Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “No. You and I together are the only ones. Without your presence in Khel, there would be no chance that the High Council would even have considered his terms. Without your counsel, I would have made too many mistakes.” Even more than I already did.

  “Dearest … I’ve made mistakes as well. Trusting Grellyana was a terrible mistake.”

  “I doubt that it made much difference in the end, not with the mistakes I made,” he replied with a soft laugh.

  They both smiled, and both smiles were rueful.

  “What about Nineteenth Regiment?” asked Vaelora after several moments. “Will you summon Alazyn to join us?”

  “I think not. Skarpa will need all the troopers he has in Liantiago. And it would take weeks for Alazyn to march here, and we don’t have the ships to transport a full regiment and its mounts from Liantiago. Also, another regiment won’t help us in returning to Variana.” Or after we get there, since resolving any problems we face won’t require large battles. “We still have Eleventh Regiment, and it is almost at full strength. First company is at three-quarters strength.”

  “Of a normal company.”

  Quaeryt nodded, acknowledging that first company had set out from Variana with five squads, rather than four, then went on. “I think Calkoran should accompany us, with his first company, so that he can brief Bhayar as well, but Major Zhael and Major Arion and their companies should hold Kephria and Geusyn … what’s left of them.”

  “They should encourage the locals to relocate to Kephria,” suggested Vaelora. “That’s where the traders will come now.”

  “I’ll make certain that they spread the word.” I’ll also make certain that they don’t allow people to build shanties or the like near the harbor. He paused. “I had thought we might find a way to use Rex Kharst’s canal boat on the return, but the Antiagon imagers destroyed it when they fired all the wooden piers in Geusyn.”

  “Trying to use it would just have slowed us down.” Vaelora shifted her weight in the bed, then swung her feet onto the floor. “I need to walk some more.” She leaned forward gingerly and pulled on the low boots.

  Quaeryt rose from the chair beside her bed, then extended his right hand. The end two fingers on his left still refused to move, except slightly, and then only when he tried to close the entire hand. It had been almost half a year since the battle of Variana, and he had come to the conclusion that he might never regain the use of those fingers.

  Vaelora took his hand, but used it only to steady herself for a moment, before she walked toward the gun port that had been sealed for years. Quaeryt walked beside her. With each step, fine ash swirled around their boots, even though the area had been swept just glasses before.

  “It’s warm enough. Let’s walk over to the pier and out to the Zephyr.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I won’t get stronger doing nothing. I’m not bleeding, and my bruises are all healing. Sometimes this happens to women for no reason at all, and they survive. So will I.”

  Quaeryt wasn’t about to argue.

  Once they reached the pier, Quaeryt checked his imaging shields, making sure that they covered both Vaelora and himself. He could feel the effort, most likely because of what he had been doing earlier.

  “Quaeryt…” Vaelora’s voice was cool.

  “Yes?”

  “There are no burn marks left on the stone. There are no cracks or chips. The center section of the pier no longer sags.”

  “I had the pier repaired,” he said blandly.

  “That’s why you look so tired. Just how much imaging did you do?”

  “All of it,” he admitted. “It took much of the morning. I did it a section at a time. It took almost three glasses.” He held up a hand. “The other imagers are needed to rebuild the trooper compound. I could do this alone. Besides, I need to rebuild my own imaging strength.”

  “And you want me to rest?”

  “It’s different.” I didn’t get hit with a tree and lose a child and nearly get burned alive by Antiagon Fire.

  “I may use those words myself … sometime.”

  Quaeryt kept his wince inside himself. “Shall we walk out the pier?”

  “So I can admire your image-crafting and might?”

  “No … so that you can regain your strength in order to tell me where I should take care.” He offered the words lightly and with a smile.

  Vaelora shook her head.

