Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “Do you think putting Khel under Bhayar’s rule will be as bad?”

  “No. Pharsi laws are closer to those in Telaryn. I just hope we can get their High Council to see it that way.” He paused. “Do you have any ideas about what to do with the girls?”

  “I’ve talked to them about what else they can do. I’ve also talked to the innkeeper’s wife. I’ll try to find places for them. One of them, the little blonde, I worry about her, especially.”

  “Every time we try to make something better, there’s more to worry about.” Quaeryt shook his head.

  “You need to worry about getting some sleep,” Vaelora suggested.

  “Sleep?” asked Quaeryt dryly, looking intently at her.

  “Sleep,” she said firmly … but her face softened after the single word.

  Quaeryt blushed.

  17

  Much as Quaeryt worried about spending the time, early on Lundi morning he and Vaelora-supported by first company and second company from Nineteenth Regiment-set out from the Canal Inn to pay a visit to one High Holder Delauck, the closest High Holder, whose hold was some twelve milles north and, unsurprisingly to Quaeryt from what he had learned over the past few days, more than a mille east of the river.

  “Why?” Skarpa had asked.

  “Why not?” Quaeryt had replied. “We won’t be ready to leave until tomorrow, and I need some questions answered. They’re questions I didn’t know enough to ask until yesterday.”

  “You think High Holders here are different, don’t you?”

  “They’re not different, except more arrogant-in general-but I think their position is much different. If I’m right, that will affect how Bhayar has to deal with them.” And how the imagers will, as well.

  After riding for more than two glasses through a cold mist that occasionally turned to a drizzle, Quaeryt couldn’t help but have second thoughts about his impulsive decision to see Delauck, especially if the High Holder didn’t happen to be available. Still … you could learn something from his steward and the staff.

  “Is that it?” asked Vaelora, pointing eastward toward a pair of stone pillars set at the side of the muddy road several hundred yards ahead.

  Quaeryt could make out a graveled lane that led from the pillars at an angle up a rocky hillside to a walled structure on the north end of the hill. The hold house resembled Quaeryt’s concept of the hold of an ancient Yaran warlord-a stone structure perched on top of a rocky rugged hill, reached only by a winding narrow road, crossing at least two wooden bridges. Yet the lands to the west, through which they had just ridden, were wide and sweeping, and clearly fertile. “I’d guess so, but we’ll see shortly.”

  Less than half a quint later, they reined up at the foot of the high rocky hill. “Chateau Delauck” read the letters chiseled into the stone pillars flanking the narrow lane.

  “You can’t put more than two men abreast on that road,” said Zhelan. “I’d wager that there’s no other way up, either.”

  “That’s not a wager I’d take,” replied Quaeryt, turning to Vaelora. “What do you think?”

  “There’s no point in wasting a day. At the least, you can make him an example.”

  “My thoughts as well.” Quaeryt gestured to Zhelan. “We need to send some scouts up the road. It’s likely designed with weak points. As soon as they reach one of those places, I’ll have the imagers strengthen it. Imagers forward!”

  Once the imagers had ridden forward, Quaeryt began to explain. “We’re here to visit High Holder Delauck, and I think we’ll offer him a few tokens of goodwill.” Quaeryt wiped his forehead and adjusted his very damp visor cap. “We’ll need to improve the lane to his hold, and turn some of the rickety spans I can see into good stone bridges.”

  They’d no more than started up the hillside than one of the scouts returned.

  “Sir … there’s a gap in the road, a yard wide and a third of a yard deep.”

  To slow wagons or carts or fast-riding armsmen. Quaeryt nodded and called back, “Desyrk.”

  Once Desyrk had imaged stone pavement in place, the climb continued, for another fifty yards, to a wooden span across a gap dug out of the hillside.

  This time, Quaeryt summoned Threkhyl. “If you would see what you could do.”

  “Yes, sir.” Threkhyl looked both irritated and puzzled as he eased his mount around Vaelora’s gelding and then Quaeryt’s mare.

  Behind him, Khalis suppressed a smile, as did Lhandor.

