Rex Regis

46

After sleeping on a makeshift straw pallet on Meredi night, Quaeryt was up early on Jeudi morning and making certain that both companies were out of Folan well before seventh glass. As the scouts had reported the day before, the west river road north from the hold was far better and, in less than a glass and a half, they had covered a good six milles, when the scouts Quaeryt had sent out earlier, accompanied by Lhandor, riding a spare mount, to provide concealment when necessary, returned to report.

Quaeryt did not call an immediate halt until they reached what was either a large woodlot or a less than well-managed hunting park, most likely not part of Fiancryt, where the troopers would be hidden from casual view. Then he gathered the imagers and the officers so they could hear what the scouts had found.

“How did it go?” asked Quaeryt.

The squad leader smiled. “Just as you thought, sir. When we went through the town … well, the west part of Rivages, no one even looked at us. The edge of the city proper is less than a half mille ahead. You can see that most of the city is on the east side of the river. Barely a town on this side. Not all that prosperous on this side, either. We rode past the bridge. The High Holder’s lands start, it looks like, another two milles north, and the gates are maybe a mille farther.”

“Did you see any patrols? Did they see you?”

“We saw two patrols heading out, sir, but the undercaptain did whatever hid us once we left the town proper area.” The scout turned to Lhandor.

“Yes, sir. I thought we could run into troopers anytime. So when we went into a shaded place where the trees shadowed the road, I raised a concealment. That way, anyone who might be watching would just think they lost us in the shadows.”

“Good thought. Tell us about Fiancryt.”

“It’s on the river. The road swings west a bit around the buildings and grounds. There’s a low stone wall around the whole hold house and all the outbuildings. Some of the parts of the wall look new. There are two iron gates off the river road. One looks to be for most folks. The gates are open, but there’s a full squad stationed right at the gate. There’s a trade gate, or maybe for supplies, south of the main gate. It’s chained and locked, but there are some guards there, too.”

“Is there a lane or road along the wall where it heads toward the river?” asked Quaeryt.

“More like a path, sir. We took it a ways. There aren’t any gates there, not even posterns.”

“Is there any other way into the grounds?”

“No, sir,” answered the squad leader. “Leastwise not from the paths or roads, not without climbing the wall, or by boat from the river.”

Quaeryt looked to Lhandor. “What do you think?”

“There are places, I think, where we could image a postern in place, one wide enough for a single mount and rider. Without too much effort. The wall is not that high or thick.”

“I like that idea,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh. After a moment he said, “You’d best get your own mount. We need to head out.”

“I can’t say as I like this, sir,” said Zhelan.

“We’ve been over this already,” replied Quaeryt. “I don’t like it any better than you do, but anything else is worse.”

“I know, sir. That’s why Ghaelyn will be commanding the four rankers accompanying you.”

“He’s the undercaptain,” said Quaeryt.

“He insists, sir. He says it has to be done right, and that means he wants to make sure it is. The only way that’s possible is if he’s there.”

Ghaelyn nodded and added, “Yes, sir.”

“Imager undercaptains,” said Quaeryt, “I appreciate your willingness to accompany me, but I want you to understand that I cannot order you to come with me.”

“You could, sir, and it would be within your rights and our duty,” replied Khalis with a broad grin, “but you won’t. That’s why we’re coming.” He looked to Lhandor and Elsior.

Both nodded.

“Besides … even if we hadn’t promised, we’d be coming,” added Lhandor, “because you have to succeed … or we’ll all end up dead or exiled.”

“Or like in Antiago,” added Elsior.

Quaeryt looked to Calkoran and Zhelan. “If we don’t come back or if Ghaelyn and the rankers come back alone, then you know what to do.”

“I don’t much care for that, either, sir, begging your pardon,” replied Zhelan.

“Neither do I,” replied Quaeryt, “but Lord Bhayar and Lady Vaelora need to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a quick gesture to Ghaelyn, Quaeryt said, “Let’s head out.”

After waiting for a mule cart to pass and get a good hundred yards away, headed north toward Rivages, presumably to market for something, the eight riders moved out from cover and onto the road, slightly covered by a blurring concealment that Quaeryt dropped once they were all on the road.

“Sir?” ventured Khalis, from where he rode beside Quaeryt.

“Yes?”

“I know you think that if … well, if your plan doesn’t work … that Lord Bhayar will need to deal with the marshal and submarshal in order to hold Lydar together. I don’t see how that will work without the Collegium.”

