Antiagon Fire (3 page)

Quaeryt nodded.

“I’ll promote Skarpa, but don’t you say a word. Arranging the other regimental transfers will take a bit more time. Still … you and Vaelora should be able to leave on Lundi.” Bhayar put his hands on the wooden arms of the desk chair, as if about to rise.

“You also need to let Skarpa pick his successor as commander of Third Regiment.”

“Of course. What else?” Bhayar’s voice turned quietly sardonic.

“You’re getting what you want,” Quaeryt said quietly. “I’d like something.”

“Oh? You’re now a commander.”

Quaeryt ignored the reference to the promotion. He’d more than earned it. “You remember that you agreed to my building the imagers into a group that will support you and your heirs, and even Clayar’s heirs?”

“How could I forget?”

“They need to be gathered in a place that is both separate and isolated, yet close enough to remind everyone, quietly, that they are at your beck and call. The battle resulted in much devastation, especially along the river. The so-called isle of piers would be an excellent location for such a place. Also, by turning it into a beautiful isle scholarium for imagers, it would help reinforce both your power and your grace in rebuilding a more beautiful Variana … Although, in a year or so, when you officially relocate your capital here, I would recommend changing the city’s name—”

“Do your presumptions never end?” Bhayar’s tone was half amused, half exasperated, and followed by a sigh.

“Have I advised or done anything that was not proved to be in your interests, sir?” Quaeryt decided against reminding Bhayar that they had already discussed what he’d just said.

Bhayar shook his head, not even trying to conceal his exasperation. “I will be glad when you are off furthering my interests out of earshot.”

“That is another reason why you might consider allowing the isle of piers to the imagers…”

“Enough!” Bhayar shook his head vigorously, but the sigh that followed was the long and dramatic one, not the short explosive one that indicated real anger. “I will hold the isle for a future reserve, for now, until you return from the so-called High Council of Khel with an agreement accepting my sovereignty.”

“You won’t get that unless you allow the head of their High Council to act as the provincial governor of Khel.”

“I can’t do that!”

“How about as princeps? That would allow your rule to be paramount, but allow the Pharsi some latitude in maintaining their way of life.”

Bhayar’s frown was thoughtful.

Quaeryt once more waited.

“Are you sure you didn’t know you were Pharsi until last year?”

“Absolutely.” Quaeryt paused. “You could use that arrangement as leverage to keep the provincial governors of Telaryn in line…”

“They’ll have to grant more than that. At least twenty High Holdings along the coast, and two or three near Khelgror.”

“I
might
persuade them to the coast holdings. I doubt that they’d agree to a high holding near Khelgror unless you made at least one of them a Pharsi holder.”

“Do what you can, but I can’t let it be seen that the Pharsi are dictating terms.”

“In other words, you need to claim you’ve obtained the spoils of high holdings…”

“You don’t have to put it that way, Quaeryt.”

“I just wish matters to be clear between us. I’ve never spoken for you except exactly what you have stated.”

“Or what you’ve gotten me to agree to state.”

Quaeryt grinned. “You’ve never agreed to anything you wouldn’t have granted, and you know it.”

Although Bhayar grinned, if briefly, in return, Quaeryt knew he’d be in the study for at least another glass, going over details … and then the minutiae of those details.

3

As Quaeryt had suspected, his meeting with Bhayar was not short, and he did not return to the quarters he and Vaelora shared until almost three quints past ninth glass. She was waiting for him in the small sitting room adjoining their bedchamber and immediately rose from where she had been seated, setting a small leatherbound volume on the table beside her chair.

“Reading
Rholan and the Nameless
again?” he asked.

She offered a mock scowl. “Are you going to tell me how things went with Bhayar? Besides getting promoted?” An impish smile appeared as her eyes took in the gold crescent moon insignia on Quaeryt’s collar.

“Did you know?”

She shook her head. “You know I’ve scarcely talked to him since you recovered. I did think he’d have to, but having to do something means he’ll usually take his time in getting around to it. What did he say about your going to Khel?”

“About what we suspected,” replied Quaeryt dryly. “Except for one thing. You’re coming with me to Khelgror. We’re both being named as envoys.”

“I thought that might be the case.”

“Oh … you did?”

“Think about to whom you’ll be talking, dearest … and who often makes the decisions. Especially after what happened to most of the men.”

