As they rode past, Quaeryt saw no indication of who the High Holder might be, although the well-kept grounds and thin trails of smoke from more than a few chimneys indicated that the holding was definitely in use.
“I would have thought,” ventured Vaelora, “that the High Holder might have had some interest in better roads.”
“His holding is on the river, and it’s deep enough, barely, for travel and probably for small boats to bring goods down from Eluthyn. The last thing he’d have wanted is good roads for Kharst’s forces to be able to reach him easily.”
“So they all let the roads deteriorate to make it harder for Kharst to reach them?”
“Given what you know about him, wouldn’t you?”
Vaelora just shook her head.
“That brings up one other thing that has bothered me, on and off,” Quaeryt ventured.
“Which is, dearest?”
“Imagers. There were always rumors that Kharst had imagers. We never encountered any. No one has mentioned them, either.”
“That’s not surprising,” she replied. “When you turned the battlefield at Variana and the Chateau Regis to ice, you likely killed almost everyone who knew anything … and possibly the imagers themselves … if there were any. If they weren’t there, don’t you think they would have gone into hiding or fled?”
“Because of what they did for Kharst?”
“Well … anyone who had a company of assassins…”
Quaeryt nodded, but he wondered if they’d ever really find out.
Less than a glass later, they rode into Eelan, an old river town, with two river piers, old enough to look like they should sag out over the water, although they did not, and a single inn, across the river square from the piers. Clean and tidy as it was, the Silver Swan had seen better days, with slightly sagging and worn floorboards, and a public room. Every building in the town appeared to have been constructed of the same pale yellow brick that they had seen at the holding.
After the initial meeting with the innkeeper, Quaeryt left the details of settling the men in to Zhelan and Khaern. Barely allowing Vaelora a chance to wash up, he requested a squad of troopers from Eleventh Regiment to accompany him and Vaelora back to the high holding. Khalis also rode with them, before Quaeryt and Vaelora and alongside squad leader Kezyn.
They had scarcely ridden away from the inn when Vaelora turned in the saddle and said, “Do tell me we’re doing this now so that we don’t have to spend another day here.”
“That’s precisely why we’re doing it.” Quaeryt glanced at the small chandlery on the west side of the main street, its shutters already closed for the day, even though it was barely past fifth glass.
“What is the name of the High Holder?” asked Vaelora.
“I told you. It’s Nephyl—”
“You may have told me, dearest, but you didn’t bother to see if I happened to be where I could hear what you had to say.”
Quaeryt held in a wince, and continued. “He has some contact with the town, but seldom has visitors from the north, except by the river … and not many of those. The innkeeper said that his family was here before the town, or so the story goes, and that his bricks built all of Eelan, all of Faantyl, and much of Daaren.”
“I didn’t see much sign of a brickworks.”
“It’s supposedly on the other side of the river, downstream and out of sight. The good High Holder doubtless did not wish his view spoiled.”
When they reached the gates, Kezyn gestured, and a trooper dismounted and walked to the gates.
“The gates are locked, sir.”
“Stand back, if you would,” ordered Quaeryt, who gestured to Khalis.
The trooper backed away, and the undercaptain imaged away a link of the heavy iron chain.
“Try it now.”
The trooper unwound the chain and then pulled back one gate, then the other. Both creaked loudly.
Quaeryt studied the short brick-paved apron leading to the gate, then nodded. “No recent tracks. Most visitors and supplies come by river.” He looked to Khalis. “Shields up. Lead the way to the side entry.”
Khalis led the way along the brick-paved lane to the entry on the north side of the hold house.
As they neared, Quaeryt could see that another brick lane angled up from a pier and boathouse on the river some ten yards lower than the side terrace that appeared to serve as a receiving portico. No one appeared on the unroofed terrace, which had four gray stone pillars on the east side and four on the west river side. Three wide steps ran from the paved lane up to the portico terrace.