  As they walked, Quaeryt again studied the harbor, empty of all vessels except the three-masted schooner that had brought him, the imager undercaptains, and first company back to Kephria. The waters of the Gulf of Khellor lapped placidly at the stone pillars of the rebuilt pier, the sole remaining one, which had survived the efforts of the Antiagon imagers that had destroyed the others only because it had been built of stone generations earlier. The stone boulevard that circled the harbor also remained, but the only trace of the buildings that had stood there less than a month before were rain-flattened ashes and occasional piles of brick or stone, the remnants of chimneys or the infrequent brick or stone-walled shop. Even after the rain of the previous day, the smell of charred wood remained strong.

  “It’s quiet now,” said Vaelora.

  “It will be for a time, but it’s too good a port not to be rebuilt. It won’t ever rival Solis or Liantiago, or even Kherseilles, but it will serve the south of Bovaria and the north of Antiago.” Quaeryt glanced ahead to the end of the pier where the Zephyr was tied up.

  As Vaelora and Quaeryt neared the schooner, Sario, standing by the gangway, inclined his head to Vaelora. “Lady.” Then he turned his eyes to Quaeryt and raised his eyebrows.

  “With some fortune, Captain,” replied Quaeryt to the unspoken question, “as I said earlier, you should be on your way back to Liantiago within the week. I’ll also suggest some additional recompense from Submarshal Skarpa.” Seeing as he has all the paychests, except for the small one he sent with us.

  “That would be appreciated.” The dark-haired captain replied in heavily accented Antiagon Bovarian. “Will you have troopers remaining here?”

  “We will leave some forces here to keep order while others rebuild, and the remainder of our forces will return to Variana to report to Lord Bhayar … and to see where else we may be needed.”

  “You will always be needed, Commander.” Sario inclined his head. “We await your orders.”

  Vaelora and Quaeryt turned back toward the fort.

  When they reached the foot of the pier, Vaelora looked to her husband. “You need to talk to your officers … if we’re to leave on Jeudi. You can’t do any more here.”

  “More likely Samedi or Solayi,” replied Quaeryt. “The one thing Bhayar would not forgive would be more injury to you.” He may not forgive me for what you have already suffered. He did not tell Vaelora that he had already summoned Khaern, Zhelan, and Calkoran to meet with him at the third glass of the afternoon.

  “Although,” Vaelora added with a smile, “I’d be surprised if you had not already arranged to meet them this afternoon.”

  “I did indeed, and how did you know that?”

  “I know you, dearest.”

  Quaeryt escorted her into the old fort, past the pair of troopers standing guard duty, and into the makeshift quarters area.

  Vaelora sat down on the bed. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “At your command, my lady.” Quaeryt grinned at her.

  “Don’t be impossible, dearest, or I’ll read more about Rholan and quote long passages to you when you return.”

  “There are worse fates,” he quipped.

  “Do you want me to find one?”

  With another grin, Quaeryt shook his head.

  Vaelora gave a soft laugh.

  He bent down and kissed her cheek. “I won’t be too long.”

  “Take the time you need.”

  “I will.” He turned and made his way out of the fort and along the stone walk to the stone boulevard that bordered the eastern end o
f the harbor. As he walked north, he hoped that Vaelora was indeed as strong as she said, although he had to admit that her steps had shown no weakness on the walk up the long pier and back. And she rode the entire distance from Ferravyl to Variana to save you, hardly pausing even for rest.

  Still … he worried. And that wasn’t even accounting for the difficulties they were likely to encounter on the ride back across a still-restive Bovaria.

  The three officers were waiting outside the structure that had once been a small stone blockhouse at the base of where the wall along the south side of the harbor had joined the wall that had once defined the border between Bovaria and Antiago. Now, it was a much larger building, thanks to the four imager undercaptains.

  “Sir,” offered Zhelan.

  Both Khaern and Calkoran inclined their heads.

  “Once the Lady Vaelora is recovered enough to ride, as I suggested yesterday, we will be returning to Variana to report on the results of the mission to Khel and the conquest of Antiago. I’d like each of you to prepare for departure later this week, possibly as early as Vendrei.” Quaeryt paused, wondering if he should mention again that Calkoran and his company would be accompanying them, while Arion and Zhael and their companies would remain to keep order in Kephria. They already know. Don’t repeat yourself.

