Imager’s Battalion

“Shaelyt…” Quaeryt let a little exasperation show in his voice. He’d been called that several times, but never where he could follow up on what it meant. “Would you mind telling me exactly who ‘the lost one’ is supposed to be. If you’re going to insist that I might be something, it would be helpful to know what it might be.”

Shaelyt said nothing for several moments as they neared the pillars at the end of the drive.

Quaeryt could see that Third Regiment had caught up and was passing the gate. He reined up and signaled the company to halt. It would be easier to let the regiment pass and then cross behind the supply wagons and catch up to Fifth Battalion going single file and using the wider shoulder on the river side of the road. He turned to the Pharsi undercaptain. “Go ahead.”

“Sir…”

Quaeryt waited.

“The first lost ones were those imprisoned in a valley in the Montagnes D’Glace by Erion. He sent shafts from his mighty bow into the pass that led to the northern valleys of Khel and brought down the cliffs on each side on the warriors who were about to attack the Eshtorans. He said that while the descendants of those warriors might escape, their past desire to slaughter innocents would always mark them as lost ones, and that they would not be truly saved until the time of the last lost one-the lost one who would change everything across all Lydar. He also said that the lost one would come as one truly lost to his heritage and from afar, and that he would have a voice that few could resist and that he would triumph not by force of arms, although few would ever be able to withstand him, but because he sought justice and mercy for Pharsi and non-Pharsi alike.” Shaelyt paused, then added, “My father told me that most Pharsi forget to mention the last part. They don’t like it that the lost one would seek mercy for both the Pharsi and for those who have persecuted us for generations.”

“Does this … legend say anything about what justice is supposed to be?”

“Not that I heard, sir.”

Quaeryt shook his head. “I’m a scholar who’s gotten tolerably good with a half-staff out of necessity”- and imaging-“and I’ll admit I’d like to see justice and mercy for those who’ve been denied it, such as scholars, imagers, Pharsi, and anyone else who’s been deprived. But … I don’t think that qualifies me as the lost one. There have been men before me, and there are those today, and there will be others in the future who seek those ends. Certainly, Rholan did. In his own way, so does Lord Bhayar, and that is one reason why I’m here.” Not the only one, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that. Even as he thought that, another thought crossed his mind. If you hadn’t believed that, you wouldn’t have Vaelora.

He managed to stifle a bemused smile.

“Sir … ah…” Shaelyt edged his mount almost stirrup to stirrup with Quaeryt.

“Yes?”

“None of them called down ice torrents and slew thousands.” Shaelyt’s voice was firm, but barely above a murmur.

“We all did that,” replied Quaeryt quietly. Even if I probably did most of it.

Shaelyt’s eyes fixed on his. “Sir … I have no illusions about what I can do. I have watched and watched. You have hidden behind a cloak of light or something like it an entire regiment so that no one saw us approach. You have known exactly what exercises will improve us as imagers. I have seen men and mounts fly away from you in battle without your ever touching them…”

“And you’ve also seen me almost die,” countered Quaeryt.

“Yes, sir. You have not been afraid to risk your own life to save those around you.” The young undercaptain smiled softly. “Tell me, honestly, that you are not an imager and not a lost one.”

What do you say to that? Quaeryt looked back into the other’s dark eyes and smiled ironically. “You know I cannot say that. But I also cannot affirm it, not now, and not if we are to succeed. But … please, do not insist that I am the lost one.”

“You do not want what you are known because the marshal and the vice-marshal do not want it said that an imager is a subcommander?”

“Let us just say that Lord Bhayar knows what I am, although we have never spoken of it, and he would prefer matters remain as they are.”

Shaelyt nodded. “Then … that is how it shall be. If anyone asks, I will say that is a question that they should pose to you, and not to me.”

“Thank you, Undercaptain.”

Shaelyt nodded solemnly.

“What else can you tell me about the lost ones?”

“I’ve told you what I know … what I remember. My parents didn’t talk much about the lost ones or the old ways, only when my father drank too much on holidays.” Shaelyt grinned. “Then he talked too much, my mother said.”

“I do appreciate what you have told me. Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As they waited for the last riders of Third Battalion to pass, Quaeryt felt that he’d handled the questions Shaelyt had raised as well as he could in the situation in which he found himself. Sooner or later, it would all come out, but it would be best if it came out somewhat later.

When the regiment finished passing, Quaeryt signaled, and first company rode quickly across the road and onto the shoulder. Less than a quint after Quaeryt and first company returned to the main force, Skarpa called a halt, in order to rest and water mounts and men.

While Fifth Battalion was waiting for access to the river, Threkhyl walked his mount over beside Quaeryt and the mare. “Sir?”

Quaeryt turned. “Yes?”

“I’m the strongest of the imager undercaptains, am I not?”

Quaeryt was happy with the way Threkhyl had phrased the question, if less than happy with its thrust. “You are, at least at present.”

“Then why don’t you ever put me in charge when you leave?”

“Because you don’t have the experience that Voltyr does in dealing with superiors who aren’t imagers. And I don’t take you with me because I want to leave the strongest imager with the battalion in case strong imaging is needed.”

“It sounds like you want a strong back … except it’s an imager’s back.”

Despite the truculence barely concealed behind Threkhyl’s almost pleasant tone, Quaeryt managed an even smile. “Voltyr has had years of experience in dealing with people with more power and less patience. You have a temper, and you haven’t had much practice in holding it in. What you do reflects on all imagers … and to some degree, on all scholars as well. At present, scholars and imagers are held as untrustworthy and temperamental. Everything we do must refute that belief. You need to watch and learn more, both in terms of your imaging and your understanding of how regiments and battalions work. If you do, there will come a time when you’re given more authority and more responsibility.”

“What about you, sir? Did you start out as an undercaptain lackey? Or were you a captain or a major?”

“No. I started out riding patrols with ordinary troopers, and I took a crossbow bolt in the chest. You can ask Subcommander Meinyt. He was in charge of the company I was riding with.”

Threkhyl opened his mouth … then shut it.

Quaeryt caught the signal from Major Zhelan and nodded to the undercaptain. “It’s our turn to water mounts.” He raised his voice. “Fifth Battalion! Single file…”

Threkhyl eased his mount back toward those of the other undercaptains.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Quaeryt smiled wryly as he led the mare down the packed trail to the river.

18

Early on Solayi morning, Quaeryt woke in a tiny room of the White Ox, one of the two inns in Roule, a town