takes even longer. He also doesn’t care that much about the cost to his people so long as it costs us more. What he doesn’t understand is that the people know that as well, which is why we’ve not had too much difficulty with them. Even the High Holders have avoided us when they could. Kharst wants us weakened as much as possible and as far into Bovaria as possible before he attacks … but he can’t afford to give up Variana. So that’s where he and his forces will be.”
“Have you told Bhayar this?” asked Skarpa.
“When have I had a chance? I’d suggest,” Quaeryt went on, “that you not mention all that to Deucalon or Myskyl. If they’ve thought of it, they’ll think you’re trying to take credit for the idea. If they haven’t, they will take credit.”
Skarpa nodded slowly. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?”
“Not much, but I’m not feeling worse, and that means I’m likely getting better.”
“Good.”
After Skarpa departed, Quaeryt remained in the public room, nursing his lager, then saw Shaelyt standing in the archway. “Shaelyt!”
At Quaeryt’s gesture, the undercaptain moved gingerly into the public room and eased himself into the chair across from the subcommander. His face bore the same kinds of bruises as did Quaeryt’s. “Sir?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad, sir.”
“And I’m Lord Bhayar’s grandsire,” replied Quaeryt sardonically. “Is there anything that doesn’t ache or hurt?”
Shaelyt smiled sheepishly. “My feet and calves.”
“Mine, too.” Quaeryt paused, then asked, “Has your family always lived in Fuara?”
“I don’t know about always, sir. My grandfather was born there. So was my grandmere. Their parents, I don’t know. No one ever talked about it. You know how families can be.”
Quaeryt chuckled. “That’s one thing I don’t know.”
“Oh … sir … I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I just don’t know. If families are anything like scholars, there are many things they don’t talk about. Are both your parents Pharsi? Are there many Pharsi in Fuara?”
“Not that many. My father said that Mother was the only Pharsi woman he could wed because she was the only one in town who wasn’t at least a first cousin.”
“Are there any other imagers?”
Shaelyt pursed his lips. “No one talks about my aunt. My mother’s older sister. She was always a little different. That’s what Mother said. It was about all she said. She took a position as governess with a wealthy family in Bhorael.”
“That’s a fair ways from Cloisonyt and Fuara,” observed Quaeryt.
“Two weeks on horse in good weather back then.” Shaelyt took a swallow of lager from the mug before him. “I don’t think she had much choice. She might have been with child.”
“Do you think she could image?”
“I don’t know. Ma-Mother said she could sometimes tell when things were going to happen. Usually they were terrible things. She dragged everyone out of Grandpere’s house when she was barely twelve. It was in the middle of a rainstorm. The house was buried in mud when the stock pond dam gave way. Mother didn’t tell me that. Grandmere did.”
“You got along well with your grandmere, then?”
“Better with her than my parents.” Shaelyt smiled crookedly. “She once said I was more like my aunt.”
“How did you get conscripted … or found out as an imager?”
“Greed.” Shaelyt grinned. “I’d figured out how to image coppers. You make them dirty. I’d done that for years. You spend a copper here and there. People don’t notice.”
Quaeryt kept his smile to himself. “That’s true.”
Shaelyt’s grin vanished. “They ask questions when you have silvers. Too many questions, especially if your family are weavers.”
“But if a coin is pure silver…”
“That makes them even less happy. My father didn’t know what to do with me, and he was afraid someone would try to kill me. So when he heard Lord Bhayar was offering a gold for imagers to become undercaptains, he put me on a mule, and we rode to Cloisonyt.” Shaelyt shrugged. “He was right. Sooner or later, things would have gotten worse in Fuara, and I’d have had to flee or worse.” He looked to Quaeryt. “Voltyr said no one knew you were an imager. Why did you let it be known?”
Quaeryt laughed. “Partly to survive, and partly because of love. Bhayar suspected for years, but it wasn’t in his interest to pursue it, since I’d never caused anyone any trouble. But when his sister became interested in me, he decided having an imager married to his sister might be in his and her interest. Then, when we fell in love … there weren’t many choices. I didn’t want any of you knowing it to begin with because I wanted you to rely more on yourselves. Maybe that was a good idea. Maybe it wasn’t.”
“You protected us, didn’t you?”
“As I could … until Akoryt died. Then I decided that I couldn’t keep doing it. There were too many things I couldn’t control.”
“You’ve still done it.”
“So have you,” Quaeryt pointed out. “That’s why you’re all bruised and sore.” He took another swallow of the lager, then raised a hand to the serving girl who peered out from the kitchen. “Another lager here.” He pointed to Shaelyt.
“Yes, sir.” The serving girl hurried back into the kitchen, returning almost immediately with a mug she set before Shaelyt.
Quaeryt put three coppers on the table.
They vanished into her calloused hand. “Thank you, sir.” Then she was gone.
“You didn’t have to do that, sir.”
“It’s little enough. If you hadn’t held shields yesterday, scores of men would have died. They may not know that, but I do.”
Shaelyt lifted the mug and sipped, finally setting it down. “Sir, what will happen … afterward?”
“I’m working on that. I’d like to keep the imagers together in a way that would allow us to work under Lord Bhayar’s protection. That way everyone could have families and a more … customary … life.”
“It still wouldn’t be customary.”
“No … but wouldn’t it be a great improvement?” Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.
Shaelyt smiled. “Might I ask how…?”
“You might, but I’m not ready to answer that. We have to make sure Lord Bhayar triumphs and that he knows he owes us. After that…”
“If anyone can do that, you can.”
That might well be true, Quaeryt reflected, but that didn’t mean it was possible. He lifted his mug and took another swallow of lager, trying to ignore the aches all over his body.
64
On Meredi, Quaeryt felt worse than he had on Mardi, but in a way that told him he would recover. The good news, if it could be called that, was that Deucalon’s forces were not expected to reach Nordeau until late in the day. Quaeryt wondered what was taking the marshal so long, since he doubted that Deucalon was encountering any armed Bovarian opposition … or that any Bovarian forces remained anywhere close to Nordeau.
By Meredi afternoon, he did force himself to direct imager drills for all the undercaptains except Shaelyt,
