Antiagon Fire

47

Early on Mardi, with sky barely graying, Quaeryt pulled on his uniform and then his boots. From the bed, covers pulled up around her shoulders, in the dim light of a single oil lamp, Vaelora watched.

“You don’t like doing this, do you?” she finally asked.

“No, but the High Holders here aren’t any better than Kharst was. They might be worse, and letting any of them defy Bhayar will lead to more and more trouble. Our forces are spread out, and we need to end this defiance quickly while losing as few troopers as possible.”

“People will say Bhayar’s worse than Kharst.”

“So long as it’s only High Holders who say that, your brother can live with it.”

“Dearest … what if the High Holders here were what kept the Autarch from taking over this part of Bovaria?”

“I’ve thought about that, but Bhayar still can’t afford to have them making trouble. Or do you think I’m wrong?”

Vaelora shook her head. “But to establish his rule … especially with imagers…”

“I know. We’ll be the ones feared, especially by the High Holders. That’s why we’ll need a safe enclave, and a lot more imagers, when it’s all over.” Quaeryt offered a rueful smile. “But we’re also what he needs to rule, independent of the High Holders.”

“You’ve never liked the High Holders.”

“I’ve liked more than a few,” Quaeryt replied. “I don’t like the present systems of High Holders, either in Telaryn or in Bovaria. The Khellan High Council is better, but I’d worry that something like that would eventually deteriorate into something run by factors or their equivalent.”

“Why? The councilors aren’t factors.”

“Because the factors are the future, and they’ll control more and more of trade and golds. It’s already happening in Telaryn and Bovaria, in different ways. High Holders who are into trade and shipping are coming to dominate Telaryn while the wealthy factors in Bovaria control many of the towns and cities. The council system will fall to wealth. The imagers won’t.”

“That’s only if you’re successful,” Vaelora pointed out.

“Then we’d best be successful.”

“And I’d best get dressed,” replied Vaelora.

“Alas…”

“Enough of that, you lecherous imager.” But she did smile as she eased herself from the covers. “We also need to eat.”

By seventh glass, the force escorting Vaelora and Quaeryt to meet with High Holder Chaelaet was assembling on the main road just to the south and east of Geusyn. Skarpa and Quaeryt had decided that a single regiment and first company were more than enough. Quaeryt hadn’t wanted to bring Vaelora, but there was always the off chance that Chaelaet was more intelligent than his previous behavior suggested and that he was willing to meet with Quaeryt and Vaelora and pledge allegiance to Bhayar.

By two quints past the glass, the scouts were headed out. Quaeryt, Skarpa, and Vaelora rode behind the vanguard, a company from Sixteenth Regiment, with the imager undercaptains and first company immediately behind them.

Two quints later they arrived at the point where the imagers had widened the road and the open space. Skarpa looked at the road ahead, then at the cleared area beside it, and finally at Quaeryt. “You’ve had the imagers busy.”

“They didn’t have much to do in Khel, except drills. The track they called a road was too narrow.”

“What about you?”

“Some, but not enough. I was busy yesterday as well.”

“You widened it all the way to Chaelaet’s holding? Why?”

“To his gateposts. As for why … this part of Bovaria needs better roads, both for the safety of the troopers and for the future.”

“After seeing this, Chaelaet certainly won’t be there now.”

“He might not,” replied Quaeryt, “but he’s more likely to be there if he happened to be there yesterday. I suspect he left earlier.”

Skarpa offered a noncommittal nod.

A glass later they reached the end of the widened road, and Skarpa called a halt.

“It looks mostly empty,” observed Vaelora. “It’s winter, but only a few chimneys show any sign of smoke.”

“He’ll have left his retainers. He may have even left defenders.” Skarpa looked to Quaeryt. “Do you still want to go ahead with your plan?”

Quaeryt nodded. “We can shield a company from attack for a short while … long enough to withdraw. Then we’ll clear the road”-as well as anyone close to it-“and the regiment can advance to a point below the gates. From there, the imagers can destroy the hold, wall by wall, building by building.”

