Imager’s Battalion (3 page)

“In short, matters proceed as they always have unless we act, and in all likelihood, we will be limited in what we do.”

“Exactly. Except … except … it allows me to summarily execute Haaraxes if he indulges in more than petty thievery, with no complaints by the High Holders or other ministers. The document will make that most clear.” Bhayar turned to Quaeryt. “While you have been recovering, we have developed a plan of attack and restructured our forces to accomplish that attack. We have formed armies of the south and of the north. The army of the north will advance westward along the north river road of the Aluse directly to Variana. Because most of the population in the area is on the north side, this will be the larger force.”

Quaeryt had a good idea with which force he and his imagers would be placed, but he just listened.

“The initial force that will travel the south river road, or what passes for it, will be commanded by Commander Skarpa and will consist of two regiments and a full battalion. Those will be Skarpa’s Third Tilboran Regiment, the newly constituted Fifth Tilboran Regiment under Subcommander Meinyt, and the Fifth Montagne Battalion under you. That title is largely for effect and because you were governor of Montagne.”

Worse and worse … if interesting.
Quaeryt nodded again.

“Marshal Deucalon, Submarshal Myskyl, and I were not at all pleased with the performance of the Second Ryntaran Regiment from Piedryn. So we have implemented a certain amount of reorganization. Two battalions from Second Ryntaran have been transferred to First Tilboran under Submarshal Myskyl. That allowed us to transfer two battalions from First Tilboran to Third, which in turn allowed Third and Fourth Battalion of Third Tilboran to be moved and become the core of the new Fifth Tilboran, along with the remaining two battalions from Second Ryntaran…”

That made sense to Quaeryt. Skarpa, Myskyl, and Meinyt were all good officers, and especially good at training and improving troopers, although Quaeryt trusted Myskyl not at all.

“You and Major Zhelan face a challenge and an opportunity.” Bhayar did not smile as he spoke, for which Quaeryt was grateful. “Your first company will remain as it has. Your second, third, and fourth companies are not properly from Montagne. They actually consist largely of Khellan cavalry that spent nearly two years making their way through the Montagnes D’Glace after the battle of Khelgror. There were originally close to two regiments, but the mountains and the winters were hard on them…”

Khellan cavalry … riding for two years …
Quaeryt had heard about the Bovarian savagery reputed to have followed the fall of Khel, but to cross the continent by way of the northern mountains?

“For reasons we all know,” Bhayar continued, “they wish to be part of the campaign against the Bovarians. They know of the background of our family, and they asked if there happened to be a Pharsi officer under whom they could serve. I told them that the best I could do was a Telaryn officer who was of Pharsi descent and married to my sister.” Bhayar did smile, if faintly. “I felt that was an accurate representation … was it not?”

More accurate even than you know, it appears.
“That was accurate, sir,” replied Quaeryt.

Vaelora nodded.

“That will provide a full battalion under you, but Marshal Deucalon thought it might be best if Major Zhelan remained as your second in command. Major Zhelan expressed pleasure at remaining as well.”

“Zhelan is an accomplished and practical officer,” said Quaeryt.

“As are you, from all reports.” Bhayar leaned back slightly in the wooden armchair. “We have had to wait some for additional forces, and there are others that will join us as they can. Kharst has likely only received reports of what occurred at Ferravyl in the last week, and there will be no reports on what we plan to do. He will doubtless pull troops from the border with Antiago, but those will likely withdraw directly to the area around Variana. He will be using conscripts, perhaps heavily. We will move decisively, and it is likely that we will not face great resistance until we near Variana…”

As Bhayar continued to summarize the situation, Quaeryt and Vaelora listened.

“… unlikely Kharst has many imagers, if any, and they will be held in reserve. I would prefer that you not strain yourself or your imagers any more than necessary.” Bhayar stopped and cleared his throat. “And now, I must take my leave. I expect you to spend Vendrei and Samedi in Ferravyl with your forces. You may take Solayi off, as will all forces, and we will set out on Lundi, we for the west, sister dear, and you for Solis.” Bhayar rose from the table.

