Magiian gestured to the chairs, and they both sat.
“What do you want to know, Commander? I assume you didn’t come all the way from Variana merely to make my acquaintance?”
“I went to Rivages to resolve a situation for Lord Bhayar. One of his submarshals was compromised by Lady Myranda of Fiancryt and by the surviving imagers of Rex Kharst. I’ve met with as many High Holders as I could on the way out, and I’m doing so on the way back.”
“I presume you removed the submarshal and the imagers.”
Quaeryt didn’t answer the question, but merely raised his eyebrows.
“Every High Holder in Bovaria knows that a white-haired and young-faced commander who is likely an imager himself destroyed Kharst’s army to almost the last man and then was involved in the campaign to subdue Antiago. There cannot be many such, and you are returning from Rivages. Had you not been successful, you would not be heading out of your way to meet with one of the less renowned High Holders.”
“The matter was resolved, with the exception of Lady Myranda, who escaped.” Before Magiian could reply, Quaeryt added, “I was a little surprised when I saw your hold.”
“Why?” asked Magiian with a smile.
“There aren’t any walls, no hedgerows…”
“No defenses,” admitted the High Holder. “What would be the point? There aren’t any towns near here, not even hamlets. To build anything to withstand an attack would be prohibitively costly, and paying the guards to man it more so. The land holds the value, and there are enough men with skill at arms here to deal with common bandits and raiders.”
“I see no signs of older fortifications. One of your forbears came to that conclusion?”
“My great-great-grandsire. He also had a knack of convincing others. Most of those, and their descendants in this part of Bovaria, look at matters in much the same way as we do.”
“Concentrating on the land and leaving the politics to others?”
Magiian laughed softly. “I can’t see that getting closely involved with a rex has ever benefited a High Holder’s children, and certainly not his grandchildren.”
Quaeryt offered a wry smile in return. “There’s much to be said for just paying your tariffs and not plotting or scheming. Lord Bhayar has already tried to make it clear that he has little intention of disinheriting those who have followed that path.”
“I would hope that would be the case.”
“It has been so far. He may take a holding from a holder who dies without a widow or heirs. Do you have a dwelling in Variana?”
“Yes. It’s also rather modest. None of us-except me-have visited in years. I traveled there as little as possible, and at times when few others would.”
“In the depth of winter? Or the height of summer before harvest?”
“Something like that.”
“High Holder Caemren said that you deal largely in oilseeds, and somewhat in flax. Do you ship the linen to Variana by the Aluse?”
“When we produce more than the weavers in Choelan need.”
After that Quaeryt asked a number of questions, but from all that he could tell Magiian was what he purported to be-a High Holder more actively involved in his lands than most and one totally uninterested in much else … except as other matters might impact his holding.
Less than two quints later, Quaeryt and first company were riding back toward the River Aluse. While his visit revealed almost nothing new, in another way it was strangely reassuring to learn there might be significant numbers of High Holders who would pose no problems at all.
But then, you would be more likely to run across those who would cause trouble. The ones like Magiian would keep their heads down and pay their tariffs.
He nodded and looked at the flatness of the road. He had no doubt that it would take most of the day to catch up to Northern Army, and he almost wondered why he’d taken the time to ride all that way to visit with yet another politely self-centered High Holder. On the other hand, in addition to what he had learned, he had also conveyed the unspoken message that time and distance would not be a barrier to oversight or action by Bhayar … or his subordinates.
55
Unfortunately, the good weather that had favored Northern Army for the first part of the journey toward Variana did not last. By midafternoon on Mardi, the rain began to fall, heavily enough that the river road was soon a quagmire. That slowed the army so that it took three glasses to cover the last few milles into Roleon, and it was well after eighth glass before the men and mounts were settled … as well as possible. The rain did not let up until late Meredi. Finally, at eighth glass on Vendrei, Northern Army plodded out of Roleon.
The road had largely dried, but the worst part of riding, from Quaeryt’s point of view, was that the moisture and the summer sun had combined so that he felt as though they were riding through a steam bath populated with hordes of mosquitoes and red flies, both of which were far too small for him to use shields against.
By the time the army reached Caanara on the following Mardi evening, Quaeryt had insect bites in more places than he wanted to count, despite the fact that he’d worn his visor cap and a long-sleeved uniform shirt the entire time. He felt he’d seen and experienced more mosquitoes and red flies over the past two days than he had on the entire campaign the previous summer, a fact he mentioned to Justanan as the two of them sat at a corner table in the public room of the best inn in Caanara, the Red Bear, which, in Quaeryt’s mind, barely merited being termed an inn. Each had a beaker of lager before them, supposedly pale, but more like amber.
“I’d have to agree,” said the older officer. “They weren’t near as thick there, especially the red flies. Well … maybe in a few places, but not for days straight, even when it rained.”
“I wondered if I was the only one who thought that way.”
“Nieron has more bites than you do, I think, from the way he talks.”
“How do you think he feels about Myskyl, now that he’s had a chance to think it over?”
“He hasn’t said much. We were never close, you know. He did say that it was obvious that your loyalty was to Lord Bhayar.” Justanan paused. “You meant what you said about not being marshal, didn’t you?”
“Absolutely. That would not be good for Bhayar or for Lydar.”
“You’d be good at it.”
“That doesn’t mean that I should be. I’d be seen as having too much power. It’s one thing to be an imager and one commander among many…” Quaeryt let the words hang.
The older commander nodded. “You prefer to remain less visible.”
“It’s not just that. Lord Bhayar needed the imagers after Kharst attacked, but imagers should not be a part of the armies on a permanent basis. They should be separate, and they should provide other benefits and services, and they should report directly to the ruler. They also need to be better organized and structured.”
“You’re working on that?”
“Lord Bhayar has agreed to establish a collegium of imagers, located on the isle of piers in the River Aluse. Initially, they’ll be supported by fifth battalion and my regiments, but that will only be for a few years, until more imagers are trained. That way, the imagers will have a place to be schooled, trained, and supervised.”
Justanan laughed softly. “They’ll balance the power of the armies … and whoever is marshal. That’s what you have in mind, isn’t it?”
“Partly. But only partly. Imagers need a safe place to learn and grow. There are so few that they’ll never be a danger to the people, but if they’re scattered, the people are a danger to them. They can protect a ruler, and he can protect them.”
“What will keep them in check after you’re gone?”