Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  53

  As before, Quaeryt did not see Seliadyn again on Meredi evening, or on Jeudi morning, when Northern Army left Vaestora. He did inquire of Wereas about Seliadyn’s health, and the steward replied that the High Holder was no better, but neither was he worse, and that he would prefer not to meet with Quaeryt unless the matter was urgent. While not encouraging, that news was better than it could have been … and Quaeryt had nothing of urgency to impart.

  Despite skies that became increasingly cloudy, over the next three days, they made good time, and on Solayi evening, Northern Army camped on the grounds of a long-deserted high holding some fifteen milles south of Ariviana. Less than two days later, by midafternoon, Northern Army had settled into the inns and the buildings around them in Yapres, with Quaeryt again at the Copper Tankard.

  When he and Justanan had taken care of the necessities, Quaeryt asked Calkoran to provide a squad and to accompany him on another visit to High Holder Caemren. Less than a glass later, they reined up outside the entry gates.

  Once more, there was a single guard standing behind the iron gates and in front of the small guardhouse. While the guard wasn’t the same one who had challenged Quaeryt earlier, he looked at the commander, then offered a resigned look.

  “I suppose you want to see the High Holder.” Without waiting for an answer, the guard walked to the middle of the gate, unlocked the chains, and then pulled the gate open.

  Quaeryt, Calkoran, and the troopers rode up the stone-paved drive and reined up before the small covered receiving portico. A single functionary stood there, wearing the gray livery with white piping.

  “If you’d announce me to High Holder Caemren. I’m Commander Quaeryt.”

  In only a few moments, the footman returned with Caemren. Quaeryt was moderately surprised to see the High Holder in just a white shirt and gray trousers, rather than the colorful outfit he had been wearing on Quaeryt’s first visit.

  “The word is that you seem to be in charge of the army of the north and that you’re leading the regiments back to Variana. Is that true?” asked the white-haired High Holder.

  “You got the word rather swiftly,” replied Quaeryt.

  “Since you’re here—again—you might as well come in.” Caemren turned and walked to the door, where he waited.

  Quaeryt shook his head, dismounted, and handed his mount’s reins to the ranker who had moved up to take them. He motioned to Calkoran and the two officers walked to the entry.

  “This is Subcommander Calkoran. High Holder Caemren.”

  Caemren nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Subcommander.” He turned.

  The two followed him to the terrace off the small salon on the northwest corner of the main section of the dwelling. All three sat down around the small circular table.

  “You’re Pharsi, too, aren’t you, Subcommander?” asked Caemren.

  “Khellan,” replied Calkoran.

  Caemren nodded and turned to Quaeryt. “What do you want this time?”

  “I thought you’d like to know what happened, but you apparently already know some if not all that occurred.”

  “I understand that those of Kharst’s imagers who survived persuaded the submarshal to take you on. There’s a rumor that Erion arrived and destroyed them.”

  “Let’s just say that their imaging was turned against them and the submarshal and that the hold house burned to the ground.”

  “What about Lady Myranda?”

  “She escaped. If she ever turns up, I imagine Lord Bhayar will have her executed.”

  “That would be too merciful,” replied Caemren, his voice coldly sardonic.

  “I wouldn’t know. I never met her. The events around her were less than favorable.”

  “They seldom have been.”

  “Tell me more about Seliadyn. About what happened to his family.”

  “He has never spoken about them. His daughter and his wife died in a boating accident. They were both good swimmers.”

  “Kharst’s imagers?”

  “That was the supposition. He did not remarry. After his daughter died, he was … different.”

  “His people seem very loyal to him,” observed Quaeryt.

  “He is known for treating with them fairly. Anyone who succeeds him will need great experience. Seliadyn takes a lower tithe than most High Holders.”

  “But if they produce more…”

  Caemren smiled. “That blade has more than two edges, Commander, and all of them are sharp.”

  “What do you know about Magiian?”

  “You think I would know about him?”

  “I think you would know about any person of power within fifty or even a hundred milles of Yapres. You could tell me the annual income of the Copper Tankard, I expect, and the wealth of the largest factors in Yapres.”

  “I suppose I could come close.”

  “Magiian,” prompted Quaeryt.

  “He has extensive lands. Except for crops to supply the holding, his tenants plant oilseeds. Most of his flax is for linseed oil, but some goes to a small linen mill. He avoided Kharst. Kharst never paid much attention to him. Magiian cultivated the impression of being the descendant of a grower who stumbled into being a High Holder.”

  “And he’s anything but, with the best mills and crop yields?”

  Caemren nodded.

  “How old is he?”

  “Younger than I. We’ve met but a handful of times. I’ve never been to his place. I understand it’s modest.”

  “Heirs?”

  “He has two sons and two daughters. His wife always pled that she was carrying a child when she was invited to Variana. Since she did have a few, Kharst never pressed.”

  Even after asking more questions, Quaeryt still hadn’t learned that much, and he finally asked, “What about you? You’ve avoided talking about your holdings and family.”

