?”
“Some people in Rivecote Sud would rather deal with you than with the nearer High Holder. I surmised that a holder with that reputation might be one to greet an invader’s forces.”
“Invader? Most would style themselves liberators or something more flattering.”
“Such as unifiers?” Quaeryt offered a wry smile as he thought of the small volume. “I won’t claim that for Lord Bhayar. Rex Kharst invaded Telaryn. We destroyed his forces, and Lord Bhayar determined that there would be no peace in Lydar until either Telaryn or Bovaria triumphed.” Quaeryt smiled ironically. “You might say that we’re invading to procure peace since the alternative was to be invaded.”
“What do you wish from me … is it commander?”
“Subcommander.”
“You’re young even for a subcommander … or are all Bhayar’s senior officers young?”
Quaeryt smiled. “I’m by far the youngest subcommander.”
“If I may observe, then you are either very good or very well connected, if not both.”
“I’ve had the fortune to accomplish what Lord Bhayar required.”
“As do all officers who survive.” Cassyon moistened his lips. “I understand that your army has the power to take or destroy all that I have, but I would prefer that it not come to that.”
“I have no intentions of such … unless you attempt something foolish. Right now, all I require of you is your pledge not to take up arms against Telaryn so long as we control the lands east of Deauvyl, and to sell any goods we deem necessary at a price we set.”
“Oh?”
“We purchased flour and other goods from Rheyam at about one-third of the market price. I’d prefer to pay more, but at the moment, that’s not possible.”
“What did you do with Rheyam’s goods you did not purchase?”
“Replaced the locks and left them.”
“Might I ask why, assuming you’re telling the truth, you are so comparatively generous?”
“That’s very simple. Lord Bhayar would prefer to rule than to destroy. As for the truth, you can send someone to Rivecote and to Rheyam’s hold and have them see for themselves.”
Cassyon nodded. “And if I do not so pledge? What will you do?”
“For the moment … nothing, unless you immediately raise arms. Once the fighting is over, however, you risk losing everything.”
“If I pledge to Bhayar, when the fighting is over and Kharst has won, then I will lose everything.”
“I am not asking you pledge to Lord Bhayar. I am asking that you pledge not to raise arms against him so long as his armies control these lands.”
“I could pledge and lie.”
“You could,” said Quaeryt. “That would be foolish.” As he spoke the last words, he image-projected absolute authority and the sense that Cassyon’s lands would be in ruin and all on them would be dead.
Cassyon took a half step backward. Then he looked at Quaeryt, even more closely. “Who … what … are you?”
“Subcommander Quaeryt, sometime scholar, former governor of the province of Montagne, and brother by marriage to Lord Bhayar.”
“And you are a mere subcommander?”
“That is what I have earned, High Holder Cassyon.”
“I will pledge not to raise arms so long as your lord holds these lands and to sell to him or his commanders what he may require. I do so because you are not a subcommander, or not just a subcommander.” Cassyon shook his head. “I am not a coward, but a man would be a fool to stand against death upon a horse.” He paused. “Do you require goods now?”
“No. We may never require goods of you. Then, we may.” Quaeryt nodded. “Good day.” He flicked the reins gently, then guided the mare back to where first company waited.
As they headed back down the drive, Shaelyt eased his mount up beside Quaeryt’s mare.
“Sir … what did you do?”
“I talked to him, Undercaptain. I asked him to pledge not to raise arms against us and to sell goods to us, if required. That’s all I said.”
“Sir … even I could sense death and destruction rise around you and flow over the High Holder.”
“Even you, Shaelyt?” Quaeryt smiled. “You’re Pharsi. You’re one of those who can sense what is not said or spoken. Perhaps Cassyon could as well. I did attempt to convey, without words, that failing to pledge would lead to death and destruction. But I said nothing of the sort.”
“You are like the ancient lost ones…” Shaelyt’s voice was low.
“That … I couldn’t say, not having known any of them. I don’t even know who my parents were, save that they had to have been Pharsi, because I look that way and because I remember a few words and phrases.”
“No, sir, you are Pharsi, and you are a lost one. You may even be the lost one.”
“Shaelyt…” Quaeryt let a little exasperation show in his voice. He’d been called that several times, but never where he could follow up on what it meant. “Would you mind telling me exactly who ‘the lost one’ is supposed to be. If you’re going to insist that I might be something, it would be helpful to know what it might be.”
Shaelyt said nothing for several moments as they neared the pillars at the end of the drive.
Quaeryt could see that Third Regiment had caught up and was passing the gate. He reined up and signaled the company to halt. It would be easier to let the regiment pass and then cross behind the supply wagons and catch up to Fifth Battalion going single file and using the wider shoulder on the river side of the road. He turned to the Pharsi undercaptain. “Go ahead.”
