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  “Would you inquire to see if the submarshal might have a moment?”

  “Certainly, sir.” The undercaptain moved to the door, knocked, and stepped inside, only to return almost immediately, gesturing for Quaeryt to enter the small study.

  Once inside the chamber, most likely a lady’s study, from the graceful carved bookcase of only three shelves to the writing table with the curved legs, Quaeryt inclined his head to the gray-haired submarshal, noting that the scars on Myskyl’s left cheek, old and faded as they were, seemed more prominent for some reason … or perhaps Quaeryt had forgotten them, since he’d seen so little of Myskyl in the past half year. “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning, Commander.” Myskyl studied Quaeryt, then smiled. “I understand that you’ll be off to the west to make certain that the lands of Khel remain loyal.”

  “I will indeed be heading west with several regiments to persuade the High Council of Khel to accept Lord Bhayar’s offer of governance. Since he did not conquer them, they doubtless believe that they owe him no innate loyalty. My task, as I am certain you know, is to make certain that they understand that accepting his kind offer and pledging their loyalty is by far the best and most prudent course of action.” Quaeryt smiled. “My loyalty to Lord Bhayar goes back to when we were both students, long before Lady Vaelora and I were wed, and that bond has only reinforced my desire to dedicate myself to acting with prudence in his best interests.”

  Myskyl’s eyes hardened, if but for a moment, before he smiled heartily. “I’m more than certain that Lord Bhayar appreciates your unrestrained loyalty more than he will ever be able to repay, and that you will employ all your considerable talents to the end of assuring that Khel will remain loyal to him.”

  “I will certainly do my best to create such a loyalty, although I doubt that the Khellan acquiescence to Rex Kharst was based upon loyalty in any form. Still … we all do what we must, as I know you have always done, first in service to Marshal Rescalyn and now in service to Marshal Deucalon and Lord Bhayar. I have watched the care with which you have planned every strategy and can only admire your skill.” Quaeryt smiled slightly more than politely.

  “Alas, Commander, your skill in such is second to none, and you have mastered the art of applying force when and where it will do the most good. Of course, not all … difficulties … can be so resolved.”

  “I defer to your expertise and experience in that, Submarshal, and I will keep that well in mind as I deal with the Khellan High Council. Might you have any specific advice as to those points I should keep most in mind?”

  “Only that agreements that cannot be enforced, in some fashion or another, will be broken as soon as it is in the interest of the parties to do so.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “I fear that may be a concern for those on both sides, and I will follow your observation as matters develop.” He inclined his head just slightly. “I would not wish to take any more of your time, but I did want to pay my respects in case I did not have the opportunity before we depart.”

  “You are most thoughtful in that respect,” replied Myskyl, “indeed in all respects. As you demonstrated in the last days of the hill holders’ revolt.”

  “That thoughtfulness I learned from observing you and Marshal Rescalyn, and I do appreciate having the opportunity to learn from you both.” After another nod, Quaeryt smiled politely once more, then turned and left.

  From Deucalon’s duty officer, Quaeryt learned that Khaern had ridden out earlier on “a routine scouting mission.”

  After another quint or so had passed, Quaeryt saw Zhelan ride into the side courtyard, but it was yet another quint before the hard-faced major with the slightly graying black hair left the stable and crossed to the guest house’s rear entrance where Quaeryt waited.

  “Sir?” Then Zhelan glanced at Quaeryt’s collar. “Congratulations, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt paused. “Has anyone told you of our next task?”

  “Our next task?” The major’s eyebrows lifted, and a mild expression of puzzlement crossed his face.

  “Lord Bhayar has assigned Eleventh and Nineteenth Regiments-and what remains of Fifth Battalion-to me for a mission to Khelgror.”

  “You’re to … conquer the Pharsi again with two regiments?”

  “No … Lady Vaelora and I are being sent as envoys.” Quaeryt went on to explain.

  Once Quaeryt had finished, Zhelan was silent for several moments.

  “Go on. You can speak,” said Quaeryt cheerfully.

