Imager’s Battalion

46

What Skarpa called follow-up operations took most of the rest of Mardi, and early on Fifth Battalion was dispatched to occupy and guard a large manor house a half mille west, beyond the estate and ridge on which the morning’s battle had taken place. The Khellan companies patrolled the area around the near-palatial dwelling with great diligence, a diligence, Quaeryt suspected, that assured that no Bovarian troopers would have dared even to approach the grounds and well-tended gardens. He’d posted troopers at the front and rear entrances to the house, more to create a certain respect than because he thought anyone would likely try to break in or attack anyone inside.

Once he and Zhelan had worked out the details of quartering and patrolling, Quaeryt found himself at a loss, walking the first floor of the dwelling and the terraces from which he could observe the Khellan patrols, and in the distance the gathering of some regiments around the High Holder estate that had seen too much blood and fire.

The bells had just struck third glass when the house assistant steward, the steward having fled with the family, cautiously eased up to Quaeryt, who stood in the shade of the east porch, again studying the hold house below which all too much, if necessary, carnage had occurred.

“Sir…?” The man, a few years older than Quaeryt, and balding, looked nervously up to the taller subcommander, his eyes seemingly focusing on the silver crescent moon insignia on Quaeryt’s collars rather than meeting his eyes.

Quaeryt half turned. “Yes?”

“Will … we … I mean … you have men to feed…”

“Yes, they will need to be fed. Is there a problem, Chaefur?”

“The head cook, the second cook … they went with the family. Just two assistant cooks…”

Chaefur’s Bovarian held the trace of a regional accent, but whether that was local or not, Quaeryt had no idea.

“The troopers and officers don’t expect meals for a High Holder. If your cooks…” Quaeryt paused. “The battalion has several cooks. They’ll be in the kitchen as well.” That way they can make certain nothing untoward gets into the food.

“Yes, sir…” Chaefur paused. “Might I ask how long…?”

“That’s up to Lord Bhayar.”

“Lord Bhayar? Not … Is Lord Bhayar here? Here in Villerive?”

“I haven’t seen him lately, but I think I’d know if he weren’t.”

“Oh … oh, dear … what shall we do if he comes here?”

“He might summon me,” Quaeryt said, “but he won’t come here. Why do you worry about that?” There should be more of concern to you and the staff than whether Bhayar appears.

“Master Saarcoyn … he always wants everything to be proper … whoever might arrive…”

“Master Saarcoyn, of what is he a master?”

“He’s a master factor, sir. A grain and timber and metals factor. He’s got three factorages, sir … and some mines to the north.”

Quaeryt glanced at the stone pillars that ran up three stories, supporting the porch roof, then out over the iron filigree of the railing bordering the porch and down to the precisely trimmed hedges of the formal garden on the terrace below the porch. “He obviously does well.”

“That he does, sir. But now…”

“We’ll do our best to leave his house undamaged. That is, if we have no trouble.”

“No, sir … you’ll have no trouble. No, sir.”

At the sound of hooves, Quaeryt turned to see a squad of Telaryn troopers riding up the narrow limestone-paved drive to the front entrance. One of the mounts, led by a ranker, held an empty saddle. That doesn’t look good. “You’ll have to excuse me, Chaefur. If I’m not here, direct any questions you have to Major Zhelan.”

“But … sir … dinner?”

“Plan on fifth glass. Set up serving tables for the troopers in the courtyard off the kitchen. The servers can dish the food into the troopers’ mess kits. They’ll serve me and the officers in the dining room after the men are all fed.” Quaeryt turned and followed the porch that circled the entire dwelling back to the front.

Chaefur did not follow. Quaeryt only had to wait a few moments under the roof of the entry portico before a squad leader dismounted and hurried up the four wide limestone steps, halting and inclining his head politely before he addressed Quaeryt.

“Subcommander, sir, Lord Bhayar would like to see you. We have a spare mount.”

“One moment, Squad Leader.” Quaeryt turned to the pair of troopers flanking the front door. “Troopers … if one of you would immediately convey to Major Zhelan that Lord Bhayar has summoned me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded to the troopers, then followed the squad leader to the mount, a chestnut gelding far larger than Quaeryt’s mare. The fact that he had no trouble mounting, or riding down the drive, was another indication of how much had changed for a scholar who had seldom ridden until a year earlier.

The squad leader headed almost due east, back to the hold house that Quaeryt had been observing less than a quint earlier. When Quaeryt dismounted under a portico easily three times the size of the one at Master Saarcoyn’s manor-like dwelling, he noted a good squad of troopers stationed there, half on each side of the double doors.

“We’ll be waiting for you, Subcommander.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt turned and walked toward the doors.

One of the troopers opened the left door.

Once Quaeryt stepped into the large marble-floored circular entry hall, a young captain moved forward. “Subcommander Quaeryt … sir. It will be a few moments, sir. Would you like a cool lager while you wait?”

Quaeryt had to admire how the captain eased him toward what had to be a receiving parlor. “I would, thank you.” He took a seat in the velvet-upholstered armchair, rather than the matching green settee.

Almost immediately, the captain returned, extending a crystal beaker containing a lager so light that it was barely golden.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.” The captain slipped away, leaving Quaeryt with the lager.

Quaeryt took a sip. The lager was good. Not excellent, but good, and Quaeryt didn’t hurry in drinking it. He’d often had to wait on Bhayar.

