Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

“The chief patroller. That’s Sabotyr.”

  “And how do the patrollers get paid?”

  “None of the shaking down folks. Not here. The merchants and factors and tradesfolk all pay a tariff. Factors’ council collects it last day of each season. Glad to pay it. Folks come here to have a good time, especially in the spring and late harvest and early fall. Well … most years. Been slow last fall and this spring. Still get folks from a lot farther than Choelan.”

  “From Rivages?”

  “Only if they don’t want folks in Rivages to know,” replied the innkeeper with a laugh.

  “What else can you tell me about Yapres?”

  There wasn’t that much else Jhoseal wanted to volunteer beyond saying how this and that happened to be good, and Quaeryt didn’t know enough to ask more than general questions. In another quint, he was back on the gelding, headed north with four rankers as escorts.

  The six blocks mentioned by Jhoseal turned into almost ten, and calling Zoalon’s establishment a factorage was a bit of an understatement, Quaeryt decided as he approached the complex of buildings that included a large lumber barn, or so it appeared, and three sizable warehouses as well as three wide but short piers. In the middle was a handsome red brick building with stone windowsills and lintels, as well as stone corners and cornices and a slate roof. Since there was a bronze hitching ring by the stone steps to the entrance, Quaeryt reined up there and dismounted, then said to his escorts, “It shouldn’t be that long.” He checked his shields, reflexively, before he turned toward the entry.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Immediately inside the center building was an entry hall, in which sat a gray-haired clerk. He looked up from the ledger in which he was either making entries or checking them. His eyes widened slightly as Quaeryt removed his visor cap and stepped forward.

  “Commander Quaeryt to see Factor Zoalon.”

  The older man smiled, if ruefully. “I’d say that he probably wouldn’t want to see you, but there’d be little enough point in that these days. Commander Quaeryt, you said?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Let me tell him you’re here.” He paused. “You didn’t come alone, I presume, Commander?”

  “I have a few rankers with me here, and two companies in town.”

  “At the Copper Tankard?” The clerk stood.

  Quaeryt nodded.

  “The boys said something about that. Hadn’t seen so many soldiers since last fall when all your regiments came through.”

  “They haven’t been patrolling this far south, though.”

  “No. Haven’t seen anyone in a Telaryn uniform since then except you … and the occasional dispatch riders.”

  Quaeryt nodded and then waited while the clerk walked down the corridor leaving the entry hall, pausing at what looked to be the last door on the right.

  “Sir … a Telaryn commander here to see you. Commander Quaeryt.”

  Quaeryt didn’t hear the response, but the clerk gestured and said, “This way, sir.”

  Quaeryt was well aware of the unevenness of his gait as his boots seemed to echo on the polished gray marble tiles as he walked to the open door and then stepped inside, finding himself in a square chamber of modest size, roughly four yards by five. Polished wooden cases lined the wall to his right, and two small bookcases flanked the door. Zoalon was younger than Quaeryt expected, only about forty, balding with short blond hair above his ears. He stood behind a table desk. Two armless straight-backed chairs faced the desk, although the desk chair had arms, with its back and seat upholstered in a tan leather. All the furnishings appeared to be made of the same wood, either natural or stained a dark brown.

  “Might I ask, Commander, how much of your visit is courtesy call and how much will result in my losing goods or being paid less for them than they cost me?”

  “That depends on what goods you have and what we need.” Quaeryt offered what he hoped was a genial smile. “Although that wasn’t the reason why I came to see you.”

  “Oh?” Zoalon’s deep voice and expression expressed skepticism.

  “I’m after other goods. Information, in fact.”

  The factor gestured to the chairs and seated himself. “What sort of information?”

  “A variety. One thing that has always puzzled me is how exactly did Rex Kharst raise and pay some forty regiments of troopers.”

  “At great cost to the factors of Bovaria,” replied Zoalon dryly.

  “He required an additional tariff?”

