remained as your second in command. Major Zhelan expressed pleasure at remaining as well.”
“Zhelan is an accomplished and practical officer,” said Quaeryt.
“As are you, from all reports.” Bhayar leaned back slightly in the wooden armchair. “We have had to wait some for additional forces, and there are others that will join us as they can. Kharst has likely only received reports of what occurred at Ferravyl in the last week, and there will be no reports on what we plan to do. He will doubtless pull troops from the border with Antiago, but those will likely withdraw directly to the area around Variana. He will be using conscripts, perhaps heavily. We will move decisively, and it is likely that we will not face great resistance until we near Variana…”
As Bhayar continued to summarize the situation, Quaeryt and Vaelora listened.
“… unlikely Kharst has many imagers, if any, and they will be held in reserve. I would prefer that you not strain yourself or your imagers any more than necessary.” Bhayar stopped and cleared his throat. “And now, I must take my leave. I expect you to spend Vendrei and Samedi in Ferravyl with your forces. You may take Solayi off, as will all forces, and we will set out on Lundi, we for the west, sister dear, and you for Solis.” Bhayar rose from the table.
Quaeryt stood, as did Vaelora, although Vaelora did so in a deliberate if graceful way, almost as if grudgingly. Both accompanied Bhayar to the main door and outside.
There, Bhayar turned and inclined his head. “My personal guard will be here for you, Vaelora dear, by seventh glass on Lundi. There will be a leather folder with my authorization for you and Aelina.”
“You think of everything, brother dear.”
“I do attempt such, but dealing with you, as your husband will discover, if he has not already, can be a challenge.” With a broad smile, Bhayar mounted the gray.
Quaeryt and Vaelora watched as he rode down the drive and joined the waiting troopers.
“How much does he know?” asked Quaeryt.
“About you … being a lost one? Or as strong an imager as you are?” Vaelora paused. “I could not say. I doubt he actually knows everything, but one of Bhayar’s strengths has always been a feel for what is so, even when he does not know.”
“He also has no illusions about people.”
“Dearest … no successful ruler does.”
Quaeryt laughed, then took Vaelora’s hand as they turned and stepped back into the hold house.
3
On Jeudi morning, while Vaelora finished dressing, Quaeryt picked up the small book that appeared to be both a biography and a commentary on the life of Rholan, and as seemed often to be the case, he found himself rereading a section with particular interest.
No deity, should one exist, needs a name. Those who worship such a deity need that name, for otherwise how can they be certain that their prayers, their hopes, and their plaints go to whom they are meant to be addressed. Gods do not need worshippers, but most people need gods. Rholan addressed the paradox of names by calling the almighty “the Nameless,” a stratagem far more clever than either his contemporaries or those claiming scholarly insight have seemed able to recognize.
As Vaelora stepped from the dressing chamber, Quaeryt closed the small book, smiling in spite of himself.
“Is that smile for what I’m wearing?” asked Vaelora, her voice mock-stern.
“Hardly, dear. I’d smile were you wearing nothing.”
“You’d smile far more than that. You always do.”
“Can I help the fact that I find you beautiful?”
“Lust can make any woman beautiful.”
Quaeryt had strong doubts about that, because one of the aspects of Vaelora he found so appealing was her intelligence. After all, her letters had captured him even when he’d had no thought of anything more. “You will write me … as you did before?”
Vaelora blinked, as if what he’d said had no relation to what they’d been discussing. “What…?”
“I was thinking about your letters, that I found what you wrote so entrancing…”
She laughed softly. “You still surprise me.”
“I hope I always will … in a good fashion.”
From the bedchamber, with its antique stone walls, walls softened somewhat by the not quite so ancient cloth hangings, they made their way down the stone steps barely wide enough for two abreast and then to the small breakfast room, rather than the terrace, since the night had brought rain and drizzle.
Again, as he ate the near-perfect omelet that the serving woman placed on his platter, he thought about the days ahead with hard rations, or worse. He smiled wryly.
“What are you finding so amusing?” Vaelora’s tone was openly curious.
“How life changes. A year ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of having so much good food, when even decent meals strained my purse, and there were times when regimental rations would have seemed a luxury. Now…” He shrugged.
“Dearest … it comes with a price. Have you not noticed? Did not our stay in Extela…?”
He nodded. “Part of that price was because I chose accomplishment over popularity when I had not time to achieve both.”
“Dearest … there is always that choice.”
Quaeryt smiled. “Not if the one who seeks accomplishment is not the one who needs popularity … or one to whom little attention is paid. We talked of this before. Perhaps as a mere subcommander…”
“Even that is dangerous…”
“Perhaps,” Quaeryt replied, “but my idea of costs and prices may not be what you have in mind. What are yours?”
“Little more than a year ago, you could have walked away from danger, or handled it quietly, with no one being the wiser. In fact, I’d wager you did. Can you do that now? A year ago, the only one whom you hazarded by your acts was you. Now … tell me what might have happened had you failed in the warm rain.”
“I would have died,” he replied dryly, “but that wasn’t what you meant. Thousands of troopers would have died as well.”
“And…?”
“Your point is taken, dearest.” Of course, Quaeryt had known what she meant. He still didn’t like thinking about matters in those terms.
“You don’t like admitting that you have hostages to fortune. You also do not wish to admit that your sense of responsibility makes you a captive of others and of fate.” Vaelora sipped her hot tea.
“Does any man with any sense wish to admit that?” Quaeryt lifted a beaker of lager and took a swallow. In the summer, at least in the hot midlands, tea was too warm for him even at breakfast, even when breakfast was early, not that this morning it was anywhere close to early.
“There is a difference between admitting it publicly and admitting it to one’s self.”
“You’re all too right, dear, but there are those who publicly profess to have hostages to fortune, and who in the end act as if those hostages have no worth to them at all. More than a few rulers-or those who wish to rule- have been such.”
“Are you saying Bhayar is?” Vaelora raised her eyebrows.
“I suspect he is of the other type, who denies that those who are close to him have any value, while quietly valuing them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Think upon our marriage. Ostensibly, he punished you for your apparent willfulness by marrying you to someone beneath your station. Yet…” Quaeryt shrugged.
“Yet what, dearest?”
Quaeryt grinned and ignored the slight edge in her voice. “He did not go against your wishes and marry you
