Antiagon Fire

44

Vendrei morning had dawned overcast, and by ninth glass, the clouds that had appeared out of the west had thickened, darkened, and threatened rain. Quaeryt stood on the starboard side of the sterncastle’s upper deck, studying the sea to the south, where he’d glimpsed the sails of several ships, heading westward, he thought. Even after a quint of watching, the distant sails had not moved appreciably closer, but were definitely on a westerly course.

Finally, he walked toward the helm, where Nykaal had positioned himself, because Quaeryt had seen the captain receiving reports from the lookouts. When it appeared Nykaal was not unduly occupied or concentrating, Quaeryt asked, “Can you tell me about the ships to the south … besides their being on a westerly course?”

“Three carrack-type merchanters. They look to be Ferran outbound from Kephria. They’re riding high, and they haven’t ballasted heavily enough for what little they’re likely carrying. If they’re carrying much of anything at all.”

That the vessels were Ferran, partly empty, and outbound made sense. Antiagon traders usually carried their own goods, light and high value items such as silk and fine cottons, in their own bottoms.

“That means they were inbound heavily laden.” Quaeryt frowned. “I wonder if they were carrying worked iron of some sort.” There wasn’t much metal-working in Antiago, and the southern half of the land, that part bordering the ocean, was rugged and hilly, with comparatively fewer people, while the east backed up to the seemingly endless Sud Swamp. Quaeryt would have been astonished if the population of Antiago amounted to a tenth part of that of even old Telaryn.

“Cannon … muskets … blades, you think?”

“It wouldn’t have to be that. Just tools. The Ferrans had enough time to realize that Aliaro wouldn’t be getting any more iron goods smuggled from Bovaria or from outlanders who picked up iron tools in Solis and shipped them to Estisle or Kephria. Bhayar tariffs the iron leaving Telaryn heavily, but he can’t prevent foreign bottoms from sailing to Antiago.”

“Not unless he wants to build a fleet,” replied Nykaal.

“In time, he or Clayar may have to.”

For a moment Nykaal seemed to consider Quaeryt’s words, as if weighing them. “You think so?”

“Once he consolidates all Lydar, he won’t need as many troopers, and the greatest threats will be to traders and shippers.”

“Don’t know as I’ll be manning a deck when that happens.”

“That’s why I said Bhayar or his son. It depends on how ambitious he is and how long he rules.”

Nykaal nodded. “That’s true of any ruler.”

“Seems to me that we’re making fair progress.”

“A steady following wind helps.” Nykaal looked back to the west. “If the winds pick up too much more, we’ll have to reef sail.”

“The clouds aren’t that dark. You might be fortunate and just get rain and good winds.”

“Still have to keep a close eye on them.” Nykaal looked back and then toward the helm.

Quaeryt took the hint and moved back toward the railing once more.

Later that afternoon, Quaeryt sat at the circular table in the captain’s stateroom. Vaelora sat across from him. The clouds of the morning had thickened and darkened, and cold raindrops pelted against the glass of the portholes, and the Montagne continued to pitch and dip with the long regular following swells as she headed southeast.

Vaelora covered her mouth, trying not to burp. “How much longer will we be on this course?”

“Until we pass Cape Morain. Then we’ll have another day or so heading northeast, maybe longer, if we head into prevailing winds out of the north.”

“When we get to Geusyn, what will you write Bhayar?”

“Just what happened, and the fact that the High Council is considering his terms over the winter, and that it made little sense to remain there … but to return to Geusyn where we can support Submarshal Skarpa in the interim. Do you disagree with that?”

“No. That’s the best we can do. What will you tell Skarpa?”

“Beyond what happened? I’ll just have to see. I may not have to tell him anything. If all the border High Holders refuse to offer allegiance to Bhayar or, worse, attempt to claim allegiance to Antiago, and if Aliaro won’t disown or surrender them…”

“Then there will be war with Antiago?”

“Do you think your brother is likely to allow High Holders to secede from Bovaria and Telaryn?”

“Not once he discovers such, but it would take more than two weeks for him to discover that and issue orders.”

“He has two envoys committed to speak for him in terms of pledging allegiance to Lord Bhayar and Telaryn.”

“Those credentials were meant for dealing with Khel.”

“Remember what we discussed while we were still on the Great Canal…?”

“You think he was thinking about rebelling High Holders?”

Quaeryt shrugged. “I have the feeling he was concerned, but he didn’t want to spell that out. Why else would he have waited until the last moment to provide our credentials and hand them to us personally less than a glass before we departed?”

“He’s protecting himself. If what we do goes well, he can claim he anticipated it. If not, he can say we exceeded his authority.”

“I don’t think it’s that. He expects us to deal with any such problems, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know he’s delegating that much authority until afterward. Then he can claim he authorized it all along.”

“Why? Because you’re a scholar and an imager, and I’m a woman and his sister?”

“Something like that,” Quaeryt said. “Look who surrounds him.”

“That’s been his choice.”

“Given Telaryn and Bovaria … has he had that much choice?”

“Probably not,” replied Vaelora grudgingly.

Quaeryt nodded.

“What aren’t you saying?” Vaelora’s glance at Quaeryt was not quite accusing.

“Why do you think I’ve tried not to be too obvious in what I’ve done? Well … ever since Extela.”

“Destroying armies isn’t obvious?”

“Have I done a thing to claim personal credit? Haven’t I always made sure that all the imagers were considered part of what happened? Weren’t they the ones most visible in improving and repairing things?”

After several moments Vaelora finally spoke. “I’m not certain you’ve been as unobvious as you’d like, but you certainly have avoided taking credit. That’s true.”

“I’d prefer to build the imagers into a stronger force so that they’re considered as a power in the same way High Holders or factors are … so that no one will think that eliminating a strong imager or a leader will destroy their power.”

“That also protects us.”

“That would be my hope.”

Vaelora smiled, if but in passing. Then, after several moments, she spoke. “What you said about not being obvious … it reminded me of something else.”

“What might that be?”

“Rholan and the Nameless.”

“I’ve thought a lot about it. You know that. What are you thinking?”

“I keep wondering who wrote the book.”

“It had to be someone who knew him closely.”

“But who knew him that closely?” replied Vaelora. “It couldn’t be family … or children. He didn’t have any.”

“So far as we know,” said Quaeryt dryly.

“Do you really think he had a mistress or bastard children?”

“Probably not,” conceded Quaeryt.

“The writer says he never married.”

“Then it had to have been one of his followers.”

“That’s a problem, too. If what the writer says about him is true, he could be pretty prickly. Besides, none of the other stories about him mention any devoted followers. He had admirers, but people who were close to him?” Vaelora shook her head.

“Then who did write it?”

“I don’t know … yet … but there has to be a clue somewhere in the book.”

“Just like everything has clues?” he asked with a laugh, grasping the edge of the circular table as the Montagne abruptly pitched and rolled simultaneously.

“Not everything,” she replied. “Not everything.”

Especially not everything where women are concerned. But he only said, “That’s true.”