  “Four parts in ten above the normal for the past two years. Some factors failed. Not here in Yapres, but times have been lean for several.”

  “Where did he get the men?”

  “Most towns managed to find blade fodder, one way or another.”

  “And the factors had a great deal to do with it?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. We did encourage the young fellows with few prospects and others…” Zoalon shrugged. “You know how it is.”

  Quaeryt was afraid that he did. “There don’t seem to be many High Holders between Talyon and Yapres.”

  “There were more, years ago.”

  “We ran across a holding that used to be a High Holder’s. The holder’s name was Daalyn.”

  “Laedica’s husband. They’re officially produce factors, and so is Geongyst. Their grandsires were smart enough to renounce being High Holders. The others were a stiff-necked bunch. They weren’t used to reading the wind, and they got burned.”

  “Literally, from what we’ve seen. Have you ever seen any of the imagers who did that sort of work for the rex?”

  The factor shook his head … then frowned. “I don’t know as I saw them, or didn’t. Years back, when Baernhem’s hold was torched, the troopers who did it stayed in Yapres for a few days. There were men in uniform who didn’t look like rankers or officers. They might have been imagers, or they might have been clerks who totaled up the value of the goods they returned to the rex. They might have been both.”

  “It seems to me that Rex Kharst was more inclined to deal with the factors than the High Holders.”

  “Wouldn’t you be? The High Holders always want things their way. They never want to pay the market price of anything. Rex Kharst and his sire, their men would dicker, but they didn’t demand. Of course, a few factors who cheated them ended up dead. For the most part, Kharst paid for value and got it.”

  “And because the factors proved more trustworthy, the factors’ councils were used to gather, collect, and send tariffs to Variana?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Even the tariffs of the High Holders?”

  “You wouldn’t trust them to be honest if you were ruling Bovaria, Commander.”

  “Possibly not.” Quaeryt had his doubts about the reputed honesty of the Bovarian factors, although he couldn’t dispute the fact that the factors might well have been comparatively more honest than the High Holders. “That’s also why the council oversees the town patrol and chooses the chief?”

  “You get a good chief, and you don’t have to oversee much. You don’t, and you can’t do enough oversight. We’ve got a good chief, and that’s one of the things that makes Yapres a good place to work and live.”

  “What about High Holder Caemren?”

  “He’s better than most. He’s a practical type, and knows value. He and his family keep to themselves most times.”

  “Have you ever heard about a High Holder Fiancryt?”

  “Not much. He got along with Rex Kharst, which shows common sense, but wasn’t too close, I hear.”

  “What about Ryel?”

  “Him?” Zoalon shook his head. “Everyone thought he was Kharst’s spymaster. I had my doubts. How could anyone be an effective spymaster if everyone knows that’s what you are? They say his wife saved his holding. She was wealthy, maybe from Khel or someplace. People don’t ask questions when you’ve got gold and jewels.”

  Although Quaeryt talked to Zoalon for another two quints, he didn’t learn
anything significantly new after the factor’s comments on Ryel.

  When Quaeryt returned to the inn, he found Zhelan and Calkoran, and the three took a table in the corner of the public room.

  A red-haired and freckled serving girl, probably younger than Elsior, thought Quaeryt, approached, looking tentatively at the officers.

  “Pale lager, or whatever lager’s the lightest, if you would,” requested Quaeryt.

  “Dark lager,” added Calkoran.

  “Ale,” said Zhelan.

  After the server hurried toward the kitchen, Quaeryt asked, “How are the dispatch riders?”

  “They’re still confused,” replied Zhelan. “I just asked them what they thought might happen to them if someone was capturing and killing dispatch riders. I said we were making good time toward Rivages, and that they’d only be a day or two longer … and that they could blame you for the delay.” The major grinned.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. Did you learn anything new from the factor?”

  “A few things, but they all tend to confirm what we’ve been seeing all along. According to Zoalon, Kharst ended up relying on the factors because the High Holders were stiff-necked, uncooperative, and totally dishonest. Then, given how Kharst dealt with them, I can see why they might be perceived that way.”

