Antiagon Fire (13 page)

Quaeryt offered a puzzled expression.

The High Holder chuckled. “I’m not much of a man for fighting. I know lands and how to run them, but I know men, and I’ve watched rulers. From what the submarshal has said, and from the way he defers to you, and from the woman to whom you’re wed, and from the mission you’re on with only a modest army, I’d judge you had much to do with Lord Bhayar’s success.”

“None of it would have been possible without Submarshal Skarpa,” Quaeryt demurred, “or without the leadership of Lord Bhayar.”

Cleotyr nodded slowly. “I can see that Lord Bhayar will have a long and peaceful rule, and I would appreciate your conveying my support of that rule.” He offered a laugh that was somewhat forced. “And now … might we talk of the weather, the best in wines and lagers … until the refreshments are ready?”

“Do you have your own vineyards?” asked Vaelora gently.

“Alas, no. The wine comes from the lands of my distant cousin … but the lager … all the grains and hops are grown here, and the lager is indeed brewed here … in the fashion developed by my grandsire … although I will say that I have made some modest improvements over the years, and even my son, who is visiting relatives in the north with his bride, has been most helpful in that regard…”

Quaeryt could not help but note the wary expression in Cleonie’s eyes whenever she looked in his direction, but he sensed that little more of import would be mentioned for the duration of their visit.

11

Quaeryt and Vaelora did not return to the canal boat until well after sixth glass and only ate lightly, given that High Holder Cleotyr’s “refreshments” had been endless and lavish. Solayi morning, they set out early because they had to cover more than six milles to pass through the two locks at Eluthyn and cross the Phraan River in order to meet Skarpa’s Southern Army and the Eleventh and Nineteenth Regiments by eighth glass.

They had covered close to three milles before they encountered the first of the grain boats heading eastward, followed by several others, which slowed their progress. The lockmasters did give them priority, that being assured by Zhelan riding ahead with a squad of first company, so that they cleared the second lock slightly before eighth glass.

At a quint past eighth glass Skarpa arrived at the moving canal boat and swung himself onboard. As he entered the salon, Vaelora began to rise from where she had been reading while Quaeryt sat at the narrow salon table, poring over a map of the lands of Khel.

“Please don’t leave because of me, Lady,” Skarpa said immediately. “As an envoy you need to hear anything I say. If you do not, then Quaeryt will not have your best judgment for counsel.” He held up a hand. “Do not tell me that you are but a woman or some such nonsense.”

Vaelora laughed. “I will not.” She moved to seat herself at the table beside her husband.

“How did matters go after we departed?” asked Quaeryt.

“Quietly.” Skarpa barked a harsh laugh. “You two terrified them, you know?”

“Cleonie was wary,” said Quaeryt.

“Her husband was far more than that. When he said good evening to me last night, he offered some words to the effect that he had seen more capability in his salon yesterday than in the entire Chateau Regis in the past ten years.”

“That has to have been an exaggeration. A number of the Bovarian officers were quite good tacticians and strategists,” returned Quaeryt dryly. “I know, unhappily. So do you.”

“That’s not the same thing,” interjected Vaelora. “A bad ruler can have good officers.”

“Especially lower-level senior officers,” pointed out Skarpa, with a quick look at Quaeryt.

“At times.” Quaeryt’s words were equally bland.

“You two.” A certain disgust colored Vaelora’s short response. “What else did he say?”

“He suggested, very indirectly, that when an effective commander married to a ruler’s sister was not a marshal, that alone was enough to treat the ruler with respect. He did say that sending you as an envoy, Lady Vaelora, showed a ruler well in control of his land.”

For now.
Quaeryt did not voice that thought

“That is a useful impression,” she said.

“What else?” asked Quaeryt.

Skarpa smiled. “We did get quite a lot of supplies, especially grain for the horses. Sometimes, respect pays in more than words.”

“Not often enough,” replied Quaeryt, “but it’s good when it happens.” He fingered his chin. “I fear that the farther we travel from Variana, the less people, even High Holders, will know, and the less respect we will receive, and the more power we will have to display.”

“Even along the Great Canal?” asked Vaelora.

