Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “His choices were few, sir. Bartolan is the smallest.”

  Quaeryt wasn’t about to point out that Bhayar would have defended Bartolan had it pledged allegiance. Based on what the High Holder had likely experienced under Rex Kharst, he would not have believed Quaeryt, Vaelora, or Skarpa. “And you are?”

  “Barlaan, his son and heir.”

  “His sole surviving son?”

  “Yes, sir. My brothers died in the battle of Barna. That was when my sire decided it was best to make peace with Lord Bhayar.”

  “Were you there?”

  “No, sir. My sire was, but he insisted that not all his heirs fight in the same battle.”

  Quaeryt wasn’t certain he would have called the Antiagon attack at Barna a battle, but he merely nodded.

  “Begging your pardon, sir … are you an ancient?”

  “I’ve been called many things, Baarlan, from a lost one to an ancient. I am who and what I am, and that is a commander serving under Lord Bhayar. I’m Pharsi by birth, and most Pharsi call me a lost one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have a message for me?”

  “Yes, sir. You are the commander here?” the youth asked again.

  “I am, but any decision I make must also be approved by the Lady Vaelora. She is also here in Kephria.”

  The youth extended a sealed envelope. Quaeryt stepped forward, took it, and broke the seal. Then he began to read.

  To the Submarshal or Commander:

  I would most humbly apologize for my failures in not recognizing the rule of Lord Bhayar and in failing to pledge allegiance to him and to you who represent his power and his rule. I would request your forbearance and beseech you to allow me to offer in person such allegiance and any recompense that I can offer. As a token of my earnestness and desire to be a faithful holder of Lord Bhayar, I am sending this missive with my sole living son and heir, Barlaan.

  Quaeryt lowered the single sheet and looked at Barlaan. “What orders did your father give you?”

  “To deliver the missive, sir, and to return with your reply. To do so honorably.”

  “To die honorably, if necessary?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “We will meet him here at a glass past noon tomorrow. He is to bring no more than a half squad—that’s ten—retainers or guards. That’s for their safety, not ours. We have close to a regiment and a half of troopers.” He paused. “I’ll write that out, but it will be on the back of his message. We’re a bit short of paper and the like.”

  It took almost a quint to find a pen and some ink for Quaeryt, and a bit longer for him to write out what he had in mind. Then he handed the missive to Barlaan.

  “You and your men are free to leave. You are to accompany your father tomorrow, or we will not meet with him.”

  Quaeryt could see the apprehension in the young man’s eyes. “Barlaan … if we wanted to kill you both, we wouldn’t go through an elaborate charade to do it. Lord Bhayar is more interested in live and faithful High Holders than dead High Holders. Why your sire’s hold was destroyed was because he refused to pledge allegiance. Nothing has happened to any Bovarian High Holder who pledged allegiance.” Not so far as you know … and you hope it stays that way.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier for me just to hold you and ask your father to join us?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go … and carry both messages to your sire.” Quaeryt gestured for the youth to leave the blockhouse.

  After waiting a time, Quaeryt walked to the open door and watched as Barlaan and his men mounted and then rode toward the gap in the wall created by the imagers during the initial capture of Kephria.

  “Will you allow him to pledge allegiance, sir?” asked Zhelan quietly as his eyes followed the youth and his two guards.

  “I’ll have to discuss it with the Lady Vaelora, but my inclination is to accept his allegiance, not to take his life, but not allow him to remain as High Holder.”

  Zhelan nodded. “He should pay some price for his lack of faith.”

  “Oh … it appears that he already has. We just have to make sure that others understand that as well.” Quaeryt turned. “We need to go over the arrangements for tomorrow, and your thoughts about what we need to do to be ready to ride out on Vendrei or Samedi.”

  4

  “No!”

  Vaelora’s cry was so wrenching that Quaeryt, deeply as he was sleeping sometime after midnight, bolted awake instantly. He scrambled up from the pallet on the floor where he slept, less than a yard away from her, to the side of her bed.

  “No!”

