“Or Nordeau,” suggested Quaeryt.
“Why do you think they’ll wait until Nordeau?” Skarpa’s voice was level.
“If the maps are accurate, Nordeau is only a hundred milles from Variana. We’re already two hundred milles into Bovaria. Villerive is close to eighty milles east of Nordeau. If they wait at Nordeau, rather than Villerive, Kharst will have more time to bring forces from the west and southwest. He has to know that he’ll need every man and mount he can gather.”
“You don’t think they’ll just let us take Villerive?”
“No. If I were Kharst, I’d try to bleed us as much as possible, using as few troopers as necessary, all the way from Villerive to Nordeau.”
“They’ll try and hold us until the fall rains come,” said Meinyt. “Until winter, maybe. Said that Deucalon should have moved faster.”
“It may be that Lord Bhayar has made that point,” suggested Skarpa. “Regardless … we are where we are, and you need to have your men ready to move out at seventh glass in the morning, Subcommander Meinyt.”
“Sixth glass for Fifth Battalion?” asked Quaeryt. “So we can pick up those supplies from Fauxheld?”
Skarpa nodded. “I’ll have the quartermasters’ wagons following you. You’ll need to have all dispatches and reports ready just before sixth glass.” He swallowed the last from his mug, then set it on the table and stood. “That’s all.”
Quaeryt and Meinyt rose as well, and then left to inform their officers.
It was more than a glass later before Quaeryt entered his room, and half a glass more before he finished his report to Bhayar. Only then did he turn to finishing his letter to Vaelora, beginning by recounting the events at Fauxheld before adding his own musings.
I cannot help but be amazed at the convolutions implied by their acts and attitudes toward each other. Fauxyn owes all that he enjoys to his wife, and attractive as she is, if not nearly so beautiful and charming as you, and certainly far colder within, neither she nor any other woman appeals to him, yet it appears as though he would deny her the pleasure of masculine company while pursuing his own interests … to the point that Kharst seems to have banished him to his own holding. Fauxyn even left her to face us as occupiers, and then intruded when it appeared that she might succeed in mollifying us and saving the holding. These events suggest much about Bovaria, at least as it appears to me. A man must hold title to the lands of a High Holder, but a weak man or one who is overt in his interests in other men is banished to his lands, and not removed, yet a woman who is of the bloodline and competent cannot hold and direct those lands. Kharst has enough power to restrict that holder to his lands, but not enough to allow a woman to administer them in preference to an incompetent consort not of the bloodline. Or he is unwilling to do so for other reasons.
Such banishment suggests that Kharst holds enough power that he can compel, by force of arms, or other means, High Holders to his will to a far greater extent than can Lord Bhayar, and yet he is either unwilling or unable to impose justice upon them.
This, of course, raises questions for the future. How can a ruler have enough power to keep High Holders within limits and yet be limited in his use of power to the extent that he or his successors do not become the willful sort of tyrant that, from all reports, Kharst has become? I confess, at this moment, I have no answers, even in theory.
And now, my dearest, I must close, if I am to dispatch this tomorrow morning, and I know not when I will next be able to send what I write, far more often than it can be dispatched. My love to you and the child that is and will be.
Quaeryt swallowed as he signed the bottom of the last sheet, thinking about the fact that he and Vaelora would have a child, the Nameless willing. Then he smiled ironically in realizing he had once more called on a deity he did not even know existed.
26
Just as the sixth bell struck on Jeudi morning, Quaeryt lowered his arm, and Fifth Battalion rode out of Caernyn. When the remaining two regiments left a glass later, Skarpa would be leaving a company behind, but half of those were effectively riding wounded who would provide a continuing Telaryn presence while completing their recovery.