  “They deserved each other,” said Calkoran. “Bovarian High Holders value their power and privileges over everything. Bovarian factors value golds above everything.”

  Quaeryt smiled wryly, then frowned. There had been something like that … in Rholan and the Nameless. But he waited while the server set three beakers on the table, then handed her a silver. “The extra is for you.”

  Her mouth opened for a moment, then closed, before she finally said, “Thank you, sir,” and hurried off, as if afraid Quaeryt would change his mind.

  “You were about to say something, sir,” reminded Zhelan.

  “I was just recalling something Rholan was supposed to have said, something along the line that everyone thinks merchants and factors know the price of everything and the value of nothing, but that’s not true. They know the value of every kind of good to the last part of a copper…” Quaeryt paused. There was something else that had been there.

  “Sir?”

  “There was more. I can’t remember it exactly, but it was about how factors don’t value beliefs or understand what they mean to others.”

  “Does anyone who has power?” asked Calkoran sardonically.

  “I believe Lord Bhayar understands the importance of at least some beliefs, and that others value their beliefs. But he has been forced to see more than most rulers. I don’t think the same of most factors, especially not Bovarian factors. That’s also why I think that factors should always advise, but never govern, because a land can’t be governed just on the basis of golds.”

  “He was forced to see?” asked Calkoran. “Who forces a ruler?”

  “In his case, his own father,” replied Quaeryt.

  “You said that Bhayar was actually a ranker in Tilbor?” said Zhelan.

  “He was. His sire wanted him to understand what the men he commanded felt. That has been a tradition since the time his forbears were just Yaran warlords.”

  “He was on the field at Variana,” Zhelan pointed out.

  “Better than any other ruler in Lydar,” conceded Calkoran.

  “How long do you think it will take us to reach Rivages?” asked Quaeryt, not wanting to get into a detailed discussion about Bhayar, because, at times, he wondered if he truly knew the man who called him a friend.

  “Looks to me like we’re less than a hundred milles from Rivages,” said Zhelan. “That’s if the maps and what the locals say is right. If the roads don’t get worse, four long days.” He paused. “You just want to ride in?”

  “I was thinking of sending out scouts, with one of the imagers to give them concealment, just to see what they can find.”

  “That might be best.” Calkoran nodded.

  Zhelan nodded.

  Quaeryt lifted his beaker and took a swallow of the pale lager. He’d had better, but he’d had much worse.

  39

  Quaeryt was up early on Vendrei, not that it mattered, because it had turned out that many more horses needed reshoeing than he had realized. Since that would take most of the day, he and the troopers would be spending an additional day in Yapres.

  So much for making good time, he thought as he rode off to see Suelyr, on one of the spare mounts, as soon as he had finished meeting with the imagers—to whom he assigned specific exercises—and his senior officers. Since Suelyr was the wealthiest factor, Quaeryt suspected that he would find the man in his factorage, almost exactly as far south of the inn as Zoalan’s factorage had been to the north. While Suelyr had one more warehouse than did Zoalan, he also had one less pier, and his study was located on the end of the smallest warehouse, rather than in an elaborate separate building.

  Suelyr was also older, with iron-gray hair and a brush mustache, and he wore a plain white linen shirt above gray trousers. When Quaeryt entered the factor’s study, escorted by a young clerk, Quaeryt also saw a gray jacket hanging on a wall peg behind the desk. The factor did not rise from a battered desk and gestured to the single chair before it. “Commander. I thought I might see you.”

  “Why might that be?” Quaeryt smiled easily as he sat down on the chair that was as battered and scratched as the desk.

  “You have two companies of troopers. Troopers usually need supplies, especially provisions and grain, and you only have a single supply wagon.” Suelyr’s smile was not quite predatory. “You’ll find that I’m most reasonable in my terms.”