  Even in the dimness of the old stone fort, he could see that she was fully awake, her eyes wide, but focused somewhere well beyond Kephria. He stood, looking down at her, afraid to touch her for fear of interrupting what she might be seeing, yet worried about what she might be experiencing.

  Abruptly her eyes focused on Quaeryt, and he bent down. “What was it?” he asked, his arms around her. “A nightmare … or a farsight?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping. I woke up a while ago, maybe a quint or so ago, thinking about how much we have left to do, and worrying about what the Khellan High Council will do … and about what has happened in Variana since we left, and how Bhayar was … and … whether we could … you know, dearest.”

  “I know … and I’m sure we can.” Quaeryt didn’t want to say more, not since it had been such a short time since Vaelora’s injury and miscarriage.

  “Then … out of nowhere, I had this flash.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. Rather … I know, but it didn’t make any sense at all. It was extremely clear. You were standing in a well-lighted room. I didn’t see anyone else. It could have been a High Holder’s study, or a library, even a salon. Then, there was total darkness. You were still there. I could sense you, but there was only darkness … and the darkness was filled with danger.” Vaelora shuddered again. “That was all.” After a moment she added, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you at all.”

  “It wasn’t familiar to you?”

  “No … but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  Quaeryt held her a bit more closely for several moments before he spoke again. “Like the way you didn’t recognize the entrance to the Telaryn Palace years before you were actually there?”

  He could feel her nod.

  “Did I look like I do now … or was I older?”

  “You looked much like you do now … but you’ll look the same for at least a few years more.”

  That doesn’t help much.

  “Don’t ask me more questions. I may have told you too much already.”

  Quaeryt unfortunately understood. As he and Vaelora had discussed before, she feared that his questions would be based on what he thought and expected and not what her farsight really had shown … and too many questions could result in him misleading himself and creating even more problems when whatever she had foreseen did occur.

  “Just hold me.”

  Quaeryt did, shifting his weight slightly on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t help wondering what her farsight portended … or when and where those events might occur.

  5

  After morning muster on Mardi, Quaeryt and Vaelora, accompanied by a half squad of troopers from first company, rode through the ruins of Kephria, while Quaeryt, often prompted by Vaelora, took notes—in Bovarian, since Zhael and Arion would need to be able to read them—about what buildings should be allowed where, and where no buildings should be constructed. Assuming anyone even shows up to build anything, thought Quaeryt, although he and Zhelan and Calkoran had already put together a rough plan and location for the trooper compound around the buildings the imager undercaptains were already imaging into being.

  Then, a quint past noon, after Valeora had rested for a glass, and Quaeryt managed to avoid asking more questions about her farsight, she and Quaeryt rode over to the “new” trooper headquarters
building that the imagers had created from the old blockhouse.

  “It’s amazing what the four of them have done in four days,” said Vaelora, taking in the front courtyard, and the barracks building to the east of the headquarters, a structure that Quaeryt knew was essentially an empty but solid shell that would provide shelter, but would require a great deal of work by Arion’s and Zhael’s men to make it comfortable.

  The two dismounted. Quaeryt tied both mounts to the hitching rail on the west side of the entrance. They walked toward the single heavy oak door.

  Vaelora stopped and pointed to the image cut into the flat white stone set into the wall above the door—two troopers riding through a sundered wall toward a paved road. “That’s you and Skarpa, I think.”

  Quaeryt glanced up. “It could be any two officers.”

  “Yes, dearest,” replied Vaelora in the falsely sweet voice that told Quaeryt he was wrong, but that she was being too nice to contradict him in public.

  “Thank you, dear Lady,” he said, grinning at her.

  The two had barely stepped through the door than Baelthm, the oldest of all of the imager undercaptains, stepped forward. “Commander, Lady.” He nodded and then said, “I did the tables and chairs just like you ordered, sir, the longer one for you and Lady Vaelora, and the shorter one for the holder and his son.”

  “And you and Lhandor did the image over the entry?”