“Sir…”
Quaeryt waited.
“The first lost ones were those imprisoned in a valley in the Montagnes D’Glace by Erion. He sent shafts from his mighty bow into the pass that led to the northern valleys of Khel and brought down the cliffs on each side on the warriors who were about to attack the Eshtorans. He said that while the descendants of those warriors might escape, their past desire to slaughter innocents would always mark them as lost ones, and that they would not be truly saved until the time of the last lost one-the lost one who would change everything across all Lydar. He also said that the lost one would come as one truly lost to his heritage and from afar, and that he would have a voice that few could resist and that he would triumph not by force of arms, although few would ever be able to withstand him, but because he sought justice and mercy for Pharsi and non-Pharsi alike.” Shaelyt paused, then added, “My father told me that most Pharsi forget to mention the last part. They don’t like it that the lost one would seek mercy for both the Pharsi and for those who have persecuted us for generations.”
“Does this … legend say anything about what justice is supposed to be?”
“Not that I heard, sir.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “I’m a scholar who’s gotten tolerably good with a half-staff out of necessity”-and imaging-“and I’ll admit I’d like to see justice and mercy for those who’ve been denied it, such as scholars, imagers, Pharsi, and anyone else who’s been deprived. But … I don’t think that qualifies me as the lost one. There have been men before me, and there are those today, and there will be others in the fut
ure who seek those ends. Certainly, Rholan did. In his own way, so does Lord Bhayar, and that is one reason why I’m here.” Not the only one, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that. Even as he thought that, another thought crossed his mind. If you hadn’t believed that, you wouldn’t have Vaelora.
He managed to stifle a bemused smile.
“Sir … ah…” Shaelyt edged his mount almost stirrup to stirrup with Quaeryt.
“Yes?”
“None of them called down ice torrents and slew thousands.” Shaelyt’s voice was firm, but barely above a murmur.
“We all did that,” replied Quaeryt quietly. Even if I probably did most of it.
Shaelyt’s eyes fixed on his. “Sir … I have no illusions about what I can do. I have watched and watched. You have hidden behind a cloak of light or something like it an entire regiment so that no one saw us approach. You have known exactly what exercises will improve us as imagers. I have seen men and mounts fly away from you in battle without your ever touching them…”
“And you’ve also seen me almost die,” countered Quaeryt.
“Yes, sir. You have not been afraid to risk your own life to save those around you.” The young undercaptain smiled softly. “Tell me, honestly, that you are not an imager and not a lost one.”
What do you say to that? Quaeryt looked back into the other’s dark eyes and smiled ironically. “You know I cannot say that. But I also cannot affirm it, not now, and not if we are to succeed. But … please, do not insist that I am the lost one.”
“You do not want what you are known because the marshal and the vice-marshal do not want it said that an imager is a subcommander?”
“Let us just say that Lord Bhayar knows what I am, although we have never spoken of it, and he would prefer matters remain as they are.”
Shaelyt nodded. “Then … that is how it shall be. If anyone asks, I will say that is a question that they should pose to you, and not to me.”
“Thank you, Undercaptain.”
Shaelyt nodded solemnly.
“What else can you tell me about the lost ones?”
“I’ve told you what I know … what I remember. My parents didn’t talk much about the lost ones or the old ways, only when my father drank too much on holidays.” Shaelyt grinned. “Then he talked too much, my mother said.”
“I do appreciate what you have told me. Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As they waited for the last riders of Third Battalion to pass, Quaeryt felt that he’d handled the questions Shaelyt had raised as well as he could in the situation in which he found himself. Sooner or later, it would all come out, but it would be best if it came out somewhat later.
When the regiment finished passing, Quaeryt signaled, and first company rode quickly across the road and onto the shoulder. Less than a quint after Quaeryt and first company returned to the main force, Skarpa called a halt, in order to rest and water mounts and men.
While Fifth Battalion was waiting for access to the river, Threkhyl walked his mount over beside Quaeryt and the mare. “Sir?”
Quaeryt turned. “Yes?”
“I’m the strongest of the imager undercaptains, am I not?”
Quaeryt was happy with the way Threkhyl had phrased the question, if less than happy with its thrust. “You are, at least at present.”
“Then why don’t you ever put me in charge when you leave?”
“Because you don’t have the experience that Voltyr does in dealing with superiors who aren’t imagers. And I don’t take you with me because I want to leave the strongest imager with the battalion in case strong imaging is needed.”
“It sounds like you want a strong back … except it’s an imager’s back.”
Despite the truculence barely concealed behind Threkhyl’s almost pleasant tone, Quaeryt managed an even smile. “Voltyr has had years of experience in dealing with people with more power and less patience. You have a temper, and you haven’t had much practice in holding it in. What you do reflects on all imagers … and to some degree, on all scholars as well. At present, scholars and imagers are held as untrustworthy and temperamental. Everything we do must refute that belief. You need to watch and learn more, both in terms of your imaging and your understanding of how regiments and battalions work. If you do, there will come a time when you’re given more authority and more responsibility.”
