Rex Regis

21

Quaeryt did not sleep well on Mardi night, disturbed as he was by vague nightmares, and one in which he tried to tell the assistant steward that he was not a submarshal even as the winds kept blowing his words away. That was followed by another in which a tree was falling on Vaelora, and he couldn’t reach her … or do anything at all as she immediately gave birth to another daughter who died as he tried to hold her. He much rather would have had any of the dreams in which Erion appeared and admonished him, he reflected, as he dressed on Meredi morning.

He and Vaelora hurried through breakfast. Then each copied one of the dispatches Quaeryt had received. Next, Quaeryt wrote dispatches to Alazyn, and then to Voltyr, both confirming their actions. After that, Quaeryt made his way to Bhayar’s study, while Vaelora headed down to finish setting up the studies for the supply ministry.

The guard didn’t finish announcing Quaeryt before Bhayar called, “Send him in!”

Quaeryt immediately crossed the room and handed the copies to Bhayar, who, as usual, was standing beside his writing desk. “Here are the copies you requested.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s one thing I forgot to tell you yesterday. I’m sorry, but it skipped my mind with everything about Skarpa’s murder. That upset me more than I realized.”

Bhayar nodded, but remained standing behind the desk, waiting.

“Chorister Gauswn, I may have mentioned him before. He was a captain in Tilbor, and when his term was up, he left to become a chorister at the scholarium. He arrived at headquarters yesterday with four young imager students. Straesyr sent them here.”

“Straesyr sent him and four imagers?” asked Bhayar. “Four?”

“He sent him with the two student imagers I knew about when I left Tilbor. I didn’t finish learning where Gauswn picked up the other two because I got the dispatches about Skarpa just after he arrived at headquarters. I made quick arrangements for them and then rode to see you as quickly as I could.”

“It appears that fate and every officer I trust wants you to lead the imagers and build that Collegium,” said Bhayar dryly.

“I had no idea that Straesyr felt that way, sir.”

“I assume he sent a dispatch or letter?”

“Oh … yes, sir.” Quaeryt extracted the governor’s letter from his uniform and extended it to Bhayar, who set the copied dispatches on his desk before accepting and beginning to read the short letter from Straesyr.

Bhayar stopped reading and looked at Quaeryt, then said, “Straesyr saw what you had in mind. Otherwise he wouldn’t have written, ‘you will certainly need the imagers, as will Lord Bhayar, and any that Gauswn can find along the way.’ Would he?”

“That might have been because Gauswn wrote me while we were advancing up the Aluse, and I wrote Gauswn back, and advised him to consult with the governor if he had continuing difficulties.”

“And what about his concluding lines, where he requests that you ‘try not to destroy more than necessary in seeking your aims’?”

“He is a perceptive man. I never told him what I hoped for the imagers.”

“He’s also a good governor.” Bhayar handed back the letter. “I don’t need a copy of that one.” He smiled briefly. “Is there anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. We’ve had enough news for now. I would like you and Vaelora to join me for dinner this evening. I’ve invited some of the councilors from Variana and a few High Holders and factors, and their wives. When and if appropriate, I thought you might tell them about the Collegium and how it will improve that isle of piers.”

“We can do that. I’d thought that we might be able to build a bridge to the isle from the west shore today. Once we have more work done, when it seems feasible, we’ll build one to Variana itself.”

“You’d mentioned a change in names for the city. I’d like you to think about that.” Bhayar held up his hand. “Don’t say a word. That must wait, but the name for the city must be carefully considered. City names last a long time.”

For successful rulers. “And the name of the lands you hold?”

“I have to admit that your suggestion of ‘Solidar’ does sound good, but not until Khel agrees to terms … one way or another.” Bhayar’s face turned stern. “That’s another reason why I’ve agreed to your Collegium. It won’t hurt to have those pigheaded Khellan councilors realize that you’re building a force that could make what you did to Liantiago and Variana look small.”

