Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Officially, it’s two regiments and the Khellan battalion, but at the moment, one regiment is in Westisle, two companies are in Kephria, another regiment is in Variana, and the rest are here.” Quaeryt shrugged. “Most commanders don’t have such scattered commands, and mine usually isn’t.”

  “So … it’s true that Lord Bhayar has conquered Antiago as well as Bovaria,” said the woman. “What next? Khel?”

  “He’s requested that Khel consider favorable terms.”

  “That’s the sort of request they’d be foolish to reject … assuming the terms are favorable.”

  Quaeryt cleared his throat. “Ah … the rain is coming. Would you mind if the major and his men made a quick survey to see what might be the best way of billeting the men?”

  The man smiled and shook his head. “We appreciate the politeness. Of course. I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Daalyn, and this is Laedica.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.” Quaeryt inclined his head, then turned to Eslym. “Major, if you would look over the buildings and then let me know your recommendations. I’ll remain here with our hosts.”

  “Yes, sir.” Eslym issued several commands, and ten of the rankers followed him as he rode along the lane that circled the dwelling on the north side. Five remained and formed a line behind Quaeryt.

  “For Pharsi, they seem rather protective of you.”

  “We’ve been through a lot together.” Quaeryt dismounted, then handed the gelding’s reins to the end ranker, and walked up the steps to the porch.

  Laedica looked closely at Quaeryt. Her eyes widened. “You’re much younger…”

  “Than the white hair? Yes. Every hair on my body turned white at the battle of Variana.” Even as the words left his mouth, Quaeryt wanted to take them back, wishing he’d just said, “Yes, I am.” That just shows you’re tired and off-guard.

  “Were you … I mean…” Daalyn fumbled for words.

  “If you’re asking if I was in the midst of the battle … yes, I was.”

  Laedica’s eyes dropped toward Quaeryt’s hands. This time her mouth opened. “You…” She turned to Daalyn. “He’s the one.”

  Quaeryt instinctively checked his shields. “The one what?” he asked mildly.

  “Everyone is talking about the unknown officer who called the storms that killed all of Kharst’s troopers,” explained Daalyn. “They said he was a young man with the hair of an ancient, and that he was some sort of son of a Pharsi god…”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “I’m the guilty one, but I’m no more the son of a god than either of you. I am an imager. You’d find that out sooner or later.”

  “Why did you kill them all?” demanded Daalyn.

  “As my wife once told me, once Rex Kharst started this war, tens of thousands of men would be killed. I could not stop that. My only choice was which thousands. Lord Bhayar had almost thirty thousand troopers. Kharst had close to fifty thousand. If I had not done what I did, half of those would likely have perished. Perhaps a third of Kharst’s troopers and two-thirds or more of Bhayar’s. My acts changed which troopers died, not that troopers died.”

  “That’s justifying—”

  “Daalyn,” said Laedica firmly. “Officers don’t get to choose which orders to obey. Not unless they want to get executed.”

  The way she looked at her husband, at least Quaeryt thought he was her husband, reminded him of Vaelora. That firmness hadn’t changed when she’d been pregnant, either. For a moment the thought … and the feelings … of the daughter they had lost rushed over him, as they sometimes did in unguarded moments.

  “What is it?” asked Laedica. “You looked so strange, Commander.”

  “Thank you,” replied Quaeryt. “Let’s just say it’s been a long day, and a long journey.” He could tell from the expression on her face that she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t pursue it.

  Before long, the rest of the companies arrived, and Quaeryt was busy watching, but the officers and squad leaders were quick and effective in settling the men in and making arrangements for some hot food, although by the time the men were largely settled the rain began to fall, first as a drizzle, but within a quint, it pelted down with a steady rhythm that suggested Daalyn had been correct in his assessment. Amid it all, Quaeryt did manage to get his gear up to the bedchamber that Laedica had indicated was his.

