Rex Regis

47

The hold house fire did not erupt quite so quickly as it seemed to Quaeryt at the time he hurried out into the courtyard, but it spread fast enough and burned long enough that it was well past the third glass of the afternoon before all that remained was a pile of smoldering ashes and charred stone and brick walls. The various regimental commanders had managed enough men and buckets to keep the fire from spreading to the outbuildings, although that was helped greatly by the fact that the courtyards were wide enough that, with almost no wind, few sparks and embers traveled that far. In the upheaval and firefighting, Zhelan and Calkoran had little difficulty in entering the hold grounds.

Quaeryt did take the precaution of putting the shaken captain under guard and protection of the imagers, since he was the only witness besides the imager undercaptains. He also had a guard posted around the area of the south wing of the hold house where the officers’ salon had been. Once the fire was no longer a threat, slightly before fourth glass, Quaeryt summoned the remaining two full commanders-Justanan and Nieron-to a meeting in what had been Luchan’s study in the large guesthouse.

By the time both commanders entered the study, Quaeryt had eaten and rested somewhat, and he stood beside the table desk that had been Luchan’s. He gestured to the chairs before the table desk. Nieron had thick black hair, wide blue eyes, and an open face, the kind most people trusted on sight. Justanan was narrow-faced, with deep-set watery green eyes and fine and thinning blond hair. His forehead was lined, as if he’d worried his entire life.

After a moment both sat. Quaeryt settled into the chair behind the table desk.

“You asked us to join you, Commander?” asked Nieron. “Should that not have been Commander Justanan’s prerogative, since he is senior?”

“Commander Justanan is indeed senior, but there are a few matters to discuss, Commander,” replied Quaeryt coldly. “Lord Bhayar sent me to determine why he had received no reply from Submarshal Myskyl, despite a number of dispatches and inquiries. When I tried to ask the submarshal about that, he turned three of Kharst’s former imagers on me, and attempted to use a blunderbuss on me. The failure of the Bovarian imagers resulted in a fire and an explosion that killed the imagers, the submarshal, and Commander Luchan.”

“We have only your word for that.”

“Actually, that’s not true. Captain Whandyn, the submarshal’s personal aide, was a witness to the entire disaster, and we managed to rescue him from the fire. So were two of my undercaptains. Shortly, I’ll let the captain tell you his version. Once we return to Variana, Lord Bhayar will make a final judgment, but at present, given the fact that Submarshal Myskyl appeared to have been compromised, or somehow had his judgment or loyalties altered by the Bovarian imagers, and perhaps Lady Myranda…” Quaeryt paused, then asked, “By the way, has anyone seen the lady?”

“She rode off during the fire, we think,” replied Justanan.

“There will likely be a price on her head,” replied Quaeryt, “but that will be up to Lord Bhayar.”

“Don’t you speak for Lord Bhayar?” asked Nieron sardonically. “In anything that matters?”

“Only when he’s told me what to say,” replied Quaeryt quietly. “Only then. That’s something that Submarshal Myskyl never understood.”

“You were saying,” prompted Nieron.

“At present, under Lord Bhayar’s authority and as Minister of Administration for Bovaria, I will be acting as senior officer.”

“The other officers will have something to say about that.”

“No,” said Quaeryt. “As you pointed out, Commander Justanan is senior. If, after he hears all that has occurred, he has reservations, then, and only then, will we discuss that. First, you need to hear some background. Then you need to read a dispatch. After that, you will hear Captain Whandyn, and if necessary, my undercaptains. And … once the fire has cooled enough, we will examine the so-called officers’ salon in the ruins of the hold house.”

“What exactly will that tell us?” said Nieron.

“Oh, I imagine that the iron of the blunderbuss mounted in a hidden alcove will be largely untouched, as will the iron shutter in the wall, and the iron backing of a false bookcase … as well as a few other items.”

At that, Nieron frowned, but did not speak.

“For you to understand what happened and why, there’s one set of facts you have to keep in mind. For the entire campaign up the River Aluse, and even at the battle of Variana, Lord Bhayar and Marshal Deucalon were greatly concerned about Rex Kharst’s imagers. Yet neither those imagers nor their bodies were ever found. They were known as ‘the three.’ There were in fact more than three. How many we may never know. What I do know is that several of them contacted Submarshal Myskyl, most likely through the most attractive and charming widow of High Holder Fiancryt.”

