Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “He’s expected.” The functionary bowed slightly.

  Quaeryt turned to the rankers. “Just wait here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then he turned to the guard. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  Quaeryt made his way up the steps to the wide area outside the double doors.

  “I’m Wereas, the steward, sir. How might I announce you, sir?”

  “Commander Quaeryt.”

  “You’re fortunate. He saw your forces enter the town. He’s curious. He isn’t always.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “No, sir. He just said that there was something different, and that he was receiving.”

  Receiving?

  “In his study. That’s on the fourth level, facing the river. This way, if you would, sir.” The steward held the polished and oiled heavy oak door, then closed it behind Quaeryt, and stepped ahead to lead Quaeryt through the square entry hall past an arch to another staircase, one of green marble that led up a level to a landing, with two smaller staircases, one at each end of the wide landing, and each leading back east and up another level. The staircase in effect created an atrium of sorts almost three levels high. After riding much of the day, Quaeryt was careful with his bad leg as he made his way up the grand staircase, with its green marble steps and its dark wooden paneled walls, graced in places with light green silk hangings.

  “To the left, sir,” suggested Wereas once they had reached the fourth level, “and all the way back.”

  Quaeryt only passed one door, and it was closed, before the steward stopped at the second door, also closed, and rapped on it once. “Commander Quaeryt, from Variana and Lord Bhayar.”

  “Have him come in.”

  Wereas opened the door.

  Quaeryt stepped into the study, a chamber whose interior walls were entirely covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, possibly one of the two or three largest collections he’d seen, certainly smaller than the collection of the Khanar in the Telaryn Palace, and possibly the same size as that of the scholarium in Solis. The exterior walls, except for the tall and narrow windows, were paneled in the same dark wood as the staircase. Each window was flanked by the pale green silk hangings. A thick carpet of a darker green, its border showing intertwined black and gold chains, covered most of the dark wooden floor except a half yard from the walls.

  High Holder Seliadyn sat behind a wide table desk, empty except for two volumes, bound in green leather. As Quaeryt stepped toward the desk, Seliadyn stood.

  Quaeryt hadn’t been certain what to expect, given the way Caemren had described Seliadyn, but the High Holder was a tall man, at least a few digits taller than Quaeryt. He wore dark gray trousers and a matching jacket over a pale gray shirt. His boots were black and polished, and his silver-white hair was thick, but cut short. He gestured to the pair of wooden armchairs, upholstered in leather stained pale green to match the hangings.

  Seliadyn asked politely, “Do you prefer lager, ale, or wine, Commander?”

  “Pale lager, if possible.”

  “A fighting commander, but one with taste.” The High Holder addressed the steward. “Two lagers, Wereas.”

  The steward nodded and stepped back, departing, but leaving the study door open.

  Quaeryt moved to the chair closest to the window, but did not seat himself until Seliadyn began to do the same.

  “Also familiar with court protocol,” said the High Holder. “You brought two companies. That speaks of a man sent to investigate or to take over command. Even with that white hair, I have my doubts about your taking command of six regiments from a submarshal. Do you care to tell me the problem?”

  “Let me just say that Lord Bhayar doesn’t know if there is a problem, except in communications.” Quaeryt smiled politely.

  “Your uniform is a brownish green, but well cut. That doesn’t suggest shoddy tailoring or cloth. Were you a scholar? Or are you?”

  “Both, I suppose.”

  “You limp slightly, and there’s something wrong with your hand. How many times have you been wounded?”

  “Enough.” Quaeryt almost laughed.

  Seliadyn’s eyes went to the door, and he motioned.

  Wereas carried two beakers on a tray. Both held an extremely pale lager. He offered the tray to Quaeryt, who took the beaker slightly farther from him.

  Seliadyn took the other beaker and lifted it, then took a small swallow before setting it on the table desk. “This isn’t mine. My vineyards produce a good hearty red and a passable white, but I don’t have the best grain lands. We do get a few barrels of a decent apple brandy once in a while.” After the slightest pause, Seliadyn went on. “You’re Pharsi, aren’t you? Was your hair black or white-blond before it turned white?”

