Rex Regis

36

Lundi afternoon, Quaeryt, Calkoran, and Zhelan rode side by side at the front of the column.

“The roads haven’t gotten any better,” said Zhelan.

“Most of the ones we ride are worse than the worst lanes in Khel,” added Calkoran.

“There don’t look to be any large towns or even high holdings for the next twenty milles or so,” said Zhelan. “Just small hamlets.”

That they might have to occupy some hamlet or bivouac on some smallholder’s lands was Quaeryt’s fault, but they’d ridden through the last town of any size-Roleon-at ninth glass in the morning, and stopping there would have made no sense. Besides, they still would have faced the same problem on Mardi, and lost almost an entire day. Quaeryt couldn’t help but worry that delays might be all too costly in one way or another.

“Calkoran, if you’d send out some scouts to look for any sort of holding that would provide some sort of shelter for the men.” Quaeryt glanced back over his shoulder at the darkening skies to the south.

The subcommander issued an order in Pharsi, and in moments another set of scouts rode out ahead of the column. Shortly, they passed the column outriders.

“You think we’ll actually get rain?” asked Zhelan.

“Since we have no towns of any size nearby and few prospects for shelter … and since we’ve been highly fortunate with the weather so far, I think it’s more than likely,” replied Quaeryt dryly. They’d been fortunate, he reflected, with only light rains or showers or cloudbursts that had lasted but a quint or two, not enough to turn the road into a quagmire.

“I’ll be returning to first company, sir,” said Zhelan.

Quaeryt nodded, then asked, “Any signs of dispatch riders?”

“No, sir. The ones with us are behaving.”

“Good.”

While he continued riding, and worrying about the possible rain, Quaeryt tried again to sense the shields of the imagers, but he had no success, although he could now “feel” their shields with the lightest extension of his own, but from what Elsior had said, feeling wasn’t the same thing as sensing, and since he could feel any probe of his own shields, and hadn’t, it seemed that what Elsior was doing was different from what Quaeryt did.

A glass passed before the scouts returned and reported.

“Sir … there is a holding ahead. Near on two milles. It might be a high holding, but there are no gates, just gateposts.”

“No gates? What about walls?”

“No, sir.”

Quaeryt reflected for a moment. While it wasn’t a requirement, most Bovarian high holdings did have gates or walls, at least around the hold house, although there had been a handful, one or two, mostly in hilly or rocky regions, that didn’t have gates, but none that hadn’t had either. “Are there enough outbuildings that might provide shelter?”

“There look to be plenty, sir.”

Quaeryt looked to Calkoran. “If you’d have a squad accompany me, we’ll ride ahead and see what we can do.”

Calkoran turned in the saddle. “Major Eslym, second squad, escort the commander.” Then he repeated the order in Pharsi.

For a moment Quaeryt wondered why Eslym was being detached. Then he almost shook his head. None of the Khellan rankers likely understood either Bovarian or Telaryn. He inclined his head to Calkoran. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary. You treat us as your own.” Calkoran smiled.

Quaeryt smiled back and gave his own order. “Undercaptains, you report to the subcommander.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Quaeryt urged the black gelding forward. For some reason, he couldn’t help thinking about the mare that had carried him all the way across Lydar, only to die under him in the last moments of the battle for Liantiago. She deserved better. But then, so did so many who perished in war, like Shaelyt, who had shown such promise, and Akoryt … and the tens of thousands who had died, so many because of his acts.

The worst part of that was that he was no longer so sure about what Vaelora had said after the battle for Ferravyl-that he had no choice on whether thousands would die, but only which thousands. That had been true at Ferravyl, he supposed, and at Variana, and the battles between, but at Liantiago? In essence, he’d made the decision to invade Liantiago. You made it believing that war with Aliaro was inevitable … and that sooner would cost everyone less. But you made that decision.

He glanced over the bushes and high grass to his left and down at the River Aluse, its waters still a good fifteen to twenty yards wide, but the occasional mud bars near the shores suggested that it was shallower, at least in spots, than it appeared. To his right was a forest, or rather a well-managed if extensive woods, where the undergrowth appeared managed and trimmed. In places he could see lanes, suggesting that the growth was well managed, most likely by the holder whose dwelling they approached.

As they passed where the woods ended, and a hedgerow three yards high began, the scout turned in the saddle and called back, “It’s not that far ahead, sir!”