Quaeryt smiled wryly. “I don’t either. But I’ve been wrong before, and I could be wrong now.” You likely just won’t be around to see it this time if you are. “And Lord Bhayar needs to know in order to have a chance to make it work. He can always disavow anything we do if we fail. After all, he didn’t give us precise instructions. He just ordered me to find out why he wasn’t getting any dispatches and see if we could do something about it, and send word back if we couldn’t.”

“You don’t care much for the submarshal, do you, sir?”

“What I feel doesn’t matter. What matters is whether he’s loyal to Lord Bhayar.” Quaeryt stopped talking as Ghaelyn led the small party of nine around the mule cart.

The man leading the mule glanced up, gave the smallest of headshakes, and resolutely looked at the road ahead.

So far as Quaeryt was concerned, that was just fine. As he rode along the west river road toward Rivages, and Fiancryt, to the north, he went over his rough plans again. He had thought about entering Rivages and Fiancryt under the cover of darkness, but he’d dismissed that for a number of reasons, including the fact that it would have been much harder to find Myskyl and the others he sought.

In another quint, they were at the outskirts of the western part of Rivages, with neat brick and timber-plastered cots, some with thatch roofs, but most with fired flat tile roofs. The shutters were largely oiled, rather than painted. The road remained a graveled dirt way for another two hundred yards until they came to a square, paved in yellowish brick. A narrow timber bridge crossed the River Aluse, its causeway ending at the eastern edge of the square. A varied array of carts, small stalls, booths, tables, and peddlers were lined up around the edges of the square, except in front of the long and low inn on the west side.

As they rode past, Quaeryt ignored the efforts of those selling … and a few comments as well.

“… early apples … better than potions for you know what…”

“… cherries, fresh cherries…”

“… just what we need … more Telaryn troopers around…”

“… wonder where they’ve been … didn’t come over the bridge…”

“… coulda been delivering a message to DaFool…”

“… careful … playing up to the high ones…”

“… scarves for your woman, scarves for your lady…”

Once they had ridden through the square, the road narrowed into a street, largely fronted with shops for the next few blocks, then small dwellings … and then a few blocks of larger houses, before they rode past another block or so of smaller dwellings that dwindled into scattered cots. At that point, when he thought no one was looking Quaeryt raised a concealment shield. “I’ve raised a concealment. If any troopers ride toward us, they won’t see us. So we’ll need to move to the right shoulder of the road.”

“Yes, sir.”

After they had ridden another hundred yards or so, they came to a stretch of the road where there were no cots. On the west side of the road were tilled fields, filled with alternating crops, including beans, wheat corn, some maize. On the east side, there was what appeared to be a hunting part, with little undergrowth and trees with greater separation than in a natural forest. Fiancryt lands, thought Quaeryt.

Before long, Quaeryt saw riders in Telaryn green riding at what looked to be a fast trot, three of them, likely a dispatch rider and two escorts. Since they did not have spare mounts, they were most likely traveling a comparatively short distance, perhaps to the regiment patrolling south of Rivages on the east side of the river or to High Holder Paliast or, less likely, to Lady Tyrena D’Ryel-Alte. Quaeryt eased the gelding to the shoulder, and the others followed his example.

The three rode past as if Quaeryt’s party did not exist, which was fine with Quaeryt.

After riding another mille, Quaeryt saw the stone wall of Fiancryt, and in another two quints, he turned the gelding onto the path along the south wall, occasionally standing in the stirrups to see over the wall in order to locate a place where trees or bushes blocked a direct view of that section of the wall from the hold house and its outbuildings. Roughly two hundred yards off the west river road, Quaeryt found such a spot, where a grove of some sort of ornamental topiary was flanked by two small flower gardens. From what he could determine, no one was in the gardens, and there were no sounds of voices, not that he would have expected such during the morning in a hold largely occupied by Telaryn troopers.

He gestured to the others and reined up. “First, we need to image a smooth opening in the wall, wide enough for a single mount and rider. Khalis?”

“Yes, sir.” Khalis looked at the wall, and after a moment an opening appeared, with a faint hint of mist vanishing from the smooth stone on each side of the gap.

“Now we need a gate, hung on two sturdy iron gate hinges drilled into the stone. It should look old. Lhandor.”

In moments, what looked like a postern gate filled the space.

Quaeryt smiled. “After we ride through, Elsior, we’ll need a latch on the other side.”

