Imager’s Battalion (45 page)

Absently, he walked over to the single wall of built-in bookshelves, and studied the volumes there, opening one book after another, most of which appeared to have been unread, and in some cases not even opened. The one slim volume that had definitely been opened and read, often, was entitled, unsurprisingly,
Factors and Factoring
.

The most surprising volume, to him, was a thicker tome—
The End of Naedara
. While he knew he shouldn’t spend too much time reading, he couldn’t resist opening the book and paging through it, occasionally reading a paragraph or two. As always seemed to be the case when he read something one section stood out … and he reread it again.

… while Chelaes was the largest and most important city in Naedara, stories told by the descendants of those who lived there suggest that the Naedaran interpretation of the precepts of the Nameless required that no town or city grow to be too large. Yet Chelaes was clearly larger, until the end, when the other Naedaran towns and cities, according to the stories, turned upon Chelaes, tearing down buildings and carting off goods …

The vanity of size—a form of Naming—and they destroyed their capital city … because of the precepts of the Nameless? Or were those precepts just a convenient excuse?

Reluctantly Quaeryt closed the history and replaced it in the bookcase.

When are precepts good guidelines for action and when are they merely a rationale for doing what one wishes to do?

Still pondering that, he left the study, heading out to make his way through the grounds in order to casually inspect every squad and company in Fifth Battalion. Although he expected no surprises, he checked his shields before he stepped out the rear door of the factor’s residence onto the rear terrace, since Villerive wasn’t exactly friendly territory.

Voltyr was standing in the shade of one of the massive pillars, talking with Desyrk, but both stopped immediately when they saw him.

Quaeryt walked toward the pair. “Are you feeling better, Desyrk?”

The undercaptain’s mouth almost dropped open, but he caught himself. “Sir?”

“You looked like you weren’t yourself when we started at the bridge this morning. I was hoping you felt better.”

“Ah … yes, sir.”

“Good.” Quaeryt looked to Voltyr. “How about you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You both, as you’re able, need to practice shielding as much as you can. Things won’t get any easier as we near Nordeau and Variana.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt nodded and turned, heading toward the stable, far too small to accommodate the battalion’s mounts, although a combination of using a riding arena, and tie-lines and temporary corrals, seemed to be sufficient for the time being. As he walked down the steps from the terrace, he caught a few words.

“… how did he know…”

“… never underestimate him … sees more than you’d ever believe…”

Quaeryt smiled wryly.
If you only did …

After circling the area where the mounts were kept, Quaeryt approached a captain who was inspecting a horse. He waited until the officer stepped back, then said cheerfully in Bovarian, “Good afternoon, Stensted.”

Arion’s second in command turned, inclining his head. “Good afternoon, Subcommander.”

“How are your mounts holding up?”

“Well enough, sir. The reshoeing helped.” Stensted smiled. “We captured almost fifty Bovarian horses this morning. They will also help.”

Quaeryt laughed softly. “I imagine they will.”

“They need care, some of them. The Bovarians, they do not know horses.”

“I’ve heard that those of Khel are known for that.”

“All know that.” Stensted smiled broadly. “It is in the blood. They say that you rode little until the last year, but you ride like one of Khel.”

“Thank you, but I fear I don’t ride like you do.”

The undercaptain shook his head. “None could tell the difference. I cannot. My men cannot.” He offered a sheepish grin. “The imager undercaptains, though…”

“They’ve gotten better, don’t you think?”

“They have … but they could not have been more awkward.”

“We all have to learn things we don’t do well.”

“Yes, sir. We all do.” After a pause the captain ventured, “Do you know what Lord Bhayar will do … after he takes Variana?”

“That has yet to happen,” Quaeryt replied mildly.

“It will happen, sir … and we wonder…”

“If Khel will be free once more?”

Stensted nodded. “One cannot but hope.”

“Captain … I do not know what Lord Bhayar plans. I do know that he believes all Lydar must be one land or there will always be war. But I … like you … would like Khel to be more like it once was. From what I have heard from Lord Bhayar, I would think he would feel in a similar fashion. But I do not know, and he has not spoken of it directly. He has only spoken that the cruelty of Rex Kharst must be ended.” Even that was a bit of a stretch Quaeryt knew, and yet he felt it was true.

