As he stood alone in the absent factor’s study, Quaeryt shook his head. Is Deucalon that unaware, or is he fully aware and playing along with Myskyl until he can undercut him in a way that will totally discredit him?
Quaeryt knew that, at the moment, he had no way of determining which, if either, might be the case. He also knew that he was seeing only the beginning of political maneuvering that would get deadlier as the battles against Kharst’s forces intensified.
He set down Skarpa’s message, then looked at his notes, scattered fragments and thoughts about better ways to employ the talents of the imagers. Finally, he reached for the slim leather-bound volume, opening it and paging through it. Reading about Rholan wouldn’t solve his problems, but it might take his thoughts out of the ruts he’d worn in his mind by going back and forth over the problems he faced.
Rholan stated on more than one occasion that many faiths declared that man was made in the image of his deity. He went further than that, declaring that this was false, because, in fact, man created the deities he worshipped in his own image, or at least in the images in his mind, and that was why it was all-important that the Nameless not only not ever be named, but never described or depicted, because to do so would prove that the Nameless was merely a creation of men …
That angered few because those who declared such largely lived far from Lydar. Such observations would not have, in themselves, led to the events that likely forced his death or disappearance. Nor would the observations that followed, when he declared that those who rule best are those who accept each man or woman for who each is, and that seldom are such rulers remembered in the chronicles of the great, for it seems that little has happened during their reigns. Even when they are successful at conquest, that success is attributed to others, to their marshals, to the times, to the weakness of the enemy. What angered many was his observation that those who are remembered are those least worthy of such veneration, because they were the rulers who have attempted to mold others in their image, either through fear or flattery, because they had not the strength to recognize different strengths in others …
Quaeryt set down the small book, turning it over on the plaques table to keep his place. Is that the difference between Kharst and Bhayar? He frowned. Or are you creating that difference in your own mind?
50
Immediately after the morning muster of Fifth Battalion on Vendrei, Quaeryt met with Voltyr and Shaelyt. The three of them decided on a sheltered courtyard behind the stable to test the arriving undercaptains, then gathered the necessary materials. Although Quaeryt had not yet received word as to when the reinforcements would arrive, he knew he would need every moment he had to assess them and to begin instructing them in the basic imaging in combat. He left Voltyr in charge of setting up the barrels and stands for testing.
While the imagers were so occupied, Quaeryt and Zhelan reviewed the supply situation in turn with each of the company officers. Quaeryt was relieved to learn that Zhelan had been successful in dealing with the local factors and Skarpa’s supply major and that enough provisions had been obtained to fill all the wagons.
After he and Zhelan left Major Arion, Quaeryt looked at Zhelan. “I didn’t wish to ask around the company officers how you managed all that. But you’ve worked wonders. How?”
Zhelan tried to smother a grin, then shook his head. “I was most polite, sir. I just kept asking the factors and the supply types in the other regiments for what we needed. If they weren’t as helpful as they might have been, I just said that you’d be disappointed if you couldn’t support the battalion and the imagers after all the work Lord Bhayar had done to create the battalion. I didn’t ask for too much from any of them.”
“You’re a rogue, Zhelan.” Quaeryt shook his head.
“The locals are scared to death of imagers, more so than in Telaryn. Don’t know why, sir, but they are, and the supply types in the other regiments know that Fifth Battalion has saved a lot of their men. The ones who are smart want to help. Those who aren’t don’t want you upset.”
That worried Quaeryt, after a fashion, because it suggested that someone, most likely Myskyl, was depicting Quaeryt as vengeful and possibly petty.
Once he and Zhelan finished, Quaeryt returned to the study to go over the maps he had, trying to learn as much as he could from them about what the battalion might expect on the ride to Nordeau. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw what might have been a part of another old Naedaran canal branching off from the River Aluse just east of Nordeau. At least there was something that looked like a too-straight section of river that paralleled the River Aluse in a general way and ran almost to Nordeau. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other canals there had been running to the Aluse or from the lake on which Chelaes was located.