  “White-blond,” replied Quaeryt, before taking a small sip of the lager. “This is excellent.”

  “Thank you. I’ve always thought so. White-blond. That makes you the dangerous kind. It also explains why Bhayar won.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Even with his heritage, you wouldn’t be a commander if you weren’t good at something. Cowards or those who command from the rear—or cosseted staff officers—usually don’t get wounded. If you’re commanding from the front, you’re good or you’d be dead.”

  “So why are you still alive?” asked Quaeryt.

  Seliadyn nodded. “That’s a perceptive question. I assume you noticed the real gates?”

  “Two sets of ironbound war gates and a portcullis.”

  “That’s part of the reason. The hold is close to self-sufficient. It’s also almost three hundred milles from Variana, and I said little on the few occasions I was requested to attend Rex Kharst. I’ve always paid my people well for information, and whenever Kharst’s assassins appeared nearby … well … they found matters difficult here. After I outwaited them several times, while giving no overt offense, Kharst decided other interests were less troublesome. That could not have continued, of course. My eldest daughter is twelve and is already showing signs of beauty. So I must admit that I’m grateful for Lord Bhayar’s intervention. You are married?”

  “Yes. Comparatively recently.”

  “Of course. Young and dashing commanders are much more appealing than scholars. But then, scholars are also often more ruthless.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m dashing.”

  “But you’re well connected. For that reason, and for reasons of my own, you and your men are welcome to use the old barracks for the night. I can supply provisions, but your cooks will have to do the preparations. The officers’ quarters are spare but comfortable. The rankers’ quarters are just spare. There is a small fenced pasture inside the walls which should hold your mounts.” Seliadyn smiled. “That way, also, you won’t have to impose on the people of Vaestora.”

  Quaeryt returned the smile. “I had hoped that your hospitality might be a possibility.”

  “I can be hospitable to those who are reasonable.”

  “Such hospitality is still much appreciated.” Quaeryt lifted the beaker to the High Holder.

  Seliadyn nodded, then said, “I assume you are headed to Rivages. You might be interested to know that the submarshal has stationed a regiment—I assume he is rotating them—some five milles south of Rivages proper.”

  “Is there a road along the west side of the Aluse?” asked Quaeryt.

  “There is, but it’s a poor excuse for one, except for the last four or five milles into Rivages. That’s because Daefol has his holding off it. His great-great-grandsire built it on the top of the highest hill around. Rather, the highest hill with a spring. The present Daefol claims that was so that his forbear would always have water and never be flooded out.” Seliadyn snorted.”It doesn’t matter if you’ve got water and walls, if you’re a fool.”

  “Would you care to explain his particular foolishness?”

  “Agreeing with the late Fiancryt and his scheming wife.”

  “I hea
rd she had some ties with Kharst.”

  “That’s one way of putting it. Too bad she wasn’t at Chateau Regis when Lord Bhayar’s imagers froze it solid. Then, she’s always been good at getting others to pay for her ambitions. Now … she’s likely using her wiles on the submarshal or some senior commander.”

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind … but that was why you told me, wasn’t it?”

  “Of course.” Seliadyn smiled and took a sip from his beaker.

  “Are there any bridges across the Aluse between here and Rivages?”

  “Not except for the one in the middle of the city. Half of Rivages is one side, half on the other.”

  “What about High Holder Paliast?”

  “He’s mostly a High Holder by courtesy. He lost half his lands to Ryel. Rather, he lost them to Ryel’s wife. She wouldn’t leave the holding, but she ran it better than he ever could have. While he was spending golds in Variana, she was making them in Rivages. Paliast owed more than he or his son—I guess young Paliast is now High Holder, but he’s no stronger than his sire was…”

  Quaeryt continued to take small sips of the excellent pale lager while he asked questions and listened to Seliadyn.

