Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  A little before noon, he rode out from Chateau Regis, heading along the road toward the Nord Bridge, accompanied by four rankers, the smallest number that seemed appropriate for a commander and a minister. He also carried full imaging shields, both to maintain his abilities and with the awareness that after what had happened to Skarpa there was always the possibility, however small, that he could be a target.

  The sky was overcast, unlike the previous days, and a cool, almost chill, wind blew out of the northwest, where in the distance Quaeryt could see darker clouds, but the gray clouds overhead were high enough that he didn’t expect rain immediately. Whether the rain would hold off until he was back at the Chateau Regis was another question.

  While people on the street glanced at him, taking in the uniform of a Telaryn officer, the looks were almost cursory—as they had been in most places in Bovaria after the initial shock of seeing Telaryn forces had passed. Almost, mused Quaeryt, as if who ruled mattered far less than how they rule. Or perhaps the apparent attitudes of people reflected a fatalistic feeling that Bhayar and his troopers couldn’t possibly be any worse than what they had endured under Rex Kharst and his sire. There did seem to be more vendors and people along the north road, but whether that was because of the improvements to the road or simply because life was getting back to a normal fashion was something Quaeryt had no way of telling.

  Had he not made inquiries he might well have dismissed the modest structure situated on the corner of the east river road and an unnamed lane just past the Hotel D’Variana, which looked less imposing than many inns he had encountered over the past two years. He reined up outside the small two-story building, dismounted, and handed the gelding’s reins to the nearest ranker.

  “I hope not to be too long, but one never knows…”

  “We’ll be here, sir.”

  Quaeryt strode toward the door, almost stumbling as his left boot heel caught the top riser of the three stone steps leading to the entry. He caught himself, opened the door, and stepped into a small and low-ceilinged entry hall.

  The clerk seated behind a narrow table in the middle of the hall looked up as Quaeryt walked toward him. His eyes widened as he took in the uniform and Quaeryt. “Sir?”

  “Commander Quaeryt. I’m also Minister of Administration and Supply for Lord Bhayar. I’m here to see Factor Chaekyr.”

  “Is he … expecting you?”

  “I hope not, but he will wish to see me.” Quaeryt projected a sense of authority.

  “I will tell him you’re here, sir.” The clerk rose and headed for the door at the right side of the hall, through which he disappeared after opening and closing it barely enough to squeeze through.

  Quaeryt waited, not terribly long, but enough to observe a fly making several circuits around the table that the clerk had hastily vacated, before the clerk returned.

  “Factor Chaekyr will be happy to see you, sir.”

  Happy? I think not. “Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded and made his way to the door that had been left just slightly ajar, stepping through it, and closing it behind himself.

  Chaekyr D’Factorius had dark brown wavy hair, pale and watery green eyes, and a full square-cut beard of a shade redder than his hair. He looked to be roughly ten years older than Quaeryt as he rose from behind a broad and empty polished wooden desk that was likely older than Quaeryt.

  “What can I do for you, Commander? Or is it ‘Minister’?”

  “It’s both, but ‘Commander’ will do for now. I’m here to discuss the price of flour and other supplies.” Quaeryt gestured for Chaekyr to sit, then sat down in the left chair of the two facing the head of the factors’ council of Variana.

  Chaekyr frowned. “I don’t see what that has to do with me. Prices are set by each individual factor, not by the council.”

  “Once … I would have thought that as well.” Quaeryt smiled politely. “I doubt you know this, but I served as the princeps to Governor Straesyr of Tilbor. The princeps deals with matters of commerce. Then I was appointed governor of Montagne. The war came along, and Lord Bhayar needed my talents in that fashion. Recently, Lady Vaelora and I concluded a mission to Khel. Along the way, we encountered, shall we say, a misunderstanding about grain and flour shipments from Laaryn, and I had to investigate how prices were set…” Quaeryt looked directly at Chaekyr. “Now, I find, as was the case in Laaryn, that every factor who supplies grain and flour, as well as other items, sets his price at exactly the same level as any other factor, and that price is far higher than it was before or during the war. Some of that, obviously, occurs because we are farther from last year’s harvest. That, I understand. A gold and two silvers for a barrel of flour, I don’t. Especially when it appears that others pay lower prices.” That was a calculated guess on Quaeryt’s part, but it fit the patterns he’d seen.

