Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “No, it didn’t, but it could have.” And might well have if the three undercaptains hadn’t been there. “I’m just glad it didn’t.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With a smile, Quaeryt headed for the officers’ mess, a small chamber at the end of the converted stable that had become a mess hall for the rankers and squad leaders. He was among the first there, although Calkoran was sitting at the end of one of the two tables. Quaeryt joined the former Khellan marshal, and a mess server immediately set a beaker of lager before him.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll have something for you right away, sir.” The server hurried off.

  He knew I’d want lager. Quaeryt turned to Calkoran. “Did you tell him I’d want lager?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did everything go well last night?”

  “Yes, sir. No one gave us any trouble. They wouldn’t.” Calkoran paused. “I talked to Elsior. He said Erion appeared and melted a hole in solid iron and pinned Myskyl to an oak door with a long silver dagger.”

  Quaeryt took a swallow from the lager before replying. “That was what I saw as well.” He shook his head. “I still doubt the existence of either the Nameless or Erion. But that was what I saw.”

  “Lhandor and Khalis saw it as well. And you doubt?”

  “I don’t doubt what I saw. I’m not certain…” Quaeryt shook his head. “It seemed real and unreal at the same time.”

  Calkoran laughed. “Never have I known a man who fought for what he believed in so much who also fought the idea that he was different that much.”

  “I am different. I’m an imager. I was a scholar. I suppose I still am. But I could die just like other men. I almost have. I love like other men. I make mistakes like other men.”

  “All that is true,” said Calkoran. “You know you are a man. You know you have limits. All that is good. But … you are blessed, and that is both gift and curse. You understand the curse. I have seen that. Accept that there is a gift as well. Does it matter from where it came?”

  Quaeryt started to reply, then stopped. Does it? What if it came from the Namer … something you also doubt? He smiled. Ironically. Then you’re beholden to do what is right. He didn’t feel like debating internally at that moment the question of what might be right. “Only insofar as I do my best to do what is right.”

  “As any man should,” replied Calkoran.

  At that moment the server set a platter of egg toast, ham rashers, and several biscuits before Quaeryt. “Would you like anything else, sir?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Quaeryt ate methodically, mostly listening to Calkoran. He did notice that no other officers sat anywhere close to the two of them.

  At a quint before seventh glass, under hazy skies that suggested a hot day to come, Quaeryt walked over to the charred ruins of the south wing of the hold house. A squad from Calkoran’s company was waiting, along with Major Eslym.

  “The subcommander thought you’d need men to clear away stuff to get into that mess, sir.”

  “He’s very right. I appreciate it. I should have thought of that.”

  “You’ve thought of plenty, sir.” Eslym smiled happily.

  Before long, Justanan walked toward Quaeryt. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you. How are the regimental commanders this morning?”

  Justanan offered a crooked smile. “Worried. Some of them didn’t realize who you were. It will do them good.”

  Quaeryt glanced around, then asked, “Nieron?”

  “He’s still upset. Not so much at you. He can’t believe it. He’ll be looking closely.”

  “There’s nothing to hide.”

  “Interestingly enough, that was one of the few things that Myskyl said about you. He said that you had no secrets, that you did everything in the open, and that men like that were dangerous.”

  Quaeryt laughed softly. “I learned that from watching him … and others.” Except you do have secrets, and some you’ve even kept from yourself.

  Quaeryt turned to Eslym, who had stepped back to allow the commanders space. “If you’d have the men clear the end entryway and start up the main corridor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If there are any bodies, leave them where they are, and leave all weapons or personal articles alone.” According to the musters of the night before, the only casualties from Northern Army were Luchan and Myskyl … but there was no way of telling how many or who from the hold staff might have perished, not with Lady Myranda and her personal retainers missing.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You think others might have perished?” asked Justanan.

  “It’s possible. It’s also possible that the only casualties were the three, Luchan, and Myskyl. I just want them to be careful.”