  Quaeryt turned to Zhelan. “Are there any troopers in first company that should remain here?”

  “No, sir. Those with broken arms and legs can accompany us, and there are none injured more seriously.”

  “What about mounts? Have you found enough between those Calkoran returned with from Khel and the locals?”

  “We’ve obtained some spare mounts locally, and we have enough. We’ve also acquired some packhorses as well, and two wagons. We thought those might be needed.” Zhelan did not smile.

  Quaeryt did see a hint of amusement in the major’s eyes, but he more than appreciated Zhelan’s continual forethought. “Your thoughts were correct, and I appreciate your efforts.” He looked at Khaern. “Eleventh Regiment?”

  “We’re prepared to leave at a day’s notice, sir.”

  “Good. Is there anything I should know?”

  “None of the holders whose holds you destroyed have returned, but … what if they do?”

  “That’s something that Major Zhael and Major Arion will have to deal with, one way or another. They won’t have that many armsmen. The reports the submarshal sent with me indicated that a number of them lost men at Liantiago, and two of the former High Holders likely were killed at Barna. Apparently, Aliaro wanted to use them there, and spare his own troops.”

  “Even were they not,” declared Calkoran, “my officers can handle them.”

  Quaeryt suspected that was not likely even to be a question. “Subcommanders … you can go and inform your men. I need some time to go over some first company matters with Major Zhelan.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In moments, Zhelan and Quaeryt were alone outside the building that would be the trooper headquarters in Kephria.

  “Do you intend to send a dispatch rider or courier before us?” asked Zhelan.

  “I had not thought to,” replied Quaeryt. “What are your thoughts on that?”

  “What you and Submarshal Skarpa have accomplished might best be reported directly. That way there would be no misunderstanding. There would also be no plans based on information that might not be…”

  “Accurate?” suggested Quaeryt.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I think we share the same concerns, Zhelan.” That Myskyl and Marshal Deucalon would use any information against them. Quaeryt paused. “I do appreciate your forethought.”

  “Your concerns were with Lady Vaelora, sir.”

  “Yes, they were. But she is much better. She also feels that we should return to Variana … and not for reasons of her health.”

  “We’ll be ready anytime after Mardi, sir.”

  “Are there any men among the wounded who are especially dependable?”

  Zhelan frowned. “Both Wessyl and Ralor. Wessyl’s arm was broken, but not badly. Ralor has his leg splinted.”

  “I’d like to send them back to Liantiago on the Zephyr with dispatches for the submarshal.”

  “They’d do well, sir.”

  “If you say so, I’m certain they will.”

  All in all, Quaeryt spent more than a glass discussing preparations with Zhelan, before he left to walk back to the fort.

  3

  Just before midmorning on Lundi, as Vaelora and Quaeryt walked northward along the harbor boulevard into a brisk wind under a gray sky, she turned to Quaeryt. “I feel fine.”

  “That may be,” he replied, “but I’d like to see how you feel this afternoon.”

  “I’ll still feel good.”

  “We’ll see,” he replied, glancing to the north as he saw two riders in Telaryn uniform greens riding toward them. Each rider was leading a second mount, one leading the black gelding Quaeryt had ridden in Khel, and the other the black mare Vaelora had ridden. Quaeryt had his doubts about the symbolism, but Calkoran had insisted.

  “That’s Major Zhelan, with another trooper,” Vaelora said. “He needs you for something.”

  “And that means a problem or trouble, if not both.” Whatever it might be, it had happened recently, because Zhelan had not mentioned any difficulties at the morning muster. Nor had Khaern or Calkoran. “It has to be something involving the locals.”

  “Could it be a dispatch rider from Bhayar?”

  “It’s possible, but not likely this early in the day.”

