Antiagon Fire (41 page)

“The time when you will stand alone, and without allies or friends, is not that far in the future,” replied Vaelora, even before Quaeryt could have said a word. “Long before Rex Kharst attacked Telaryn and brought all this to bear, the Autarch of Antiago inflicted great pain upon Lord Bhayar. Even as we traveled here, we were attacked by Antiagon ships. After such provocations, how long will Antiago stand, do you think?”

“I imagine that depends on how much Antiagon Fire the Autarch has and how strong the walls of north Antiago are,” interjected the councilor to the right of Cheliendra.

She might have said more, Quaeryt thought, but for the sharp glance from the head councilor.

Cheliendra cleared her throat. “There is an old saying. ‘Do not argue over what is not and what may never be.’ That profits no one.” She looked directly at Vaelora. “Lady Vaelora,
Eherelani
and farseer that you are, we cannot decide for our people on what might be. If and when we stand alone, there will be time to consider the terms Lord Bhayar offered. Even then, it will take time for those terms to be sent to the councils across Khel. You should understand that Khel is not ruled by the will of the High Council, but that the High Council reflects the will of the people as expressed by the local councils.”

“That we do understand, Councilor,” returned Vaelora. “When you send those terms to the local councils, and as I stand here, you will have to do so or face even greater devastation of your land, we would suggest that it would be the better part of wisdom to suggest that some accommodation with Lord Bhayar would be greatly more to the benefit of Khel than failure to reach such accommodation.”

“And what accommodation is Lord Bhayar offering, if you might tell us.”

“Refraining from invading Khel and reducing it to an even greater state of ruin than the one in which it already finds itself,” replied Quaeryt. In the momentary silence that followed, he image-projected a sense of destruction and devastation, of death and despair, of famine and futility.

Even Cheliendra paled.

After another silence, she spoke. “There have been others who could impose images and feelings … but the most appalling aspect of those you have shown us is that they come from within you and from what you have experienced. How can you live within yourself, Son of Erion?”

With great difficulty, at times.
Quaeryt looked at her, image-projecting absolute conviction. “Why do you think I am here? Why do you think I am almost pleading with you to accept Lord Bhayar’s terms? Do you think I wish more devastation?”

“Then leave us be,” offered the woman who had not yet spoken.

Quaeryt smiled bitterly. “Then I would condemn the children of today’s children to the continuation of war and devastation, and the same to their children. You wish a momentary peace, but given what men are, the only lasting peace within the boundaries of Lydar that can come is when all Lydar is one land under one set of laws. Lord Bhayar would make those laws fair for all, as he has done in Tilbor and as he is doing in Bovaria.”

“And you would see to that?” The words were almost mocking.

“He has no choice.” Vaelora’s voice was like the chill of the deepest winter, immobilizing all on the High Council as if they had been turned into pillars of ice. “And Lord Bhayar has no choice but to heed him.”

Quaeryt took a step backward … and waited. So did Vaelora.

Several low sentences passed back and forth between the three women at the center of the Council. Then Cheliendra straightened and looked at Quaeryt and Vaelora.

“The will of the High Council is to consider Lord Bhayar’s terms once Khel stands alone. In the meantime, when you leave Saendeol and the lands of Khel, you are to take with you all those men who served Lord Bhayar. The one who stands behind you is never to return to Khel, even if in the future, we reach an accord with Lord Bhayar, for that will be a part of that accord. If such an accord is agreed to, all others may return as they wish. You may remain here in Saendeol for as long as a week, or as you wish.”

“We will depart shortly,” replied Quaeryt. “There is little reason to impose on your hospitality now that you have heard us out. We wish for all of us that we can reach a peaceful agreement.”

“Until then,” added Vaelora.

Then they turned and walked from the building.

Once more, on their way out, the two guards avoided looking at either of them.

Neither Quaeryt nor Vaelora said more than pleasantries until they returned to their quarters at the compound outside Saendeol and began to gather their gear for the ride back to Kherseilles.

“Poor Calkoran,” said Vaelora sadly.

