Imager’s Battalion (2 page)

“Until last week, I don’t think Bhayar had been, either,” replied Quaeryt. The thought that Bhayar had so many properties that he’d never even visited one as large as Nordruil—and that Bhayar thought it small—still amazed Quaeryt, although he understood how that could be as they walked past the matching parlors, and then the main dining hall and the grand salon, and finally into the study, with its single wall of books, and out through the double doors and onto the terrace, where a table for two awaited them.

“What would you like to drink?” asked Quaeryt after he seated her.

“A pale or amber lager, please.” Vaelora looked to the serving woman.

“Two, please,” added Quaeryt.

The one serving woman eased away, and another placed melon slices before each of them, graced on the side with lime wedges. The first returned with two beakers of a pale golden lager.

“Thank you,” said Quaeryt quietly.

Vaelora immediately took a lime wedge and squeezed it over the melon, then began to devour the melon—if gracefully, Quaeryt noted.

He ate his own melon not quite so quickly, but asked as he finished, “How was your journey?”

“I can’t believe I ate that so quickly.” Vaelora blotted her lips with the pale cream linen napkin. “The ride was long and hard. I’m a bit sore in places. I was so worried about you. Yet I had the feeling that you would be all right. Then I worried I was deceiving myself.”

“I worried about you…”

“You need to worry about yourself, dearest.”

“I usually don’t have time for that, and when I do, it doesn’t matter, and I worry about you.”

“Keep saying things like that.” Vaelora took a sip of the lager. “This isn’t bad.”

“For the south, you mean?” Quaeryt grinned.

Vaelora returned the expression.

In the momentary silence he could hear the raucous call of a bird, most likely a redjay, coming from the gardens to beyond the lawn behind the terrace.

The first serving woman removed the melon platters, and the second replaced them with strips of chilled seasoned fowl, accompanied by sliced early peaches drizzled with thick cream.

Quaeryt was surprised to find that he was actually hungry, and neither of them spoke for a time.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” asked Vaelora. After a moment she went on. “Bhayar met me in Ferravyl. He told me about the ice storm, and how the imagers exploded the Bovarian barges.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but frown.

“Dearest … he is my brother, and we spoke for less than a glass. He was very earnest in not wanting to delay my reaching you.”

“I’m certain he was earnest about that.”

“We can talk about him later. I want to know about you.”

Quaeryt glanced to the side of the terrace where the two servers stood, then back to Vaelora.

She nodded in understanding. “Just what happened, although they may not speak Bovarian that well.”

“The ice came down in sheets. Most of it covered the Bovarians. Bhayar said that we lost almost a battalion. They lost close to eight regiments. It was truly awful.” He paused. “Yet … we were so evenly matched that … without the storm … we both might have lost even more.” He shook his head.

“What about you? When I heard … That was why I rode from first light into the night every day.”

“I was caught close to the ice. They told me I didn’t wake for three days, and they weren’t sure I would. They piled quilts over me…” He shook his head wryly. “I finally woke up sweating.”

“You did too much.”

“Anything less wouldn’t have worked.” His eyes again flicked toward the serving women.

“You can tell me more … later.” Vaelora took a last swallow from her beaker. As she set it down, her eyes met his again.

Quaeryt blushed.

“Would you mind … dearest … if I bathed?”

“Of course not.”

“You could … keep me company…” Her smile and eyes were more than inviting as she glanced to the upper levels of the hold house and then back to Quaeryt.

As he rose and guided her from her chair, Quaeryt doubted he would recall what he ate.

*   *   *

Later—much later, in the orangish glow of twilight—Vaelora sat up in the ancient goldenwood bed. “You’re looking at me as if you’ve never seen me this way before.”

I haven’t … not exactly like this … not understanding what I might have lost.
“I told you. I missed you. There were times when I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

“You got my letters?”

“I got the note you left in my saddlebag, and the one you wrote about the warm rain … that was what made it all possible. I don’t know that I would have thought it out without your letter.”

