Quaeryt Rytersyn, Commander and Envoy
Southern Army of Telaryn
My dear Commander,
Much as I would have enjoyed a longer visit, I am not the man I once was. None of us are, I suppose, even when we were. I trust you will allow me the indulgence of vanity, one of the few I can still enjoy, if in a limited fashion.
The map is as accurate as my hand and memory can make it. Trust none of the High Holders, except Lady Tyrena D’Ryel, and her only if she gives her word. Nothing at Fiancryt is what it seems, even when it appears obvious.
You may be the man others think you are. You may even be the Lost One of Pharsi legend. Yes, I know the legend, and you fit that description. But none of us are the man we think we are. Remember that.
With my highest regards.
Seliadyn D’Alte
Quaeryt read the short missive twice, then folded it and slipped it into his battered leather dispatch case. Especially after the map and missive, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder about Seliadyn. Caemren had said Seliadyn had ways of knowing things, but Quaeryt hadn’t expected all that the missive revealed. But then, there was the phrase about Tyrena. Had she stopped to see Seliadyn on her return to Rivages? It was possible, but going back and asking more questions of Wereas would change nothing and intrude too much on a man who was clearly trying to hold on to his faculties. For all of the High Holder’s courtesy and assistance, Quaeryt had only seen Seliadyn for one brief period, and had not been invited to dine with him. Usually, such courtesy included a dinner with the High Holder, but the missive gave the impression that Seliadyn was not up to a long dinner or conversation … and so had Wereas’s first comments. Yet the High Holder’s concern for his people was palpable.
And what about his daughter? Was there something not quite right there? Wereas’s expression had suggested something.
Quaeryt shook his head, then straightened in the saddle as Calkoran and Zhelan rode up to report.
“Ready to ride out, sir!”
Quaeryt nodded assent.
“Column! Forward!” ordered Zhelan.
As they rode out through the gates and past another pair of guards in yellow and black, Quaeryt was still wondering about Seliadyn. Had Caemren purposely intrigued Quaeryt into visiting the High Holder, or had Seliadyn—or even Tyrena—set it up? Or was it all coincidence? Or something even more devious?
Neither Quaeryt nor the scouts saw any tracks in the road once they had left Vaestora. That didn’t mean anything, because a courier would know not to leave tracks.
After the first seven or eight milles, Quaeryt rode on the left side and kept studying the river, looking for a place suitable for a bridge across the Aluse, its waters now less than fifteen yards across in spots. Once or twice he could see what looked to be the west river road, and it was a dirt track, if one wide enough for the single donkey cart he did see.
Quaeryt rode another mille before he located what appeared to be a likely spot, where the river in ages past had cut through higher ground, with a narrower channel below two bluffs. He turned in the saddle. “Call a halt here.”
“Column! Halt!”
“Imager undercaptains! Forward!”
Once the three had gathered around him, he continued. “We’re going to ride out to the end of that low bluff there. If it’s suitable, we’re going to image a bridge across there. Not a wide grand one, but a simple stone structure comfortably wide enough for one wagon or two mounts abreast. We’ll also have to image causeways and enough of a paved road to join to the east river road here and the west river road there. We’ll do it mainly piece by piece, because I don’t want any of us too tired to image from here on. But we do need another way to get to Rivages, one by which we’re less likely to be expected … and there aren’t any bridges until we reach Rivages itself.” As he finished speaking, he eased the gelding forward and then to the edge of the road.
From there, Quaeryt began by imaging a paved causeway from the river road to a point some ten yards from the edge of the bluff. The air was warm enough that only a faint white frost appeared on the gray stone, disappearing almost immediately. He was pleased that he didn’t feel a touch of tiredness. Even so he took a healthy swallow of the watered lager in his bottle, and then chewed on a biscuit before leading the imagers westward along the gently sloping pavement. He reined up just short of where the pavement ended, then turned the gelding so that he could see both the three imagers and the River Aluse.
