Rex Regis

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “In Ianus.”

  “Had you met Submarshal Myskyl before then?”

  “I can’t say that I had. My sire had little desire to meet him and only did so when required.”

  “How many times did you meet with the submarshal?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does if you wish to remain High Holder,” replied Quaeryt mildly. He was already getting weary of young Paliast.

  “Isn’t that Lord Bhayar’s decision?”

  “He appointed me Minister of Administration for Bovaria and delegated that authority to me. Now … how many times did you meet with Myskyl?”

  “Three … as I recall.”

  “Did you go there?”

  Paliast laughed. “With Lady Myranda acting as High Holder? She barely deigned to see Father when Fiancryt was alive. No … he came here.”

  “Alone, or did he bring the three?”

  “He came alone. He had a whole company with him, and we had to feed them all each time.”

  “What did he want?”

  “The first time he wanted to meet me and tell me that I was obligated to meet the obligations of a High Holder to the ruler of Bovaria.”

  “Did he say it that way?”

  “That’s what I recall.”

  “Did he ever mention Lord Bhayar by name?”

  Paliast frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  “What about the other two times?”

  “The second time … he told me to expect a major and to sell the Northern Army some grain and flour at the prevailing price. Maalan took care of that. The third time he said that a second ‘token’ tariff might be due in late Mayas. Do you know anything about that?”

  “At the moment, Lord Bhayar has not decided. Did you know that Submarshal Myskyl had come under the influence of the three?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Should I have known that?” replied the High Holder almost insolently.

  Quaeryt imaged absolute authority and contempt at the bearishly rotund High Holder, powerful enough that Paliast jolted back in his chair and paled. “I did ask you a question. I would appreciate an answer.” Quaeryt kept his voice mild and pleasant.

  “You’re the one, aren’t you?”

  “The one what?” asked Quaeryt, curious to know what Paliast had been told.

  “The one Lady Tyrena mentioned. She met a commander in Variana, and he made certain she could hold her lands until Iryena is married. She said…”

  “Yes?”

  “That you were the most dangerous man in Lydar.” Paliast did not quite meet Quaeryt’s eyes.

  “That’s Lord Bhayar. I merely serve him.”

  Paliast looked as if he might dispute that, but did not speak.

  “About the three?”

  “I heard rumors … Maalan did, really, that some of Kharst’s imagers had met with the submarshal. I didn’t ask him about them. No High Holder in his right mind would want to be anywhere around them.…”

  Although Quaeryt spent almost another glass talking to Paliast, he learned little more … except that he doubted the young man would be able to hang on to his holding unless he or matters changed greatly.

  Quaeryt and his squads did not reach Ryel until close to second glass, since they had to ride partway back toward Rivages and then take another road that led northeast. The hold house and its immediate buildings were located on a flattened hilltop, with the rear of the expansive dwelling overlooking a small valley through which a stream flowed.

  The footman immediately conveyed Quaeryt’s presence to Tyrena, and she hurried down a massive silver and black marble staircase to meet him in the main entry hall.

  “Commander, I never expected you to come to Rivages. To what do I owe this visit, if I might ask?” Her Bovarian still held the faintest trace of a Tilboran accent.

  “For you, it is a courtesy. For Daefol and Paliast, it is a necessity, although I can’t say I expected to be here under present circumstances.”

  Her blond eyebrows lifted. “Present circumstances?”

  “It will take some explaining.”

  “Then we should go to the terrace. It’s pleasant there, and there’s enough of a breeze that there won’t be any red flies or mosquitoes there.”

  Quaeryt wondered about the need for that, given that the hold house was well above the stream.

  As if reading his thoughts, Tyrena smiled and said, “The Khanar’s Palace had few, especially in the winter, and anything that flies and bites seeks me out.”

  “The terrace, by all means,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh.

  Neither spoke as Quaeryt followed the former Khanara along a side hallway and then to the left and almost to the end of the second hallway, where she turned into a spacious salon and through it and the double doors. The terrace was roofed and looked down over a formal garden with a low wall to the stream valley below.

  Tyrena gestured to a small circular table with three chairs. The place without a chair was the one that would have faced away from the garden.

  Quaeryt took one of the end chairs, and Tyrena sat in the one opposite him. As soon as they were seated, a red-haired serving maid in black livery appeared.

  “Would you like something to drink? I have the stewards providing some refreshments for your men.”

  “A pale lager, if you have it.”

  “That, we can do.” Tyrena nodded to the serving maid, who slipped away, then addressed Quaeryt. “Just courtesy?”

  “To provide information and courtesy. You may already know, but apparently Submarshal Myskyl had fallen under the influence of the three.”

  “After I returned from Variana, I heard rumors of such.”

  “When I arrived, they attempted to kill me. In the events that followed, they and the submarshal and Commander Luchan perished. The main hold house at Fiancryt burned to charred walls. It is likely that the holding will revert to Lord Bhayar. Oh … and Lady Myranda rode off with her personal retainers while the hold house was still burning.”

  Tyrena looked unsurprised.

  “You already knew, didn’t you?”

