Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “Do you think the Autarch Aliaro will accept that?” Arion’s skepticism was more than clear.

  “One way or another, he will.”

  “You mean dead or alive?”

  “It might come to that. I would not wish the same for Khel.”

  “How can Bhayar promise a fair rule when he does not yet even control all of Bovaria?”

  “I’d like you to think about that for a while, Major. And I hope the Council will as well.” Quaeryt smiled warmly. “In the meantime, can you tell me a little about the Selenorans? I’ve never heard anything about them.”

  “There have been those who believe in the power of the moon goddess since as far back as there has been a Khel. Much longer, I would think. Most of them are hunters and herders and stay far from the cities and larger towns. The most dangerous are the Eleni, the wise women to whom the others listen and who tame the great eagles to hunt for them. There are tales … they are only tales … but you do not wish…”

  “Tell me of the tales,” said Quaeryt. “If they oppose a union of Khel and Telaryn, I should know more of them and why they are so opposed.”

  “In the time of the first great council, the first of the High Councils, the people of Moryn sent a councilor to them who was said to be a hand of Erion.” Arion paused. “You did say…”

  “Go on.”

  “This councilor wished to extend the laws of the High Council to the wild ones, the ones like the Eleni, who lived away from the towns, and cities, and even the hamlets. He refused to listen to the Eleni who approached him and who claimed that they lived under the laws of Artiema and that they had no need of the laws of the High Council. Three times, the wise women of the Eleni approached him, and three times he turned them away. When he dismounted below the Mound of Truth and began to walk up the steps of truth, one of the great eagles appeared in the sky and swooped down upon him and killed him with a single blow.

  “The eldest of the Eleni appeared at the foot of the steps and declared that the same fate would befall any man-even a hand of Erion-who dared to act without even the grace to talk to the Eleni. Then she vanished where she stood, leaving the councilor’s body on the stones.” Arion shrugged. “Many say that his death proved he was no hand of Erion. Others say that his death proved that Erion was indeed the lesser moon.”

  “Are there other tales such as that?”

  “Many,” said Arion. “Khel is an old land, perhaps older than Telaryn.”

  “There’s little doubt of that,” agreed Quaeryt. “Go on.”

  “Most are of lesser happenings, but all show the power of Artiema and the Eleni. In the time of my great-grandmere, a Ferran factor seized the daughter of a Eleni herder and tried to take her back to his factorage in Eshtora. She pleaded to Artiema, and the factor was struck by a dark thunderbolt, and she escaped.”

  “Another eagle?” asked Quaeryt.

  “I would think so, but my grandmere-she was the one who told the story-insisted it was a black thunderbolt…”

  “How does one tell who is of the Eleni … truly?” asked Vaelora.

  “By their deeds. Sometimes by their garb. They are always black-haired, and the huntresses wear red leather shoulder rests for the eagles and red leather gloves.”

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  “Twice, from a distance as a boy. I had no desire to get closer.”

  “Are there any other stories?” asked Quaeryt.

  “My friend Reybaal told me that he saw an Eleni huntress turn aside a mounted company. He did not see what she did…”

  Just outside Kherseilles, the column turned onto a narrow road-but an ancient gray stone paved way that looked all too familiar to Quaeryt. He looked to Arion. “This is an old, old road. Was Saendeol once the capital or a leading city of southern Khel?”

  The major looked quizzically at Quaeryt. “Where have you heard this? I said nothing of that.”

  Quaeryt smiled. “The road told me.”

  Arion smiled in return. “What did it tell you, Commander?”

  “The stones are all the same size. They are the same size and shape as the stones used by the Naedarans in the south of Bovaria, yet I have seen no other stone like this used in the walls and buildings of Kherseilles. The road is the same width, and has been here for a long time, but there is little trace of wear. The walls of Nordeau were built in a way that suggested the builders feared imagers, but the early Bovarians had no imagers. Also, roads are built by people with power, and they connect places of power. The stone piers at Kherseilles are old and of stone. You told me that Saendeol was where the Council once met. Therefore…”

  “Therefore … what?”