“I’m wagering the woods are empty.” Skarpa’s smile was wintry.

“I wouldn’t take that wager, but here in Bovaria, who can tell? If they don’t attack, we’ll approach the gates. What happens after that depends on what they do.”

“Or don’t,” replied Skarpa.

Quaeryt turned and looked at his wife.

“Be careful,” murmured Vaelora.

“I will,” he promised, then ordered, “First company! Forward.”

Quaeryt wasn’t that surprised that he and first company were not attacked on the ride up the curving road to the bridge that crossed the depression between the road and the chateau gates, a space some fifteen yards wide and roughly that deep. He was surprised that the bridge was not a drawbridge and that the chateau gates were open.

Two guards stood at the far side. They appeared to be waiting, as if they’d expected Quaeryt and his men. Between them stood a white-haired man in green and gold livery. His face was pale.

Green and gold…? Abruptly Quaeryt nodded. Then he studied the bridge. From what he could tell, it looked solid.

“Welcome to Laetor, Submarshal. You may enter as you wish,” called the older man.

“First squad,” suggested Zhelan quietly.

Quaeryt nodded.

“First squad! Forward!”

Quaeryt watched as the troopers eased their mounts past him and the scouts and then across the timbered and lightly railed bridge barely wide enough for two mounts abreast or a small wagon. The bridge creaked slightly, he thought, but he could see no movement of the timbers as the troopers crossed the span.

Still maintaining shields, Quaeryt followed them, with Zhelan beside him and the remainder of first company behind him.

The white-haired man had retreated to the far side of the stone paved space inside the walls and gates, gates that did not appear to have been closed in some time. Once first company was re-formed inside the courtyard, Quaeryt rode forward, reining up short of where the speaker stood before the ironbound doors to what appeared to be the main keep.

“High Holder Chaelaet requested that I tender his regrets that he was unable to meet with you, Submarshal.”

Quaeryt decided against correcting him. “Who are you?”

“Loetnyn, the assistant steward.” The white-haired man offered a resigned expression.

“Where might High Holder Chaelaet be at present?”

“I could not say, sir, save that he is not anywhere in the hold or in the nearby properties.”

That didn’t surprise Quaeryt. “Do all the High Holder’s armsmen wear green and gold?”

“Sir?”

Quaeryt waited.

“Yes, sir. They always have.”

That settled another question, and it definitely made Quaeryt even less sympathetic to the absent High Holder. “How many people are in the hold at the moment?”

“I couldn’t say exactly, sir. There are fifty some servants, usually, but a number are with the High Holder and his family. I could not say exactly. Perhaps a score.”

“And their families?”

“Most live in the village.”

“That’s at the end of the walled walk and steps to the east?”

Loetnyn frowned, his eyes taking in the mounted and armed men who filled the courtyard. “Yes, sir.”

“You are to pass the word that everyone-every last man, woman, and child-is to be beyond the walls of the hold in less than a glass. Anyone who remains will die. While they are leaving, you will show us the items of value suitable to be saved and given to Lord Bhayar.”

Loetnyn’s mouth dropped open. He swallowed without speaking. Finally, he managed a weak, “But … sir…”

“What did High Holder Chaelaet expect, steward? He has not pledged allegiance to Lord Bhayar. He will not meet with his envoys.”

“He said … sir … to tell you that he expected the courtesy due any High Holder.” Loetnyn swallowed.

“He has offered no courtesy and no acknowledgment of allegiance to Lord Bhayar. He can scarcely expect it in return.”

“But…” Loetnyn appeared totally aghast, as if he could not believe what was about to happen.

“Enough,” said Quaeryt quietly.

It took almost two glasses to inspect the hold and all the rooms that might have held items of value. There were few of those, fewer than Quaeryt had expected, and he had not expected many given the location of the hold. Most of Chaelaet’s wealth had to lie in the lands and their harvests and possibly in timber.

