Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Do you think they’ll try to ride away, sir?” asked Lhandor.

  “Don’t you?”

  After a moment the undercaptain nodded. “They’ll have been given some believable reason to avoid any other Telaryn forces. Just like the other courier.”

  Quaeryt and his small party had covered a little over a hundred yards when he caught sight of a rider in a Telaryn uniform, then another. “Off the road … on me,” he ordered quietly, but firmly. “We’ll try to let them pass, so that they’re caught between us and first company.” With that, Quaeryt guided the gelding off the road and turned him to face the road, his head about two yards from the outer edge of the shoulder. “A line along the road, even with me.”

  Once the five were lined up, Quaeryt turned to Lhandor. “You’ve practiced putting shields around others, right?”

  “Yes, sir … if they’re not too far away.”

  “I may need some help with that.”

  “I can do that, sir.”

  “Good. Quiet now.”

  Quaeryt and his men waited. In a sense, he could see that the scene would have looked surreal to an observer, at least one who could have seen through the concealment shields. Seven men in Telaryn uniforms lined up on the east side of the road, the woods at their backs, facing the river concealed largely by the high undergrowth on the west side of the road, while a courier and two escorts rode south, oblivious to those waiting and watching.

  The dispatch courier frowned as he neared where Quaeryt and his men waited behind their concealment shields. Abruptly, less than five yards from Quaeryt, he reined up and studied the road. Then he shook his head. “I don’t like this. There’s something here. It looks like tracks on the road. Riders heading into the woods over there.”

  Somewhere, a horse made a whuffling sound, most likely one of the rankers’ mounts, thought Quaeryt.

  The dispatch rider glanced at his escorts, then started to turn his mount, gesturing toward the north. “Someone’s waiting for us up ahead.”

  Quaeryt dropped the concealment shield. “We are.”

  “Ride!” called the courier.

  Quaeryt imaged a shield barrier in front of the three retreating riders, anchoring the shields to the road itself. He winced as the three horses encountered the unseen barrier, but they were not moving that quickly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The courier turned his mount back toward Quaeryt and simultaneously reached for his sabre.

  Quaeryt clamped shields around the courier, still holding the shield barrier as well. “Lhandor, use shields to restrain the escorts. I’ve got the courier.” He rode forward until he was beside the lead rider. “We’re not interested in hurting you, but you’re not going anywhere.”

  The man swallowed as he took in the gold crescent moon insignia on Quaeryt’s uniform collar.

  “By the way, I am Commander Quaeryt, and you will be accompanying us back to Rivages.”

  The man’s brow furrowed, even as he tried to struggle against the unseen shields that held him. “Sir … I’m just a dispatch courier.”

  “I know that. I’m interested in the dispatches you’re carrying.” And in your not letting anyone know who we are and where. Quaeryt reached out and unfastened the dispatch pouches from behind the courier’s saddle and slung them over the front of his own saddle. Then he eased the shields away from the man’s sabre, which he lifted from its scabbard. He looked to Lhandor. “How are you doing?”

  “It’s easier than defending against Aliaro’s imagers.”

  “Good.” Quaeryt looked to the first company rankers. “If you’d come forward and restrain them so that they can’t ride off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt and Lhandor held the three riders until they were conventionally immobilized, with rope and tethers.

  “Everyone back to the main body,” ordered Quaeryt, releasing the confining shields, and turning the gelding back toward first company.

  When they neared where Khalis and Zhelan had to be, Quaeryt called out, “You can release the concealment.” He couldn’t help but look back and see the surprise on the captives’ faces, but he said nothing.

  Once he reined up beside Zhelan and Calkoran, who had clearly just arrived, Quaeryt said, “Major, have these dispatch riders held with the others. The men can take a break for water for a quint.”

