Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  Items for the marshal’s personal mess, most likely. “Thank you.” Taking the small sheaf of papers, Quaeryt stepped away from the desk. “I do appreciate your courtesy and haste.”

  “We do try to please, Commander.”

  “Lord Bhayar will appreciate that.” With a last polite smile, Quaeryt turned, left the clerks’ study, and began the walk back to the main courtyard.

  Quaeryt could sense Ernyld’s agitation from the doorway to the study of the chief of staff, but he said nothing as he entered and took a chair across the table from the subcommander. Then he smiled and said, “Your clerks were most helpful.”

  “I had not expected such … an immediate response. I would have been pleased to have supplied the figures you needed without your having to take your valuable time to come and obtain it.”

  “I am most certain you would have been,” said Quaeryt. “But, having been a princeps and a governor, I knew exactly what information I needed, and I would not wish the marshal to pay a silver more than required any longer than necessary. Lord Bhayar’s coffers are not endless, and maintaining thirty regiments far from Solis is costly.”

  “That is true, but at times … perhaps not in this instance … failing to follow the chain of command can lead to misunderstandings.”

  “You are most correct about that,” replied Quaeryt. “But this is one of those instances. The marshal, I know from experience, believes that certain accomplishments need be done in a most timely fashion, and your dispatch suggested that this was one of those times.”

  “Ah … yes. He was most concerned.”

  Most concerned to make the Ministry of Administration and Supply look slow and unresponsive. “You can convey to him that we will be taking matters to the factors once we have made a quick investigation.”

  “Might I ask…” At the look on Quaeryt’s face, Ernyld said quickly, “I suppose not.”

  Quaeryt rose. “Once we have looked into the matter, I will let you know.” He could feel the subcommander’s eyes on his back as he left and walked down the outside stairs and made his way to where the gelding was tied.

  Two quints later, he was back at the Chateau Regis talking to Vaelora.

  “I’ve only glanced over the prices Ernyld is paying, but they look to be too high by one or two parts in ten. I didn’t tell him that because—”

  “He’ll want you to do better than that … and he’ll take the credit.”

  “He will anyway. I’ll have to meet with the factors’ council.”

  “They’re restricting supplies like the factors in Laaryn did, aren’t they?”

  “Most likely,” replied Quaeryt. “People don’t change the way they do business unless they can make more golds or unless their lives or their businesses are in danger. That seems to be especially true here in Bovaria.”

  “There’s one other matter,” said Vaelora. “I was about to tell you, before the councilor arrived, that several factors who are located south of the Sud Bridge on the west river road sent a petition—”

  “And they want the paved section extended to their factorages and warehouses? Preferably yesterday?”

  “Of course.”

  “And before long, those north of the Nord Bridge will be asking for the same. And if we manage to rebuild some of the east river road, then whoever isn’t served by the new good road will be complaining that they’re left out.” Quaeryt shook his head. “I thought the High Holders in Montagne were bad, but the more I encounter the factors of Bovaria…”

  “They really haven’t been ruled in generations. Not effectively.”

  “No. All Kharst wanted was his palaces and privileges.” And his way with women, whether they were willing or not. “We’ll have to change that, I think.”

  Vaelora nodded, but there was a sadness to her small smile.

  25

  After they had dined on Jeudi evening, alone in the “small” family dining chamber of the Chateau Regis, a chamber a good ten yards by six, at one end of a table that could have easily seated half a score, Quaeryt and Vaelora repaired to their quarters on the upper level.

  In the dim illumination of twilight, Quaeryt found himself pacing back and forth in front of the windows in the sitting room.

  “What is it now, dearest?”

  “I can’t help it,” Quaeryt said. “Every time I think about the Bovarian factors, or the High Holders of Montagne, I get angry.”

  “Because all they think about is how many golds they can amass without counting the cost to others?”

  “That’s part of it. But only part. Once they saw that the imagers could repair and improve roads, everyone wanted their road improved … as if the imagers had little else to do.”

  “They see what they see. To them, it takes little time, and they think it is easy.”

  “They only think it is easy. They don’t see that a moment of imaging can leave an imager so exhausted he can do nothing for a glass … or a day.”

  “Or for weeks,” added Vaelora softly.

  “They don’t see the thousands of deaths it cost to strengthen and perfect those skills. They don’t see all the imagers who died all across Lydar for generations because they were different. They don’t see the imagers who died because they couldn’t do enough or tried to do too much.” Like Akoryt and Shaelyt.

  “They don’t see how many nights you do not sleep or sleep badly,” added Vaelora. “They ignore the white hair, and the fingers you cannot move. Or that your bad leg troubles you more.”

  “Are they all so greedy?” Quaeryt paused. “Are we greedy as well? And do not see it because we only see what we wish to see?”

  “There are those who are greedy and those who are less so.”

  “Rholan said something about that,” mused Quaeryt. “I don’t remember exactly how he put it.”

  “Do you want me to find it?”

  “You might as well.” I’m too agitated to settle down.

  Vaelora rose and walked into the bedchamber.

