L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“Jaesyn … he took one of the boats and left soon after you did yesterday. That wasn’t surprising. I always thought he was one of Kharst’s men.”

“And Fauxyn did nothing?”

“He wasn’t in a position to complain about it, Subcommander.”

Before Quaeryt could ask why, she continued quickly. “My men noticed an odd matter after you departed yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“The gates were locked, and there was no sign of the locks having been severed or opened.”

“Nonetheless, we did open the gates, Lady Fauxyn. How is High Holder Fauxyn?”

“He should survive. He remains in considerable pain. It will do him good, given all he has inflicted upon others.”

“I take it that he was most successful with his blade in the past.”

“He was most polite to those who might have bested him, or who were favorites of Rex Kharst, and most adept at discovering those who were neither his equal nor favorites of the rex.”

“Then, if I might ask why…”

“He struck me when he thought no one was watching last spring in Variana. Kharst’s spymaster discovered that.” Ghretana shrugged. “I made certain, indirectly, that he would. Fauxyn was banished to Fauxheld as a result. He was also told that if I were touched, or if I died, so would he.”

“This spymaster sounds rather accomplished. Who is he?”

“High Holder Ryel. He is, obviously, not known widely as such. He is officially the minister of waterways.”

“You do not trust this Ryel, or you have not told me the truth.”

“Why would you say that?” She smiled winningly, the same smile that had chilled Quaeryt on the previous day.

“The information is too valuable to offer so freely.”

She shook her head, and the smile vanished. Her eyes turned icy. “The price for having that information conveyed unimpeachably to Kharst was high. Too high, except that it was the only way to save my daughter.”

“How old is she?”

“Nine. You will never find her. That I have made sure of.”

“Lady Fauxyn, I am not looking for her. I am here only for supplies.” Quaeryt decided to let the conversation take its course and see if it would reveal more of why Jaesyn had departed, not that Quaeryt didn’t already have a good idea why.

She frowned. “Might I ask who you are … truly?”

“I am a scholar and a subcommander, who discovered little more than a year ago that he was also Pharsi by birth. Those define who I am, Lady.”

“Chamyl-Fauxyn-says that you are not human, that you are a demon. His knives have never failed to strike an enemy.”

“Lady … one thing I have learned is that there is always someone of greater skill and ability … or of greater stature and power.” Quaeryt smiled wryly. “Even when there is not, there are enough curs to pull down the proudest stag. Perhaps … such as Jaesyn?”

“He is only the cur of a cur, and he will report that I have betrayed Kharst by not burning the hold to deny Lord Bhayar. So be it.” She paused, looking directly at Quaeryt. “What is your role in dealing with Bovarian High Holders?”

“The same as that of any other subcommander-to report on what we have seen.”

She nodded. “You are married, are you not?”

The shift in subject surprised Quaeryt for an instant, before he said, “I am, and far more fortunate in that than I ever dreamed.”

Ghretana’s eyes brightened, and they dropped for a moment, before she replied, “So, I imagine, is she.”

“We’re well matched for each other, especially for a marriage neither of us sought.” Quaeryt smiled. “Good day, Lady. Take care of your lands, for they are indeed yours to care for.” He turned the mare, then rode to the first supply wagon, gesturing for the teamsters to follow him to the warehouse he had inspected the day before. He could sense Ghretana’s eyes on his back, but he did not glance behind him as he rode down the stone-paved lane toward the storehouses, the wagons following him.

He also knew it was no accident that she had revealed the name of Kharst’s spymaster, and he concentrated on remembering the name-Ryel.

A quint or so past eighth glass on Vendrei morning, under gray clouds that did nothing to reduce the heat, Quaeryt and Fifth Battalion rode in the middle of the column, behind Fifth Regiment and in front of Third Regiment, although Skarpa rode at the front with Meinyt. The clouds were high enough that rain didn’t appear likely, or not soon.

Roughly a mille ahead, the hedgerow ended, replaced by a few scattered trees with rough piles of rock between them. Even the ground that sloped generally upward from the road showed patches of dirt and clay, and little more than scraggly and sickly weeds. As Quaeryt rode closer, he could see that the hedgerow had not so much ended as had been hacked down, leaving dead brush, but no large sections of wood. With each yard he traveled, the picture of desolation grew more obvious, and more at odds with the verdant harvest landscapes of fields and forests, pastures and orchards they had recently passed, or even the grounds on the river side of the road.

All that remained of a long structure set on a rise in the fashion of many of the main dwellings of High Holders were the lower portions of the outside walls, all of them charred. Clumps of masonry and brick lay amid the dirt and weeds beneath the severely truncated walls. The same destruction had been wreaked on the outbuildings-or what remained of them.

Quaeryt frowned. The charring on the walls was still blackish, and not all that faded, and some of the trees, the few that had not been felled or were not leafless desiccated remnants, had leaves that were outlined in brown and broomlike twigs at the end of their branches.

“What do you think happened there?” asked one of the undercaptains riding behind Quaeryt and Major Zhelan.

Quaeryt smiled ironically, and asked, without glancing back, “What does it look like?”

“It burned, sir.”

“Why might all of the buildings have burned?” asked Quaeryt.

“There was a high wind…?”

Zhelan shook his head, ruefully.

“Sir?” asked Shaelyt.

“An accidental fire wouldn’t have burned every building that completely, and fire wouldn’t have knocked down the walls,” replied Zhelan.

“A fire wouldn’t have ruined the land, either. Places that have burned often have more growth,” added Quaeryt.

“Someone did it all deliberately?” blurted the youngest undercaptain. “Destroyed the entire holding?”

“They even plowed salt into the ground, it would appear,” added Quaeryt.

“I’ve heard of that,” said Zhelan, “but to see it … What a waste!”

Quaeryt had another thought-just how many men and horses and how much salt had it taken to create that devastation? It had to have been done at Kharst’s bidding. And for what? Why hadn’t Kharst just turned the lands over to another favorite?

He studied the extent of the devastation, then nodded. The actual area reduced to uselessness, while not small, measured perhaps a half mille on a side, from what he could see, likely only a small fraction of the lands of a High Holder. Still … achieving that level of destruction had to have taken a significant amount of time and resources-just to punish a High Holder? And it would have increased the costs to whoever took over the lands.

It also suggests the men and golds available to Kharst.

Quaeryt had known the campaign would not be easy or quick. After what he had seen in the last few days, he had an idea that it would also be bloodier and more brutal than any of them had thought. After a moment he turned to Zhelan. “This is what Kharst will do on a whim, and that’s what he’d do to Telaryn, given the chance. Pass it back.”