“Oh … I’m sorry, sir,” said Lhandor.

“That’s all right.” Quaeryt looked to Ghaelyn. “Undercaptain, you and the men are to wait here among the trees until you have word … if you can, avoid detection. If you cannot, ride off and return later. If you have no word by fourth glass of the afternoon, you’re to return to Major Zhelan and report that. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt extended his shields enough that they pushed open the gate as he rode through it, still holding the concealment. He glanced around, surveying the area, but it was deserted and he moved forward to allow the other three to enter the hold grounds. He waited while Elsior imaged a proper latch with a heavy catch before he spoke.

“Now, what we’ll do is ride as close as we can, under concealment. When I order it, most likely in a corner of a courtyard, hopefully near a stable, Khalis, you and Elsior raise personal concealments. You’ll have to tie your mounts and walk away to follow us. Lhandor, you won’t raise a concealment. I’ll drop the overall concealment and immediately head for a junior officer. Lhandor, you’re to accompany me until you get to a position where you can raise a concealment without much notice, but all three of you are to follow me, but at a distance, and under concealment. Follow me into the hold house, but do not enter any chamber I enter. They could be traps, and I might need help from outside.”

“Yes, sir, but…?” Lhandor looked puzzled.

“I’m a senior officer. I wouldn’t show up without a junior officer. Appearing without an escort would make everyone suspicious. What will happen”-You hope-“is that everyone will see that I’m properly accompanied, and when you vanish from sight, that you’ve been told to wait somewhere.”

All three undercaptains nodded.

As the four rode out from behind the topiary and across the meadow, largely clover, Quaeryt noted, toward the hold buildings, Quaeryt concentrated on trying to identify which buildings were likely what. The hold house itself was one of the larger ones Quaeryt had seen in Bovaria, built of the same gray stone as the wall and rising three stories. Unlike Seliadyn’s hold, or that of Daefol, the hold house showed no signs of fortification or the like, with comparatively wide windows on all levels. The plan of the main house was simple, with a square central section and two wings extending from the main section, running roughly north-south, parallel to the River Aluse, some three hundred yards to the east. The main house was situated on a rise some twenty or twenty-five yards above the riverbank. There was a courtyard at the south end of the main house, almost directly ahead of Quaeryt, if several hundred yards away, but nothing directly behind it so as not to block the view of the river. While he could not be certain, it appeared as though there was also another courtyard on the north end. Several low buildings formed an arc away from the south wing of the hold house, possibly a guesthouse, two stables, and two barns, plus a low shed. There was also a small pier on the river with an adjoining pavilion. The pavilion was vacant.

Quaeryt rode slowly across the meadow angling the gelding toward the rear of the south courtyard, that section where troopers, and officers, were more likely to assume someone there had been there for a time. When they neared the rear of what was clearly a stable, Quaeryt said, “Keep your voices low if you have to speak.”

Then he rode through the paved space between the stable and the barn to the east of it, reined up just short of the courtyard, and dismounted. “Lhandor, you dismount.”

Lhandor nodded.

“Concealments, Khalis, Elsior.”

The pair acknowledged his order by vanishing from his sight.

Quaeryt led the gelding around the corner and into the courtyard toward the nearest stable boy, noting that there was a hitching rail just a bit farther on.

“If you’d stable him,” Quaeryt said with a smile, “somewhere you can find him in a glass.”

The stable boy looked up at Quaeryt, took in the commander’s insignia, and nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Also, my undercaptain’s mount, if you would?”

“I can do that, sir.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt offered a pleasant smile and then began to walk toward the hold house, not rushing, but not being leisurely, either. After he’d walked a good ten yards, he glanced back, smiling as he saw Khalis’s and Elsior’s mounts tied to the railing.

Lhandor kept pace with Quaeryt, just at his shoulder, but a half step back.

When they reached the side entrance to the hold house, the trooper standing there glanced at Quaeryt’s insignia, but said nothing as Quaeryt stepped through the doorway, followed by Lhandor, who paused as if brushing something from his eye and held the door for several moments before leaving it ajar and hurrying to catch up to Quaeryt, murmuring, “They’re inside, sir.”

“Good. Thank you,” replied Quaeryt in a low voice as he looked down the long corridor, before spotting an undercaptain carrying a folder of papers. Quaeryt turned his steps toward the junior officer, catching up with him just outside an open doorway, through which Quaeryt could see several table desks and a number of rankers seated at them, some with ledgers.

