Antiagon Fire (43 page)

“A friend sent it to me from Tilbor actually. There’s a High Holder there who brews a truly fine lager. I was fortunate to receive a keg, and able to keep it cool.”

“It is excellent, even after all that travel.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

For the next quint or so, before Nykaal retired and left Quaeryt and Vaelora to their own devices, the conversation remained firmly on lager, wines, and other matters of cuisine and cultured dining. Even as he made various comments and observations, Quaeryt kept thinking about the lager … and how and where it had come to Nykaal.

Quaeryt sat at the circular table, thinking, while Vaelora prepared herself for bed, noting absently that the
Montagne
’s pitching had subsided slightly.

Suddenly Vaelora appeared at his shoulder. “Oh … I didn’t mean to give you a start. I thought you might wish to read this, dearest. Our conversation brought this to mind.” Vaelora handed
Rholan and the Nameless
to Quaeryt, a thin strip of leather marking the page.

“Thank you.” Quaeryt eased from the chair and moved closer to the sole oil lamp still lit, opened the volume, and began to read.

The problem of righteousness is that while most people wish to be perceived as righteous and comporting themselves as good people, many do not wish to make the effort or to pay the prices required. This is one reason why many come to the anomen, for there, by their presence and without words or much effort, they can proclaim their goodness. This is also why, Rholan believed, those whose faith rests on the need to be perceived as good fear and attack anything that might reveal the shallowness of their belief.

He was quite candid, if in private, in revealing that he was unsure of what the Nameless might wish of him, while insisting that to act for what he believed to be good, even if others did not approve, was all that the Nameless could expect, given that the Nameless had seen fit to leave the definition of good to men and women. Moreover, because in their hearts they know they are not as good as they should be, they despise those who display themselves publicly as paragons of virtue, and rejoice when those paragons fall from grace or are shown to have hidden their true nature behind a silver mask of false virtue.

He closed the book and nodded. “Yes … I have had some thoughts along those lines.”
Long before tonight, but tonight was just another example.

Later, when they lay in the bunk, side by side, Vaelora murmured in Quaeryt’s ear, “It’s a good thing you’re returning to Bovaria.”

“I fear that it is.”
I just hope that matters, whatever they may be, have not progressed so far that more great bloodshed cannot be avoided.
But he had strong doubts about that.

44

Vendrei morning had dawned overcast, and by ninth glass, the clouds that had appeared out of the west had thickened, darkened, and threatened rain. Quaeryt stood on the starboard side of the sterncastle’s upper deck, studying the sea to the south, where he’d glimpsed the sails of several ships, heading westward, he thought. Even after a quint of watching, the distant sails had not moved appreciably closer, but were definitely on a westerly course.

Finally, he walked toward the helm, where Nykaal had positioned himself, because Quaeryt had seen the captain receiving reports from the lookouts. When it appeared Nykaal was not unduly occupied or concentrating, Quaeryt asked, “Can you tell me about the ships to the south … besides their being on a westerly course?”

“Three carrack-type merchanters. They look to be Ferran outbound from Kephria. They’re riding high, and they haven’t ballasted heavily enough for what little they’re likely carrying. If they’re carrying much of anything at all.”

That the vessels were Ferran, partly empty, and outbound made sense. Antiagon traders usually carried their own goods, light and high value items such as silk and fine cottons, in their own bottoms.

“That means they were inbound heavily laden.” Quaeryt frowned. “I wonder if they were carrying worked iron of some sort.” There wasn’t much metal-working in Antiago, and the southern half of the land, that part bordering the ocean, was rugged and hilly, with comparatively fewer people, while the east backed up to the seemingly endless Sud Swamp. Quaeryt would have been astonished if the population of Antiago amounted to a tenth part of that of even old Telaryn.

“Cannon … muskets … blades, you think?”

“It wouldn’t have to be that. Just tools. The Ferrans had enough time to realize that Aliaro wouldn’t be getting any more iron goods smuggled from Bovaria or from outlanders who picked up iron tools in Solis and shipped them to Estisle or Kephria. Bhayar tariffs the iron leaving Telaryn heavily, but he can’t prevent foreign bottoms from sailing to Antiago.”