“I’m glad. I think you would have, but I wanted to make sure … or try to.” After a moment she went on. “I told you that Bhayar did not wish to delay my reaching you. After seeing your bruises and … everything … I can see why.” She reached out and let her fingers run down the side of his face, along his jawline, before leaning forward and kissing him. Then she straightened, slightly disentangling herself from his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. Nor are you. Not in the next few days, anyway.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but frown. “He told you that?”

“He told me more than that. He was proud of what you did. He won’t tell you.” She paused. “How did you do it?”

“I told you—”

“Dearest … it had to be more than warm rain, did it not?”

“It was mostly warm rain…” He paused, yet … who else could he tell? “Imaging takes heat … or something like it. Everyone thinks that the rain froze the Bovarians.” He shook his head slowly. “I’m not certain, but I think the imaging froze them first, and the ice rain coated them afterward.”

“The imaging … it sucked the warmth out of them?”

He nodded. “I fear so.”

“Have you told Bhayar?”

“I’ve told no one but you.”

“Good. Never tell anyone else.”

“I dare not tell Bhayar. Not the way he is playing us both.”

“Of course he is. What else would you expect? You’ve proved to be a great weapon, and you love me, and I love you. He’ll use both of us to become the ruler of all Lydar … or destroy us all in trying.”

Quaeryt was still astounded at the matter-of-fact way in which she regarded her brother and how she could balance sisterly affection with cold calculation in assessing Bhayar.
Then again, it could just be that women are better at that than men.
Quaeryt didn’t know. He only knew that Vaelora was adept at seeing the undercurrents between people, but he’d never really known another woman, except in a casual sense, and he’d never talked as honestly to anyone as he did to her. “I don’t see destroying him, first or later, as a good idea, either.”

“No, someone has to unite Lydar, and we’ll all be better off under him … especially with you at his side.”

“That’s not exactly a foregone conclusion,” Quaeryt pointed out.

“It’s anything but,” Vaelora replied, “except the alternatives would be less happy for both of us.”

Quaeryt nodded slowly. History indicated that the relatives of unsuccessful conquerors seldom survived, and an imager who served such a ruler certainly wouldn’t—unless they fled in obscurity, and that wasn’t a path Quaeryt wanted to take … and doubted Vaelora did, either.

He laughed, not quite bitterly. “That appears to be settled.”

“There’s another complication, dearest.” Vaelora smiled.

“Complication?”

“It’s early … but women in our family know almost immediately.”

Women in your family?
Quaeryt swallowed. “You’re not…”

She nodded. “I feel that she’ll be a girl.”

“Does Bhayar know?”

“No. And he won’t, not until long after you and he leave Ferravyl.”

Quaeryt didn’t know what to say.

“I … decided … on those last days in Tresrives. I knew you’d be safe. But … I still couldn’t let you go … not without … I just couldn’t.” Her eyes were bright.

Quaeryt leaned forward and folded his arms around her. “I love you. I love you both…” He could feel his own eyes tearing up.

2

As Quaeryt and Vaelora finished breakfast on Meredi, a meal taken somewhat later than was usual for them, Quaeryt lifted the small volume. “This is the book I was telling you about.”

“The one about Rholan?”

He nodded as he handed it to her, after opening it to the title page, which held only the title
Rholan and the Nameless
and the words “Cloisonyt, Tela.”

“The title is ironic, you know?” observed Vaelora, taking the small volume.

“More like a double meaning.” He paused, then rose from the table on the terrace and walked to stand at her shoulder. “There’s one page I thought you might find especially interesting. That’s where I put the bookmark.” He watched as she turned to the marked page, reading over her shoulder as she scanned the text.

Rholan spoke at many times and in many places about the vanity of attempting to achieve greatness, most notably at Gahenyara before his last trip to Cloisonyt, but it is interesting to note that he never spoke of the cost of actually accomplishing great deeds …

“He spoke in Gahenyara? There are no family stories about him, and you’d think there would be,” mused Vaelora.

“Read on,” suggested Quaeryt.

Many have suggested that Rholan was a giant of a man, a great warrior, with shoulders a yard across and thews like the trunk of an oak, green-eyed and black-haired with a full black beard, others that he was small and slender, almost frail, with fine red hair and piercing blue eyes. Neither description is accurate. In his prime, he was a man slightly larger than most other men, but by no more than a few digits in height. His eyes were black and his hair white-blond, and his left arm was shorter than his right, and crooked, as a result of breaking it while trying to chop down a young oak tree as a youth …

“A lost one?” asked Vaelora.

