Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “There is Saendeol,” said Arion.

  “The houses aren’t that close to the river.” That was Quaeryt’s first thought.

  “That would not be wise. At times, the spring floods are wide and violent. The buildings are all on higher ground.”

  That was another confirmation of the age of Saendeol for Quaeryt.

  As they rode down to the town, Quaeryt noted that, unlike most towns, the streets were straight and either parallel or perpendicular to the river, creating regular oblong blocks. The buildings all appeared roofed in gray stone or tile. It took him a half quint to locate a building that met Arion’s description of the council chamber, because it was on the west side of the river, directly at the end of an avenue leading westward from the single bridge over the river. There were no other structures on the round hill, and the hill was encircled by a stone avenue as well.

  Near the bottom of the incline, still a mille or so from the nearest buildings of Saendeol, a handful of riders in the green uniforms of Telaryn rode toward Quaeryt and first company. As they drew nearer, he recognized Subcommander Calkoran.

  “Welcome to Saendeol,” called the Pharsi officer as he reined in his mount beside Quaeryt and Vaelora. “And especially to you, Lady.” His eyebrows lifted slightly.

  “Lord Bhayar named her as envoy as well,” said Quaeryt.

  “He promoted you as well, sir, I see. Well deserved, for both of you … and necessary.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re here to escort you.”

  “Where would you suggest we stay?” asked Quaeryt.

  “There is a compound to the north of Saendeol. It once held armsmen, but it has not been much occupied in recent years. We have made it usable. The main house is in good repair. We have saved that for you and Lady Vaelora,” said Calkoran. “It is to the north.” He gestured, then urged his mount forward gently.

  Quaeryt refrained from smiling at the smoothness with which Calkoran had moved from being surprised at Vaelora’s presence to his immediately accepting her presence. “We need to talk once we’re where we can discuss matters.”

  “Yes, sir. We do. There may be … some difficulties.”

  Calkoran’s mention of difficulties suggested that matters were not about to run even close to smoothly, but Quaeryt didn’t want to pursue those yet. “How was your journey here?”

  “Arion told you, did he not, that we did not travel to Khelgror?”

  “He did. He said that the High Council was meeting here. Do you know why they decided to do that?”

  “They have not said, but we have asked, as we can, for although we are Pharsi, we wear the colors of Telaryn, and we are not trusted.” There was a slight edge to the subcommander’s voice before he barked a laugh. “They will not trust you, either. As Pharsi we distrust all we do not know. That is one of our curses, and few indeed are left who knew any of us.”

  Quaeryt had the feeling that Calkoran had almost said more, but had refrained.

  The first houses they neared were built of a pinkish gray sandstone, but had bluish gray slate tile roofs. They were not particularly large, perhaps ten yards by five, but neatly kept. As they entered the town, Quaeryt could see no unoccupied buildings or houses, for the first time since they had arrived in Khel. He also noted that every street was stone-paved, although some of the side streets had sandstone paving blocks with wagon grooves worn into them. The streets and the walks flanking them were not empty, but neither were there more than a few handfuls of people visible, and only two carts and a single rider. None of them gave the Telaryn force more than a passing glance.

  Quaeryt found that both surprising and puzzling.

  After riding less than ten blocks into the town, Calkoran gestured to a gray stone street heading north. “That is the way to the compound.”

  Before long, they had left the neat stone houses behind and rode through an area with orchards on each side of the road. After about a mille, they neared an enclosure of gray stone walls two yards high.

  “That is the compound.”

  “It looks old,” said Quaeryt.

  “It has been here so long as anyone can remember,” replied Calkoran.

  Quaeryt nodded. The fact that it was on the north side of Saendeol suggested it had been built to deal with threats from the north when Jovana had been a separate land and Saendeol its capital.

  The stone paving continued through the gray stone posts that bore no gates. The only sign of a road to the north was a clay track, showing little sign of use, that diverged from the paved road some fifty yards before the posts and continued northward. Beyond the gates was a paved courtyard fifty yards on a side with two long buildings south of the paved area, and two north. A single dwelling was set on the west end of the pavement. The dwelling was stone-walled, as were all the buildings, with the same slate tile roof, but was square, with eaves that extended almost two yards, allowing the roof to cover the narrow porch that ran all the way around the building. The windows were comparatively wide, and glassed, with equally wide gray shutters, now open.

  “The dwelling is for you and the lady. The second long building on the right is for your officers and men. The stables are at the end.”

  Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Major Zhelan … you have command. Settle the mounts, men, and officers as necessary.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Calkoran, Quaeryt, and Vaelora rode straight across the paved entry square and reined up just short of the three stone posts with bronze hitching rings.

  “Just inside there is a sitting room on the right, a study on the left, then a parlor on the right and the dining chamber across from it,” said Calkoran. “Both have doors to the porch. Then the kitchen and serving areas are on the left, and two sleeping chambers on the right, one large and one small.” The subcommander nodded. “By your leave, sir, I will return shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  After Calkoran rode off, Quaeryt dismounted and tied his mount. Vaelora did the same, and they walked up the three stone steps to the stone-tiled porch and inside the small entry hall, which had doors on each side, and a narrow corridor leading straight back.