Quaeryt looked at Nieron and image-projected a compulsion to tell the truth as he asked, “Were you aware they were here?”

For a long moment, the commander was silent. Finally, he said, “I knew the submarshal was meeting with men who had served Rex Kharst.”

Justanan cleared his throat and looked at Nieron.

“We all thought they might be imagers,” added Nieron quickly.

“Why did you think he was talking to them?”

“It wasn’t my place to ask,” replied Nieron.

“And what did Myskyl say about them?”

“He only said they might be helpful in restoring full power to Lord Bhayar.”

“I see. And did he mention why Lord Bhayar might not have full power?”

Nieron did not quite meet Quaeryt’s eyes.

“Did he?”

After a silence, Quaeryt went on. “We’ll come back to that presently. Myskyl met with the three. What they said I don’t know. What I do know is this. For more than three months, the submarshal has sent no messages or dispatches to Lord Bhayar. He has sent no tariffs to Lord Bhayar, and he responded to none of Lord Bhayar’s requests. Now, I have known the submarshal since he was a commander in Tilbor. He was always a faithful and responsible officer, one whose efforts were always in service of Lord Bhayar. Yet, sometime after the three contacted this devoted officer, he changed. He sent no tariffs. He pretended to send dispatches, but they never arrived. He began to talk to High Holders, expressing worry that Lord Bhayar was the one who changed…”

“He said you changed Lord Bhayar,” said Commander Nieron.

“That I was the one who usurped Lord Bhayar’s power?”

“He never quite said that,” interjected Justanan. “It was always implied.”

Quaeryt laughed softly. “If I were such a schemer, why was I always at the front of the battles? Why have I been the one wounded three times? I came here with two companies, and I entered Fiancryt nearly alone, with two junior undercaptains. If I were a schemer, why would I leave my regiments, leave Variana and Lord Bhayar, and spend a month traveling to find out why Lord Bhayar received no dispatches? I didn’t agree with Kharst’s imagers to build an iron-walled room to trap another officer. I didn’t withhold tariffs, but sent everything I collected in southern Bovaria … Oh, and by the way, Submarshal Skarpa didn’t just squat in a high holding in southern Bovaria. When the High Holders there revolted, he put down the revolt, discovered they were allies of the Autarch, and went on and conquered Antiago and turned it over to Lord Bhayar. He didn’t let himself be turned against Lord Bhayar by Aliaro’s imagers.” Quaeryt smiled coldly at Nieron. “Now … Submarshal Myskyl was once an honorable officer. He was turned from his duty by the evil three. Who knows? Perhaps those imagers of Kharst’s were the reason why Kharst was so depraved.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but notice that Justanan nodded thoughtfully.

Nieron worried his lower lip.

Quaeryt lifted the dispatch from Myskyl from the folder on the table desk and extended it to Justanan. “We intercepted this several days ago. You may find it somewhat interesting.”

The worried-looking officer took the dispatch and began to read. His expression became more worried as he continued. Abruptly he looked up and shook his head. “By themselves, his words are merely worrisome, but knowing what we know…” He handed the dispatch to Nieron.

The black-haired commander began to read. When he finished, he said, “He’s only talking about not wanting the powers of the marshal to be usurped…”

“Are you an idiot?” asked Justanan. “He’s admitting he delayed sending tariffs, which is an act against Bhayar. He’s plotting against another officer appointed by Bhayar. Lord Bhayar is the one who decides how much power an officer under his direct authority has. Commander Quaeryt was not under the command of either the marshal or the submarshal. And as Commander Quaeryt pointed out, as you must be aware, he’s talking about an officer who has laid his life on the line in battle time after time. If there is a blunderbuss in that ruin, and I suspect there is, what other proof do you want?”

Nieron swallowed. “But why?”

“I think,” said Justanan, “Commander Quaeryt has the right of it. We know Kharst was corrupt. We know he did not hazard his imagers in battle. Every single one of Bhayar’s imagers has fought, and several have died. Does that not tell you something?”

Nieron shook his head. “Why would he turn … give up everything?”

“Perhaps they convinced him that he should be ruler and not Lord Bhayar, who is, as the submarshal did say, young to be a ruler over all of Lydar.”

“Could we hear from the captain?” asked Nieron.

