Antiagon Fire

4

Quaeryt barely had time to wash up and change out of his muddy undress uniform into his only set of dress greens, except, as was the case with all his uniforms, the jacket shirt and trousers were green tinted with brown, to show his scholar background. Then he joined Vaelora in their sitting room-prior to walking down to the formal dining room of the estate house for dinner with Bhayar, the first dinner they had shared with him in weeks.

“You look beautiful.” Quaeryt appraised his wife, who wore a long black dress with a silver and black jacket.

“I can barely fit into this.”

“That doesn’t show.”

“It will before long,” said Vaelora. “I worried you’d forgotten we were having dinner…”

“No. I had to meet with Skarpa and Major Zhelan. I also dropped in and paid my respects to Submarshal Myskyl, then rode out and met with Subcommander Alazyn.”

“How was the good submarshal?”

“We were very polite. He intimated that Khel would be loyal to Bhayar and that if it weren’t, it would be my fault. I said that Khel had never been loyal to Kharst and the Pharsi Khellans especially didn’t see Bhayar as Kharst’s successor, but that I would certainly endeavor to establish such loyalty. He intimated that I was a devious schemer, if one enthusiastically loyal to Bhayar. I blandly noted that his and Rescalyn’s actions in Tilbor were masterful, and that I had learned much from them. We parted with amicable words.”

“But far from amicably.”

“Politely. He’s never liked nor trusted me, and I certainly don’t trust him. More important, I don’t think your brother should. Ever.”

“While you were ill, dearest, as I may have mentioned, we did discuss that. He will watch both Deucalon and Myskyl closely. He does believe that they have their uses.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Of course. Yours are just more valuable and longer lasting. And … we should be joining dear brother, dearest…” murmured Vaelora.

Quaeryt grinned. “A polite reminder to begin escorting you down the stairs and into dinner. Do you know who else will be there?”

“Marshal Deucalon, I believe, and perhaps several others.”

“Officers … local High Holders?”

“Brother dear did not convey that information to me.”

When they reached the main level and had walked a good fifty yards toward the front of the large hold house, they came to an undercaptain standing by the open door to the chamber adjoining the dining room. “Lady, Commander…”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt allowed Vaelora to guide him while giving the impression that he was the one leading, into the sitting room … or reception chamber.

There, Bhayar and Deucalon stood talking, half facing the window overlooking one of the already frost-killed gardens. Near the hearth at the end of the room away from the open double doors leading to the formal dining chamber stood two other men. One was white-haired, with a lined but tanned face, who wore the vestments of a chorister of the Nameless. The other, gray-haired, wore a formal black jacket and a pale gray shirt, with a high collar.

Bhayar turned. “Vaelora, Quaeryt…” He smiled at her. “You are lovely this evening.”

“You commanded that I look my best,” replied Vaelora with an expression just short of mischievous.

“You both know Marshal Deucalon, of course. The distinguished-looking chorister there is Amalyt D’Anomen. He has been the chorister of the Anomen Regis … before it was damaged by the storms created in the battle. The equally distinguished personage in black is Chamion D’Council, the head councilor of the city of Variana.” Bhayar turned to the two local officials. “Commander Quaeryt is the most battle-wounded and tested of my commanders, and also the husband of my charming youngest sister, Vaelora.”

Both the chorister and the councilor inclined their heads.

“The commander is also an imager and a scholar,” added Bhayar. “We’ve known each other since we were students, but that’s never prevented him from disagreeing with me.”

“Battle-wounded…?” ventured Amalyt. “I would not have thought…” He shook his head and added, almost apologetically, “Scholars here are much … different, it appears.”

“You might explain, Quaeryt,” suggested Bhayar. “Briefly.”

“I never set out to be an officer,” began Quaeryt. “I was pressed into service in the revolt in Tilbor. After the revolt, I served briefly as princeps of Tilbor, then as temporary governor of Montagne province after the earthquake and eruption there, long enough to restore order, before being called to serve as a subcommander in the campaign that led to Variana.”

“Commander Quaeryt proved most effective in leading from the front and forging somewhat inexperienced troops and officers into a most effective and devastating force,” said Deucalon smoothly. “He came close to dying at least twice.”

“I do believe dinner is waiting,” said Bhayar, nodding toward the open double doors, standing back, and then following the others.

A shorter table had been set, with screens shortening the room and blocking off the long table. Bhayar stood behind the chair at the end closest to the double doors from the sitting room, while Deucalon took the chair at the end of the table opposite Bhayar. To Bhayar’s right was Chamion, and to his left was Vaelora. Amalyt was seated below Vaelora, and Quaeryt below Chamion.

