Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “I’d have had a hard time not doing what they wanted if they’d been able to remove you,” concluded Bhayar.

  Vaelora nodded.

  “So what solution do you have—besides the execution he deserves?”

  “The execution is exactly what he deserves,” began Quaeryt, “but that will not serve you all that well. The proof we have of what he did is more than sufficient to prove his guilt, but not the sort that is easily explained to troopers and officers—or to many others. We were thinking about a gilded prison of sorts—rewarding him with a high holding in a locale where he could not make trouble … and where, if he did, an accident would not be all that unusual … or noticed…” Quaeryt went on to explain his thoughts. When he finished, he waited.

  Bhayar fingered his chin. Then he frowned. He shifted his weight in his chair and frowned again. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of his getting away with this. I don’t.”

  “He won’t,” said Vaelora. “Keep him here until you decide on which high holding. Make him a guest.”

  “But forbid him any contact with other officers, beginning right after you tell him of his good fortune.”

  “He won’t see it as good fortune,” said Bhayar.

  “He will if you point out that his acts could be seen as treason,” said Quaeryt,”and that you have evidence and witnesses.”

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we?” replied Bhayar.

  For the next quint, the three discussed how they would proceed.

  Then Vaelora stood. “If this is a matter for officers, I should not be present.”

  Bhayar nodded, but did not speak, as his sister slipped from the study.

  Less than half a quint passed before the guard announced, “Marshal Deucalon.”

  “Have him enter.”

  Quaeryt stood. Bhayar did not.

  “Sir,” offered Deucalon, bowing his head slightly to Bhayar as he stepped into the study. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Commander.”

  “Marshal,” returned Quaeryt, without offering the usual head bow to a superior officer. It might be petty, but Deucalon doesn’t deserve it.

  Bhayar gestured to the seat at his left.

  Deucalon offered the hint of a frown, but seated himself. Quaeryt took the seat to Bhayar’s right.

  Bhayar did not immediately speak, but studied Deucalon almost as if he had never met the marshal before. Finally, he began. “Deucalon, you served my father long and loyally and well. And for several years you did the same for me.”

  “I have always served you and the interests of Telaryn to the best of my ability.”

  “If you believe that,” said Bhayar quietly, “then you and I have quite different ideas about what my interests and those of Telaryn are. For the past three months, I have inquired, time after time, about the activities of Northern Army. You have insisted that you have heard no word from Submarshal Myskyl. I dispatched Commander Quaeryt to see what might be the difficulty. Not only did he discover that the late submarshal was plotting a rebellion with the assistance of Bovarian High Holders and three imagers who had served Rex Kharst, he also intercepted dispatches proving that you lied about not receiving word from the submarshal.”

  “That is only his word, sir, and if I might say so, his interests are not yours.”

  “It is not just his word. One of those dispatches has your signature on it, and its content indicates that you had received dispatches from the submarshal during the time when you insisted there were none. There are also scores of troopers and doubtless several officers who can name the couriers who rode from your headquarters and returned. There are two senior commanders who know that as well.”

  “Their ambition will justify their perjury.”

  Quaeryt had to admire Deucalon’s air of injured outrage, not that he believed in Deucalon’s innocence for a moment.

  “The couriers have no reason to lie, either about their dispatches or about the fact that they were ordered to avoid Commander Quaeryt’s forces. Any reasonable interpretation of your acts would suggest either incompetence or treason,” replied Bhayar.

  “No one will believe your charges, sir. They have been fabricated by this…”

  “Commander Quaeryt has risked his life time and time again over the past years. I allowed you to order attacks that put him and his troopers in danger in battle after battle because I trusted you. I even let you change the attendance for senior officers’ meetings to exclude him. That was wrong on my part, and even more so on yours.”

  “If there was any treason, it was on the part of the submarshal. I have served you loyally, with your best interests at heart.”

  “That may be, but you recommended that Myskyl be made a submarshal and you failed to exercise adequate supervision.”

  “My conscience is clear, sir. I did what I thought best, but I had no idea…” Deucalon stopped abruptly.

  “No idea of what?” asked Bhayar mildly.

  “About whatever it was that Submarshal Myskyl was doing.”

  “You certainly knew that he had collected significant tariffs from the High Holders and factors, but those never reached me. Ignoring orders and keeping tariff revenues from your ruler…” Bhayar shook his head. “Those are not the acts of a loyal marshal.”

  “I acted in your interests, sir.” Deucalon looked pointedly at Quaeryt.

  “No … you decided that Commander Quaeryt was acting against what you thought were your interests, and you decided that your interests were mine. It doesn’t work that way, Deucalon. My interests are yours, not the other way around.”

  “And his are not yours, either.”

  “Actually, they are. He wants a land where imagers and those suspected of imaging are not hounded and killed. Where the Pharsi are treated fairly as well. So do I. He wants a land where wars do not occur between neighbors every generation. So do I. And he wants a land where the ruler does not have to look over his shoulder at those who serve him, wondering who will try to betray him next. That … that, I definitely want.” Bhayar’s voice softened as he asked, “What do you want, Deucalon?” His dark blue eyes fastened on the marshal.