Quaeryt nodded. He should have thought about that. Women were equal, if not more than equal, in Pharsi culture. Since much of Khel had been Pharsi—at least before the ravages of the Red Death and the bloodbath created by the late Rex Kharst’s conquest of Khel—women would definitely be involved in deciding on Bhayar’s offer. Sending not only a high-ranking Pharsi officer such as Quaeryt, but his wife, who was Bhayar’s sister and known to be of Pharsi blood, only made sense.
If you succeed … only if you succeed.
“It’s not likely to be as easy as Bhayar thinks.”

“I doubt he thinks it’s easy.”

“And … if we don’t get their agreement…”

“You’ll end up as princeps in Tilbor again or in the far north of Bovaria when all the fighting’s over,” suggested Vaelora. “Or, even worse, as military governor of Khel.”

“That’s assuming I survive the assignments that Myskyl and Deucalon will suggest Bhayar give me.”

“We’d best succeed.” Vaelora’s voice was firm.

She didn’t have to mention that Quaeryt had barely survived either the battle of Ferravyl or the battle of Variana.

“We’ll have two regiments, plus first company, after we leave Ephra.” He kept a bland expression on his face.

“We’re supposed to travel unescorted across Bovaria?” asked Vaelora a trace sharply.

“No … two regiments and first company will accompany us all the way. Commander Skarpa and Southern Army will also go as far as Ephra.” He shook his head. “After that, Bhayar’s arranged for ships to take us to Kherseilles. I have my doubts about whether they’ll all show up, since ten are merchanters.”
More than doubts, knowing what you know about merchanters. Then again, he had to have made arrangements weeks ago, even before you’d recovered, but …
He looked at Vaelora. “Did you tell him I’d recover?”

“Of course. I knew you would. I told you that, dearest. What about the ships?”

“His two warships will be there, but the merchanters…” Quaeryt shrugged. “If they all don’t make it, Skarpa could use extra battalions and regiments. Then there’s the problem with mounts. The ships can’t carry them. Bhayar claims he’s made arrangements for us to have mounts in Kherseilles, but he wouldn’t tell me the details … and that’s not good.”

Vaelora shook her head. “No … and he probably said he had every confidence in you. But don’t you think we could travel with fewer troopers, even if you don’t want to tell Bhayar?”

“We could. I don’t like it. Do you think I should?”

“No.” She smiled. “You should have the choice of what to do if it comes to that.”

“I still worry.”

“You’ve never had enough troops, or mounts, dearest. Neither has Skarpa. This time, you might. Don’t give them away because something
might
happen.”

It most likely will happen, but she’s right.
In the momentary silence that filled the sitting room, Quaeryt said, “I need to find Skarpa and talk to him.”

“You didn’t tell me when we are leaving.”

“Lundi.”

“Lundi? That only gives me four days to get ready.” Her eyes narrowed. “Am I supposed to ride the entire way?”

“No. We’re to use Rex Kharst’s personal canal boat as far as Ephra. We’ll take the Great Canal from Variana to Laaryn…” Quaeryt quickly explained the arrangements.

“The Great Canal,” mused Vaelora when he had finished. “Wasn’t that where so many died in building it?”

“Kharst’s father started building it. Kharst finished it. They used prisoners, captives, and some even say imagers. It took almost thirty years to finish, and at least one scholar wrote that thousands were buried under its walls.”

Vaelora shivered slightly. “For a canal?”

“Because Bhayar and his father denied Bovarian traders free passage on the Aluse,” Quaeryt pointed out.

“So they sacrificed thousands to avoid paying passage tariffs?”

“Some rulers find lives cheaper than golds,” Quaeryt said dryly.

Vaelora shook her head, then added, “We’ll still end up riding into Khelgror, I’d wager.”

“But you won’t be riding the whole way.”

“Go find Skarpa. I need to make arrangements for more suitable clothing.”

Quaeryt frowned.

“Dearest, even if all goes well, it will be winter, or close to it, before we return to Variana, and by then I will not be able to wear what I now possess.”

“I understand,” he said quickly. “I’ll try to finish…”

“Take your time. And keep working on getting your shield strength back.”