A gray-haired man in pale yellow livery, trimmed in white, stepped out onto the side portico, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Lady Vaelora and Commander Quaeryt are here to see High Holder Nephyl,” announced Khalis.
“He is not receiving,” announced the functionary.
“I don’t think you understand,” said Khalis. “Lady Vaelora is an envoy and the sister of Lord Bhayar, who now rules Bovaria. Your master can receive them … or he can contemplate his failure to do so amid the ruin of his holding.”
“I do not believe—”
Before the man could complete his sentence, Khalis imaged away the first two pillars on the left side of the receiving terrace.
The functionary swallowed. “I will convey your message.” He did not quite bolt inside.
In moments, a short and slender figure in an elegant blue jacket, a white ruffled shirt, and gray trousers above polished black boots appeared. His eyes darted to the missing section of the portico, and he smiled wryly as he turned to face Khalis, Quaeryt, and Vaelora. “I see that Vheran was not exaggerating. I’m Nephyl, current holder, if recently. Welcome to Lehyln. We did see your forces pass earlier. Will you be requiring the holding for quarters or the like?”
“No … not unless matters deteriorate,” replied Quaeryt. “We were passing through on our return to Variana, and the Lady Vaelora thought we should pay our respects.”
“You’re welcome to enter, and we would be happy to receive you…”
Quaeryt smiled. “Thank you. Of necessity, our visit will be short. Undercaptain Khalis and the troopers will remain here. Khalis is, of course, quite capable of bringing down the entire holding by himself.”
“I had heard that Lord Bhayar’s forces were not unduly bothered by obstacles that had in the past thwarted other conquerors.”
Quaeryt dismounted and extended a hand to Vaelora.
Her fingers barely touched his as she vaulted down from the saddle, a gesture expressing appreciation while making the point that she needed no aid. “Thank you.”
As Quaeryt and Vaelora walked toward the slender holder, half a head shorter than Quaeryt, who was barely taller than average, Nephyl studied the two from behind a pleasant smile. Quaeryt maintained shields covering both himself and Vaelora.
The holder gestured toward the open door, then stepped through and led the way. Beyond the wide but single door was a modest entry hall with a slightly raised ceiling and a floor tiled in pale yellow and a dark gray. Waiting was a black-haired maid in the pale yellow livery of the hold. She stepped forward to take Vaelora’s riding jacket, then looked at her closely. Her eyes widened and went to Quaeryt, running from his brilliant white hair and eyebrows, even to his fingers. She said nothing, but took Vaelora’s jacket and Quaeryt’s visor cap, bowed, and immediately retreated down a narrow hall immediately to the right.
“We had not expected visitors,” said Nephyl, “and what refreshments we can offer are perforce limited.”
“We understand,” replied Quaeryt. “We had not intended to be visitors, but we could not pass up the opportunity to visit another High Holder.”
“You have visited many?”
Quaeryt frowned, trying to make a quick mental calculation. “I would say a score or more, in one fashion or another, but that is just an estimate.”
“You are the seventh hold in southern Bovaria,” added Vaelora.
Quaeryt’s eyes darted to the narrow side hall where he saw the maid whispering something to a taller young woman with curly brown hair, wearing a hip-length gray silk jacket over gray trousers and a bright yellow silk blouse. The taller woman slipped away from the maid and hurried into the entry hall.
“My wife, Mergiana.”
“I apologize. I had just come in from riding. We had not expected such distinguished personages.” Mergiana’s voice was warm, although her smile was tentative.
“We’re pleased to meet you,” said Vaelora warmly.
“If you would join us in the salon,” suggested Nephyl. “It does have a lovely view of the river.”
Quaeryt stayed close to Vaelora, his shields covering them both, as they followed the couple, both far closer to Vaelora’s age than Quaeryt’s, down the larger corridor that led straight back from the entry hall. Mergiana leaned toward her husband and murmured a few words. While Quaeryt could not hear them, he could sense the urgency behind them, and he strengthened his shields.