“What about you, sir? Did you start out as an undercaptain lackey? Or were you a captain or a major?”
“No. I started out riding patrols with ordinary troopers, and I took a crossbow bolt in the chest. You can ask Subcommander Meinyt. He was in charge of the company I was riding with.”
Threkhyl opened his mouth … then shut it.
Quaeryt caught the signal from Major Zhelan and nodded to the undercaptain. “It’s our turn to water mounts.” He raised his voice. “Fifth Battalion! Single file…”
Threkhyl eased his mount back toward those of the other undercaptains.
If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Quaeryt smiled wryly as he led the mare down the packed trail to the river.
18
Early on Solayi morning, Quaeryt woke in a tiny room of the White Ox, one of the two inns in Roule, a town that was barely that, even if larger than any of the hamlets that dotted the south side of the River Aluse, but certainly the largest place through which the Telaryn southern army had passed in the twenty-odd milles since leaving Deauvyl. In that whole length, they had passed but one high holding-or rather the abandoned remains of one that looked as though it had been burned more than a few years in the past. The innkeeper at the White Ox had reluctantly admitted the evening before that Roule did have another such personage west of Roule, but that others had said the High Holder was personally absent from the holding.
Although it was barely light, and the single lamp in the room barely shed enough light on the wash table-from which he removed pitcher and basin in order to use it as a desk of sorts-Quaeryt decided that since he was wide awake, he might as well write more on his letter to Vaelora. But what can you tell her that is interesting and yet will reveal nothing if it falls into the wrong hands?
Finally, he began to write.
… We are now north and west of Rivecote Sud, having traveled a most uneven river road. Outside of the less than effectual resistance to our taking the cable ferry at Rivecote Sud, the local people, while taking great care to keep their distance as much as possible, seem strangely indifferent, as if it matters little to them who governs them, so long as that governance is largely at a distance and does not fall too heavily upon their shoulders. They appear far more concerned about the vices and virtues of the High Holders around them than about who rules in Variana, although they are careful in the manner in which they discuss local matters. They will mention favorable traits of people, but when asked questions that might require a negative reply, the response is almost invariably, “I wouldn’t know about that.” That response does provide some information, if not all that one might desire. We’ve seen no boats to speak of on the River Aluse and no Bovarian troops on this side of the river since Rivecote Sud. This suggests that Rex Kharst is likely gathering and massing troops farther upriver, possibly at Villerive or closer to Variana.
I would that I were speaking to you across a table or elsewhere, but such talks, which I have always enjoyed and appreciated, will have to wait until the conclusion of the entire campaign … and perhaps beyond that. I have asked one of the Pharsi officers about the myth of the lost ones, and discovered that, according to the old stories, the original lost ones were …
Quaeryt went on to recount what Shaelyt had told him, ending with
… so it would seem that revealing such characteristics might well subject whoever did so to considerable speculation as to his origins, his motives, and his goals, and, as we both know, speculation about unusual characteristics almost always leads to misunderstandings. Yet there always comes a time when events will conspire to require acts w
here the truth must out, or the speculations will be more unpleasant and the consequences more dire than the effects of the revelation of the most unpalatable of truths. In this, as in all matters, timing and judgment are paramount.
He added that sheet to those in his leather folder and slipped the folder into his kit bag. After returning the table to its usual function, he washed and dressed quickly, then hurried down the wooden steps to the small public room to eat with Skarpa and Meinyt. He could feel the ancient wooden steps flexing under his boots, and wondered just how old the structure might be.
Less than a half a score of steps from the bottom of the stairs, along a narrow hall was the archway leading into the public room. Quaeryt stepped through, immediately catching sight of Meinyt, seated alone at a corner table. Quaeryt made his way past tables filled with majors and captains and sat down at the table opposite the other subcommander. “Have you seen the commander?”
“Not yet. I asked for two lagers and an ale.” Meinyt glanced around, his eyes passing over the overgenerous figure and gray hair of the innkeeper’s wife. “They must be keeping the young servers out of sight.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Can’t blame them, but…” Meinyt shook his head, then said in a lower voice, “Does it seem to you that the folks here don’t much care who rules?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were so in most towns and hamlets, so long as the ruler leaves their lands and their daughters alone.”
“Or pays well and treats the daughters tolerably well.” Meinyt snorted.
“You’re more cynical than I am.”
“Not much. I’ve known men who’d, if you will, lend out their wife for enough golds or other rewards. As for daughters…” He shook his head. “Heard tell that Rescalyn’s mistress found him a gentleman compared to Kharst and his crew.”
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