“Tell me about the uniform. Commander Skarpa had you look at him.”
“It’s similar-I doubt it’s identical-to the uniforms the Tellan troops wore when they lost the battle of Cloisonyt.”
“How might you know that?” asked Vaelora sweetly.
“There was a parade or a march … last Feuillyt. A whole company of men wore them. They claimed they were celebrating the founding of Tela. They weren’t carrying weapons … so there wasn’t much the civic council could do.
“Might someone on the council know more about this?” Quaeryt smiled pleasantly.
“Chief Counselor Ghanyst knows everything that is going on.”
“We’ll have to pay him a visit tomorrow,” said Quaeryt. “Now … if you would tell us about the post…?”
From that point on, Quaeryt and Vaelora kept the conversation to the post and to the recent history of Cloisonyt, although the major and his officers could shed little additional light on the group wearing the replicas of ancient uniforms.
Much, much later, they retired to the master bedroom of their temporary quarters.
“Would you like to come along to visit the chief counselor tomorrow?” asked Quaeryt as he hung his jacket in the armoire.
“I would.”
Quaeryt smiled. “Good.”
“Dearest … was Skarpa telling the truth … about what you did?”
“That was the way it looked,” Quaeryt admitted. “My shields weren’t that strong when the quarrel hit, and it went into my chest. I knew the tip was barbed, and as you deduced, I managed to image it away before I pulled out the rest of the bolt…” He went on, reluctantly, to explain the other incidents.
“You were almost killed all those times … and you never even told my brother?”
“I wrote him about the quarrel.”
“I read what you wrote. It sounded like a modest wound. It was more than that … wasn’t it?”
“Probably.”
“Why don’t you admit to what you’ve done?”
“Because the imaging gives me an advantage. That means that I’m not in as much danger and that those deeds are not so great as others think. Yet I cannot admit that, or I cannot do what I must for you and for Bhayar. Nor will I be able to do what else I’ve planned.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I’ve told you about what happened to the scholars in Nacliano, and what almost happened in Tilbora. Scholars are cherished and revered compared to imagers. The first thing I want to do is to improve the conditions for scholars and get them to help and teach young imagers, the way the scholars in Solis did for me-even if they didn’t know I was an imager…” He went on to explain what else he had in mind.
17
Just before eighth glass on Samedi morning, a squad of troopers from third company in Third Battalion- Meinyt’s battalion-escorted Quaeryt, Vaelora, and Duffryt to the ancient graystone council building of Cloisonyt, an oblong two-story structure with windows almost as narrow as those common in Tilbora. The walls held no ornamentation, and except for the number of windows and the lack of a gold-colored dome, the severity of the structure could have identified it as an anomen of the Nameless.
The young clerk outside the chief councilor’s study looked up as the major, Quaeryt, and Vaelora approached. “Sir … he requested-”
“Nonsense!” snapped Duffyt. “This is the new governor of Montagne, Choryn. Don’t bother. I’ll do the introductions.”
Choryn swallowed. “Ah … yes, sirs, Lady…”
Major Duffryt was the first into the councilor’s study, but he stepped aside quickly, waiting until Vaelora and Quaeryr entered before he spoke. “Councilor Ghanyst, I’d like to present you to Princeps Quaeryt. He’s the regional princeps of Tilbor, and he’s on his way to Extela to take over as governor of Montagne. His wife is Lady Vaelora, the sister of Lord Bhayar.” Duffryt paused, then added, “Did I mention that he also brought an entire regiment with him?”
As Duffryt finished the introduction, and Choryn quietly closed the door, Ghanyst’s expression changed from a polite impassiveness, concealing irritation at being interrupted, Quaeryt suspected, to a broad and equally false smile. “Lady … Princeps … how kind of you to call. Please…” He gestured to the chairs before his desk. “How might I be of service?”
After he seated Vaelora and then himself, Quaeryt smiled pleasantly. “I understand that you are the chief councilor of Cloisonyt, and that you have an expansive knowledge of the city, based on long and diligent experience.”
“You are too kind, or perhaps the major has been far too charitable.” Ghanyst offered a warm smile of the political kind-one whose warmth his eyes did not fully reflect. “I can lay claim to some knowledge and experience. It is far from expansive, for Cloisonyt is an old city with much history.” He laughed gently and warmly. “That history is not dead. It lives in many inhabitants.”
Quaeryt nodded. “Sometimes, what has happened long ago is not even past. When we rode into Cloisonyt, we saw a man in a strange uniform. When I asked Major Duffryt about it, he said that it was a reproduction of those worn by soldiers in the time of Hengyst … and that many wore such uniforms at times.” He raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
“Oh … them. They’re a bunch of small crafters and shopkeepers who believe that the old times were better. They want Tellan independence … or things as they were, maybe even before Hengyst. Some folks call them the Army of Tela and laugh about it when they’re not around.”
“When they’re not around?” pressed Quaeryt.
“They’re a mite touchy about it. Some people call them the Red Hands.” Ghanyst shrugged. “They don’t carry weapons. None of them have done anything to offend the patrollers.”
“Until yesterday,” said Quaeryt.
Ghanyst frowned. “Yesterday?”
“One of them wearing that uniform hurled a spear at my wife. He was yelling, ‘Death to the Yarans!’ I was too accurate in flinging the spear back. He didn’t live long enough for us to learn what he meant.”
“The patrollers didn’t report that.” There was a slight hint of accusation in the councilor’s tone.
“That’s why we’re here,” replied Quaeryt. “To let you know. They can pick up the body anytime-and the spear. At least an entire squad of troopers heard or saw the attack. Now … what else can you tell us about this Army of Tela?”
Ghanyst frowned again.
Quaeryt waited, smiling pleasantly.
After the silence dragged out, Ghanyst cleared his throat. “Well … I can’t say I know all that much about them.”
“If you know enough to say that they’re small shopkeepers and crafters, you must know who some of them are,” suggested Quaeryt politely. “You might even be able to introduce us personally.”
“Ah … I would be more than pleased to provide the names and addresses of those whom I do know.”
“That would be most helpful,” said Vaelora sweetly.
“We’ll wait while you write those down,” added Quaeryt. “And you can send your assistant with us so that we can find the addresses.”
“Of course … of course.” Ghanyst’s cheerfulness was less than enthusiastic.
A quint later, Choryn was riding Ghanyst’s mount, awkwardly, and leading them down to Third Street where it intersected River Way. Two shops from the corner was the cobbler shop of one Chelgyst Antensyn. Most of the squad waited outside. Two rankers accompanied Quaeryt, Vaelora, and Duffryt into the shop.
The cobbler looked up from the bench where he appeared to be measuring or trimming leather. Even from