  “Well … sir. We’ve been in haste, knowing that we needed to do all we could for the Khellan companies before we ride out. So Lhandor, he just drew the image in charcoal on the stone, and every so often I imaged out a piece here and there till it was done.”

  “It’s excellent,” said Vaelora.

  “We do what we can, Lady Vaelora.”

  “You do it well.”

  “Thank you, Lady.” Baelthm beamed.

  “And thank you for the work on the tables and chairs. I appreciate it, and I’m certain that the Khellans will also after we leave.” After seeing—again—what Lhandor and Baelthm had accomplished, Quaeryt wished that he had the artistic skill that they had. But when have you had time for art?

  That, too, was another reason why he wanted a secure place for imagers—so that imaging did not have to be entirely about wielding power just to assure the survival of the few handfuls of imagers born in Lydar every year.

  At roughly a quint before the first glass of the afternoon, Quaeryt walked outside the headquarters building, leaving Vaelora inside, flanked and shielded by Khalis and Lhandor. A half squad of troopers from first company, with Undercaptain Ghaelyn in charge, mounted and then formed up to the south of the entrance, leaving Quaeryt standing alone directly before the building entry. Before long, Quaeryt caught sight of a group of riders, twelve in all. They rode through the gap in the northern wall and along the stone-paved road that led southward, parallel to the remaining wall that bordered the Gulf. Then they turned onto the shorter and more recently imaged pavement leading to the trooper compound.

  As they neared, Quaeryt could see that the ten guards all wore blue uniforms with white piping, as did Barlaan, who rode at the fore beside an older graying man with his right arm in a sling. The older man, presumably former High Holder Basalyt, wore a pale blue shirt and a dark blue jacket with one arm and shoulder free and tucked under the sling. Barlaan kept looking at the walls of the stable, walls that had not been there the day before. Finally, he leaned toward the graying older man, almost certainly his sire, and said something.

  The older man offered a short reply, and Barlaan nodded.

  The twelve riders reined up short of Quaeryt and the troopers.

  “Welcome to Kephria,” offered Quaeryt politely, but firmly.

  From the saddle, Basalyt studied Quaeryt, then inclined his head. “Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your hearing me out.” He paused, but briefly, then said, “I can see that there is little left of Kephria, and I have heard that there is less remaining of Geusyn and of Ephra.”

  “That’s largely true,” admitted Quaeryt. “Except for Lord Bhayar’s forces, of course, and the compound here. That will change before long.” You hope.

  “Is it true that Autarch Aliaro is dead and that Lord Bhayar’s forces hold Liantiago?”

  “We have to presume that the Autarch is dead, since there is nothing left of that section of the city, and all that were within the palace perished. There are seven full regiments there.”

  Basalyt nodded slowly.

  “I’m not the only one who must hear you. Lady Vaelora awaits us inside.” Quaeryt gestured to the door.

  Barlaan dismounted, and moved toward his father’s mount, but Basalyt dismounted with the ease of long practice. Quaeryt did notice the wince as the holder’s boots struck the stone pavement.

  “Might I ask her role and position in this?” inquired Basalyt politely.

  “She is Lord Bhayar’s sister. She was and is his envoy to Khel and was in command here until I returned. Her leadership preserved the regiment and battalion stationed here.”

  Basalyt frowned, if momentarily, then took several steps toward Quaeryt before stopping.

  “Sir … I’d not thought I’d ever see an ancient in the flesh. I see why Lord Bhayar holds Bovaria. But … given your power…”

  “Why is the Lady Vaelora here? For several reasons. First, because Lord Bhayar commanded it. Second, because she was given the authority to deal with High Holders who refused to pledge allegiance to Lord Bhayar. Third, because she sees what I do not.” Quaeryt smiled cheerfully. “Shall we enter? Your men can wait here.” He turned and walked through the door a ranker opened and into the main room.

  Vaelora stood behind the table, still flanked by Khalis and Lhandor.

  Quaeryt walked to the table, where he turned and stood beside her.