  “I cannot tell others at what price…”

  “Head factor…” Quaeryt said mildly, but projecting authority. “I am merely suggesting that those factors who attempt to obtain excessive prices for goods traded at lower prices to those besides Lord Bhayar’s forces are acting most unwisely, particularly since it appears most likely Lord Bhayar and his successors will be ruling Variana for many, many years.”

  “What do you expect of me, Commander?”

  “Expect? From what I have thus far seen of factors here … very little. But … if a chief factor were wise, truly wise, he might explain to other factors that pursuing excessive gains in the short run might lead to changes that they would find most … unsatisfactory in the long run. And if prices remain high, it is possible that the long run will arrive rather soon.”

  “I still do not see…”

  Quaeryt smiled again, tired as he was of the game. “As Minister of Administration and Supply for Bovaria, with Lord Bhayar’s approval, I can issue laws affecting commerce and trade. I would prefer not to. Lord Bhayar would also prefer that, but that preference will change if he finds that his forces are paying higher prices than others. The laws will change, and those who break the laws will find themselves broken. There is at least one factor in Laaryn sentenced to death for his failures. Now … it would seem that such unpleasantness is unnecessary … unless greed cannot be restrained by your factors.”

  Chaekyr took out a large white kerchief and blotted his forehead. “Rather warm in here, I find.”

  “It could be much warmer.”

  “I take your point, Commander. You understand that I can only pass on your words.”

  “I do indeed. I also understand that the chief factor can be most persuasive … or he would not be chief factor.”

  “Not always so persuasive, I fear, as some think.”

  “That is also true.” Quaeryt shrugged. “But replacing a chief factor who offers good counsel with one who would refuse to see what well might occur would suggest that greater … oversight of the factors might well be necessary.” He extended a sheet of paper. “This is a listing of those factors who provided identical prices to Lord Bhayar’s forces. We would not be so concerned about the fact that the prices were similar, because prices in trade do tend to gather around the same level … but when they are identical and excessive for but one buyer…”

  “I see your point, Commander, and I will endeavor to convey that to the factors in question … as well as others.”

  “For now … I can ask no more. I look forward to your success.” Quaeryt smiled a last time, then rose, nodding to Chaekyr before turning and leaving.

  On the ride back to the Chateau Regis, Quaeryt shook his head more than once in thinking over his meeting with Chaekyr. While he’d been more diplomatic in dealing with the chief factor than he had been in Montagne, he had no doubts that he’d come across as less than tactful to the politely slimy factors of Variana. How can you be tactful to men whose only god is not the Nameless but the pursuit of golds at any cost to anyone but themselves? Without a resort to force on your part, or the threat of it, nothing will change their conduct and practices.

>   * * *

  Quaeryt had barely dismounted in the courtyard of the Chateau Regis when an older ranker limped forward toward him.

  “Commander, sir … Lord Bhayar would see you immediately in his study.”

  “Thank you. I’m on my way.” Now what?

  For the first time in weeks, Quaeryt actually found Bhayar seated behind his desk. The lord motioned for Quaeryt to sit down.

  “You requested me?”

  “Where were you? With the imagers?”

  “No. I was meeting with the chief factor of the factors’ council of Variana about excessive prices charged to Deucalon by local factors.”

  “And?”

  “I was more diplomatic. I suggested that he might persuade the factors to be reasonable, but that you have little patience for greed at the expense of your forces.”

  “If he doesn’t?”

  “I’ll have to be more direct.”