At slightly past first glass, one of the troopers acting as guards rapped on the study door. “Sir … there’s close to two companies riding up here.”
“Summon Major Zhelan and have him join me on the front portico.”
“Yes, sir.” The trooper hurried off.
Quaeryt made his way out to the front portico. There, as he waited for the riders—and Zhelan—to reach him, he stood and looked out to the west at the scattered clouds that were slowly breaking up. Despite there only having been partial sunlight that morning, the day was warm and humid, and he had to take off his visor cap and blot away sweat before replacing it. The oncoming riders were still some fifty yards away when Zhelan hurried around from the south porch to stand beside Quaeryt.
“Has to be our replacements and reinforcements,” offered the major.
Quaeryt looked to Zhelan.
“Uniforms have more color.”
Quaeryt smiled. Something else you hadn’t thought of.
Leading the riders was a captain Quaeryt didn’t recognize, scarcely surprising since there were at least fifty captains and undercaptains in Deucalon’s forces, most of whom he’d never even seen, let alone met. The captain called the column to a halt, then rode forward, his eyes taking in the two on the portico.
“Subcommander, Major, Marshal Deucalon is transferring these officers and troopers to your command.” He dismounted, handing his mount’s reins to one of the guard troopers who had hurried down, and climbed the steps. He extended a dispatch pouch. “There is a dispatch there. It confirms the transfer, and the number of officers and men involved.” His formal expression softened slightly. “There are also several other communications there.”
“Thank you, Captain. We accept the transfer of the officers and men, as described in the dispatch.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The captain nodded sharply, stepped back, and turned. “You are all now assigned to Fifth Battalion, and Subcommander Quaeryt.” Then he walked down the steps and remounted his horse.
“If you’d handle the trooper replacements and reinforcements,” Quaeryt said to Zhelan, “and have the undercaptains remain here with me.”
“Yes, sir.” A faint amused smile appeared on Zhelan’s face. “Undercaptains! Forward!”
After a brief hesitation, four men in undress green officers’ uniforms, without collar insignia, rode forward and reined up. They appeared passably comfortable in the saddle, but they should have been, reflected Quaeryt, given the days and possibly weeks they had been riding.
“Undercaptains, remain here. Troopers! Follow me!” Zhelan hurried down from the steps and walked quickly down the lane toward the stables and outbuildings.
As the troopers slowly rode after the battalion major, Quaeryt studied the undercaptains. Two, from their dark hair and eyes and light-honeyed skin, were most likely Pharsi, and probably younger than Shaelyt. The third undercaptain was sandy-blond, suggesting he was a norther. The last was a man close to forty, with a grizzled gray beard, recently trimmed, Quaeryt suspected, and a narrow lined face that had spent most days out in hard weather.
“Undercaptains … welcome to Fifth Battalion. I trust that you’re all imagers.” Quaeryt paused and
scanned the faces, catching the hints of nods. “You’re now part of the largest group of imagers assembled as part of a fighting force. You’re going to learn how to apply your talents in support of Lord Bhayar. If you’re like most imager undercaptains, you’ll be asking why you should put yourselves out for Lord Bhayar when you’ve likely been dragged from wherever you were and whatever you were doing. The answer to that is simple. It’s better than the alternatives, and you’re being paid reasonably well for your service. More important, it’s the only way that you, and all imagers, can obtain a place where you’ll be respected and appreciated. If Lord Bhayar succeeds in subduing Bovaria, we’ll have a better life and future. That will be true of all imagers. If he fails, we’ll all likely have neither life nor future. I don’t expect any of you to accept this until you’ve been with Fifth Battalion for a while. I do expect you to act as officers and to obey orders.” He paused.
“And what if we don’t?” asked the older man, his tone verging on the insolent.
“That wouldn’t be terribly wise, for a number of reasons,” replied Quaeryt mildly. “Why are you here?”
