Rex Regis (3 page)

“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.”

“No!”

Vaelora’s cry was so wrenching that Quaeryt, deeply as he was sleeping sometime after midnight, bolted awake instantly. He scrambled up from the pallet on the floor where he slept, less than a yard away from her, to the side of her bed.

“No!”

Even in the dimness of the old stone fort, he could see that she was fully awake, her eyes wide, but focused somewhere well beyond Kephria. He stood, looking down at her, afraid to touch her for fear of interrupting what she might be seeing, yet worried about what she might be experiencing.

Abruptly her eyes focused on Quaeryt, and he bent down. “What was it?” he asked, his arms around her. “A nightmare … or a farsight?”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I woke up a while ago, maybe a quint or so ago, thinking about how much we have left to do, and worrying about what the Khellan High Council will do … and about what has happened in Variana since we left, and how Bhayar was … and … whether we could … you know, dearest.”

“I know … and I’m sure we can.” Quaeryt didn’t want to say more, not since it had been such a short time since Vaelora’s injury and miscarriage.

“Then … out of nowhere, I had this flash.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Rather … I know, but it didn’t make any sense at all. It was extremely clear. You were standing in a well-lighted room. I didn’t see anyone else. It could have been a High Holder’s study, or a library, even a salon. Then, there was total darkness. You were still there. I could sense you, but there was only darkness … and the darkness was filled with danger.” Vaelora shuddered again. “That was all.” After a moment she added, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you at all.”

“It wasn’t familiar to you?”

“No … but that doesn’t mean anything.”

Quaeryt held her a bit more closely for several moments before he spoke again. “Like the way you didn’t recognize the entrance to the Telaryn Palace years before you were actually there?”

He could feel her nod.

“Did I look like I do now … or was I older?”

“You looked much like you do now … but you’ll look the same for at least a few years more.”

“Don’t ask me more questions. I may have told you too much already.”

Quaeryt unfortunately understood. As he and Vaelora had discussed before, she feared that his questions would be based on what he thought and expected and not what her farsight really had shown … and too many questions could result in him misleading himself and creating even more problems when whatever she had foreseen did occur.

“Just hold me.”

Quaeryt did, shifting his weight slightly on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t help wondering what her farsight portended … or when and where those events might occur.

After morning muster on Mardi, Quaeryt and Vaelora, accompanied by a half squad of troopers from first company, rode through the ruins of Kephria, while Quaeryt, often prompted by Vaelora, took notes-in Bovarian, since Zhael and Arion would need to be able to read them-about what buildings should be allowed where, and where no buildings should be constructed.
Assuming anyone even shows up to build anything,
thought Quaeryt, although he and Zhelan and Calkoran had already put together a rough plan and location for the trooper compound around the buildings the imager undercaptains were already imaging into being.

Then, a quint past noon, after Valeora had rested for a glass, and Quaeryt managed to avoid asking more questions about her farsight, she and Quaeryt rode over to the “new” trooper headquarters building that the imagers had created from the old blockhouse.

“It’s amazing what the four of them have done in four days,” said Vaelora, taking in the front courtyard, and the barracks building to the east of the headquarters, a structure that Quaeryt knew was essentially an empty but solid shell that would provide shelter, but would require a great deal of work by Arion’s and Zhael’s men to make it comfortable.

The two dismounted. Quaeryt tied both mounts to the hitching rail on the west side of the entrance. They walked toward the single heavy oak door.

Vaelora stopped and pointed to the image cut into the flat white stone set into the wall above the door-two troopers riding through a sundered wall toward a paved road. “That’s you and Skarpa, I think.”

Quaeryt glanced up. “It could be any two officers.”

“Yes, dearest,” replied Vaelora in the falsely sweet voice that told Quaeryt he was wrong, but that she was being too nice to contradict him in public.

“Thank you, dear Lady,” he said, grinning at her.

The two had barely stepped through the door than Baelthm, the oldest of all of the imager undercaptains, stepped forward. “Commander, Lady.” He nodded and then said, “I did the tables and chairs just like you ordered, sir, the longer one for you and Lady Vaelora, and the shorter one for the holder and his son.”