  After another quint had passed, the older man smiled. “I’ve talked enough, and you need to get your men settled. The head ostler can show your captains where the grain for your mounts is. If you have any other questions, Wereas can answer them for you.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt rose and inclined his head. “I do appreciate your kindness and hospitality … and the excellent lager.”

  “It’s to my interest … and to yours, Commander.” Seliadyn paused, then asked, “Are you as ruthless as they say?”

  Although that was the first inclination that the High Holder had given that he might know Quaeryt, at least by reputation, Quaeryt couldn’t say he was surprised. “I’d like to put it another way, High Holder. Commanders don’t make the choices of whether men get killed. Those choices are made by rulers like Rex Kharst and Lord Bhayar. Once those choices are made, my only choices are how what I do affects how few of my men die. I am likely ruthless in working to keep those numbers low … and that usually means that a greater number of my opponents die. When possible, I’ve tried to obtain advantages where few die. Those occasions have been few. I hope they become more frequent in the future.”

  “A very scholarly and very practical answer. I wouldn’t have expected less.” Seliadyn rose. “A good afternoon to you, Commander.”

  “And to you, sir.” Quaeryt inclined his head, then eased away from the chair.

  He wasn’t surprised to see Wereas waiting in the hallway outside the study.

  43

  By the time Quaeryt conveyed Seliadyn’s invitation to his officers and the two companies reached the barracks, all the shutters and doors had been opened, and a footman waited to show the officers through the quarters. An assistant ostler also helped with informing the squad leaders where they could find the hay and grain set asides for the companies’ mounts, while an assistant cook helped with the preparation of rations for the men and officers.

  The barracks were indeed spare, but there were enough bunks with pallets for all the rankers and every officer had a small chamber on the upper level. Quaeryt’s was slightly larger and had a table desk and attached washroom and jakes. The spaces were clean, although there were some traces of dust, suggesting that they had been used sometime in the last year, or that they were cleaned and maintained regularly. Quaeryt also could see that there were three buildings on the south side of the hold, roughly matching the barracks in position, that looked to be in regular use. While not as large as the Telaryn Palace in Tilbora, Seliadyn’s hold was the largest in extent of any belonging to a High Holder that Quaeryt had ever seen … and was definitely kept in good repair.

  For the size of the high holding, there was a definite feeling, at least to Quaeryt, that the staff and occupants represented but a fraction of what the holding either could contain, or once had. Yet everything was in good repair, and there was no sign of neglect anywhere. And before Quaeryt retired, when he surveyed the tower, he saw the glimmer of but a few lamps.

  The mattress pallet in his quarters was comfortable enough and better than many beds in the inns in which he had stayed, but his sleep was restless, and filled with unsettling dreams he could not remember when he woke early on Meredi. He was relieved that he had not imaged in his sleep, or not enough to have left any traces in the chamber, although he thought the air seemed cooler than it should have.

  He was down in the mess early, but Zhelan and Ghaelyn immediately saw him and headed his way. Both looked concerned.

  “What is it?” he asked as they approached.

  “One of the couriers from Northern Army escaped, sir,” reported Ghaelyn as he stopped and stiffened. “He slipped away sometime after midnight and before dawn. He rolled up a pallet to look like a sleeping man and pulled a blanket over the pallet.”

  “Did he take a mount?”

  “No, sir. There were guards on duty.”

  “So he’s on foot, unless he steals a horse … or someone miscounted.”

  “I talked to the High Holder’s ostler,” said Zhelan. “They aren’t missing any horses, and our counts match the records. Do you think he’s headed for the submarshal’s forces?”

  “At High Holder Fiancryt’s?” replied Quaeryt. “It’s hard to say. On foot, it’s likely to take a good day, and he might not be well received. Then again, he might be. Or he could just be hoping to lie low and see what happens. And he still might have a mount. There’s always the possibility that the mount totals didn’t include the spare mounts of the first riders.”

  “Ah … I don’t think they did,” admitted Ghaelyn.