  The imagers dealt with two short wooden spans, strengthening the roadbed and creating solid stone bridges, and the column rode forward, for a hundred yards or so before Zhelan rode back once more. “Sir, around the next turn there are timber supports below the road.”

  “The kind that can be removed quickly, I would venture.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt gestured. “Horan … this repair is up to you.”

  After Horan’s repairs and reinforcements, and another quint, the upward ride continued.

  As much as Quaeryt understood the reasons for the fashion in which the road had been constructed, he was getting more than a bit irritated, since they still had several hundred yards to go before they reached the drawbridge over the gorge that separated the walled hold and the leveled-off peak from the rest of the rocky hill. Still, he decided against pressing too quickly, and he had the imagers firm up anything that looked suspect.

  More than a glass and a half after they had started up the winding lane to the hold, Quaeryt and first company rode to a halt just short of the wooden drawbridge across a gorge, close to twenty yards deep. An iron portcullis dropped into the stone slots of the gate towers on the far side, and the ironbound gates swung shut. The bridge retracted slightly, then dropped, swinging down so that it extended straight down into the gorge below the gate towers, leaving the walled hold isolated.

  “Not exactly friendly, is he?” asked Zhelan.

  Quaeryt snorted. “I wouldn’t be either with a company of armed men at my gates.” He walked to the end of the road, standing on the paving stones where the end of the bridge had been, took a deep breath, and then spoke, image-projecting his voice toward the walls of the hold. “High Holder Delauck, Lady Vaelora of Telaryn and Commander Quaeryt are here to pay a friendly visit. We would appreciate your receiving them.”

  A man appeared at the top of the tower. “High Holder Delauck receives no one he does not know and has not invited.”

  “He can receive the commander and the lady in friendship and offer his allegiance to Lord Bhayar, or he can suffer the consequences.”

  “He will receive no one. Do as you please.”

  Quaeryt concentrated, trying to draw what heat he could from the clouds overhead, and from the trees and growth on the hillsides around the hold. Then, he imaged.

  The gate towers vanished, as did the walls extending from them, and a walled stone bridge spanned the gorge. A thin sheen of white ice, unfortunately, also covered the bridge and the flat expanse of stone that remained where the towers and walls had been.

  Quaeryt’s head throbbed, but only slightly, and he reached down and pulled out his water bottle, then took several swallows of the lager within. Vaelora handed him a biscuit, which he slowly chewed.

  “Now, sir?” asked Zhelan.

  “We wait.” For the ice to melt and for Delauck to reconsider.

  Shortly, an armsman walked forward through the remnants of what had been a walled formal garden in front of the hold house. He carried a blue-edged white parley flag on a staff.

  Quaeryt beckoned for the armsman to cross the stone bridge.

  Warily, the man put one foot on the gray stone, then another, then walked swiftly across the span, coming to a halt a yard before Quaeryt and setting the butt of the parley flagpole on the stone approach to the new bridge.

  Quaeryt waited.

  “High Holder Delauck would like to know your intentions, sir.” The armsman’s eyes went from Quaeryt to Vaelora, then back to Quaeryt.

&
nbsp; “We’re here to meet with him and to obtain his allegiance to Lord Bhayar,” said Quaeryt.

  “And his understanding that Lord Bhayar, while far less petty than Rex Kharst,” added Vaelora, “expects not only allegiance but compliance with the laws he will be setting forth.”

  The armsman blinked at Vaelora’s words.

  “You can also convey to your master,” said Quaeryt, “that Lady Vaelora is Lord Bhayar’s sister, his envoy to Khel, and his personal representative. We expect him to lay down any and all arms and step forward to meet the lady outside the hold house. Any further delays in his hospitality will result in further removals of his hold.” Quaeryt smiled.

  “Yes, sir.” The armsman inclined his head. “I will convey your terms to High Holder Delauck.” He turned and strode back across the stone bridge.

  “He didn’t look happy,” observed Zhelan.

  “No, but these High Holders need to respect Lord Bhayar, without qualifications and without hesitation,” replied Vaelora.

  “And since they only respect force applied directly to them and their property, we must show we can apply such force.” Quaeryt’s voice was dry.