“I’d hope that building it will make its use unnecessary.”

Bhayar’s expression softened. “So would I … but there are those who fail to understand.”

“If the matter comes up in dealing with Khel,” Quaeryt suggested deferentially, “it might not hurt to mention that part of the Collegium is being built up in Westisle. It’s much closer, especially by sea.”

“Good point … even if it does serve your aims.” Bhayar shook his head. “Your aims somehow seem meshed with mine.”

“Several of those with farsight have told me that neither of us will succeed if we both do not.”

“I can guess who one of those was. The others?”

“An old Pharsi woman in Extela that Vaelora rescued from the mob when we first arrived, and one of the Eleni in Khel.”

“Eleni?”

“One of the outland wise women and seers we encountered west of Saendeol. There are two kinds of farseers in Khel. The Eherelani are part of the councils and the towns; the Eleni live isolated lives away from the cities and towns. Most of them are women.” But not all, because they didn’t hesitate to claim you were Eherelani after the Hall of the Heavens, and that means there have been other men who are or were.

“What else did they tell you?”

“That Vaelora and I would fail if we attempted to take credit or any power other than that which you bestowed upon us, and that neither of us could or should ever be rulers.” That was true enough, reflected Quaeryt, if not phrased in the way the Eleni had.

“And you believed them?”

Quaeryt laughed softly. “I knew that before anyone told me anything. So did Vaelora.”

“She’s known too much before she was told.”

“She told me she knew I would be in her future … and it frightened her for years.”

“She was wise young … wise but willful … as I suspect you have discovered.” Bhayar shook his head. “You need to go before Deucalon arrives.”

“He’s still furious, I assume.”

“He’ll be coldly angry for the rest of his days about how you’ve maneuvered around him. He can live with it.”

Or die if he can’t. Friendly as Bhayar was, Quaeryt had no illusions about the man he had known for half his life.

“We’ll see what we can do with the roads today.” Quaeryt inclined his head, then turned and left the study, making his way down and out to the stables behind the chateau.

Zhelan, Calkoran, and Khaern were waiting when Quaeryt walked to the study at headquarters that had become his, if largely by default. Together, they went over the plans for the day. Then, while Zhelan mustered the imager undercaptains, Quaeryt met with Gauswn.

“How are your students?” asked Quaeryt.

“They’re tired.” Gauswn smiled. “We had to keep up with the dispatch riders, and they weren’t used to it at first.”

“We’ll be heading out to work on roads and a bridge. I think they should see what imagers can do. It won’t be hard riding, and I’ve arranged for other mounts for them and you.”

“Roads … bridges?” Gauswn raised his eyebrows.

“Some of the imagers can image stone structures, paving…”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Yes. That’s why I didn’t want you making me into something I’m not … or claiming that the Nameless protected me.”

Gauswn smiled. “But the Nameless granted you the ability, and you worked to make it so you could. I’ve found that is the way the Nameless most often works.”

Even though Quaeryt had his doubts about the Nameless, he couldn’t dispute Gauswn’s view of the world. He also could see that Gauswn had matured a great deal over the past two years. Haven’t the past two years changed all of us? Or most of us? He had his doubts about how beneficial the changes had been among some of the most senior officers.

With one thing and another, two quints passed before Quaeryt and the imagers, along with Gauswn and his students, and the fourth company of Khaern’s third battalion, rode south from headquarters toward the Chateau Regis and the remaining section of the south road that needed rebuilding.

By slightly after noon, the roadwork was complete to Quaeryt’s satisfaction, and the imagers continued eastward until they reached the west river road. From there they rode north, past dilapidated shops and warehouses, many of them empty, until they came to a point slightly north of the midpoint of the isle, a location across from one of the higher parts of land on the isle. There Quaeryt called a halt and ordered a rest for the company and the imagers.

