Antiagon Fire (7 page)

Voltyr shifted his weight from one boot to the other, smiling almost sheepishly, although Quaeryt thought he saw a certain spark in Voltyr’s gray eyes.

Finally, the undercaptain replied, “I kept them on task. I’m no crafter. Baelthm was the one who made sure all the imaging was perfect, and he did most of the final smooth-imaging, if you will. They also had to repair some of the outside ornamentation as well.”

“I appreciate the honesty. Is there anything he did that was particularly outstanding?”

“The frieze over the main entrance was totally destroyed. Baelthm and Lhandor created the entire scene from nothing.”

“That scene of the chateau rising above the gardens? They did that?”

“Yes, sir.” Voltyr smiled slightly. “You might not have noticed, but … do you recall the riders on the left side, opposite the images meant to be Bhayar and the senior officers?”

“I recall the hunters. A small grouping…”

“Their leader bears a remarkable similarity to a certain recently promoted commander. Baelthm told me he would prefer you not know.”

“Thank you for letting me know. How were the other imagers?”

“Threkhyl was most helpful in rearranging the exterior steps and walls, as was Horan. Smaethyl helped all around. So did Desyrk. Khalis was almost as good as Baelthm with the details, and he works hard, harder than the others. He reminds me of Shaelyt.”

“I miss Shaelyt,” replied Quaeryt. “He was a good imager, and he would have been a superior officer.”
Is that why there are so many like Myskyl and Deucalon as senior officers? Because the ones who won’t order their men to do anything unless they’ve done it or are doing it have a greater chance of getting killed before they can get promoted out of danger?

The next undercaptain Quaeryt saw was Threkhyl.

“I understand you were most helpful in restructuring the front area of the Chateau Regis.”

“The whole front of the chateau was a mess. That wasn’t from our imaging, either. Chateau that big, and a narrow drive barely wide enough for a single carriage…” Threkhyl shook his head and continued on.

After listening to Threkhyl, Quaeryt talked to Desyrk, always reserved and polite, and then waited for Baelthm, the oldest of the imager undercaptains, and by far the weakest imager.

“Good morning, Commander.” Baelthm inclined his head.

“Good morning. Undercaptain Voltyr has told me, without your artistic talent, refinishing the interior of the Chateau Regis would have taken longer and been of far lesser quality.”

“Some of it, sir, was just using imaging to strengthen what was there and to bond it back to the stone, especially on the inner outside walls … not all that bad. Smaethyl and Horan, even Threkhyl, helped with the heavy imaging. You taught me how to do more than I thought I could. Still needed help.”

“You and Lhandor had to recreate the main entry frieze?”

Baelthm snorted. “No one could tell us even what had been there. Now that, sir, I’ll have to say, took some doing. Whatever you did to the outer walls … well, it made them harder than any stone I’ve ever seen, and whatever was there before collapsed. I think it was a plaster cast or carved plaster or something just as soft. Took both me and young Lhandor, sir. I’m a crafter, maybe an imager crafter, but a crafter. No artist. Lhandor, he made the design and drew the figures, and then we worked on it together. Solid young fellow, he is…”

Quaeryt mostly listened, as he did with Horan and Smaethyl.

After them came Lhandor, one of the two remaining Pharsi undercaptains.

“Lhandor, Baelthm was most complimentary of your design of the ornamentation…”

“Thank you, sir. I’ve always liked to draw.” The young Pharsi officer looked down for a moment.

“Where did you learn that?”

“At home. My mother … she has skill along those lines. Her uncle was a cartographer back in Khel.”

Quaeryt had suspected something along those lines, but Lhandor and Khalis had arrived in the middle of the campaign, and Quaeryt hadn’t had the time to draw them out as much as he would have liked. “Where in Khel did your family come from?”

“Pointe Neiman. She came with my aunt as a child when my uncle had to … leave Khel many years ago. She never said why. I was raised near Estisle.”

“Not Nacliano?”

“Oh, no, sir. They can’t abide Pharsi there. A hamlet south on the south end of Estisle. It’s mostly rocks there.”

“What did your uncle do?”

