Antiagon Fire (30 page)

“I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I didn’t mean…” Once again, Quaeryt was reminded that while Vaelora was a very bright woman, her upbringing had left large gaps in her knowledge.
The problem is that you don’t know where they are, and if you overexplain everything you come off as patronizing and make her look stupid.
“Because Kherseilles was a Khellan port, it’s on the west side of the Groral River. It used to be as big a port as Eshtora and Ouestan, and all the trade in eastern Khel came down the river to Kherseilles. They even built some ships here from the timber that they floated down on the spring runoff. But when Kharst conquered Khel…” Quaeryt shrugged.

“All the traders were Pharsi, and they were killed and their ships burned or taken?”

Quaeryt nodded.

“And there weren’t many people left to trade?”

“Between those who were killed and those who fled, I’d doubt it. That’s another reason why I’ve been worrying about whether we can gather enough mounts for both first company and Eleventh Regiment.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t very well refuse to come on the grounds that your brother couldn’t have made sufficient arrangements for mounts.”

“He wouldn’t have taken that well.” She paused. “There isn’t a Bovarian town on the east side of the river? One where…?”

“There was. It was never a port. Suppose it’s still there, but there’s not much growing in the coastal hills between Kherseilles and Ephra.”

“You just said that. I don’t need repetition. Once is enough.”

“Would you like some biscuits?”

“I can find them myself.” Vaelora left Quaeryt standing there.

He knew better than to follow her immediately. He should have realized that she needed to eat.
She gets cross when she’s hungry, far more than she used to.
He smiled wryly. Another aspect of her being with child that he hadn’t known about until it happened.

Over the next three glasses, Quaeryt spent a great deal of time being pleasant and thoughtful, and making sure Vaelora had frequent biscuits, so that by fourth glass, she was again speaking warmly to him when they returned to the upper deck to watch as the
Montagne
neared the harbor under minimal sail.

The two long stone piers nearest the river were empty, except for a small fishing shack that was tied almost at the seawall at the base of the pier. Where the warehouses had stood along the stone boulevard behind the seawall and facing the harbor, all that remained were the blackened stone foundations, stretching for almost half a mille. The two smaller piers, the ones that had been timber, had burned down to blackened and weathered pilings. The third stone pier, farther west, was the only one that showed any activity, with a coastal schooner near the end on the east side, and a single-masted craft perhaps twice the size of the
Montagne
’s pinnace.

For all that he thought he was prepared to see what had happened to the harbor, Quaeryt could only look.
There’s no way we’ll have enough mounts … not with the destruction here.

“Kharst did all that?” asked Vaelora.

“I don’t know. It could have been Aliaro. Once the Khellans were defeated, he could have landed a few ships and fired the entire place. Or it could have been Kharst’s men, or factors or officers acting for him. They both wouldn’t want an open port here, and in a few years, the Pharsi survivors could have been back trading. They will be, anyway. It’ll just take longer.”

“They all hate the Khellans that much?”

“I doubt it. Just business. The Pharsi are better traders. So, when the Pharsi couldn’t do anything, whoever it was fired the entire port. If they left the warehouses and all the piers, in months some trading would have resumed.”

“Lines out!”

As seamen scurried about, sails reefed in, and as Nykaal issued the orders to ease the big vessel up to the stone pier, Quaeryt looked beyond the harbor. From what he could tell, most of the shops and dwellings farther from the water and the river looked to be largely intact, although he did see one or two that had been burned out. There were people on the streets … but only a fraction of the numbers he recalled from when he’d ported at Kherseilles so many years before.

We’re supposed to find mounts here?
He couldn’t help but keep thinking about that.

30

By the time all six ships were secured along the stone piers at Kherseilles, the sun had dropped behind the hills to the west of the port. Although Quaeryt had sent out Zhelan with a squad to look into whether any factors or stables had mounts available … or if anyone knew about Bhayar’s purported arrangements, the two stables nearest the harbor knew nothing about such an arrangement—as Quaeryt had feared.

By the time Zhelan had returned, Quaeryt had decided against searching out suppliers of horses—or whoever might have the mounts that Bhayar had purportedly arranged for—until Samedi morning. He only told Vaelora that Zhelan had been unable to locate the mounts and that further efforts would have to wait.