  After a moment Deucalon replied, “A fair hearing, not a trumped-up judgment.”

  Bhayar shook his head. “No, you don’t. If I give you a fair hearing, I’ll have to order your execution. I already have enough evidence to justify that.” Again he looked hard at Deucalon.

  After a long time the marshal looked down.

  “On the other hand,” Bhayar continued, “you have rendered long and diligent service to both my father and me. It may be that this service has created too great a burden on you. For this reason, I will be appointing a new marshal. I am also allowing you to leave my service with a full and honorable stipend…”

  Deucalon’s face hardened, and Quaeryt could see the suppressed anger.

  “… and further, in recognition of your devoted service, especially to my father, you will be granted a large and prosperous high holding. Because of the speed of recent events, I have not had a chance to review all of the holdings available and suitable, but I will decide shortly. In the meantime, you will be my guest here at the Chateau Regis.”

  “Your prisoner,” suggested Deucalon.

  “No. You can come and go as you wish, with one exception. You have been relieved of command, and you are not to meet or communicate with any officers except Commander Quaeryt. Should you do so, you will find that I will be far less generous. Far less.” Bhayar’s voice turned cold with the last words.

  Deucalon looked to Quaeryt.

  Quaeryt image-projected authority and cold certainty.

  Abruptly Deucalon seemed to sag, looking older and tired. “I will do my best to be a loyal High Holder.”

  “You may send for your family, if you so desire,” added Bhayar. “The holding you receive will not be in Telaryn, and they may wish to accompany you to it.”

  “You are most kind.”

  “All your personal i
tems will be brought here,” added Quaeryt.

  “You are most thoughtful, Commander.”

  Quaeryt could hear the faint irony in Deucalon’s words and replied, “I have always attempted to think through everything in a fashion that serves Lord Bhayar most effectively.”

  “He is most fortunate to have your loyalty.”

  “No. I am most fortunate to serve a ruler who acts beyond his anger and looks beyond the moment.” After the slightest pause, Quaeryt added, “So are you.”

  “You may go, Deucalon.” Bhayar turned to Quaeryt. “Commander, you may escort High Holder Deucalon to his quarters. They are the ones two doors down from yours.”

  Quaeryt inclined his head, then gestured toward the door, following the former marshal out into the north corridor. Once outside, he said, “This way, sir.”

  They walked several yards before Deucalon spoke. “You think you saved my life, don’t you?”

  “Lord Bhayar made that decision, based on your long service,” replied Quaeryt.

  “I’ve seen his anger, Commander. And I’ve seen his father’s. Did you recommend my fate to humiliate me?”

  “No. I think you were misled, as was Rescalyn, and it would have served no purpose to have you executed. You will be given, I understand, a good high holding, if one that is somewhat isolated, but prosperous enough that you will be able to live in great comfort.”

  “You and the imagers will be my gaolers.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “The Collegium will serve, if you will, as patrollers of the High Holders and the army command, doing nothing unless a High Holder or a senior officer proves disloyal or commits a heinous crime. There are too few imagers, as you well know, to do otherwise. We can destroy individuals or bodies of troopers, but we cannot follow small crimes or pettiness.”

  “You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you … from the beginning?”

  “Not everything, but most of it. Myskyl and Rescalyn made it necessary if Vaelora and I were to survive.”

  “And when will you become rex?”

  “Never,” said Quaeryt. “Never. That is not my position, nor would that be good for anyone, especially for any children we might have.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “No. I know it.” Quaeryt halted outside the half-open door. “Your quarters, sir.”

  The former marshal looked at Quaeryt for a long time, then said, “You’re the one who will be looking over your shoulder the rest of your life.”

  “I know that, too,” replied Quaeryt. I already have, and what is to come is a small part of the prices yet to pay.

  Abruptly Deucalon turned and pushed the door wide open, walking into the apartments and away from Quaeryt.

  Quaeryt turned and walked toward the grand staircase, leaving the door open.

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  Once Quaeryt had seen Deucalon to his quarters, he confirmed with Vaelora that the quarters on Imagisle were complete, if rudimentary in some aspects, and then conferred with Calkoran and Zhelan about billeting. They also settled on having a squad remaining at Chateau Regis to supplement the single squad from Eleventh Regiment that had been providing guards.

  Bhayar did not invite Quaeryt and Vaelora to eat with him on Jeudi evening, as he had on every other night that Quaeryt had returned from missions or assignments, but took his meals in his apartments. He also sent a note saying that he would meet with Quaeryt at seventh glass on Vendrei morning. Quaeryt and Vaelora ate in the family dining quarters, by themselves, and Vaelora made certain that meals were sent up to Deucalon. Quaeryt wondered if Deucalon would eat them or reject them, fearing poison, although poisoning Deucalon in the Chateau Regis would have defeated the entire purpose of sparing his life.

  Deucalon apparently came to the same conclusion, because the server reported that he had eaten most of what had been sent up—although he had questioned her and seemed pleased to have learned he was eating exactly what Quaeryt and Vaelora were—pork cutlets with fried and seasoned apples and lace potatoes.

