Quaeryt sighed. “I understand your words. I understand your logic. My head agrees with you. My heart, my feelings … they only comprehend all the deaths.”
“I thought that scholars were ruled by their minds.” A faint, almost mischievous smile lurked at the corners of Vaelora’s mouth.
“It’s easier to declare the mind superior when you’re in a scholarium,” replied Quaeryt. “It’s harder when you see the results of what your mind declares is the best course.”
“That was one reason why Bhayar was trained as a common trooper and went to Tilbor at the end of the conquest. He was twenty, then.”
“He went to Tilbor? I didn’t know that. He’s never mentioned it.”
“He wouldn’t. Everyone would assume he was either boasting or that he’d been protected by a full battalion. He wasn’t. He did have a pair of experienced troopers with him. Father worried the whole time. He said that was the hardest part.”
From what Quaeryt had heard about Lord Chayar, that seemed improbable. But then, he never would have guessed that Bhayar had served as an ordinary trooper, even in a somewhat protected position.
After a moment of silence, Vaelora spoke. “How are your imagers doing?”
“They’ve all improved, especially Threkhyl, Voltyr, and Shaelyt.” Quaeryt snorted. “I wouldn’t trust Threkhyl as far as I could throw my mare.”
“Believe in your feelings on that.”
“But not about the ice storm?” He raised his eyebrows.
“You have to learn when to trust your feelings and when not to.”
“Oh?”
“Women should take care in trusting their feelings with regard to men. Men should take care in trusting their feelings when it comes to battles and fighting, especially for power and glory. Both should take care in dealing with golds. Especially those of us raised without having to count them.”
Quaeryt smiled at the dryness of her last words.
“What about the others?” asked Vaelora. “Can you trust Voltyr and Shaelyt?”
“As much as one can trust anyone. They both have much to lose should anything happen to me.”
“As do I, dearest.” Vaelora pursed her lips. “You must take care … but not too much, for that is worse than no care at all.”
Quaeryt could see the brightness in her eyes. He stood and walked around the table, putting his hands on her shoulders, as comfortingly as he could. “I will balance heart and mind as best I can.”
Vaelora slipped from his grasp and stood, facing him. “We have a little time. Would you walk with me through the gardens?”
“There are gardens?”
“There are. They have been neglected, but there are remnants of their beauty.”
Quaeryt rose from the table and extended a hand. “I would be pleased to walk with you.”
Her fingers twined around his as they set forth from the terrace, not looking back.
“You see here … they planted matching birches on each side,” said Vaelora as she stepped onto the path that had once been white gravel, but now held gray and white pebbles, with patches of bare earth covered with moss in between the gray stones set unevenly into the ground. “There is also a gray cat, but it is fearful, and it is as still as a stone when it hears footsteps.”
Quaeryt glanced around. He saw no cat, but a flash of blue and gold as a southern finch darted into a pine. “What else?”
“The housekeeper says that there’s a black coney deep in the garden, but that when it appears it’s a sign of ill fortune to come.”
Quaeryt almost laughed. A black rabbit a sign of misfortune? Abruptly he realized he’d never seen a black hare, not wild or domestic. “Then we’d best not look for it.” He pointed. “Those stone squares-there once were two stone pillars on this side of the birches.”
“Sometimes, nature does outlast the works of men.”
In the end, always. Quaeryt squeezed her hand.
“You can smell the wild roses. They’re so much more fragrant than the ones cultivated for gardens. Over there…”
As he walked with Vaelora, Quaeryt knew the day would be far too short, and that he would have to leave all too soon.
Before he knew it, fourth glass had arrived, and he had changed into a clean uniform and was leading the mare into the courtyard. Vaelora walked beside him, and they made their way to the drive in front of the hold house.
As he stood beside the mare, ready to mount, she turned to him. “Remember, with your thoughts and your heart, that you did not bring this war to pass. All you can do is your best for everyone … and for us, the three of us.” With her words came tears.
He held her for a long time, murmuring his love for her, before she released him and stepped back.
He mounted, and then looked at her. Neither spoke. What more can we say?
Her smile was unsteady.
He touched his fingers to his lips, then blew a last kiss to her before he turned the mare and rode to join his escorts waiting farther out on the drive.
Halfway down the drive, as he glanced back one last time toward Nordruil, he wondered how long it would be before he saw her again.
His lips quirked into a wry smile. And to think, a year ago, you had met her but for a few moments, and had received one very scholarly letter.
A year had changed everything. He just hoped the year ahead did not undo all that the previous year had brought. He pushed that thought away and looked at the road ahead, leading to Ferravyl.
8
Quaeryt did not dream of ice on Solayi evening, nor did he wake before dawn on Lundi morning to frost coating the walls of the small stone chamber he rated as a subcommander. He dressed and hurried to the senior officers’ mess in the north side of the bridge fortification. Once there he quickly ate a breakfast of overcooked scrambled eggs and chopped mutton. He washed down his food with poor ale-which reminded him to image better lager into his water bottle when he reached the stables and saddled his mare.
Major Zhelan had Fifth Battalion largely formed up in position north of the bridge over the Aluse River when Quaeryt and the six imager undercaptains rode up. Quaeryt eased the mare over beside Zhelan’s chestnut gelding.
“Good morning, Subcommander.”
“Good morning, Major. Any difficulties?”
“No, sir. Not yet, anyway.”
“Have you learned anything more about or from the Khellan officers?”
“No, sir.”
“Once we’re over both bridges, I’ll spend a glass or so riding with each one of them, starting with Major Calkoran. Tonight we’ll talk over what I discover.” Or what you don’t, if you fail to learn anything of importance or interest.
After his initial meeting with the three majors, Quaeryt had decided that he’d learn little or nothing in any formal meeting, at least not until the Khellans were more comfortable with him, and he thought the only way to do that would be to ride with them for periods of time during the advance on Variana.
“Fifth Battalion stands ready, sir,” announced Zhelan formally.
“Thank you, Major. I’ll report that to the commander. I will be riding with him for a time. As always, you are in command in my absence.” Zhelan knew that, but Quaeryt made the statement to reinforce that fact to the imager undercaptains, and he was leaving them with Zhelan at the moment. Although Skarpa half requested, half ordered the imagers to ride in the van, Quaeryt didn’t think he’d mind at least until they had crossed the second bridge into Bovarian territory.
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Undercaptain Voltyr, you are in command of the imager undercaptains, but you answer to the major in my absence.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt turned the mare and rode toward the head of the column to meet with Skarpa, arriving just before Meinyt reined up.
“Good morning, Subcommanders,” said Skarpa.
“Good morning,” replied Quaeryt. “Fifth Battalion stands ready.”