“Not unless he wants to build a fleet,” replied Nykaal.

“In time, he or Clayar may have to.”

For a moment Nykaal seemed to consider Quaeryt’s words, as if weighing them. “You think so?”

“Once he consolidates all Lydar, he won’t need as many troopers, and the greatest threats will be to traders and shippers.”

“Don’t know as I’ll be manning a deck when that happens.”

“That’s why I said Bhayar or his son. It depends on how ambitious he is and how long he rules.”

Nykaal nodded. “That’s true of any ruler.”

“Seems to me that we’re making fair progress.”

“A steady following wind helps.” Nykaal looked back to the west. “If the winds pick up too much more, we’ll have to reef sail.”

“The clouds aren’t that dark. You might be fortunate and just get rain and good winds.”

“Still have to keep a close eye on them.” Nykaal looked back and then toward the helm.

Quaeryt took the hint and moved back toward the railing once more.

Later that afternoon, Quaeryt sat at the circular table in the captain’s stateroom. Vaelora sat across from him. The clouds of the morning had thickened and darkened, and cold raindrops pelted against the glass of the portholes, and the
Montagne
continued to pitch and dip with the long regular following swells as she headed southeast.

Vaelora covered her mouth, trying not to burp. “How much longer will we be on this course?”

“Until we pass Cape Morain. Then we’ll have another day or so heading northeast, maybe longer, if we head into prevailing winds out of the north.”

“When we get to Geusyn, what will you write Bhayar?”

“Just what happened, and the fact that the High Council is considering his terms over the winter, and that it made little sense to remain there … but to return to Geusyn where we can support Submarshal Skarpa in the interim. Do you disagree with that?”

“No. That’s the best we can do. What will you tell Skarpa?”

“Beyond what happened? I’ll just have to see. I may not have to tell him anything. If all the border High Holders refuse to offer allegiance to Bhayar or, worse, attempt to claim allegiance to Antiago, and if Aliaro won’t disown or surrender them…”

“Then there will be war with Antiago?”

“Do you think your brother is likely to allow High Holders to secede from Bovaria and Telaryn?”

“Not once he discovers such, but it would take more than two weeks for him to discover that and issue orders.”

“He has two envoys committed to speak for him in terms of pledging allegiance to Lord Bhayar and Telaryn.”

“Those credentials were meant for dealing with Khel.”

“Remember what we discussed while we were still on the Great Canal…?”

“You think he was thinking about rebelling High Holders?”

Quaeryt shrugged. “I have the feeling he was concerned, but he didn’t want to spell that out. Why else would he have waited until the last moment to provide our credentials and hand them to us personally less than a glass before we departed?”

“He’s protecting himself. If what we do goes well, he can claim he anticipated it. If not, he can say we exceeded his authority.”

“I don’t think it’s that. He expects us to deal with any such problems, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know he’s delegating that much authority until afterward. Then he can claim he authorized it all along.”

“Why? Because you’re a scholar and an imager, and I’m a woman and his sister?”

“Something like that,” Quaeryt said. “Look who surrounds him.”

“That’s been his choice.”

“Given Telaryn and Bovaria … has he had that much choice?”

“Probably not,” replied Vaelora grudgingly.

Quaeryt nodded.

“What aren’t you saying?” Vaelora’s glance at Quaeryt was not quite accusing.

“Why do you think I’ve tried not to be too obvious in what I’ve done? Well … ever since Extela.”

“Destroying armies isn’t obvious?”

“Have I done a thing to claim personal credit? Haven’t I always made sure that all the imagers were considered part of what happened? Weren’t they the ones most visible in improving and repairing things?”

After several moments Vaelora finally spoke. “I’m not certain you’ve been as unobvious as you’d like, but you certainly have avoided taking credit. That’s true.”

“I’d prefer to build the imagers into a stronger force so that they’re considered as a power in the same way High Holders or factors are … so that no one will think that eliminating a strong imager or a leader will destroy their power.”

“That also protects us.”

“That would be my hope.”

Vaelora smiled, if but in passing. Then, after several moments, she spoke. “What you said about not being obvious … it reminded me of something else.”