Two quints later, Quaeryt assembled the imager undercaptains on the riverbank facing the isle of piers. “We’re going to need a solid bridge across here, wide enough for two wagons and high enough above the water for flatboats and small sailing craft to pass under.”

“How much clearance between the water and the bottom of the bridge?” asked Horan.

“Five yards at the current water level,” replied Quaeryt. “The river’s running a good three-four yards above normal, I’d judge. You’ve got the plans Lhandor drew?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just the basic bridge structure, Horan. Khalis will add the side walls and the approach causeways.”

Quaeryt watched as the square-bearded and slightly graying imager looked at the plans, then at the river and the riverbank. Finally, Horan squared himself in the saddle and concentrated.

White mist swirled everywhere, but in the middle of the fog and mist was a gray stone structure spanning the river with a single massive pier in the middle, the two spans arched down but slightly on each side, only enough so that rain or melting snow would drain. A slight film of frost coated the stone, but quickly vanished. The layer of ice on the water beneath the span broke up into chunks that the current soon carried downstream and out of sight.

Once the mist and ice vanished, Quaeryt turned to Khalis. “The causeway down to the river road, if you would. Then the side walls. We’ll save the causeway on the isle side for when we start work there.”

In moments Khalis had imaged the walls and causeway in place, with some icy fog and mist.

When that had cleared, Quaeryt said, “Lhandor … can you image iron grillwork across the bridge so that brigands can’t take wagons over it and steal everything that’s left on the isle? Even without a causeway on the isle side, they’d try.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the grillwork was in place, and the imagers had some time to rest, Quaeryt announced, “Now we’re going to ride up the river road to a point opposite the north end of the isle.”

Given the uneven and neglected paving stones of the west river road, which explained why the merchant had suggested the need for repairs, it took almost two quints to reach a slight spur of riverbank a hundred yards north of the tip of the isle. From there, Quaeryt surveyed the rocky escarpments that suggested why the isle had survived years of flowing water and riverine abuse.

Finally, he spoke. “We need a gray granite wall deep into the riverbed and rising a good three yards above the stone ledges there. In time, we’ll raise the entire isle close to that height. That will keep it above the spring floods.” Quaeryt glanced back at the imager undercaptains, Elsior, and the student imagers. All of the undercaptains looked exhausted, their uniforms showing sweat.

He turned back to the isle and concentrated, drawing all the heat and power he could from the River Aluse.

A blast of wintry air rocked Quaeryt and all the others back in their saddles, and tiny crystals of ice rained down on them. A thick white fog covered the entire river from the water to a good ten yards up, totally obscuring the isle … and the view of Variana to the east. Quaeryt’s head throbbed, and flashes of light flared across his eyes. He swayed in the saddle for a moment, then reached for the water bottle filled with lager. After several swallows, the throbbing subsided somewhat, and the light flashes became less frequent.

The gentle breeze out of the northwest slowly began to disperse the fog into fragments that revealed that the entire river was covered in ice from at least two hundred yards north of where the imagers had reined up to somewhere south of the fog. In addition, the north end of the isle, a distance of well over half a mille, was sheathed in what appeared to be white stone. As the imagers watched and the breeze and warm spring sun further shredded and evaporated the mist, the thin white ice that covered the stone began to crack and shatter revealing a stone battlement similar to the prow of a vessel, a structure that covered the entire end of the isle and a good hundred yards south on each side.

Quaeryt took another long swallow of lager from his water bottle, then corked it and replaced it in its holder. “I think that’s enough for today.” He raised his voice, image-projecting it slightly. “Captain! We’ll head back to headquarters!”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt flicked the reins of the black gelding and guided him around north toward the north bridge-and the north road.

Gauswn eased his mount up toward Quaeryt. “If I might ride with you, sir?”

“As you wish.” Quaeryt managed a smile, despite the continuing headache. You shouldn’t have let your impatience get the better of you. He took another swallow from the water bottle.