  “I knew the hold house had burned and that Myranda had fled. I did not know what had happened to cause the fire.” Tyrena paused. “Are you certain that the three perished?”

  “I know that three imagers died and their bodies were burned to ash and bone. I understood that the term ‘the three’ was not precisely accurate, at least not in terms of numbering the imagers who served Kharst.”

  “That was correct, but it’s likely that there were only three left. I did receive a letter before the battle at Variana that hinted that some were present at the Chateau Regis, as some always were when there were High Holders there. There were never more than a handful and one or two more.”

  “Ryel worried about them?”

  “Everyone worried about them. Anyone with any sense.” Tyrena looked up as the serving maid reappeared, carrying a tray on which there were two silvery glass beakers with black glass bases. The beakers both held pale lager.

  The server offered the tray, allowing Quaeryt to choose. He took the closest beaker.

  Tyrena smiled. “Most would take the far one.”

  “I know, and I know that you knew I would. I trust you in this.”

  She laughed lightly. “Because my fate rests not just with you, but with your wife.”

  Quaeryt nodded, then waited for Tyrena to take the second beaker. Then he raised his beaker slightly. “To trust.”

  “To trust,” she replied.

  They drank.

  “Why did you tell young Paliast that I was the most dangerous man in Lydar?”

  “Besides the fact that you are?” Tyrena smiled. “Because he is young and arrogant and has less in the way of brains than does a toad. And so that when he complains about what will happen to him, he will have no excuses. He will make them anyway, and Daefol will likely listen.”

  “And Seliadyn?”

  Tyrena shook her head sadly. “He still thinks hi
s daughter is alive.”

  “And that she is twelve? How long ago was that?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “Kharst?”

  “No. She was headstrong and took a boat into the river during the spring high waters. There was a sudden flood, and her mother drowned trying to save her. Seliadyn was in Variana, at Kharst’s command. He was much older than Maereth, but he loved them both deeply. Maereth almost died having Seliatha, I was told, and she could never have children after that.”

  “And who will inherit Vaestora?”

  “That will be up to Lord Bhayar, I imagine. Seliadyn had no brothers or even cousins.”

  Quaeryt nodded. Perhaps Calkoran. He would do well there.

  “You might recommend someone who would fit and be loyal.”

  “I likely will, but Lord Bhayar will decide. He often follows my recommendations … but far from always.”

  “And you do not press him?”

  Quaeryt smiled. “If I cannot convince him by my words, it is as he says.”

  “What did you do to convince him in my case?”

  “I told him the facts.”

  “Including who I once was?”

  “Eventually.” That was true enough.

  “He did not change his mind?”

  “I pointed out that you were to be trusted far more than any man in being loyal, for you had everything to lose. Vaelora agreed. So did Bhayar.”

  “I said you were the most dangerous man in Lydar.”

  Quaeryt shrugged. “Tell me what Bhayar and I should know about Rivages and the north.”

  “The land is everything to the High Holders, and golds are everything to the factors…”

  Quaeryt listened, asking a few questions, for well over a glass, before he finally took his leave and began the ride back to Fiancryt.

  50

  On Solayi, Quaeryt took another two squads and rode south to Folan, arriving just before midday on a cloudless day where the sun beat down mercilessly. Once more, Daefol charged out of the tower-like hold house, if with but a single guard, instead of two. He wore a brilliant blue jacket over dark blue trousers, possibly the same pair he had worn the first time Quaeryt had entered the hold.

  “Commander! I thought we had seen the last of you, especially after the hold house fire at Fiancryt.”

  “Shortly … shortly.” Quaeryt dismounted and walked up onto the raised terrace. “I’d appreciate it if you and your wife would spend a quint or so with me.”

  “Appreciate it? You aren’t the submarshal.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “No … I’m Commander Quaeryt, merely the acting submarshal, I suppose, and I’m that imager married to Lord Bhayar’s sister—as you told your wife last Meredi … when she tried to suggest to you that Submarshal Myskyl might not be trusted.” Quaeryt smiled. “Now … shall we go in and meet your wife?”

  For several moments Daefol’s mouth moved. Finally, he nodded.

  Quaeryt could sense the consternation and the anger, possibly because Daefol knew full well he’d made a fool of himself before the guard who had accompanied him. So Quaeryt looked squarely at the guard. “Your master isn’t the first to assume the wrong things, and he won’t be the last. So have more than a few armsmen and guards. It might be best if you said nothing.” With his last sentence, Quaeryt image-projected overwhelming power and authority.

  “Yes … sir,” stammered the guard.

  “And you can help arrange for water and shade for my men and their mounts.” Quaeryt turned to Daefol and said again, “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, sir.” Daefol’s voice was subdued.

  Once inside the entry hall, Quaeryt asked, “Is Elajara upstairs in her sitting room … or elsewhere?”

  Daefol glanced sideways at Quaeryt, then replied, “She’s in the sitting room. She says that it’s the most comfortable in this warm weather.”

  “When is she due?”

  “Did you come from Variana when you said you did?” countered Daefol.

  “I did. And did you have someone check on the new bridge?”

