“Good. Thank you,” replied Quaeryt in a low voice as he looked down the long corridor, before spotting an undercaptain carrying a folder of papers. Quaeryt turned his steps toward the junior officer, catching up with him just outside an open doorway, through which Quaeryt could see several table desks and a number of rankers seated at them, some with ledgers.
“Undercaptain…”
The undercaptain turned, puzzled rather than surprised as he took in the gold crescent insignia, before looking at Lhandor and relaxing his expression slightly. “Yes, sir?”
“I’m looking for the submarshal.”
“He’s in the command study, sir.”
“If you’d show me the way…” Quaeryt smiled politely, but his tone conveyed the sense of an order, not a request.
“Yes, sir. This way, sir.” The undercaptain turned and continued past the chamber holding the ranker clerks.
Quaeryt glanced around, trying not to be too obvious in doing so, and seeing no one near or looking at them, nodded to Lhandor.
Lhandor returned the nod and vanished from sight.
* * *
A younger captain whom Quaeryt neither knew nor recognized, not surprisingly, stood from behind a small table desk outside a set of double oak doors as Quaeryt and the undercaptain appeared. The captain frowned, clearly not recognizing a strange commander.
“Sir?”
“Just tell the submarshal that Commander Quaeryt is here to see him,” said Quaeryt pleasantly, hoping that the three imagers stayed separated and well back from him, as he’d ordered.
The captain stiffened slightly, then swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He walked over to the door and rapped, firmly, then announced, “Commander Quaeryt is here to see you, sir.”
After a moment of silence, Myskyl replied, his voice clear even through the heavy door. “Show him in by all means.”
The captain opened the door and inclined his head. “Commander.”
“Thank you.”
Even without looking back, as the captain closed the study door, Quaeryt could sense the looks of puzzlement exchanged by the two junior officers.
The study had likely been used by a younger member of the High Holder’s family, or perhaps by guests, given its modest size, four yards by five, with a single bookcase on the inside wall to Quaeryt’s right and a settee and a single upholstered reading chair set before the left wall. A table desk had been set before the single wide window, with three chairs before it and one behind it, from which the gray-haired Myskyl had risen, a smile upon his face and in his eyes, not that Quaeryt would have expected anything less.
“Quaeryt! What a pleasant surprise to see you.” Myskyl frowned for a moment, then resumed smiling. “I hadn’t heard that you had arrived.”
“That’s not surprising. We just got here.”
“I hope you didn’t divert too many troopers. We scarcely need any more.”
“Oh, no. Only a few.”
“I just got word that Skarpa was successful in conquering Antiago, and that he’s acting governor.”
“He was most successful. Unhappily, sometime after Vaelora and I left Antiago, he was assassinated. Commander Kharllon is currently acting governor, and all appears to be calm from his dispatches.”
“Strange things often happen after you’ve left places,” mused Myskyl.
“They have,” agreed Quaeryt, “but as you know, I wouldn’t have had anything happen to Skarpa. So it must have been someone else’s strangeness.”
“That’s possible. I can’t imagine who, though.”
“There’s always someone. I’m certain you’ve found some strangeness here. Several of the High Holders I spoke to on the ride north mentioned that Rivages was almost a different land.”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” replied Myskyl. “A great deal more traditional, however.”
“Traditional…” mused Quaeryt. “Yes … I suppose that would fit as well.”
“We should go to the officers’ salon. It’s comfortable there, especially for you after such a long ride.”
“You even have an officers’ salon?” asked Quaeryt. Since when has Myskyl ever been concerned for your comfort?
“It’s better than imposing on Lady Myranda too much.” Myskyl gestured toward the study door.
“Then that might be for the best.” Quaeryt offered an agreeable smile.
“Excellent.”
Quaeryt let Myskyl lead the way.
As they left the study, Myskyl nodded to the captain at the small table desk outside and said, “If you’d have Commander Luchan and his assistants join us in the officers’ salon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Luchan is your second in command?” asked Quaeryt as the captain walked briskly away.
“He is. Very competent. He’s devoted to the cause of Telaryn.” Myskyl turned northward, toward the center of the hold house.
“As you and the marshal are, I’m certain.”
“And as you are to Lord Bhayar,” replied Myskyl genially.
“Obviously, Commander Luchan is here in the chateau,” said Quaeryt. “Do the other commanders and subcommanders have studies here, or did you follow the marshal’s example and house them in the outbuildings?”
“You still show great concern for others in the most peculiar of ways, Quaeryt.” Myskyl stopped at the second door, leaving it open, and then entering through a deep archway almost a yard and a half long.
“I suppose I always have, but … I do try to learn from what I observe.” Quaeryt followed the submarshal, taking in the chamber. There was one wide window set in the middle of the wall, with plain dark wood paneling on each side, as well as around the room. The window casements looked slightly deeper than those in Myskyl’s study. A circular wooden table, with chairs for eight, sat before one window, while a settee, flanked by comfortable leather upholstered chairs, was set against the left inside wall. Brass corner tables held unlit lamps.
Myskyl took the chair facing the window and gestured to the one facing him.
Quaeryt took it, not without some trepidation, strengthening his shields. The “salon” bothered him, although he couldn’t have explained why.
“The regimental commanders have studies in one of the guesthouses,” replied Myskyl. “Might I ask why you’re inquiring?”
“As a scholar, I try to observe what works and why people do things. You obviously have learned much from Deucalon, and he, I daresay, much from you.”
“We do work well together, as do you and Lord Bhayar.”
“How did you come to such an accommodation with Fiancryt’s widow?”
Myskyl shrugged. “There was no accommodation. We needed a base of operations. Fiancryt died, and he’d been a close supporter of Kharst.”
“So was Ryel.”
Myskyl shook his head. “Ryel has a much smaller hold house and fewer outbuildings. Fiancryt was far more suitable, and it even has a wall that makes it secure … in a limited way, as you must have seen on your way in.”
“I didn’t observe any breaks in the wall, and both entrances were gated and guarded. There is, of course, the river…”
At the rap on the salon door, Quaeryt paused.
“Yes?” asked Myskyl.
The young captain opened the door slightly, peering in. “I beg your pardon, sir, but Commander Luchan has an urgent question, sir. He needs to send word before he joins you.”
Myskyl sighed and stood. “It’s always something.”
Quaeryt stood as well when the submarshal rose. “It is, indeed.”
“Just sit down, Quaeryt. I’ll likely only be a few moments.”
Quaeryt tried not to stiffen as Myskyl walked toward the salon door, but he did not seat himself, instead strengthening his shields.
The submarshal half turned, as if to say something, when he stepped into the doorway, the door but half open. Abruptly he stopped, as if somehow blocked from moving. Behind Myskyl, Quaeryt could see the young captain, reaching for something, when he suddenly froze in place. The slightest rumbling alerted Quaeryt, and he clamped shields around Myskyl. Then, what looked to be a solid iron shutter descended from the upper window casement, and the salon dimmed into total darkness except for the sliver of light from the half-open salon door, partly blocked by Myskyl’s shield-frozen figure.