Rex Regis

38

By early on Jeudi afternoon, even after losing an entire day to the rain on Mardi, Quaeryt and the two companies had passed the point where the Roiles River joined the Aluse, flowing out of the northwest, its waters a greenish blue, but lost within a few hundred yards in the grayer waters of the larger river. Another two milles past the junction, they reached the large town of Yapres, somewhat smaller than Daaren, Quaeryt thought, and very dissimilar, although both were river towns, but the dwellings and shops in Yapres were especially well kept, and the streets, and even the lanes and alleys, were largely clean. There were a number of inns, and several buildings that looked to be gaming houses, the first Quaeryt had seen, or at least noticed, in Bovaria. Quaeryt had noticed that for the last five milles into the town, the river road improved markedly. He also understood why Laedica and Daalyn had associated themselves with the factors of Yapres, rather than those of Roleon.

The Aluse was far narrower at Yapres than the Laar was at Daaren. Given that there were no towns of any size for another fifteen milles, or so the maps showed, Quaeryt decided to stop early … as well as to deal with some unforeseen reshoeing of a number of mounts.

The largest inn was the Copper Tankard, and Quaeryt had few qualms about settling both companies there. The boats Quaeryt saw tied at the modest piers across the river square from the inn were narrower than the flatboats used farther south on the Aluse or those used on the Laar, but still had a comparatively shallow draft, suggesting that they were not that stable in rough water and that the Aluse had become fairly shallow. Then again, those boats might have come from farther upriver.

Once the initial arrangements with the innkeeper had been worked out and Quaeryt had seen to men and mounts being settled, he returned to talk to the innkeeper and see what he could learn from the black-bearded Jhoseal, scarcely older than Quaeryt was himself.

“What would you be wanting to know, Commander?”

“Have you seen any other Telaryn forces recently?”

“A few couriers every week or so. No large forces since early last fall. Heard tell they’re all settled somewhere near Rivages.”

“Who are the most important factors here in Yapres?”

“Might be Zoalon … mayhap Locand … or Suelyr … depends on what you mean?”

“The wealthiest, or the head of the factors’ council.”

“Wealthiest is likely Suelyr, but Zoalon is the head of the factors’ council.”

“What does he factor?”

“This and that … late apples and fruit downriver, when the southern orchards are done, hardwoods from his mill, because the southerners have mostly soft timbers, except oak … even sends some north to Rivages. Mostly pines north of there…”

“Where could I find him?”

“That’d be easy enough. He’s usually at his factorage. Six blocks north, right on the river. Has his own piers. Only him and Suelyr do.”

“What about High Holders?”

Jhoseal frowned. “Caemren’d be the only High Holder here. On the river four milles north. High stone walls. You can’t miss the place. Doesn’t like visitors. They say some who tried to visit ran afoul of his guards, and no one ever saw ’em again.”

“Any others nearby?”

“Well … you want to travel nine-ten milles east or so on the road to Choelan, there’s Magiian. Choelan’s but fifteen milles east beyond his holding.”

“Is there a town patrol?”

“Good one. Don’t find the beggars here. No street sluts here. Not in Yapres.”

Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t get me wrong,” said the innkeeper. “We got good women. Madame Besseri’s got a fine house on Arbor Lane, and Laynela’s is good, too. None of the low street types.”

“Who’s in charge of the patrol?”

“The chief patroller. That’s Sabotyr.”

“And how do the patrollers get paid?”

“None of the shaking down folks. Not here. The merchants and factors and tradesfolk all pay a tariff. Factors’ council collects it last day of each season. Glad to pay it. Folks come here to have a good time, especially in the spring and late harvest and early fall. Well … most years. Been slow last fall and this spring. Still get folks from a lot farther than Choelan.”

“From Rivages?”

“Only if they don’t want folks in Rivages to know,” replied the innkeeper with a laugh.

“What else can you tell me about Yapres?”

There wasn’t that much else Jhoseal wanted to volunteer beyond saying how this and that happened to be good, and Quaeryt didn’t know enough to ask more than general questions. In another quint, he was back on the gelding, headed north with four rankers as escorts.

The six blocks mentioned by Jhoseal turned into almost ten, and calling Zoalon’s establishment a factorage was a bit of an understatement, Quaeryt decided as he approached the complex of buildings that included a large lumber barn, or so it appeared, and three sizable warehouses as well as three wide but short piers. In the middle was a handsome red brick building with stone windowsills and lintels, as well as stone corners and cornices and a slate roof. Since there was a bronze hitching ring by the stone steps to the entrance, Quaeryt reined up there and dismounted, then said to his escorts, “It shouldn’t be that long.” He checked his shields, reflexively, before he turned toward the entry.