  They stopped and waited for Zhelan to reach them.

  When the major and the ranker reined up, Quaeryt asked, “What is it?”

  “There’s a messenger here from a High Holder Basalyt,” said Zhelan.

  “Basalyt?” Quaeryt frowned. Where had he heard the name? It took him several moments to remember. “One of the southern holders whose hold we leveled because he wouldn’t meet with Vaelora and Skarpa? Is that the one?”

  “I imagine so. He sent a youth, and the boy’s trying not to shake like a leaf in a gale. He’s waiting at the blockhouse.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “He said he was under orders to deliver the message to the submarshal or senior officer in command.”

  “He sent a youth … so we wouldn’t kill him?” Quaeryt shook his head. “I’ll see him … after we escort Lady Vaelora back to the fort. I assume that’s why you brought the mounts.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt looked to Vaelora, raising his eyebrows.

  “Yes … I can certainly ride that far,” she replied, adding in a much lower voice intended only for his ears, “and much farther, dearest.”

  She did accept his offer of a leg up, since there was nothing to serve as a mounting block anywhere near.

  Then Quaeryt mounted and turned in the saddle to look at her as they rode back south toward the fort. “I’m judging that his master likely wants to beg forgiveness and pay tariffs and be a good High Holder. Either that, or he sent the boy to demand his lands back. What do you think?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to allow him to retain his holding … if he’s begging and requesting. And if he’s remotely trustworthy. Under the law, you haven’t actually conveyed his lands to Bhayar yet.”

  “You’ll have to meet with the High Holder as well, then,” Quaeryt told Vaelora.

  “I can do that.”

  “What do I do if he’s not trustworthy or it’s an attempt at something else?”

  Vaelora smiled sadly.

  “I was afraid that would be the answer, not that I disagree with you.” Quaeryt shook his head.

  Once Quaeryt had left Vaelora at the fort, he and Zhelan rode back toward the blockhouse.

  “What do you think of the youth?”

  “He’s well bred. He’s not common. He rode in with two guards.”

  “The High Holder’s son?”

  “Might be. Or his
nephew. Someone he trusts.”

  “It’s a gamble on his part.”

  “Is it, really, sir? If he doesn’t do something, he’s lost everything.”

  “I can’t very well…” Quaeryt broke off his words, deciding that saying more before he met the young man would be premature.

  When Quaeryt reached the blockhouse, he saw how much progress the imager undercaptains had made in rebuilding the former Antiagon structure. The walls, floors, and roof of the new wing looked to be complete. “They’ve done well.”

  “They’re trying to complete the quarters and stables for a battalion before we leave.”

  Quaeryt turned his attention to the full squad of troopers from first company stationed just south of the reconstructed main entrance to the blockhouse. Half were mounted. The others loosely guarded two men in dark blue. Quaeryt dismounted and followed Zhelan inside into the single large room on the ground-floor level.

  Standing on one side was a youth, likely close to full grown, almost as tall as Quaeryt, but still thin, if with fairly broad shoulders. His light brown hair was short and well trimmed, and his riding jacket was a dark blue, with a touch of white piping. His trousers were also dark blue, and his dark brown boots, under a thin coat of dust, had been recently polished. His eyes fixed on Quaeryt, and although he said nothing, those eyes widened as they took in Quaeryt’s snow-white hair and eyebrows … and even the pure white of his fingernails.

  Quaeryt nodded to Zhelan.

  “This is Commander Quaeryt,” stated the major. “He’s the one you sought.”

  “Are you a submarshal, sir?”

  “No, I’m not. The submarshal is in Liantiago. I’m a commander and an envoy with credentials that empower me to make decisions for Lord Bhayar. What do you seek?”

  “I bear a message from Basalyt, the former High Holder of Bartolan, the hold that the armies of Lord Bhayar leveled this winter.”

  “We leveled five holds,” said Quaeryt. “Bartolan was one of the last. I would have thought that the High Holder would have understood the danger by then.”