Once the others were seated, Bhayar settled himself at the head of the table and waited for the ranker in formal greens to fill the crystal goblets with a pale amber vintage. Then he raised his goblet. “My appreciation to our guests for their courtesy in joining us.”

“And our appreciation to you, Lord Bhayar,” replied Chamion in a raspy deep voice, “for seeking us out.”

After everyone had drunk, or sipped, the toast, and as the uniformed servers began slipping soup bowls before the diners, Bhayar spoke again. “I sought you out in hopes you could provide observations and other thoughts that will make the next months … less disruptive for everyone.”

“If I might say so, Lord Bhayar,” replied Amalyt immediately, with a slightly testy edge to his voice, “the very fact of your inviting us suggests that you wish the choristers of the Nameless to be supportive of your rule. While I certainly would rather have peace than anarchy or continuing conflict, I would suggest that the Nameless cannot be invoked as supporting or opposing any ruler…”

Bhayar glanced to Quaeryt.

“Honored Chorister,” began Quaeryt, “Rex Kharst attacked Telaryn with no warning or provocation after he learned that the former and ancient capital of Telaryn had been partly destroyed by fire and earthquake. When Lord Bhayar responded, Rex Kharst immediately threatened all his people and High Holders with death and worse if they so much as sold a single keg of flour to the armed forces of Telaryn. He had his own men burn the fields of poor tenants. He dispatched assassins against his own High Holders. Lord Bhayar and all his commanders have taken great pains to avoid creating unnecessary suffering for the people of Bovaria, and he has treated them far more fairly than did Rex Kharst.”

“I cannot dispute you, Commander, nor would I even if your words were not true, although I must admit that at least some of what you say, and perhaps more, is unhappily so. My concern and belief is that such views not be discussed in the anomen.”

“I can understand your feelings, Chorister Amalyt,” responded Quaeryt in as gentle but firm a voice as he could manage, “but so far as I am aware, and you may certainly correct me if I misspeak, the Nameless stands above physically taking sides in the conflicts of men. Yet … over time, those who have served the Nameless have often expressed their views about the practices of rulers and High Holders and whether those practices were in accord with the precepts set forth as worthy of the Nameless. If I recall correctly”-Quaeryt paused just slightly, then continued-“in olden times, the noted chorister Tharyn Arysyn barred even Rholan the Unnamer from the north anomen in Montagne, not far from Rholan’s own home, saying that only those who had studied the Nameless could speak and that Rholan’s teachings were not in accord with the ways of Tela. Perhaps I am misinterpreting that history, but it would appear that the chorister was using the imprimatur of the Nameless in support of the way things were, and that includes the ways of ruling. Likewise, is it not true that when barely a man, Rholan supported the Chorister Sumaal, when Sumaal allowed High Holder Quintus of Montagne to proclaim the unfitness of Lord Suffryk of Tela to rule? As I have read, Rholan declared that Sumaal was only doing what any good chorister should do in allowing Quintus to apply the precepts of the Nameless to rulers as well as to the common man, the tradesman, the factor, or the High Holder.” Quaeryt looked to Amalyt, waiting.

“You appear unusually well read in matters concerning the Nameless,” replied the chorister, “yet times and people demand … certain adjustments … to … older practices.”

“Rholan had some words for that, I believe,” said Quaeryt. “Justice is what men should do, while law is what codes and powers require them to do, and that is invariably less than what they should do or what the Nameless requires of them. Your words suggest that choristers must refrain from applying the precepts of the Nameless to rulers. Would it be inaccurate, or against the precepts to which you have devoted your life, to declare that, while war is indeed deplorable, and that many suffered in the conflict, Lord Bhayar has behaved more honorably than the previous ruler of Bovaria, and that you trust he will continue to do so … and that you will measure his behavior and acts, as you do those of all men, against the precepts of the Nameless?”

A wry smile appeared on Amalyt’s lips. “You are a dangerous man, Commander, especially for one so comparatively young. If I speak against your words, I appear unreasonable to you … and to a lesser amount, to myself. Yet if I raise my voice in support of Lord Bhayar, most of my congregants will discredit me.”

“Then do not speak in support of Lord Bhayar,” replied Quaeryt. “Tell your congregants that, so far, matters have been far better than anyone could have hoped in a war of such scope and that Lord Bhayar has behaved honorably, unlike the late Rex Kharst, and that the test of Lord Bhayar’s character and acts will come in the months and years ahead.”

