“You are said to be the most deadly fighter and commander possessed by Lord Bhayar. You are also said to be a hand of Erion. Yet any man with white hair and a bad leg can claim to be a hand of Erion. Being white-haired and young, and even an imager, does not make that so.”
“I have never claimed to be anything of Erion,” Quaeryt replied. “Since we are talking of claims, neither does claiming you are a High Council with dominion over all Khel make it so.”
“You doubt that? Then why are you here?”
Quaeryt smiled politely. “Because you have claimed that, and one has to start somewhere.”
“If you doubt this, ask the Pharsi officer with you who I am.”
Quaeryt looked to Calkoran, who was plainly shaken to be noticed.
“She is Councilor Cheliendra. She was … she is the head councilor of Eshtora,” said Calkoran quietly. “The one on the end, the oldest man … as I said, he is Khaliost, and he was the head councilor from Ouestan. The woman beside him is, I think, from Ackyra.”
If they don’t represent Khel, it’s an impressive bluff. “How do you know them all?” asked Quaeryt in a low voice.
“They gave me my final orders before the battle of Khelgror,” murmured Calkoran dryly.
Quaeryt had suspected, but not known, that Calkoran had held much higher rank in Khel, but his reply suggested he’d been the equivalent of a marshal or submarshal. And he never said that? Except what good would it have done, except to sound plaintive? And then for them to almost disregard him? No wonder Calkoran had been angry! “Thank you for clarifying that, Marshal,” he replied, inclining his head and keeping his voice low.
Then he turned back to face Head Councilor Cheliendra. “I am somewhat puzzled by another matter. Marshal Calkoran fought against the Bovarians at Khelgror, and he fought against them more successfully at Variana. Yet you seem dismissive of him.”
“He and his troops vanished for years. Because they were not here, many suffered. Only because he returned under the protection of Lord Bhayar is he even alive. We would not wish to be seen as excessively … arbitrary.”
“Why then,” asked Vaelora, almost sweetly, “are you taking a position that will arbitrarily place you and Khel in greater danger and privation? Lord Bhayar is willing to go to great lengths to accommodate your needs.”
“Is he?”
“Would he send his sister and one of his best commanders were he not?” countered Vaelora. “You cannot threaten him at present or in the future.”
“Then why does he insist on governing Khel … if we present no threat?”
“You do present a threat,” said Quaeryt, almost wearily. “You present the threat of weakness. Very great weakness. More Bovarian factors, as well as opportunists of every type, will soon descend on Khel, and you will be hard-pressed to deal with them. They will have more resources than remain to you, and they will attempt to steal or swindle everything that they can because they will see no force strong enough to stop them. In the end, you will either end up killing them or having your people killed by them. And, in the end, Lord Bhayar will end up invading Khel to keep that disorder from spreading to his lands. It would appear that you have lost too many young men and young women and that perhaps as few as four in ten people remain from those who lived in Khel before the time of the Red Death. With so few young people, times will become harder and not easier.”
“And Lord Bhayar would make it so much easier by flooding our lands with outlanders?” The scorn in Cheliendra’s voice was withering.
“No … your land will have many coming here. You cannot stop this. Neither can Lord Bhayar. He can use his power to enforce those laws that your High Council and he agree upon. He can open his lands to your traders without passage tariffs, so that they and you may profit.”
“You do not show us the most attractive picture of the future, Commander.”
“We are not here to deceive you. We are here to try to create the best possible course for both lands in a time of trouble.”
Cheliendra’s eyes fixed on Vaelora again. “Did your brother pick you merely because you are his sister and a woman?”
“My brother uses all tools necessary,” replied Vaelora. “He never has been known to pick weak tools.”
Cheliendra offered a hard smile, then turned to Quaeryt. “Commander … you rode into Saendeol with a company of men. What would it take to stop you from leaving?”
Quaeryt smiled back. “No man is the best judge of his own capabilities. I suggest you ask Marshal Calkoran … or any of the Pharsi officers who have served under me.”
“Your reply is either of confidence or arrogance.” The head councilor focused on the marshal, her voice cool, just short of mocking. “Calkoran, what would it take to stop the commander from leaving?”
Calkoran replied levelly. “I do not believe there is any power in Khel that could stop the commander.”
“Even from you … that is a remarkable statement.” Cheliendra paused. “Are you willing to consider a wager, Commander?”
“That would depend on the wager.”
“Very well. We will not even make it a wager. If … if you and your lady … will walk to the top of the Hall of the Heavens by yourselves and present yourself to the Eleni who holds it, then we will consider talking further with you. If you do not wish to do so, you are welcome to leave Saendeol and Khel as you wish.”
“Where is the Hall of the Heavens?” asked Quaeryt, thinking that it might well be more than a thousand milles to the north in Montaignes D’Glace.
Cheliendra laughed roughly, not quite cackling. “There is no trickery. This hall is not located on Artiema or Erion or in the far north. It is less than a half day’s ride to the west. Nor will there be any legions of armsmen or raiders or the like. Just you two, the Hall of Heavens, and the keeper of the Eleni and her handful of guardians. You may take what men your require to the base of the Hall, but no farther.”