  “The old ones of Khel had imagers. They likely fought with the Naedarans, and Saendeol was a place of power.” Quaeryt shrugged. “Or it could be that the old ones of Khel came from Chelaes and Naedara. Perhaps they did not agree with the old ones of Naedara. But there is some sort of tie.”

  “Because of the stones?”

  “Are there buildings in Saendeol built of gray stone like this?” Quaeryt gestured toward the road.

  “There are a number.”

  “Aren’t they all older buildings?”

  “They have been there for years.”

  “Tell me, Major, where there is a quarry from which these stones could have come?”

  “I do not know of any, but I am from the north.”

  “I take it that this road goes all the way to Saendeol.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Does it go anywhere else?”

  “No, sir.” Arion looked directly at Vaelora. “You have said little, Lady Vaelora.”

  “For all that you two have said, you’ve both talked past me, not to me.”

  Quaeryt winced, but said gently, “You could have spoken. You don’t need to defer to me … as you’ve pointed out on a number of occasions.”

  Vaelora laughed softly and turned to Arion. “He is right about that.” After a pause she went on. “I said little because I mostly agree with my husband. He knows that I will let him know if I don’t. I worry more than he does, I think, that the High Council will not look to the future because the past few years have been so painful. Rex Kharst was a terrible ruler. He was cruel to Khel and the Pharsi, but he was cruel to all of his own people as well, save for a few favorites. My brother has been firm as a ruler, but he has been as fair as he could be. My husband has not agreed with everything Lord Bhayar has done. No honest man will ever agree fully with another, even another man who is honest and fair. But Quaeryt believes Bhayar is the best ruler for Lydar, and he believed that before he and I ever met. I can also tell you that the people of Khel have no greater champion than Quaeryt. My husband would not wish me to say this, and my brother certainly would not, but the Council would be foolish to waste Quaeryt’s support and skill.” She paused once more. “What else could I say?”

  Arion shook his head. “I have felt all that you say, and I have said it to those who will listen, but I have not been allowed to speak to the High Council.”

  “The more fools, they,” said Vaelora tartly. “You’ve seen what Bhayar and Quaeryt have done, and what they have not done. It is one thing to be cautious. It’s another to be deaf and blind.”

  Quaeryt managed to keep a pleasant expression on his face as he continued riding.

  32

  By Samedi night Quaeryt, Vaelora, Arion, and first company were far enough from the waters of the Gulf that the evening breeze was more than chill. When they broke camp on Solayi morning, a fine white frost coated the browned grasses bordering the stone road, as well as the grasses of the open meadows between the stands of bare-leafed trees. In its construction, the road reminded Quaeryt of the ancient Naedaran stone roads, but there was one principal difference. The Naedaran roads Quaeryt had seen had largely followed or paralleled streams, canals, or rivers. The one on which Arion guided them did not, but appeared to have been laid out more directly through the hills to the northwest of Khers
eilles. While it followed a stream now and again, that appeared only because the stream happened to be where the ancient road builder had wanted the road, and not the other way around.

  On Lundi evening, they stayed the night in an abandoned and not quite ruined stead-a place Arion said that he and his men had used on the ride from Saendeol. On Mardi evening, just before fifth glass, they arrived in the town of Rheon, set in a gentle valley flanked by vineyards, where, once again, a number of the houses appeared abandoned, although Quaeryt got the impression that the empty houses were more on the order of one in ten, rather than one in three or four, as they had been in Kherseilles.

  Arion led the column along the stone-paved road that had become the main street of the town until he reached an open square, where he turned eastward and rode toward an oblong two-story building that had to be an inn.

  As Quaeryt and Vaelora followed the major past the signboard in front of the building, Quaeryt found he could read the letters on the signboard, but had no idea what the words meant, although, in a way, he felt he should, since they were Pharsi. That just shows how lost you are.