  “You may be seated,” said Vaelora.

  Quaeryt could sense the aura of command emanating from her. Barlaan was clearly shaken, and Basalyt inclined his head. “Thank you, Lady.”

  Vaelora and Quaeryt seated themselves simultaneously.

  “You requested this meeting,” Quaeryt began. “You refused to meet with Lady Vaelora and Submarshal Skarpa, and you did not pledge allegiance to Lord Bhayar. Why should Lord Bhayar accept that allegiance now and restore your lands to you?”

  Basalyt looked directly at Vaelora. “Might I ask, Lady … if I am dealing with you…?”

  “You are not dealing with just me,” replied Vaelora. “Lord Bhayar also appointed Commander Quaeryt as envoy. He trusts the commander absolutely. It is also because the commander destroyed the entire Bovarian army. You are dealing with both of us. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Lady. Yes, Commander.” Basalyt shifted his weight in the wooden chair. “The answer to your question is simple, Commander. I had no choice. If I had agreed to meet with anyone representing Lord Bhayar, all the neighboring High Holders would have immediately attacked and murdered me and my entire family.”

  “Why?” Vaelora’s voice was as smooth and as cold as liquid ice.

  “Because Bartolan was the smallest and weakest holding, and because Chaelaet and Duravyt had sent nearly a hundred armed men to Bartolan. You must have seen Bartolan. Our walls were barely two and a half yards high, and I could not afford more than thirty armsmen. They insisted that we stand together. They asked how a ruler who had not even finished the conquest of Bovaria could possibly force demands on us when Rex Kharst had been unable to do so. I was in no position to argue. So we took what we could and left the rest. We thought we would be able to return once you passed through. None of us ever dreamed that you and your forces could destroy any holding, let alone five, so quickly and so thoroughly.”

  “We sent messages to the remaining four of you after we leveled Chaelaet,” Quaeryt pointed out.

  “It was too late then. Chaelaet had forced his men upon us.”

  Vaelora looked to Barlaan. “How did Chaelaet enter your hold? You tell me.”

  Barlaan swallowed. “He rode up w
ith ten men. I think it was ten, and he said he had good news about the Telaryn forces. He often visited, and Challan—he’d paid court to my older sister. That was before she died of the flux. Then, there were scores of men inside the gates, and he told Fa—my sire that he had paid dearly, and so had Duravyt, and that they would not be the only ones who paid.”

  Quaeryt image-projected both power and a compulsion to tell the truth as he addressed Basalyt. “You had time to respond before Chaelaet stormed your holding. Why did you not appeal for protection?”

  Basalyt laughed softly, but bitterly. “Never has a rex of Bovaria protected a High Holder. How was I to know that Lord Bhayar would do so? No High Holder would have dared to make such an appeal to Rex Kharst. If I had done so, I would have lost everything.”

  Unfortunately, as Quaeryt had already discovered, Basalyt had an excellent point.

  “Would it not have been wiser to try?” asked Vaelora.

  “I know that now, Lady. But it is far easier to say that one should have avoided the hidden pit on the road after one has fallen in.”

  “You have yet to answer the question as to why Lord Bhayar should allow you to pledge allegiance now and restore some, or any, of your lands,” said Quaeryt.

  “I will be a faithful High Holder, now that I know who rules and how. I also have managed well, and Bartolan is prosperous, if smaller than other holdings. I did not spend golds on armsmen, and that cost me dearly. I have but one son remaining, and no daughters. It cannot hurt your lord to retain the one surviving High Holder in the south—”

  “Were all of the border holders at Barna?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Four of the five were, Commander. Gaaslon was not. He took all his golds and made his way toward Hassyl. He said he could not fight a son of Erion and Lord Bhayar and that he and his family would leave Lydar before submitting to the whelp of a Yaran warlord.”

  Quaeryt could sense Vaelora stiffening, but he merely smiled politely. “He is welcome to his opinion. He has paid dearly for it.” He turned to Vaelora and raised his eyebrows to inquire if she had any more questions.