Quaeryt nodded. Actually, from what he could tell, his shields were stronger than ever, confirming his feeling that the more he attempted with imaging, the stronger an imager he became.
Except all the times that happened, you almost died. How long will it be before you push too hard and don’t survive?
He couldn’t help but think about poor Shaelyt … who’d tried to do too much … and hadn’t survived.

“And even if you think your shields are back, keep them up, especially when you think it should be safe.”

Quaeryt smiled sheepishly, then walked over and embraced his wife, holding her closely before kissing her cheek, and retreating to seek out Skarpa.

He’d hoped to find both Major Zhelan and Skarpa in the estate’s guesthouse—temporarily being used as headquarters by Marshal Deucalon, but Zhelan was out, riding a patrol with first company, the only unit effectively left of what had been Quaeryt’s Fifth Battalion, now that the Khellan companies had been dispatched with Subcommander Calkoran.

Quaeryt finally located Skarpa, sharing a small chamber with another commander at the rear of the guesthouse, a space far closer to the courtyard and stables than that of any other senior officer. The other commander was absent, but likely not for long, given the papers stacked on the second desk.

Skarpa rose. Then he saw the insignia on Quaeryt’s collar and nodded. “About time, Commander.”

“Quaeryt. You’ve been a commander longer. You still outrank me.”

“Not for all that long, I’d wager.” The hint of a smile lurked behind Skarpa’s pleasant expression.

“You’ve said that before. It didn’t happen. Bhayar promoted me because he had to for me to command more than one regiment.” He paused. “He has told you about escorting us…?”

“He hasn’t. Myskyl did, this morning.” Skarpa offered a wry smile. “Then, less than a quint ago, Deucalon appeared at my door here, and told me that I’d be promoted to submarshal tomorrow by Lord Bhayar and that I’ll be leading a full seven regiments to Ephra—in addition to your forces. How much of that was your doing? Don’t tell me it wasn’t.”

“It was Bhayar’s decision. I did suggest that two or three regiments weren’t enough for what he wanted, and that it would put less strain on the quartermasters if you took more men south. I also told him to let you pick your successor as commander of Third Regiment.”

“I appreciate that.”

Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.

“Fhaen. Falossn would do as well, but Fhaen has more experience. That’s not all you said, knowing you.”

“I did suggest that he dispatch Myskyl to the north and northwest to assure that the High Holders there, and any remaining Bovarian forces, pledge their allegiance to Bhayar.”

“Like I said, in time you’ll outrank me.”

Quaeryt shook his head. “I’ll never be a submarshal or marshal, and I shouldn’t be.”

“I have my doubts, but I won’t argue. I’ve learned that I’m usually wrong where you’re involved.”

“That’s because I don’t argue when you’re right,” said Quaeryt with a laugh.

“And I argue when I’m wrong?” jested Skarpa.

“No. But sometimes you don’t appreciate your own abilities enough.” After the briefest hesitation, Quaeryt asked, “How many of your new regiments will be foot?”

“Two.”

“Good. You’ll need more foot in the south.”

“That’s why I asked for them.”

“I’m glad we aren’t arguing about that,” quipped Quaeryt.

“There is one problem with the regiments, though,” said Skarpa, “or their commanders. One of them is Fourteenth Regiment. Commander Kharllon.”

“I don’t know him, but I’d wager he’s close to Deucalon or Myskyl. Are there any other commanders or subcommanders in the regiments he assigned to you who outrank Meinyt?”

“No. Paedn, Dulaek, Meurn, and Fhaasn are all subcommanders. One is enough, especially when Kharllon is close to Myskyl.”

“Have you talked to Meinyt?”

Skarpa nodded. “He expected it. So did I, but I don’t like it. Kharllon outranks you, too, but he’d likely not press that. He understands power well.” Skarpa shook his head. “Calkoran won’t get the Pharsi to agree to Bhayar’s terms, you know?”

“I’d be surprised.” Quaeryt laughed sardonically. “I’d be surprised if Vaelora and I can.”

“He’s sending you both?”

“Women have a stronger position in Khel … or they did before Kharst conquered them.”

“I’d still be surprised if you can’t get them to agree.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Khel wasn’t strong enough to stand that long against Kharst, Red Death or no Red Death. It certainly can’t stand for long against a united Telaryn and Bovaria. Now is the time when the Pharsi have the greatest leverage, and you’re the perfect one to point that out.”