  “There’s little enough to say. The holding has enough land to provide timber to Yapres, and we’ve got a clay quarry and brick kilns, and the east lands are wet and flat enough for maize. A little of this and that, but not enough of any one thing. Two sons, no daughters. One handles the brick-making and timber, the other the crops and tenants. My wife died ten years ago.” Caemren shrugged, as if to indicate there was little left to say.

  Quaeryt didn’t feel like pushing. Instead, he stood. Caemren and Calkoran did as well, although a quick look of puzzlement crossed the High Holder’s face. Caemren gestured toward the door from the terrace to the salon, then led the way back to the main entry. Quaeryt could not help but notice how quiet the house was, as if inhabited only by Caemren and a few servants.

  When they reached the portico, Caemren looked to Calkoran. “A pleasure meeting you, Subcommander.” His eyes flicked to Quaeryt. “And to see you and learn your mission was successful, Commander. I’d have been surprised if it hadn’t been.”

  “I appreciate your confidence,” replied Quaeryt.

  “Not confidence, just knowledge.” Caemren watched as the two officers mounted and then led the squad down the paved drive toward the gates.

  Quaeryt thought over the brief meeting, which had only reinforced his feelings, about both Caemren and the High Holders of Bovaria.

  “What did you think of the High Holder?” Quaeryt asked Calkoran.

  “He is smart, and he will not cross you. He will only do what he must, but he will do it promptly. That is so he does not call attention to himself.”

  “And he’s one of the better holders.”

  “That surprises you?”

  “No,” replied Quaeryt wryly, “but I could hope.”

  Calkoran laughed.

  After a moment so did Quaeryt.

  54

  Quaeryt and first company left Yapres before fifth glass on Solayi morning, taking the east road to Choelan to reach Magiian’s hold by seventh glass. Quaeryt didn’t want to spend an extra day on the road just to visit Magiian, and Justanan could certainly handle Northern Army, since officially he was in comm
and, no matter how much he deferred to Quaeryt. He did detail Calkoran’s company as vanguard … and to make sure no “couriers” rode out.

  While the road east was not that good, after the first three milles out of Yapres, which wound through low hills, the land was flat and the way largely straight. Without pushing the mounts, Quaeryt reached the holding a quint before seventh glass. The only indication that they might be at a hold was the single name—MAGIIAN—chiseled into a stone plaque on the left brick gatepost. The iron filigree gates, painted white, were open. There were no guards, and no guardhouse, no walls or hedgerows, just a long graveled drive that ran straight back through fields filled with green plants a yard high. Ahead was a reddish brick building about the size of Caemren’s hold house with white pillars framing an entry portico. Scattered lines of trees flanked the edges of some fields, but with the exception of a small woods or woodlot perhaps a mille and a half to the east, Quaeryt could see no other stands of trees.

  As he rode toward the dwelling a good mille back from the road, Quaeryt looked for the blue flowers that indicated the plants were flax, but decided it was too early in the summer for them to be blooming … at least from what he’d read.

  “The High Holder doesn’t seem to be worried about anyone attacking,” observed Zhelan.

  Quaeryt had to agree. He’d never seen a hold with fewer defenses. Without the plaque on the gatepost, he wouldn’t even have considered the dwelling a hold house. Then, as they neared the main dwelling, set on a man-made rise less than two yards above the surrounding fields, he saw the extensive outbuildings—six large barnlike structures, two long stables, a score of small cots, and ten or eleven sheds of various sizes. All were built of the reddish brick.

  The red brick house itself was of two stories and extended some eighty yards, end to end. The upper level had wide windows, and most were open, although Quaeryt thought he saw fine mesh netting inside, covering the opening. All the trim and the pillars supporting the portico roof were painted white. The drive joined a circle that ran up to the portico.

  As Quaeryt reined up at the foot of the three wide steps leading from the drive up to the portico, a graying man dressed in brown shuffled from the wide single door toward the end of the portico, then straightened when he reached it. He looked at Quaeryt, but said nothing.

  “I’m Commander Quaeryt. Lord Bhayar sent me. I’m here to see High Holder Magiian. If you would tell him I’m here.”

  The man nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.” He shuffled back toward the hold house.

  Only a few moments later the door opened. The man who stepped out onto the red brick pavement of the small roofed portico wore rough brown trousers with a collarless brown shirt and scuffed boots. The crown of his head was bald and tanned, and short and wispy brown hair circled his pate. He was perhaps ten years older than Quaeryt.

  “High Holder Magiian?” asked Quaeryt.

  “That’s who you asked for. That’s who I am,” the man replied with a mischievous smile. “What do you require of me? Or what does Lord Bhayar require?”

  “He requires your allegiance and your tariffs. I just need a glass of your time.”

  Magiian’s eyes ran over the company. “That’s all? And on a Solayi morning?”

  “Water for the mounts would be appreciated. We’re actually on our way back to Variana. I didn’t have time to stop on the way to Rivages. This is the only time I have to meet you.” Quaeryt dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to a ranker.

  “If your men will ride back to the water troughs, I’ll have my people expecting them.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt looked to Zhelan. “Hold the company for a bit to give them time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt walked up the steps to meet the High Holder.

  Magiian studied Quaeryt for a moment, then nodded. “It’s early, but the study is still neat.” He turned and walked toward the door.