Quaeryt hoped not, because he could smell rain on the cool breeze blowing at his back. After he rode another hundred yards ahead, Quaeryt could see the gateposts on the right side of the river road, set just a yard or so out from the hedgerow. He glanced to the river side of the road … and frowned. While the area to the left of the road had been cleared and was pasture, in the middle of that green area was a long rise, as if a substantial dwelling had once been situated there, overlooking the river.

Why would someone remove a hold house from there and move away from the river? Quaeryt shook his head.

A fraction of a quint later, when he reined up before the gateposts, he saw they were brick and square, but looked almost squat, as if they had once been much higher. Still … each was topped with a stone square on the top of which was an ornate iron letter L, something Quaeryt had never seen before, but most likely representing the name of the hold or its holder. The lane beyond the gates ran straight back, almost due east to a dwelling on a slight rise that was anything but small-unless compared to most hold houses. The small mansion looked to be a simple two-story brick structure no more than forty yards from end to end with an extended and columned entry porch. The roof was fired tile, rather than slate.

After a moment he turned the gelding up the brick-paved lane, flanked by two of Calkoran’s rankers. The bricks looked old, and in spots newer ones had replaced the originals, and intermittently the mortar between the bricks had been repointed, apparently as necessary, rather than all at once as Quaeryt would have expected at a high holding. The lane was flanked by simple pastures, and sheep were grazing on each side. None of the animals were close to the lane, and none looked up as the squad rode past at a walk.

The lane went straight up the low rise, ending in a brick-paved square some twenty yards on a side with the center of the eastern edge meeting the two wide stone steps leading down from the open space between the two brick columns that supported the roof over the entry porch.

Standing on the edge of the porch were a man and a woman.

Quaeryt gestured the squad to a halt and rode forward, reining up short of the two and bowing slightly in the saddle. “Greetings.”

“You speak Bovarian as though you were from Kharst’s court, officer.”

The man who had addressed Quaeryt was tanned, unlike most High Holders, and wore brown trousers, a cream-colored open-necked shirt, and a sleeveless brown leather vest. His boots were brown and scuffed. Quaeryt doubted he was five years older than Vaelora. The woman wore a loose-fitting white linen dress, as simple as a shift, with a pale violet sleeveless vest, unfastened, since she was quite visibly expecting.

“Thank you … I think. I’m Commander Quaeryt, and I’m looking for shelter for the night for my troopers.”

“Do we have any choice … Commander?”

“Not really, but I can offer some small recompense, and the assurance that no one will be harmed and nothing damaged.”

“For the night only?” asked the woman in a deep voice, even deeper and huskier than Vaelora’s.

Quaeryt glanced to the south and the dark menacing clouds that now covered half the sky. “Well … until the rain stops.”

The young man laughed. “That’s a souther storm. You might be here two days.”

“We won’t stay longer than necessary.”

“How many troopers do you have? If you’re a commander…”

“The squad was just to escort me. My officers are protective. Eight officers and a little over two hundred men.”

“The officers we can accommodate in the house,” replied the woman. “There’s no way we can fit two hundred men there, even sleeping in the halls.”

“I wouldn’t have expected that. We were thinking about outbuildings, sheds, barns, and stables.”

The man nodded. “There’s a fenced pasture that will hold your horses for a few days. The stables have space for perhaps ten mounts. Since it’s almost summer, the hay barns are mostly empty…”

“That will be fine. Thank you.” Quaeryt turned. “Major, if you would send word back to the subcommander that the holder has agreed to let us stay the night.”

“Yes, sir.” Eslym in turn spoke in Pharsi, and three rankers eased away from the squad and headed back down the paved lane.

The man looked at Quaeryt curiously. “That didn’t sound like Telaryn.”

“It wasn’t. It was Pharsi. I have a Khellan battalion under my command, but just one company is with us.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, Commander, just how big is your command?”

“Officially, it’s two regiments and the Khellan battalion, but at the moment, one regiment is in Westisle, two companies are in Kephria, another regiment is in Variana, and the rest are here.” Quaeryt shrugged. “Most commanders don’t have such scattered commands, and mine usually isn’t.”

“So … it’s true that Lord Bhayar has conquered Antiago as well as Bovaria,” said the woman. “What next? Khel?”

“He’s requested that Khel consider favorable terms.”

