Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  Quaeryt did not shake his head, although he felt like doing so.

  51

  Early on Mardi morning Quaeryt met with Subcommander Moravan, reviewing his responsibilities, then met with all the other regimental commanders to review the order of departure. While Quaeryt let Justanan do most of the talking, he and the senior commander had already worked out that order, largely by seniority, with the exceptions that the regiment formerly commanded by Luchan would follow Justanan’s regiment and that first company would serve as vanguard and Calkoran would provide the rear guard. Quaeryt didn’t want any dispatches that he and Justanan did not know about leaving Northern Army. In addition, because there were now two bridges over the Aluse, the army was split into two groups, with the first two regiments and first company to use the new bridge and the other three regiments to use the old one in Rivages.

  By seventh glass Northern Army had largely departed Fiancryt, and Quaeryt rode at the head of first company, with Zhelan beside him and the three imagers directly behind him heading south along the west river road.

  “Have you heard anything of interest in the last few days?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Most of the junior officers are happy we’re heading back to Variana. So are the men. Rivages is … well…”

  “Somewhat limited in terms of entertainment?” suggested Quaeryt.

  “More limited than that, sir. The submarshal didn’t allow the men or the officers to leave Fiancryt except on patrols or maneuvers.”

  “For more than four months?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That was something Quaeryt hadn’t known, but then he hadn’t asked, because that sort of restriction hadn’t occurred to him. Skarpa had never enforced anything that stringent. Nor had he, except in Khel. “Anything else?”

  “The hold house was off-limits to everyone but Myskyl’s assistants and the senior officers. No one but Myskyl had a study in the hold house.”

  “Has anyone said anything about the imagers and the fire?”

  “They wouldn’t say anything to me,” replied Zhelan. “I had Ghaelyn ask some of the men to keep their ears open. The only thing that’s clear to pretty much everyone is that it’s dangerous to do anything against you … and that captain has told a number of the junior officers that Erion came to your aid. He even took some of them into the ruins and showed them that section of the iron shutter with the archway melted into it.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t help smiling slightly. “You looked, too, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. I wanted to see for myself.” Zhelan paused. “Was Erion really there?”

  Quaeryt managed a shrug. “I don’t know. Something or someone that looked like Erion was there and threw thunderbolts at the three imagers and flung that silvery dagger at Myskyl.”

  “Eslym still has it. He says it is the dagger of Erion. It’s lighter than iron, but feels stronger.”

  “Has Calkoran said anything to you?”

  “Not very much. He did say that if you weren’t the lost one and the son of Erion, there was no difference between you and him … and that was good enough for him. I think most of the Khellans would follow you anywhere. Even into the gates of death.”

  “Let’s hope we’re done with that.” Quaeryt offered a rueful laugh, then looked at the houses ahead that marked the northern edge of the western part of Rivages.

  Ahead, a woman hanging laundry on a line at the side of a small cot scurried toward the back door and disappeared. Quaeryt couldn’t fault her caution, but hoped that would change over the coming years.

  Before long first company was riding into the western part of the city and toward the square and the old timber bridge. The center of the square cleared quickly as the column approached, but the peddlers and crafters and those in the square to shop all watched as the troopers rode past. Quaeryt saw neither resentment nor joy, just a mixture of curiosity and almost indifference as the riders passed.

  Once first company had passed through Rivages, Quaeryt rode back to the head of Justanan’s regiment, easing in beside the senior commander.

  “How do your officers and men feel about leaving Fiancryt and Rivages?”

  “Most are happy to go. They didn’t see much of Rivages and too much of Fiancryt.”

  “I understand that access to the hold house was limited,” offered Quaeryt.

  “With almost ten thousand men in the area, it had to be,” replied Justanan.

  “I can see that.” Quaeryt paused. “Did you ever meet Lady Myranda?”

  “I wouldn’t have called any of the times I encountered her a meeting,” said Justanan dryly. “There was one reception at which she appeared and spoke a few words briefly to each of the regimental commanders. She was warm and apparently charming without saying much of anything, and before any of us knew it she had vanished. Beautiful woman, but the kind you always wonder about how deep that apparent warmth might be.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “I’ve met some like that. Was there anything strange that happened around her?”

  “Besides having five or six regiments around all the time?”

  “She was Fiancryt’s second wife, and the first died rather suddenly, from what I heard.”

  “Oh … that business about Fiancryt’s son drowning? He was a headstrong boy, and he rode off from his mother and the submarshal and apparently tried to jump a creek. The horse threw him, and he hit his head on a rock or something and drowned in the creek before they found him. That’s all we were ever told. The hold house was draped in black for a month…”

  “Was that before or after you knew that the three imagers were here?”

  “We didn’t know that they were imagers. Not then. I suspected there was something not right about them. I told you that. The submarshal said that their knowledge would be most useful to Lord Bhayar in time.”

  “That’s hard to argue against,” said Quaeryt. And it suggests that one of the imagers had something to do with the boy’s death. Again, it was another thing that would be hard to prove. Just like so many over the past two years. “Especially to a submarshal who’s the favorite of the marshal. Was that obvious to all the regimental commanders?”

