One after the other, five iron darts buried themselves in the plank, with such force that they went through the wood and pinned the plank to the stable wall, so quickly that the plank was not slanted in the slightest.
“Do you see?” asked Quaeryt, smiling.
Horan swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Now … one of the tactics that has been most useful in dealing with the Bovarians is imaging thick and acrid smoke mixed with the finest grains of pepper. For some reason,” continued Quaeryt, “they find it hard to concentrate on trying to kill us when they have trouble seeing and they are sneezing violently. Undercaptain Shaelyt will demonstrate…”
Quaeryt, Voltyr, and Shaelyt worked with the newest undercaptains until two quints past fourth glass, when Quaeryt dismissed them all in time to wash up before mess. He returned to the factor’s house and washed as well, for although he had not been exhausted from imaging, the afternoon had still been hot and damp, and his face was damp and coated in dust and sweat.
After he cleaned up, he went down to the study, where he sat down at the plaques table and considered what he had seen of the four imagers. All of them were as accomplished, if not slightly more so, than Shaelyt had initially been. That made sense, because accomplished imagers who were either more isolated or more accomplished might not have been so easily discovered.
Then, a good quint before the evening mess, Quaeryt raised a concealment shield and slipped out of the study when no one was looking and eased down the hallway to a point near the archway into the main dining chamber where the officers were beginning to gather.
Smaethyl was talking to Desyrk, and Quaeryt could only catch some of the words.
“… always … work that hard … so quick…”
“… had us out working and seeing what we could do the morning after he showed up.”
“… always wants us to do more,” murmured Baelthm. “… find you can…”
Horan looked at Threkhyl and lowered his voice. “The officers in the other army never said the subcommander was a master imager. They said he was a scholar.”
“More than a master imager,” said Threkhyl curtly.
“He is both,” replied Shaelyt, “and more.”
The other two Pharsi undercaptains, who flanked Shaelyt, both nodded.
“How do you two know that?” asked Horan. “You never saw him before.”
“We saw him today,” replied Lhandor. “It is worth your life to cross one such as he.”
“He is a lost one,” added Khalis. “Or … as you easterners might say, a Namer-cursed spawn of Erion.”
“Except the lost ones are doomed to do good, no matter what it costs them,” added Shaelyt. “That’s why so many curse them.”
“True what he said about being a governor and all?”
“Every word of it,” interjected Voltyr. “He didn’t tell you, but he’s known Lord Bhayar since they were students as youths.”
“Then … why…?”
“Why is he only a subcommander?” answered Voltyr. “Because that is what Lord Bhayar wants and because Subcommander Quaeryt knows his limits and seldom presses beyond his capabilities-except sometimes-when he truly astounds anyone who has eyes to see.”
“You make him sound like … a god…”
Voltyr shook his head. “He is very human. He listens to what others say and thinks about it. He tries hard to be a good man and a good commander, and he’s better than most in those … but I would not cross him for anything.”
“When we might have died if we had fought, he refused to take the battalion into battle,” added Shaelyt. “He defied the marshal for us.”
“… pay’s not bad, either,” added Threkhyl.
Quaeryt did not want to move, for fear of making sounds that would reveal him. So he listened as the talk turned to what had happened on the way to Villerive. Finally the chimes sounded fifth glass, and the officers filed into the dining chamber. When everyone had entered, and he saw no one around, Quaeryt released the concealment and stepped into the dining chamber. As usual, all the officers stood.
“As you were.” Quaeryt stepped to the head of the table. “No long talks tonight. I’d like to welcome Undercaptains Horan, Khalis, Lhandor, and Smaethyl. They’re solid imagers, and they’ll strengthen our ability to deal with the Bovarians.” With that, he seated himself.
After everyone had been served, and lager and ale filled every mug, Zhelan asked, “Do we know when we’ll be setting out on Solayi, sir?”
“Commander Skarpa hasn’t said, but if he’s the one to decide, and not the marshal, we’ll be on the road two quints past dawn on Solayi. I should know tomorrow.”
From that point on, the conversation turned on speculations as to what they would face on the south side of the River Aluse on the way to Nordeau.
After dinner, Quaeryt returned to the study, imaged one of the lamps into light, and settled at the table to deal with his correspondence. First, he needed to write Gauswn, even though the letter would offer no solution. He’d have to send the letter through Straesyr, since regular dispatch riders would only go to Solis and then to Tilbora, but he had no doubts that the governor would have it delivered to the chorister-although it was likely it would take weeks, if not a month or more, to reach its destination. So the first letter was to his former superior.
The remainder of the letter was a quick summary of what had occurred to Quaeryt himself since he had left Tilbor, followed by good wishes and pleasantries.
After that, it took several attempts before he could write the letter to Gauswn.
He concluded with a few more pleasantries, then reread Vaelora’s letter before attempting a reply.