“You don’t think they’ll ever relent?” Quaeryt couldn’t help but recall when Calkoran had ridden nearly headlong into a Bovarian musket ambush to warn Quaeryt because there had been no time and no other way to convey the warning. Nor could he ignore the totally dedicated support that Calkoran and the Pharsi troopers had provided. While he understood the High Council, he truly wondered how many of them had ever seen real combat.

“No. Do you? Didn’t you notice that the High Council never addressed him directly? Except one time. For them, he does not exist as a Pharsi.”

“And he never will?”

“Bhayar will not jeopardize an accord over Calkoran, though he will find some other recompense.”

Quaeryt noted the definite, if slight, emphasis on the word “will.”

Her voice was soft as she went on. “There’s always someone to blame.”

“Like us … for failing to get the High Council to agree to Bhayar’s terms?”

“Once Antiago falls, they will accept terms,” said Vaelora.

“And Antiago will fall?”

“Why do you think Skarpa is in Geusyn? Do you think that Bhayar sent two full regiments with you just to treat with poor battered Khel?”

“That thought had crossed my mind, but I can’t see Skarpa attacking Antiago without provocation.”

“We were attacked by Antiagon ships coming here. Others may attack on our return. Aliaro has been unable not to act imprudently for any length of time.”

“Is this another farsight? Like the one you won’t tell me more about?”

“That one is … I just don’t think I should tell you.”

Quaeryt nodded. He understood her reasons, even if he didn’t happen to be certain he agreed, but his views wouldn’t change hers.

“This isn’t a farsight.” Vaelora laughed. “It’s the result of years of quiet eavesdropping. And when Aliaro has been destroyed, the High Council will haggle. They will protest, but they will agree.”

“Because they see they have no choice?” Quaeryt’s tone was sardonic, yet resigned.

“No, dearest. They will accept because they have seen devastation in your eyes, and heard destruction in your voice … and felt the honest desperation of your not wishing to unleash it upon them.”

And they heard icy certainty from a Pharsi farseer, which may have meant much more.
But he did not say those words.

41

The ride back to Kherseilles took six long days, a day less than the trip to Saendeol had required, partly because Quaeryt and Vaelora had not wanted to remain in Khel any longer than necessary, and partly because Quaeryt had begun to worry even more about what was happening along the Bovarian border with Antiago.

Just after sunset on Solayi evening, first company reined up short of the harbor piers at Kherseilles. As Quaeryt had suspected, the four merchanters were long gone, and the
Montagne
and the
Solis
were tied up at opposite sides of the longest stone pier. He was about to ride out to the
Montagne
when a single rider approached.

In the growing twilight it took Quaeryt a moment after the man reined up to recognize Subcommander Khaern.

“Commander, sir. We weren’t certain when you’d be back. We took the liberty of turning two of the warehouses—the ones that were not in terrible condition—into quarters. The inns here…” Khaern shook his head. “That will leave space on the
Montagne
for first company.”

Quaeryt smiled. “I certainly don’t have a problem with that, but I’ll need to talk with Captain Nykaal and you. Matters aren’t what we’d like, and Lady Vaelora and I need to hear what’s happened here so that we can decide what to do next. In a half glass on the
Montagne
?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh … and you and Subcommander Calkoran will need to work out quarters for his battalion after I spend a few moments with him.”

Khaern nodded.

“Good.” Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Subcommander Calkoran … I’d like you to join us for the meeting on the
Montagne
. I’d also like a word with you before that … once we’ve unloaded.”

“Yes, sir.” Calkoran’s voice remained slightly subdued, as it had been on the entire journey back from Saendeol.

Quaeryt, Vaelora, and first company then rode along the stone pier until they reached the
Montagne.
After dismounting and seeing that his and Vaelora’s gear, and Vaelora, were safely aboard, Quaeryt returned to the pier to meet with Calkoran.

As he stood there and the Pharsi subcommander walked toward him in the light breeze off the water, surprisingly raw to Quaeryt, although in a sense it felt warmer than the inland winds, Quaeryt couldn’t help but feel compassion for Calkoran, who had been punished far more for trying to do the right thing by his men than so many officers who’d actually done the wrong things and never been discovered.
One of the ironies of war and battle.