Even so, he’d almost finished the beaker when a tall and squarish figure in Telaryn officers’ greens strode past the receiving parlor toward the entry hall. The older officer’s face was impassive, and his jaw clenched. Quaeryt recognized Deucalon, but the marshal did not even glance in Quaeryt’s direction. More likely he doesn’t want to.

Several moments later the captain returned. “Subcommander…”

Quaeryt took a last swallow of the lager and placed the crystal beaker on the side table, then stood and followed the young officer down the hallway to the second door.

“The subcommander, sir.”

“Have him come in.”

Quaeryt eased off the visor cap, slipped it under his arm, and stepped through the white oak door that the captain had opened for him. As soon as he stood in the study, its paneling matching the white oak of the door, with a wall of shelves to his right, the door closed.

Bhayar sat alone at a circular conference table of polished white oak, but rimmed with inlaid green stone, most likely malachite, reflected Quaeryt. The Lord of Telaryn gestured to a chair across the table. “Please sit down. I hear you’ve had several hard days.”

Quaeryt sat. “I’ve had harder, but not many.”

“I thought as much.” His dark blue eyes intent, Bhayar looked directly at Quaeryt. “Deucalon is furious at what you did, you know? Or didn’t do, more precisely.”

“He didn’t look particularly happy when he left you.” Although Quaeryt had a good idea why, he wanted to be sure. “With what is he displeased?”

“You know as well as I do. Your imagers created that wall on the north side of the bridge. That kept the Bovarians from retreating to the south side of the river.”

“We had orders to take and hold the south side and to keep the bridge from being destroyed. We did that, sir.”

Bhayar smiled. “You did indeed.”

“Did Marshal Deucalon wish us to take heavier casualties to spare the northern army when we have a much smaller force?”

“I don’t believe he mentioned that to me. He is most careful with his words.” Bhayar’s smile turned into a grin, and then faded. “He does not forget, Quaeryt.”

Neither do I. Ever. “I will keep that in mind.” Quaeryt paused. “By the way, there is one other small matter of which you might wish to be aware. Just two days ago I received a letter from Vaelora. It was dated the twenty-fourth of Juyn…” Quaeryt went on to explain about Governor Markyl’s letter and the dates.

Bhayar’s face darkened and stiffened, if but for a moment. “I can do nothing until I know more, but that is good to learn.” He shook his head. “At times I fear I am fighting my own officers and their schemes more than Rex Kharst. Were you more experienced as a commander, I would that I could name you marshal.”

“I can serve you far better in lesser capacities.”

“Less obvious,” countered Bhayar. “Not lesser.”

How much does he suspect about your plans and ambitions? Unlike many, Quaeryt knew well enough not to underestimate Bhayar, young though he might be for a ruler. Quaeryt nodded. “I would hope so, but that is your choice.”

“Always so cautious … except in battle, I understand.”

“The marshal thought I was too cautious,” Quaeryt pointed out.

“I met with Commander Skarpa earlier. He confirmed that neither you nor the undercaptains could have done more than you did yesterday. He also noted that you accounted for more than two regiments of dead Bovarians yesterday and made possible the destruction and scattering of two more this morning. That did not include the destruction of the Antiagon Fire catapults later.”

“Which, I suspect, Marshal Deucalon felt should have been destroyed earlier? Even though we could not have reached them any sooner.”

“Commander Skarpa noted that you moved ahead of all his forces to reach them as soon as you could.” Bhayar held up a hand. “No more about Deucalon. He will never accept that a scholar could be an effective officer. He could accept even less that an imager should hold such a position. One way or another, in time, that will not matter, but for now it is best to let your actions, and those of Fifth Battalion, speak for you.”

“I’m here, I take it, so that you can tell the marshal that you conveyed his concerns to me directly and personally?”

Bhayar laughed, if softly. “You understand, sometimes too well-as does Vaelora.”

“And Aelina,” added Quaeryt.

“Of course.”

“What do you need from me?”

“To keep on doing what you are. We should be receiving reinforcements, for your battalion as well.”

“Ah … sir. For first company, I don’t see a problem…”

Bhayar smiled. “There are over a hundred Khellans. Some of them were with those you already have, but they needed to recover from injuries and wounds. They won’t make up all the losses, but they’ll help. There will be enough replacements to fill your complement and add an extra squad for your first company. With them will be a number of other regiments, at least four, I’m told. I expect them all within the next few days. One of those regiments will be assigned to the southern army. Skarpa will remain in command in the south.” Bhayar smiled. “There will also be certain … reinforcements for Fifth Battalion, a few additional undercaptains.”

More imagers to train?

“You look surprised.”

“I had not expected that.”

“I understand they will not be so effective. Not until you have had some time with them. Skarpa was truly amazed at how far you have come in improving the imagers.” Bhayar paused. “Once this is … all over … we should talk about their future.”

“I have some thoughts about how they might best serve you.”

“Good … but they must serve … in, as I said earlier, a less obvious manner.”

“I understand that also.”

“I have no doubts of that. Both you and my sister understand me too well. That is why you have each other … and children, in time.”

Quaeryt understood that as well.

“You have done well, better than I could have expected, and I do not forget, my friend.” Bhayar smiled, a warm expression, with face and eyes, then stood. “I will not keep you long. That would not be wise, for either of us.”

Quaeryt stood, then nodded respectfully.

“Take care … Quaeryt.”

“As I can, sir.” Quaeryt turned and left the study.