  The dinner prepared for the officers and their host and hostess, well after dark, given the need to feed the troopers, was quiet, very polite, and short.

  Afterward, Quaeryt borrowed the small study to talk with the three imagers. Although he was tired, after a day of riding he didn’t feel like sitting and remained standing.

  “How are you three coming with your shields?”

  The three exchanged glances.

  Quaeryt sighed. “Khalis. Hold the strongest shields that you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt probed and pressed with his own shields. While he could have broken through, it would have taken a fair effort and would likely have injured Khalis. He released the pressure and nodded. “That’s good. Lhandor, you’re next.”

  Lhandor’s shields were strong, if not quite so strong as those of Khalis.

  “Now you, Elsior.”

  “Sir … I’m not as strong as they are.”

  “I know. I’m not interested in hurting you. Now … shields, please.”

  For all of Elsior’s protestations, Quaeryt was pleased to find that the youngest imager’s shields were nearly as strong as Lhandor’s. As he released the pressure on Elsior’s defenses, he said, “You’re doing well. I think we can count you as a full undercaptain, not just provisional.”

  “Sir … thank you.”

  “You’ve earned it … or you will,” replied Quaeryt.

  Khalis and Lhandor both nodded.

  By the time he was finished with the imagers, Quaeryt was more than tired enough for bed, although he was anything but sleepy. So he made his way out through the front door of the dwelling that was not exactly a hold house, but more than a mere landowner’s mansion, and stood under the roof of the extended front porch in the darkness, looking out into the darkness and the rain.

  He could see light from one of the oil lamps in the hall as someone opened the door behind him, and he turned to see Laedica walking toward him, the door left ajar behind her.

  She stopped a yard away. “Do you like to listen to the rain?”

  “Sometimes,” he admitted.

  “You mentioned your wife … and you looked sad. I don’t mean to pry…”

  “She’s fine.” Quaeryt debated whether he should say more, then found himself speaking. “I saw you were expecting. She … lost … our daughter … in Kephria…” For a time, Quaeryt could say no more. He shook his head, then finally said, “I’m sorry. I hadn’t…” He shook his head again.

  “You haven’t talked about it, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “You’re kind … but I think not.”

  “You’re a strange man, Commander. That is obvious. You can kill thousands, but you worry about your men treating a pair of holders you don’t know with care. You obviously love your wife, and mourn the loss of your daughter. You’re not much older than I am, but your hair is white. You limp, and I saw at dinner that several of your fingers don’t work. Yet you paint your nails.”

  “You’re very observant.” As many women are. Quaeryt smiled. “I don’t paint my nails, though. They turned white when my hair did.”

  Laedica looked intently at Quaeryt and was about to speak when the front door opened wider, and Daalyn emerged.

  “Oh … there you are. I wondered where you’d gone.” Daalyn walked toward Laedica, then took her arm, gently.

  “I heard the door open and went to see,” replied Laedica. “I found the commander looking at the rain.”

  “We haven’t seen much rain on our journey,” said Quaeryt. “I imagine it will be h
elpful for your fields and pastures.”

  “It definitely will be,” said Daalyn. “It’s been a dry spring.”

  “Your lands are rather expansive, it would seem,” offered Quaeryt.

  “You’re wondering why this isn’t a high holding?” asked Laedica.

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  Daalyn smiled. “It was once. But Laedica’s great-grandsire renounced his standing as a High Holder. He made a point of bestowing the lands on his eldest daughter when he had no sons, and when she refused to marry any of High Holder blood who were interested in her … or the holding. The other nearest High Holders petitioned to have the lands seized. Before the rex was even informed or could act, the old man had her married to the man she loved, claiming he was a distant cousin, and officially bestowed the lands on him. Ever since then, the eldest child has received the lands … if at times through a similar stratagem. The lands are officially mine, but they will go to our eldest. She’s five.”

  “But you’re not a High Holder?”

