“The tariff golds aren’t there, anyway,” said Justanan. “They’re in the strong room below.”
“That’s good to know. Will you take responsibility for guarding and transporting them?”
The balding blond officer smiled wryly. “The submarshal already gave me that duty.”
“Good.” Quaeryt returned the smile. “I’d also suggest that Commander Justanan and I address the senior officers tomorrow after we inspect the hold house and meet among ourselves. Perhaps at ninth glass?”
“That would be good,” said Justanan.
Nieron nodded.
“Is there anything else we need to discuss before then?”
The two exchanged glances. Then both shook their heads.
“Then I suggest we meet outside the hold house, or what remains of it, at seventh glass tomorrow morning.” Quaeryt rose.
So did the other two.
Once they had left, Quaeryt sent word that he needed to speak to the imager undercaptains. Then he sat back down behind the table desk and took a deep breath, wondering what else he had forgotten or overlooked, but at that moment could think of nothing else. Because you’re too tired?
Elsior entered the study first, followed immediately by Lhandor and Khalis.
Quaeryt waited until the door was closed and all three were seated before he spoke. “I haven’t had a chance until now to tell you three how much I appreciated your help in dealing with the Bovarian imagers. If you hadn’t done what you did, I doubt I’d be here at the moment.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” replied Khalis, “if you hadn’t done what you did, we wouldn’t be here, and the other imagers wouldn’t have much to look forward to.”
“That might be so, but it took all of us, just as it did at Liantiago, and just as it likely will in the years to come, if in a slightly different way. I did want you to know that I understand that and that I am grateful for all that you did.”
“Sir…” ventured Elsior, “how did you manage Erion?”
“Manage Erion?” asked Quaeryt, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact.
The other two looked at Elsior.
“I can sense shields. You know that. Everything was linked between you and Erion. How did you do it?”
Quaeryt laughed ruefully. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. After you three stopped Myskyl, I tried to put shields around him, but that was all I could do. Then Erion appeared. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but it was too real for that.”
“It was real,” affirmed Lhandor. “Terribly real.”
“But it was you,” insisted Elsior.
“My dreams, thoughts of Erion? That could be, but I didn’t image him into being, not that I felt then or recall now.”
“Whatever you did, it worked out,” said Khalis. “We’re all glad of that.”
“So am I,” replied Quaeryt. So am I. “And I’ll say one more time that it wouldn’t have happened without you three. Thank you.” He smiled. “That’s all I had to say.”
“Thank you, sir.” Elsior paused, then added, “I’m glad you saved me in Liantiago. I never had an imager maître there say ‘thank you’ or much like it. I’m not saying that just because of today, either.” He looked down, as if embarrassed.
“We all feel that way,” added Khalis.
The other two nodded.
“I’m glad you do.” Quaeryt paused, then said, “We’re all tired. Let’s get something to eat and see what we can do about quarters.”
48
On Jeudi evening Quaeryt took over Luchan’s personal quarters in the guesthouse, but only after making certain that both his own companies were fed, with the other regiments, from a kitchen in one of the outbuildings. The men were quartered together in one of the converted barns. While the spaces were tight, both Zhelan and Calkoran professed themselves satisfied. The fact that only Myskyl-and apparently the three imagers-had been actually quartered in the hold house added weight to Quaeryt’s beliefs about the submarshal, not that he was about to use that fact except to Bhayar and Vaelora.
Quaeryt slept heavily, but not all that well, waking up at dawn out of disturbing dreams he could not recall. He washed and dressed and went to find Zhelan … who was awake and waiting for him.
“No one tried to enter the hold house.”
“Good. Has it cooled enough for inspection?”
The major nodded.
“Did you hear anything last night?”
“Most of the majors didn’t want to say much. A couple of captains I knew years back did.”
“And?”
“They weren’t feeling all that bereaved. Some of them said that it wasn’t right the way Myskyl was acting more like a High Holder than a submarshal.” Zhelan paused. “Most of the majors are scared shitless of you, sir. Probably the commanders, too. I did hear one major say that Myskyl was an idiot to do anything against you.”
Quaeryt smiled. “If he’d been successful, they’d have said I was an idiot to do anything against him.”
“That might be, but it didn’t happen that way.”
“No, it didn’t, but it could have.” And might well have if the three undercaptains hadn’t been there. “I’m just glad it didn’t.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a smile, Quaeryt headed for the officers’ mess, a small chamber at the end of the converted stable that had become a mess hall for the rankers and squad leaders. He was among the first there, although Calkoran was sitting at the end of one of the two tables. Quaeryt joined the former Khellan marshal, and a mess server immediately set a beaker of lager before him.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have something for you right away, sir.” The server hurried off.
He knew I’d want lager. Quaeryt turned to Calkoran. “Did you tell him I’d want lager?”
“Of course.”
“Did everything go well last night?”
“Yes, sir. No one gave us any trouble. They wouldn’t.” Calkoran paused. “I talked to Elsior. He said Erion appeared and melted a hole in solid iron and pinned Myskyl to an oak door with a long silver dagger.”
Quaeryt took a swallow from the lager before replying. “That was what I saw as well.” He shook his head. “I still doubt the existence of either the Nameless or Erion. But that was what I saw.”
“Lhandor and Khalis saw it as well. And you doubt?”
“I don’t doubt what I saw. I’m not certain…” Quaeryt shook his head. “It seemed real and unreal at the same time.”
Calkoran laughed. “Never have I known a man who fought for what he believed in so much who also fought the idea that he was different that much.”
“I am different. I’m an imager. I was a scholar. I suppose I still am. But I could die just like other men. I almost have. I love like other men. I make mistakes like other men.”
“All that is true,” said Calkoran. “You know you are a man. You know you have limits. All that is good. But … you are blessed, and that is both gift and curse. You understand the curse. I have seen that. Accept that there is a gift as well. Does it matter from where it came?”
Quaeryt started to reply, then stopped. Does it? What if it came from the Namer … something you also doubt? He smiled. Ironically. Then you’re beholden to do what is right. He didn’t feel like debating internally at that moment the question of what might be right. “Only insofar as I do my best to do what is right.”
“As any man should,” replied Calkoran.
At that moment the server set a platter of egg toast, ham rashers, and several biscuits before Quaeryt. “Would you like anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you.”
Quaeryt ate methodically, mostly listening to Calkoran. He did notice that no other officers sat anywhere close to the two of them.
At a quint before seventh glass, under hazy skies that suggested a hot day to come, Quaeryt walked over to the charred ruins of the south wing of the hold house. A squad from Calkoran’s company was waiting, along with Major Eslym.