  Quaeryt stopped pacing and looked out the window to the south. With the spring had come greenery, and most of the scars of the previous fall’s battle had either been removed by the imagers, by Bhayar’s forces, or been muted by the growth of grasses and bushes. Yet, for a moment, Quaeryt saw a land covered in ice, with everything in sight white, even though he had not ever actually seen that. Only felt it … and endless ice within you.

  Vaelora returned, holding the small leatherbound volume. “Would you like me to read it?”

  “If you would.” He turned from the window and looked upon her, taking in once more the warmth that infused her, despite all she had been through … because of him.

  She cleared her throat and began.

  “Rholan claimed to be ambitious, but not greedy. He insisted that the distinction between ambition and greed was simple enough. Ambition was the setting of desired and fixed achievements and striving to accomplish them, while greed was the unending quest for more of whatever was desired, with no end in sight. Yet … what is the difference between a greedy man and one who, after establishing his one set of goals and achieving them, immediately determines upon another and greater set of achievements? Is there any difference? When asked this question once, Rholan simply said, ‘Knowledge,’ and refused to discuss the subject more. That was a practice he often used when he did not wish to defend a position that might have revealed any weakness on his part…”

  Vaelora looked up. “There’s more, but it’s about his stubbornness.”

  “Thank you, dear one. That’s the part I was thinking about,” Quaeryt said. “At least by Rholan’s definition, you and I aren’t greedy. Excessively ambitious, perhaps.” He paused. “I don’t do that, do I?”

  “Do what?”

  “Retreat behind a fortress of one-word cryptic statements.”

  Vaelora laughed softly and warmly, closing the book as she did. “Never with me.”

  “Are you saying I deluge you with words and ideas?”


  “Sometimes. Sometimes I have done so with you.”

  “Especially in your letters. I still read them.”

  “I know. It pleases me.”

  “You please me.”

  “Then let us talk of other matters than of greed and golds, of power and pride.”

  “Such as?”

  “Will you have gardens upon Imagisle? Fountains to cool the air on long summer days?”

  “You’ve seen the plans. There will be gardens and greens, and there will be fountains, and places for children to run and play…”

  Vaelora eased onto the settee. “Sit beside me. Tell me more.”

  Quaeryt walked from the window and seated himself beside her. “I can only tell you of what I dream, for little beyond the roads and three buildings is there now.”

  “Then tell me dreams, dearest…”

  26

  On Vendrei, Quaeryt was up early, and waiting in Bhayar’s study when the Lord of Telaryn entered.

  “What disaster is about to befall us?” asked Bhayar sardonically.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “For you to be here well before seventh glass … it must be urgent.”

  “Not urgent. Merely troublesome.” Quaeryt pointed to the conference table. “I need your seal and signature on these.”

  “For what?”

  “To deal with Bovarian factors, and possibly High Holders, in order to keep them from demanding prices that are excessively high, particularly in selling provisions to your armies, and so that I don’t have to do something to them that all of us might regret.”

  “You will … and I will anyway, no doubt.”

  “There are two documents. One for me, and the other for Vaelora. Each requires your seal, and each states that we are empowered to act in your name, as full ministers, in matters of administration and supply within the boundaries of Bovaria for the purpose of dealing with matters of import in administration and in obtaining any and all supplies necessary for the needs of Lord Bhayar, including but not limited to those required for the maintaining of forces or officials in the pursuit of law and order.”

  “You think they’ll suffice?” Bhayar walked to the table and picked up one of the documents. “Without the threat of force?”

  “They’ll make a veiled threat more veiled and thus more palatable. If nothing else, they’ll provide a rationale for punishing someone for not obeying.”

  “Always useful,” said Bhayar dryly. “Why does Vaelora need one?”

  “To do the same when you’ve sent me somewhere—like to Rivages to see why you haven’t heard from Submarshal Myskyl.”

  “We’ll wait a few days.”

  “As you command, sir.”

  “Don’t press it, my friend.”

  “No, sir.”

  “I suppose another signature or two won’t raise significantly more problems than you’ve already created.” Bhayar sat down and signed one document, then the other. “Is there anything else?”

  “Besides the fact that every factor in Variana wants a new road to his front door?”

  Bhayar laughed. “I’ll leave the determination on which roads are built where to the Ministry of Administration and Supply for Bovaria.”

  “That might be for the best.”

  After exchanging pleasantries with Bhayar, Quaeryt left the study and walked down to the ministry studies, where he bestowed Vaelora’s certificate to her. “Your personal authorization to browbeat High Holders and factors.”

  “I’m overwhelmed.”

  “That makes two of us. I’m going to meet with the head of the factors’ council this afternoon … if he’s in.”

  “You aren’t sending word?”

  “No. I don’t want to leave the impression with Ernyld, and Deucalon, that we’re not acting immediately on his problem. If the chief factor’s not in, I’ll just leave an invitation for him to visit us on Lundi. The kind he’d be foolish to ignore.”

  “You’re acting like a governor again.”

  “I don’t think I did in Montagne … as I recall everyone telling me. This time … I’ll try to do it with polite meetings and a veiled approach.” Not that your approach in Extela was in the slightest veiled.

  “You can’t veil the power you hold, dearest.”

  “No … but I can give them the chance to be reasonable.”