  “No one ever petitioned to be reinstated as a High Holder, and given the way Kharst and his sire treated them, it’s likely worked out better.”

  “No one talks about it,” added Laedica, “but there are quite a few landholders who are neither crofters nor peasants, nor High Holders.”

  “But … what about standing … tariffs?” asked Quaeryt.

  “We’re officially produce factors,” explained Laedica, “and we pay factor’s tariffs to the nearest factors’ council. That’s in Yapres, north of here.”

  “Not Roleon?”

  “That didn’t work out,” said Laedica. “Yapres is better suited to our needs. Most landholders who are not High Holders have similar arrangements, and the factors are happy to collect the tariffs because that enhances their stature. The rex was always happy because we pay and are far less trouble than the High Holders.”

  “So only the High Holders are unhappy?”

  “They were miffed that one of their younger sons didn’t get a holding, but they didn’t make a fuss for long because it might have drawn the attention of the rex.”

  Once again, Quaeryt was both amused and amazed at the complexity and unwieldiness he was finding in Bovaria. “That has seemed to work out for you.”

  “It has indeed.” Daalyn looked at his wife. “You really do need some rest, dear. Tomorrow will come early, rain or no rain.” Then he looked to Quaeryt. “Good evening. Commander. If you would excuse us?”

  “Please go,” replied Quaeryt warmly, looking at Laedica. “You do need to take care of yourself.”

  “You two would smother me,” she replied, not quite tartly, “even if you are right. Good night, Commander.”

  Quaeryt inclined his head, then watched as they reentered the house. The door closed. He turned to look into the darkness and the rain.

  37

  In time, Quaeryt left the front porch, carefully closed the front door, and made his way up the steps to the end bedchamber on the second level, not without smiling as he passed the closed door where he heard the muffled voices of three young imager officers, with only a few clear phrases. For several moments, he paused and listened.

  “… be a muddy ride tomorrow…”

  “… not going anywhere … rain for days this way…”

  “… be clear by tomorrow…”

  “… no farsight in him…”

  With a last smile, he turned and walked toward the end of the hall, and the bedchamber where he’d left his gear. That room was clearly the favored guest chamber with an overlarge bed, a writing desk and chair, as well as an armoire and even an adjoining washroom and jakes, for which Quaeryt was grateful. He undressed methodically, still half wondering why he’d been impelled to mention what had happened to Vaelora, even the little that he’d mentioned.

  Tiredness … worry, he told himself as he climbed under the single sheet, certainly enough in the warm damp air. Outside, beyond the inner shutters of the room, the rain continued to fall, and he finally fell asleep.

  Sometime later, he turned over, half aware, and realized that the rain was falling more heavily and that the air was cooler, then much colder, and that, outside, the wind was building into a low moaning. That became a howling, and the inner window shutters blew open with explosive force and icy rain sprayed into the room, coating everything.

  Quaeryt struggled against the icy gale to get to his feet, and suddenly he was back on the mare, with ice pelting down on him, yet each sleeting pellet burned as if it had been a white-hot coal. Trying to escape the rain of ice and fire, he urged the mare forward, but she only reared as a curtain of rubble poured down toward them from somewhere unseen, even while the fire- and ice-fall intensified.

  The mare reared again … and the ground opened up beneath her and Quaeryt … and Quaeryt could feel himself falling into the depths, the mare beneath him, as a tidal wave of ice and fire and rubble poured down on them … burying him in endless burning rock and rubble.

  Abruptly there was stillness …

  … and Quaeryt shook himself, struggling awake.

  As had happened too often, he was surrounded with chill and whiteness. Everything in the room was coated with a thin film of brilliant white ice, even the sheets that half covered him. He sat up all the way and flicked the sheets, spraying icy fragments away from the bed. Then he stood and brushed the remaining thin fragments off the bed.

  After a moment he walked to the window, ignoring the icy fragments beneath his bare feet. He eased open one of the inside shutters, then pushed the window open slightly, and stood in the warm moist air that flowed past him into the chill room.