  Quaeryt nodded, then said, “If we need provisions, I’m certain we’ll reach terms.” He gently projected absolute confidence and authority. “We’ll talk of such later. I actually came as much to hear what you might have to say about the role of the factors here in Yapres as to talk about provisions.”

  After just the slightest hesitation, Suelyr replied, “The role of factors? We gather and transport goods so that others may purchase them. We turn trees into planks and timbers, wheat corn into flour, and pack it in barrels so that those in other places may have bread. We make a modest profit in doing so, and everyone benefits.”

  “Factors do indeed undertake all you have said, but you do far more than that, I understand. You gather tariffs for the rex and for the town. You pay the town patrollers and choose the patrol chief. In various ways, you and all the factors have enforced standards so that the streets, lanes, and alleys are clean, and so that low women do not solicit from dark alleys.”

  “We do have a hand in such.” Suelyr paused. “And your point is…?”

  “I’m interested in what else factors do. Do you collect fees for those who use the River Aluse? Who pays for keeping the river road in good repair? And I must congratulate you for its condition.”

  “Thank you. All the factors and merchants of Yapres—and some of the larger growers around the town—contribute to maintaining the roads, either coin or labor. We feel it is our duty.”

  “And it encourages people to come here and to trade … and patronize the gaming houses. Tell me. Which one do you own?”

  “Sandina’s,” replied the factor calmly. “It’s the best. I prefer to be the best at all I do.”

  “That’s understandable. I assume you have your own guards, then?”

  “Just for Sandina’s and the warehouses at night. The town patrol is adequate for everything else.”

  “And river tariffs?”

  “We keep the river north and south of Yapres free of debris and dredge out sandbars or mud bars that block the channels. We charge a modest fee for that, but only for those using the river for trade.”

  “Do not some High Holders do the same?”

  “I think you know that few indeed are interested in providing services beyond their own lands. Have you seen otherwise?”

  “Cert
ainly not in Bovaria,” admitted Quaeryt. “It is more common in Telaryn.”

  “What about provisions? Surely, you could use some.”

  “We could use some grain,” Quaeryt admitted, “but it is not absolutely necessary.”

  From there, the negotiations proceeded, and in the end, Quaeryt managed to procure some replacement grain for a copper a barrel, not too dear a price, and given the small number of barrels, there was little to be gained by pressing for less, and far too much to be lost. Quaeryt saw that Suelyr understood that as well.

  After leaving Suelyr, Quaeryt rode back to the inn with the four ranker escorts to meet the duty squad, also riding spare mounts, for the ride north to High Holder Caemren’s estate.

  Riding beside Squad Leader Paelort, Quaeryt asked, “What do you think of this part of Bovaria?”

  “It’s a mite bit cooler. The folks on the street and in the fields look to be the same, excepting that most of us can’t understand more than a few words.” Paelort paused, then asked, “Why do all the officers speak Bovarian as well as Telaryn?”

  Quaeryt laughed. “Because Lord Bhayar’s grandsire decided that everyone in his court would speak Bovarian in his presence. He’d learned it so that he could understand what Bovarian captives were saying when they tried to attack Extela. He wasn’t exactly the most trusting of rulers. It’s been said that he insisted on those around him speaking Bovarian to prove that speaking one language or another wasn’t a mark of superiority, and that if the Rex of Bovaria only spoke one language, then everyone around him would speak two. He insisted that anyone who wanted to curry his favor had to have served as a ranker or officer and speak two languages. He couldn’t force the High Holders to serve in his forces, although the younger sons of a number did, but he refused to talk to them and increased their tariffs by one part in ten if they didn’t learn Bovarian. After he leveled three holdings, the other High Holders decided they’d learn Bovarian, or so the story goes. Then it became a point of pride, and … well, officers who wanted to advance beyond captain found they just didn’t get promoted if they didn’t have at least passable Bovarian. I learned it because the scholars insisted on it for the simple reason that the Lord of Telaryn wouldn’t support them or favor them in the slightest way if they didn’t address him in Bovarian.”