“Of course.” Quaeryt stood and walked to the study door, opening it and asking the ranker stationed there-from first company, “Have Major Zhelan escort Captain Whandyn here, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt left the study door ajar and walked back to the table desk. “The captain should be here momentarily.”

When Whandyn entered the study, he looked to Quaeryt. “Sir?”

“Please sit down, Captain.” Quaeryt motioned to the remaining chair and waited until the junior officer was seated.

Whandyn was clearly ill at ease, sitting only on the front half of the chair, his eyes flicking from Quaeryt to the other commanders and back to Quaeryt.

“Captain,” began Quaeryt, “the commanders would like to hear what you heard and saw earlier today, beginning after you escorted me into the submarshal’s study. If you would tell them…”

“Yes, sir.” Whandyn moistened his lips. “I announced Commander Quaeryt and Submarshal Myskyl told me to show him in by all means. I closed the door. They must have talked for a while. Then the door opened, and the submarshal came out. Commander Quaeryt followed him. The submarshal stopped and told me to get Commander Luchan and his assistants and have them join him in the officers’ salon.”

“His assistants?” asked Nieron.

“What assistants?” inquired Justanan almost simultaneously.

“The commander was supposed to bring the Bovarian imagers. That’s all I knew, sir.” Whandyn trembled.

“You knew that was what the submarshal meant?” asked Justanan.

“Yes, sir. He’d told me they were always to be called his assistants.”

“Go on.”

“The submarshal and Commander Quaeryt went into the salon. It wasn’t long because Commander Luchan and the imagers came almost immediately. The imagers went into the little room with the peepholes into the salon…”

Quaeryt could see Nieron’s eyes widen.

“… and then Commander Luchan told me to knock on the door and tell the submarshal that he-Commander Luchan, I mean-had an urgent question for the submarshal. I did that. The submarshal hurried toward the door, and then he stopped … like he couldn’t move…”

“Pardon me, Commander,” said Nieron, turning to Quaeryt, “but there is one question I do need to ask.” He looked back to Whandyn. “At any time, did Commander Quaeryt threaten or use force against the submarshal?”

“Oh, no, sir! Not that I heard, sir … He just stood there when it all happened. The others … Erion and the imagers, they did everything. Well, and Commander Luchan. He tried to trigger the blunderbuss, but the imagers did something to stop him, I guess, because he fell down, but Commander Quaeryt couldn’t even have seen that. He was inside the salon.”

“Erion?” asked Nieron. “Erion?”

“Well … there was a figure that appeared. He looked like Erion. He said something, and then there were lightnings and flame everywhere. Then he was gone, and the Bovarian imagers were all burned up.”

“What about the submarshal?”

“Erion threw lightning or something at him.”

“Erion? How did you know it was Erion?”

“He gleamed all silver and he came down a path from the moon, and there was a huge bow across his back, and he melted an archway in the iron shutter.”

“Oh?”

“Sir … it sounds strange, but that’s what happened. It really did.”

“And Commander Quaeryt had nothing to do with this?”

“No, sir! It was Erion. Commander Quaeryt couldn’t do anything, either.”

“And Commander Quaeryt did nothing?” repeated Nieron.

“No, sir. It was like the submarshal and he were caught. I didn’t see how, but they couldn’t move.”

“I see.” Nieron looked to Justanan.

Justanan shook his head.

“Do you have any more questions of the captain?” asked Quaeryt.

“No,” said Nieron, a clear tone of discouragement in his voice. “That is sufficient.”

“Likely more than sufficient,” added Justanan.

“Captain, you may go. Please report back to Major Zhelan,” said Quaeryt quietly.

“Yes, sir.”

After the door closed behind the departing captain, Quaeryt asked, “Do you want to hear from my undercaptains?”

Nieron shook his head. He looked at Quaeryt. “How did you manage it?”

“I didn’t manage what happened in the officers’ salon,” Quaeryt replied. “I honestly have no idea how that happened. I am an imager, and I was holding full shields to protect myself, but something had clamped around me, and I couldn’t move. I thought that was something done by Myskyl’s imagers. I had a good idea that he would use them against me, and I was prepared to defend myself. I’d thought that would prove he was disloyal.” Quaeryt shrugged. “How all that happened after that … I don’t know.” Not precisely, anyway, and it’s better left like that.

“The captain’s story is very hard to believe,” stated Nieron.