  “Some will force the issue.”

  “I hope not. I really don’t want to make too many examples.”

  “You may not be able to avoid it.”

  At that moment, there was a knock on the study door. “Amalyt D’Anomen to see you, Lady and sir.”

  “The chorister at the Anomen Regis?” murmured Vaelora.

  Quaeryt nodded to her, then said, “Have him come in.”

  Amalyt, white-haired and as tanned as when Quaeryt had seen him nearly half a year before, stepped into the study. His lined face bore an expression that Quaeryt might have called stern but kindly … had he not already met the chorister. Amalyt’s gray vestments, unsurprisingly, were of a far higher quality than those worn by Gauswn.

  “Greetings, honored chorister,” offered Quaeryt.

  “Greetings to you, Lady Vaelora, and you, Commander.”

  “What brings you?” asked Quaeryt.

  “You may recall that Lord Bhayar was kind enough to employ his imagers to repair and rebuild the Anomen Regis…”

  Quaeryt managed to smile politely, although that was difficult, since he had been the one to arrange for and oversee the repair. “I do indeed.”

  “It has been brought to my attention that the Anomen D’Variana, located near the River Aluse, also suffered damage, if not so grievous, as a result of the battle of Variana…”

  “And?” Quaeryt kept his voice pleasant.

  “The imagers did such a good job in restoring the Anomen Regis that I naturally thought that they should be considered to repair the Anomen D’Variana.”

  “I see.” Quaeryt kept his voice pleasantly neutral.

  “It would appear that they are not unduly occupied.”

  “Actually, they’ve been quite occupied, chorister, and there are only half the number of imagers here in Variana that there were when they repaired your anomen.”

  “Still … it should not take that long.”

  “All I can promise is that we will look into the possibilities.”

  Amalyt looked from Quaeryt to Vaelora. “Lady … if you might intercede. The faithful would appreciate any assistance.”

  “I fear, Chorister Amalyt, that what Commander Quaeryt has told you is quite true. The number of imagers is limited, and the tasks assigned to them already will take some considerable time.”

  And one of the precepts of the Nameless is for those who can to make the best efforts they can, for the Nameless helps best those who help themselves. Quaeryt kept that thought to himself, recalling all too well how intransigent the chorister could be.

  Amalyt offered a heavy sigh. “Chorister Bryal will be most discouraged. We had so hoped.” He paused. “I would not wish to have to be the one to tell Bryal that Lord Bhayar could offer no encouragement.”

  “You do not have to tell Chorister Bryal anything,” replied Quaeryt, “save that you have brought the matter to Lord Bhayar’s attention. There are many demands upon him and upon his men and resources.”

  “That is so, but I would have hoped, especially with your scholarship and knowledge of the Nameless…”

  “As Rholan once said,” replied Quaeryt, “to imply or to seek the favor or lack of favor on the part of the Nameless to obtain a human goal or end is in itself a form of Naming.”

  Amalyt’s eyes hardened.

  “We will look into the matter,” Vaelora promised, gently.

  “I do hope it will be soon, Lady.”

  Vaelora smiled warmly. “We will do what we can.”

  Neither Quaeryt nor Vaelora spoke until the study door was firmly closed behind the departing chorister.

  “If we don’t do s
omething,” Quaeryt said, “he’ll spread the word that the imagers are creatures of the Namer, or something like it.”

  “And that Lord Bhayar cares little about the anomens of Variana.” Vaelora gave the smallest of headshakes. “I’ve only seen him twice, but there’s something about him … like he’s a creature of the Namer.”

  “You haven’t had another farsight?”

  “No. Only the one about you being surrounded by something.”

  “You can’t tell me more?”

  “No. You were in light and then suddenly trapped in total darkness.”

  Quaeryt almost shivered. He’d never liked confined quarters … ever. “Why do you feel that way about Amalyt?”

  “It’s a feeling.”

  “He’s definitely a hypocrite. The richness of his vestments alone proclaims that.”

  “He’s worse than that. I couldn’t tell you why.”

  “He’s likely to be the first of many. The way matters are going, everyone with any degree of power is going to come through that door asking for the imagers to do this or that. If we say no, because they’re involved with something else…”

  “They’ll claim Bhayar doesn’t care … or the imagers are too proud to help anyone.”

  “I think we’re just going to have to tell them all that the imagers have nowhere permanent to live, and that until they have time to build their own quarters, they’ll only be available for the most urgent of tasks—such as replacing failing bridges across the River Aluse. Or something equally vital.”

  “What will you do about the Anomen D’Variana?”

  “I’ll send Baelthm to look at it. Then we’ll figure out what we can do. It might only need moderate repairs.”

  “It needs more than that,” said Vaelora. “Chamion wouldn’t be here begging, otherwise.”

  Quaeryt had no doubts that she was likely correct.

  For the next several glasses, he and Vaelora worked, with more than a few interruptions, to finish the changes to the proposed code of laws, which now included a section on factors. Then Quaeryt went over the simple supply reports from Ernyld’s clerks in an effort to get a better feel and understanding of the supply problems. Then he wrote out a shorter version of one of Alylor’s lists.