“We’ll need a stone pier on each side, down to the bedrock and rising to the height of the bluff here. Remember … the bridge is only to be three yards wide. Lhandor, would you like to try imaging the one on the far side?”
“Yes, sir.” Lhandor eased his mount forward and studied the river. After several moments, he concentrated. Mist wreathed the pier that rose from the edge of the water on the far side, then dispersed, leaving a smooth gray pier, an oblong whose top looked to be a yard wide and three long, the long side paralleling the river.
“Good. Khalis, if you would create a matching pier on this side.”
“Yes, sir.”
In moments, another mist-shrouded pier appeared.
“Now … drink something and eat a biscuit or two, both of you.”
While Lhandor and Khalis refreshed themselves, Quaeryt imaged the span between the piers. He did feel a bit tired after his second imaging. He took out his water bottle again and ate another biscuit before addressing the third imager. “Elsior, image the paved causeway connecting the bridge to the road here.”
“Yes, sir.”
After that, the three undercaptains alternated in adding the stone side rails and pillars. Then they rode to the far end of the bridge, where Elsior added the approach causeway, and each of the three added five-yard sections of stone paving from the end of the causeway until they reached the rutted dirt track that passed for the west river road.
“Now … we’ll take a break while the companies cross and then rest the men and water the mounts.” Quaeryt signaled to Zhelan to have first company begin crossing the bridge, then waited for the major.
“That’s a solid bridge, Commander,” observed Zhelan when he reined up beside Quaeryt. “I’d wager that the locals will be using it in days.”
“Most likely. We’ll stand down here for two or three quints. Men can rest and water their mounts. They’ll have to ride back south to get access to the river.”
“You want the imagers rested, don’t you, sir?”
“I’d rather be careful.”
Zhelan nodded, then turned to Ghaelyn. “Have the men water their mounts. Stand down for two quints … and pass the word to the Khellans.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt rode south a good hundred yards and turned the gelding. Before heading down to the water, he looked back at the gray-stone bridge with its gentle arch over the River Aluse. A solid workman-like structure, and none of us are noticeably exhausted. And they were on the west side of the river, with Daefol likely only a few milles ahead. And our real difficulties are just beginning.
44
The second glass of the afternoon on Meredi came and went, and the west river road remained rutted and rough as Quaeryt and his force rode north, more slowly than he would have liked. The road was mostly shaded by tall trees that grew closer to the road than Quaeryt would have preferred. There were no cots or fields beyond the trees to the west, suggesting forest or woodlands belonging to Daefol, as opposed to fields tilled by tenant growers.
He studied the maps, both the large one and the hand-drawn one he’d received from Seliadyn, trying to determine just how to deal with the situation … or to explain to Daefol how he ended up at his gates, so to speak. Abruptly he shook his head. Fiancryt’s holding was across the river bridge in Rivages and just north of the town.
He almost laughed, but ludicrous as the idea was, it just might work … and it might tell him something about what Myskyl was doing. He put the maps away and beckoned for Zhelan to mov
e closer.
“Sir?”
“If I can, when we get to Daefol’s hold, I’m going to act like a very stupid commander. I want to see how he reacts. So … try not to act as though I’m out of my mind.”
A puzzled expression crossed the major’s face.
“I’m going to insist that I was just following directions, the way Kharllon did when he wanted to make trouble, except I just want to confuse the High Holder and get enough men in position to take over the holding without anyone getting hurt…” Quaeryt went on to explain what else he wanted Zhelan to do when the time came. Then he rode back and gave a similar explanation to Calkoran.
The senior Khellan officer snorted. “The High Holder … he will likely believe you. A commander who comes late to an area is often not the smartest.”
“I hope he does. It will make matters simpler.”
As Quaeryt rode back to the front of the column, he could hope that Seliadyn’s description of Daefol as a fool was at least partly accurate. At the same time, he pondered over the mysterious older High Holder … and about what he had missed in observing him.