“He drew maps for Ghasphar. He was the High Holder who owns all the diamond ships out of Estisle. I helped him, my uncle, some for the last year before … before I was sent to serve.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but ask, “Does High Holder Ghasphar have ties to Khel?”

“I heard that his grandfather was from Ouestan, but when I asked Uncle Haelyn about it, he told me not to say a word, especially not in Estisle.”

“But you liked drawing things other than maps?” asked Quaeryt with a slight smile.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like you to give some thought to something larger. If we are successful in bringing peace to Khel, Lord Bhayar is likely to be amenable to our creating something like a scholarium for imagers here in Variana. We would have to build it, of course, but … Is coming up with a rough design for that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes, sir!” Lhandor paused. “But … where would it be? I mean … designs aren’t much good if they’re not suited to the place they’ll be built.”

“I don’t know for certain, but the isle of piers is one possibility.”

“Could I ride over there and look?”

“Of course. But you’ll have to do it today … after you work on the anomen.”

“I can do that, sir.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but smile as the young Pharsi undercaptain departed with a spring in his step.

Khalis was the last of the undercaptains to enter the tack room, and the youngest. While he reminded Quaeryt of Shaelyt, with the exception of the light amber-honey Pharsi complexion and dark hair, there were few physical similarities. The resemblance lay more in the quiet thoughtfulness.

“Where will we be going in Khel, sir?”

“Generally up the Groral River from Kherseilles to Khelgror.”

“That’s a long way, farther than from Ferravyl to Variana, sir.”

“True enough, but I’m hopeful we won’t have to fight our way up the river.”

“No, sir.” Khalis moistened his lips. “Didn’t Subcommander Calkoran … isn’t that what he was supposed to be doing?”

“Lord Bhayar is concerned that the subcommander isn’t likely to be believed without a certain … reinforcement.”

“Even if they believe him, sir, they will likely want to talk and talk and talk.”

“You’ve seen that?”

“Not in Khel, sir. Only in my family, but my grandpere said his father left Khel because he could never get anyone in the family there to agree with him.”

“So he came to Lucayl where there was no one older to disagree?” Quaeryt smiled.

“Something like that, sir.” Khalis paused, then added, “Except my great-grandmere.”

More likely it was the great-grandmere who wanted to leave.
“That happens in some families.”

When Quaeryt finished, he met briefly with Zhelan again.

It was well past the first glass of the afternoon before Quaeryt and fourth squad reached the river piers just north of where the Great Canal diverged from the River Aluse, heading westward across the mostly level lands south of Tuuryl to where, hundreds of milles farther west, it ended at the River Laar.

He made a careful inspection of Kharst’s canal boat, then spent time seeing to the arrangements for supply boats, and the mules to tow all those required. After that, for close to a glass, he studied the master map of the canal, checking the distances and planning stops, then rode back to the hold house. Once there, after stabling the mare, he met again with Skarpa to talk over the logistics and the timetable for travel to Ephra.

He was waiting in the corridor outside Bhayar’s study by two quints before fifth glass. He waited another quint before Bhayar summoned Quaeryt into the study.

“What have you been doing today?” asked the Lord of Telaryn.

Quaeryt told him, briefly.

“That sounds better than my day.” Bhayar paused. “You’ve alluded to this before, but Myskyl cares little for you. Is there more to this than what happened with Rescalyn?”

“Does there have to be more than that?”

Bhayar laughed. “What happened today wasn’t why I wanted to see you, but you might get a chuckle out of it.” He motioned to the chairs in front of the table desk, then seated himself and waited for Quaeryt to sit down. “Myskyl accompanied Deucalon to the marshal’s morning briefing here. Deucalon held up a letter and read from it. It was from a factor in Villerive. His name was Farrcoyn or Saarcoyn … something like that. This factor was professing his loyalty to me, but he also wrote to express his appreciation for one of my senior officers, a subcommander named Quaeryt, or some such. He wrote that you took possession of his dwelling and grounds after the battle of Villerive in a most professional manner, and that when you and your battalion departed, you left almost no trace of their occupation. He appreciated that.”

Quaeryt frowned. “I recall that, but … what was the problem?”