  “Lord Bhayar doesn’t want much of you, does he?”

  “He’d prefer not to resort to arms. So would we. So, I suspect, would the Pharsi High Council.”

  “But leaving on Lundi?”

  “We can’t afford to wait.”

  “I can see that. Are you…?”

  “I’m well. And it will be two weeks or longer before we encounter even the chance of serious opposition … if we do at all. The Pharsi aren’t likely to attack any envoy now.”

  “I can see that, sir.”

  “Think about it. I just wanted to make sure you knew as soon as I did.” Quaeryt added, “I’ll need a squad to accompany me to meet with Subcommander Alazyn … as soon as you can provide one.”

  “Fifth squad is the duty squad. They can be ready to ride in less than a quint.”

  Not quite a quint passed before Quaeryt mounted the mare that had seen him through so much and, accompanied by fifth squad, rode out on the hazy gray day. In deference to Vaelora, rather than carrying light shields that, if anything impacted them, would trigger heavier shields, Quaeryt held full imaging shields.

  They traveled more than a mille south, and another two west along a muddy rutted road to reach the smaller holding where Alazyn and Nineteenth Regiment were quartered. The hold house was old, of reddish bricks that needed repointing, and the hedges that flanked the narrow drive to the small uncovered portico had been but raggedly trimmed.

  A short stocky officer with the silver crescents of a subcommander on his collar had hurried out into the cool fall wind to stand waiting on the uneven stone platform that served as a receiving portico. As Quaeryt put his second boot on the stone, a violent gust of wind whipped around him, and he had to grab his visor cap to keep it from blowing off his head.

  “It’s been right windy, Commander,” offered the subcommander. “How might I help you?”

  “Would you be Subcommander Alazyn, by chance?”

  “The very same, sir.”

  “It’s good to meet you. I’m Commander Quaeryt.”

  Alazyn opened his mouth, then closed it, finally saying, “Sir … I should have known … I didn’t expect you to ride out here…”

  Quaeryt grinned. “Why not? It makes more sense than sending a courier.”

  Alazyn gestured toward the door. “Please do come in.”

  Quaeryt followed the shorter officer in through the wide single and weathered ironbound oak door, closing it behind himself.

  “Commander Pulaskyr has been kind enough to share the study here with me.” Alazyn stopped at the door off the small entry hall, again motioning for Quaeryt to enter. “He’s out with Second Regiment at the moment … Second Tilboran, I should say.”

  The study was little more than an oblong room with a hearth at one end and a writing desk at the other, with two tall bookcases behind the table desk and against the tan plaster wall. The two windows in the outside wall were chest high, with small leaded panes cloudy with age. Two armless chairs stood before the desk. Quaeryt walked to the nearer one and seated himself, then waited for Alazyn to sit down in the other.

  Alazyn did so, then said, “You and Commander Pulaskyr were together in Tilbor, I understand.”

  “We were in Tilbor at the same time, but we never actually served anywhere together. He was in charge of all operations north of the Boran Hills, and I was with Marshal Rescalyn in the south. We never even met until after the hill holders’ revolt was put down.” And even then we barely had a
chance to speak to each other. “I understand he was very effective in dealing with the northern hill holders.”

  “He said that you were largely responsible for the way things turned out in the south.”

  “He is far too generous. The entire campaign in the south was planned and masterfully carried out by Governor Rescalyn, and finished by Submarshal Myskyl.”

  “The governor died in the last battle, Commander Pulaskyr told me. Did you see any of that?”

  Quaeryt smiled wryly. “No. I was unhorsed by a heavy cavalryman moments before Rescalyn fell.” That wasn’t quite true, but it was what Quaeryt had said all along, and what everyone, including Myskyl, believed. “Have you yet been instructed as to where Nineteenth Regiment will be assigned?”

  “Just a dispatch yesterday saying that we were assigned to special duty under your command, sir … and that specific orders would come from you.”

  “Eleventh and Nineteenth Regiments, and the one company remaining from Fifth Battalion that was not Khellan, have been assigned to support Lady Vaelora and me in our duties as envoys to the High Council of Khel…” Quaeryt went on to explain.