  Outside it was pitch-dark, but he could hear the unceasing heavy patter of rain, rain that fell as if it would never cease.

  Like some nightmares.

  For a time, he stood there letting the warmer air remove the chill from the room and from his skin, hoping, futilely, that it would remove the chill from within. He did his best to image away the ice fragments, glad that the rain he had felt had been part of his dream, and that the room had not been drenched. Finally, he closed the window and shutters and walked back toward the wide bed.

  He just hoped he could get back to sleep.

  38

  By early on Jeudi afternoon, even after losing an entire day to the rain on Mardi, Quaeryt and the two companies had passed the point where the Roiles River joined the Aluse, flowing out of the northwest, its waters a greenish blue, but lost within a few hundred yards in the grayer waters of the larger river. Another two milles past the junction, they reached the large town of Yapres, somewhat smaller than Daaren, Quaeryt thought, and very dissimilar, although both were river towns, but the dwellings and shops in Yapres were especially well kept, and the streets, and even the lanes and alleys, were largely clean. There were a number of inns, and several buildings that looked to be gaming houses, the first Quaeryt had seen, or at least noticed, in Bovaria. Quaeryt had noticed that for the last five milles into the town, the river road improved markedly. He also understood why Laedica and Daalyn had associated themselves with the factors of Yapres, rather than those of Roleon.

  The Aluse was far narrower at Yapres than the Laar was at Daaren. Given that there were no towns of any size for another fifteen milles, or so the maps showed, Quaeryt decided to stop early … as well as to deal with some unforeseen reshoeing of a number of mounts.

  The largest inn was the Copper Tankard, and Quaeryt had few qualms about settling both companies there. The boats Quaeryt saw tied at the modest piers across the river square from the inn were narrower than the flatboats used farther south on the Aluse or those used on the Laar, but still had a comparatively shallow draft, suggesting that they were not that stable in rough water and that the Aluse had become fairly shallow. Then again, those boats might have come from farther upriver.

  Once the initial arrangements with the innkeeper had been worked out and Quaeryt had seen to men and mounts being settled, he retur
ned to talk to the innkeeper and see what he could learn from the black-bearded Jhoseal, scarcely older than Quaeryt was himself.

  “What would you be wanting to know, Commander?”

  “Have you seen any other Telaryn forces recently?”

  “A few couriers every week or so. No large forces since early last fall. Heard tell they’re all settled somewhere near Rivages.”

  “Who are the most important factors here in Yapres?”

  “Might be Zoalon … mayhap Locand … or Suelyr … depends on what you mean?”

  “The wealthiest, or the head of the factors’ council.”

  “Wealthiest is likely Suelyr, but Zoalon is the head of the factors’ council.”

  “What does he factor?”

  “This and that … late apples and fruit downriver, when the southern orchards are done, hardwoods from his mill, because the southerners have mostly soft timbers, except oak … even sends some north to Rivages. Mostly pines north of there…”

  “Where could I find him?”

  “That’d be easy enough. He’s usually at his factorage. Six blocks north, right on the river. Has his own piers. Only him and Suelyr do.”

  “What about High Holders?”

  Jhoseal frowned. “Caemren’d be the only High Holder here. On the river four milles north. High stone walls. You can’t miss the place. Doesn’t like visitors. They say some who tried to visit ran afoul of his guards, and no one ever saw ’em again.”

  “Any others nearby?”

  “Well … you want to travel nine-ten milles east or so on the road to Choelan, there’s Magiian. Choelan’s but fifteen milles east beyond his holding.”

  “Is there a town patrol?”

  “Good one. Don’t find the beggars here. No street sluts here. Not in Yapres.”

  Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” said the innkeeper. “We got good women. Madame Besseri’s got a fine house on Arbor Lane, and Laynela’s is good, too. None of the low street types.”

  “Who’s in charge of the patrol?”