  Quaeryt followed, noting that, despite the simplicity of the hold house, everything looked to be in perfect repair, the brick paving even and well pointed, the paint on the trim and shutters and on wooden-faced and fluted pillars smooth and unweathered. The plain but brassbound single front door was also painted white. Inside, the hold was cool, but Quaeryt suspected it would be uncomfortably warm by late afternoon. He also heard voices.

  “… all those troopers…”

  “… an officer to see your father…”

  “… don’t like—”

  “Kylan!”

  The last was clearly a forceful mother’s tone, and Quaeryt wondered what the youngster had been about to say. Instead, he said, “I take it I interrupted a family breakfast.”

  “We were close to finishing.”

  “I apologize, but I’m trying to see as many High Holders as possible, and that’s not always convenient.”

  The study was moderate in size, perhaps four yards by six, with table desks at each end and a pair of leather armchairs set at a slight angle to each other before a wide window, arranged so that whoever sat there could read with late afternoon light or talk to another person.

  Magiian gestured to the chairs, and they both sat.

  “What do you want to know, Commander? I assume you didn’t come all the way from Variana merely to make my acquaintance?”

  “I went to Rivages to resolve a situation for Lord Bhayar. One of his submarshals was compromised by Lady Myranda of Fiancryt and by the surviving imagers of Rex Kharst. I’ve met with as many High Holders as I could on the way out, and I’m doing so on the way back.”

  “I presume you removed the submarshal and the imagers.”

  Quaeryt didn’t answer the question, but merely raised his eyebrows.

  “Every High Holder in Bovaria knows that a white-haired and young-faced commander who is likely an imager himself destroyed Kharst’s army to almost the last man and then was involved in the campaign to subdue Antiago. There cannot be many such, and you are returning from Rivages. Had you not been successful, you would not be heading out of your way to meet with one of the less renowned High Holders.”

  “The matter was resolved, with the exception of Lady Myranda, who escaped.” Before Magiian could reply, Quaeryt added, “I was a little surprised when I saw your hold.”

  “Why?” asked Magiian with a smile.

  “There aren’t any walls, no hedgerows…”

  “No defenses,” admitted the High Holder. “What would be the point? There aren’t any towns near here, not even hamlets. To build anything to withstand an attack would be prohibitively costly, and paying the guards to man it more so. The land holds the value, and there are enough men with skill at arms here to deal with common bandits and raiders.”

  “I see no signs of older fortifications. One of your forbears came to that conclusion?”

  “My great-great-grandsire. He also had a knack of convincing others. Most of those, and their descendants in this part of Bovaria, look at matters in much the same way as we do.”

  “Concentrating on the land and leaving the politics to others?”

  Magiian laughed softly. “I can’t see that getting closely involved with a rex has ever benefited a High Holder’s children, and certainly not his grandchildren.”

  Quaeryt offered a wry smile in return. “There’s much to be said for just paying your tariffs and not plotting or scheming. Lord Bhayar has already tried to make it clear that he has little intention of disinheriting those who have followed that path.”

  “I would hope that would be the case.”

  “It has been so far. He may take a holding from a holder who dies without a widow or heirs. Do you have a dwelling in Variana?”

  “Yes. It’s also rather modest. None of us—except me—have visited in years. I traveled there as little as possible, and at times when few others would.”

  “In the depth of winter? Or the height of summer before harvest?”

  “Something like that.”

  “High Holder Caemren said th
at you deal largely in oilseeds, and somewhat in flax. Do you ship the linen to Variana by the Aluse?”

  “When we produce more than the weavers in Choelan need.”

  After that Quaeryt asked a number of questions, but from all that he could tell Magiian was what he purported to be—a High Holder more actively involved in his lands than most and one totally uninterested in much else … except as other matters might impact his holding.

  Less than two quints later, Quaeryt and first company were riding back toward the River Aluse. While his visit revealed almost nothing new, in another way it was strangely reassuring to learn there might be significant numbers of High Holders who would pose no problems at all.

  But then, you would be more likely to run across those who would cause trouble. The ones like Magiian would keep their heads down and pay their tariffs.

  He nodded and looked at the flatness of the road. He had no doubt that it would take most of the day to catch up to Northern Army, and he almost wondered why he’d taken the time to ride all that way to visit with yet another politely self-centered High Holder. On the other hand, in addition to what he had learned, he had also conveyed the unspoken message that time and distance would not be a barrier to oversight or action by Bhayar … or his subordinates.

  55

  Unfortunately, the good weather that had favored Northern Army for the first part of the journey toward Variana did not last. By midafternoon on Mardi, the rain began to fall, heavily enough that the river road was soon a quagmire. That slowed the army so that it took three glasses to cover the last few milles into Roleon, and it was well after eighth glass before the men and mounts were settled … as well as possible. The rain did not let up until late Meredi. Finally, at eighth glass on Vendrei, Northern Army plodded out of Roleon.

  The road had largely dried, but the worst part of riding, from Quaeryt’s point of view, was that the moisture and the summer sun had combined so that he felt as though they were riding through a steam bath populated with hordes of mosquitoes and red flies, both of which were far too small for him to use shields against.