Some twenty yards down the corridor was an archway into a large chamber that stretched some fifteen yards toward the river. Wide windows overlooked a roofed terrace beyond, the roof clearly being necessary so that those on the terrace could enjoy the breezes and the river view in late afternoon.
Nephyl gestured toward a settee and the chairs flanking it, all facing the river.
Quaeryt guided Vaelora to the far end of the settee, then stood beside the chair, waiting for the holder and his wife to take their places, seating himself as they did, with Mergiana taking the place beside Vaelora.
“My wife informs me that you, Commander, are somewhat more than a commander, and that the lady is also more than that.”
Quaeryt smiled. “I am a commander in the Telaryn forces, and I do have the honor to be married to Lady Vaelora, who is indeed the sister of Lord Bhayar, and who is returning from a mission as envoy to the High Council of Khel.”
Nephyl frowned, as if uncertain as to what else he might say without being impolite.
“I believe my husband was referring to the fact that you both appear to have a Naedaran background, and such is rare these days.”
“It is no secret that Lord Bhayar’s family is half Pharsi,” said Quaeryt, “and I was an orphan who did not discover I was of Pharsi blood until I was full grown.”
“My maid Semila is of that background,” pursued Mergiana. “She says that you bear all the … attributes of those who are sometimes called sons of Erion.”
Quaeryt shrugged, as if helpless to refute the statement.
“My husband can be modest about such,” said Vaelora. “He has always believed that actions define someone better than words. He is the most effective commander in all my brother’s armies. He just returned from the conquest of Antiago.”
“Antiago…? It is also in Lord Bhayar’s hands?” asked Nephyl. “What of the Autarch … and his Antiagon Fire … and imagers?”
“The Autarch and most of his troopers are dead, as are most of the imagers,” replied Quaeryt. “We also destroyed perhaps seven or eight warships as well. Submarshal Skarpa is acting governor of Antiago.”
“The world has changed … greatly … in the last year,” said Nephyl slowly.
“It will continue to change in the year to come,” observed Quaeryt. “You may have received a summons to pay a token tariff for the past year. If you have not, you will.”
“Token? How great a token … if I might ask?”
“A hundred golds, I believe.”
“Some might not consider that a token.”
“Perhaps not, but he is also requiring token tariffs from the factors, and there is much that needs to be done in Bovaria, such matters as rebuilding neglected roads and applying the same laws to all. Lord Bhayar would prefer not to remove High Holders, but he will do so if they do not pledge allegiance to him and pay their tariffs.”
“I had not heard…”
“There were four High Holders near Kephria,” said Vaelora. “They did not believe the commander. Their holds no longer exist. There is not a stone remaining. There are other High Holders who did. Outside of the token payment, and occasionally the purchase of supplies at a cheaper rate, they remain untouched.”
“Lord Bhayar is a man of his word,” declared Quaeryt.
“And so are you, it is said,” suggested Mergiana. “Can you assure us—” She stopped at a sharp gesture from Nephyl.
“We have no intention of doing you any harm,” replied Quaeryt. “Lord Bhayar expects allegiance and loyalty. We’re here to let you know that, not to strip your holding or destroy it.” He smiled politely. “I understand that your holding is known for the fine pale yellow bricks that appear to have built every structure in Eelan, Faantyl, and many elsewhere, as in Daaren. Tell me about that, if you would.”
“Ah … yes.” Nephyl cleared his throat. “My great-great-grandsire was fortunate enough to discover that the lands on the far side of the Phraan contain great deposits of a fine clay…”
Quaeryt listened, but remained alert. So did Vaelora.
12
In the end, Quaeryt and Vaelora only stayed a little over a glass at Lehyln before they returned to Eelan. Although staying at Lehyln would have been far more comfortable than at the Silver Swan, Quaeryt wanted to save his impositions on High Holders for the times when they were truly necessary. He also hoped the combination of power and forbearance would make an impression on Nephyl and Mergiana, but there were times when he wondered if anything except absolute power made any impression on anyone. Still … he felt he had to try. And hope it won’t be your undoing.