  Almost half a quint passed before a group of men walked through the remnants of the walled garden and toward the stone bridge. An angular black-haired figure, wearing black trousers and a crimson shirt, with an open black jacket, was trailed by ten armsmen, their blades unsheathed and held at the ready. The man leading the others stopped at the far side of the bridge. “Since I cannot stop you, I suppose I must invite you in, whoever you are.”

  Quaeryt sighed. “Zhelan, Voltyr, follow me. If you would remain here, Lady, I would appreciate it. Undercaptain Ghaelyn, when I beckon, if you would have a squad escort Lady Vaelora across to join me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vaelora offered a smile, slightly sad and knowing.

  Quaeryt rode across the fifteen yards of the span, halting several yards short of the man in black. “Quaeryt Rytersyn, commander in the forces of Lord Bhayar, and protector of Lady Valelora.”

  “Delauck D’Alte. High Holder of Lauckan.” The holder looked squarely at Quaeryt.

  “The Lady Vaelora wishes to accept your allegiance to her brother Lord Bhayar of Telaryn.”

  “For someone who is entreating my allegiance-”

  “I don’t think you understand, Delauck. She is not entreating. She is allowing you to offer that allegiance. You invite her in and pledge complete allegiance to Lord Bhayar.”

  Delauck glanced at the stone span and then back to Quaeryt. “Your imager is rather accomplished.”

  “Imagers. Lord Bhayar has a number of imagers.” Quaeryt smiled. “You will find the road to your hold much improved and strengthened. Call it a token of goodwill.”

  “The goodwill of making my hold easier to take.”

  “Oh … no. Any who attempt to take your hold will find that they lose everything, beginning with their lives. Excepting Lord Bhayar, of course.”

  “Northern Bovaria is a rugged land, Commander.”

  “Not nearly so rugged as the lands of Montagne, where Lord Bhayar was raised. You might consider that Rex Kharst sent close to sixty regiments against the forces of Telaryn. Something like fifty-eight perished to the last man. Lord Bhayar lost at most four regiments.”

  “You leveled my towers and killed two score or more of my men … and I’m supposed to be grateful and plead allegiance?”

  “Yes.” Quaeryt looked beyond Delauck, concentrating as he imaged away ten lifted blades. “Behold your armsmen.”

  Delauck turned, then looked back at Quaeryt. He started to speak.

  “Say nothing you will regret.” Quaeryt image-projected both authority and sadness with the words.

  The holder paled, but only momentarily.

  Quaeryt could see the rage held in check, but he raised his hand, and waited as a squad escorted Vaelora forward.

  “My lady,” offered Quaeryt, “might I present Delauck D’Alte, High Holder of Lauckan?”

  “You might indeed.” Vaelora smiled politely, looking down at the black-haired Delauck. “I look forward to seeing your hold house.”

  Delauck hesitated only for an instant. “I am pleased that you would like to see it. If I might show you…”

  “A moment,” Quaeryt said. “Major … Undercaptain Voltyr … should any force or unfriendliness be directed at you, begin to remove buildings around the hold until those directing such force desist. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt turned to Delauck. “Is that clear to you, Holder Delauck?”

  “Yes. I do not have to like it, but I understand.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “You only think you understand, but that will suffice for now. Please show us your hold.”

  “You have no fear of entering my domain?” Delauck’s voice held a trace of ironic mocking.

  “My only fear, dear holder,” replied Quaeryt, “is that I will be forced to destroy you and bring down the entire hold.”

  For an instant Delauck said nothing. “Why don’t you do it and get it over with?”

  “Because the Lady Vaelora would prefer that we do not wreak unnecessary damage on holds, and also because I’d have to seek out another High Holder and do the same with him, and since you’re the closest to Laaryn, I’d prefer not to waste time in escorting Lady Vaelora to Khel. But she can tell you about that in due time.”

  “Of course…” Delauck turned.

  Quaeryt, Vaelora, and the escort squad followed the holder and his men over the bare stone that remained where the towers and entry courtyard had been and then along a path through the remaining section of the walled garden. Once they reached the entry to the stone keep, for it was a keep, rather than a hold house, Quaeryt immediately dismounted and offered a hand to Vaelora, making certain that his shields enfolded Vaelora.