“Even here as we go west,” replied Skarpa. “As Cleotyr pointed out, the High Holders with the most power were gathered in the Chateau Regis. They would be the most knowledgeable. Few Bovarian officers survived the battle, and news travels slowly. More slowly here than in Telaryn, except along the Aluse.”

“The roads…?” inquired Vaelora.

“Your brother, your father, and your grandsire spent golds on good roads,” replied Skarpa. “Except for a few roads along the River Aluse, more and more we are discovering that Rex Kharst and his forbears did not.”

Vaelora looked to Quaeryt. “You wrote about roads and canals.”

“They date back to the Naedarans, and they are all along the River Aluse. Kharst and the Bovarians only used them, and the Naedarans never ruled even as far west as Variana.”

“But how could he rule so vast a land…?”

“Through the High Holders, I would judge, although that is just a guess. He had nothing like your brother’s provincial governors. That is why he needed a corps of trained assassins—and a spymaster—to assure that the High Holders followed his dictates … at least mostly.”

At that moment Quaeryt realized where else he had heard the name Ryel—from Lady Fauxyn after he had crippled her husband—and that mention had been anything but favorable.

After that, the three of them looked over the canal map and discussed possible stops on the way to Laaryn and then the possibilities for heading downriver.

After Skarpa departed, Quaeryt looked to Vaelora.

“You’re worried about something else, aren’t you, dearest?”

“Why do you say that?”

She just looked at him, her brown eyes conveying amusement.

He shook his head. “Several things. First, I read over the documents appointing us as envoys again this morning—very carefully.” He nodded to the document on the table.

“And?”

“I’d like you to read this section. The same wording is in your document, by the way.” Quaeryt pointed, then waited as Vaelora read through the words.

… he is empowered to treat for and make agreements with those required or empowered to make and comply with terms of allegiance to Lord Bhayar of Telaryn, save that no terms hereunto entered into may be construed as limiting the existing powers and authorities of Lord Bhayar …

She looked up, puzzled. “He’s just saying that we can make agreements for him, but those agreements can’t limit his existing powers in Bovaria and Telaryn.”

Quaeryt nodded. “But … what’s interesting is that those powers are not limited to dealing with Khel. They would also allow us to gain agreement with High Holders who do not think they are part of Bovaria, or…”

Vaelora’s eyes widened. “You don’t think?”

“I don’t know what to think, except he is very careful about what power he grants. And he did say that some of the southern High Holders and some in the north may not have paid tariffs in years. You see why I was concerned?”

“I can see that, but it may never come to such. What else?”

“I need to ride with first company and the regiments, at least for most of the day.”

“We’ll ride with them. I’m an envoy, too.”

“Only when you feel good. If you don’t…”

“I promise.”

Quaeryt had his doubts about that, but refrained from voicing them.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” pressed Vaelora.

“Nothing I can put a finger on … I still feel uneasy. Have you had any farsights?”

“Besides the one where I saw you surrounded by ice? I’m not so certain I want to see any more like that … except…”

“That farsight saved my life, dear.”

“I know. That’s why I said ‘except.’”

Quaeryt frowned. “You didn’t answer my question. Have you—”

“Yes … but I’m not going to talk about it. You know why. Anything you say about it might color what I recall—and that would be dangerous because I might not recall it accurately when the time comes to understand what it means. That was something Grandmere was very firm about.”

“She was firm about many things, I have no doubt.”

Quaeryt rose. “Are you ready to ride?”

“Are you?”

They both laughed.

12

For the next three days, almost all that Quaeryt and Vaelora did was ride with one of the companies, either first company or one of those in Eleventh or Nineteenth Regiment, and occasionally with Skarpa and his forces; share rations with the officers; and retire to the canal boat to sleep, then wake and begin the same pattern once more. The one other duty to which they attended was to write their respective missives to Bhayar, ostensibly reporting on what they had observed so far in their travels … and then dispatch them with a trooper courier and his escorts.

By midafternoon on Meredi, a chill wind blew, and light flakes of snow drifted intermittently out of light gray clouds, flakes that melted when they touched the towpath or the mare’s mane or the sleeves of Quaeryt’s uniform jacket.