Another quint passed, and Quaeryt was beginning to wonder about the maps and the directions he had received when one of the scouts rode back and reined up—since Quaeryt had ordered a halt when he saw the scout returning.
“Sir, there’s a walled holding ahead, west of the road.”
“It’s not on the river?”
“No, sir. It looks to be quite a ways back from the road, maybe a good half mille.”
“Good. Did you see any scouts or troopers?”
“No, sir. The lane from the river road to the gates is empty. Much better than the road we’re on. The river road north from where the hold road joins it is better as well.”
Seliadyn had said it would be. That confirmation made Quaeryt feel somewhat less uneasy about relying on the white-haired High Holder’s information. “I was told that, but it’s good to know it’s so.”
“Much better. Leastwise, it looks so from a distance. You told us to stay out of eyeshot from the hold.”
“I did … and thank you. From here to the hold, you’re only to be a hundred yards in front, and let that decrease as we near the gates.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt turned to Zhelan. “We’ll take a break here. A last watering for the horses.” And then I play the willfully stupid commander … and hope it works.
While Zhelan dealt with the details of rest and watering, Quaeryt gathered the imager undercaptains under a large tree, not an oak but something equally large and impressive, if a species he didn’t recognize.
“Once we get inside the hold, assuming we don’t have to use force, we’re going to need to find out as much as we can quickly. All three of you can hold personal concealments. I’d like each of you to slip into areas where you can under concealment outside the hold house itself and listen—”
“Ah … sir,” interrupted Khalis, his tone one of embarrassment, “I can hold a concealment, but listening won’t help. I don’t know much Bovarian.”
Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. He’d known that. He just hadn’t thought about it. “Lhandor? You know some, don’t you?”
“I can pick up some things. I’ll miss some, but I can try.”
“Elsior?”
The youngest undercaptain nodded.
“All right. Khalis, you stay close to Major Zhelan and make certain nothing happens to him. Elsior and Lhandor, here’s what I want you to do…” Quaeryt went on, detailing the possibilities and what he wanted them to look and listen for, and where to go.
Then he explained to Zhelan what would happen … if all went well … and what they would do if it didn’t. Then he rode back to Calkoran and outlined what he wanted from the subcommander and his men.
Less than two quints later, Quaeryt led his small force out of the tree-concealed section of the west river road past the meadow pasture area that fronted the hold and toward the lane up to the gates. The rutted section of the river road ended abruptly, exactly when the smooth graveled lane heading westward to the walled hold began. Quaeryt could see that the gates were open … and that they were simple, if tall, ironbound wooden gates drawn back from gate buttresses that were part of the reddish stone walls that surrounded the hold house and its outbuildings. There was no stonework between the buttresses, either. As he rode closer, Quaeryt could see that the walls were not hard redstone, but sandstone. That and the gate structure indicated that the hold might withstand a short assault but not even a modest siege—or a force with a single accomplished imager, not that Quaeryt wanted to image his way through the gates. The hold house or keep looked to be only three stories, since a single level and a slate tile roof were all that appeared above the walls.
There was a small flock of sheep grazing several hundred yards to the north, and the fact that the grass closer to the road on the right was lower than on the left suggested that they were being used to keep the growth in the meadows at a low level. Quaeryt could see some thin trails of smoke from hold chimneys, most likely from the kitchens.
As they neared the gates, several guards hurried up, clearly nervous, but not a one of the three said a word, although they stood across the lane just outside the walls.
“Just move aside!” Quaeryt called out cheerfully. “We’re expected.” He image-projected warmth and assurance. “Just don’t get in the way. It’s been a long ride.”
“But, sir,” called a taller guard, trotting toward Quaeryt, “no one told us … there are no preparations!”
“We made good time,” replied Quaeryt. “Now … just move aside.” He kept riding, turning in the saddle and calling out, “Keep moving! We don’t want to block the gates!”
