“I’ll be returning to first company, sir,” said Zhelan.
Quaeryt nodded, then asked, “Any signs of dispatch riders?”
“No, sir. The ones with us are behaving.”
“Good.”
While he continued riding, and worrying about the possible rain, Quaeryt tried again to sense the shields of the imagers, but he had no success, although he could now “feel” their shields with the lightest extension of his own, but from what Elsior had said, feeling wasn’t the same thing as sensing, and since he could feel any probe of his own shields, and hadn’t, it seemed that what Elsior was doing was different from what Quaeryt did.
A glass passed before the scouts returned and reported.
“Sir … there is a holding ahead. Near on two milles. It might be a high holding, but there are no gates, just gateposts.”
“No gates? What about walls?”
“No, sir.”
Quaeryt reflected for a moment. While it wasn’t a requirement, most Bovarian high holdings did have gates or walls, at least around the hold house, although there had been a handful, one or two, mostly in hilly or rocky regions, that didn’t have gates, but none that hadn’t had either. “Are there enough outbuildings that might provide shelter?”
“There look to be plenty, sir.”
Quaeryt looked to Calkoran. “If you’d have a squad accompany me, we’ll ride ahead and see what we can do.”
Calkoran turned in the saddle. “Major Eslym, second squad, escort the commander.” Then he repeated the order in Pharsi.
For a moment Quaeryt wondered why Eslym was being detached. Then he almost shook his head. None of the Khellan rankers likely understood either Bovarian or Telaryn. He inclined his head to Calkoran. “Thank you.”
“No thanks are necessary. You treat us as your own.” Calkoran smiled.
Quaeryt smiled back and gave his own order. “Undercaptains, you report to the subcommander.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then Quaeryt urged the black gelding forward. For some reason, he couldn’t help thinking about the mare that had carried him all the way across Lydar, only to die under him in the last moments of the battle for Liantiago. She deserved better. But then, so did so many who perished in war, like Shaelyt, who had shown such promise, and Akoryt … and the tens of thousands who had died, so many because of his acts.
The worst part of that was that he was no longer so sure about what Vaelora had said after the battle for Ferravyl-that he had no choice on whether thousands would die, but only which thousands. That had been true at Ferravyl, he supposed, and at Variana, and the battles between, but at Liantiago? In essence, he’d made the decision to invade Liantiago. You made it believing that war with Aliaro was inevitable … and that sooner would cost everyone less. But you made that decision.
He glanced over the bushes and high grass to his left and down at the River Aluse, its waters still a good fifteen to twenty yards wide, but the occasional mud bars near the shores suggested that it was shallower, at least in spots, than it appeared. To his right was a forest, or rather a well-managed if extensive woods, where the undergrowth appeared managed and trimmed. In places he could see lanes, suggesting that the growth was well managed, most likely by the holder whose dwelling they approached.
As they passed where the woods ended, and a hedgerow three yards high began, the scout turned in the saddle and called back, “It’s not that far ahead, sir!”
Quaeryt hoped not, because he could smell rain on the cool breeze blowing at his back. After he rode another hundred yards ahead, Quaeryt could see the gateposts on the right side of the river road, set just a yard or so out from the hedgerow. He glanced to the river side of the road … and frowned. While the area to the left of the road had been cleared and was pasture, in the middle of that green area was a long rise, as if a substantial dwelling had once been situated there, overlooking the river.
Why would someone remove a hold house from there and move away from the river? Quaeryt shook his head.
A fraction of a quint later, when he reined up before the gateposts, he saw they were brick and square, but looked almost squat, as if they had once been much higher. Still … each was topped with a stone square on the top of which was an ornate iron letter L, something Quaeryt had never seen before, but most likely representing the name of the hold or its holder. The lane beyond the gates ran straight back, almost due east to a dwelling on a slight rise that was anything but small-unless compared to most hold houses. The small mansion looked to be a simple two-story brick structure no more than forty yards from end to end with an extended and columned entry porch. The roof was fired tile, rather than slate.
After a moment he turned the gelding up the brick-paved lane, flanked by two of Calkoran’s rankers. The bricks looked old, and in spots newer ones had replaced the originals, and intermittently the mortar between the bricks had been repointed, apparently as necessary, rather than all at once as Quaeryt would have expected at a high holding. The lane was flanked by simple pastures, and sheep were grazing on each side. None of the animals were close to the lane, and none looked up as the squad rode past at a walk.
The lane went straight up the low rise, ending in a brick-paved square some twenty yards on a side with the center of the eastern edge meeting the two wide stone steps leading down from the open space between the two brick columns that supported the roof over the entry porch.
Standing on the edge of the porch were a man and a woman.
Quaeryt gestured the squad to a halt and rode forward, reining up short of the two and bowing slightly in the saddle. “Greetings.”
“You speak Bovarian as though you were from Kharst’s court, officer.”
The man who had addressed Quaeryt was tanned, unlike most High Holders, and wore brown trousers, a cream-colored open-necked shirt, and a sleeveless brown leather vest. His boots were brown and scuffed. Quaeryt doubted he was five years older than Vaelora. The woman wore a loose-fitting white linen dress, as simple as a shift, with a pale violet sleeveless vest, unfastened, since she was quite visibly expecting.
“Thank you … I think. I’m Commander Quaeryt, and I’m looking for shelter for the night for my troopers.”
“Do we have any choice … Commander?”
“Not really, but I can offer some small recompense, and the assurance that no one will be harmed and nothing damaged.”
“For the night only?” asked the woman in a deep voice, even deeper and huskier than Vaelora’s.
Quaeryt glanced to the south and the dark menacing clouds that now covered half the sky. “Well … until the rain stops.”
The young man laughed. “That’s a souther storm. You might be here two days.”
“We won’t stay longer than necessary.”
“How many troopers do you have? If you’re a commander…”
“The squad was just to escort me. My officers are protective. Eight officers and a little over two hundred men.”
“The officers we can accommodate in the house,” replied the woman. “There’s no way we can fit two hundred men there, even sleeping in the halls.”
“I wouldn’t have expected that. We were thinking about outbuildings, sheds, barns, and stables.”
The man nodded. “There’s a fenced pasture that will hold your horses for a few days. The stables have space for perhaps ten mounts. Since it’s almost summer, the hay barns are mostly empty…”
“That will be fine. Thank you.” Quaeryt turned. “Major, if you would send word back to the subcommander that the holder has agreed to let us stay the night.”
“Yes, sir.” Eslym in turn spoke in Pharsi, and three rankers eased away from the squad and headed back down the paved lane.