“You didn’t exactly explain why you’re changing that isle,” ventured Gauswn.

“I’m sorry. We’ve talked it over so much … I didn’t think. Lord Bhayar has agreed that we can build a Collegium-a scholarium for imagers-on the isle.”

“You mentioned the school, but not where.”

“The isle is one place. There may be another in Antiago.” Quaeryt went on to explain the general idea behind the Collegium.

When they finally reined up in the headquarters’ rear courtyard, Gauswn looked to Quaeryt. “Lydar will never be the same.”

“That may be, but would we have wanted it the way it was heading?”

Gauswn shook his head. “I talked to some of the captains last night, and a major or two. They all say you’re as powerful as any submarshal or marshal. Far more powerful from what I saw this afternoon. The students haven’t said a word. Usually, I have to remind them not to chatter.”

“That’s not because of what I did. They were quiet before that.”

“You’re right. They never dreamed of what they saw today.”

Quaeryt sighed. “Having them accompany us may have been a mistake. If you’d gather them up after the mounts are taken care of and bring them to the study … I’d better talk to them. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not trying to be commanding, Gauswn. If any of them try a fraction of what they saw, it could kill them. I need to get that across before they do.”

Gauswn smiled sadly. “It’s hard to believe you’re only a commander.”

“That’s the highest rank I should ever hold, and I’ll be happy when I can relinquish it.”

The chorister nodded slowly. “I can see that. There are many commanders, and a few submarshals, and an imager who became a submarshal would create much fear in the hearts of the powerful.”

“In the hearts of most people,” corrected Quaeryt. “The idea behind the Collegium is that the imagers are protected and in turn protect the ruler who protects them. It will give parents hope for those few children who are imagers, and will provide a check on the power of the High Holders and the wealthy factors.” He dismounted, then handed the gelding’s reins to the waiting ranker. “I’ll be waiting for the students.”

* * *

Half a quint later, Gauswn and the four student imagers filed into the small study. Gauswn gestured to the two dark-haired and dark-eyed students at one end. “You might remember Chartyn and Doalak.”

Quaeryt stood and nodded. He’d met Chartyn, but not Doalak, although he had arranged for the latter to study at the scholarium in Tilbor.

“Poincaryt, here, came from Santara, and Moraen from outside Cloisonyt.”

“All four of you are welcome here. Matters are unsettled and will be for a few weeks.” Quaeryt surveyed the four for a long moment before speaking. “Today, all four of you have seen what trained and skilled imagers can do. What you have not seen is what trying to image what you cannot do … or what is beyond your ability … will do. Have you ever thought of imaging golds?” His eyes swept across the four.

Finally, the small dark-haired boy on the left gave a small nod.

“Do you know what could happen if you tried that here … in this chamber … really tried it?”

“No, sir.” But there was a question in the boy’s eyes.

“It could kill you. That was how the Antiagon imagers who were captured killed themselves. They imaged a disk of gold large enough to kill themselves. That’s because, when you image, you’re drawing what you image from around you. If you image stone, that’s easier than metal, because there’s much stone beneath the soil-or beneath a river. Gold is rare and hard to find. It takes much strength. If you are strong enough to image gold, but there is no gold in the ground near you … it could kill you. Please don’t try it. You can image coppers … one at a time … if you can do it. But don’t pass them off on others. Not yet. Not until they’re perfect.”

“Isn’t that counterfeiting, sir?”

Quaeryt gave a ragged grin. “If they’re perfect and made totally out of copper … no. The value is in the metal. You won’t cheat anyone if the copper is perfect. And you’ll likely work as hard to image it as you would to earn it.” And every imager I know has tried it; so there’s no point in forbidding it. After a moment, he went on. “Before long, you’ll be having classes, like in the scholarium, and some of those will be about imaging. Until then, until you learn more, please limit your imaging to small things and familiar things. Too many rankers and even imagers have died to give you this chance. Don’t waste it by trying to image too much and killing yourself.”