“Sir?”

“How fast can your battalion make the journey from Kherseilles to Geusyn?”

“A good ten days, maybe more if the weather is bad.”

“Are you willing to do that? We’re going to need every man possible.”

“Antiago?”

“Either Antiago or the southern High Holders, if not both.”

“Sir … we’ve not spoken … about the future.”

“No … we haven’t. Are you willing to remain in service?”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt understood what lay behind those words.
What other real choice does he have?
“In time, Lord Bhayar will be properly grateful. At the moment it’s a good thing we’re as far from Variana as we are.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Lord Bhayar would prefer others see what he would call reason. I believe that will happen. It just won’t happen for a while, and it’s better to let time and distance separate us while events make that point rather than have to explain it in person.”

The faintest smile crossed Calkoran’s face before fading away.

“I’ll leave the arrangements to you, but I can likely spare a hundred golds from what Lord Bhayar provided to help with supplies and other necessities. I’d like you to leave as soon as possible after we depart. We’ll talk about the timing after we meet with Nykaal and Khaern.” Quaeryt paused. “One other thing. What about the mounts that the Council provided?”

Calkoran snorted. “We paid for them. The Council merely allowed us to purchase them.”

“Then take them with you, regardless of the Council’s decree. They might make the trip easier.”

“If you had not suggested that, I would have,” Calkoran paused. “Sir … there is one other matter. I would be remiss…”

“Go ahead.”

“There have been other sons of Erion. There was Calixen, who was drowned in a flood, and Polysses, who fell from the sky and the road of Erion. They are among those we remember. Do you know why?” Calkoran’s voice was soft, almost sad.

“No.”

“Because they failed. They failed because they turned from their destiny and sought glory and power for themselves. We remember those who failed. No one remembers those who were true to their destiny and did not seek glory.”

Quaeryt tried not to shiver at the honest certainty in the voice of the Khellan officer. Finally, he said, “Thank you.”

“You should know.”

Quaeryt nodded. “Until later, then.” He watched as Calkoran rode back to the foot of the long stone pier.

It was close to seventh glass when Quaeryt, Vaelora, Nykaal, Khaern, and Calkoran gathered around the circular table in the captain’s stateroom on the
Montagne.
Quaeryt stood, letting the others sit. He began by summarizing the events of their journey, then concluded, “We believe that, in time, the Khellan High Council will agree to some form of agreement. If they do, there is nothing to be gained by remaining in Kherseilles. If they do not, there is also no reason to remain here, since we do not have the resources to conduct or even begin a campaign, especially given the bitter winters in the north and west of Khel.” He turned to the ship’s captain. “Have you received any messages from anyone?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you seen any Antiagon ships?”

“I’ve had the pinnaces patrolling. Wouldn’t have wanted anyone to come in and catch us unaware. Two or three sails … might have been Antiagon. They didn’t come close enough to the harbor to be sure.”

“How many men can you and the
Solis
transport back to Ephra—or Geusyn?”

“On a single voyage?” asked Nykaal. “Might be able to handle seven hundred. Eight hundred would be pushing it.”

“How soon could you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll have to push it … twice.” Quaeryt ignored the captain’s frown. “We can’t afford to make three trips to get first company and the regiment back to Geusyn, and Subcommander Calkoran barely has enough spare mounts for a company.”

“It won’t be comfortable, sir,” said Nykaal.

“I understand, Captain. Believe me, I do. But I have reason to believe that Submarshal Skarpa may need as many additional regiments as possible as soon as practicable, and we will accomplish nothing by remaining here.”

“As you wish, Commander.”

Quaeryt could tell that Nykaal was less than pleased. “You have some concerns that you have not voiced, Captain? Is there something I should know?” Quaeryt image-projected both sincerity and concern.

“Nothing that I could put a finger on, sir.” Nykaal paused. “Winds might not favor us.”

“At this time of year? They’re usually out of the southwest on the west of Lydar,” said Quaeryt.