  Vaelora and Quaeryt finished eating and repaired to their apartments.

  Much later that evening, Vaelora drew the sheet around her and looked across her pillow at Quaeryt. “You didn’t tell the entire story about what happened at Rivages.”

  “No … I didn’t … but I will … to you, and only you … although the three imagers saw some of it.” With that, Quaeryt related exactly what had happened from the time Myskyl had tried to leave the officers’ salon through what his inspection of the ruins had revealed the following morning. He even pointed out that Elsior had seen the linkage between him and Erion.

  Vaelora asked no questions during his recollection of events.

  When Quaeryt finished, he looked to her and added, “I can’t explain how it happened, but that is what occurred, and I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing against Myskyl and the renegade imagers without Khalis, Lhandor, and Elsior.” He shook his head.

  “You expected treachery from Myskyl. You didn’t expect the imagers.”

  “I should have. We talked about the missing imagers. It made perfect sense that Myskyl would recruit them for his scheme. And I have to believe that Myskyl was the greater traitor, not Rescalyn or Deucalon. Myskyl set both of them up as his stalking horses. I should have seen that much earlier.”

  “That’s in hindsight, dearest. In hindsight.” Vaelora smiled. “And you did … in your dream.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “My own dreams were telling me, and I still didn’t see it.”

  “You couldn’t believe it.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to. That would have meant that I killed the wrong man.”

  “No, dearest. You killed the right men. Rescalyn had to have known what he was doing and why. He was as guilty as Myskyl, if only because he went along with what Myskyl laid out for him, just as Deucalon has.”

  “There was very little hard proof in dealing with Deucalon. Very little compared to the extent of his and Myskyl’s treachery, and he is the marshal that all too many troopers and officers believe led them to victory over the Bovarians. Some of them have never served under any other marshal. I still don’t like the fact that he won’t have to pay…” Quaeryt shook his head again. “Given who he is, it could be that he will pay more in some ways…”

  “Rholan had something to say about that…” ventured Vaelora with a smile between mischievous and sad.

  “You’re still reading and rereading it?”

  “It’s interesting, and there’s more there than meets the eye in a first reading. Just as there is with you, dearest.”

  “So what did Rholan say?”

  “You know. You’ve read the book.”

  “I’m tired. It’s been a very long day. You tell me.”

  “I’ll read it. The writer—or Rholan—says it better than I could.” Keeping the sheet about her, she reached for the bedside table and retrieved the small leatherbound volume, opening it and paging through it. Finally, she reached the page for which she searched and began to read.

  “Rholan said nothing about whether the spirit of a man or even a woman endured after death. What he did say, more than once, was that death was too quick an end for the great Namers and villains. Far greater is the punishment of living and seeing their name die before they do, of never hearing a word about their past greatness. If they die at the height of their villainy, or Naming, for they are opposing sides of the same coin, they die believing in the delusions of their greatness. All greatness fades, some sooner, some later, and for those who pursue Naming and the glory of their accomplishments, and not the accomplishments themselves, a long and lonely life, accomplishments long since forgotten, is far less merciful than a quick death…”

  Vaelora lowered the book. “You see?”

  “It’s a good thing I’ve already learned that,” said Quaeryt dryly. “That’s just another reason not to want to be a marshal or a submarshal.”

  “You have more important tasks ahead,” said
Vaelora.

  “Making the Collegium strong enough to survive and prosper, among other things.” He looked not quite lecherously at his wife.

  “Dearest … you don’t have to make up for absences all at once.”

  “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

  “For a little while, at least.” Her smile was warm. “Besides, what happened at Rivages and the other places while you were there has already proved you were right.”

  Quaeryt suspected he knew what she might say, but he only raised his eyebrows and waited.

  “Voltyr acted as you would have, without instructions, and already your Collegium is bigger than you. I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but Gauswn now has another five students.”

  “In addition to the four he brought?”

  Vaelora nodded. “There will be others, as word spreads that young imagers have powerful protectors in you and Bhayar.”

  “Mostly Bhayar, right now.”

  “Dearest … that is false modesty, and it doesn’t become you. All Bovaria knows who you are and of what you are capable.”

  “That’s not necessarily good.”

  “If you step away from direct power, as you plan, that will make Bhayar seem more powerful in time. It will also reassure people. At the moment, though, all Lydar needs to know of your power.”

  “And, just say, what happens if some ill chance befalls me?”

  “If anything happened to you, Bhayar would have to continue the Collegium.” Her eyes flashed. “That doesn’t mean you can go off and do something stupid. I won’t have you courting ill fate to prove you are what you are. It’s time for others to do that.”

  “I think I’ve done enough foolish things for a lifetime.” Except life always has surprises. We just don’t need any more at the moment.

  “We both have.” Vaelora looked at him shyly. “I’m going to need to be more careful … as well.”

  “You are?”

  “She’ll be a girl. I’m certain.”

  As he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Vaelora—gently—Quaeryt wasn’t about to dispute that.

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