“Yes, sir.”

Immediately inside the center building was an entry hall, in which sat a gray-haired clerk. He looked up from the ledger in which he was either making entries or checking them. His eyes widened slightly as Quaeryt removed his visor cap and stepped forward.

“Commander Quaeryt to see Factor Zoalon.”

The older man smiled, if ruefully. “I’d say that he probably wouldn’t want to see you, but there’d be little enough point in that these days. Commander Quaeryt, you said?”

“That’s correct.”

“Let me tell him you’re here.” He paused. “You didn’t come alone, I presume, Commander?”

“I have a few rankers with me here, and two companies in town.”

“At the Copper Tankard?” The clerk stood.

Quaeryt nodded.

“The boys said something about that. Hadn’t seen so many soldiers since last fall when all your regiments came through.”

“They haven’t been patrolling this far south, though.”

“No. Haven’t seen anyone in a Telaryn uniform since then except you … and the occasional dispatch riders.”

Quaeryt nodded and then waited while the clerk walked down the corridor leaving the entry hall, pausing at what looked to be the last door on the right.

“Sir … a Telaryn commander here to see you. Commander Quaeryt.”

Quaeryt didn’t hear the response, but the clerk gestured and said, “This way, sir.”

Quaeryt was well aware of the unevenness of his gait as his boots seemed to echo on the polished gray marble tiles as he walked to the open door and then stepped inside, finding himself in a square chamber of modest size, roughly four yards by five. Polished wooden cases lined the wall to his right, and two small bookcases flanked the door. Zoalon was younger than Quaeryt expected, only about forty, balding with short blond hair above his ears. He stood behind a table desk. Two armless straight-backed chairs faced the desk, although the desk chair had arms, with its back and seat upholstered in a tan leather. All the furnishings appeared to be made of the same wood, either natural or stained a dark brown.

“Might I ask, Commander, how much of your visit is courtesy call and how much will result in my losing goods or being paid less for them than they cost me?”

“That depends on what goods you have and what we need.” Quaeryt offered what he hoped was a genial smile. “Although that wasn’t the reason why I came to see you.”

“Oh?” Zoalon’s deep voice and expression expressed skepticism.

“I’m after other goods. Information, in fact.”

The factor gestured to the chairs and seated himself. “What sort of information?”

“A variety. One thing that has always puzzled me is how exactly did Rex Kharst raise and pay some forty regiments of troopers.”

“At great cost to the factors of Bovaria,” replied Zoalon dryly.

“He required an additional tariff?”

“Four parts in ten above the normal for the past two years. Some factors failed. Not here in Yapres, but times have been lean for several.”

“Where did he get the men?”

“Most towns managed to find blade fodder, one way or another.”

“And the factors had a great deal to do with it?”

“I wouldn’t say that. We did encourage the young fellows with few prospects and others…” Zoalon shrugged. “You know how it is.”

Quaeryt was afraid that he did. “There don’t seem to be many High Holders between Talyon and Yapres.”

“There were more, years ago.”

“We ran across a holding that used to be a High Holder’s. The holder’s name was Daalyn.”

“Laedica’s husband. They’re officially produce factors, and so is Geongyst. Their grandsires were smart enough to renounce being High Holders. The others were a stiff-necked bunch. They weren’t used to reading the wind, and they got burned.”

“Literally, from what we’ve seen. Have you ever seen any of the imagers who did that sort of work for the rex?”

The factor shook his head … then frowned. “I don’t know as I saw them, or didn’t. Years back, when Baernhem’s hold was torched, the troopers who did it stayed in Yapres for a few days. There were men in uniform who didn’t look like rankers or officers. They might have been imagers, or they might have been clerks who totaled up the value of the goods they returned to the rex. They might have been both.”

“It seems to me that Rex Kharst was more inclined to deal with the factors than the High Holders.”

“Wouldn’t you be? The High Holders always want things their way. They never want to pay the market price of anything. Rex Kharst and his sire, their men would dicker, but they didn’t demand. Of course, a few factors who cheated them ended up dead. For the most part, Kharst paid for value and got it.”

“And because the factors proved more trustworthy, the factors’ councils were used to gather, collect, and send tariffs to Variana?”

“Exactly!”

“Even the tariffs of the High Holders?”

“You wouldn’t trust them to be honest if you were ruling Bovaria, Commander.”