“Sir … did you know you were an imager when you were young?” The questioner was the small dark-haired boy.

“I was younger than you. I couldn’t do even a small portion of what you saw today until two years ago. It takes time. Most imagers aren’t patient. That’s one reason why so many died young.” Quaeryt looked to Gauswn. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Gauswn nodded, then turned to the students. “The commander was a strong imager two years ago. He still took a crossbow bolt in the chest. Months later he almost died in the last great battle in Tilbor. I know. I was there. None of you are anywhere close to his ability. Heed his words.”

Quaeryt offered a smile. “I’m not trying to frighten you. I want every one of you to become the best imager you can. There aren’t enough good imagers. But trying to do more than you can will only put you in danger. You need to improve your imaging bit by bit.” He grinned. “Now … that’s enough homilies. They’re all yours, chorister.”

Gauswn ushered the four out, then paused in the study door and said, quietly, “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” replied Quaeryt.

For a time, he just stood there, half standing, half propped against the desk, before he roused himself for the ride back to the Chateau Regis.

By the time he reached the stables there, his headache was no worse, but not any better, and at times his vision blurred. He dismounted and handed the gelding over to the ranker ostler. “Thank you. I won’t be needing him tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Quaeryt made his way to the three studies that would initially comprise the spaces for the Ministry of Supply and Administration for Bovaria. He found Vaelora in the middle study, going over a ledger with a ranker clerk.

She straightened and walked over to him, studying him. Then she said in a low voice, in court Bovarian, “You’re exhausted, and your eyes are bloodshot. What did you do?”

“A little more imaging than I intended,” Quaeryt admitted.

“What have you eaten?”

“I had some lager and a biscuit or two.”

Vaelora gave a sigh even more expressive than the theatrical ones offered by her brother, then shook her head. She turned to the young ranker clerk standing beside one of the writing tables. “Stennyl … run down to the kitchen and get some bread and cheese. Tell them it’s for Commander Quaeryt. If they protest, tell them that Lord Bhayar’s sister insists.”

“Yes, Lady.” The ranker hurried out the study door, not quite at a run.

Once they were momentarily alone in the middle study of the three, Vaelora looked at Quaeryt and asked quietly, but far from gently, “Just what did you image? An entire anomen? A massive bridge across the Aluse?”

“Just the stoneworks on the north end of the isle.”

“Just? The isle is more than a half mille wide.”

“A bit wider,” Quaeryt admitted.

“All at once?”

“It seemed better that way.”

“Quaeryt Rytersyn … you may be the most powerful imager ever and a hand of Erion, but you are an idiot! It’s one thing to have to do something like that in battle … but…” She shook her head again, almost violently.

“I feel like we’re running out of time. This way … as the other imagers build on what I’ve done, they can’t slack off. They’ll have to match the height and strength of the stone walls, and that will keep the isle safe from flood damage. It will also create an image of power. That won’t hurt.” He lifted a hand to her lips to stop her protests. “People forget what they don’t see. In a few years, all but the oldest person in Variana will have forgotten the devastation and the death. You wouldn’t think so … but they will. A mighty stone isle-like a ship in the river-that’s harder to forget.”

“Dearest…” Her voice softened. “No one could ever accuse you of dreaming small dreams.” She paused. “Please don’t do quite so much again.”

He could hear the plaintive concern behind her soft words. “I won’t.” Unless there’s no choice.

After eating some bread and cheese, retiring to their quarters … and a glass and a half later, Quaeryt felt better, and ready to escort Vaelora from their quarters to the formal dining chamber at the south end of the lower level of the Chateau Regis. He found the formal dress uniform slightly looser than he recalled, and that surprised him, because the last time he had worn it, he’d been recovering from his injuries from the battle of Variana.

Vaelora wore the same black and silver dress and jacket she had worn then … and looked even more stunning, Quaeryt thought.