Amalyt turned to Bhayar. “He is most persuasive, is he not?”

“I have found him persuasive not because of his words, but because of his judgment.” Bhayar offered a slightly crooked smile. “I will not say that I have always found his words agreeable. But his counsel is seldom wrong, even when he was but a modest scholar. Quaeryt has studied more history, and forgotten more than I ever learned, for all that his tutor and mine attempted to require us to learn.”

“I suspect you know more than you allow,” suggested Chamion.

“That is a trait of all rulers,” said Amalyt, “and one cannot blame them.”

“It’s true of all men of ability,” added Deucalon.

After a moment of silence, the councilor spoke again. “There was much destruction in the western part of Variana … of a rather strange and mysterious nature.”

“There was,” agreed Bhayar. “That often occurs in war.”

Chamion frowned.

“Perhaps,” suggested Vaelora, “the councilor meant to inquire about what you plan to do there.”

“We have already rebuilt the exterior and interior of the Chateau Regis, thanks to Commander Quaeryt and his officers, and we have begun to refurbish it. We will restore the lands as time and golds permit. I will see … perhaps … about repairs to some anomens.”

Quaeryt understood the implications of the word “perhaps.”

“But … what of all the others…?”

“I cannot afford to rebuild all that Rex Kharst destroyed in Telaryn. Surely you do not expect me to rebuild all that has been destroyed here as a result of Kharst’s unwise decisions.”

“One could hope … for … some assistance.”

“On that, we will have to see once Bovaria is settled once more.”

“You have said little, either here or in public, Lord Bhayar, about High Holders … whether they or their heirs might still hold their lands, or whether you plan great changes.” Chamion looked to the head of the table.

“There will doubtless be some changes in holdings, councilor,” replied Bhayar. “There were some High Holders whose behavior was so egregious as to merit loss of position and lands, and there may be others who perished in the fighting without direct heirs. In general, I do not plan to replace reasonable and effective High Holders unless they give me cause. Some may lose a portion of their lands, as I see fit, depending on circumstances, but I believe these matters will sort themselves out over the next few months.”

“And choristers?” asked Amalyt.

“Unless a chorister incites against me or causes others to do so, I have no plans to replace choristers. I reserve the right to do so, but would only do so for cause.”

Amalyt offered a nod that was as much grudging as accepting.

“Might I inquire as how you plan to rule both Bovaria and Telaryn?” Chamion glanced from Deucalon to Bhayar.

“As one land, with the same laws for both … in time, of course. Anything else would not be fair.” Bhayar laughed musically. “Anything else wouldn’t work well for long, either.”

After another three courses, a dessert of pear tarts, and a sparkling wine … and more questions and much carefully worded conversation, Bhayar eased back his chair, then rose. “Chorister Amalyt, Councilor Chamion … it was a pleasure to get to know you. I trust that we will all be able to work together to assure that the future is more promising than the past.”

“That would be our hope as well,” replied Chamion.

Amalyt merely nodded and said, “Lord Bhayar.”

After the two Bovarians had departed, Bhayar nodded for Deucalon, Quaeryt, and Vaelora to join him in the reception room, although once there, he did not seat himself.

“Marshal, what are your thoughts?”

“They’re like all functionaries. They’ll accept matters as they are going to be, and they won’t openly oppose you. For now, they won’t even do so behind closed doors. They will strive to position themselves favorably.” Deucalon cleared his throat. “You’ve never said about High Holders…”

“That’s because we don’t have a complete accounting yet. It appears as though close to fifty High Holders were killed in the battle of Variana and the aftermath. Most died when the Chateau Regis froze solid.” Bhayar smiled. “That worked out rather well, because the majority of those were those closest and most loyal to Kharst.”

“From what I observed during the campaign,” said Quaeryt, “those most loyal to Kharst would most likely be High Holders of the kind least disposed to an honest and direct ruler.”

“Deucalon,” said Bhayar, nodding to the marshal, “and I made similar observations from what we saw. That is another reason for dispatching Submarshal Myskyl to the north and west and Submarshal Skarpa to the south. Until they return, we will not know how many high holdings there are in which we will have to replace the holder. There will certainly be those who will need to be replaced with more reliable and loyal High Holders. Such replacement will have to wait until all is largely settled, but it will happen.”

“I can see that,” said Deucalon, “and I am glad to hear it.”

“I’m sure you can, and I’ll be taking your counsel in that.” Bhayar smiled at Deucalon. “I’ll be walking back to my quarters with Vaelora and Quaeryt.”