“That’s the sort of request they’d be foolish to reject … assuming the terms are favorable.”

Quaeryt cleared his throat. “Ah … the rain is coming. Would you mind if the major and his men made a quick survey to see what might be the best way of billeting the men?”

The man smiled and shook his head. “We appreciate the politeness. Of course. I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Daalyn, and this is Laedica.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Quaeryt inclined his head, then turned to Eslym. “Major, if you would look over the buildings and then let me know your recommendations. I’ll remain here with our hosts.”

“Yes, sir.” Eslym issued several commands, and ten of the rankers followed him as he rode along the lane that circled the dwelling on the north side. Five remained and formed a line behind Quaeryt.

“For Pharsi, they seem rather protective of you.”

“We’ve been through a lot together.” Quaeryt dismounted, then handed the gelding’s reins to the end ranker, and walked up the steps to the porch.

Laedica looked closely at Quaeryt. Her eyes widened. “You’re much younger…”

“Than the white hair? Yes. Every hair on my body turned white at the battle of Variana.” Even as the words left his mouth, Quaeryt wanted to take them back, wishing he’d just said, “Yes, I am.” That just shows you’re tired and off-guard.

“Were you … I mean…” Daalyn fumbled for words.

“If you’re asking if I was in the midst of the battle … yes, I was.”

Laedica’s eyes dropped toward Quaeryt’s hands. This time her mouth opened. “You…” She turned to Daalyn. “He’s the one.”

Quaeryt instinctively checked his shields. “The one what?” he asked mildly.

“Everyone is talking about the unknown officer who called the storms that killed all of Kharst’s troopers,” explained Daalyn. “They said he was a young man with the hair of an ancient, and that he was some sort of son of a Pharsi god…”

Quaeryt shook his head. “I’m the guilty one, but I’m no more the son of a god than either of you. I am an imager. You’d find that out sooner or later.”

“Why did you kill them all?” demanded Daalyn.

“As my wife once told me, once Rex Kharst started this war, tens of thousands of men would be killed. I could not stop that. My only choice was which thousands. Lord Bhayar had almost thirty thousand troopers. Kharst had close to fifty thousand. If I had not done what I did, half of those would likely have perished. Perhaps a third of Kharst’s troopers and two-thirds or more of Bhayar’s. My acts changed which troopers died, not that troopers died.”

“That’s justifying-”

“Daalyn,” said Laedica firmly. “Officers don’t get to choose which orders to obey. Not unless they want to get executed.”

The way she looked at her husband, at least Quaeryt thought he was her husband, reminded him of Vaelora. That firmness hadn’t changed when she’d been pregnant, either. For a moment the thought … and the feelings … of the daughter they had lost rushed over him, as they sometimes did in unguarded moments.

“What is it?” asked Laedica. “You looked so strange, Commander.”

“Thank you,” replied Quaeryt. “Let’s just say it’s been a long day, and a long journey.” He could tell from the expression on her face that she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t pursue it.

Before long, the rest of the companies arrived, and Quaeryt was busy watching, but the officers and squad leaders were quick and effective in settling the men in and making arrangements for some hot food, although by the time the men were largely settled the rain began to fall, first as a drizzle, but within a quint, it pelted down with a steady rhythm that suggested Daalyn had been correct in his assessment. Amid it all, Quaeryt did manage to get his gear up to the bedchamber that Laedica had indicated was his.

The dinner prepared for the officers and their host and hostess, well after dark, given the need to feed the troopers, was quiet, very polite, and short.

Afterward, Quaeryt borrowed the small study to talk with the three imagers. Although he was tired, after a day of riding he didn’t feel like sitting and remained standing.

“How are you three coming with your shields?”

The three exchanged glances.

Quaeryt sighed. “Khalis. Hold the strongest shields that you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt probed and pressed with his own shields. While he could have broken through, it would have taken a fair effort and would likely have injured Khalis. He released the pressure and nodded. “That’s good. Lhandor, you’re next.”

Lhandor’s shields were strong, if not quite so strong as those of Khalis.

“Now you, Elsior.”

“Sir … I’m not as strong as they are.”

“I know. I’m not interested in hurting you. Now … shields, please.”

For all of Elsior’s protestations, Quaeryt was pleased to find that the youngest imager’s shields were nearly as strong as Lhandor’s. As he released the pressure on Elsior’s defenses, he said, “You’re doing well. I think we can count you as a full undercaptain, not just provisional.”