  “One of the two towns between Kherseilles and Saendeol with a proper inn,” Arion announced as he dismounted in the courtyard.

  “What’s the name of the inn?” Quaeryt asked, gesturing back toward the signboard.

  “It means ‘the warm hearth’ or ‘the welcome inn.’”

  “I have some golds,” Quaeryt said, “but my funds are far from unlimited.”

  “He’ll accept whatever you offer.”

  “A copper for each man for lodging, two for the officers, and three for each meal?”

  “He’d find that more than fair, especially since the men will be in the barns and stables.”

  “Is there anyone here who doesn’t speak Pharsi?” asked Vaelora.

  “No one who would likely admit it at the moment,” replied Arion. “Some also speak Bovarian. Almost no one speaks Tellan.” He turned and began to talk to the stable boy, who had hurried across the paved courtyard from the open stable doors.

  Quaeryt swung down from the black gelding, then held his hand out for Vaelora. Surprisingly, she took it, if but for a moment, as she dismounted.

  “You should meet the innkeeper,” said Arion. “If you would follow me, sir, Lady…” The Pharsi major guided them toward the side door of the stone-walled inn.

  Sandstone, not gray stone, Quaeryt noted as he eased Vaelora after Arion. He did extend his shields to cover her, just to be careful. The side door opened on a narrow corridor leading to the main hallway off the public room.

  Arion offered a greeting in Pharsi as he neared the main entry hall, and in moments a dark-haired, honey-skinned man appeared from somewhere in the back of the inn. After an exchange of words, the innkeeper bowed slightly to the major.

  Arion spoke a few more words, and the innkeeper turned from Arion to Quaeryt and Vaelora. He froze where he stood. His eyes widened, and then he bowed, and offered a welcome, one of the few Pharsi phrases Quaeryt knew.

  Quaeryt offered a short reply in Pharsi, then had to add in Bovarian, “Thank you, but I was orphaned young and did not learn Pharsi beyond what I knew as a small boy.”

  “I … understand,” the man replied in Bovarian, but his eyes fixed on Vaelora, and he bowed even more deeply, offering a more voluble greeting.

  Vaelora responded with a longer phrase, and then a second, before finally saying, in Bovarian, “Those are what my grandmere taught me.”

  Arion stepped forward and began to talk to the innkeeper once more.

  The man finally nodded, smiled, and said in accented Bovarian, “Most welcome you both are.”

  “Thank you,” said Quaeryt, this time in Pharsi, one of the few phrases he’d learned from his Pharsi undercaptains on their long rides.

  “My daughter … honored lady … she will show you … the way.”

  A young girl appeared, perhaps ten, and stepped carefully toward Vaelora. She stopped a yard short and bowed, then gestured for Vaelora to follow her.

  Quaeryt followed the two several yards past the main hall and then up a set of stone steps. Halfway up, one step was a bit higher than the others, and the longer boot heel on Quaeryt’s bad leg caught the edge of the riser, and he stumbled and almost fell before catching himself-and almost jamming the two immobile fingers on his left hand. At the top of the staircase, the girl turned to the right and walked to the end chamber. There, she opened the door and stepped inside, gesturing for Vaelora and Quaeryt to follow.

  The chamber was modest, floored in slate tiles, with clean white plastered walls, and a double bed, with a table, an armoire, and an alcove set off by a decorative screen that held a wash table and basin and other items. The large window had no curtains, but a set of dark-stained inside shutters, swung open to admit the light.

  Once they were alone, Quaeryt asked, “Do you know what the innkeeper said to you?”

  “I didn’t catch all of it, but he called me ‘Seliora,’ and I know that’s the daughter of the moon. There’s something about the two of us together that surprised him.”

  “I think I’ll ask Arion while you wash up, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind, dearest. Take your time.”

  Meaning, don’t hurry back. Quaeryt slipped away, closing the heavy door, and headed down to the courtyard, where he found Arion and Zhelan directing the men and mounts. He stood back in the shadows of the inn wall, watching and not wanting to interfere. Once it was clear that they had finished, he stepped forward. “Arion?”