  Bhayar nodded. “There’s a High Holder’s widow who wants to see me. It’s something about inheritances and the like. See if you can resolve it. She’s in the small audience room.”

  “Along the lines we discussed?”

  “Just don’t go farther.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good.” Bhayar waved Quaeryt away.

  Quaeryt made his way across the hall and down two doors, where another ranker opened the door for him.

  “Good afternoon, Commander.” The ranker inclined his head.

  “The same to you.”

  The blond woman seated in one of the chairs at the side of the chamber rose immediately as Quaeryt entered. A momentary frown passed across her brow and then vanished.

  “Good afternoon, Lady.” Quaeryt stopped a yard or so from the woman and studied her.

  She was tall, if not quite so tall as Vaelora, and fair-skinned, with penetrating gray eyes, although those eyes had dark circles under them. Quaeryt judged her to be roughly his age. She wore a tailored black skirt, a dark silver-gray blouse, and a black jacket that matched the ankle-length skirt that showed polished riding boots. Her hair was drawn back from her face.

  “You’re not Lord Bhayar. Who are you?”

  “I’m Commander Quaeryt. He asked me to meet with you. You are?”

  “What can you do about High Holder inheritances?” Her tone was somewhere between angry and resigned.

  Quaeryt also detected a strong accent in her Bovarian that he could not immediately place. He replied in Tellan. “I can see that whatever your difficulty may be is either addressed or not.”

  “Or not?”

  Quaeryt smiled and waited.

  “Oh … I’m sorry. I’m Tyrena D’Ryel. At least for the moment.” Her Tellan—and her name—suggested several things.

  “You are the widow of High Holder Ryel, the late minister of waterways and the reputed spymaster of Rex Kharst?”

  “Not reputed. All Bovaria appeared to know that.” Her voice was firm.

  “You are concerned about the holding … and what will become of it … and you?” Quaeryt reverted to Bovarian.

  “In my place, would you not be?” she replied in her lightly accented Bovarian.

  “In your position, especially, Lady, I would be most concerned.” Quaeryt paused. “Almost as concerned as if you had … written critiques of military commanders in books.”

  “I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about, Commander.”

  “Did the jewels and golds provide a sufficient dowry for Ryel?” Quaeryt asked gently. “Or was it the enticement of a holding sufficiently distant from Variana … and from Rhecyrd, Khanara?”

  “Will you drag me before Bhayar in chains, more than twelve years later?”

  Quaeryt admired the cool calm in her voice, not to mention the fact that she refused to dissemble or plead.

  “I have no intention of doing such. Nor, at this point, does anyone in the Chateau Regis, including Bhayar, know who you are.”

  “What do you want, then? Favors?”

  Quaeryt smiled. “No. Answers from you to see what is possible. Do you have children?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “Please answer the question.”

  “I have a daughter.”

  “From Ryel, so far as anyone knows?”

  “She is his.”

  “Is she the only blood heir?”

  “So far as I know. Ryel doubtless had other offspring, but that was a matter he kept to himself.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Iryena is nine.”

  “You are telling me the truth?” Quaeryt image-projected both authority and the sense that lying would be fatal.

  While Tyrena paled, she did not move. “I am. Would that I were not.”

  “Good. You are to write a petition to Lord Bhayar stating that you are the lawful widow of High Holder Ryel D’Alte and that you wish to act as guardian and administrator of the holding for his daughter Iryena D’Alte until she is of age to marry a man suitable to become High Holder and approved by Lord Bhayar.” After a pause, Quaeryt said, “This is not a ploy to put you off. If you wish to write that petition here and now, in the study of the Ministry of Administration below, I will wait until you have finished, and then I will write a writ for Lord Bhayar’s signature which will affirm your guardianship and the finding that the holding and lands of Ryel will remain with your daughter and her offspring.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “It is best for Lydar that you did not inherit Tilbor, and it is also best for Lydar and Bovaria that you retain Ryel.”

