saw the silver-white-haired man, a mighty bow across his back, riding up a shimmering road of reddish silver that stretched skyward … and vanished. And where the road had led, shining full in the night that had come on so suddenly, was Erion, the moon of the great hunter.
A single beam from that, the lesser moon, flashed across her hands, and she gasped, for the coppers had turned to gold.
And yet, the greatest treasure they had was not the wealth of the golds, but the wisdom of the hunter, and so that should be for you as well.
The old woman looked from Vaelora to Quaeryt and back again before she smiled. “Remember the tale, lost ones, and you will be lost no more when you come to the road.” Then she bowed her head to Vaelora. “I thank you, Lady, for your grace and kindness.”
“And I thank you for your story and your insight,” replied Vaelora. After a pause, she asked, “Is that an old, old tale?”
“I heard it from my grandmere, and she from hers.”
“Why did you offer it to us?” asked Quaeryt pleasantly, feeling far more charitable to her than he had toward Zhrensyl.
“Because you need to know from where you come, lost one, governor that you may be.” She smiled sadly. “That is all I can say. The rest you must find yourselves.”
“Thank you,” Vaelora said again.
As they walked away, Quaeryt thought about the woman’s addressing them as the “lost ones.” He’d heard … somewhere … about the lost ones. He just couldn’t remember where.
The two walked slowly away from the rankers’ mess hall.
“Who are the lost ones? What does that mean?” asked Vaelora.
“I’m trying…” Abruptly, he remembered who had first called him a “lost one”-Hailae, in Bhorael.
“The one who married the Pharsi woman he saved, you mean?”
“His wife is Hailae, and when she saw me the first time, she called me a ‘lost one.’ I’d never heard that. The lost ones are Pharsi who are marked by black eyes and white blond hair, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, explain more.”
“You told me how she insisted you are Pharsi, but not about being a lost one.”
“I thought I did.”
Vaelora shook her head.
Rather than pursue that, Quaeryt said, “The way she told it, it has to be an old tale, but I’ve never heard it or read about it.”
“She was certain it applied to us.” Vaelora smiled. “Even if most Pharsi would have been beaten or killed if they’d been found with a horse and no way to have bought it.”
“None of the old tales make any sense that way.” He paused. “Do you really think that we’re the lost ones?”
“You’re from a Pharsi background, and so am I, but neither of us can speak more than a few words of Pharsi. We know nothing of their customs.”
“So … from her point of view, we’re the lost ones.”
“I think ‘lost ones’ means more than that,” mused Vaelora. “I wish I knew more. I should have listened more closely to Grandmere.”
“She never talked about the lost ones?”
“If she did, I don’t remember, and I think I would have.” After a moment she asked, “What will you do now?”
“Meet with Major Heireg. The post quartermaster has to know something about the High Holders and who has what goods. Then … we’ll begin visiting the High Holders.”
“We? You didn’t ask me.” Vaelora’s face was composed, severe in expression.
Quaeryt wasn’t quite sure whether she was irritated or amused behind a facade. “Would my lady prefer to accompany me on a long ride to visit politely unpleasant High Holders or to remain here at the post in idle leisure?”
“That is most disrespectful…” Vaelora grinned abruptly, but the grin didn’t last long.
“I am sorry. I’d thought we’d talked about this last night.”
“We did … but you didn’t ask. You just assumed.”
Quaeryt didn’t hide the wince.
“I would like to accompany you. I also think I can be useful, don’t you?”
Her last words were delivered so sweetly that he winced again. “I do indeed, and I apologize for my assumptions.”
“You don’t have to apologize for all of them, dearest. Just that one. Your apology is accepted.”
“Thank you.”
Vaelora laughed softly.
“It might be better if I met with the major alone,” said Quaeryt as they neared the stables.
“I would agree. I’ll be outside here nearby.”
“It’s not likely to be long.”
“Take as long as you need, dearest.”
Quaeryt inclined his head to her, then turned and made his way to the narrow door at the end of the stable. Inside was a small space, barely large enough for the single narrow desk, the chair in front of it, and the records chests stacked head high against the outer wall.
“Governor!” The major rose from the desk and bowed. “What might I do for you, sir?”
“I’d like to hear what you have to say about procurement. Especially recent procurement.” Quaeryt gestured for the major to reseat himself, then settled into the single armless chair in front of the desk.
“We haven’t procured much in the past weeks. Nothing at all.”
“Commander Zhrensyl indicated that you have a fair supply of rations and some fodder, but not that much more. Are supplies that hard to purchase?”
“It depends on what you mean, Governor,” replied the round-faced man, whose cherubic visage was contraindicated by a lean muscular frame. “I could purchase more supplies, but we don’t need them right now. The local holders, especially the High Holders, are holding their grain and flour dear. They’re holding everything dear.” Heireg smiled sardonically. “I’ve held off buying. I figured Lord Bhayar would send someone to replace Governor Scythn before long. Whoever it was would have more clout than I would in getting a fair price from those bastards. Pardon my language, sir, but they are. Some of ’em would run down a starving mother for sport. Especially Wystgahl.”
That didn’t surprise Quaeryt in the slightest. “I need to know what the range of past prices for simple goods has been-flour, a side of mutton, or a whole sheep, maize, potatoes…”
“Until the mountain blew, sir, flour was running eight silvers a barrel, sometimes nine. Potatoes were less than three coppers a bushel. Good ones, that is. In the fall, I could get a bushel for two coppers. Price of the other provisions bounced around from week to week. I can show you the ledgers with all the prices…”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Heireg eased a ledger off the shelf on the wall, then stood, opening the ledger to the last page with entries. “You see here, almost a month ago, the last time I bought anything…”
Quaeryt listened as the major went over the costs of each procurement, then asked, “From whom do you obtain these massive amounts of goods?”
“Anyone who will sell at a decent price. Most times, the small holders offer better prices, but they can’t supply all that we need. Right now, they’ve little to offer. The High Holders don’t want to sell because they don’t have to-not yet-and they think prices will rise.”
“Who are the High Holders most likely to have flour and potatoes?”
“Wystgahl has wheat corn and a mill, and Aramyn has potatoes and some flour, I’ve heard. Chaffetz has both.”