Samedi morning dawned cool and foggy enough that when Quaeryt peered out one of the stateroom portholes he could barely make out the ships at the next pier. “It’s a good thing we made port last night. We’d still be out in the Gulf waiting for the fog to burn off.”

“You didn’t want to talk about the horses last night,” ventured Vaelora as she pulled on riding trousers.

Neither did you.
“There wasn’t much to talk about. Zhelan couldn’t find anyone who knew anything. We both worried about that from the time we left Variana. But Bhayar brushed off my questions … and you know how he can be.”

“Yes, dear. I do know. I grew up with him.”

“I don’t think we’ll have much fortune in finding mounts for Eleventh Regiment.”

“What will you do?”

“What comes most unnaturally to me. Wait to see what happens while Zhelan looks into finding mounts. We might as well have breakfast.” He walked to the hatch to the passageway, where he tugged at the bellpull.

“You didn’t ask if I was ready.”

“I’m sorry. You looked ready.”

“You might have asked.”

“I’m sorry. I’m worried.”

Vaelora opened her mouth, then shut it. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to be so sharp with you. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Being with child, being hungry, being on a warship in a strange land trying to do things for your brother and your husband where more and more often matters are not proceeding as planned … those might have a little something to do with it. Just a little.”

Vaelora offered a faint smile. “They might.”

Moments later Nykaal arrived with the steward and breakfast. “Good thing we ported yesterday. The fog looks to be thickening. Sure sign of winter.”

“You sound almost cheerful about it,” said Quaeryt.

“No sense in complaining. The Nameless won’t do anything about it, and the Namer doesn’t care.”

“Spoken like a true captain,” replied Quaeryt, stepping back and letting the steward set platters and mugs around the circular table.

“Will it snow here, this far south?” asked Vaelora, waiting for the steward to set her platter down before seating herself.

“Probably not,” replied Quaeryt. “We’re about as far south as Solis, and we’re on the water. Fog and cold drizzle are more likely.”

“It’s chill as it is.” Vaelora cupped her hands around the mug.

Quaeryt hid a smile. The night before she’d been complaining about how hot she’d felt.

The way she looked at him suggested he hadn’t hidden the smile that well.

“What are your plans, Commander?” asked Nykaal.

“We’ll need to see how many mounts we can round up, and what we can learn about whether the High Council is presently gathered in Khelgror. I’m hopeful that we might get a report from Subcommander Calkoran.”

Nykaal nodded. “I had one of the ensigns check with the portmaster this morning. There weren’t any messages or dispatches.”

After breakfast Quaeryt met quickly and in turn with Zhelan, Khaern, and then the imagers. He dispatched Zhelan to continue looking into the possibility of finding mounts, listened to Khaern’s report on the regiment’s readiness, and told the imagers to stand by. Then he stationed himself on the upper deck, where he could see at least the nearer part of the pier while the fog continued to burn off … and to wait. Vaelora joined him for a time, then repaired to the stateroom. Quaeryt couldn’t blame her. The air was raw, and he wasn’t good company.

Almost another glass passed before he heard the sound of hoofs on the stone of the pier. Then he saw a squad of riders in Telaryn uniforms. Through the drifting fog, he couldn’t make out the officer at the head of the squad, although he had the feeling it might have been Arion. Even before the riders drew up on the pier opposite the gangway for the
Montagne,
Quaeryt was hurrying down the ladders to the quarterdeck.

As the officer walked up the gangway, Quaeryt recognized him. “Major Arion!”

“Subcommander…” Arion looked puzzled. “I did not see you … after the battle.”

The Pharsi’s accented Bovarian caught Quaeryt by surprise for just a moment, but he quickly replied in Bovarian, “It left me somewhat … whiter.”

“More like the lost son of Erion.” The major’s eyes went to Quaeryt’s collar insignia. “Excuse me, Commander.”

Quaeryt decided not to protest anything associated with being a lost one. Not at the moment. “It happened after you left for Khel. If you’ll come aboard, we can talk in the captain’s stateroom. He’s lent it to Lady Vaelora and me.”

“Your lady is with you?”