When they reached the main level, a ranker escorted them to the receiving room adjoining the dining chamber.

“Deucalon is here,” Quaeryt murmured after they stepped through the open double doors and he scanned the forty or so people in the room, in groups of three or four.

“How could he not be?” replied Vaelora. “We should pay our respects to brother dear.”

“Oh?”

“He gave me a look.”

There can be definite disadvantages to brother-sister communications, reflected Quaeryt as they made their way across the green and gold carpet toward where Bhayar stood, with his back to the closed doors leading to the dining chamber. Rankers circulated through the room, carrying trays with goblets of either white or red wine.

When Vaelora and Quaeryt neared Bhayar, he nodded to the trumpeter standing to his left and a pace back, and a short fanfare silenced the muted conversations around the reception room.

“Just so that all of you know a few of those attending … the distinguished gray-haired officer in the uniform of a marshal standing near the windows is Marshal Deucalon, in command of the armies of Telaryn … when I’m not interfering.” Bhayar gestured toward the marshal, then waited several moments before continuing. “You might also wish to know this charming couple,” announced Bhayar. “The beautiful one is my sister Vaelora, who was recently envoy to Khel, and the rugged-looking one is her husband, Commander Quaeryt, whose accomplishments are too numerous to discuss here.”

Another fanfare followed those words as conversations threatened to rise once more. “I haven’t even tried to seat anyone by position or protocol,” said Bhayar, adding with a smile, “except myself. So when we enter the dining chamber, please do not be surprised or offended by where you are seated or by whom your nearest companions may be.”

After a moment when Quaeryt felt that most eyes in the room remained on the three of them, the various conversations resumed.

“I assume we’re to be charming and not terribly informative,” said Quaeryt dryly.

“That would be helpful,” said Bhayar. “I’m told that I only have-properly-until the end of Avryl before I should cease entertaining for the summer and the first month of harvest.”

“I know how you love entertaining,” said Vaelora. “You can hardly wait for Mayas.”

“It’s necessary,” replied Bhayar.

“To let everyone know that the fighting is over and the intriguing can resume?” asked Quaeryt.

“Of course.”

A ranker stopped and proffered a tray. Both Quaeryt and Vaelora took goblets of the white wine. Quaeryt just held his.

“The wine’s not bad,” said Bhayar. “It’s just not good enough to keep some of the High Holders and their wives from complaining.”

“People always like to complain,” replied Vaelora, “in Solis or in Variana.”

Bhayar glanced to the Telaryn captain stationed just inside the doors from the main foyer, who offered a raised hand and a nod, then said, “Everyone’s here.” He turned to the trumpeter, who played another fanfare, then turned and opened the doors to the dining chamber.

After setting their goblets on a ranker’s tray, Quaeryt and Vaelora accompanied Bhayar as far as the head of the table, where he smiled and said, “Vaelora, you grace the far end of the table so that those lower will not feel excessively slighted. You’re roughly in the middle on the right, Quaeryt.”

Quaeryt inclined his head, then escorted Vaelora to the far end and seated her at the foot, directly opposite her brother. Quaeryt recognized the long dining table and chairs as those that had formerly graced the dining chamber of the late High Holder Paitrak’s hold, as had several of the sideboards. With a smile, he left his wife and made his way toward his own chair.

He noted the placards before each place setting, with the carefully spelled out names. To his right was Malyssa D’Chamion. Chamion … that’s familiar, but why? He couldn’t remember and quickly took in the name to his left. Alynae D’Fyanyl-Alte. That meant she was the wife of High Holder Fyanyl, not that Quaeryt had any idea who Fyanyl might be.

The first of those seated beside him to arrive was Malyssa D’Chamion, who looked to be a few years older than Quaeryt himself, and that likely meant, given women’s attention to appearance, she was probably older than that. Quaeryt seated her and then turned to seat the very much younger-looking Alynae, a chestnut-haired beauty in a deep green gown enhanced by a filigreed gold neck choker. Across the table from Quaeryt were two men and a woman he did not know.

