“What do you wish from me … is it commander?”
“Subcommander.”
“You’re young even for a subcommander … or are all Bhayar’s senior officers young?”
Quaeryt smiled. “I’m by far the youngest subcommander.”
“If I may observe, then you are either very good or very well connected, if not both.”
“I’ve had the fortune to accomplish what Lord Bhayar required.”
“As do all officers who survive.” Cassyon moistened his lips. “I understand that your army has the power to take or destroy all that I have, but I would prefer that it not come to that.”
“I have no intentions of such … unless you attempt something foolish. Right now, all I require of you is your pledge not to take up arms against Telaryn so long as we control the lands east of Deauvyl, and to sell any goods we deem necessary at a price we set.”
“Oh?”
“We purchased flour and other goods from Rheyam at about one-third of the market price. I’d prefer to pay more, but at the moment, that’s not possible.”
“What did you do with Rheyam’s goods you did not purchase?”
“Replaced the locks and left them.”
“Might I ask why, assuming you’re telling the truth, you are so comparatively generous?”
“That’s very simple. Lord Bhayar would prefer to rule than to destroy. As for the truth, you can send someone to Rivecote and to Rheyam’s hold and have them see for themselves.”
Cassyon nodded. “And if I do not so pledge? What will you do?”
“For the moment … nothing, unless you immediately raise arms. Once the fighting is over, however, you risk losing everything.”
“If I pledge to Bhayar, when the fighting is over and Kharst has won, then I will lose everything.”
“I am not asking you pledge to Lord Bhayar. I am asking that you pledge not to raise arms against him so long as his armies control these lands.”
“I could pledge and lie.”
“You could,” said Quaeryt. “That would be foolish.” As he spoke the last words, he image-projected absolute authority and the sense that Cassyon’s lands would be in ruin and all on them would be dead.
Cassyon took a half step backward. Then he looked at Quaeryt, even more closely. “Who … what … are you?”
“Subcommander Quaeryt, sometime scholar, former governor of the province of Montagne, and brother by marriage to Lord Bhayar.”
“And you are a mere subcommander?”
“That is what I have earned, High Holder Cassyon.”
“I will pledge not to raise arms so long as your lord holds these lands and to sell to him or his commanders what he may require. I do so because you are not a subcommander, or not just a subcommander.” Cassyon shook his head. “I am not a coward, but a man would be a fool to stand against death upon a horse.” He paused. “Do you require goods now?”
“No. We may never require goods of you. Then, we may.” Quaeryt nodded. “Good day.” He flicked the reins gently, then guided the mare back to where first company waited.
As they headed back down the drive, Shaelyt eased his mount up beside Quaeryt’s mare.
“Sir … what did you do?”
“I talked to him, Undercaptain. I asked him to pledge not to raise arms against us and to sell goods to us, if required. That’s all I said.”
“Sir … even I could sense death and destruction rise around you and flow over the High Holder.”
“Even you, Shaelyt?” Quaeryt smiled. “You’re Pharsi. You’re one of those who can sense what is not said or spoken. Perhaps Cassyon could as well. I did attempt to convey, without words, that failing to pledge would lead to death and destruction. But I said nothing of the sort.”
“You are like the ancient lost ones…” Shaelyt’s voice was low.
“That … I couldn’t say, not having known any of them. I don’t even know who my parents were, save that they had to have been Pharsi, because I look that way and because I remember a few words and phrases.”
“No, sir, you are Pharsi, and you are a lost one. You may even be the lost one.”
“Shaelyt…” Quaeryt let a little exasperation show in his voice. He’d been called that several times, but never where he could follow up on what it meant. “Would you mind telling me exactly who ‘the lost one’ is supposed to be. If you’re going to insist that I might be something, it would be helpful to know what it might be.”
Shaelyt said nothing for several moments as they neared the pillars at the end of the drive.
Quaeryt could see that Third Regiment had caught up and was passing the gate. He reined up and signaled the company to halt. It would be easier to let the regiment pass and then cross behind the supply wagons and catch up to Fifth Battalion going single file and using the wider shoulder on the river side of the road. He turned to the Pharsi undercaptain. “Go ahead.”
“Sir…”
Quaeryt waited.
“The first lost ones were those imprisoned in a valley in the Montagnes D’Glace by Erion. He sent shafts from his mighty bow into the pass that led to the northern valleys of Khel and brought down the cliffs on each side on the warriors who were about to attack the Eshtorans. He said that while the descendants of those warriors might escape, their past desire to slaughter innocents would always mark them as lost ones, and that they would not be truly saved until the time of the last lost one-the lost one who would change everything across all Lydar. He also said that the lost one would come as one truly lost to his heritage and from afar, and that he would have a voice that few could resist and that he would triumph not by force of arms, although few would ever be able to withstand him, but because he sought justice and mercy for Pharsi and non-Pharsi alike.” Shaelyt paused, then added, “My father told me that most Pharsi forget to mention the last part. They don’t like it that the lost one would seek mercy for both the Pharsi and for those who have persecuted us for generations.”
“Does this … legend say anything about what justice is supposed to be?”
“Not that I heard, sir.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “I’m a scholar who’s gotten tolerably good with a half-staff out of necessity”-and imaging-“and I’ll admit I’d like to see justice and mercy for those who’ve been denied it, such as scholars, imagers, Pharsi, and anyone else who’s been deprived. But … I don’t think that qualifies me as the lost one. There have been men before me, and there are those today, and there will be others in the future who seek those ends. Certainly, Rholan did. In his own way, so does Lord Bhayar, and that is one reason why I’m here.” Not the only one, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that. Even as he thought that, another thought crossed his mind. If you hadn’t believed that, you wouldn’t have Vaelora.
He managed to stifle a bemused smile.
“Sir … ah…” Shaelyt edged his mount almost stirrup to stirrup with Quaeryt.
“Yes?”
“None of them called down ice torrents and slew thousands.” Shaelyt’s voice was firm, but barely above a murmur.
“We all did that,” replied Quaeryt quietly. Even if I probably did most of it.
Shaelyt’s eyes fixed on his. “Sir … I have no illusions about what I can do. I have watched and watched. You have hidden behind a cloak of light or something like it an entire regiment so that no one saw us approach. You have known exactly what exercises will improve us as imagers. I have seen men and mounts fly away from you in battle without your ever touching them…”
“And you’ve also seen me almost die,” countered Quaeryt.
“Yes, sir. You have not been afraid to risk your own life to save those around you.” The young undercaptain smiled softly. “Tell me, honestly, that you are not an imager and not a lost one.”