“First snow of the year,” observed Zhelan, riding to Quaeryt’s right.

“Here,” added Vaelora from his left. “It’s likely snowed in Tilbor. More than once.”

To Quaeryt, the snow was a reminder that the beginning of winter was just a bit more than three weeks away, and that they would be heading north from Kherseilles … and that Khelgror was as far north as was Tilbora. That meant riding into snow.

If only you had recovered sooner.
But there was no way to undo what had been done, and waiting until spring would make matters worse, far worse.

He glanced ahead to see more than a score of people standing on a rise to the north of the towpath, watching as the vanguard rode westward. Many, if not all, appeared to be crofters and peasants from their worn trousers and shirts, the colors of which ranged from faded tans to washed-out grays and blues. Behind them were others bending and stooping among the stalks that remained green. Most of them, Quaeryt realized, were women, and those that were not were old men or children. The children were either shoeless or wore rags wrapped around feet.

“Who are they?” murmured Vaelora.

“Field workers, likely gleaning the fields after the harvest, trying to grub up the leftover grain or beans or whatever,” replied Quaeryt.

“Autumn beans,” added Zhelan quietly. “They’re sweeter, but they’re often frost-killed.”

“I’ve heard of gleaning,” said Vaelora, “but … it’s different when you see it.”

“When you see so many gleaning, especially soon after harvest, that’s often a sign of famine … or a greedy High Holder,” said Zhelan.

“It wouldn’t hurt to learn whose lands they glean,” said Quaeryt.

“It might be better if I asked, sir, or had a squad leader ask.”

“Try with a squad leader,” suggested Quaeryt.

Zhelan turned in the saddle.

Quaeryt did not catch all the words but overheard the gist of the orders. “… don’t press … just ask whose fine fields we’re passing…”

“Yes, sir.”

The three watched as the squad leader rode forward, behind the scouts, and then slowed. Several of the gleaners immediately moved away, but a tall woman with streaks of gray in her hair remained. Her posture was upright, and while Quaeryt could not hear what she said, he could tell that whatever she said was uttered emphatically. After a time the woman gave an abrupt nod and stepped back, her eyes fixing on the approaching riders, although Quaeryt could not determine at which of them she was looking.

The squad leader turned his mount and rode back to rejoin first company. When he reached the head of the column, Zhelan motioned for him to ride alongside, then asked, “What did she say?”

“She said that the lands belonged to High Holder Raynd. She also said that he was a disgrace to both the High Holders and to the Nameless because no just Almighty would let such an abomination live, let alone prosper.”

“She said that?” asked Zhelan.

“Sure as I’m here riding, sir. Those are the words she said.”

“We need to keep that name in mind.” Quaeryt looked to Vaelora.

“I won’t forget.”

Quaeryt doubted that she would, not with such words from the gleaner and not when it was Vaelora’s first sight of such countryside poverty. It was also another reminder to him of how she had been sheltered from certain cruel realities of the world, while being exposed to other cruelties and considerations that the gleaners could not imagine.

“We can’t do anything … either…” murmured Vaelora to Quaeryt.

“Not now.”
And perhaps never … or enough to help these poor folk, either.

The dark-haired woman did not move from where she stood, watching as Quaeryt and Vaelora rode by and remaining motionless as the intermittent snow swirled around her and as the rest of the Southern Army rode and marched onward along the towpath toward Laaryn.

13

Slightly before eighth glass on a cool and hazy Samedi, Quaeryt once more looked to the Great Canal, empty of boats. He turned to Vaelora, riding beside Alazyn at the head of Nineteenth Regiment. “How long has it been since we’ve seen a canal boat?”

“We haven’t seen any today,” noted Alazyn.

“Midafternoon yesterday, I think,” said Vaelora.

Quaeryt nodded. “Then there’s some sort of problem, most likely with the locks, since the water level seems to be all right. I’m going to ride ahead and talk to Skarpa.”

Vaelora glanced sideways at him.

“We’ll ride up to talk to the submarshal.”

Alazyn managed not to smile. “Yes, sir.”

A quint later Quaeryt and Vaelora reined their mounts in beside Skarpa.