  When that had been accomplished, Quaeryt gestured, and the two senior officers joined him just off the shoulder of the road in the shade of an older oak. There Quaeryt opened the dispatch pouches. There were several personal missives in one of the pouches, which Quaeryt left, and a single sealed and official dispatch in the other, from which he removed the seal, by imaging, and began to read.

  The first part of the document was the same as any Telaryn dispatch:

  To: Deucalon Calonsyn, Marshal, Armies of Telaryn

  From: Myskyl Sarronsyn, Submarshal, Northern Army

  Date: 24 Avryl

  Subject: Current Status

  Tariff collections continue apace, and now exceed ten thousand golds, comprised of the token 100-gold levies required of High Holders, and to an equal degree, of the ten-gold factors’ tariffs. Because of the uncertainty of transporting such a large amount of golds, we await your instructions on when to do so and with how many troopers. I would suggest a battalion.

  Modifications of the Northern Army headquarters are largely complete, and we await further orders.

  From there, another page of details about the training of various regiments, as well as suggested promotions, once senior officers eligible for stipends were released.

  Quaeryt found the next section, especially in a larger context, disturbing.

  The negotiations with the High Holders and the others have proceeded satisfactorily, and I believe the results will be all that could be desired in dealing with those who have usurped the powers of the marshal …

  Yet, he had to admit that, by itself, it was proof of nothing other than the fact that Myskyl was meeting with High Holders and others, all of which was certainly within the scope of the duties assigned to him and, in fact, in accord with what Quaeryt himself had suggested two seasons before. To keep Myskyl from making trouble in and around Variana.

  As he lowered the sheets of paper, Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. And to think he’d actually recommended Deucalon as a regional governor.

  “Sir?”

  Quaeryt handed the dispatch to Zhelan. “You might find this interesting. Let Calkoran read it after you do.”

  He waited as Zhelan and then Calkoran read the dispatch. When they finished, he asked, “What do you think?”

  Zhelan nodded to Calkoran, clearly deferring to the older senior officer.

  Calkoran’s smile was wintry. “Are you certain that the submarshal is not related to the former Rex of Bovaria? Is there no loyalty there?”

  Myskyl and Deucalon are most loyal to gaining power for themselves. Rather than comment on Calkoran’s words, Quaeryt just addressed Zhelan. “Your thoughts?”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but I said it all smelled like overdead fish. I was wrong. The fish couldn’t smell this bad.”

  “I’d like you both to think over ways to approach Rivages and the submarshal’s forces this afternoon, and we’ll talk after we settle the men in Ariviana.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt had his own ideas … and none of them were promising. He hoped the three of them could come up with something better.

  41

  By fifth glass of the afternoon on Samedi, the two companies were billeted, after a fashion, in and around the two inns in Ariviana, a town that wasn’t quite that, but was too large to be called a hamlet. The larger inn, Traveler’s Rest, had but ten rooms and a stable and a barn, although the public room was of a size more suited to a larger town, suggesting the locals also frequented it to a greater extent than might have been expected. The Copper Pot had eight small rooms, a public room, and a single combined barn and stables, but C
alkoran professed himself satisfied with the arrangement. So did both innkeepers, which suggested to Quaeryt that given what he was willing to pay, travel was light, times were lean, and then some.

  After everyone had been fed, Quaeryt, Calkoran, and Zhelan met at a circular table in the corner of the public room, somewhat too warm for Quaeryt, but when he’d earlier ventured onto the porch in the twilight, he’d been attacked immediately by hungry mosquitoes and even red flies. He decided on being uncomfortably warm rather than being a meal for the insects.

  He was nursing his second lager, and it could not have been called pale by any stretch of the imagination, but thankfully at least it wasn’t bitter, and the fare, prepared partly from Quaeryt’s supplies, had been adequate, although the noodles were pasty, as he’d expected, since there hadn’t really been enough time to make them properly, and the dried mutton chewy, if edible. The biscuits had been the best part of the meal.

  “You’ve had some time to think over the dispatch from Myskyl to Deucalon,” Quaeryt began. “What are your thoughts?”