There were no golds or silvers in the empty strong room. There was a magnificent harp in the holder’s personal quarters and a lute almost as precious, but no clavecin anywhere, not that Quaeryt would have been able to remove it. There were several tapestries, quite an array of worked silver, mainly for dining, and, surprisingly, an antique Cloisonyt vase glazed in shimmering green … possibly the single most valuable object in the hold, yet it had been almost buried in a cabinet holding worn silver pitchers.

All told, it took a small wagon to hold the various treasures.

The steward kept looking at Quaeryt as if he could not believe that a minion of Lord Bhayar would so casually loot a high holding.

You’re going to be even more shocked shortly. Unfortunately. Quaeryt turned to the assistant steward. “I do hope that everyone has left the hold.”

“You aren’t going to fire it, are you?”

“No.” Quaeryt paused. “We’re going to level it into a heap of bricks and stone.”

“… No…” The protest was barely murmured.

“Your master does not seem to have grasped the fact that Lord Bhayar does not brook defiance or even casual disregard.”

“But … what of the people … the village?”

“We have no intention of touching either. Why do you think we gave you warning … and insisted on people leaving the hold?” Despite the warnings, Quaeryt had his doubts that everyone had left … but he’d done what he could.

Keeping Loetnyn with him, Quaeryt returned to the courtyard and gathered the imagers. “We’re headed to the northern end of the hold. We’ll bring down the walls and the buildings starting there.”

Quaeryt watched as, numbly, Loetnyn walked beside the mare along the stone lane beside the main keep and past an overgrown space that looked to have once held gardens, with two large heaps of manure on the north end, and then between a long and moderately kept barracks across from a long stable. Quaeryt reined up in the space between the north end of the stable and barracks, where he studied the low walls and the small orchard beyond the paved area. Then he turned the saddle.

“Undercaptain Baelthm, forward.”

When the oldest undercaptain rode forward, Quaeryt gestured toward the small outbuilding beneath the walls. “See what you can do to bring that down.”

Baelthm looked quizzically at Quaeryt.

“Do what you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Although Quaeryt was ready to help, Baelthm managed to bring the walls in and down by imaging away the keystone over the door and, Quaeryt suspected, by removing a small section of a support beam. Even so, the older imager was white and shaking when he finished.

“Good thinking. Drink something, and then eat some biscuits,” said Quaeryt. “Undercaptain Khalis, forward.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Flatten as much of the wall as you can without totally exhausting yourself. I’d prefer that it collapse outward so that all the rubble falls over the cliffs.”

Khalis nodded, then turned and concentrated.

After several moments the entire north wall, from corner tower to corner tower, a length of nearly seventy-five yards, shivered and then slowly tumbled outward, leaving only a set of massive foundation stones protruding less than half a yard above the remaining ground.

“Undercaptain Lhandor, forward.” Quaeryt waited, and then ordered, “The west wall from the corner back even with the north end of the stables.”

More stones crumbled and then tumbled.

Section by section, Quaeryt and the imagers retreated, leveling walls and buildings, until the entire hold had been leveled except for the main keep, a four-level stone structure, and the walls and gates to the south of it. He’d also had Baelthm remove the narrow wooden bridge that led over another deep declivity to the path winding down the east side of the rocky hill to the village. The air was far colder than it had been two glasses before, and flakes of ice dropped out of the clear sky intermittently.

“Back across the bridge and hold!” Quaeryt ordered, then waited as first company crossed.

Once the entire force had withdrawn through the gates and across the bridge to the lane down to the main road, Quaeryt and the undercaptains followed them. Quaeryt doubted that any of the undercaptains were ready for powerful imaging-but they would be again by Meredi or Jeudi, when it would be necessary once more.

That meant he’d have to bring down the main keep and the remaining walls by himself. He’d studied the keep, and seen that the south wall seemed to lean. He squared himself in the saddle, then concentrated on the main keep, on drawing whatever warmth he could from the depths beneath the largely leveled hold and visualizing a seamless circular pillar in the middle of a smooth surface where there had been rubble rising skyward, composed of all the stones from the keep and the walls.

Light flared everywhere for a moment, then vanished.