  “Nieron knew and flattered both Luchan and Myskyl. I doubt that’s any surprise to you,” said Justanan dryly.

  “No. What about Tibaron and Ostlyn?”

  “They never gave much indication one way or the other, as befit intelligent junior subcommanders.”

  “And Moravan?”

  “He never said anything, but once in a while when he didn’t think anyone was watching, he rolled his eyes. At first. I cautioned him against that, because Myskyl had very good senses.”

  “He did, indeed,” said Quaeryt.

  “You were never included in the meetings after Ferravyl,” offered Justanan.

  “Not after they were changed from meetings of senior officers to meetings of the regimental commanders,” replied Quaeryt.

  “I wondered about that.”

  “Until after Variana, the only senior officers who weren’t regimental commanders were Subcommander Ernyld and me. After Variana, when I became a commander with regiments under me, I was detached and reported to either Submarshal Skarpa or Lord Bhayar.”

  “But Ernyld was there.”

  “To record the proceedings, doubtless,” replied Quaeryt.

  “Is Skarpa still in Liantiago?”

  At that moment Quaeryt realized that he’d never mentioned Skarpa’s assassination. “No. I should have mentioned this. He was assassinated by the heir of a rebel High Holder. The High Holder was killed fighting for Aliaro. The assassination happened after Commander Kharllon insisted that the imagers I left to protect Skarpa not be allowed close to the senior officers’ meetings in Liantiago.”

  “Kharllon?”

  Quaeryt nodded.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Do you know what happened after that?”

  “When I left Variana, the latest dispatches we had indicated that Commander Kharllon was
acting governor of Liantiago, except for Westisle, which was being held for Lord Bhayar by the imagers and my Nineteenth Regiment, until they received orders to the contrary, since my command reported directly to Bhayar.”

  “What did Lord Bhayar do, or did he tell you?”

  “He said he would promote acting imager Captain Voltyr to major and confirm the separate jurisdictions for a time until he had time to reconsider.”

  “That was what you recommended, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. Kharllon will be loyal to Bhayar, but he doesn’t know how to handle or use imagers. His own report of Skarpa’s assassination confirmed that.”

  “Do you intend to become marshal of the armies?”

  “That’s the last thing I want, and the last thing the armies and Bhayar need. I’m working to create a collegium of imagers, where imagers and their families from all over Lydar can live and where their children can be educated and those that are imagers properly trained to serve Lord Bhayar. Lord Bhayar agrees with the idea and the plans he’s seen so far.”

  “You could be marshal and still do that.”

  “No. It wouldn’t work. The High Holders, the factors, the senior officers, even the people would rebel against an imager in control of the armies. Especially since Bhayar is part Pharsi.”

  “You’ve thought this out.”

  “I’ve had to. When you’re married to Bhayar’s sister…”

  “That makes sense. You give the imagers safety, and they support the ruler, and that keeps High Holders and ambitious marshals in line.”

  “And the Collegium removes the imagers from seeming to threaten people, so that Bhayar can point out that the Collegium protects both the imagers and the people. He’s agreed that the Collegium will be on that isle in the Aluse, the one that had all the piers.”

  Justanan nodded thoughtfully, then said, “It’s too bad more officers don’t understand their limitations.”

  Quaeryt noted the tense the senior commander used, but merely said, “Power can be very tempting.”

  “It can indeed,” replied Justanan with a laugh. “How long do you think it will take us to reach Variana?”

  “My thought is roughly three weeks. What do you think?”

  “I wouldn’t disagree … unless we get rain.”

  From then on, the two talked about details of the journey ahead.

  52

  By midafternoon on Meredi, the regiments were approaching Vaestora in good order, and Quaeryt rode out with a squad from first company to request permission from Seliadyn to allow the regiments to stay overnight at the high holding. Even though the spacious barracks would not accommodate all the troopers, except in the most crowded of conditions, Quaeryt did not wish to impose Northern Army on any town as small as Vaestora and such a force would create a certain amount of destruction on any lands where they camped.

  As he and fourth squad entered Vaestora from the north, he was again impressed by the order and cleanliness of the town, not to mention the imposing presence of the keep tower of Seliadyn. When he reached the square and rode toward the open gates in the ancient wall, both guards stepped out and waited. He reined up short of them.

  “You’re the commander who was here last week or so, aren’t you?” asked the shorter guard.

  “That I am. I’d like to see the High Holder.”

  “He’s not been well, sir, but it’d be best that you talk with the steward.”

  “That’s Wereas, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt and the squad followed the guard at a walk from the gates and across the stone-paved front courtyard to the base of the stone up to the second level and a set of double doors. He reined up, dismounted, and tied the gelding to the nearest bronze hitching rail, while the guard rang the bell on the bronze post.

  Wereas, in his black and yellow livery, emerged from the doors at the top of the steps when Quaeryt was halfway up the steps. “Greetings, Wereas.”

  “Commander.” The steward inclined his head.

  “I was hoping to see the High Holder. I’m returning the Northern Army to Variana and would prefer to camp in the courtyard and barracks for the night.” Quaeryt walked the rest of the way up the steps to the entry.