The early morning sky was filmed with a silver haze that suggested another hot day in harvest would follow. Not that almost all days in harvest aren’t hot, sticky, and dusty, reflected Quaeryt. But then, Caernyn and the River Aluse, at least from Ferravyl to Variana, were only slightly north of Solis, and Solis had always been nearly unbearable to Quaeryt from midsummer to midharvest. At that recollection, Quaeryt thought of Vaelora, hoping that she would not suffer too much from the heat, although she did have the fountain garden at the palace, where he had first met her, and which was always much cooler.
Fifth Battalion reached Fauxheld somewhat after eighth glass. Two guards in peach livery awaited them and began to unlock the river road gates.
As they did, Quaeryt gathered the officers. “While the quartermasters are loading supplies, you can water the mounts down at the river, but the men are not to damage or remove anything. Once we’re loaded, we’ll be leaving.”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply.
“Imager undercaptains will water their mounts first and then return to where I am at the holding buildings.”
The affirmation from the undercaptains was quick, but muted, and Quaeryt guided the mare to the side of the lane to let the undercaptains and Major Zhelan lead the battalion down to the river. Once they had passed, he led the wagons toward the hold house … and the storehouse beyond.
When he and the quartermasters and their supply wagons reached the paved area off the portico, he could see that Ghretana was waiting. She wore green trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt, and a sleeveless vest of a green that matched the trousers.
Quaeryt reined up short of her. “Good morning, Lady Fauxyn. We won’t be long, and we’ll leave enough for the holding, with supplies at least until the end of harvest, if not longer.”
“I appreciate your consideration, Subcommander. We’re not likely to receive such from Variana. Rex Kharst has announced that he will take the lands of any High Holder who supplies the enemies of Bovaria.”
“Then we shall have to make certain that this part of Lydar remains Telaryn.” Quaeryt smiled.
“It appears that we have little choice.”
Quaeryt merely nodded, glancing toward the retainers. When he did not see the taller scarred man, he said, “There was a tall retainer … with a scar over his left eye?”
“Jaesyn … he took one of the boats and left soon after you did yesterday. That wasn’t surprising. I always thought he was one of Kharst’s men.”
“And Fauxyn did nothing?”
“He wasn’t in a position to complain about it, Subcommander.”
Before Quaeryt could ask why, she continued quickly. “My men noticed an odd matter after you departed yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“The gates were locked, and there was no sign of the locks having been severed or opened.”
“Nonetheless, we did open the gates, Lady Fauxyn. How is High Holder Fauxyn?”
“He should survive. He remains in considerable pain. It will do him good, given all he has inflicted upon others.”
“I take it that he was most successful with his blade in the past.”
“He was most polite to those who might have bested him, or who were favorites of Rex Kharst, and most adept at discovering those who were neither his equal nor favorites of the rex.”
“Then, if I might ask why…”
“He struck me when he thought no one was watching last spring in Variana. Kharst’s spymaster discovered that.” Ghretana shrugged. “I made certain, indirectly, that he would. Fauxyn was banished to Fauxheld as a result. He was also told that if I were touched, or if I died, so would he.”
“This spymaster sounds rather accomplished. Who is he?”
“High Holder Ryel. He is, obviously, not known widely as such. He is officially the minister of waterw
ays.”
“You do not trust this Ryel, or you have not told me the truth.”
“Why would you say that?” She smiled winningly, the same smile that had chilled Quaeryt on the previous day.
“The information is too valuable to offer so freely.”
She shook her head, and the smile vanished. Her eyes turned icy. “The price for having that information conveyed unimpeachably to Kharst was high. Too high, except that it was the only way to save my daughter.”
“How old is she?”
“Nine. You will never find her. That I have made sure of.”
“Lady Fauxyn, I am not looking for her. I am here only for supplies.” Quaeryt decided to let the conversation take its course and see if it would reveal more of why Jaesyn had departed, not that Quaeryt didn’t already have a good idea why.
She frowned. “Might I ask who you are … truly?”
“I am a scholar and a subcommander, who discovered little more than a year ago that he was also Pharsi by birth. Those define who I am, Lady.”
“Chamyl—Fauxyn—says that you are not human, that you are a demon. His knives have never failed to strike an enemy.”