“The author never says … not in what I’ve read so far, anyway.”

“And you haven’t read it all while you were waiting for me?” teased Vaelora. “You just pined for me?”

“I did indeed pine for you, as you should be able to tell…”

Vaelora blushed, then closed the book and looked up at him. “Tell me you have not read every page of this volume.”

“I should have said that I have read nothing that names a lost one, or singles out Rholan as one of any such group.” Even as he spoke, Quaeryt frowned.
Someone
had said something like that … somewhere. When had that been…?

At the sound of boots on the terrace stone, Quaeryt turned to face the ranker who had hurried out through the double doors from the study. “Yes? What is it?”

“Lord Bhayar is riding up the drive, sir.”

Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “We will have to discuss my reading later, my lady. Shall we go greet your brother?”

“We should.” Vaelora rose. “He would be disappointed otherwise.”

Left unsaid, as they reentered the hold house and walked toward the main entrance, was that neither intended to disappoint Bhayar—at present.

The Lord of Telaryn had not yet reached the largely neglected circular garden around which the entry drive curved to the main entrance when Quaeryt and Vaelora took positions on the wide stone stoop. They watched the company of Telaryn troopers follow Bhayar and then rein up around the drive as Bhayar rode forward to the entry, followed by a single ranker, and halted the large gray gelding.

“You both look far happier than when I last saw either of you,” announced Bhayar as he dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to the trooper behind him. He walked up the steps briskly and stopped, surveying the couple. “I had hoped that would be the case.”

“Dear brother, you did more than hope,” said Vaelora. “You made it possible.”

“One still hopes. Not everyone knows what is in their best interests, even those to whom one is related.”

“You have always held our interests dear,” replied Quaeryt.

“As I should, for those who are related and who hold a ruler’s interests as dearly as their own are few indeed.” Bhayar smiled, and for an instant even his dark blue eyes smiled as well. “But, alas, I am here to inform you of your increased responsibilities.” His eyes turned to his sister. “You should join us in the study as well, so that you may tell Aelina all that is planned when you return to Solis. You will return with my personal guard this time, because your husband will need every company under his command and that of Subcommander Meinyt.”

Subcommander Meinyt?
Quaeryt didn’t like the sound of Meinyt’s promotion at all; not that Meinyt didn’t deserve it, but because it signified that Bhayar had something in mind that was potentially dangerous to Quaeryt and the imagers. Still, Quaeryt merely nodded as he and Vaelora followed Bhayar into the hold house.

Behind them the company of troopers rode slowly to the side courtyard.

When the three entered the study, Vaelora nodded to Quaeryt, then closed the door from the corridor before walking to the double doors and closing them.

Bhayar pulled a chair up to the small circular table, but waited for Quaeryt and Vaelora to move to the other chairs before seating himself.

The Lord of Telaryn looked to his sister. “I think this marriage has been good for you.”

“I don’t know that marriage has been good to me, but Quaeryt has been,” replied Vaelora.

“Good. Keep it that way … both of you.” After a pause, he went on. “Much as your domestic happiness pleases me, that is obviously not why I am here.”

“You’re here to tell us what our roles are in the coming campaign.” Vaelora smiled sweetly. “I am to provide you and Quaeryt with my thoughts and observations and then retire to Solis and console Aelina while you and Quaeryt begin the long and arduous conquest of Bovaria.”

“Not exactly, sister dearest. You and Aelina know the internal and court politics as well as anyone. You also have seen Quaeryt struggle with balancing the finances of a province, as Aelina has seen me do with all Telaryn. You will return to Solis with a document of financial regency which places you and Aelina in command of the finances of Telaryn until my return to Solis, with full access to all ledgers and accounts. In practice, what this means is that you two jointly have the power to stop any uses of tariff revenues that do not directly support the war against Bovaria. There is also a letter to Finance Minister Haaraxes that declares that any attempt on his part to thwart or oppose your exercise of that power will be regarded as treason. He may appeal a decision you make to me, but he must abide by it, until I decide.”