Quaeryt stood, as did Vaelora, although Vaelora did so in a deliberate if graceful way, almost as if grudgingly. Both accompanied Bhayar to the main door and outside.

There, Bhayar turned and inclined his head. “My personal guard will be here for you, Vaelora dear, by seventh glass on Lundi. There will be a leather folder with my authorization for you and Aelina.”

“You think of everything, brother dear.”

“I do attempt such, but dealing with you, as your husband will discover, if he has not already, can be a challenge.” With a broad smile, Bhayar mounted the gray.

Quaeryt and Vaelora watched as he rode down the drive and joined the waiting troopers.

“How much does he know?” asked Quaeryt.

“About you … being a lost one? Or as strong an imager as you are?” Vaelora paused. “I could not say. I doubt he actually knows everything, but one of Bhayar’s strengths has always been a feel for what is so, even when he does not know.”

“He also has no illusions about people.”

“Dearest … no successful ruler does.”

Quaeryt laughed, then took Vaelora’s hand as they turned and stepped back into the hold house.

3

On Jeudi morning, while Vaelora finished dressing, Quaeryt picked up the small book that appeared to be both a biography and a commentary on the life of Rholan, and as seemed often to be the case, he found himself rereading a section with particular interest.

No deity, should one exist, needs a name. Those who worship such a deity need that name, for otherwise how can they be certain that their prayers, their hopes, and their plaints go to whom they are meant to be addressed. Gods do not need worshippers, but most people need gods. Rholan addressed the paradox of names by calling the almighty “the Nameless,” a stratagem far more clever than either his contemporaries or those claiming scholarly insight have seemed able to recognize.

As Vaelora stepped from the dressing chamber, Quaeryt closed the small book, smiling in spite of himself.

“Is that smile for what I’m wearing?” asked Vaelora, her voice mock-stern.

“Hardly, dear. I’d smile were you wearing nothing.”

“You’d smile far more than that. You always do.”

“Can I help the fact that I find you beautiful?”

“Lust can make any woman beautiful.”

Quaeryt had strong doubts about that, because one of the aspects of Vaelora he found so appealing was her intelligence. After all, her letters had captured him even when he’d had no thought of anything more. “You will write me … as you did before?”

Vaelora blinked, as if what he’d said had no relation to what they’d been discussing. “What…?”

“I was thinking about your letters, that I found what you wrote so entrancing…”

She laughed softly. “You still surprise me.”

“I hope I always will … in a good fashion.”

From the bedchamber, with its antique stone walls, walls softened somewhat by the not quite so ancient cloth hangings, they made their way down the stone steps barely wide enough for two abreast and then to the small breakfast room, rather than the terrace, since the night had brought rain and drizzle.

Again, as he ate the near-perfect omelet that the serving woman placed on his platter, he thought about the days ahead with hard rations, or worse. He smiled wryly.

“What are you finding so amusing?” Vaelora’s tone was openly curious.

“How life changes. A year ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of having so much good food, when even decent meals strained my purse, and there were times when regimental rations would have seemed a luxury. Now…” He shrugged.

“Dearest … it comes with a price. Have you not noticed? Did not our stay in Extela…?”

He nodded. “Part of that price was because I chose accomplishment over popularity when I had not time to achieve both.”

“Dearest … there is always that choice.”

Quaeryt smiled. “Not if the one who seeks accomplishment is not the one who needs popularity … or one to whom little attention is paid. We talked of this before. Perhaps as a mere subcommander…”

“Even that is dangerous…”

“Perhaps,” Quaeryt replied, “but my idea of costs and prices may not be what you have in mind. What are yours?”

“Little more than a year ago, you could have walked away from danger, or handled it quietly, with no one being the wiser. In fact, I’d wager you did. Can you do that now? A year ago, the only one whom you hazarded by your acts was you. Now … tell me what might have happened had you failed in the warm rain.”

“I would have died,” he replied dryly, “but that wasn’t what you meant. Thousands of troopers would have died as well.”

“And…?”

“Your point is taken, dearest.” Of course, Quaeryt had known what she meant. He still didn’t like thinking about matters in those terms.