“Governor threatened to kill my family.”
Quaeryt nodded. “Do you really want to be unable to see them again, to be in hiding the rest of your life, not knowing when someone might recognize and kill you? That’s another reason why you’re here, isn’t it?”
The undercaptain glared at Quaeryt, then nodded grudgingly.
“So … doesn’t it make sense to do the best you can do here, get your pay, and earn Bhayar’s gratitude, rather than run for the rest of your life?”
“Life won’t be long here, anyway.”
“You’d be surprised,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh. “Commander Skarpa’s done well at keeping casualties low, far lower than in the northern army.”
“You didn’t tell me why I should obey you or anyone else.”
“Because it’s a good idea. Besides, if you disobey, you’ll be punished. If you disobey in combat, you could be executed.” Quaeryt tried to image-project friendly reasonableness.
“I’m likely to die anyway. Might just be better to off you and stop this nonsense.”
“That wouldn’t be a very good idea.” What can you say or do to convince this idiot? In a way that won’t terrify the others and start them off with the wrong impression … if you haven’t already?
“Why don’t you let me decide what’s a good idea?”
“Because you don’t know enough to make a good decision,” said Quaeryt. “None of you do … yet. Now … it’s time for you to follow me down to meet the other undercaptains. After that, we’ll assign you quarters, and you can stow your gear.”
“No. Not until we know more.”
Idiot! Quaeryt looked at the graybeard and instantly clamped shields around him, so tightly that the man could not breathe. “You are in Fifth Battalion. You will obey orders, either mine or those of other senior officers, and if necessary, I or the senior undercaptains will take any steps necessary to assure that you do. Or you will no longer have to worry about anything at all.” He waited until the older man was turning red before he released the shields, then waited until the undercaptain stopped gasping. “I’d prefer not to have to do anything like that again.”
“You can’t do that all the time. I’ve dealt with things larger and tougher than you.”
Quaeryt image-projected absolute force and cold authority at the older man, and the absolute certainty that Quaeryt could shred him into bits smaller than grains of sand.
The older imager’s face paled.
So did the faces of the other three. The two Pharsi undercaptains exchanged a knowing glance.
“Who … what…?” murmured the graybeard.
“Subcommander Quaeryt Rytersyn. I’m a scholar, and the former governor of Montagne, former princeps of Tilbor, and I’ve survived more than a few battles along the way. Oh … and my wife is Lord Bhayar’s sister. Do you require any more explanations, Undercaptain?”
“No…”
“No, sir, if you please, and I don’t wish to correct you again. Ever.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me make this very clear once again. You are all undercaptains in the forces of Telaryn. Provisional undercaptains assigned to the first company of Fifth Battalion. That means you will obey not only my commands, but those of either Major Zhelan or Undercaptain Ghaelyn. Because it is very much in our personal interests not to have you killed, we will not give you orders that are foolish or unnecessary. At times, there will be risks, but all officers have the same risks as the troopers. Now … follow me.” Quaeryt walked down the steps, making certain his shields were fully in place.
As the four followed him, Quaeryt listened for murmurs, but none of the four said a word. You tried to be persuasive and rational. But you couldn’t let the quibbling and arguing go on. Why do some people only listen to force?
51
After introducing the new imagers to the other undercaptains, while Voltyr and Shaelyt arranged quarters in the upper levels of the house for the four new undercaptains and took care of other details, Quaeryt returned to the study. He wondered about the regiment likely to be assigned to Skarpa’s forces, but the commander would be the one to tell him—if and when Skarpa found out, and Quaeryt suspected that Deucalon would take his time.
Once Quaeryt settled at the plaques table, he set aside the letter from Vaelora, as well as one for Shaelyt, and another for Baelthm, and opened the dispatch from Marshal Deucalon.