  When Quaeryt finished, Alazyn tilted his head, almost quizzically. “I’m not certain I understand why Lord Bhayar … has taken this approach. Isn’t taking a woman, even Lord Bhayar’s sister…?”

  At that moment, Quaeryt realized he’d assumed that Alazyn knew more than he did. “There are several reasons. First, both Lord Bhayar and Lady Vaelora are part Pharsi. Second, I’m the highest ranking officer of full Pharsi blood in the Telaryn forces. Third, I was the one in command of all the Pharsi officers who are already in Khel offering Lord Bhayar’s terms.” He paused. “And there is the small matter that Lady Vaelora is my wife.”

  Alazyn’s eyes widened, if but for a moment.

  “I take it that no one bothered to mention those facts to you,” said Quaeryt dryly.

  “Ah … no, sir.”

  “That’s not surprising. At times, senior officers assume subordinates know everything they do.” Quaeryt laughed humorously. “As I just did.” After a moment he went on. “Please ask any and all questions you may have … even if you worry that they may indicate you don’t know something. In situations like this, the only stupid questions are the ones you don’t ask.”

  “Yes, sir.” Alazyn looked away from Quaeryt. “Is it true that you’re an imager?”

  “Yes, but I’m one of about ten, and the other imagers will be accompanying us as well…”

  More than a glass passed before Quaeryt had answered all of Alazyn’s questions and departed the hold house for the ride back to the outskirts of Variana.

  4

  Quaeryt barely had time to wash up and change out of his muddy undress uniform into his only set of dress greens, except, as was the case with all his uniforms, the jacket shirt and trousers were green tinted with brown, to show his scholar background. Then he joined Vaelora in their sitting room-prior to walking down to the formal dining room of the estate house for dinner with Bhayar, the first dinner they had shared with him in weeks.

  “You look beautiful.” Quaeryt appraised his wife, who wore a long black dress with a silver and black jacket.

  “I can barely fit into this.”

  “That doesn’t show.”

  “It will before long,” said Vaelora. “I worried you’d forgotten we were having dinner…”

  “No. I had to meet with Skarpa and Major Zhelan. I also dropped in and paid my respects to Submarshal Myskyl, then rode out and met with Subcommander Alazyn.”

  “How was the good submarshal?”

  “We were very polite. He intimated that Khel would be loyal to Bhayar and that if it weren’t, it would be my fault. I said that Khel had never been loyal to Kharst and the Pharsi Khellans especially didn’t see Bhayar as Kharst’s successor, but that I would certainly endeavor to establish such loyalty. He intimated that I was a devious schemer, if one enthusiastically loyal to Bhayar. I blandly noted that his and Rescalyn’s actions in Tilbor were masterful, and that I had learned much from them. We parted with amicable words.”

  “But far from amicably.”

  “Politely. He’s never liked nor trusted me, and I certainly don’t trust him. More important, I don’t think your brother should. Ever.”

  “While you were ill, dearest, as I may have mentioned, we did discuss that. He will watch both Deucalon and Myskyl closely. He does believe that they have their uses.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “Of course. Yours are just more valuable and longer lasting. And … we should be joining dear brother, dearest…” murmured Vaelora.

  Quaeryt grinned. “A polite reminder to begin escorting you down the stairs and into dinner. Do you know who else will be there?”

  “Marshal Deucalon, I believe, and perhaps several others.”

  “Officers … local High Holders?”

  “Brother dear did not convey that information to me.”

  When they reached the main level and had walked a good fifty yards toward the front of the large hold house, they came to an undercaptain standing by the open door to the chamber adjoining the dining room. “Lady, Commander…”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt allowed Vaelora to guide him while giving the impression that he was the one leading, into the sitting room … or reception chamber.