  “That would be good,” said Nieron, who had clearly heard the interchange, as he joined Quaeryt and Justanan.

  The three commanders moved to the entry and watched as the rankers began to clear away debris. Nearly a glass passed before the nearly thirty yards from the entry to near the officers’ salon was passable. Even so, Quaeryt and the other two commanders had to step over and around massive charred timbers and stone and masonry that had fallen in from the upper level. Finally, they reached the area outside the chamber that had been the officers’ salon.

  “You can see the blunderbuss from here, or what’s left of it,” observed Justanan, stopping a good five yards from where the doorway to the salon had been. “It looks like it was loaded and the fire set off the charge.”

  Nieron moved forward, stepping around a large section of what had to have been the tile flooring of the upper level, until he was within several yards. “That’s a gun port as well.” He shook his head. Then he looked down. “There are bones here. Parts of them.”

  “That was where Commander Luchan fell,” said Quaeryt.

  “You didn’t try to drag him out?”

  “He was dead, and with everything on fire and exploding around me, I wasn’t exactly feeling charitable,” replied Quaeryt.

  “I suppose not.”

  “We did drag out Captain Whandyn, you might recall.”

  Nieron moved to his left, bending down and moving aside a large piece of thin iron, frowning as he did so. “This looks like it was fastened inside a door, but there’s a hole in the middle. Like it had been pierced by a blade.” He moved a few more chunks of tile, then stopped. “Something shiny…”

  Slowly he pulled something out from under a small pile of rubble and held it up, his mouth open. In his hand was a silvery blade, totally unmarked, except for fragments of soot that flaked away. Even the hilt and grip were silvery. The polished blade itself looked to be a little more than half a yard long.

  “Erion’s dagger?” asked Justanan.

  Nieron said nothing. Instead, he turned and bent, extending the blade toward the discolored iron sheet he had earlier set aside.

  “It looks like the door was lined with iron and that silver dagger went through Myskyl and the iron and pinned him to the door,” observed Justanan. “Are there any bones there, or insignia?”

  Nieron turned and looked down. “There’s one melted star and crescent here. It looks like that’s what it was.”

  “Are you satisfied?” asked Justanan, his voice kinder than Quaeryt had heard before.

  Nieron straightened, still holding the silver dagger. Wordlessly, he nodded, then handed the dagger to Justanan. “You should keep this for now.”

  “For now,” agreed Justanan, although he glanced to Quaeryt for a moment. “It looks like there was another chamber, opposite where the blunderbuss is.”

  Nieron turned and nodded, almost despondently.

  Justanan then pointed toward what remained of the outer wall. “There’s also that.”

  Nieron followed the worried-looking commander’s gesture. Where the window and iron shutter had been was an archway, with stone and metal fused all the way around the edges. Nieron turned and lo
oked at Quaeryt. Then he shook his head. “I’ve seen more than enough. Myskyl was a fool.”

  Quaeryt spoke for the first time. “I think we might return to the study and discuss what should be said at the senior officers’ meeting. We all should agree on that.”

  “Might be best,” agreed Nieron.

  Justanan nodded.

  The three retraced their steps back out from the burned ruin. As they stepped away from the south entry Quaeryt heard murmured words from someone among Calkoran’s rankers.

  “Erion’s dagger…”

  Another legend to live down … or outlive. If you can … Quaeryt kept walking.

  Just before ninth glass, Quaeryt, Justanan, and Nieron stepped into the officers’ mess room off the south courtyard. Every waiting officer stood.

  Justanan nodded to Quaeryt.

  “As you were,” Quaeryt commanded, infusing the words with a touch of image-projected authority. “Please be seated.”

  The three commanders remained standing, with Quaeryt in the center, Justanan to his right, and Nieron to his left.

  Quaeryt looked out at the three subcommanders and at the more than twenty majors seated at the two long tables. “I’m Commander Quaeryt. Some of you may know who I am. Some won’t. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ve all been led astray.” Quaeryt image-projected the sense of absolute assurance and truth. That wasn’t hard, since most of what he was going to say was indeed the truth, with one slight amendment.