The guards backed away, forced back by the press of first company.
Once through the gates, Quaeryt turned the column toward the hold house, trying to keep in character as a clueless commander. He glanced over his shoulder, but Calkoran had halted his company just inside the gates, in a way to keep anyone from leaving, just as Quaeryt had ordered.
Quaeryt reined up and halted first company short of the wide sandstone steps leading up to a small uncovered front terrace before the formal entry to the hold house, not quite a tower, nor exactly a mansion, but with red sandstone walls showing a certain amount of wear. Almost at that moment, a man several years younger than Quaeryt and possibly not that much older than Khalis or Lhandor emerged, flanked by two guards on each side. He sported a square-cut but short curly beard, above a white shirt, a crimson doublet or jacket of a style Quaeryt had never seen, and dark blue trousers. His polished boots were also dark blue, something Quaeryt hadn’t seen before, either. The arrogant walk to the end of the terrace suggested that he was indeed Daefol.
Once at the end of the terrace, Daefol squared his shoulders and glared at Quaeryt. “You’re not the submarshal. He’s the only one with permission to ride in here unannounced.” A heavy gold rope chain hung around his thick neck and above his slightly jowled jaw.
“Who are you?” asked Quaeryt. “Aren’t you High Holder Fiancryt?”
“Do I look like Fiancryt? He’s dead, by the way.”
“Then why were we directed to Fiancryt?” asked Quaeryt. “And if this isn’t Fiancryt, where are we? And who are you?”
“I’m Daefol D’Alte, and this is Folan. And why are you here, rather than where you should be?”
“According to my orders,” Quaeryt hid a smile as he spoke, “I was told to stop at the first high holding I came to.”
Daefol looked puzzled. “Folan is scarcely the first.”
“We crossed the bridge and came up the west river road, and your holding is the first one,” said Quaeryt, trying to look as confused as the High Holder did.
“You came up the west river road?” Daefol’s voice contained astonishment and a little skepticism. “It only goes another five milles south before it becomes a path … or not even that.”
“No, sir,”
insisted Quaeryt. “We were given directions to follow the east river road to the first bridge, and then cross the bridge and turn north until we came to the first high holding.”
“But this isn’t the first high holding,” protested Daefol.
“It’s the first we’ve come to, and it looks like a high holding, and you say that it is,” replied Quaeryt.
“Besides,” insisted Daefol in an exasperated tone, “there’s no bridge south of here.”
“But there is, sir,” protested Quaeryt. “It looks new. Gray stone. It arches over the river between two bluffs. It’s wide enough for two or three mounts, but probably wouldn’t take two carts abreast.” He turned to Zhelan. “Didn’t it look new to you, Major?”
“Yes, sir.” Zhelan did not quite roll his eyes.
“You see?” continued Quaeryt. “You can ask any of the troopers. We crossed the river south of here, I’d say three milles or so. Over that bridge.”
Daefol, standing on the upper steps of the entry to the low tower, frowned. “I don’t know…” Then he nodded. “I’d heard the submarshal had some imagers. That must be it … but he should have let me know.”
“I wish they’d let us know.” Quaeryt frowned. “I thought all the imagers were in Variana or somewhere in Khel. That’s what the marshal said. He ought to know.” Then he looked hard at Daefol. “How did you know the submarshal has imagers and we don’t?”
“I must have overheard something,”
Quaeryt shook his head. “Here I am a commander, and I don’t know what’s happening in my own army.” He paused, then said, “We’ll have to stay here tonight. Then we’ll be on our way tomorrow.”
“It’s not all that far to Fiancryt … maybe ten milles.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “That’s too far for this late in the afternoon.”
“Commander, I must protest! Submarshal Myskyl said that I would not have to garrison any Telaryn troops. He said that if matters changed, I’d be the first to know.”
Rex Regis Page 36
