L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“I am not asking you pledge to Lord Bhayar. I am asking that you pledge not to raise arms against him so long as his armies control these lands.”

“I could pledge and lie.”

“You could,” said Quaeryt. “That would be foolish.” As he spoke the last words, he image-projected absolute authority and the sense that Cassyon’s lands would be in ruin and all on them would be dead.

Cassyon took a half step backward. Then he looked at Quaeryt, even more closely. “Who … what … are you?”

“Subcommander Quaeryt, sometime scholar, former governor of the province of Montagne, and brother by marriage to Lord Bhayar.”

“And you are a mere subcommander?”

“That is what I have earned, High Holder Cassyon.”

“I will pledge not to raise arms so long as your lord holds these lands and to sell to him or his commanders what he may require. I do so because you are not a subcommander, or not just a subcommander.” Cassyon shook his head. “I am not a coward, but a man would be a fool to stand against death upon a horse.” He paused. “Do you require goods now?”

“No. We may never require goods of you. Then, we may.” Quaeryt nodded. “Good day.” He flicked the reins gently, then guided the mare back to where first company waited.

As they headed back down the drive, Shaelyt eased his mount up beside Quaeryt’s mare.

“Sir … what did you do?”

“I talked to him, Undercaptain. I asked him to pledge not to raise arms against us and to sell goods to us, if required. That’s all I said.”

“Sir … even I could sense death and destruction rise around you and flow over the High Holder.”

“ Even you, Shaelyt?” Quaeryt smiled. “You’re Pharsi. You’re one of those who can sense what is not said or spoken. Perhaps Cassyon could as well. I did attempt to convey, without words, that failing to pledge would lead to death and destruction. But I said nothing of the sort.”

“You are like the ancient lost ones…” Shaelyt’s voice was low.

“That … I couldn’t say, not having known any of them. I don’t even know who my parents were, save that they had to have been Pharsi, because I look that way and because I remember a few words and phrases.”

“No, sir, you are Pharsi, and you are a lost one. You may even be the lost one.”

“Shaelyt…” Quaeryt let a little exasperation show in his voice. He’d been called that several times, but never where he could follow up on what it meant. “Would you mind telling me exactly who ‘the lost one’ is supposed to be. If you’re going to insist that I might be something, it would be helpful to know what it might be.”

Shaelyt said nothing for several moments as they neared the pillars at the end of the drive.

Quaeryt could see that Third Regiment had caught up and was passing the gate. He reined up and signaled the company to halt. It would be easier to let the regiment pass and then cross behind the supply wagons and catch up to Fifth Battalion going single file and using the wider shoulder on the river side of the road. He turned to the Pharsi undercaptain. “Go ahead.”

“Sir…”

Quaeryt waited.

“The first lost ones were those imprisoned in a valley in the Montagnes D’Glace by Erion. He sent shafts from his mighty bow into the pass that led to the northern valleys of Khel and brought down the cliffs on each side on the warriors who were about to attack the Eshtorans. He said that while the descendants of those warriors might escape, their past desire to slaughter innocents would always mark them as lost ones, and that they would not be truly saved until the time of the last lost one- the lost one who would change everything across all Lydar. He also said that the lost one would come as one truly lost to his heritage and from afar, and that he would have a voice that few could resist and that he would triumph not by force of arms, although few would ever be able to withstand him, but because he sought justice and mercy for Pharsi and non-Pharsi alike.” Shaelyt paused, then added, “My father told me that most Pharsi forget to mention the last part. They don’t like it that the lost one would seek mercy for both the Pharsi and for those who have persecuted us for generations.”

“Does this … legend say anything about what justice is supposed to be?”

“Not that I heard, sir.”

Quaeryt shook his head. “I’m a scholar who’s gotten tolerably good with a half-staff out of necessity”- and imaging -“and I’ll admit I’d like to see justice and mercy for those who’ve been denied it, such as scholars, imagers, Pharsi, and anyone else who’s been deprived. But … I don’t think that qualifies me as the lost one. There have been men before me, and there are those today, and there will be others in the future who seek those ends. Certainly, Rholan did. In his own way, so does Lord Bhayar, and that is one reason why I’m here.” Not the only one, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that. Even as he thought that, another thought crossed his mind. If you hadn’t believed that, you wouldn’t have Vaelora.

He managed to stifle a bemused smile.

“Sir … ah…” Shaelyt edged his mount almost stirrup to stirrup with Quaeryt.

“Yes?”

“None of them called down ice torrents and slew thousands.” Shaelyt’s voice was firm, but barely above a murmur.

“We all did that,” replied Quaeryt quietly. Even if I probably did most of it.

Shaelyt’s eyes fixed on his. “Sir … I have no illusions about what I can do. I have watched and watched. You have hidden behind a cloak of light or something like it an entire regiment so that no one saw us approach. You have known exactly what exercises will improve us as imagers. I have seen men and mounts fly away from you in battle without your ever touching them…”

“And you’ve also seen me almost die,” countered Quaeryt.

“Yes, sir. You have not been afraid to risk your own life to save those around you.” The young undercaptain smiled softly. “Tell me, honestly, that you are not an imager and not a lost one.”

What do you say to that? Quaeryt looked back into the other’s dark eyes and smiled ironically. “You know I cannot say that. But I also cannot affirm it, not now, and not if we are to succeed. But … please, do not insist that I am the lost one.”

“You do not want what you are known because the marshal and the vice-marshal do not want it said that an imager is a subcommander?”

“Let us just say that Lord Bhayar knows what I am, although we have never spoken of it, and he would prefer matters remain as they are.”

Shaelyt nodded. “Then … that is how it shall be. If anyone asks, I will say that is a question that they should pose to you, and not to me.”

“Thank you, Undercaptain.”

Shaelyt nodded solemnly.

“What else can you tell me about the lost ones?”

“I’ve told you what I know … what I remember. My parents didn’t talk much about the lost ones or the old ways, only when my father drank too much on holidays.” Shaelyt grinned. “Then he talked too much, my mother said.”

“I do appreciate what you have told me. Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As they waited for the last riders of Third Battalion to pass, Quaeryt felt that he’d handled the questions Shaelyt had raised as well as he could in the situation in which he found himself. Sooner or later, it would all come out, but it would be best if it came out somewhat later.

When the regiment finished passing, Quaeryt signaled, and first company rode quickly across the road and onto the shoulder. Less than a quint after Quaeryt and first company returned to the main force, Skarpa called a halt, in order to rest and water mounts and men.