  “He’s not well, sir, but he did leave instructions to admit you when you returned. If you would come with me, sir.” Wereas stepped back through the still-open heavy oak door, then closed it behind Quaeryt.

  As Quaeryt followed the steward through the square entry hall to the interior staircase, and then up the green marble steps, he gained the feeling that the entire tower was hushed, almost as if holding its breath. Quaeryt almost caught the heel of his boot on his bad leg twice on the last set of steps, up to the third interior level, one below that where he had met Seliadyn in his study.

  “He’s in his sitting room, sir, to the right,” offered Wereas.

  As with the study, the sitting room was at the rear of the tower on the north side.

  The steward did not knock, but eased the door open. “Commander Quaeryt has returned and is here to see you.”

  “Good. Afraid he might not make it.”

  Wereas gestured, and Quaeryt entered the sitting room.

  The walls were paneled in the same dark wood as the study had been, and the tall and narrow windows held the same pale green silk hangings. The carpet was of a pale green. While there was a small table desk, on which were several folders, Seliadyn sat in a green leather armchair, a dark green blanket across his legs. He wore a sleeveless gray vest over a gray shirt, and his silver hair seemed yellowed from the last time Quaeryt had seen him.

  Seliadyn looked to the steward. “A lager for the commander, Wereas.”

  The steward nodded, then turned, leaving the door open.

  Quaeryt moved to the chair that matched the one in which Seliadyn sat and seated himself, waiting.

  “I was not totally truthful with you, Commander. You’ve likely discovered that. I have no heirs. Not even distant ones. I won’t go into my reasons … or the history. My sources tell me that you destroyed the hold house at Fiancryt as well as the submarshal and the last of Kharst’s imagers. Is that true?”

  “Three imagers died in the fire that resulted from their actions. So did the submarshal and his senior commander. Lady Myranda fled.”

  “Good riddance.” Seliadyn smothered a cough with a black handkerchief. “You’re taking the army back to Variana?”

  “All but one regiment.”

  “They can stay here tonight. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  “Partly. I also did wish to see you and thank you for the information you provided the last time. It was most helpful.”

  “That was the idea.”

  “I know,” replied Quaeryt, “but it still merits thanks.”

  “I want a favor.”

  “I will do what I can.”

  “According to the laws of both Bovaria and Telaryn, Lord Bhayar will appoint my successor … or take my lands as his own. What influence do you have on his choice?”

  “I can recommend. At times, he does heed my thoughts.”

  “More than at times, I suspect.” Seliadyn coughed again, more violently.

  Quaeryt waited.

  “I may recover from this flux. I may not. At my age, you never know.” He lowered the handkerchief, then waited as Wereas returned with a tray, on which were two lagers.

  The steward tendered the tray to Quaeryt first. Quaeryt took the nearer beaker. Then Wereas extended the tray to Seliadyn.

  “All right. I’ll drink it. It can’t hurt, I suppose.” Seliadyn took the beaker, then lifted it and took a small swallow.

  After Quaeryt took a swallow of the lager, as good as he remembered, he noted the smallest nod of approval from the steward once Seliadyn had drunk. Then Wereas slipped out of the sitting room, but the door remained ajar, and Quaeryt had no doubt that the steward remained close.

  “As I was saying,” the High Holder went on, “I have n
o heirs. I would not wish that Vaestora become just a source of golds for whoever receives the hold. It is also a hold that can withstand a moderate siege, perhaps more, with the proper High Holder, and that might be valuable to a ruler still consolidating his power.” Seliadyn looked intently at Quaeryt.

  “You would like me to prevail upon Lord Bhayar to bestow Vaestora upon someone who would respect the hold and the people of the town as well, someone who would appreciate its history and its capabilities, and someone who would be loyal to him.”

  “I thought you would understand. I would hope that it would not go to the younger son of some Telaryn High Holder who would ruin it in years. It is most productive, but that production comes as much from the loyalty of the people as from the lands themselves. Most High Holders take anywhere from one part in three to one in two from their tenants. I have taken but three in twenty and at times as little as one part in ten, and over time I have been richly repaid.”

  “I have seen few towns as orderly and as clean as Vaestora,” Quaeryt said.

  “You have seen many, have you not?”

  “More than I ever wished,” Quaeryt admitted.

  Seliadyn started to laugh, but the laugh became a painful and extended bout of coughing. When he finally lowered the handkerchief, he said, “I should not talk more. Will you do what you can for my lands and my people?”

  “I will.”

  “Good. You had best go. I will put my wishes in a petition as well, to be delivered to Lord Bhayar when it is time.” Seliadyn gestured toward the door.

  Quaeryt rose. “Like your steward, I would suggest you drink more of the lager. That might help assure that I do not have to carry out your wishes for some years yet.”

  Seliadyn lifted the beaker, but Quaeryt could see that the old man’s hand trembled as he did.

  “I will do that, but it will not be years, Commander. I wish you well.” The High Holder took a small swallow and lowered the beaker.

  Quaeryt inclined his head, then slipped from the sitting room, still wondering about the history Seliadyn had declined to relate.