“Undercaptain…”

The undercaptain turned, puzzled rather than surprised as he took in the gold crescent insignia, before looking at Lhandor and relaxing his expression slightly. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m looking for the submarshal.”

“He’s in the command study, sir.”

“If you’d show me the way…” Quaeryt smiled politely, but his tone conveyed the sense of an order, not a request.

“Yes, sir. This way, sir.” The undercaptain turned and continued past the chamber holding the ranker clerks.

Quaeryt glanced around, trying not to be too obvious in doing so, and seeing no one near or looking at them, nodded to Lhandor.

Lhandor returned the nod and vanished from sight.

* * *

A younger captain whom Quaeryt neither knew nor recognized, not surprisingly, stood from behind a small table desk outside a set of double oak doors as Quaeryt and the undercaptain appeared. The captain frowned, clearly not recognizing a strange commander.

“Sir?”

“Just tell the submarshal that Commander Quaeryt is here to see him,” said Quaeryt pleasantly, hoping that the three imagers stayed separated and well back from him, as he’d ordered.

The captain stiffened slightly, then swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He walked over to the door and rapped, firmly, then announced, “Commander Quaeryt is here to see you, sir.”

After a moment of silence, Myskyl replied, his voice clear even through the heavy door. “Show him in by all means.”

The captain opened the door and inclined his head. “Commander.”

“Thank you.”

Even without looking back, as the captain closed the study door, Quaeryt could sense the looks of puzzlement exchanged by the two junior officers.

The study had likely been used by a younger member of the High Holder’s family, or perhaps by guests, given its modest size, four yards by five, with a single bookcase on the inside wall to Quaeryt’s right and a settee and a single upholstered reading chair set before the left wall. A table desk had been set before the single wide window, with three chairs before it and one behind it, from which the gray-haired Myskyl had risen, a smile upon his face and in his eyes, not that Quaeryt would have expected anything less.

“Quaeryt! What a pleasant surprise to see you.” Myskyl frowned for a moment, then resumed smiling. “I hadn’t heard that you had arrived.”

“That’s not surprising. We just got here.”

“I hope you didn’t divert too many troopers. We scarcely need any more.”

“Oh, no. Only a few.”

“I just got word that Skarpa was successful in conquering Antiago, and that he’s acting governor.”

“He was most successful. Unhappily, sometime after Vaelora and I left Antiago, he was assassinated. Commander Kharllon is currently acting governor, and all appears to be calm from his dispatches.”

“Strange things often happen after you’ve left places,” mused Myskyl.

“They have,” agreed Quaeryt, “but as you know, I wouldn’t have had anything happen to Skarpa. So it must have been someone else’s strangeness.”

“That’s possible. I can’t imagine who, though.”

“There’s always someone. I’m certain you’ve found some strangeness here. Several of the High Holders I spoke to on the ride north mentioned that Rivages was almost a different land.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” replied Myskyl. “A great deal more traditional, however.”

“Traditional…” mused Quaeryt. “Yes … I suppose that would fit as well.”

“We should go to the officers’ salon. It’s comfortable there, especially for you after such a long ride.”

“You even have an officers’ salon?” asked Quaeryt. Since when has Myskyl ever been concerned for your comfort?

“It’s better than imposing on Lady Myranda too much.” Myskyl gestured toward the study door.

“Then that might be for the best.” Quaeryt offered an agreeable smile.

“Excellent.”

Quaeryt let Myskyl lead the way.

As they left the study, Myskyl nodded to the captain at the small table desk outside and said, “If you’d have Commander Luchan and his assistants join us in the officers’ salon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Luchan is your second in command?” asked Quaeryt as the captain walked briskly away.

“He is. Very competent. He’s devoted to the cause of Telaryn.” Myskyl turned northward, toward the center of the hold house.

“As you and the marshal are, I’m certain.”

“And as you are to Lord Bhayar,” replied Myskyl genially.

“Obviously, Commander Luchan is here in the chateau,” said Quaeryt. “Do the other commanders and subcommanders have studies here, or did you follow the marshal’s example and house them in the outbuildings?”

“You still show great concern for others in the most peculiar of ways, Quaeryt.” Myskyl stopped at the second door, leaving it open, and then entering through a deep archway almost a yard and a half long.