  Delauck stood on the stone stoop and gestured toward the open ironbound door. “I suppose I must bid you welcome, not that I have much choice.”

  “We appreciate your welcome,” replied Vaelora, her voice containing only grace and not the slightest hint of irony or condescension.

  Although he should have followed both Vaelora and Delauck, Quaeryt eased into the narrow entry hall behind Vaelora and before Delauck, in order to make certain she remained shielded. As if she understood, and she doubtless did, reflected Quaeryt, once inside Vaelora stepped to the side to face Delauck, as if waiting for him to conduct her to the parlor or great hall.

  “If you would show the way,” she said.

  “My pleasure,” Delauck replied, not quite curtly.

  Beyond the narrow entry hall was a larger square hall, and from there Delauck turned to the left, striding down the bare stone corridor to the first archway on the right, where he halted and gestured for them to enter. Quaeryt followed Vaelora into a chamber with a hearth at the far end, but with large windows overlooking another walled garden, one in which there remained some fall flowers. Standing beside the hearth was a gray-haired woman.

  “Lady Vaelora, Commander, my mother, Aenitra D’Alte. I trust you will pardon me, but my wife is recovering from a difficult time…”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” Vaelora’s voice was warm, with the slight huskiness that Quaeryt loved to hear.

  “She almost died,” said Aenitra, easing forward and stopping so as to place a settee between her and Vaelora. “I fear my son did not have a chance to inform me of what you are, Lady.”

  “She is Lady Vaelora Chayardyr of Telaryn,” offered Quaeryt, “sister to Lord Bhayar and his envoy to the High Council of Khel. While on her way, and stopping at Laaryn, she heard of Lauckan and decided to travel here to receive High Holder Delauck’s allegiance to Lord Bhayar. Given the rather treacherous approach to the holding and the unsafe nature of the drawbridge, she ordered that you receive a much safer and more secure way to your holding.”

  “I am certain it is, from what I have seen of the stone bridge you created,” sa
id Delauck, his voice flat, “but it was never intended to be either.”

  “We know. That would suggest that you were not a favorite of Rex Kharst.”

  “We’ve never been fond of any rulers.”

  “I suggest that you will find Lord Bhayar far more fair in his judgment of High Holders,” said Quaeryt. “Some holders, of course, do not appreciate fairness, but they also do not appreciate life.”

  The gray-haired woman’s eyes focused on Quaeryt. “Might I ask you, sir, why you, only of those here, paint your nails?”

  “You might. I don’t paint them. They are like that.”

  “Your face is young, but your hair is white. Is all your hair white?”

  By way of an answer, Quaeryt eased back his left sleeve.

  “What is all that-” began the holder.

  “Delauck…” said the older woman, “swear whatever allegiance they require and mean it. If you want your hold and your family to remain.”

  The holder turned. “You’ve never presumed…”

  “Swear it. You don’t want to anger a hand of Erion.”

  “A hand-”

  “Who else brought down your mighty towers and walls and created a bridge across the gorge in instants? Don’t be an idiot.” She turned back to Quaeryt. “Are you a hand of Erion or the lost one?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve been called both.”

  “Who are you, truly?” asked Delauck.

  “As I said, Quaeryt Rytersyn, commander for Lord Bhayar, and husband of Lady Vaelora.”

  “Yet she is the envoy?” Delauck’s face screwed up in puzzlement.

  “She is indeed.” To Quaeryt, the scene in the parlor was getting more surreal by the moment.

  “If you will pardon me,” said Aenitra, “it might be best if I explained to my son.” She turned. “Lord Bhayar holds Pharsi blood in his lineage. You can see it in the Lady Vaelora. The commander bears the traits of a lost one of the Pharsi, with the white hair of Erion and the dark eyes. He also limps slightly. The Pharsi High Councils have always been headed by women. Lord Bhayar clearly knows this, and has sent his sister to treat with them. The commander is more than a commander, and he and his men are here to make a point-that Bhayar will tolerate none of this feuding foolishness that has gone on … and more, I suspect.” She turned back to Quaeryt. “Is this not so?”