“Lady … one thing I have learned is that there is always someone of greater skill and ability … or of greater stature and power.” Quaeryt smiled wryly. “Even when there is not, there are enough curs to pull down the proudest stag. Perhaps … such as Jaesyn?”
“He is only the cur of a cur, and he will report that I have betrayed Kharst by not burning the hold to deny Lord Bhayar. So be it.” She paused, looking directly at Quaeryt. “What is your role in dealing with Bovarian High Holders?”
“The same as that of any other subcommander—to report on what we have seen.”
She nodded. “You are married, are you not?”
The shift in subject surprised Quaeryt for an instant, before he said, “I am, and far more fortunate in that than I ever dreamed.”
Ghretana’s eyes brightened, and they dropped for a moment, before she replied, “So, I imagine, is she.”
“We’re well matched for each other, especially for a marriage neither of us sought.” Quaeryt smiled. “Good day, Lady. Take care of your lands, for they are indeed yours to care for.” He turned the mare, then rode to the first supply wagon, gesturing for the teamsters to follow him to the warehouse he had inspected the day before. He could sense Ghretana’s eyes on his back, but he did not glance behind him as he rode down the stone-paved lane toward the storehouses, the wagons following him.
He also knew it was no accident that she had revealed the name of Kharst’s spymaster, and he concentrated on remembering the name—Ryel.
27
A quint or so past eighth glass on Vendrei morning, under gray clouds that did nothing to reduce the heat, Quaeryt and Fifth Battalion rode in the middle of the column, behind Fifth Regiment and in front of Third Regiment, although Skarpa rode at the front with Meinyt. The clouds were high enough that rain didn’t appear likely, or not soon.
Roughly a mille ahead, the hedgerow ended, replaced by a few scattered trees with rough piles of rock between them. Even the ground that sloped generally upward from the road showed patches of dirt and clay, and little more than scraggly and sickly weeds. As Quaeryt rode closer, he could see that the hedgerow had not so much ended as had been hacked down, leaving dead brush, but no large sections of wood. With each yard he traveled, the picture of desolation grew more obvious, and more at odds with the verdant harvest landscapes of fields and forests, pastures and orchards they had recently passed, or even the grounds on the river side of the road.
All that remained of a long structure set on a rise in the fashion of many of the main dwellings of High Holders were the lower portions of the outside walls, all of them charred. Clumps of masonry and brick lay amid the dirt and weeds beneath the severely truncated walls. The same destruction had been wreaked on the outbuildings—or what remained of them.
Quaeryt frowned. The charring on the walls was still blackish, and not all that faded, and some of the trees, the few that had not been felled or were not leafless desiccated remnants, had leaves that were outlined in brown and broomlike twigs at the end of their branches.
“What do you think happened there?” asked one of the undercaptains riding behind Quaeryt and Major Zhelan.
Quaeryt smiled ironically, and asked, without glancing back, “What does it look like?”
“It burned, sir.”
“Why might all of the buildings have burned?” asked Quaeryt.
“There was a high wind…?”
Zhelan shook his head, ruefully.
“Sir?” asked Shaelyt.
“An accidental fire wouldn’t have burned every building that completely, and fire wouldn’t have knocked down the walls,” replied Zhelan.
“A fire wouldn’t have ruined the land, either. Places that have burned often have more growth,” added Quaeryt.
“Someone did it all deliberately?” blurted the youngest undercaptain. “Destroyed the entire holding?”
“They even plowed salt into the ground, it would appear,” added Quaeryt.
“I’ve heard of that,” said Zhelan, “but to see it … What a waste!”
Quaeryt had another thought—just how many men and horses and how much salt had it taken to create that devastation? It had to have been done at Kharst’s bidding. And for what? Why hadn’t Kharst just turned the lands over to another favorite?