  “Lying low might be hard, sir. Most rankers don’t speak Bovarian,” Zhelan said.

  “Do we know if he did? Myskyl likely would have wanted either the courier or one of his escorts to speak Bovarian, I’d think.”

  “I’ll see if his escorts know,” volunteered Ghaelyn.

  Quaeryt nodded for the undercaptain to leave.

  “Even if he does have a mount, it will take him a good three glasses, most likely, if not more, to reach Rivages,” said Zhelan.

  “Which means he could already be there, if he left at first glass this morning.” Quaeryt shook his head. “There’s no help for it. We’ll have to assume that Myskyl knows we’re here, or that he’ll know shortly. He’ll also know that we’ve read one of his dispatches and one from Deucalon. But he won’t know what Deucalon wrote. Whether that will make a difference…” He shrugged.

  Quaeryt only had to wait a fraction of a quint before Ghaelyn returned.

  “You were right, sir. Khend does speak Bovarian … and one of the couriers’ spare mounts is missing.”

  “How soon can we move out?” Quaeryt asked Zhelan.

  “A quint after the men finish eating. Say three quints. Could be sooner.”

  “Then we should. Give the orders to first company. I need to brief Subcommander Calkoran.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt found Calkoran near the east end of the fenced pasture, talking over something with Major Eslym, in Pharsi, while some of the rankers of his company were gathering and saddling their mounts.

  Calkoran looked up. “Yes, Commander?”

  “We need to move out in the next few quints … as soon as all your men finish eating. One of the dispatch riders escaped. We’ll have to assume that he’ll be making his way to report to the submarshal. He may not be, but I’d be surprised if it were otherwise.”

  “As would I.” Calkoran snorted. “You should have chained him.”

  “For doing his duty under the command of a Telaryn submarshal? If this all turns out to be a misunderstanding, I could be the one ending up in chains. Or having to explain chaining one of our own men when we haven’t chained Bovarian prisoners.”

  “That is the problem with treachery. It puts the honorable
men in most difficult positions. That is something traitors seldom worry about.”

  Quaeryt smiled. “You’re right about that. Will you have any problems being ready in three quints?”

  “No, sir. Most have already eaten, except for the duty squad.”

  “Good.” Quaeryt headed to grab a quick bite and his own gear.

  Little more than a quint and a half later, as the companies were forming up in the paved area east of the barracks, Quaeryt rode to the tower to pay his respects and offer thanks to Seliadyn. He tied the gelding to one of the bronze hitching rails and had barely started up the stone steps to the second-level entry when Wereas appeared.

  “Commander … the master is not yet awake, and is not receiving.” The steward walked down the steps. “He thought you might be leaving early, and he left this for me to give to you if you should come to see him.” The steward extended an envelope closed with a yellow and black wax seal.

  “Thank you … and please convey my thanks and appreciation to the High Holder. We did our best to leave the barracks and quarters in good array.”

  “Even had you not, that would have been fine, but your care is appreciated.”

  “As is yours.” Quaeryt paused. “I would not intrude, but the High Holder mentioned his daughter … Yet … there are few signs … Has he sent her elsewhere for her safety?”

  Wereas smiled almost sadly. “She is with her aunt in the hill hunting lodge. Many of the master’s retainers are there as well.”

  “Thank you. I just wondered.”

  “He would appreciate your concern, sir, but even short visits take their toll.”

  “If you would convey my concerns, as you see proper, Wereas.”

  “I will indeed, sir.”

  Quaeryt inclined his head, then turned, descended the steps, and mounted the black gelding. After riding to the head of the column, while he waited for the last of the squads to join the formation, he imaged the seal farther down the envelope, then opened it. Inside was a brief note, accompanied by a hand-drawn map of Rivages, showing the main roads and the location of the four high holdings, as well as a pointed arrow simply labeled “Regiment patrol.” Fiancryt was on the west side of the river, Ryel and Paliast on the east. The west river road was also drawn in. He slipped the map into his uniform shirt, then began to read the brief missive.