  Two women appeared, bowing gracefully, and speaking in Pharsi.

  Despite the fact that Quaeryt spoke no Pharsi beyond a handful of phrases and that Vaelora’s knowledge was most limited, in a short time they had unloaded their gear and put it in the larger bedchamber, a room some four yards by six, with a small attached bathing chamber.

  “The bed looks far better than the one last night,” observed Quaeryt.

  “The headboard is beautiful,” murmured Vaelora.

  Quaeryt had to agree. The oiled wood was the color of honey, but had the feel of great age, and he had to wonder if it had once been almost white. Above a center section of plain wood was a carved scene of men and women working in an orchard picking fruit and placing it in baskets, with carts at each side. Beside the carts were neatly stacked arms-bows, arrows in quivers, and lances laid upon the grass in rows.

  “A bit of symbolism, there,” he observed. “A good harvest, with arms at the ready.”

  “The Pharsi culture?”

  “From what I’ve seen and heard … most likely.”

  Through the open window, from which flowed a cool but not chill breeze, Quaeryt heard hoofs on the stone. “That’s likely Calkoran.”

  A few moments later they stood in the study of the modest dwelling, where Calkoran rejoined them. Quaeryt did not sit, nor suggest that they do so.

  “Before we talk about the Council … you have a cook and a maid here for you. It is best that the lady not eat with the men, but we have set up a mess for the troopers and officers.”

  “I’m a bit confused,” said Quaeryt. “You didn’t know that the Lady Vaelora was coming, but now you’re saying that she shouldn’t eat with the men.”

  “Not if she is to be treated as your equal as an envoy. That would indicate she is not Eherelani.”

  “Eherelani
?”

  “Of the wise women … the ones to be revered. They eat alone or with family or equals. They are few.” Calkoran paused. “I would have suggested the same for you, sir, had you been the sole envoy.”

  “What can you tell us about the Eherelani?”

  “They often have the sight … the visions … one of the High Councilors is Eherelani.” Calkoran shrugged. “The Eherelani speak only to whom they wish.”

  Quaeryt could see he wasn’t about to learn more about the wise women, not from Calkoran. “What about supplies?”

  “The High Council has been kind enough to provide provisions.”

  “We will need to thank them.” Quaeryt paused, then asked, “When should we meet with the High Council, and what should we know?”

  “The High Council will meet with you tomorrow, I would think. I will make certain, but Councilor Khaliost said they would talk to you on the morning after you arrived. The others … I am here on sufferance.” Calkoran shook his head. “They believe that Khel will never fall again, that without the Red Death it would not have happened.”

  “The Red Death may have caused its fall,” said Quaeryt, “but how many would be left if Bhayar sent his armies into Khel?”

  “The question they will not ask, sir, is whether you will lead those armies.”

  “I would rather it not come to that. If the armies come, there will be great destruction that I cannot prevent, and there will follow a horde of factors and traders. If the High Council agrees to terms Lord Bhayar will accept, there will be no armies, and that will leave Khel free to deal with any hordes of factors.”

  “Do you know that?”

  “That is what he has told me. In fifteen years he has never lied to me.”

  “Would that other rulers could have that said.” Calkoran laughed ruefully. “They will not believe you, you know?”

  “That is what we fear. How many armsmen do they have here?”

  “None, except for us. The people in the town have arms. All Pharsi in Khel do, but there are few men left to wield them, and not that many young women. Still, the older men and women could fight. They would not do well against armsmen, and I think they would prefer not to fight.”

  “Do you think they’re stalling, waiting for some sort of reinforcements?”

  “I would think not, but as I told you, they trust me not, and they have told me little.” Calkoran snorted. “We fought and fought, first here, and then later … to bring down the Bovarians … and they will say little.”

  For the first time, Quaeryt could sense anger and exasperation on the subcommander’s part, and he certainly couldn’t blame the man. “They owe you more than they know.”

  Surprisingly, Calkoran shook his head. “If a Pharsi of Khel acknowledges a debt, he will do much to repay it, but no Pharsi likes to be told he owes a debt when it was not his own choice to incur it. Nor will a Pharsi trust a man who has not done as he promised, no matter why.”

  “What did you do?” asked Quaeryt, involuntarily, wishing he hadn’t as he did, and quickly adding, “Even when you all fought to keep Kharst from conquering Khel?”

  “I did my best, as I saw it, and I failed. There is no debt in failure.”

  “But you returned to help destroy him.”

  “They only grudge my presence, I tell you, Commander.”

  “Can I find a way to make it not so?”

  Calkoran’s smile was wintry. “I hope so, but I have my doubts.”

  “We’ll think it over and talk in the morning. Seventh glass?”