“I suppose I always have, but … I do try to learn from what I observe.” Quaeryt followed the submarshal, taking in the chamber. There was one wide window set in the middle of the wall, with plain dark wood paneling on each side, as well as around the room. The window casements looked slightly deeper than those in Myskyl’s study. A circular wooden table, with chairs for eight, sat before one window, while a settee, flanked by comfortable leather upholstered chairs, was set against the left inside wall. Brass corner tables held unlit lamps.

Myskyl took the chair facing the window and gestured to the one facing him.

Quaeryt took it, not without some trepidation, strengthening his shields. The “salon” bothered him, although he couldn’t have explained why.

“The regimental commanders have studies in one of the guesthouses,” replied Myskyl. “Might I ask why you’re inquiring?”

“As a scholar, I try to observe what works and why people do things. You obviously have learned much from Deucalon, and he, I daresay, much from you.”

“We do work well together, as do you and Lord Bhayar.”

“How did you come to such an accommodation with Fiancryt’s widow?”

Myskyl shrugged. “There was no accommodation. We needed a base of operations. Fiancryt died, and he’d been a close supporter of Kharst.”

“So was Ryel.”

Myskyl shook his head. “Ryel has a much smaller hold house and fewer outbuildings. Fiancryt was far more suitable, and it even has a wall that makes it secure … in a limited way, as you must have seen on your way in.”

“I didn’t observe any breaks in the wall, and both entrances were gated and guarded. There is, of course, the river…”

At the rap on the salon door, Quaeryt paused.

“Yes?” asked Myskyl.

The young captain opened the door slightly, peering in. “I beg your pardon, sir, but Commander Luchan has an urgent question, sir. He needs to send word before he joins you.”

Myskyl sighed and stood. “It’s always something.”

Quaeryt stood as well when the submarshal rose. “It is, indeed.”

“Just sit down, Quaeryt. I’ll likely only be a few moments.”

Quaeryt tried not to stiffen as Myskyl walked toward the salon door, but he did not seat himself, instead strengthening his shields.

The submarshal half turned, as if to say something, when he stepped into the doorway, the door but half open. Abruptly he stopped, as if somehow blocked from moving. Behind Myskyl, Quaeryt could see the young captain, reaching for something, when he suddenly froze in place. The slightest rumbling alerted Quaeryt, and he clamped shields around Myskyl. Then, what looked to be a solid iron shutter descended from the upper window casement, and the salon dimmed into total darkness except for the sliver of light from the half-open salon door, partly blocked by Myskyl’s shield-frozen figure.

A massive concentration of force slammed into Quaeryt’s shields, and he could barely remain standing.

Kharst’s imagers.

Quaeryt tried to move against the forces-or shields that pressed against him-then stopped as a shower of silver flared into the salon. Silver rain cascaded toward him from the iron shutter that had covered the salon window. In instants, it became clear that the rain was melting away those heavy shutters even as silver fragments floated toward him.

Myskyl stood frozen in the doorway, and three shadowy figures appeared as the rain also melted away a false wall beside the half-open salon door, then formed into chains of light that pinned the shadowy figures against the metal wall behind them. The silver rain flared in intensity. Yet, even as its pattering died into silence, the silver formed a glittering and gleaming archway where the iron shutter and window had been, with a reddish silver road beyond it leading upward into a brilliant star-filled night sky, for all that Quaeryt knew, outside the chateau, it was a bright midmorning.

Fascinated, Quaeryt could only watch as a figure strode down that reddish silver road, then walked through the archway and halted. Erion, for it could only be he, stood there for a moment, then looked at Myskyl.

In the light that poured from and around and behind the silver-haired man, Quaeryt could see Myskyl’s eyes widen and an expression of disbelief infuse his face. His mouth opened soundlessly, and an expression of fear and shock appeared. The same expression was duplicated on the face of the captain behind him.

As before, Erion held a dagger with a blade of brilliant light, and he pointed the dagger at Myskyl. Across Erion’s back was the mighty bow, and in his other hand was a small golden yet leatherbound book.

“There is blood on this dagger,” said Erion. “Were it up to you, this land would flow with blood once more. But that will not be.” In a single fluid motion he threw the long dagger, and like lightning it struck Myskyl squarely in the breastbone, buried to its hilt and pinning him to the heavy oak door.