“You don’t like admitting that you have hostages to fortune. You also do not wish to admit that your sense of responsibility makes you a captive of others and of fate.” Vaelora sipped her hot tea.

“Does any man with any sense wish to admit that?” Quaeryt lifted a beaker of lager and took a swallow. In the summer, at least in the hot midlands, tea was too warm for him even at breakfast, even when breakfast was early, not that this morning it was anywhere close to early.

“There is a difference between admitting it publicly and admitting it to one’s self.”

“You’re all too right, dear, but there are those who publicly profess to have hostages to fortune, and who in the end act as if those hostages have no worth to them at all. More than a few rulers—or those who wish to rule—have been such.”

“Are you saying Bhayar is?” Vaelora raised her eyebrows.

“I suspect he is of the other type, who denies that those who are close to him have any value, while quietly valuing them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Think upon our marriage. Ostensibly, he punished you for your apparent willfulness by marrying you to someone beneath your station. Yet…” Quaeryt shrugged.

“Yet what, dearest?”

Quaeryt grinned and ignored the slight edge in her voice. “He did not go against your wishes and marry you to someone you could not stand.”

“There are times,” she responded, her voice holding a hint of playfulness.

Quaeryt was about to respond when he heard bootsteps. He waited.

“Sir … there’s a Commander Skarpa who just arrived from Ferravyl to see you…” offered one of the rankers from the door to the breakfast room.

“Escort him to the study. I’ll meet him there.”

“Do you think…?” asked Vaelora.

“I don’t think so. I’d judge he wants to see me before I return to talk over how he’d like us to work together.” Quaeryt stood and smiled wryly. “But you never know.”

He reached the center hall at the same time as did Skarpa. The ranker escorting the senior officer stepped back in deference to Quaeryt. The commander had obviously worn an oilcloth waterproof, since his uniform shirt and tunic were dry, while his trousers beneath the knees were wet.

“I hope the ride wasn’t too difficult,” offered Quaeryt, gesturing down a corridor made gloomy by the heavy clouds outside.

“Wet, and long, but not hard.”

“You could have sent word for me to see you early tomorrow.”

“Then I’d have gotten a courier soaked and made tomorrow even longer for both of us.”

Quaeryt reached the study and motioned for Skarpa to enter, then followed, closing the door behind himself. Skarpa stopped and extended a visor cap, an officer’s cap with the insignia of the double moons. “I thought you might like a replacement. I heard yours fell apart … in the ice. You’ll need it here in the south.”

“Oh … thank you.” Quaeryt almost flushed as he took the visor cap. He’d never thought about the cap. Half the time, he forgot he was wearing it. Sometimes, he’d just forgotten it. He stepped toward the circular table, where he seated himself, as did Skarpa.

“I wanted to talk with you where we wouldn’t be interrupted before you returned to Ferravyl,” said Skarpa.

“That suggests problems or matters of which I’m unaware … if not both.”

“There are always problems. Sometimes, we just don’t recognize them. Sometimes, they’re people who shouldn’t be problems, and sometimes we hope, against hope, that they’ll disappear.” Skarpa laughed. “I learned a long time ago that it’s best not to rely on hope if there are other paths. I’d rather save my hoping for times when there is no other way.”

“What are the people problems?” asked Quaeryt.

Skarpa shook his head. “I don’t know, except it takes Deucalon far too long to decide. That happens most often when a subordinate raises too many questions that don’t matter.”

“You don’t have any idea?”

“No. Even if I did, what difference would it make? He won’t listen to the most junior commander about subcommanders and majors he’s worked with for months or years. Especially not about more senior commanders.”

Quaeryt could see that.

After a moment of silence Skarpa said, “I understand Lord Bhayar visited you yesterday. I presume he did discuss more than family.”

“I understand Zhelan and I will have to deal with three Khellan companies…”

“It’s worse than that. Each company is led by a Pharsi officer who used to be the equivalent of a major or a subcommander, with another officer below him, and most of the troopers don’t speak either Tellan or Bovarian. The officers speak both Bovarian and Pharsi. That was another reason for putting them under you.”

“Another reason?” inquired Quaeryt lightly. “Besides the fact that he can claim I’m of Pharsi descent?”