Rex Regis

55

Unfortunately, the good weather that had favored Northern Army for the first part of the journey toward Variana did not last. By midafternoon on Mardi, the rain began to fall, heavily enough that the river road was soon a quagmire. That slowed the army so that it took three glasses to cover the last few milles into Roleon, and it was well after eighth glass before the men and mounts were settled … as well as possible. The rain did not let up until late Meredi. Finally, at eighth glass on Vendrei, Northern Army plodded out of Roleon.

The road had largely dried, but the worst part of riding, from Quaeryt’s point of view, was that the moisture and the summer sun had combined so that he felt as though they were riding through a steam bath populated with hordes of mosquitoes and red flies, both of which were far too small for him to use shields against.

By the time the army reached Caanara on the following Mardi evening, Quaeryt had insect bites in more places than he wanted to count, despite the fact that he’d worn his visor cap and a long-sleeved uniform shirt the entire time. He felt he’d seen and experienced more mosquitoes and red flies over the past two days than he had on the entire campaign the previous summer, a fact he mentioned to Justanan as the two of them sat at a corner table in the public room of the best inn in Caanara, the Red Bear, which, in Quaeryt’s mind, barely merited being termed an inn. Each had a beaker of lager before them, supposedly pale, but more like amber.

“I’d have to agree,” said the older officer. “They weren’t near as thick there, especially the red flies. Well … maybe in a few places, but not for days straight, even when it rained.”

“I wondered if I was the only one who thought that way.”

“Nieron has more bites than you do, I think, from the way he talks.”

“How do you think he feels about Myskyl, now that he’s had a chance to think it over?”

“He hasn’t said much. We were never close, you know. He did say that it was obvious that your loyalty was to Lord Bhayar.” Justanan paused. “You meant what you said about not being marshal, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely. That would not be good for Bhayar or for Lydar.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“That doesn’t mean that I should be. I’d be seen as having too much power. It’s one thing to be an imager and one commander among many…” Quaeryt let the words hang.

The older commander nodded. “You prefer to remain less visible.”

“It’s not just that. Lord Bhayar needed the imagers after Kharst attacked, but imagers should not be a part of the armies on a permanent basis. They should be separate, and they should provide other benefits and services, and they should report directly to the ruler. They also need to be better organized and structured.”

“You’re working on that?”

“Lord Bhayar has agreed to establish a collegium of imagers, located on the isle of piers in the River Aluse. Initially, they’ll be supported by fifth battalion and my regiments, but that will only be for a few years, until more imagers are trained. That way, the imagers will have a place to be schooled, trained, and supervised.”

Justanan laughed softly. “They’ll balance the power of the armies … and whoever is marshal. That’s what you have in mind, isn’t it?”

“Partly. But only partly. Imagers need a safe place to learn and grow. There are so few that they’ll never be a danger to the people, but if they’re scattered, the people are a danger to them. They can protect a ruler, and he can protect them.”

“What will keep them in check after you’re gone?”

“The fact that a ruler can dissolve the Collegium and return them to persecution. Most imagers aren’t as powerful as the ones you’ve seen. They’re the survivors and the best … and there are only ten of them in all of Lydar. Even if there are ten times as many as that who are that able-which I doubt-that number could not survive without protection or without continuing to hide. Even a number of those in my forces died, and I’ve been wounded three times.”

“Will you remain a commander?”

“Only so long as necessary. I’d prefer to be the maître of the Collegium.”

Justanan took a swallow from the beaker of lager before him, then set it down and looked at Quaeryt. “I’d tell you not to coddle the younger ones, but I have the feeling you won’t.”

“I intend to make the standards for imagers far tougher than for troopers or officers, and the punishments for transgressions far harder. There has to be a price for protection.”

“Do you really think that it will outlast you?”

Quaeryt smiled and shrugged. “I’d like to think so, but that will depend on how well we educate and train those who succeed us.” He paused. “Isn’t that true in everything?”

Justanan laughed again. “It is indeed.” He lifted the beaker. “To those who follow. May we train them well.”

With a smile, Quaeryt lifted his own beaker and took a healthy swallow.

When he set the beaker down, the smile was gone. “I’m going to take my two companies and leave very early tomorrow morning.”

Justanan offered a faint smile. “I thought you would.”

“I’d suggest that you not press, either. It’s possible that you may receive additional orders before you reach headquarters in Variana. Then, again, you may not.”

“That depends on Lord Bhayar, I assume. What will you tell the marshal?”

“Nothing. I’ll report to Lord Bhayar, as he ordered. He’ll decide what happens after that.”

“You will certainly recommend something.”

“My only recommendation will be that Deucalon not remain as marshal. He either had no idea what Myskyl was doing, or he was part of it. Given the fact that Bhayar requested information and was effectively denied that information…” Quaeryt looked to Justanan.

“Deucalon was either negligent or complicit,” finished the older commander.

“Were you reporting to Lord Bhayar, what would you recommend?”

“The same as you will … but I’m glad you’re the one who has to.” Justanan offered a rueful expression. “We just may take a rather leisurely approach to Variana.”

“Not too leisurely,” suggested Quaeryt.

“You don’t expect…”

“I don’t, but I’ve been surprised before.”

“When was the last time? When you were born?”

Quaeryt had to smile at Justanan’s cheerful sardonicism. “I think it was a bit after that.”

“Not much.”

Quaeryt shook his head and took a small swallow of the amber lager.