“Lord Bhayar appointed us both as envoys to the High Council.”

The dark-haired and black-eyed Arion smiled. “He was wise in that.” The smile faded.

Quaeryt led the way to the upper sterncastle and the captain’s cabin, then knocked before opening the hatch, a door really, but Quaeryt couldn’t help but think of it as a hatch.

Vaelora rose from where she had been writing at the circular table.

“Dearest, might I present Major Arion?”

Arion bowed deeply. “I am most honored, Lady.”

“It’s good to meet you, Major.” Vaelora smiled warmly. “My husband has spoken well and often of you and your abilities.”

“He may have been generous, Lady.”

“Kind, perhaps,” she replied, “but he is honest in his assessments of others.”

Quaeryt gestured to the table. “Please sit down.”

Once the three were seated, Arion glanced from Quaeryt to Vaelora, then smiled. “Since you are both envoys, I should report … and then deliver a message.”

“Please.”

“We suffered no attacks on the ride west, but we did not ride far toward Khelgror. We had barely left Kherseilles when a messenger from the High Council reached Subcommander Calkoran. The Council requested that we ride to Saendeol to meet with them.”

“Where is that?” asked Quaeryt.

“A week’s ride north and west of here, in the warm hills. It was the old winter meeting place of the High Council, back in the times of my great-great-grandmere. Even then, they did not like to meet in the winter ice and snow of Khelgror.”

“How long were you there?”

“More than two weeks before the subcommander dispatched us to await you.”

“It sounds as though he wanted to make certain we were met as soon as we arrived,” said Quaeryt. “Are … there difficulties? How has the Council received Lord Bhayar’s suggestions?”

“They have not shared their views on what Lord Bhayar proposed. They were less than kind to Calkoran for presenting them.”

“What did they expect? Is he all right?”

“Thank you for asking. He will be pleased that you inquired about him. He is in good health, but some have accused him of being a traitor, especially the … Selenorans.”

“Selenorans?” asked Vaelora.

“The believers in the moon goddess—Artiema. They believe Lord Bhayar is the agent of Erion, and that Artiema, and Khel, must never be hostage to the Great Hunter and lesser moon.”

Quaeryt shook his head. “Then they do not understand the world as it is.”

“Is not that why Lord Bhayar has sent you both?” Arion’s words were wry.

“It might have something to do with it,” Quaeryt admitted. “Matters have not gone as well as we might have wished. We were attacked by Antiagon ships on the way, and we’ve had a little difficulty in locating mounts.” Quaeryt kept his voice bland.

“That is not surprising. As soon as the High Council read Lord Bhayar’s message, they issued an edict forbidding the sale of any horses to anyone from Telaryn, Bovaria, or Antiago.”

“I understand why they might do that,” Quaeryt said. “I can also say that it might not have been the wisest of decisions.”

“They doubt that Lord Bhayar will soon send an army to Khel, not when he has not fully conquered Bovaria.”

“They’re right. He won’t. But he does not forget, and if he does have to send an army…”

“Calkoran suggested that. They did not believe him.”

“What do you suggest, Arion?”

“The High Council has agreed to meet you in Saendeol. I think you should do so. They have sent with me enough mounts for one company.” He paused. “And for the undercaptains.”

“We only brought four of them. The other four are in Bovaria with Submarshal Skarpa’s forces.”

Arion raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, I did bring Lhandor and Khalis, as well as Horan and Baelthm.”

The major nodded.

“When do you suggest we depart?” asked Quaeryt.

“When you are ready.”

“This afternoon at first glass?”

Arion smiled. “You do not wish to tarry.”

“Lydar cannot afford delays. Or other mistakes. Neither can Khel.”

“Then I will have the mounts here at noon. Did you bring saddles and riding gear?”

“We did.” Quaeryt stood. “Thank you for all that you’ve done. We look forward to talking with you on the ride to Saendeol and hearing what else you’ve learned.”

Arion rose quickly. “I do as well, sir. Until later, sir.”

Once the major left the
Montagne,
Quaeryt summoned Khaern and requested that Nykaal join them as well.

The ship’s captain arrived first, but only a fraction of a quint before the subcommander.