  “I can’t say as I have much more to offer,” began Zhelan, after Calkoran had nodded to him. “Submarshal Myskyl has to be preparing some sort of surprise for us. I can’t see him attacking us, not with you and some imagers present.”

  “That suggests that he may plan to separate us from your companies, then,” said Quaeryt mildly, not that he hadn’t already considered that possibility.

  “They won’t attack you,” replied Zhelan.

  “Not with troopers,” agreed Quaeryt.

  “Then with poison or treachery,” concluded Calkoran. “After that, we will be asked to surrender or be attacked as traitors.” He paused. “That is sad, when they are the traitors.”

  “They’ll only be the traitors if they fail,” said Quaeryt, offering a sardonic smile, before taking the smallest sip of the now-warm lager, and then blotting his forehead.

  “Why are the marshal and submarshal doing this?” asked Zhelan.

  “Because Chayar—Bhayar’s father—died unexpectedly young, and Bhayar became Lord of Telaryn when he was twenty-seven, a mere stripling. I’m guessing that they believe that they could do a better job of ruling.” And they don’t much care for the fact that Bhayar trusts me and my judgment more than them … and the fact that I’m two years younger than Bhayar.

  “Do you believe he has been a good ruler?” asked Calkoran.

  “I do. He could have done some things better. That’s true of any ruler. It’s easy to see mistakes in hindsight. There are also some things he managed as well as he could, but did not turn out well. His regional governors have often been corrupt and unfair, but until he was forced into war with Bovaria, Bhayar did not have enough troopers to deal effectively with either regional governors or High Holders.”

  “Will that not happen again after the wars are over?” pressed Calkoran.

  Quaeryt could see a glimmer in the eyes of the older officer, but decided to answer the question. “That will depend on how long he keeps all the troopers under arms, and whether other things happen.”

  “Like your Collegium?” asked Zhelan.

  “If Bhayar approves all the plans for the Collegium, he will be able to keep the High Holders and governors in line.”

  “That is only if you survive to make sure he keeps his word,” said Calkoran.

  “Bhayar has always kept his word,” Quaeryt said.

  “Perhaps he will, should something happen to you,” rejoined Calkoran, “but he will be a better ruler if nothing befalls you. Khel will not easily accept terms from Bhayar without you at his shoulder.”

  “Nor will Lady Vaelora’s influence be as powerful without you,” added Zhelan.

  Quaeryt grinned. “I think you two are trying to tell me something.” He laughed, good-humoredly.

  After a moment so did the other two.

  42

  At second glass of the afternoon on Mardi, Quaeryt spied one of the millestones that had become less and less frequent the farther north they had ridden from Variana: VAESTORA—5 M.

  “Wasn’t sure we’d see another town,” said Zhelan. “It’s almost like the old borders in the north between Telaryn and Bovaria. Just hamlets, and no real towns.”

  “You did say that it was like a different land in the north. Maybe these are the marches or the borderlands.”

  “Didn’t you say one of the High Holders said the same thing, sir?”

  “Caemren said that the High Holders in the north behaved like Rivages was a different land. That’s true. He also said that because the unifier of Bovaria came from Rivages, they felt special.” And from what I’ve seen, people who think they’re innately special are dangerous. Quaeryt looked northward along the road, but nothing ahead looked any different from the cots and fields and woodlots they’d been riding past for the past three days.

  More than a glass passed before Quaeryt caught sight of what he thought might be the outskirts of Vaestora. The first thing that struck him was that, at the clear boundary of the town, there was a street set at right angles to the river road, with the streets beyond, all paved in brick, laid out in a gridlike pattern, forming square blocks. The dwellings and shop were modest, but all had walls of either rough-cut native stone or brick, if not both, with roofs he had thought were dull slate. As he drew closer, he saw they were of a flat dark gray tile.