  “For you to understand what happened and why, there’s one set of facts you have to keep in mind. For the entire campaign up the River Aluse, and even at the battle of Variana, Lord Bhayar and Marshal Deucalon were greatly concerned about Rex Kharst’s imagers…” Quaeryt went on to give the simplified and shortened version of what he’d told Justanan and Nieron the afternoon before, with the changes that they had suggested. Then he added, “I’d like Commander Justanan, as the senior commander here, to add whatever he would like to say.”

  Justanan stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Difficult as what Commander Quaeryt has said may be to believe, it appears to be absolutely true. When Commander Quaeryt met with the submarshal yesterday, the submarshal, Commander Luchan, and three imagers who had served Kharst attempted to kill Commander Quaeryt, both with imaging and with a special blunderbuss actually built into the wall of the officers’ salon. The commander’s defenses held, and the blacklash from the imaging created the explosions and fire that gutted the hold house. During the fire, the Lady Myranda and her personal retainers fled, suggesting that she may have had something to do with matters. Commander Nieron and I physically investigated the hold house this morning, once the embers and ashes had cooled enough for us to do so. We found the blunderbuss. We also found a secret room with access to the salon with the bones of the Bovarian imagers. There are dispatches which reveal that the submarshal was requested to send the tariffs he collected to Lord Bhayar and that he never did. I feel that we are most fortunate that Commander Quaeryt merely defended himself in this deplorable situation. The three of us have met several times, and in accord with Lord Bhayar’s orders, we will be leaving one regiment here in Rivages to keep order in the area. That regiment will be Sixteenth Regiment, under Subcommander Moravan. The rest of us will be leaving on Mardi morning to return to Variana.” He looked to Quaeryt.

  “Are there any questions?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Do you have any idea where we’ll be assigned once we return to Variana?” asked one of the subcommanders, Ostlyn, Quaeryt thought.

  “That will be up to the marshal and Lord Bhayar. It’s likely that several regiments will return to Solis fairly soon, but that had not been decided when I left Variana.” Quaeryt glanced around the mess.

  “Will we have to fight in Khel?”

  “Lord Bhayar sent envoys to ask the High Council of Khel to consider terms. The Council is considering those terms. Lord Bhayar is hopeful that an invasion will not be necessary, but that depends on the High Council. Any other questions?”

  There were no more questions.

  “That will be all, then,” Quaeryt finally said, after a long silence.

  Quaeryt followed Justanan and Nieron from the mess. Once outside, he looked to the older blond officer. “You handled that well.”

  Justanan shook his head. “You handled it well. I picked up the pieces as well as I could.” He paused. “Do you think Lord Bhayar will wish to replace Moravan?”

  “I doubt it. He said that he trusted Moravan more than any regimental subcommander in Northern Army. When he goes on his own instincts, and not out of loyalty to those who served his father, his judgment of people is usually accurate.”

  “What did his father think of you? Did he know you? Or say anything?”

  “He said something, according to Bhayar, along the lines that I’d be a loyal friend and that it would be best were I not an enemy.”

  “I can see that,” said Justanan slowly, then looked at Quaeryt directly. “You’ve risked more for Bhayar than any senior officer. Why?”

  “Because he is a friend and because he has been fair and because he offers the only hope for imagers in all of Lydar.”

  Justanan nodded.

  Even Nieron nodded, if reluctantly.

  49

  By midmorning on Samedi, Quaeryt, Justanan, Nieron, and Quaeryt had completed the general outlines and plans of the withdrawal from Rivages, as well as laid out the parameters of the duties assigned to the remaining regiment. For the most part, Quaeryt had deferred to the other two commanders, partly because he agreed with their proposals and partly because they had more experience than he did in planning such evolutions. Once they were agreed, he and two squads, third squad from first company and fourth squad from the Khellan company, rode out so that he could pay a visit to High Holder Paliast, whose holding was east of Rivages, perhaps even slightly southeast.