  The Pharsi major turned. “Yes, sir.”

  Zhelan also turned, clearly interested.

  “I don’t speak much Pharsi … almost none, as you know. It seemed to me that the innkeeper was referring to Vaelora as the daughter of the moon … and that he was surprised that we were together. Or did I misunderstand?”

  Arion laughed softly. “You didn’t misunderstand, but he said more than that. He said that few had ever seen a hand of Erion-that’s the old way of saying a son of Erion-and fewer still had seen him with the daughter of the moon.”

  “He didn’t look exactly happy about it, not at first.”

  “When the two are seen together, according to the old tales, it foretells great change. Great change,” Arion added sardonically, “usually means war, famine, or disaster … if not worse.”

  “And you told him?”

  “That you two had come in hopes of making that change as peaceful as possible.”

  “I hope the High Council sees it that way.”

  “So do I. So does Subcommander Calkoran.”

  “Let’s hope we can convince the Council. What can we do about getting the men fed?”

  “Your three cooks will help in the kitchen, and they’ll feed the men two squads at a time, beginning in half a glass. There’s a table in an alcove at the end of the public room that will seat ten…”

  “That would suit the officers and Vaelora and me,” suggested Quaeryt. “That’s nine. We could eat together, once the last squad is fed.”

  Arion looked to Zhelan.

  “I can take care of this,” replied Zhelan. “It’d be best if you talked to the innkeeper.”

  When Arion had reentered the inn, Quaeryt asked, “What do you think?”

  “Seems straightforward to me. Ostler and stableboy know their business. Place is one of the cleanest inns I’ve seen. No one looking away. Everyone’s cheerful. One of the serving girls was flirting with Undercaptain Khalis. He was trying not to blush. Lhandor rescued him.”

  “Whether he wanted to be rescued or not, I imagine.”

  “He needed to be rescued. She had her blouse down so far…” Zhelan shook his head.

  “He’s a handsome young man, and sometimes too courteous.”

  “Except in battle … or protecting you.”

  Quaeryt didn’t contradict the major. He recalled Khalis hovering over him when he’d been flattened by a cannon powder explosion.

>   Once the men and mounts were settled, Quaeryt walked back into the inn. As he headed toward the stairs, he saw one of the serving girls looking at him. He smiled back and started to turn when he saw a man in dark gray leathers lean toward the serving girl and murmur something. The girl replied, and the man stepped away. There was something about the exchange that troubled Quaeryt, but he couldn’t have said what.

  He kept walking and returned to the room, where he washed up. Then, at half past sixth glass, he led Vaelora into the public room, down one side past the tables where the last two squads were finishing their meal. He did catch a few murmured remarks.

  “… wouldn’t be letting my sister ride with us…”

  “… would if he were guarding her…”

  “… heard the innkeeper near-on filled his britches when he saw her … called her a moon goddess or something…”

  What Quaeryt did hear confirmed his faith in the ability of troopers to find out far more than their commanders ever intended.

  The officers at the table all rose as Quaeryt and Vaelora approached. They had left vacant the two places in the middle of the table on the side closest to the wall. Quaeryt eased Vaelora into the seat beside Arion, while he sat between her and Zhelan.

  “What are we having for dinner, Arion?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Lamb. What else? For a Pharsi, the best meal is always lamb. The lamb tonight will be stew with mushrooms and potatoes and spices. With fresh-baked rosemary bread and red wine.”

  The wine carafes were already on the table, and Quaeryt filled Vaelora’s goblet and his, then passed the carafe to Arion, who handed it back to Zhelan. The first casserole dish was set before Vaelora, but Quaeryt served her and himself, and then the two majors. That was deliberate, especially since he could see the innkeeper watching.

  The daughter of the moon should be served first, especially in Khel.

  Once all the officers were served, Quaeryt lifted his goblet. “I’d like to offer a toast, and thanks, to Major Arion, for his guidance and his knowledge … and for finding a good inn.”