Subcommander Quaeryt Rytersyn
Fifth Battalion
Attached is a listing of four undercaptains (provisional) and 182 troopers assigned to Fifth Battalion in order to bring the battalion up to full fighting strength.
Beneath the words was a seal, not even a signature. The second sheet held four names:
Horan Horotsyn, Undercaptain
Khalis Mhaersyn, Undercaptain
Lhandor Lohansyn, Undercaptain
Smaethyl Rytersyn, Undercaptain
Quaeryt nodded. The names did match those the officers had given, not that he’d doubted it, but sometimes you never knew, Quaeryt reflected. The next five sheets held the names of the troopers. Quaeryt returned his attention to the second sheet, looking at the names and mentally connecting them to the undercaptains. Horan was the mountain steader and trapper who’d given him trouble and who would likely be less difficult as time went by. You hope. Khalis and Lhandor were Pharsi, but Khalis was from Estisle, while Lhandor was from Lucayl. Smaethyl was from a small town in Montagne that Quaeryt had never heard of—Taelyrd.
He laid the dispatch on the table and studied Vaelora’s letter. Again, the seal had been carefully removed and then replaced. With a nod, he opened it and began to read.
My dearest,
The summer here in Solis has been long and hot. The first two days of harvest have been no cooler, and we have had no rain to cool the nights.
You cautioned me that this war would be long and bloody. Lord Bhayar must feel the same way, as new regiments are being formed and trained every other week. At least, it seems that way, and Aelina told me that another ten regiments will be dispatched to join the northern forces early next week.
Ten regiments? Had ten regiments arrived? Certainly Bhayar had given the impression that there were far fewer. He’d actually mentioned four. Why hadn’t he known there were ten? And if there weren’t ten, where had the others gone? Or had someone drawn the golds to supply ten and sent four or seven or whatever number less than that and pocketed the “extra” golds. Or were Myskyl and Deucalon keeping the exact number from Bhayar as long as possible—or at least until Skarpa and his command had left Villerive—so that more regiments weren’t assigned to Skarpa?
… There are also some undercaptains being sent to assist you. I understand that most of them come from smaller towns. In the weeks and months ahead, there will likely be others found with talents that you can use, since local governors have been promi
sed a bonus for those found, and since such discoveries may also suit both High Holders and larger factors.
In short, they want to remove imagers. Quaeryt smiled. They should be careful in making such wishes. After a moment he thought, So should you.
When he finished the letter, he studied the date—2 Agostas. Almost four weeks—and it had arrived with the reinforcements that had been dispatched a week later. Again, it appeared as though her letter had been opened and delayed. So you wouldn’t know the number of reinforcement regiments?
He certainly had no proof of that, but the pattern was suggestive.
Vaelora’s letter reminded him that he needed to send what he had already written to her, and what he would write later that evening—and that he had never replied to Gauswn.
He stood and slipped her letter into his personal dispatch case, leaving it on the table, then picked up the two letters and the five sheets that held the names of the new troopers to give to Zhelan. Then he headed back down to the stable courtyard to evaluate the new imagers.
Two quints later, Quaeryt stood fifty yards back from the stable wall, against which were two barrels set on their ends, the closed butt end up. A thick plank ran from one barrel to the other, set on its edge with each end propped in place with bricks. The four most recent imager undercaptains stood in a line even with Quaeryt. Voltyr and Shaelyt watched from the side.
“Undercaptain Khalis,” said Quaeryt, “image an iron dart into the plank.”
“Yes, sir.” The Pharsi undercaptain, a gawky young man, barely more than a youth, who looked to be two or three years younger than Shaelyt, concentrated. An iron dart, more like a knife that was made of iron, appeared in the heavy plank fifty yards way, its tip barely sticking into the wood before it wobbled and dropped to the dirt.
“Less iron in the dart and more force into the plank next time,” commented Quaeryt before turning to Smaethyl. “Undercaptain Smaethyl, an iron dart into the plank.”
Imager’s Battalion Page 37