Stensted nodded slowly. “You offer hope, but you do not promise what cannot be. Will you speak for us … as you can?”

“I will.” That, Quaeryt could promise. He didn’t see why some form of the Khellan councils couldn’t report to a governor of the province of Khel, so long as tariffs were gathered and order was maintained. He doubted they would be any more trouble than High Holders … and they might be less.

“Thank you, sir.” Stensted inclined his head politely.

Quaeryt nodded in return and then resumed his informal inspection.

By the time it neared fifth glass, he had not finished what he had intended, and he had to hurry back to the residence … and then wait in the study.

Quaeryt had to remind himself that since he was the senior officer, he couldn’t enter the dining room—or mess—until the last bell was struck, by the trooper serving as mess orderly.

When he stepped into the dining room, all thirteen officers rose. Quaeryt noted that all were seated by rank, although he hadn’t specified that. To the right of his place at the head of the long table stood Zhelan, by virtue of his position as assistant subcommander of Fifth Battalion, and to the left was Major Calkoran, as the most senior of the company officers.

“Please be seated,” Quaeryt began in Bovarian. “I will stand for a moment, so that you all can hear what I have to say.” He paused. “First, I haven’t had a chance to tell all of you how well you’ve performed over the last week, and how much both Lord Bhayar and I, in particular, appreciate your efforts and accomplishments. Without the courage and skill of every trooper and every officer, we would not be dining here … and many of us would not be here at all. You all may know that, but too often what is known is not acknowledged.” After another brief pause, he went on. “As some of you know, I met earlier this afternoon with Lord Bhayar, and he conveyed his appreciation to me personally, as well as some information…” Quaeryt continued with a brief description of what he had told Zhelan earlier, ending with, “… we will have greater challenges ahead, but I am confident that we will be able to meet them through your skill and that of your troopers.” Then he looked to the end of the table and switched to Tellan. “I’ve been telling the company officers that it took the efforts of all officers and men to accomplish what we have, and what you all did was vital. I’ll tell you the rest after we eat.”

With that he seated himself.

Once the porcelain mugs—Quaeryt decided that the factor’s crystal was not to be used—had been filled with ale or lager, he raised his mug. “To Fifth Battalion, officers and men.”

“To Fifth Battalion.”

Surprisingly, after the first toast, Major Calkoran stood. “I do not make toasts. This one I must. I have seen many commanders and subcommanders. Never before have I seen one who would share all the risks faced by company officers and troopers, and other risks as well.” Calkoran stopped and looked to Zhelan.

The hard-faced major smiled and added, “We all know that the subcommander can avoid some risks because of his abilities. What some don’t know is that he has fought at the front time and time again when he had no special abilities left. He has fought when he could barely see and when most of his body was covered with bruises. He has been wounded more than any living man in first company.”

That’s because you’ve done stupid things and aren’t that good at hand-to-hand fighting,
thought Quaeryt, although he did not say it, injecting quickly, “No more than any other trooper.”

“To the subcommander,” concluded Zhelan.

After the mugs were lowered, Quaeryt said, in a dryly cheerful tone, “And now it’s past time to enjoy some food.”

He’d judged correctly, because there were smiles around the table.

48

Mardi night, rain began to come down sometime after midnight. The heavier rainfall had dwindled to a drizzle by dawn on Meredi morning, light enough that the men could be fed on the roofed terrace-like porch that encircled Factor Saarcoyn’s dwelling. After breakfast, Quaeryt again met in the study with Zhelan.

“You think this rain will let up before long?” offered Quaeryt conversationally.

“It looks like it might, sir, but this is Bovaria.”

“Not everything is different here.”

“I’d be having some doubts about that, sir.”

Quaeryt waited, wanting to see what Zhelan might add.

“The assistant steward … well … all of them … they act like any moment we’d cut down any of them or the men would take liberties with the serving girls without so much as a by your leave. They can’t believe we’re … well … mannered.”