Quaeryt rocked in the saddle, his head throbbing. He could still see, and what he saw was a white column some five yards across rising a good fifty yards above the flattened paved surface where there had been a hold. Surrounding the column was a white mist that slowly began to dissipate. Then the white surface split, and shards of ice cascaded down, leaving a featureless gray circular column with a flat top dominating the hill.

The wooden bridge had vanished, but so silently that, for a moment, not even Quaeryt had noticed.

Behind Quaeryt, no one said a word.

He glanced down. Loetnyn had turned pale. He stood there shuddering.

Quaeryt looked at the assistant steward. “Your master’s high holding and the lands it once held are now the possessions of Lord Bhayar. Should he be unwise enough to attempt any action against Lord Bhayar, his life will also be forfeit … and so will that of any man who joins him or fights for him.”

“You … you are like the ancients returned.”

“No. Unlike them, we will never rule. We only serve. And we serve those we believe to be the most just. Did we attempt to harm a single person in the hold?”

Loetnyn looked down.

“Go,” said Quaeryt quietly, image-projecting authority and a sense of fairness and justice.

The assistant steward remained standing at the edge of the narrow road that ended at the bridgeless gorge. Then he turned and headed into the trees, stumbling as much as walking.

Quaeryt looked to Zhelan. “Order the company to return to the regiment.”

“First company! Forward!”

Zhelan did not speak again until they had ridden more than a hundred yards down the lane, letting first company lead the way. “Do you think what you did will endear the peasants to Lord Bhayar?”

“Not at first,” Quaeryt admitted.

“If this High Holder gathers his men, they will not desert him.”

“Then they will die.” Quaeryt sighed. “Perhaps by the second or third time, some holder’s followers will understand.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but some will never understand why. They will only comply through fear.”

“If that fear turns to respect, and I believe it will in time, all will be well.” He paused, then asked quietly, “Do you have any suggestions for dealing with the next High Holder?”

The major did not reply for a time, then finally said, “I would that I did, sir. They are all … if one is charitable or kindly just, they see that as weakness. Yet they see any strength that they cannot overcome as vileness.”

“I’ve gotten that impression. I don’t want to lose troopers to make holders feel better.”

“No, sir. You shouldn’t.” Those words were said firmly.

Compared to the High Holders of Bovaria, the Khellan High Council seemed to show the height of reasonableness, Quaeryt reflected. He rode silently, still trying to think of another strategy that would not risk troopers and imagers, given what they faced. He hadn’t thought of one by the time first company rejoined the regiment.

“I take it that the noble High Holder Chaelaet was not present?” asked Skarpa when Quaeryt rejoined him.

“He left an assistant steward to tell me…” Quaeryt explained what had happened.

When Quaeryt finished, Skarpa nodded, a gesture that was both resigned and accepting. “It won’t be this easy the next time.”

“It might not be that hard with High Holder Duravyt on Vendrei. He may not have word by then.”

“He will. We’re probably being watched right now.”

“You’re likely right. But he won’t have much time to set a trap in the hold, and he won’t want to destroy his own hold or keep. After that … the possibilities are even worse,” replied Quaeryt dryly. And that will mean that we’ll have to be even nastier. Still … what else could they do? Requests from Bhayar hadn’t resulted in pledges of allegiance. Politeness hadn’t worked. Nor had a show of force.

“If the others are as stubborn as Chaelaet, all of their holds may have to be reduced or destroyed.” Skarpa looked to Quaeryt, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“I don’t see any alternatives-not that won’t take tens of regiments and longer than it took to get full allegiance in Tilbor. Do you?”

Skarpa shook his head. “They’ve been allowed to be too independent for too long. Rex Kharst was too indulgent.”

And that was the pity of it all. The southern High Holders-and perhaps others far from Variana-wouldn’t respect anything that was a reasonable overture, and anything that they would respect was far from reasonable.

But hasn’t it always been that way with those who have held too much power or wealth for too long? He eased his mount back beside Vaelora.

“You didn’t have any choice…” she murmured in a low voice.

He did not look back in the direction of the gray column dominating the flattened hilltop as they rode back toward Geusyn.