  The second striking fact was that the river road led straight to a raised circular hill whose crest had been flattened, possibly centuries ago, on which stood a large walled keep, dominated by a tall square tower that rose behind the eastern walls. Quaeryt realized that Caemren definitely had not overstated matters when he’d told Quaeryt that Seliadyn’s holding was in the middle of Vaestora. Both the hold and its rough-finished stone walls had to be ancient, and the town had clearly grown up around it, suggesting to Quaeryt that Seliadyn’s lineage was long-standing—or that he or his forbears had taken over the holding from an ancient lineage.

  When Quaeryt neared the edge of the square just below the open gates in the hold walls, he could also see that those walls enclosed a space larger than the town itself, although, properly speaking, Vaestora looked to be the size of a large hamlet. Yet he’d never seen a hamlet with paved streets. Nor had he seen a high holding or a keep with such a large tower, especially one that so dominated the dwellings over which it looked.

  Various shops lined the north and south sides of the open paved square. The west side was bordered by the grassy slope leading up to the walls, with the paved road to the gate leading from the middle of the western edge of the square. On the eastern end of the square was a small inn that had no signboard or indicator of what it might be called.

  As Quaeryt entered the square, he caught sight of a pump and a watering trough in the northwest corner. “Water the horses here in the square, and have the men stand down. Given the smallness of the inn, I may see about prevailing upon Seliadyn’s hospitality.”

  “If he has any.”

  “That’s a possibility as well,” replied Quaeryt. “But I might as well see. The mounts need water in any case.”

  While Zhelan and Calkoran arranged for the watering, Quaeryt and three rankers from first company rode from the square up the slight slope of the stone-paved road to the open gates. At first glance, the gates looked to be a formality, attached to the front of the walls, and barely blocking the opening. But the walls on each side and above the gates rose almost ten yards, and Quaeryt could see two sets of ironbound doors and the stone slots into which they could be moved. In the middle of the five yards between the war gates he could see the bottom of an iron portcullis.

  Very interesting. Quaeryt nodded.

  Just inside the very thick walls was a guardhouse, and standing in the shades of the overhanging roof were two guards in yellow and black uniforms. Quaeryt reined up short of them.

  “Yes, sir?” inquired the taller guard.

  “I’m Commander Quaeryt. I’ve been sent by Lord Bhayar to se
e High Holder Seliadyn.”

  The guard nodded. “If you’ll follow Hiern, here, he’ll show you the way.”

  “This way, sir!” offered the younger and shorter guard enthusiastically. “You can tie your horse right outside the tower.” He turned and hurried at a fast walk back toward the square tower, set some fifty yards directly behind the gates.

  Quaeryt followed, noting that the entire space inside the east wall of the keep was paved, running from the north wall to the south wall, a distance of some four hundred yards. While many of the stone paving squares were clearly ancient, others were replacements, creating an intermittent pattern of lighter and darker squares. The pavement extended perhaps ten yards west of the rear of the tower, a structure fifty yards on a side. Farther to the east, there appeared to be several large outbuildings, one of which looked to be a stable and another a barracks, although all the windows and doors were covered with shutters.

  Following the guard, holding full shields, Quaeryt looked up at the tower, counting the levels, using the windows as a guide. From what he could tell, there were at least eight levels, but it appeared that the lowest level—the one set at ground level—had no windows at all, and the second level offered only intermittent embrasures.

  The guard stopped at the bottom of a stone staircase perhaps three yards wide that led up to the second level and a set of double doors. Quaeryt had the definite feeling that the staircase had been added later—much later. On each side of the steps were bronze hitching rails, and a long mounting block was set out from the bottommost step.

  “You can tie your mount here.” The guard rang a bell set in a bronze bracket on a bronze post by the foot of the staircase.

  As Quaeryt dismounted, a figure in black and yellow livery stepped out of the doors at the top of the steps.

  “A commander from Lord Bhayar to see the master!” called the young guard.