Quaeryt nodded. “After the way some of the High Holders behaved, would you expect otherwise?”

“High Holders … they’re different. This is a factor’s household.”

“Factors in Telaryn are better behaved, it appears. So are many High Holders.”

“Might not be so hard as I thought for Lord Bhayar to govern this part of Bovaria.”

“Yes and no, I suspect,” mused Quaeryt. “The people might like him better. The High Holders and wealthy factors won’t.” He offered a short laugh. “That’s something we can worry about later. Is there anything else?”

“The Khellan officers appreciated your telling them about what was happening in Bovarian, sir … but I noticed some of the imager undercaptains…”

“I met with them later last evening and spelled it out in Tellan.” Quaeryt smiled crookedly. “I also suggested that anyone who wants to be useful to Lord Bhayar in the years ahead had best know both Tellan and Bovarian.”

“Some of them weren’t too pleased with that, I’d think, not that they’d dare say a word.”

“Pleased or not, it’s likely to be that way.”

“I can see that, sir.”

“What else about the battalion?”

“We’ve got a good fifty mounts lame or nursing injuries … the ones captured will help … still looking for good spares…”

Quaeryt listened for another quint, asking occasional questions.

After Zhelan left, Quaeryt walked to the window and looked out into the misty grayness, wondering how often Bovaria was so dismal, and if the winters were damp and gray.

“Sir?” Behind him, the study door opened.

Quaeryt turned.

“Commander Skarpa and Subcommander Meinyt are riding up the drive,” offered one of the troopers from the front entrance.

“Thank you.” Quaeryt hurried from the study, down the hall, then out onto the covered portico, where he waited as the other two officers dismounted.

“Good morning, Quaeryt,” offered Skarpa as he climbed the steps to the front entry level. He removed his visor cap for a moment and shook off the rain, then replaced it on his head.

Meinyt did the same.

“Good morning, I didn’t know whether to expect you or not. Would you like to meet in the study?”

“That would be good.”

Quaeryt led the way. None of them spoke until Quaeryt closed the study door and gestured toward the plaques table.

“It was easier to come here after Deucalon’s regimental commanders’ general meeting than to arrange to meet elsewhere.” Skarpa’s voice was even as he seated himself at the table.

“Regimental commanders’ meeting?” Quaeryt sat down across from Skarpa. “Not senior officers’ meeting.”

“Interesting that no one raised that point.”

“No one,” agreed Meinyt, settling into the seat facing the window.

“Was Lord Bhayar there?”

“No. He was touring Villerive. I believe the marshal did not call the meeting until after Lord Bhayar had made plans. I understand that he told him that it was a routine staff meeting.”

Quaeryt smiled and shook his head.

“When you get that look, Quaeryt,” said Skarpa, “it worries me.”

“Do you think Bhayar doesn’t know what Deucalon and Myskyl are doing? People are always underestimating him.”

“Do you want to explain?”

“You know as well as I do,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh.

“I
think
I do. I don’t think Meinyt here does, and he should.”

“It’s fairly simple as politics go. By announcing a routine regimental commanders’ meeting at a time when Lord Bhayar is otherwise occupied, Deucalon is making a declaration.”

“That you’re not really a subcommander … and not to be considered as such.” Skarpa nodded. “That you’re only one because you’re a favorite of Bhayar’s. And since none of them have ever seen you fight and lead men, they’ll have no reason to dispute that.”

“Exactly,” agreed Quaeryt. “And if Bhayar changes his plans and appears at the meeting, he’s either in the position of not saying anything and tacitly accepting Deucalon and Myskyl’s unspoken declaration … or having to say something and effectively proving that I’m a favorite who needs to be protected.”

“Where does Myskyl fit in?” asked Meinyt. “I can’t see why Myskyl would do this. He’s given every indication that he doesn’t want to cross you in any way.”

“Exactly.
He
hasn’t. He’s setting up Deucalon for later…”

Skarpa’s mouth opened momentarily, then shut.

“This sort of maneuvering was one reason why I persuaded Bhayar to send me to Tilbor last year.” Quaeryt shrugged. “But wherever there are people seeking power and influence, it goes on.”