“Possibly not.” Quaeryt had his doubts about the reputed honesty of the Bovarian factors, although he couldn’t dispute the fact that the factors might well have been comparatively more honest than the High Holders. “That’s also why the council oversees the town patrol and chooses the chief?”

“You get a good chief, and you don’t have to oversee much. You don’t, and you can’t do enough oversight. We’ve got a good chief, and that’s one of the things that makes Yapres a good place to work and live.”

“What about High Holder Caemren?”

“He’s better than most. He’s a practical type, and knows value. He and his family keep to themselves most times.”

“Have you ever heard about a High Holder Fiancryt?”

“Not much. He got along with Rex Kharst, which shows common sense, but wasn’t too close, I hear.”

“What about Ryel?”

“Him?” Zoalon shook his head. “Everyone thought he was Kharst’s spymaster. I had my doubts. How could anyone be an effective spymaster if everyone knows that’s what you are? They say his wife saved his holding. She was wealthy, maybe from Khel or someplace. People don’t ask questions when you’ve got gold and jewels.”

Although Quaeryt talked to Zoalon for another two quints, he didn’t learn anything significantly new after the factor’s comments on Ryel.

When Quaeryt returned to the inn, he found Zhelan and Calkoran, and the three took a table in the corner of the public room.

A red-haired and freckled serving girl, probably younger than Elsior, thought Quaeryt, approached, looking tentatively at the officers.

“Pale lager, or whatever lager’s the lightest, if you would,” requested Quaeryt.

“Dark lager,” added Calkoran.

“Ale,” said Zhelan.

After the server hurried toward the kitchen, Quaeryt asked, “How are the dispatch riders?”

“They’re still confused,” replied Zhelan. “I just asked them what they thought might happen to them if someone was capturing and killing dispatch riders. I said we were making good time toward Rivages, and that they’d only be a day or two longer … and that they could blame you for the delay.” The major grinned.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Did you learn anything new from the factor?”

“A few things, but they all tend to confirm what we’ve been seeing all along. According to Zoalon, Kharst ended up relying on the factors because the High Holders were stiff-necked, uncooperative, and totally dishonest. Then, given how Kharst dealt with them, I can see why they might be perceived that way.”

“They deserved each other,” said Calkoran. “Bovarian High Holders value their power and privileges over everything. Bovarian factors value golds above everything.”

Quaeryt smiled wryly, then frowned. There had been something like that … in Rholan and the Nameless. But he waited while the server set three beakers on the table, then handed her a silver. “The extra is for you.”

Her mouth opened for a moment, then closed, before she finally said, “Thank you, sir,” and hurried off, as if afraid Quaeryt would change his mind.

“You were about to say something, sir,” reminded Zhelan.

“I was just recalling something Rholan was supposed to have said, something along the line that everyone thinks merchants and factors know the price of everything and the value of nothing, but that’s not true. They know the value of every kind of good to the last part of a copper…” Quaeryt paused. There was something else that had been there.

“Sir?”

“There was more. I can’t remember it exactly, but it was about how factors don’t value beliefs or understand what they mean to others.”

“Does anyone who has power?” asked Calkoran sardonically.

“I believe Lord Bhayar understands the importance of at least some beliefs, and that others value their beliefs. But he has been forced to see more than most rulers. I don’t think the same of most factors, especially not Bovarian factors. That’s also why I think that factors should always advise, but never govern, because a land can’t be governed just on the basis of golds.”

“He was forced to see?” asked Calkoran. “Who forces a ruler?”

“In his case, his own father,” replied Quaeryt.

“You said that Bhayar was actually a ranker in Tilbor?” said Zhelan.

“He was. His sire wanted him to understand what the men he commanded felt. That has been a tradition since the time his forbears were just Yaran warlords.”

“He was on the field at Variana,” Zhelan pointed out.

“Better than any other ruler in Lydar,” conceded Calkoran.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach Rivages?” asked Quaeryt, not wanting to get into a detailed discussion about Bhayar, because, at times, he wondered if he truly knew the man who called him a friend.

“Looks to me like we’re less than a hundred milles from Rivages,” said Zhelan. “That’s if the maps and what the locals say is right. If the roads don’t get worse, four long days.” He paused. “You just want to ride in?”

“I was thinking of sending out scouts, with one of the imagers to give them concealment, just to see what they can find.”

“That might be best.” Calkoran nodded.

Zhelan nodded.

Quaeryt lifted his beaker and took a swallow of the pale lager. He’d had better, but he’d had much worse.