  There, Bhayar and Deucalon stood talking, half facing the window overlooking one of the already frost-killed gardens. Near the hearth at the end of the room away from the open double doors leading to the formal dining chamber stood two other men. One was white-haired, with a lined but tanned face, who wore the vestments of a chorister of the Nameless. The other, gray-haired, wore a formal black jacket and a pale gray shirt, with a high collar.

  Bhayar turned. “Vaelora, Quaeryt…” He smiled at her. “You are lovely this evening.”

  “You commanded that I look my best,” replied Vaelora with an expression just short of mischievous.

  “You both know Marshal Deucalon, of course. The distinguished-looking chorister there is Amalyt D’Anomen. He has been the chorister of the Anomen Regis … before it was damaged by the storms created in the battle. The equally distinguished personage in black is Chamion D’Council, the head councilor of the city of Variana.” Bhayar turned to the two local officials. “Commander Quaeryt is the most battle-wounded and tested of my commanders, and also the husband of my charming youngest sister, Vaelora.”

  Both the chorister and the councilor inclined their heads.

  “The commander is also an imager and a scholar,” added Bhayar. “We’ve known each other since we were students, but that’s never prevented him from disagreeing with me.”

  “Battle-wounded…?” ventured Amalyt. “I would not have thought…” He shook his head and added, almost apologetically, “Scholars here are much … different, it appears.”

  “You might explain, Quaeryt,” suggested Bhayar. “Briefly.”

  “I never set out to be an officer,” began Quaeryt. “I was pressed into service in the revolt in Tilbor. After the revolt, I served briefly as princeps of Tilbor, then as temporary governor of Montagne province after the earthquake and eruption there, long enough to restore order, before being called to serve as a subcommander in the campaign that led to Variana.”

  “Commander Quaeryt proved most effective in leading from the front and forging somewhat inexperienced troops and officers into a most effective and devastating force,” said Deucalon smoothly. “He came close to dying at least twice.”

  “I do believe dinner is waiting,” said Bhayar, nodding toward the open double doors, standing back, and then following the others.

  A shorter table had been set, with screens shortening the room and blocking off the long table. Bhayar stood behind the chair at the end closest to the double doors from the sitting room, while Deucalon took the chair at the end of the table opposite Bhayar. To Bhayar’s right was Chamion, and to his left was Vaelora. Amalyt was seated below Vael
ora, and Quaeryt below Chamion.

  Once the others were seated, Bhayar settled himself at the head of the table and waited for the ranker in formal greens to fill the crystal goblets with a pale amber vintage. Then he raised his goblet. “My appreciation to our guests for their courtesy in joining us.”

  “And our appreciation to you, Lord Bhayar,” replied Chamion in a raspy deep voice, “for seeking us out.”

  After everyone had drunk, or sipped, the toast, and as the uniformed servers began slipping soup bowls before the diners, Bhayar spoke again. “I sought you out in hopes you could provide observations and other thoughts that will make the next months … less disruptive for everyone.”

  “If I might say so, Lord Bhayar,” replied Amalyt immediately, with a slightly testy edge to his voice, “the very fact of your inviting us suggests that you wish the choristers of the Nameless to be supportive of your rule. While I certainly would rather have peace than anarchy or continuing conflict, I would suggest that the Nameless cannot be invoked as supporting or opposing any ruler…”

  Bhayar glanced to Quaeryt.

  “Honored Chorister,” began Quaeryt, “Rex Kharst attacked Telaryn with no warning or provocation after he learned that the former and ancient capital of Telaryn had been partly destroyed by fire and earthquake. When Lord Bhayar responded, Rex Kharst immediately threatened all his people and High Holders with death and worse if they so much as sold a single keg of flour to the armed forces of Telaryn. He had his own men burn the fields of poor tenants. He dispatched assassins against his own High Holders. Lord Bhayar and all his commanders have taken great pains to avoid creating unnecessary suffering for the people of Bovaria, and he has treated them far more fairly than did Rex Kharst.”

  “I cannot dispute you, Commander, nor would I even if your words were not true, although I must admit that at least some of what you say, and perhaps more, is unhappily so. My concern and belief is that such views not be discussed in the anomen.”