Rex Regis

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.”

“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.”