“Yes, sir.” Deucalon smiled politely, bowing slightly before turning and departing.

“That went about as well as it could have,” observed Bhayar.

“You’ve been having dinners like that for weeks?” said Quaeryt.

“Not every evening, but more than I’d like. How are your imagers doing?”

“They all recovered far more quickly than I did. Would you like me to see if they can make some repairs to Amalyt’s anomen?”

“If it does not strain them for the journey west.”

“Are you sending them all with me because I’ll need them, or because you want to see how matters are here without us around?”

Bhayar shrugged. “There are reasons. Those are some of them. Imagers are another form of power. I’d like to believe that they’re the kind of power the Pharsi can respect.”

“Once the imagers are settled, they should wear gray.”

“Settled?” The Lord of Telaryn raised his eyebrows.

“On the isle of piers,” Quaeryt reminded Bhayar.

“Gray?” Bhayar frowned.

“The black of mourning mixed with the white of ice. Call it a reminder of what the excesses of imaging can do. The imagers will need that reminder. So will a few others.”

Bhayar looked at his sister. “He doesn’t give up, does he?”

“You wouldn’t be here, dear brother, if he were a man who did.”

Bhayar winced at the polite chill in Vaelora’s voice. “I can see I’m outnumbered.” He laughed softly. “The isle of piers and gray uniforms it is, but only after you and I-and Vaelora-are all agreed that matters are settled. Is that all?”

“For now,” said Quaeryt cheerfully.

“I fear I may hear that from you two for some time.”

“It was your idea that we wed,” said Vaelora sweetly.

“It was a good idea,” replied Bhayar, “but even the most beautiful rose has thorns, and the most useful knife can slice the user.” He walked toward the door. “Tell me what you expect from the Pharsi while we walk back to our quarters.”

“They will expect to be treated with respect, and most likely, as you pointed out, many of those on the High Council will be women. They will be leery of a strange Pharsi officer from Telaryn, but Vaelora will help…”

By the time they reached the landing leading up to their tower chamber, where they parted with Bhayar, Quaeryt felt he had offered more qualifications and generalizations and fewer concrete observations and expectations than he would have preferred. He said little more until he and Vaelora were alone in their sitting room.

“I was surprised that he actually accepted my suggestions about Myskyl and Skarpa. I’m even more surprised that he mentioned what he’d done at dinner.”

“Oh? How do you think he could admit you were right without actually saying so?”

“There is that. But I’ve never thought of myself as a great speaker.”

“You? After giving all those wonderful homilies?”

“Homilies are different from conversations at dinners involving matters of state where every word and expression is weighed and analyzed.”

“You remind me of Rholan,” said Vaelora.

“Me?”

“Wait a moment.” She walked to the table that held the small brown leatherbound volume and began to leaf through it. “Here. Just listen to this.”

Quaeryt listened.

“To hear Rholan converse, one would never have guessed at his power when he spoke to believers or to deliver a homily. Some years back, when Rholan was visiting the small hamlet of Korisynt on the lands of High Holder Klaertyn, the people gathered to hear Rholan, and they petitioned him to beg for flour from the High Holder, for drought and burning heat had scorched their fields. They had already been refused by Klaertyn, who claimed that he had no flour or grain to spare. Klaertyn heard that the people had gathered, and he rode down to the hamlet with a score of armsmen to disperse them. When they saw the High Holder, they once more begged for flour so that they could have bread, and again he said he had none.

“Then Rholan stepped forward and said to Klaertyn in that strangely powerful voice, ‘Tell your people that you have no grain for them, or no flour. Tell them, when this very day you have sold barrels of fine flour to the factors of Cloisonyt. Tell them that your armsmen did not see this.’ Klaertyn could not say such without branding himself a liar. So he made the best of it, and told the people of the hamlet that his steward would deliver barrels of flour on the morrow. And he did. But he never forgot, and, subsequently, when an outbreak of the Red Death struck Korisynt, leaving no family unscathed, and some with no survivors at all, High Holder Klaertyn removed the survivors, razed all the structures, and planted saplings, primarily oaks and goldenwoods, so that by the time of his grandsons, no one would know that such a town had ever existed, and already, as I write this, few remember, and some choristers believe that Rholan made up the entire incident.”

When Vaelora finished, she looked at her husband. “You see?”

“I’m not Rholan.”

“No … you could be more … if you let Bhayar claim much of the credit for what you do.”

Quaeryt decided to let her have the last word on that … because, much as it sometimes galled him, he knew she was right. So he put his arms around her and embraced her gently, holding her silently for a long, long time.