  The High Holder nodded, then started up the marble steps. Quaeryt kept pace with him.

  At the top, Daefol turned to the right and walked to the last door on the left, pausing before entering and then saying, “Elajara, we have a visitor. This is Commander Quaeryt, the one who was here earlier. He is now the acting submarshal. He is also the imager who married Lord Bhayar’s sister.”

  Quaeryt entered the corner room, followed by the High Holder.

  The brunette in another loose-fitting linen dress, this one of pale peach, also with white lace trimming, did not rise from the chair, but laid the embroidery hoop on the side table and inclined her head. “You’re kind to visit us again. Will you be staying the evening?”

  Quaeryt offered an amused smile. “No, Lady Daefol. This is both a courtesy visit and one to provide some information.”

  “Do sit down, Commander. I am to the point where standing for a time tires me, and I feel uncomfortable with you standing.”

  Quaeryt took the straight chair closest to Elajara, leaving the other armchair for Daefol, who also seated himself.

  “You are kind to include me,” added Elajara.

  “No, I am not kind. I hope I am being wise. Now that I am married, I have become much more aware that those men of power whom I respect almost always include their wives in their confidence, and the ones who generally make the best decisions listen and consider what their wives have to say.”

  “Still,” replied Elajara, “few women, if any, have real power.”

  “Lord Bhayar has granted Lady Tyrena the power to manage the holding until her daughter is of marriageable age. He has also appointed his sister as envoy to Khel, and upon her return named her as joint Minister of Administration for Bovaria with me.”

  “He is kind to them.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “Wise. They are both strong and intelligent … as I suspect you are.”

  “What is this information you wish to convey?” asked Daefol.

  “First, it appears that Submarshal Myskyl was suborned by the surviving members of the three, as was Lady Myranda. In the confrontation I had with the submarshal and the three, all four of them perished when the efforts of the imagers did not work as they intended. In the fire that ensued, Lady Myranda fled. It is likely that her life and holding will be forfeit once Lord Bhayar hears of her role. Second, you will be pleased, I trust, to learn that five of the six regiments currently at Fiancryt will be departing this Mardi, assuming the weather holds. Subcommander Moravan, greatly trusted by Lord Bhayar, and his regiment will remain to assure that matters remain calm.”

  Daefol nodded slowly.

  Elajara studied Quaeryt. “You don’t powder your hair or paint your nails, do you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re Pharsi, are you not?”

  “I am, but I did not know it until about two years ago. I was orphaned as a young child and raised by the scholars of Solis.”

  “He knew much of what we said when he was first here,” added Daefol.

  Elajara nodded. “Are you a lost one?”

  “Many have declared that I am. I cannot say that. I don’t know. How did you know about the legends of the lost ones?”

  “When Daefol described you, I went to the library. There was nothing there. Then I began to ask my maids and others. One of the cook’s helpers knew an old Pharsi woman, and she said that the lost ones had white-blond hair and dark eyes, and they often limped. The greatest sometimes had their hair and nails turn white. When we heard that Kharst had been bested at Variana, the word was that most of the destruction had been wrought by a Pharsi imager who was a commander. You were that imager, were you not?”

  “I was the imager in charge of all those who created the destruction,” Quaeryt admitted.

  “And you defeated the three by yourself. That makes you most powerful.”

  “No. I did not defeat them by myself. Facing the
m alone would have been idiocy. I brought several other imagers with me.”

  “There were no old and powerful imagers among your men. Or were they hidden?”

  “No. Those who helped me were young.”

  “Did you not train them?”

  “Yes.” All but one. “You are rather perceptive, Lady.”

  “No. I am trying to be logical.”

  “Your logic is largely accurate. You must be of great assistance to your husband.” Quaeryt could see exactly where the conversation was going and what Elajara wanted, and he was happy to do what he could, because she was far more likely to be reasonable and practical and Daefol would be far more rational for listening to his wife. “Or you could be.” Quaeryt turned to Daefol. “If you let her be.”

  “She is not interested—”

  “She is not interested in angering you. She is very interested in your making the right decisions because those decisions affect her and your children. I would strongly suggest that you give her views and opinions careful consideration. Lord Bhayar has always considered the views of his wife, and of his sisters. It’s a good example to follow, especially since he is now lord and Rex of Bovaria.”

  “He does not seem terribly interested in maintaining the traditions of Bovaria,” murmured Daefol.

  “Oh … he’s happy to allow those that work. But ignoring the intelligence of half the people isn’t exactly wise, and it apparently didn’t work too well for Rex Kharst. It didn’t work very well for Tilbor, either, when the northern High Holders there decided they wanted an inept male ruler rather than a competent woman.”

  “How often do you listen to your wife?” asked Daefol slyly.

  “Enough that her advice has saved my life at least three times.” Quaeryt smiled. “That kind of example tends to make one a believer.” He rose, then inclined his head to Elajara. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady, and wish you well.” Then he turned to Daefol. “I’ve said what I needed to say, and I trust you’ll find the information useful.” He paused for a moment, and when the High Holder did not speak, he said, “Shall we go?”

  Daefol nodded and led the way from the chamber.