Both Vaelora and Quaeryt were happy to leave Eelan early on Samedi morning. Again they found the road to the north a packed dirt track in the middle of what once had been a road almost twice as wide. They also managed to travel almost fifteen milles before Quaeryt and the imager undercaptains had to replace and rebuild yet another bridge.
By the following Meredi afternoon, as they neared the town of Berryhyl, Quaeryt could take a certain satisfaction in the number of bridges and causeways that they had improved or replaced. At the same time, he was astounded and amazed at the number. Was that a passive defense against the depredations of Kharst and his predecessors? Or did Kharst create his elite corps of crossbow assassins because the roads precluded use of troopers with any haste? Or did they go together?
Quaeryt doubted that he’d ever discover an answer. He did know that one likely duty for imagers in the years ahead would be the gradual improvement of roads, if only to bring them up closer to the standards of Telaryn highways.
As he and Vaelora rode closer to the town, he saw low hill after low hill seemingly covered with bushes set in neat rows. A closer look showed that on more than half of the hills the bushes appeared not to have been that well tended recently, with undergrowth around them, and in places, goats, sheep, and cattle grazing in, on, or around the bushes.
Quaeryt did notice one young shepherd take a look at the troopers and immediately begin to use his dog and his staff to try to move the flock up over the hill and out of sight of the road.
“He didn’t want us getting any ideas,” observed Vaelora.
“Something like that,” said Quaeryt.
Then, in the midst of the hills filled with berries, was a larger hill on the east side of the road. The top of the hill bore traces of a fire, and there were clumps of stone and brick scattered down from the crest across ground that held but a few scattered scraggly bushes and patches of weeds. The devastation continued on the slope west of the road, all the way down to the Phraan River, where Quaeryt could make out the charred remnants of several piers, some scarcely above the water, but most below it and barely visible.
“It looks like someone salted the ground,” said Vaelora. “Is this what you were telling me you’d seen along the Aluse on your way to Variana?”
“This looks older, but the holding’s been treated the same way.”
�
�You think it was Kharst?”
“More likely his father or grandfather.”
“And they didn’t give the lands to another High Holder?”
“If they did, whoever received them doesn’t seem to care much for them.”
Vaelora shook her head.
Farther north of the devastated hold, for almost a mille, the berry-bush-covered hills continued. Then past a stone wall in advanced disrepair, there was a small holding with neatly trimmed and tended trees, apple trees, Quaeryt thought.
A few hundred yards later was another millestone: BERRYHYL—2 M.
Quaeryt gestured to Vaelora, then called to Zhelan, riding ahead of them with Baelthm. “Major?”
“Yes, sir?”
“According to the maps, there’s nowhere else to stay for at least another ten milles, and it’s already past fourth glass. If there’s anything that looks feasible here…”
“Yes, sir.”
Even from the southern edge of the town proper, with older, if small, stone and timber houses, all neatly kept, Quaeryt gained the impression of a place that had once been prosperous, but that still took pride in its appearance. They rode past several dwellings that looked to be empty, but which were still well kept.
There was a large inn on the square. That Quaeryt could see from three blocks south. By the time they reached the square, it was clear that the three-story Berry Inn was the largest inn they’d seen since Daaren, and possibly even larger than the Grande Laar Inn there. Its timber and stone construction gave it a more rustic appearance. Quaeryt did see that all the windows on the south wing were shuttered, but even the shuttered wing seemed to be well maintained.
A glass later, Quaeryt and Brem, the innkeeper, a muscular but trim graybeard, had reached a satisfactory arrangement, and Vaelora, Quaeryt, and Brem sat at a circular table in the spacious public room.
“It’s slow this time of year,” admitted Brem. “When berrying season comes round, we get more visitors. Still can’t fill the inn, not like in the old days.”
Rex Regis Page 7