“Deucalon was most displeased. He insisted that there was a vast difference between professionalism and unwarranted leniency. Myskyl said nothing.” Bhayar smiled. “If you had been here, what would you have said?”

“Something along the line that I would agree wholeheartedly with the marshal, that had the factor been uncooperative, my efforts not to destroy his livelihood would definitely have been unwarranted. But I would have pointed out that a number of High Holders who stripped their holdings of everything, including provisions we could have used, are being allowed to retain those lands and holdings. I don’t believe that you, or those of us serving you, should employ one standard for factors and another for High Holders, especially when the factor in question was nearly as wealthy as some lesser High Holders. Doing so would undercut your support among the factors without gaining you any more support at all among the High Holders.”

Bhayar nodded. “I thought your reply might be something like that. I merely thanked the marshal for his concerns and said I would bring the matter up with you.”

“I suspect Myskyl brought the matter to Deucalon’s attention. I would not wish to speculate on why that might be.”

“Vaelora would … and has.”

“She is often more perceptive than I … and more careful in her words.”

“And if Myskyl did suggest Deucalon’s words?”

“You would know far better than I,” Quaeryt pointed out.

“What I do know is that I’ll be relieved when my submarshals are away from Variana and you are on your way to Khel.” Bhayar sat back slightly and tilted his head to the left. “That leaves another matter. Do you honestly believe that you and your imagers can rein in the High Holders in the years to come?”

“Don’t you?”

“You weren’t exactly as effective as you could have been in Montagne.”

“I was as effective as necessary in order to restore order. And … I was acting alone. The outcry would have died away.”

“Especially if something … an accident or sickness … had happened to another High Holder?”

Quaeryt nodded.

“You are capable of that. I know.”

“I’d prefer not to act that way, but it’s far better to remove one man than fight uprisings and rebellions.”

“How long will it take?”

“As necessary, we can begin to do what needs to be done once I return from Khel.”

“Not until then?” A faint, almost humorous smile flitted across Bhayar’s lips.

“You need to give the High Holders time to misbehave. That way, any accidents or illnesses will be seen as a result of their actions and not mere greed for their lands on your part.”

“But not too much time.”

“No.” Quaeryt shook his head. “But you will need to allow us the resources to build the scholarium. The imagers cannot be seen as merely your tool. We need to prove useful to many, so that the people, especially in Khel and Bovaria, will support them.”

“And not in Telaryn?”

“That will come, but it is not as necessary.”

“I suppose not.” Bhayar stretched, then stood. “I’d best ready myself for a long dinner.”

“Better you than me.”

“Your turn will come, right after you return.”

If I return successfully.
“We’ll face that then.”

“Along with more than you ever dreamed possible, Quaeryt.”

“You’re so encouraging.”

“What else can I be when you’re married to Vaelora?”

“Remind me to talk to Aelina when she arrives.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to. Vaelora will tell you everything.” Bhayar gestured toward the study door. “Go.”

Quaeryt grinned, then bowed, turned, and made his way out.

6

At two quints before ninth glass on Samedi morning, Quaeryt had just stamped and then brushed his muddy boots off on the stone floor of the south-facing covered porch of the scholarium some five milles north of the Chateau Regis.

Nearly two glasses to cover four milles on what wouldn’t have been called a path in Telaryn.
Were all the side roads in Bovaria that bad, or was that because the scholars were in as much disfavor in Bovaria as in Telaryn?
You may find out shortly.

He glanced back below the porch at the terraced gardens, their low walls composed of local stones stacked and barely fitted together. The ground between the walls was bare, and the stalks and stubble had been turned under the soil, crudely, for Quaeryt could see parts of stalks protruding.

He turned. Two rankers, hands on the hilts of their sabres, stood behind him as he crossed the porch to the door, still carrying full heavy imaging shields. Before Quaeryt reached the door, it opened.

“Who might you be?” offered the lean, almost emaciated, man with straggly blond hair, who wore scholars’ browns of a somewhat different cut than those worn by the scholars of Telaryn.

“Quaeryt Rytersyn, scholar and commander in the Southern Army of Telaryn. I’m here to see the maitre.”