The silver-haired figure then turned, looking to Quaeryt’s left at the three shadowy figures, held in chains of silver light, and saying, “You have seen treachery, and you have supported it. You have seen evil, and you would again replicate it. There is always treachery, especially by those like you who are powerful, but for whom no amount of wealth and position will suffice, for you know your failings and will not see them. Instead, you seek forgetfulness in the elixir of power. You will have eternal forgetfulness.” Erion gestured, and three lightnings flared, and the three figures blackened, and crumpled. Erion turned back to Quaeryt. “You, my son, will never know forgetfulness of your failings. Nor should you. Ever.”

For all that he had heard words like that once before, Quaeryt could believe them, more than ever in the cold certainty of Erion’s voice.

The silver-haired figure nodded, offered an enigmatic smile, then turned and walked back up the red-silver road through the archway in what had been a window covered by an iron shutter. But when the silver radiance faded, the archway remained, an archway of fused stone and metals combined, and the brilliant sunshine of midday in summer flowed through the opening.

The shields that had imprisoned Quaeryt were gone. Myskyl’s body hung from the long silvery dagger, and three charred and dead imagers lay facedown on the charred wood of the false bookcase behind which they had waited.

Quaeryt shook himself, then took one step, and then another.

“Sir! Are you all right?” called Khalis, wrenching the door full open, and ignoring the dead submarshal. “Get out of there now!”

Quaeryt didn’t hesitate. He ran, if still holding full shields, through the salon and into the corridor to see the three imager undercaptains, as well as an ashen young captain, immobile. Quaeryt looked to the imagers.

“The other wall, the one on the other side of the salon from where the imagers were-it’s got a small cannon filled with balls and aimed at where you were. Lhandor stopped the commander from triggering it.”

Quaeryt glanced at the open door to a concealed alcove. Inside, a body lay facedown below what did appear to be a small cannon or a huge blunderbuss.

“The imagers were trying to block me. I had to kill him,” explained Lhandor. “Khalis managed to slow down the submarshal so he couldn’t get out of the salon so quickly. Elsior’s holding the captain. Elsior also told us where the imagers were. That helped. He also said we couldn’t let the door close.”

Couldn’t let the door close? For a moment that puzzled Quaeryt. Then he nodded and said to Elsior, “You can release the captain. But you can kill him if he makes a single wrong move.”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain stood there shaking. “That … That was Erion…” Then he fainted.

“It was Erion, wasn’t it, sir?” asked Khalis.

Once again, Quaeryt had to question whether it had been Erion, or his own creation of the great hunter. Will you ever know? For certain? Most likely not. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.”

The three exchanged dubious glances.

Quaeryt squared his shoulders. “How are you all with fire?”

“Fire, sir?”

“The one that started when we were fighting the evil imagers.”

“But, sir…” Khalis broke off his protest, clearly belatedly understanding.

“Of course, the fire started when we fought them, after the submarshal escaped their control of his mind and they killed him and Commander Luchan,” Quaeryt added.

“Yes, sir.”

Besides which, this holding isn’t going to revert to heirs, not after all that it’s been used for. Quaeryt sent a fireball into the paneled wall, beside the salon doorway. “Wake up the captain there and tell him the hold house is on fire.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt imaged fireballs to various points along the corridor that stretched northward to the main section of the hold house. So did Khalis, and then Lhandor. Then he turned and began to hurry toward the courtyard entrance, calling, “Fire! Everyone out! Fire!”

When they hurried into the courtyard, Quaeryt imaged fire into the upper rooms he could see, as well as sending fireballs to the north wing.

“Fire! The entire hold house is on fire!”

Men appeared from everywhere, some running from the outbuildings, and some from the hold house. Almost in moments, or so it seemed, flames were shooting from the hold house in dozens of spots.

Quaeryt hoped most people could get out of the hold house, but with the numbers that were appearing in the courtyard, he thought there might not be many casualties. And a lot fewer than if Myskyl’s and Deucalon’s plans hadn’t been thwarted. Except … he knew that the business of thwarting them wasn’t quite finished. Not yet.

“Elsior … you go find Ghaelyn,” ordered Quaeryt. “You and he and the rankers ride back and tell Zhelan and Calkoran what happened, then have them ride here to join us. Be ready to provide shields. I don’t think you’ll have to, but it’s possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

Abruptly Quaeryt found that his legs were shaking, and flashes of light flared across his vision.

Somethingexhausted you. “I think I need to rest.”

“We’ll get you away from here, sir, and find something to eat and drink,” said Khalis.

“So you’re ready to deal with the other commanders after the fire,” added Lhandor.

That was fine with Quaeryt, even though he wasn’t looking forward to such a meeting or what would follow.