She nodded, then hurried toward the kitchen, returning immediately with a beaker of lager. “Be a bit for the eggs and biscuits. You got a different uniform from the others. Different color anyway. That mean anything?”
“I was a scholar before I was an officer. That’s why it’s shaded brown.”
“Never seen a scholar before. Heard tell of ’em. Not much more. What do scholars do?” Her voice suggested she felt she had to say something, rather than that she was truly interested.
“Some do the same things as other people. Some teach children. Others write books. Some advise rulers or High Holders.”
“What about you?”
Quaeryt laughed softly. “A little of all that, before I ended up as an officer, anyway.”
“How did that happen?”
“That’s a long story. Just say that I asked the wrong question, and I ended up in the middle of the Tilboran Revolt, and it turned out that I managed to lead some troops and we all survived.” That was a gross oversimplification, but he didn’t want to explain.
“You must have been pretty good, then.”
He took a swallow of the lager, not to be impolite, but because his mouth and throat were dry. Then he shrugged and smiled wryly. “There’s no way to answer that. I was good enough to survive and keep too many men from being killed.”
Still standing there, she glanced toward the archway into the kitchen, then spoke in a lower voice. “Some of the old fellows said that you Telaryns have imagers and you didn’t fight fair. You imaged them with pepper dust.”
Quaeryt looked directly at her. “Would you rather have them all dead? That was what would have happened otherwise. They weren’t that well trained, and most of them would have died. Our fight isn’t with you or the people here. It’s with Rex Kharst. Right after thousands of people were killed in an eruption, he massed his troopers and tried to invade Telaryn. And right after the Red Death struck Khel, he did the same thing. It wasn’t our idea to fight. It was his, and we’re going after him so we don’t have to keep worrying about him.”
The server looked at him without speaking.
Quaeryt smiled softly. “Do you know why all those soldiers are riding patrols down your streets? It’s to keep order, so that no one gets hurt. Last week, we found Bovarian soldiers firing the fields of growers. We stopped as much as we could. We couldn’t have used that wheat, but Rex Kharst ordered it destroyed. The only people who will suffer are those poor growers.”
“I’d best get your food.” Abruptly she turned and walked away.
Quaeryt almost sighed. He shouldn’t have tried to explain. No one wanted explanations, and most people didn’t care. The writer of the old book had that correct in his observations about wisdom.
He took another swallow of the amber lager. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great, either.
16
Quaeryt, Meinyt, and Skarpa sat at a circular table in the public room of the Grande Sud just before eighth glass on Meredi.
“I’ve sent out scouts along the river in both directions,” announced Skarpa. “The ones to the east will look to see how far Deucalon has advanced. The ones to the west”-he shrugged-“you both know what they’re looking for.” He looked to Quaeryt. “We need more supplies. The marshal told me to obtain them with as little cost as possible. What do you suggest?”
“Do we have the golds to pay for them?”
“We have some golds, but not enough to take us all the way to Variana.”
“Then we find the least popular High Holder around and persuade him to supply us at a very reasonable cost,” said Quaeryt.
“That might cost us more troops than taking Rivecote Sud,” said Meinyt.
“Not if we take imagers out with us,” suggested Quaeryt.
Skarpa nodded.
Quaeryt rose and beckoned to the serving woman-the same one who had been rather cool that morning-and waited for her to approach. As she did, given her earlier diffidence, he image-projected reasonableness and unquestioned authority. “We need to know some things.”
Her eyes flicked to the other two officers and then back to Quaeryt. “There’d be others who’d know more than me.”
“There are always others.” He smiled. “I doubt they’d know more. Everyone talks in a public room. Who are the High Holders on this side of the river? Nearby.”
For a moment a puzzled expression appeared on the server’s face. “There’s only two. High Holder Cassyon and High Holder Rheyam.”
“One’s to the south and one to the west?”
“Yes, sir. Rheyam’s a few milles south on the road off the west end of town.”
“And Cassyon?”
“To the west. Don’t know how far. Never been there. Folks say some eight-ten milles. Really closer to Deauvyl.”
“What do folks think of Rheyam?”
The woman frowned.
“Is he fair and honest?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.”
“What about Cassyon?” pressed Quaeryt.
“He’s really the High Holder for Deauvyl, but some folks here’ll do work for him.”
“Do many folk here do work for Rheyam?”
“I wouldn’t know any, sir.”
“Is there a town council here, or someone who’s in charge?”
“Only councilor I know is Fleigyl. He’s got the chandlery three doors up.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt returned to the table, sitting and easing three coppers from his purse onto the table. “I suggest we talk to the good councilor Fleigyl.”
“It’s a start,” said Skarpa, rising.
Quaeryt stood, and the three left the public room and the inn. They followed the wooden sidewalk to the chandlery, accompanied by three troopers. Quaeryt couldn’t help but notice that the few men nearby immediately found other destinations that left a wide empty area around the three officers. When they reached the chandlery, the three troopers entered first. A moment later one reappeared and held the door open. Quaeryt, Meinyt, and Skarpa stepped inside.
A short-bearded man with a soiled apron stood beside a table containing little but leather goods. “Sirs … I have but little…”
“We’re not here for your goods,” said Quaeryt. “You’re one of the town councilors?”
“I’m only a councilor. The newest and youngest one. The head councilor is Yurmyn.”
If Fleigyl, who looked to be twenty years older than Quaeryt, was the youngest, thought Quaeryt, the others truly had to be graybeards. “Where might we find Yurmyn?”
“Ah … he departed when he heard you were … coming this way.”
“Then I guess you’re head councilor in his absence,” said Skarpa.
Fleigyl swallowed.
“Don’t worry. We just have a few questions. There don’t happen to be a few High Holders around here, do there?”
After a moment the chandler sighed. “The only ones close are Rheyam and, I guess, Cassyon, except he’s really nearer Deauvyl.”
“Tell us about Rheyam.”