“Sir … thank you.”

“You’ve earned it … or you will,” replied Quaeryt.

Khalis and Lhandor both nodded.

By the time he was finished with the imagers, Quaeryt was more than tired enough for bed, although he was anything but sleepy. So he made his way out through the front door of the dwelling that was not exactly a hold house, but more than a mere landowner’s mansion, and stood under the roof of the extended front porch in the darkness, looking out into the darkness and the rain.

He could see light from one of the oil lamps in the hall as someone opened the door behind him, and he turned to see Laedica walking toward him, the door left ajar behind her.

She stopped a yard away. “Do you like to listen to the rain?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

“You mentioned your wife … and you looked sad. I don’t mean to pry…”

“She’s fine.” Quaeryt debated whether he should say more, then found himself speaking. “I saw you were expecting. She … lost … our daughter … in Kephria…” For a time, Quaeryt could say no more. He shook his head, then finally said, “I’m sorry. I hadn’t…” He shook his head again.

“You haven’t talked about it, have you?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

“You’re kind … but I think not.”

“You’re a strange man, Commander. That is obvious. You can kill thousands, but you worry about your men treating a pair of holders you don’t know with care. You obviously love your wife, and mourn the loss of your daughter. You’re not much older than I am, but your hair is white. You limp, and I saw at dinner that several of your fingers don’t work. Yet you paint your nails.”

“You’re very observant.” As many women are. Quaeryt smiled. “I don’t paint my nails, though. They turned white when my hair did.”

Laedica looked intently at Quaeryt and was about to speak when the front door opened wider, and Daalyn emerged.

“Oh … there you are. I wondered where you’d gone.” Daalyn walked toward Laedica, then took her arm, gently.

“I heard the door open and went to see,” replied Laedica. “I found the commander looking at the rain.”

“We haven’t seen much rain on our journey,” said Quaeryt. “I imagine it will be helpful for your fields and pastures.”

“It definitely will be,” said Daalyn. “It’s been a dry spring.”

“Your lands are rather expansive, it would seem,” offered Quaeryt.

“You’re wondering why this isn’t a high holding?” asked Laedica.

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

Daalyn smiled. “It was once. But Laedica’s great-grandsire renounced his standing as a High Holder. He made a point of bestowing the lands on his eldest daughter when he had no sons, and when she refused to marry any of High Holder blood who were interested in her … or the holding. The other nearest High Holders petitioned to have the lands seized. Before the rex was even informed or could act, the old man had her married to the man she loved, claiming he was a distant cousin, and officially bestowed the lands on him. Ever since then, the eldest child has received the lands … if at times through a similar stratagem. The lands are officially mine, but they will go to our eldest. She’s five.”

“But you’re not a High Holder?”

“No one ever petitioned to be reinstated as a High Holder, and given the way Kharst and his sire treated them, it’s likely worked out better.”

“No one talks about it,” added Laedica, “but there are quite a few landholders who are neither crofters nor peasants, nor High Holders.”

“But … what about standing … tariffs?” asked Quaeryt.

“We’re officially produce factors,” explained Laedica, “and we pay factor’s tariffs to the nearest factors’ council. That’s in Yapres, north of here.”

“Not Roleon?”

“That didn’t work out,” said Laedica. “Yapres is better suited to our needs. Most landholders who are not High Holders have similar arrangements, and the factors are happy to collect the tariffs because that enhances their stature. The rex was always happy because we pay and are far less trouble than the High Holders.”

“So only the High Holders are unhappy?”

“They were miffed that one of their younger sons didn’t get a holding, but they didn’t make a fuss for long because it might have drawn the attention of the rex.”

Once again, Quaeryt was both amused and amazed at the complexity and unwieldiness he was finding in Bovaria. “That has seemed to work out for you.”

“It has indeed.” Daalyn looked at his wife. “You really do need some rest, dear. Tomorrow will come early, rain or no rain.” Then he looked to Quaeryt. “Good evening. Commander. If you would excuse us?”

“Please go,” replied Quaeryt warmly, looking at Laedica. “You do need to take care of yourself.”

“You two would smother me,” she replied, not quite tartly, “even if you are right. Good night, Commander.”

Quaeryt inclined his head, then watched as they reentered the house. The door closed. He turned to look into the darkness and the rain.