  “I will be here. If you need me sooner, we are in the barracks to the south.” Calkoran inclined his head.

  After Calkoran left, Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “Did you notice that no one in town was interested or surprised to see us?”

  “Calkoran’s men have been riding through town for weeks. That might be why.”

  “That’s possible, but it still bothers me.”

  “What else bothers you?”

  “Calkoran being here on sufferance because he failed to stop the Bovarians.”

  “Pharsi can be very stiff-necked, dearest.”

  I do know that. “The other thing is that everything is too quiet. We’re expected. Everything is in order.”

  “You think that they plan a surprise?”

  “I don’t think they plan an attack, but I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Why don’t you go talk to Zhelan and the undercaptains while I wash up?”

  “You have a double purpose in mind.”

  “Of course.”

  “But bolt the door while I’m gone.”

  “I will.”

  Quaeryt smiled wryly as he left the bedchamber on his way to the barracks or whatever the building in which first company was quartered might have been called.

  36

  By the time Quaeryt had finished discussing matters with Zhelan, then asked the Pharsi imagers to listen to everything they could, and returned to the building that had likely been the compound commandant’s quarters, Vaelora had washed and changed. He did the same, and they repaired to the parlor, graced by matching wall hangings on the interior facing walls, one showing an empty courtyard garden in spring and another depicting the same garden in fall. They had barely seated themselves in armchairs before the serving maid appeared and spoke.

  “I think we’re being called to dinner,” said Vaelora.

  They rose and followed the maid across the narrow center corridor into the dining room.

  Colored hangings were centered on the end walls, finished in an off-white plaster, as was the bedchamber. The table and chairs had been crafted from the same honey-colored wood as the bedstead in the main bedchamber. Into the back of each chair was carved a tree, a different variety, Quaeryt thought, from a quick glance. Two places were set, across from each other at the end of table farthest from the curtained archway to the kitchen.

  The serving maid gestured to the seats, ambiguously, and Quaeryt guided Vaelora to the one facing toward the windows, although he could not have said why, seating her before he seated himself.

  The serving maid half filled the two heavy goblets with a clear liquid from a pitcher, beginning with Vaelora. Then, setting the pitcher on the table, she slipped through the curtained archway to the kitchen, returning in moments with two bowls, placing one first before Vaelora, and then the other before Quaeryt. When she finished, she inclined her head to Vaelora. After the slightest hesitation, Vaelora nodded in return, and the server retreated behind the curtain, although Quaeryt had no doubt that she was still observing them.

  “You’re positioning me as the superior,” Vaelora said quietly. “Why?”

  “I can’t explain, not in a logical way. It’s just a feeling.”

  “Like why it’s better that I don’t eat with the officers and men?” asked Vaelora. “I’ve been doing that all the time. No one said anything in Sovahl, and I was the only woman there. No one in my family ever mentioned anything about that. I’ve never heard of either Eherelani or Erlani. Not before now, I mean.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “You still haven’t said why you’re deferring so obviously to me.”

  “As I said … a feeling … and because your great-grandmere was likely an imager with the farsight who had enough power to sleep alone.”

  “That’s not the same.” Vaelora sipped the clear liquid in her goblet. “This is good.”

  “Better than the beer in Sovahl?”

  “Much better. I can’t say what it is, but it’s strong.” She set the goblet down.

  Quaeryt sipped from his goblet. “I’d guess that it’s a white ice wine of some sort.”

  “Are these Eherelani the same as the Eleni that Arion mentioned?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll talk to him in the morning before we meet with Calkoran.” He looked down at orangish liquid in the bowl. “Do you want to try the soup? I think it’s soup.”

  “The spoons are thin … too thin for soup. These look l
ike the bowls … you’re supposed to use the bowls like cups and sip it right from them.”

  “Something you remember?”

  Vaelora nodded, then lifted the bowl.

  Quaeryt followed her example. The soup tasted like a combination of apricot and squash, a mixture that was almost too sweet for him.

  Vaelora, on the other hand, was smiling when she finished her bowl. “That was good. It tastes familiar, but I can’t remember…” She shook her head.

  “Something from when you were a child?”

  “Probably.”

  Although Quaeryt had not finished the soup, and did not intend to, as soon as she was through, the server returned and removed the bowls, then appeared with two platters, again serving Vaelora first. On the platter were parchment-thin slices of dark meat, interspersed with equally thin slices of what appeared to be cheese of some sort, both covered with a light orange-colored glaze.

  After his experience with the soup, Quaeryt looked at his platter closely. Vaelora had no such trepidation, taking the angular knife and equally angular two-tined fork in hand, cutting off a section, and eating it. “You should try this, dearest. The meat is some kind of fowl, I think, a little strong, but the mixture with the cheese and the apricot glaze is quite good.”

  Quaeryt took a much smaller morsel than she had. While he would not have been quite so enthusiastic as his wife, he did have to admit that the combination was in fact rather tasty, and better than the goat stew of the night before. “What kind of fowl, would you think?”