“Might I ask the purpose of this condition?”
“You asked proof of who and what we are. We ask proof of who and what you are, for it is clear that what you two are will determine to what degree we can trust Lord Bhayar. Or if we can trust him at all.”
After traveling all this distance, with the fate of two lands at stake … they want a personal trial of some sort-just to keep talking? Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. The brief thought of just image-killing the entire High Council crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. The Pharsi would just form another High Council and refuse any overtures at all, and there would definitely be war and death and chaos.
Quaeryt smiled politely and nodded. “As you wish.”
“A guide will meet you at the compound at seventh glass tomorrow morning. You may go.”
Vaelora cleared her throat. “No. We choose to go. Just as we choose, out of care and courtesy, to undertake your request. While we are gone, think very carefully upon what you will say when we return. Think very carefully.”
Quaeryt could sense something that accompanied her words, and every single face on the Council froze for an instant, even that of Cheliendra.
Then Vaelora inclined her head, barely, and turned. Quaeryt and Calkoran followed her out from the council building. Quaeryt was more than glad that she had offered the final words. He wasn’t certain he could have been so politely menacing.
As they walked back from the north doors to their mounts, Quaeryt looked to the marshal. “What can you tell me about the Hall of the Heavens?”
Calkoran shook his head. “I know little of it. It is said to be the place where Erion faced the thunderbolts of the Heavens to claim the daughter of the moon as his bride. That is the old legend. I have never been there. I do not know any who have. I have heard that few return, and all who do return come back changed.”
Namer-frigged Pharsi … stiff-necked idiots, when we’re trying to save their land and their way of life!
“All will be changed when we return,” said Vaelora quietly and firmly. “All.�
�
With that, Quaeryt could certainly agree.
38
Neither Quaeryt nor Vaelora said anything as they rode down from the council building under a sky that held a haze more like autumn than winter, although the wind was definitely on the chill side. Once they were on the avenue toward the bridge, Quaeryt directed Zhelan to take a detour through all the main streets of Saendeol, beginning with the square on the east side of the river and weaving back and forth.
“Is this so that the locals can see us?” murmured Vaelora.
“One reason. I also want to see their reaction.” And whether there are any statues of paintings of people anywhere around.
After crossing the bridge, first company rode through the main square, immediately adjacent to the east side of the bridge, with half the square to the north of the avenue and the other half to the south. There, the few handfuls of local inhabitants frequenting the carts and vendors, of which there were less than a score, were largely gray-haired and older and looked at the Telaryn riders almost incuriously, although a few children were far more interested, but only when the adults around weren’t looking at them.
Once they had ridden through both sides of the square, Zhelan led the company north on the street closest to the Vohan River, only so far as the shops extended, then south on the street east of the first. The tour of the shop areas of Saendeol took little more than a glass before they were headed north out of the small city. Quaeryt still saw no depictions of humans in any form, and while he overheard occasional comments, all were in Pharsi. He hoped that Lhandor and Khalis were listening and could remember most of what they overheard.
As they rode through the stone pillars to the compound, Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “You’re looking pale. You need something to eat and drink. Go inside. I’m going to talk to Zhelan and the undercaptains. Then I’ll be back and join you.”
“Take whatever time you need.”
“It shouldn’t be that long.”
Quaeryt and Vaelora eased away from the company and reined up before the main dwelling, where she dismounted and handed her mount’s reins to him. Quaeryt watched until she was inside, then led her mare back toward the stables.
Once he’d dismounted and unsaddled the black gelding, he summoned the two Pharsi undercaptains, and the three of them walked ten yards from the stable doors before he stopped.
“Did either of you hear or see anything out of the usual?”
“One man said something about all of us being gone in a month,” offered Lhandor.
“Another argued with him,” added Khalis. “I didn’t hear it all, but it was about the fact that Bhayar was part Pharsi and he had a Pharsi commander, and that meant trouble.”
“Anything else?”
“A lot of muttering about our riding around.” Khalis laughed.
“… one fellow said you could tell there weren’t many real Pharsi in the company, because they didn’t ride that well.” Lhandor looked sheepish. “So I told him there were more than he thought.”
“Did he say anything to that?” asked Quaeryt.
“Something about outland Pharsi not counting.”
“That figures. Did you reply to that?”
“I couldn’t, sir. We’d already ridden too far past him.”
“That was probably for the best,” Quaeryt said wryly. “Did either of you see any statues or paintings of people?”
Both undercaptains shook their heads.
By the time Quaeryt finished with the two, Zhelan was waiting by the stable door, trying to conceal a certain irritation, Quaeryt suspected.
“I’m sorry, Major. Lhandor and Khalis are the only officers I have who speak fluent Pharsi, and I wanted to hear if they’d overheard anything before they had a chance to forget.”
Zhelan’s face relaxed. “Worried they’d done something wrong.”
“No. Now … things are going to get strange tomorrow.” Quaeryt went on to explain what the High Council had requested.
“They want you two to do that just to keep talking?”
“I’d prefer that to fighting another war.”
“Still … doesn’t seem right, sir. Especially for Lady Vaelora.”