  “What, really, do you want?”

  “If you can provide it, any information on Submarshal Myskyl and what has happened to his regiments. I will approve your petition, regardless, but that would be helpful.”

  “You are not a mere commander.”

  “Nor are you a mere widow, Lady Tyrena.”

  “I did not expect this.”

  “Nor I. About the Telaryn forces in the north?”

  “The submarshal has visited many of the high holdings near Rivages, including Ryel. He went over it like a tariff collector, and he demanded a hundred golds as a token tariff. My … husband was most careful in not displaying his wealth…”

  “Especially since he had less of it than was sufficient for his aims?”

  “Yes. That worked in our favor. The submarshal has settled his forces at other holdings. He has made Fiancryt his headquarters. Some of that might be because Lady Fiancryt was widowed, without heirs, and is said to be modestly attractive.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “It is said that the submarshal has met with many High Holders over the course of the fall and winter, and has neither attacked nor dispossessed any of them. He has imposed the same tariff of one hundred golds on all.”

  “Has he sent regiments any distance from Rivages?”

  “No. He has sent small parties to towns. His officers have met with the wealthier factors, but the factors have said little. His regiments drill and conduct maneuvers almost every day. He is keeping his forces ready. That is clear.”

  “Does he have visitors that seem … unusual?”

  “That … I would not know. It seemed better not to be unduly interested.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I have no facts, only feelings.”

  Feelings from a woman who had effectively ruled Tilbor for a time suggested more than mere emotion. Quaeryt frowned. “Did not Rex Kharst have imagers?”

  “Ryel said he did. I never saw or met them.”

  “Do you know what happened to them?”

  “I thought they were killed with the others in the battle here.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about Submarshal Myskyl?”

  “Only that I would not trust those whom he seems to trust among the High Holders. Although…” she paused, “he is said to be most careful of those who enter his presence, and he is said to receive them always in the same smal
l study at Fiancryt.”

  Quaeryt asked a number of other questions, but it was clear Tyrena had told him all that she knew about Myskyl’s operations and maneuvers. Then he asked, “When the submarshal visited Ryel, was he unpleasant?”

  “No. He introduced himself, then merely ignored me as much as he could.”

  “As Rhecyrd did in years past?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I spent a little time as princeps of Tilbor,” Quaeryt admitted. “One of the sisters mentioned it.”

  “They talked to you?”

  “They believe I did them a service, righted a wrong.”

  “Did you?”

  “What I did in that instance righted several wrongs, I believe, theirs among them. It had to do with an unfaithful commander of the Khanar’s Guard, or rather his son.” Quaeryt smiled. “Shall we go down to the ministry studies so that you can write your petition?”

  Tyrena stiffened. “How will you treat the widows of other High Holders?”

  “In a similar fashion to you—with the possible exception of one or two whose husband’s acts may merit the loss of the holding.”

  “Such charity.” Her words were dubious.

  “Practical. Lord Bhayar would prefer not to dwell on the past. He will be most severe to those who do not pledge allegiance, pay their tariffs, and support his rule. Shall we go?” Quaeryt gestured toward the door.

  When they reached the ministry study, Quaeryt opened the door and escorted Tyrena inside. Vaelora rose from her desk, an expression that held puzzlement and amusement.

  “Lady Tyrena D’Ryel, might I present you to Lady Vaelora Chayardyr, the other Minister of Administration … and also my wife.”

  Tyrena glanced from Vaelora and then back to Quaeryt.

  “She needs to use the conference table to write a petition to Bhayar so that he can approve her guardianship of her daughter until she is of age to marry.”

  “She may use my desk if she wishes,” said Vaelora, easing away from her desk.

  “Chayardyr? You’re … a sister of Lord Bhayar?”

  “I am.”

  “He let you marry…”

  “No,” replied Vaelora. “He ordered us to wed.” Vaelora looked to Quaeryt.