“Do you have the dispatches?”
“There was only one in the pouch.” Zhelan leaned forward and handed the sealed missive to Quaeryt.
Quaeryt imaged the seal onto another section of the oversized envelope, careful not to break it, and then extracted the single sheet of paper. He scanned the contents, hurrying over the heading and getting to the key paragraph.
It might be of interest to you that Commander Quaeryt and at least two companies of his forces set out from Variana on Mardi, the seventeenth of Avryl. Since the commander reports directly to the rex and lord, I received no information on his destination, nor did I ask, for obvious reasons. One can but imagine what that destination may be, and I thought that information might prove useful to you.
That was the only mention of Quaeryt or his forces. After that, there were two sections suggesting how to deal with High Holders and factors, with most of which Quaeryt had little difficulty. But one part did catch his eye, and he read it twice.
… As you suggested in your earlier dispatch, I heartily agree with the proposition that when speaking to them, one should always refer to the power of Telaryn and its forces, and never mention any individual by name or position. That way, their allegiance is to Telaryn and not to any individual.
Quaeryt stopped reading. There was something about that idea. Then he stiffened. That was exactly what Rescalyn had done in addressing the Tilboran forces on the campaign against the rebel hill holders. Had that even been Rescalyn’s idea at all? Quaeryt had no way of knowing, but those sentences were definitely suggestive … and then some.
He kept the envelope and handed the dispatch to Calkoran, who read it without speaking, then snorted, and handed it back to Quaeryt, who in turn passed it to Zhelan.
The major read it and returned it to Quaeryt, offering in a low voice, “I did say that matters had an odor, sir.”
Quaeryt replaced the single sheet in the envelope and then re-imaged the seal back into its original position. “If you’ll give me the dispatch pouch, I’ll keep both.”
Wordlessly, Zhelan handed across the battered leather pouch.
Quaeryt fastened it to one of the saddle rings, opposite the one holding his water bottle. “Where are the couriers?”
The major gestured south along the road to a group some ten yards south. “They’re over there.”
Quaeryt eased the gelding toward the three. All had their hands bound, and rope tethers around their waists, stretching to the saddles of three solid fifth squad rankers. There were also three spare mounts, a necessity when there weren’t dispatch stations set up. He reined up and surveyed them.
“Sir, begging your pardon, but why are we being treated like captives?” asked the dispatch rider, a small and lean man with the dispatch insignia on his sleeve, along with the insignia of a junior squad leader.
“For your protection and ours,” replied Quaeryt.
The rider squad leader looked puzzled.
“Have you talked to any dispatch rider that has come from Northern Army in the last two months?”
“Yes, sir. Caromyt returned three weeks ago. Well … three weeks before we set out. And Gosting, a week before that.”
“By the way, when did you leave Variana?”
“First thing last Jeudi. Why?”
Quaeryt caught the quick look of surprise that crossed Zhelan’s face.
“All that’s rather interesting,” said Quaeryt. “Not a single dispatch rider sent north by Lord Bhayar has returned. He sent us to investigate why.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Neither does Lord Bhayar. Neither do I. But until I do know why, you’ll be remaining with us. And if any of you attempt to ride off, you’re liable to end up dead.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I’d not be knowing you.”
“Quaeryt. Commander Quaeryt.”
The two ranker escorts exchanged worried and knowing glances. The courier moistened his lips before speaking. “I still don’t understand, sir. Marshal Deucalon sent us … said the dispatch was urgent.”
I’m certain he did. Quaeryt smiled. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decide that.” He turned to Zhelan. “Keep them close.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need to talk.” Quaeryt rode north until he was well away from the captive couriers, then reined up and waited for Zhelan and Calkoran to join him.
“Yes, sir?” asked Zhelan.
“Lord Bhayar indicated that he would not be mentioning our departure or destination to the marshal, and it appears he did not. It is clear that he was watching us closely, and a day after our departure, he chose to send a special dispatch informing the submarshal. That concerns me slightly.” Quaeryt’s understatement came out in an ironic tone.
“The riders don’t know anything,” Zhelan pointed out.
“Of course not. I’m certain that everything going on is along the lines of the dispatch-suggestive and little more.”
“Do we still ride on to Rivages as if nothing has happened?” asked the major.
“Nothing has happened,” Quaeryt pointed out. Even if you’re convinced that something will happen. “We’ve been ordered to go there, and until we have some sort of solid proof that there’s a problem, that’s just what we’ll do. We’ll just try to keep the submarshal from getting any advance warning of our arrival.”
Both officers nodded, if reluctantly.
Quaeryt didn’t feel much better, but he only said, “We’ll just have to be more alert than ever, both in the vanguard and the rear guard.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he rode north along the narrow shoulder of the road, Quaeryt couldn’t help but think about the second part of the dispatch that had concerned him. Emphasizing Telaryn power without mentioning Bhayar? That put a whole different light on what had happened in Tilbor … as his “dream” had suggested.
After he rode a bit farther, he began to think about Elsior’s sensing of shields. Is that something you can do? He just tried to feel the shields of the imagers behind him, but he could sense nothing. He kept trying, but after a quint, he still felt nothing. Yet, if he extended a tiny projection of his own shields, he could feel when that projection touched another shield.
What else might Elsior be able to do? Was his ability to sense shields something unique to him? Quaeryt wondered. You’ll have to talk this over with the three of them.
36
Lundi afternoon, Quaeryt, Calkoran, and Zhelan rode side by side at the front of the column.
“The roads haven’t gotten any better,” said Zhelan.
“Most of the ones we ride are worse than the worst lanes in Khel,” added Calkoran.
“There don’t look to be any large towns or even high holdings for the next twenty milles or so,” said Zhelan. “Just small hamlets.”
That they might have to occupy some hamlet or bivouac on some smallholder’s lands was Quaeryt’s fault, but they’d ridden through the last town of any size-Roleon-at ninth glass in the morning, and stopping there would have made no sense. Besides, they still would have faced the same problem on Mardi, and lost almost an entire day. Quaeryt couldn’t help but worry that delays might be all too costly in one way or another.
“Calkoran, if you’d send out some scouts to look for any sort of holding that would provide some sort of shelter for the men.” Quaeryt glanced back over his shoulder at the darkening skies to the south.
The subcommander issued an order in Pharsi, and in moments another set of scouts rode out ahead of the column. Shortly, they passed the column outriders.
“You think we’ll actually get rain?” asked Zhelan.
“Since we have no towns of any size nearby and few prospects for shelter … and since we’ve been highly fortunate with the weather so far, I think it’s more than likely,” replied Quaeryt dryly. They’d been fortunate, he reflected, with only light rains or showers or cloudbursts that had lasted but a quint or two, not enough to turn the road into a quagmire.