L. Modesitt Jr - Antiagon Fire

“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.