  Once Quaeryt and the two squads crossed the timber bridge over the River Aluse, and passed the east river road, which continued northward along the water, Quaeryt paid even more attention to the buildings and people. The bridge joined two squares, but the structures on the eastern square were larger and taller, all of them at least two stories, and several were three, including the all-brick River Inn. Not for the first time, Quaeryt wondered how many River Inns there were across all of Lydar. The main streets were paved, and the dwellings were mainly brick and extended a good mille along the east road before giving way to cots and small fields and woodlots. At that point, the paving ended, and the road became packed clay. After another mille, the smallholder plots vanished, and they rode past larger fields with unmortared stone walls.

  Ahead, Quaeryt made out a modest hold house on the north side of the road, with only a handful of buildings, none of them excessively large, all of which called to mind Seliadyn’s observation that Paliast’s sire had lost many of his lands to Ryel—or Tyrena. The gates were unguarded, drawn open, and attached to two natural stone pillars, roughly three yards high and mortared, unlike the yard-and-a-half-high walls that flanked them.

  Quaeryt rode between the gate pillars and onto the lane, both companies following. The lane itself was unpaved, but graveled. It showed ruts that had only been partly smoothed out, and some of the gravel had been sprayed onto the grassy shoulder by mounts or carriage wheels. The pastures on each side of the lane looked to be clover. Some parts, Quaeryt thought, appeared to have been overgrazed, although he saw no sheep or cattle nearby.

  Less than a half mille from the gates was the hold house, set facing south. All the outbuildings were to the west, below a rise. As he rode toward the graveled area around the entry, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder why the house had not been set there, as were most hold houses. When he reined up at the foot of the steps down from the modest receiving rotunda, he saw a functionary who stood under the edge of the roof.

  The man, in peach and white livery, looked to Quaeryt, studying him, and then asking, “Who might I say is calling, si
r?”

  “Commander Quaeryt, on direct behalf of Lord Bhayar.”

  Quaeryt dismounted, without waiting for an invitation, and walked up the steps toward the man. “You’re the steward?”

  “Baankyt, the assistant steward, sir. Maalan is the steward.” He inclined his head. “If you would come this way, sir. High Holder Paliast is in his study.”

  Quaeryt followed Baankyt through the square brick archway that led to the brassbound double doors and then through a square foyer and straight back along a corridor floored in pale peach and black tiles.

  The assistant steward stopped at the second door. “Commander Quaeryt on behalf of Lord Bhayar, sir.” Baankyt did not wait for an acknowledgment, but gestured for Quaeryt to enter the study.

  Quaeryt stepped into the study, some six yards by four, with a brick hearth at the left end of the room and an ancient desk whose oak had darkened to a deep golden brown at the right end. Two leather armchairs were set before the hearth, angled so that whoever sat there could observe the other chair … or the fire, although the hearth was dark, and covered with an ornate brass screen.

  Paliast stood and walked from behind the desk toward Quaeryt. He looked to be younger than Quaeryt, mostly likely close to Vaelora’s age. His unlined and round face was boyish, but his eyes were deep-set, with a quizzical expression.

  “Are you one of the submarshal’s commanders?”

  “No. I’m the one who replaced the late Submarshal Myskyl … and the late Commander Luchan as well.”

  Paliast stiffened, just for a moment, then said, “I do suppose these things happen in and after a war. Might I ask why you are here? We have paid all that Lord Bhayar has requested.”

  “I’m here to meet with you, of course.” Quaeryt looked toward the chairs.

  Paliast ignored the look. “You’re here. What do you want?”

  Quaeryt smiled. “Why don’t you take a seat? You’ll likely be more comfortable.”

  “I suppose that would be the thing to do.” Paliast took the leather chair farthest from the door.

  Quaeryt turned the other one so that it faced the High Holder directly, and then settled into it. “You recently became the High Holder, I understand.”