What do you say to that? Quaeryt looked back into the other’s dark eyes and smiled ironically. “You know I cannot say that. But I also cannot affirm it, not now, and not if we are to succeed. But … please, do not insist that I am the lost one.”
“You do not want what you are known because the marshal and the vice-marshal do not want it said that an imager is a subcommander?”
“Let us just say that Lord Bhayar knows what I am, although we have never spoken of it, and he would prefer matters remain as they are.”
Shaelyt nodded. “Then … that is how it shall be. If anyone asks, I will say that is a question that they should pose to you, and not to me.”
“Thank you, Undercaptain.”
Shaelyt nodded solemnly.
“What else can you tell me about the lost ones?”
“I’ve told you what I know … what I remember. My parents didn’t talk much about the lost ones or the old ways, only when my father drank too much on holidays.” Shaelyt grinned. “Then he talked too much, my mother said.”
“I do appreciate what you have told me. Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As they waited for the last riders of Third Battalion to pass, Quaeryt felt that he’d handled the questions Shaelyt had raised as well as he could in the situation in which he found himself. Sooner or later, it would all come out, but it would be best if it came out somewhat later.
When the regiment finished passing, Quaeryt signaled, and first company rode quickly across the road and onto the shoulder. Less than a quint after Quaeryt and first company returned to the main force, Skarpa called a halt, in order to rest and water mounts and men.
While Fifth Battalion was waiting for access to the river, Threkhyl walked his mount over beside Quaeryt and the mare. “Sir?”
Quaeryt turned. “Yes?”
“I’m the strongest of the imager undercaptains, am I not?”
Quaeryt was happy with the way Threkhyl had phrased the question, if less than happy with its thrust. “You are, at least at present.”
“Then why don’t you ever put me in charge when you leave?”
“Because you don’t have the experience that Voltyr does in dealing with superiors who aren’t imagers. And I don’t take you with me because I want to leave the strongest imager with the battalion in case strong imaging is needed.”
“It sounds like you want a strong back … except it’s an imager’s back.”
Despite the truculence barely concealed behind Threkhyl’s almost pleasant tone, Quaeryt managed an even smile. “Voltyr has had years of experience in dealing with people with more power and less patience. You have a temper, and you haven’t had much practice in holding it in. What you do reflects on all imagers … and to some degree, on all scholars as well. At present, scholars and imagers are held as untrustworthy and temperamental. Everything we do must refute that belief. You need to watch and learn more, both in terms of your imaging and your understanding of how regiments and battalions work. If you do, there will come a time when you’re given more authority and more responsibility.”
“What about you, sir? Did you start out as an undercaptain lackey? Or were you a captain or a major?”
“No. I started out riding patrols with ordinary troopers, and I took a crossbow bolt in the chest. You can ask Subcommander Meinyt. He was in charge of the company I was riding with.”
Threkhyl opened his mouth … then shut it.
Quaeryt caught the signal from Major Zhelan and nodded to the undercaptain. “It’s our turn to water mounts.” He raised his voice. “Fifth Battalion! Single file…”
Threkhyl eased his mount back toward those of the other undercaptains.
If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Quaeryt smiled wryly as he led the mare down the packed trail to the river.
18
Early on Solayi morning, Quaeryt woke in a tiny room of the White Ox, one of the two inns in Roule, a town that was barely that, even if larger than any of the hamlets that dotted the south side of the River Aluse, but certainly the largest place through which the Telaryn southern army had passed in the twenty-odd milles since leaving Deauvyl. In that whole length, they had passed but one high holding-or rather the abandoned remains of one that looked as though it had been burned more than a few years in the past. The innkeeper at the White Ox had reluctantly admitted the evening before that Roule did have another such personage west of Roule, but that others had said the High Holder was personally absent from the holding.
Although it was barely light, and the single lamp in the room barely shed enough light on the wash table-from which he removed pitcher and basin in order to use it as a desk of sorts-Quaeryt decided that since he was wide awake, he might as well write more on his letter to Vaelora. But what can you tell her that is interesting and yet will reveal nothing if it falls into the wrong hands?
Finally, he began to write.
… We are now north and west of Rivecote Sud, having traveled a most uneven river road. Outside of the less than effectual resistance to our taking the cable ferry at Rivecote Sud, the local people, while taking great care to keep their distance as much as possible, seem strangely indifferent, as if it matters little to them who governs them, so long as that governance is largely at a distance and does not fall too heavily upon their shoulders. They appear far more concerned about the vices and virtues of the High Holders around them than about who rules in Variana, although they are careful in the manner in which they discuss local matters. They will mention favorable traits of people, but when asked questions that might require a negative reply, the response is almost invariably, “I wouldn’t know about that.” That response does provide some information, if not all that one might desire. We’ve seen no boats to speak of on the River Aluse and no Bovarian troops on this side of the river since Rivecote Sud. This suggests that Rex Kharst is likely gathering and massing troops farther upriver, possibly at Villerive or closer to Variana.
I would that I were speaking to you across a table or elsewhere, but such talks, which I have always enjoyed and appreciated, will have to wait until the conclusion of the entire campaign … and perhaps beyond that. I have asked one of the Pharsi officers about the myth of the lost ones, and discovered that, according to the old stories, the original lost ones were …
Quaeryt went on to recount what Shaelyt had told him, ending with
… so it would seem that revealing such characteristics might well subject whoever did so to considerable speculation as to his origins, his motives, and his goals, and, as we both know, speculation about unusual characteristics almost always leads to misunderstandings. Yet there always comes a time when events will conspire to require acts where the truth must out, or the speculations will be more unpleasant and the consequences more dire than the effects of the revelation of the most unpalatable of truths. In this, as in all matters, timing and judgment are paramount.
He added that sheet to those in his leather folder and slipped the folder into his kit bag. After returning the table to its usual function, he washed and dressed quickly, then hurried down the wooden steps to the small public room to eat with Skarpa and Meinyt. He could feel the ancient wooden steps flexing under his boots, and wondered just how old the structure might be.
Less than a half a score of steps from the bottom of the stairs, along a narrow hall was the archway leading into the public room. Quaeryt stepped through, immediately catching sight of Meinyt, seated alone at a corner table. Quaeryt made his way past tables filled with majors and captains and sat down at the table opposite the other subcommander. “Have you seen the commander?”