Once everyone was seated, and the ranker servers had filled all the goblets at the long table, Bhayar stood and raised his goblet. “To peace, prosperity, and order across all Lydar.”

While many repeated the toast, some merely sipped their wine.

“I did want to meet you, Commander,” offered the older Malyssa. “My husband was most impressed when he dined with you last fall. I understand you and your wife have been traveling.”

“You might say that,” replied Quaeryt, now knowing that she had to be the wife of the chief councilor of Variana. “We both traveled to Khel to meet with their High Council. My wife was made envoy.”

A quick look of confusion appeared and vanished from Malyssa’s face.

“Vaelora is part Pharsi. The High Council of Khel is entirely Pharsi, and most are women. All but one, in fact.”

“Ah … and since she is Lord Bhayar’s sister…”

“Exactly.”

“Commander,” came the almost silky smooth voice from his other dinner companion, “Lord Bhayar praised your achievements … but never mentioned what they were.”

“No, I don’t believe he did,” replied Quaeryt politely.

“If I might offer a few words, distinguished lady,” interjected Malyssa, “that the commander would be unable to offer without seeming excessively self-important, he was the one who destroyed two Bovarian armies, first at Ferravyl and then at Variana. I understand he accomplished a similar feat in Liantiago as well.” She looked at Quaeryt with the hint of a smile. “Did you not?”

“For better or worse, I did,” he admitted. “Now … you know of me, and I know nothing of either of you, except that you, Madame Malyssa, are the wife of the chief councilor of Variana, and you are either the daughter or the wife of High Holder Fyanyl, whom I have not had the honor of meeting.”

“Daughter?” Alynae laughed softly. “You’re most kind, Commander. I’m his wife, and the mother of four children.”

“I honestly would not have guessed.” And that was true enough, Quaeryt knew.

“Nor I,” added Malyssa.

“Are your lands near Variana?”

“Not terribly near-some fifty milles northeast of here. My husband was fortunate enough not to be an intimate of Rex Kharst.”

“I suspect you were the one fortunate that he was not,” said Quaeryt dryly.

“He was most careful, Commander. He presented me to Rex Kharst when I was almost full-term with our second child. I was not at my best.”

Quaeryt managed not to smile or grin, but he did note that Fyanyl sounded like a High Holder to watch. “He was most careful.”

Alynae nodded.

“My husband said that you are an imager, and the officer in command of all of Lord Bhayar’s imagers.”

“No more so than any officer is in command of those over whom he is placed,” demurred Quaeryt, before adding, “Your observation raises a question that has puzzled me for some time. What happened to the imagers who served Rex Kharst? We heard that there were such, and yet we never encountered them.”

There was a moment of silence, then the man across the table from Quaeryt spoke. “Commander, Laevoryn D’Alte. I might be able to shed some light on that.”

“Please … if you would.”

“Rex Kharst relied on less than ten imagers, and he kept most of them close … but not too close. I have heard that most of them were in the field when you and your imagers froze the Bovarian forces. Several whom I trust have suggested that perhaps three of them were either not there or somehow escaped the violence of the winter that destroyed Rex Kharst and his forces.”

“Do those whom you trust have any idea what happened to those who escaped?”

High Holder Laevoryn shook his head. “They have left Variana. Of that, I am certain. Where they might be … that is another question, and one to which I have no answer. It is not a question, I hope you understand, that I would wish to pursue.”

“I do understand.” Quaeryt did, especially given that any imagers powerful enough to survive what he had wrought were certainly powerful enough to wreak disaster on anyone who got in their way. “That does give some answer to the question of what happened to his imagers.” He paused. “He must have had some way of controlling them.”

“His usual methods,” replied Laevoryn. “He kept close watch on their families…”

Effectively holding them hostage.

