Imager’s Battalion Read Free Page B

but those will likely withdraw directly to the area around Variana. He will be using conscripts, perhaps heavily. We will move decisively, and it is likely that we will not face great resistance until we near Variana…”
    As Bhayar continued to summarize the situation, Quaeryt and Vaelora listened.
    “… unlikely Kharst has many imagers, if any, and they will be held in reserve. I would prefer that you not strain yourself or your imagers any more than necessary.” Bhayar stopped and cleared his throat. “And now, I must take my leave. I expect you to spend Vendrei and Samedi in Ferravyl with your forces. You may take Solayi off, as will all forces, and we will set out on Lundi, we for the west, sister dear, and you for Solis.” Bhayar rose from the table.
    Quaeryt stood, as did Vaelora, although Vaelora did so in a deliberate if graceful way, almost as if grudgingly. Both accompanied Bhayar to the main door and outside.
    There, Bhayar turned and inclined his head. “My personal guard will be here for you, Vaelora dear, by seventh glass on Lundi. There will be a leather folder with my authorization for you and Aelina.”
    “You think of everything, brother dear.”
    “I do attempt such, but dealing with you, as your husband will discover, if he has not already, can be a challenge.” With a broad smile, Bhayar mounted the gray.
    Quaeryt and Vaelora watched as he rode down the drive and joined the waiting troopers.
    “How much does he know?” asked Quaeryt.
    “About you … being a lost one? Or as strong an imager as you are?” Vaelora paused. “I could not say. I doubt he actually knows everything, but one of Bhayar’s strengths has always been a feel for what is so, even when he does not know.”
    “He also has no illusions about people.”
    “Dearest … no successful ruler does.”
    Quaeryt laughed, then took Vaelora’s hand as they turned and stepped back into the hold house.

 
    3
    On Jeudi morning, while Vaelora finished dressing, Quaeryt picked up the small book that appeared to be both a biography and a commentary on the life of Rholan, and as seemed often to be the case, he found himself rereading a section with particular interest.
No deity, should one exist, needs a name. Those who worship such a deity need that name, for otherwise how can they be certain that their prayers, their hopes, and their plaints go to whom they are meant to be addressed. Gods do not need worshippers, but most people need gods. Rholan addressed the paradox of names by calling the almighty “the Nameless,” a stratagem far more clever than either his contemporaries or those claiming scholarly insight have seemed able to recognize.
    As Vaelora stepped from the dressing chamber, Quaeryt closed the small book, smiling in spite of himself.
    “Is that smile for what I’m wearing?” asked Vaelora, her voice mock-stern.
    “Hardly, dear. I’d smile were you wearing nothing.”
    “You’d smile far more than that. You always do.”
    “Can I help the fact that I find you beautiful?”
    “Lust can make any woman beautiful.”
    Quaeryt had strong doubts about that, because one of the aspects of Vaelora he found so appealing was her intelligence. After all, her letters had captured him even when he’d had no thought of anything more. “You will write me … as you did before?”
    Vaelora blinked, as if what he’d said had no relation to what they’d been discussing. “What…?”
    “I was thinking about your letters, that I found what you wrote so entrancing…”
    She laughed softly. “You still surprise me.”
    “I hope I always will … in a good fashion.”
    From the bedchamber, with its antique stone walls, walls softened somewhat by the not quite so ancient cloth hangings, they made their way down the stone steps barely wide enough for two abreast and then to the small breakfast room, rather than the terrace, since the night had brought rain and drizzle.
    Again, as he ate the near-perfect omelet that the