He started to rise, to close the shutters, but some of the swirls of silver rain cascaded over him and formed into chains of light that pinned him against the headboard of the bed. The silver rain intensified, even as the pattering dissipated into silence, and formed a silver archway, with the reddish silver road beyond it leading upward into a brilliant star-filled sky.
Silently, as if unable to speak, Quaeryt watched as a figure strode down that reddish silver road until he walked through the archway and halted. Erion, for it had to be he, stood there for a moment, then gestured.
Vaelora started, then turned over and half sat up against the headboard.
In the light that poured from and around and behind the silver-haired man, Quaeryt could see Vaelora’s eyes open, and an expression of shock cross her face. As before, Erion held a dagger with a blade of brilliant light, yet part of the blade held a dark reddish substance. Across his back was the mighty bow, and in his other hand was something shimmering so brightly that Quaeryt could not rightly determine what it might be … Yet he felt that it must be a book.
The silver-haired figure surveyed Quaeryt and then Vaelora, before turning back to Quaeryt and speaking. “You have seen treachery, and yet you have not seen it. There is always treachery, especially by those who are powerful, but for whom no amount of wealth and position will suffice, for they know their failings and will not see them, and seek forgetfulness in the elixir of power. You, my son, will never know forgetfulness of your failings. Never.”
Quaeryt could believe that, and he could feel the cold certainty of those words.
“In all treachery there is greater treachery, for the greater the scheme, the greater the deception, and often those who seem to be great traitors are only the lesser traitors.”
Great traitors only turn out to be lesser traitors? Quaeryt could believe that in a way, but whom was Erion talking about … and how did the all-too-real dream figure know?
“Take comfort in doing what is right, and not in what brings power, for power is fleeting, and seeking power for its own sake brings only grief…” The silver-haired figure offered an enigmatic smile, then turned and walked back up the red-silver road through the archway that had been a window … and was once more, leaving the bedchamber lit in a silver radiance that slowly faded.
“Did you see…” Quaeryt asked.
“I saw … and heard.” Vaelora’s voice seemed unsteady. “He talked about treachery, and seemingly great traitors only being small ones … and that you have to do right.”
“Seemingly great traitors…” mused Quaeryt.
“Rescalyn?” asked Vaelora.
“It could be … but then, it could be Myskyl or Deucalon?” Quaeryt paused. The greater question in his mind was the apparently real appearance of Erion. Yet how could that be? Was Erion real? An actual god? Or were his dreams taking over his imaging? So much so that they seem real … even to Vaelora.
Neither possibility was exactly comforting.
He looked to Vaelora, and she looked at him.
“You’re making your dreams so real that they’re … disturbing.”
“How about frightening?” he said, attempting to make his words dryly humorous. “They’re a bit more than disturbing. I just wish I knew what my dreams seem to know.”
“I can see that.” Vaelora shivered, even though the bedchamber was not that cool.
Quaeryt eased closer to her and put his arms around her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I.”
Quaeryt lay there, half awake, long after Vaelora drifted back into sleep.
30
Unsurprisingly, Quaeryt woke early on Solayi morning, thankful that he’d had no dreams, of even the conventional type, at least not that he could remember. Although he tried to be quiet, before long Vaelora woke, and they summoned breakfast, a luxury that Quaeryt, and Vaelora, did appreciate greatly.
As they lingered at the small table after eating, Vaelora asked, “Do you have any more thoughts about last night?”
Quaeryt set down the mug of lager—the morning was too warm for tea—and thought for a moment. “Nothing that we didn’t already talk about.”
“Who else might be a traitor besides Myskyl or Deucalon?”
“Any number of people neither of us might know or think about,” replied Quaeryt. “In Tilbor, there were some who turned traitor because they thought it might benefit them, and in the end, they lost everything. They would have benefited more from being loyal.”
“Is that always so, though?” asked Vaelora. “We remember those for whom treason did not pay. What about those for whom it did?”
“You’re right,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh. “They don’t call it treason then … like when your great-grandsire revolted against the Lord of Telaryn. Or when Kharst’s forbears quietly removed the direct heirs to the throne of Bovaria.”
“Sometimes, it works. That’s why people try.”
“Because they’d rather fail in attempting to achieve great power than accept modest power in service of another?” Quaeryt took another swallow of the lager. “That raises another question. What did they want power for? For the sake of having it?”
“That’s the difference between them and you, dearest. You have a very direct and specific goal, and you want just enough power to accomplish it.”
Much as he wanted to believe Vaelora, Quaeryt couldn’t help thinking, Just enough power? How much is that? Will you ever know? Or will you be like so many others? Others who wanted power to do good and ended up just doing well for themselves.
After a moment of silence, Vaelora added, “You need to finish dressing and ride out to see if you can talk to Taelmyn.”
Quaeryt nodded, if reluctantly.