“… and that is all I know,” concluded Laevoryn.

Or all you’re willing to say. “That is most useful, and I thank you.”

“My pleasure, Commander.”

After another moment of silence, Malyssa cleared her throat delicately. “It is said that you were also a scholar,” said Malyssa. “A scholar who learned much about Bovaria, perhaps?”

“Some … but I made a practice of talking to many in the course of the campaigns. I ran across a High Holder, a less than agreeable man, who had been banished to his estates … and I learned a great deal from him.”

“Fauxyn?” asked Alynae.

“I believe that was his name.”

“He died this past winter … from injuries he suffered…” Alynae’s mouth opened. “Were you the one?”

“The one what?” asked Malyssa.

“Fauxyn was … despicable, among other things. He was also a duelist who murdered anyone who displeased Kharst. Even for a duelist, he cheated. He challenged a Telaryn officer, it was said. The officer used a staff and crippled him. He never recovered. Some said he poisoned himself to punish his wife.”

At that moment Quaeryt realized that Alynae was not nearly so surprised as she should have been, but he said nothing, only waited.

Malyssa looked to Quaeryt. “Were you?”

Quaeryt shrugged. “He tried to kill me so that his wife would lose her family lands. When that failed, he tried to taunt me into killing him to reach the same goal. I wouldn’t. Now it appears he tried a third way to the same end.” Abruptly … Quaeryt turned and studied Alynae. Then he smiled. “How did you manage it?”

“I was bold enough to ask Lord Bhayar if I might be seated near you. He thought it might be interesting … I think.”

“You’re her sister? Cousin?”

“Cousin.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Quaeryt didn’t know whether to laugh or shake his head … and this was only the first dinner of what he feared might be many.

Yet, thankfully, that was the only surprise of the dinner.

It was close to ninth glass before Quaeryt and Vaelora were able to return to their quarters, and both were thankful that they only had to climb the main staircase to reach their quarters and bedchamber. While they undressed, Quaeryt told Vaelora about his conversation with Alynae D’Fyanyl-Alte. When he finished, he looked to her and asked, “Should I bring this up with Bhayar … or should you?”

“It might be best if we both did tomorrow.”

“I also want to talk to him about those missing imagers. If there were three imagers strong enough to shield themselves, they could be a problem.”

“Do you think you should…” She shook her head. “Of course, because if they show up and make trouble he’ll want to know why you didn’t tell him.”

“If they do, it will still be my fault somehow. I’d still like to know where they went.”

“It could be anywhere,” Vaelora pointed out. “They wouldn’t want anyone to know they’re imagers … or that they supported Kharst.”

“Except to others who did.”

“Or to someone who wanted to use their abilities and could protect them.”

“I can’t see that there’s anyone who could assure them of that.”

“Dearest … there’s always someone.”

Quaeryt laughed. She was so right about that … but he still wondered about the imagers. He nodded. “Now that I’ve told you what I’ve learned, who were those around you, and what did you discover?”

“I was seated between High Holder Fhernon and a factor named Welsarius. The factor was far more interesting. He was likely almost as wealthy as many High Holders, and he wanted to know if Bhayar would be improving the roads outside of Variana, the way some of the roads to Chateau Regis had been repaved. He was very enthusiastic about that.”

“He wants to bring goods into Variana, and that’s hard. The only easy travel to the city is by the Great Canal. What about Fhernon?”

“His holding is somewhere near Tuuryl. He has a place north of town on the Aluse, but he shuttered it when Kharst became rex. He claimed that it needed repairs. That’s what he said, anyway. He let it slip, deliberately, of course, that he was one of the less endowed High Holders, and that had allowed him to avoid Rex Kharst on most occasions.”

“What do you think?”

“Cat and rodent. He has more than he admits. It was still not enough for Kharst to pursue him, and his wife is less than attractive. He pointed her out to me.”

Quaeryt shook his head and continued to listen.