“She issued her own challenge to their High Council. So we’re both in this together. The head councilor said we could take as many troopers as we wished, but I think we’d make a better impression with only two squads, and the undercaptains. Like it or not, this is going to be about impressions as much as numbers. Which squads would you recommend?”
“Right now, sir, second and fourth squads.”
“Then second and fourth squads it is.”
After going over the remainder of arrangements for Solayi with Zhelan, Quaeryt walked back to the main dwelling, where Vaelora was waiting in the parlor for him.
“There’s a drink for you on the table.”
Quaeryt looked at the crystal beaker, filled with a pale orange liquid. “What is it?”
“It’s not bad. Try it.”
While he wasn’t sure about anything that shade of orange, Quaeryt settled into the armchair across from Vaelora and gingerly picked up the beaker, taking a small sip. As Vaelora had said, it wasn’t bad, although the closest description Quaeryt could come up with was that the beverage was a cross between brandy and apricot beer. After another sip, Quaeryt looked to Vaelora. “You’re still a little tired, aren’t you?”
She nodded, setting the pale orange drink on a small table beside her.
“I thought you might be after what you did. I’ve been meaning to ask you…”
“Ask me what?”
“What you did before the Council.”
“At the end? I don’t know. Not exactly. Except it was almost like farsight … where I could see the dead and dying everywhere, all because those stupid old women couldn’t see what was going to happen…”
“But they saw it, too.”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“No … but I felt it,” he admitted.
“Good. I’m glad you didn’t see what I saw.” She shivered. “It was horrible.”
“I’ve seen worse,” he said quietly. “I’ve caused worse, I suspect. Or things equally bad.”
“I know you have. That’s why you didn’t need to see it.”
Quaeryt closed his mouth. He hadn’t thought of it in that way.
“You have enough to worry about,” Vaelora said. “We have to find a way to get the High Council to agree to some sort of terms.”
“They don’t seem terribly inclined to want to talk, at least not until we face whatever sort of trial they have in mind.”
“The Eleni … is she some sort of imager?”
“She may be … or she may be able to project visions, the way you did. Or something else entirely.”
“They can’t be that powerful … or Kharst couldn’t have conquered Khel.”
“I’m beginning to think he didn’t-just the larger towns and cities and the ports. That’s why we need to work out something with them. Bhayar doesn’t need to be in that situation.”
“Neither do we,” replied Vaelora.
“Except we already are.”
“You’ll figure out a way.”
“We will,” he affirmed. Even if you don’t have the faintest idea how you’re going to do it, let alone whether the High Council is willing to be reasonable. The Pharsi weren’t always known for that. Certainly, many wouldn’t have thought what Quaeryt had in mind for all the imagers of Lydar was at all reasonable.
He smiled and tried another sip from the beaker.
39
For all their speculations on Samedi evening and after they woke on Solayi morning, Quaeryt and Vaelora still had no real idea what might face them in or on the so-called Hall of the Heavens. They dressed, Quaeryt in uniform and Vaelora in riding clothes, ate, and then repaired to the front study until Quaeryt rose to ready their mounts.
“I could-” began Vaelora.
“Not without comprom
ising your status. Besides, you’re getting to the point that you need to be a bit more careful. We’ll be riding most of the day, remember.”
Vaelora made a face, and Quaeryt shook his head in return.
He returned in little more than a quint with both mounts, while Zhelan was forming up second and fourth squads. Shortly, they mounted and rode toward the formation. They had only moved into place, at the head of the column when a rider, presumably their guide, rode through the stone pillars of the compound and then reined up at the front of the column.
The slim and wiry white-haired woman in dark leathers looked at Vaelora, then at Quaeryt. She smiled, then said something.
From where he sat on his mount behind Vaelora Calkoran said quietly, “She says that it’s likely to be quite a day.”
“Tell her we hope it will be beneficial for both Telaryn and Khel,” returned Quaeryt.
The guide’s response, according to Calkoran, was, “One way or another, the skies will decide.”
The guide gestured and turned her mount.
“Forward!” ordered Quaeryt.
“Forward! On the guide!” echoed Zhelan, and all the Telaryn riders began to move, with the scouts falling in directly behind the guide, followed by Quaeryt and Vaelora, Calkoran and Zhelan, the undercaptains, and then the two squads.
For the first quint, they simply retraced the path back to the hill that held the council building, but rather than taking the lane up to the building, the Pharsi guide led them along the avenue around the hill to a narrow stone road little wider than a lane that headed due west toward the higher hills. That lanelike road was paved, not with the gray stone, but with a pinkish stone that looked every bit as durable as the ancient gray stone. Quaeryt saw no wear marks or gouges, and from its appearance the stone itself could have been cut and laid within the last year, though the worn and gentled appearance of the shoulders of the road gave the lie to that.
The lane continued due west, running through apricot orchards, where the branches of the trees had been trimmed back to just short of the graveled shoulder, itself only about half a yard wide. That explained to Quaeryt, at least partly, why he hadn’t noticed a straight road running due west from Saendeol, since it would have looked like a space between trees.
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