He studied the extent of the devastation, then nodded. The actual area reduced to uselessness, while not small, measured perhaps a half mille on a side, from what he could see, likely only a small fraction of the lands of a High Holder. Still … achieving that level of destruction had to have taken a significant amount of time and resources—just to punish a High Holder? And it would have increased the costs to whoever took over the lands.
It also suggests the men and golds available to Kharst.
Quaeryt had known the campaign would not be easy or quick. After what he had seen in the last few days, he had an idea that it would also be bloodier and more brutal than any of them had thought. After a moment he turned to Zhelan. “This is what Kharst will do on a whim, and that’s what he’d do to Telaryn, given the chance. Pass it back.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Zhelan turned in the saddle to relay those words to Fifth Battalion, Quaeryt studied the road ahead, running straight for at least another two milles. Then he glanced to his right, but could not make out the River Aluse through the regularly planted trees that sloped down to the water.
Before that long, the road curved northward, following the river, as it generally did, but not precisely, because Quaeryt could see that it cut through a low swale in a ridge that continued northward and formed a point jutting into the river. He eased his map from his tunic and studied it as he rode. The point on the river was shown on the map, but not named. The map did show, if he squinted and looked closely, where the road cut across the base of the point. That made sense, he supposed, since a road following the point would be several milles longer and there appeared to be no towns there, although the map displayed an indentation on the west side of the point that might have been a cove or a bay, but no road to it that might have indicated a hamlet.
When the last companies of Fifth Regiment drew nearer to the cut in the ridge, one that had to date back generations, because there was no indication of an older road going around the point, Quaeryt could see where, beyond the narrow gap, the first companies in Fifth Regiment were slowing as they followed the road back to the south.
Some obstacle ahead in the road? he wondered.
Then he glanced at the brush-covered slope to the right of the road, almost but not quite too steep for a mount to climb, with scattered trees rising out of the undergrowth, one of the few places they had passed throughout the morning that showed no signs of ever having been cultivated, grazed, or logged or used as an orchard or woodlot. Is that because the ground beneath that brush is too
rugged or rocky?
The air was heavy and almost oppressively still. Even though Quaeryt was a ways from entering the narrow cut, he could have sworn that some of the leaves on the bushes higher on the slope were moving, but he could feel no breeze. Nor could he see any other signs of even the lightest of winds.
Abruptly, more than a company of archers in the gray-blue uniforms of Bovaria appeared, rising out of the brush and from behind trees on the upper reaches of the north side of the cut, almost as if from nowhere. They immediately began loosing shafts down upon the last companies in Fifth Regiment.
Quaeryt immediately expanded his shields across the front of his own Fifth Battalion, but from the impact of at least one shaft on his shields before he did and from the yells behind him, he was too late to shield his battalion from the first volley.
“Imagers! Image on the archers!” he ordered. “Iron pieces to the head.”
Quaeryt followed his own advice, as quickly as he could, forcing himself to ignore the troopers ahead of him, trapped in the cut. He cut down one archer, then another, and a third, and a fourth …
Close to a score of troopers in Fifth Regiment turned their mounts uphill, deciding to try to reach the archers, rather than remaining as near-passive targets. Two of the mounts went down immediately, their legs going out from under them on the unsteady dirt and rocks beneath the leafy brush.
More troopers went down, but Quaeryt could also see archers other than those he was targeting toppling, one after the other.
Two troopers, near the eastern end of the cut, had found a place where the ground was firmer, and others began to follow them, although several went down with arrows in their chest and shoulders.
Then, as quickly as the attack had begun, the archers disappeared into the brush and trees at the crest of the ridge, while the squad or so of pursuing troopers were joined by others scrambling, if slowly, after the fleeing archers.
Quaeryt had the feeling that the pursuing troopers weren’t likely to have much success, not given the care behind the ambush. The archers had been placed on a slope that the Telaryn mounts could not climb, or not easily, and the shafts not loosed until the targeted troopers were effectively blocked in place by those in front of and behind them. There did not appear to have been any tracks in any place that scouts could have found them.
Imager’s Battalion Page 19