In less than two quints, he and four rankers from the duty squad were riding south. Before long they were on the north road headed toward the Nord Bridge. The road was less traveled than on other days, but far from deserted, even though most of the shops fronting the road were closed, most of which were located in the last half mille before the west end of the bridge, and again for another half mille east of the bridge. The paving on the east side of the river consisted of uneven and mismatched cobblestones, and modest dwellings lined the road for perhaps a mille beyond where the shops ended. Then the paving ended totally, and several hundred yards farther east, amid ramshackle dwellings, he came to a point where four roads and several lanes all met in an area of packed clay that was likely a muddy morass when there was any significant rain.
“This must be what Hullyt meant by a place that ought to be a square someday,” Quaeryt observed quietly to himself.
He turned the gelding southeast along the heavily packed clay road that he thought might be Saenhelyn. After he rode about half a mille, following Hullyt’s directions, he turned onto what looked to be the East Pike, since he could see the mill on the creek on the left side of the road. After a few hundred yards, the pike began a curve around a hill, surrounded at its base by a stone wall two yards high, with a substantial dwelling perched near the top. The next hill was lower, but only the burned-out remnants of a dwelling crowned its crest.
Quaeryt looked for a gate or an entry road to the dwelling on the next rise, since that supposedly held the “city” dwelling of High Holder Taelmyn, although calling a hilltop dwelling a good mille from any real congregation of houses or shops a “city dwelling” seemed to stretch that description. The wall around the long rise was clearly older and of reddish brick, as was the modest dwelling situated on the north side just below the crest. A brick-paved drive led from the brick gateposts and angled up through a lawn interspersed with three gardens of varying sizes.
A single guard waited beside the small gatehouse. His too-ample midsection flowed over a wide brown leather belt that seemed challenged in its efforts to restrain his girth, but his gray livery was pressed and clean. As Quaeryt reined up, the guard smiled cheerfully. “Sir?”
“Commander Quaeryt, to see the family.”<
br />
“Didn’t know as anyone was expected, sir.”
“I wasn’t. I’m bringing word about one of the daughters, Mistress Eluisa.”
“Mistress Eluisa? She’s been gone for years.”
“I know. She’s been living in Tilbor. I was princeps of Tilbor, and I have word from her.”
“The High Holder isn’t here, sir.”
“What about Mistress Rhella?”
“I suppose I could announce you.”
“That might be a good idea. Lord Bhayar might just be somewhat annoyed if you didn’t.”
“Lord Bhayar? He’s not coming, is he?”
“No. He sent me.”
“Oh … then I had best let you announce yourself, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The guard unfastened the heavy catch to the iron gates and swung the right gate back, then held it while Quaeryt and the others rode through and started up the brick drive just barely wide enough for a single carriage. The drive sloped gently upward for a hundred yards or so and then made a wide turn in a flat area cut out of the slope before continuing upward to an uncovered brick-paved area large enough for several carriages. The entry to the two-story mansion was flanked by a small terrace. The terrace roof extended out only about three yards, and was supported by two square brick columns on each side.
Two servitors in livery appeared on the brick steps at the end of the covered terrace just before Quaeryt and the four rankers reined up. One was a dark-haired and sharp-featured man most likely ten years Quaeryt’s senior. The other was probably a junior footman, closer to Lhandor’s age.
“Sir … the family is not receiving,” announced the footman imperiously.
Quaeryt smiled. “I’m not making a courtesy call. I’m Commander Quaeryt. I’m the Minister of Administration for Bovaria, and I’m here on Lord Bhayar’s business to see Mistress Rhella.”
“She won’t be receiving, sir.”
“I’ll ask you to announce me once more. Politely.”
“Sir … those are my instructions.”
Quaeryt image-projected absolute certainty and authority, along with the sense that any servant who blocked the lawful request of a ruler might as well be dead.
The footman paled, then fainted. The steward also paled, then took a step backward.
“Now, if you’d announce me to the lady.” Quaeryt dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to one of the rankers. He also made sure he was carrying full shields.
The steward took another look at Quaeryt and swallowed. “Sir…”
“I know you’re only doing your duty, but I’m only doing mine, and I really don’t think it would be in your interests, or the family’s, to try and stop me. Especially since I mean no one any harm, and since Mistress Rhella will likely wish to hear what I have to say.”
“Lady Rhella will have to determine that herself, sir.” The steward looked to the young footman, who was slowly getting to his feet.
“She will hear me. Now…”
“Yes, sir.” The steward turned.
Quaeryt followed him into the entry hall, then tucked his visor cap under his arm and waited with the footman while the steward hurried through the archway and down a short hallway, before stepping through a doorway on the left side.
The conversation that occurred in the room Quaeryt could not see was too muffled for him to make out the words, but the tone was anything but pleasant. The steward reappeared and walked back to the entry hall.
“Lady Rhella will be here shortly, sir.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt suspected he would be made to wait, not for a long time, but enough so that Rhella would not be seen to hurry to his summons.