“That’s most likely why he did see what he did,” said Justanan. “Do you honestly think any officer could invent that? Especially one that has never even met Commander Quaeryt before?” Justanan looked to Quaeryt. “Begging your pardon, Commander.”

“No offense taken,” replied Quaeryt. “I didn’t believe what I saw, either.”

“It may be better just to tell the other officers that the fire and explosion caused by the Bovarian imagers’ attack on Commander Quaeryt created the fire and killed Myskyl and Luchan.”

Nieron nodded slowly. “It’s so hard to believe.” Suddenly he looked at Quaeryt. “If we agree that you’re in command, what are your plans?”

“To leave one regiment here, and ride with the others back to Variana,” said Quaeryt. “One regiment here is enough. One has proved sufficient in the west, at Laaryn, and two companies are at Kephria, holding southern Bovaria at the moment.”

Justanan nodded.

“Who would you suggest…?”

“One of the subcommanders,” suggested Quaeryt. “With the death of Commander Luchan and the submarshal, you two are among the most senior officers remaining, and the marshal and Lord Bhayar may have need of you.”

“That makes sense,” said Justanan.

More than you know. But Quaeryt did not voice that as he watched Nieron.

After a moment Nieron nodded. “When would we leave?”

“As soon as possible. Within a day or so.” Quaeryt paused. “I’d suggest we plan to inspect the hold house first thing in the morning, at seventh glass. I’ve posted guards to keep men away from the building. It could be dangerous, and we don’t want anyone tempted to try to loot.”

“The tariff golds aren’t there, anyway,” said Justanan. “They’re in the strong room below.”

“That’s good to know. Will you take responsibility for guarding and transporting them?”

The balding blond officer smiled wryly. “The submarshal already gave me that duty.”

“Good.” Quaeryt returned the smile. “I’d also suggest that Commander Justanan and I address the senior officers tomorrow after we inspect the hold house and meet among ourselves. Perhaps at ninth glass?”

“That would be good,” said Justanan.

Nieron nodded.

“Is there anything else we need to discuss before then?”

The two exchanged glances. Then both shook their heads.

“Then I suggest we meet outside the hold house, or what remains of it, at seventh glass tomorrow morning.” Quaeryt rose.

So did the other two.

Once they had left, Quaeryt sent word that he needed to speak to the imager undercaptains. Then he sat back down behind the table desk and took a deep breath, wondering what else he had forgotten or overlooked, but at that moment could think of nothing else. Because you’re too tired?

Elsior entered the study first, followed immediately by Lhandor and Khalis.

Quaeryt waited until the door was closed and all three were seated before he spoke. “I haven’t had a chance until now to tell you three how much I appreciated your help in dealing with the Bovarian imagers. If you hadn’t done what you did, I doubt I’d be here at the moment.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” replied Khalis, “if you hadn’t done what you did, we wouldn’t be here, and the other imagers wouldn’t have much to look forward to.”

“That might be so, but it took all of us, just as it did at Liantiago, and just as it likely will in the years to come, if in a slightly different way. I did want you to know that I understand that and that I am grateful for all that you did.”

“Sir…” ventured Elsior, “how did you manage Erion?”

“Manage Erion?” asked Quaeryt, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact.

The other two looked at Elsior.

“I can sense shields. You know that. Everything was linked between you and Erion. How did you do it?”

Quaeryt laughed ruefully. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. After you three stopped Myskyl, I tried to put shields around him, but that was all I could do. Then Erion appeared. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but it was too real for that.”

“It was real,” affirmed Lhandor. “Terribly real.”

“But it was you,” insisted Elsior.

“My dreams, thoughts of Erion? That could be, but I didn’t image him into being, not that I felt then or recall now.”

“Whatever you did, it worked out,” said Khalis. “We’re all glad of that.”

“So am I,” replied Quaeryt. So am I. “And I’ll say one more time that it wouldn’t have happened without you three. Thank you.” He smiled. “That’s all I had to say.”

“Thank you, sir.” Elsior paused, then added, “I’m glad you saved me in Liantiago. I never had an imager maître there say ‘thank you’ or much like it. I’m not saying that just because of today, either.” He looked down, as if embarrassed.

“We all feel that way,” added Khalis.

The other two nodded.

“I’m glad you do.” Quaeryt paused, then said, “We’re all tired. Let’s get something to eat and see what we can do about quarters.”