“What might that be?”

“
Rholan and the Nameless
.”

“I’ve thought a lot about it. You know that. What are you thinking?”

“I keep wondering who wrote the book.”

“It had to be someone who knew him closely.”

“But who knew him that closely?” replied Vaelora. “It couldn’t be family … or children. He didn’t have any.”

“So far as we know,” said Quaeryt dryly.

“Do you really think he had a mistress or bastard children?”

“Probably not,” conceded Quaeryt.

“The writer says he never married.”

“Then it had to have been one of his followers.”

“That’s a problem, too. If what the writer says about him is true, he could be pretty prickly. Besides, none of the other stories about him mention any devoted followers. He had admirers, but people who were close to him?” Vaelora shook her head.

“Then who did write it?”

“I don’t know … yet … but there has to be a clue somewhere in the book.”

“Just like everything has clues?” he asked with a laugh, grasping the edge of the circular table as the
Montagne
abruptly pitched and rolled simultaneously.

“Not everything,” she replied. “Not everything.”

Especially not everything where women are concerned.
But he only said, “That’s true.”

45

Both the rain and strong following winds continued for almost another day before both subsided. Finally, on Solayi morning, the
Montagne
and the
Solis
crept up the last few milles of the Gulf of Khellor toward Ephra under hazy skies that blocked most heat from the sun and left frost on any shaded section of the ship’s decks. Quaeryt stood on the sterncastle deck in the raw cold that might have been truly bitter, even in his heavy winter riding jacket, had the wind amounted to any more than the faintest breeze. Vaelora had joined Quaeryt briefly, then retreated to the stateroom when it had become clear that the
Montagne
’s progress was slow, that there was little to see, and that Quaeryt was not the best of company.

Nykaal did not move from his post near the helm, but his head and eyes never stopped searching, even after the lookouts reported sighting no ships moored either at Ephra or Kephria.

The fact that there were no ships in the harbor at Kephria or moored offshore, combined with the sighting of vessels leaving Antiagon waters lightly loaded, or perhaps without any outbound cargoes, had Quaeryt fretting. What had happened in Geusyn? Had the local High Holders turned their forces against Skarpa? Was the Autarch backing them? Or had they retreated into Antiago? Or had something even worse occurred?

Finally, as the
Montagne
neared Ephra, Nykaal crossed the deck to where Quaeryt stood.

“Commander, how do you want to handle debarkation … and where?”

“What would you recommend as the fastest way to get the men to Geusyn and you on your way back to Kherseilles?”

“Those aren’t quite the same objectives, Commander. It would be far faster for the
Montagne
if we moored at Ephra.”

“But getting the men to Geusyn would take longer?”

Nykaal nodded.

“Then we should use the best method to get the men to Geusyn quickly.”

“I thought that might be your decision, given your concerns about the High Holders and Autarch Aliaro. We can sail farther north, if we stay to the west, and we can use the pinnaces…”

Quaeryt listened as Nykaal explained what he proposed, essentially using the pinnaces to ferry the troopers to a point south of Geusyn and then letting the river carry the empty pinnaces back out to the
Montagne.

By the second glass of the afternoon, the first pinnace, carrying Zhelan and most of the first squad of first company, was under sail toward the lower ferry piers of Geusyn. From what Quaeryt could tell, there were no troopers in the area, and there was no cannon fire from the northern walls of Kephria. Still … he worried.

The second pinnace—from the
Solis
—arrived and took second squad. More than a glass later, the first pinnace returned to the
Montagne,
this time for Quaeryt and Vaelora, the undercaptains, and half of third squad.

The River Laar was choppy, and the spray from the waves was so cold that it stung when it hit the exposed flesh. By the time Quaeryt helped Vaelora out of the pinnace at the lower ferry piers, he had the feeling that his face was reddened and almost frostbitten.

Zhelan greeted them immediately.

“As you requested, sir, I sent word to Submarshal Skarpa. He holds the River Inn as his headquarters. Your mounts are waiting up on the road. His dispatch said that he looked forward to meeting with you at your earliest convenience.”