“Not after they were changed from meetings of senior officers to meetings of the regimental commanders,” replied Quaeryt.
“I wondered about that.”
“Until after Variana, the only senior officers who weren’t regimental commanders were Subcommander Ernyld and me. After Variana, when I became a commander with regiments under me, I was detached and reported to either Submarshal Skarpa or Lord Bhayar.”
“But Ernyld was there.”
“To record the proceedings, doubtless,” replied Quaeryt.
“Is Skarpa still in Liantiago?”
At that moment Quaeryt realized that he’d never mentioned Skarpa’s assassination. “No. I should have mentioned this. He was assassinated by the heir of a rebel High Holder. The High Holder was killed fighting for Aliaro. The assassination happened after Commander Kharllon insisted that the imagers I left to protect Skarpa not be allowed close to the senior officers’ meetings in Liantiago.”
“Kharllon?”
Quaeryt nodded.
“That doesn’t surprise me. Do you know what happened after that?”
“When I left Variana, the latest dispatches we had indicated that Commander Kharllon was acting governor of Liantiago, except for Westisle, which was being held for Lord Bhayar by the imagers and my Nineteenth Regiment, until they received orders to the contrary, since my command reported directly to Bhayar.”
“What did Lord Bhayar do, or did he tell you?”
“He said he would promote acting imager Captain Voltyr to major and confirm the separate jurisdictions for a time until he had time to reconsider.”
“That was what you recommended, wasn’t it?”
“It was. Kharllon will be loyal to Bhayar, but he doesn’t know how to handle or use imagers. His own report of Skarpa’s assassination confirmed that.”
“Do you intend to become marshal of the armies?”
“That’s the last thing I want, and the last thing the armies and Bhayar need. I’m working to create a collegium of imagers, where imagers and their families from all over Lydar can live and where their children can be educated and those that are imagers properly trained to serve Lord Bhayar. Lord Bhayar agrees with the idea and the plans he’s seen so far.”
“You could be marshal and still do that.”
“No. It wouldn’t work. The High Holders, the factors, the senior officers, even the people would rebel against an imager in control of the armies. Especially since Bhayar is part Pharsi.”
“You’ve thought this out.”
“I’ve had to. When you’re married to Bhayar’s sister…”
“That makes sense. You give the imagers safety, and they support the ruler, and that keeps High Holders and ambitious marshals in line.”
“And the Collegium removes the imagers from seeming to threaten people, so that Bhayar can point out that the Collegium protects both the imagers and the people. He’s agreed that the Collegium will be on that isle in the Aluse, the one that had all the piers.”
Justanan nodded thoughtfully, then said, “It’s too bad more officers don’t understand their limitations.”
Quaeryt noted the tense the senior commander used, but merely said, “Power can be very tempting.”
“It can indeed,” replied Justanan with a laugh. “How long do you think it will take us to reach Variana?”
“My thought is roughly three weeks. What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t disagree … unless we get rain.”
From then on, the two talked about details of the journey ahead.
52
By midafternoon on Meredi, the regiments were approaching Vaestora in good order, and Quaeryt rode out with a squad from first company to request permission from Seliadyn to allow the regiments to stay overnight at the high holding. Even though the spacious barracks would not accommodate all the troopers, except in the most crowded of conditions, Quaeryt did not wish to impose Northern Army on any town as small as Vaestora and such a force would create a certain amount of destruction on any lands where they camped.
As he and fourth squad entered Vaestora from the north, he was again impressed by the order and cleanliness of the town, not to mention the imposing presence of the keep tower of Seliadyn. When he reached the square and rode toward the open gates in the ancient wall, both guards stepped out and waited. He reined up short of them.
“You’re the commander who was here last week or so, aren’t you?” asked the shorter guard.
“That I am. I’d like to see the High Holder.”
“He’s not been well, sir, but it’d be best that you talk with the steward.”
“That’s Wereas, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt and the squad followed the guard at a walk from the gates and across the stone-paved front courtyard to the base of the stone up to the second level and a set of double doors. He reined up, dismounted, and tied the gelding to the nearest bronze hitching rail, while the guard rang the bell on the bronze post.
Wereas, in his black and yellow livery, emerged from the doors at the top of the steps when Quaeryt was halfway up the steps. “Greetings, Wereas.”
“Commander.” The steward inclined his head.
“I was hoping to see the High Holder. I’m returning the Northern Army to Variana and would prefer to camp in the courtyard and barracks for the night.” Quaeryt walked the rest of the way up the steps to the entry.
“He’s not well, sir, but he did leave instructions to admit you when you returned. If you would come with me, sir.” Wereas stepped back through the still-open heavy oak door, then closed it behind Quaeryt.
As Quaeryt followed the steward through the square entry hall to the interior staircase, and then up the green marble steps, he gained the feeling that the entire tower was hushed, almost as if holding its breath. Quaeryt almost caught the heel of his boot on his bad leg twice on the last set of steps, up to the third interior level, one below that where he had met Seliadyn in his study.
“He’s in his sitting room, sir, to the right,” offered Wereas.
As with the study, the sitting room was at the rear of the tower on the north side.
The steward did not knock, but eased the door open. “Commander Quaeryt has returned and is here to see you.”
“Good. Afraid he might not make it.”
Wereas gestured, and Quaeryt entered the sitting room.
The walls were paneled in the same dark wood as the study had been, and the tall and narrow windows held the same pale green silk hangings. The carpet was of a pale green. While there was a small table desk, on which were several folders, Seliadyn sat in a green leather armchair, a dark green blanket across his legs. He wore a sleeveless gray vest over a gray shirt, and his silver hair seemed yellowed from the last time Quaeryt had seen him.
Seliadyn looked to the steward. “A lager for the commander, Wereas.”
The steward nodded, then turned, leaving the door open.
Quaeryt moved to the chair that matched the one in which Seliadyn sat and seated himself, waiting.
“I was not totally truthful with you, Commander. You’ve likely discovered that. I have no heirs. Not even distant ones. I won’t go into my reasons … or the history. My sources tell me that you destroyed the hold house at Fiancryt as well as the submarshal and the last of Kharst’s imagers. Is that true?”
“Three imagers died in the fire that resulted from their actions. So did the submarshal and his senior commander. Lady Myranda fled.”
“Good riddance.” Seliadyn smothered a cough with a black handkerchief. “You’re taking the army back to Variana?”
“All but one regiment.”
“They can stay here tonight. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Partly. I also did wish to see you and thank you for the information you provided the last time. It was most helpful.”
“That was the idea.”
“I know,” replied Quaeryt, “but it still merits thanks.”
“I want a favor.”
“I will do what I can.”
“According to the laws of both Bovaria and Telaryn, Lord Bhayar will appoint my successor … or take my lands as his own. What influence do you have on his choice?”