L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

While Fifth Battalion was waiting for access to the river, Threkhyl walked his mount over beside Quaeryt and the mare. “Sir?”

Quaeryt turned. “Yes?”

“I’m the strongest of the imager undercaptains, am I not?”

Quaeryt was happy with the way Threkhyl had phrased the question, if less than happy with its thrust. “You are, at least at present.”

“Then why don’t you ever put me in charge when you leave?”

“Because you don’t have the experience that Voltyr does in dealing with superiors who aren’t imagers. And I don’t take you with me because I want to leave the strongest imager with the battalion in case strong imaging is needed.”

“It sounds like you want a strong back … except it’s an imager’s back.”

Despite the truculence barely concealed behind Threkhyl’s almost pleasant tone, Quaeryt managed an even smile. “Voltyr has had years of experience in dealing with people with more power and less patience. You have a temper, and you haven’t had much practice in holding it in. What you do reflects on all imagers … and to some degree, on all scholars as well. At present, scholars and imagers are held as untrustworthy and temperamental. Everything we do must refute that belief. You need to watch and learn more, both in terms of your imaging and your understanding of how regiments and battalions work. If you do, there will come a time when you’re given more authority and more responsibility.”

“What about you, sir? Did you start out as an undercaptain lackey? Or were you a captain or a major?”

“No. I started out riding patrols with ordinary troopers, and I took a crossbow bolt in the chest. You can ask Subcommander Meinyt. He was in charge of the company I was riding with.”

Threkhyl opened his mouth … then shut it.

Quaeryt caught the signal from Major Zhelan and nodded to the undercaptain. “It’s our turn to water mounts.” He raised his voice. “Fifth Battalion! Single file…”

Threkhyl eased his mount back toward those of the other undercaptains.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Quaeryt smiled wryly as he led the mare down the packed trail to the river.

Early on Solayi morning, Quaeryt woke in a tiny room of the White Ox, one of the two inns in Roule, a town that was barely that, even if larger than any of the hamlets that dotted the south side of the River Aluse, but certainly the largest place through which the Telaryn southern army had passed in the twenty-odd milles since leaving Deauvyl. In that whole length, they had passed but one high holding-or rather the abandoned remains of one that looked as though it had been burned more than a few years in the past. The innkeeper at the White Ox had reluctantly admitted the evening before that Roule did have another such personage west of Roule, but that others had said the High Holder was personally absent from the holding.

Although it was barely light, and the single lamp in the room barely shed enough light on the wash table-from which he removed pitcher and basin in order to use it as a desk of sorts-Quaeryt decided that since he was wide awake, he might as well write more on his letter to Vaelora. But what can you tell her that is interesting and yet will reveal nothing if it falls into the wrong hands?

Finally, he began to write.

… We are now north and west of Rivecote Sud, having traveled a most uneven river road. Outside of the less than effectual resistance to our taking the cable ferry at Rivecote Sud, the local people, while taking great care to keep their distance as much as possible, seem strangely indifferent, as if it matters little to them who governs them, so long as that governance is largely at a distance and does not fall too heavily upon their shoulders. They appear far more concerned about the vices and virtues of the High Holders around them than about who rules in Variana, although they are careful in the manner in which they discuss local matters. They will mention favorable traits of people, but when asked questions that might require a negative reply, the response is almost invariably, “I wouldn’t know about that.” That response does provide some information, if not all that one might desire. We’ve seen no boats to speak of on the River Aluse and no Bovarian troops on this side of the river since Rivecote Sud. This suggests that Rex Kharst is likely gathering and massing troops farther upriver, possibly at Villerive or closer to Variana.

I would that I were speaking to you across a table or elsewhere, but such talks, which I have always enjoyed and appreciated, will have to wait until the conclusion of the entire campaign … and perhaps beyond that. I have asked one of the Pharsi officers about the myth of the lost ones, and discovered that, according to the old stories, the original lost ones were …

Quaeryt went on to recount what Shaelyt had told him, ending with

… so it would seem that revealing such characteristics might well subject whoever did so to considerable speculation as to his origins, his motives, and his goals, and, as we both know, speculation about unusual characteristics almost always leads to misunderstandings. Yet there always comes a time when events will conspire to require acts where the truth must out, or the speculations will be more unpleasant and the consequences more dire than the effects of the revelation of the most unpalatable of truths. In this, as in all matters, timing and judgment are paramount.

He added that sheet to those in his leather folder and slipped the folder into his kit bag. After returning the table to its usual function, he washed and dressed quickly, then hurried down the wooden steps to the small public room to eat with Skarpa and Meinyt. He could feel the ancient wooden steps flexing under his boots, and wondered just how old the structure might be.

Less than a half a score of steps from the bottom of the stairs, along a narrow hall was the archway leading into the public room. Quaeryt stepped through, immediately catching sight of Meinyt, seated alone at a corner table. Quaeryt made his way past tables filled with majors and captains and sat down at the table opposite the other subcommander. “Have you seen the commander?”

“Not yet. I asked for two lagers and an ale.” Meinyt glanced around, his eyes passing over the overgenerous figure and gray hair of the innkeeper’s wife. “They must be keeping the young servers out of sight.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Can’t blame them, but…” Meinyt shook his head, then said in a lower voice, “Does it seem to you that the folks here don’t much care who rules?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were so in most towns and hamlets, so long as the ruler leaves their lands and their daughters alone.”

“Or pays well and treats the daughters tolerably well.” Meinyt snorted.

“You’re more cynical than I am.”

“Not much. I’ve known men who’d, if you will, lend out their wife for enough golds or other rewards. As for daughters…” He shook his head. “Heard tell that Rescalyn’s mistress found him a gentleman compared to Kharst and his crew.”

Quaeryt nodded. “She never said much, but the few times I intimated such, she didn’t disagree, and she fled Variana after her sister’s death in rather sordid circumstances involving Kharst. She confided in Vaelora, but Vaelora had to promise not to tell me anything, except that where women were concerned, Kharst was far worse than any of the stories about him.”

“The stories tell of a man who’s little more than a beast.”

“I can only tell you what I’ve heard, but Vaelora doesn’t exaggerate, and I don’t think Mistress Eluisa does, either.” Absently, he hoped that Eluisa D’Taelmyn was still at the Telaryn Palace in Tilbora. Then he almost smiled as he recalled that Vaelora had never finished learning the clavecin pieces from Eluisa. There were always loose ends, in personal and professional sides of life.