Half a quint later, a woman emerged and walked in a measuredly fashion along the corridor. She took exactly one step into the entry hall and halted. Rhella was tall, almost as tall as Quaeryt, slender, and imperious, even in what looked to be riding clothes. Her black hair was comparatively short, cut at jaw length, and her eyes were like blue gems. She appeared to be close to Quaeryt’s age. For just a moment, her eyes widened as she studied Quaeryt. “Why indeed should I talk to you, officer?”
“Commander, Lady Rhella. And you should talk to me because, first, as one of the ministers who will determine which High Holders will keep their lands and holds, it would be foolish not to, and, second, because I’m not your enemy, no matter what anyone may have told you, and, third, because your sister Eluisa requested that I contact you and your father.”
“Eluisa’s dead.” The words were flat.
“On the contrary, she is alive and well at the Telaryn Palace in Tilbora, where she is a musician for Governor Straesyr and his wife. She also, several years ago, taught several clavecin pieces to my wife, who is, by the way, the youngest sister of Lord Bhayar.”
Rhella’s eyes softened from gem-hard to merely ice-hard. “Why did we not hear this earlier?”
“Because Lord Bhayar did not know of the connection of Mistress Eluisa to Taelmyn, and because I only received the correspondence from Governor Straesyr a few days ago, and it took some time to locate your dwelling. All of Rex Kharst’s records about High Holders were destroyed when he was.”
Rhella sighed, resignedly. “We might as well go into the parlor.” Her gesture to the archway from the entry hall was barely perfunctory.
Quaeryt followed her back along the corridor and into the same chamber from which she had emerged. The salon was modest in size for a High Holder, perhaps seven yards by five, with a small writing desk at one end and a fireplace and hearth at the other. Twin settees faced each other, with a low narrow table between them, and there was an armchair at each end of the table.
Rhella took one armchair. Quaeryt took the other.
“What else do you have to convey, Commander? Or is that it, in which case you may report that you have conveyed your message?”
“The dispatch asked that I inform you and your father that Eluisa was well and in health. Before I left Tilbor, almost two years ago, I had the pleasure of hearing her play. She played a piece by the former court composer here, but I cannot remember his name.”
“Covaelyt. She liked his compositions.”
“She also mentioned your other sister … but asked I not press. I did not.”
“And now you wish to know?”
Quaeryt shook his head. “I have already discovered more than I ever wanted to know about the acts of Kharst … and that was without asking.”
“So now you will inform me that we will lose our holding?”
“No. So long as your father pays his tariffs and pledges allegiance to Lord Bhayar, he will keep the holding. Lord Bhayar has already agreed to consider letting widows hold the lands until the majority of a son or the marriage of a daughter.”
“Agreed to consider?”
“One widow has requested that. He granted the request. He has said he will consider others.”
“How generous of him after he caused so many deaths.”
“The only High Holders we killed were those in the battle or in the Chateau Regis with Kharst, and I doubt you had much love for any of them.” Quaeryt looked directly at Rhella.
Abruptly she looked away. After a moment she said, “You said your wife had learned compositions from Eluisa. Might I ask where your wife is?”
“At the Chateau Regis. We recently returned from a mission and a campaign.”
“Then you’re the one.”
“The one?”
“The one who destroyed Kharst and conquered Antiago.”
“I had something to do with that.” Quaeryt laughed softly. “There was one other line in the dispatch. It mentioned Eluisa’s thanks for my acts.”
“Do you expect mine?”
“No.” Although it would be gracious. “I would like you to answer a few questions if you can.”
“Oh?”
“What do you know about Kharst’s imagers? They are often mentioned, but we have found no traces of them, and several people h
ave said that while some were killed at the battle of Variana, not all were, and there is no trace of those who may have survived.”
“There wouldn’t have been. They were lodged in a holding belonging to High Holder Paitrak. Kharst did not wish them any closer. There were supposedly three of them who did not support the armies. Everyone called them the three evils.”
“Do you know who they were?”
“No one knew their names. Few ever saw them, and most of those who did were unlikely to survive long. Kharst used them to fire and destroy the holdings of those High Holders who were not obedient…”
“Or those whose daughters were not obedient.”
“He regarded that as disobedience.”
“Eluisa confided in my wife, but only on the condition she not tell me. Vaelora did not, except to say that his acts were far worse than the stories about him.”
“Your wife’s summary is accurate, Commander. If anything, it is a terrible understatement.”
Quaeryt nodded. “Have you heard anything about those imagers since the battle? No one seems to know where they might have gone.”
“We don’t know, either. Kharst was secretive about them.” Rhella shook her head. “They were never used in battle, Father said. They were sometimes used to keep the marshals and commanders in line because they could kill at a distance.”
“How great a distance? Did he say?”
“He thought it was over a hundred yards.” Rhella paused. “He did say that one of the marshals had his study lined with iron and lead.”
“I’ve heard that the Autarch of Antiago had his imagers housed in iron-lined chambers. I hadn’t heard about lead, though.”
“Father said that was because lead was heavier and thicker than iron.”
Quaeryt nodded. “Put that way, it definitely makes sense.”
“Why do you paint your nails?”
Rex Regis Page 25
