Rex Regis (56 page)

“There’s little enough to say. The holding has enough land to provide timber to Yapres, and we’ve got a clay quarry and brick kilns, and the east lands are wet and flat enough for maize. A little of this and that, but not enough of any one thing. Two sons, no daughters. One handles the brick-making and timber, the other the crops and tenants. My wife died ten years ago.” Caemren shrugged, as if to indicate there was little left to say.

Quaeryt didn’t feel like pushing. Instead, he stood. Caemren and Calkoran did as well, although a quick look of puzzlement crossed the High Holder’s face. Caemren gestured toward the door from the terrace to the salon, then led the way back to the main entry. Quaeryt could not help but notice how quiet the house was, as if inhabited only by Caemren and a few servants.

When they reached the portico, Caemren looked to Calkoran. “A pleasure meeting you, Subcommander.” His eyes flicked to Quaeryt. “And to see you and learn your mission was successful, Commander. I’d have been surprised if it hadn’t been.”

“I appreciate your confidence,” replied Quaeryt.

“Not confidence, just knowledge.” Caemren watched as the two officers mounted and then led the squad down the paved drive toward the gates.

Quaeryt thought over the brief meeting, which had only reinforced his feelings, about both Caemren and the High Holders of Bovaria.

“What did you think of the High Holder?” Quaeryt asked Calkoran.

“He is smart, and he will not cross you. He will only do what he must, but he will do it promptly. That is so he does not call attention to himself.”

“And he’s one of the better holders.”

“That surprises you?”

“No,” replied Quaeryt wryly, “but I could hope.”

Calkoran laughed.

After a moment so did Quaeryt.

Quaeryt and first company left Yapres before fifth glass on Solayi morning, taking the east road to Choelan to reach Magiian’s hold by seventh glass. Quaeryt didn’t want to spend an extra day on the road just to visit Magiian, and Justanan could certainly handle Northern Army, since officially he was in command, no matter how much he deferred to Quaeryt. He did detail Calkoran’s company as vanguard … and to make sure no “couriers” rode out.

While the road east was not that good, after the first three milles out of Yapres, which wound through low hills, the land was flat and the way largely straight. Without pushing the mounts, Quaeryt reached the holding a quint before seventh glass. The only indication that they might be at a hold was the single name-MAGIIAN-chiseled into a stone plaque on the left brick gatepost. The iron filigree gates, painted white, were open. There were no guards, and no guardhouse, no walls or hedgerows, just a long graveled drive that ran straight back through fields filled with green plants a yard high. Ahead was a reddish brick building about the size of Caemren’s hold house with white pillars framing an entry portico. Scattered lines of trees flanked the edges of some fields, but with the exception of a small woods or woodlot perhaps a mille and a half to the east, Quaeryt could see no other stands of trees.

As he rode toward the dwelling a good mille back from the road, Quaeryt looked for the blue flowers that indicated the plants were flax, but decided it was too early in the summer for them to be blooming … at least from what he’d read.

“The High Holder doesn’t seem to be worried about anyone attacking,” observed Zhelan.

Quaeryt had to agree. He’d never seen a hold with fewer defenses. Without the plaque on the gatepost, he wouldn’t even have considered the dwelling a hold house. Then, as they neared the main dwelling, set on a man-made rise less than two yards above the surrounding fields, he saw the extensive outbuildings-six large barnlike structures, two long stables, a score of small cots, and ten or eleven sheds of various sizes. All were built of the reddish brick.

The red brick house itself was of two stories and extended some eighty yards, end to end. The upper level had wide windows, and most were open, although Quaeryt thought he saw fine mesh netting inside, covering the opening. All the trim and the pillars supporting the portico roof were painted white. The drive joined a circle that ran up to the portico.

As Quaeryt reined up at the foot of the three wide steps leading from the drive up to the portico, a graying man dressed in brown shuffled from the wide single door toward the end of the portico, then straightened when he reached it. He looked at Quaeryt, but said nothing.

“I’m Commander Quaeryt. Lord Bhayar sent me. I’m here to see High Holder Magiian. If you would tell him I’m here.”

The man nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.” He shuffled back toward the hold house.

Only a few moments later the door opened. The man who stepped out onto the red brick pavement of the small roofed portico wore rough brown trousers with a collarless brown shirt and scuffed boots. The crown of his head was bald and tanned, and short and wispy brown hair circled his pate. He was perhaps ten years older than Quaeryt.

“High Holder Magiian?” asked Quaeryt.

“That’s who you asked for. That’s who I am,” the man replied with a mischievous smile. “What do you require of me? Or what does Lord Bhayar require?”

“He requires your allegiance and your tariffs. I just need a glass of your time.”

Magiian’s eyes ran over the company. “That’s all? And on a Solayi morning?”

“Water for the mounts would be appreciated. We’re actually on our way back to Variana. I didn’t have time to stop on the way to Rivages. This is the only time I have to meet you.” Quaeryt dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to a ranker.

“If your men will ride back to the water troughs, I’ll have my people expecting them.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt looked to Zhelan. “Hold the company for a bit to give them time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt walked up the steps to meet the High Holder.

Magiian studied Quaeryt for a moment, then nodded. “It’s early, but the study is still neat.” He turned and walked toward the door.

Quaeryt followed, noting that, despite the simplicity of the hold house, everything looked to be in perfect repair, the brick paving even and well pointed, the paint on the trim and shutters and on wooden-faced and fluted pillars smooth and unweathered. The plain but brassbound single front door was also painted white. Inside, the hold was cool, but Quaeryt suspected it would be uncomfortably warm by late afternoon. He also heard voices.

“… all those troopers…”

“… an officer to see your father…”

“… don’t like-”

“Kylan!”

The last was clearly a forceful mother’s tone, and Quaeryt wondered what the youngster had been about to say. Instead, he said, “I take it I interrupted a family breakfast.”

“We were close to finishing.”

“I apologize, but I’m trying to see as many High Holders as possible, and that’s not always convenient.”

The study was moderate in size, perhaps four yards by six, with table desks at each end and a pair of leather armchairs set at a slight angle to each other before a wide window, arranged so that whoever sat there could read with late afternoon light or talk to another person.

Magiian gestured to the chairs, and they both sat.

“What do you want to know, Commander? I assume you didn’t come all the way from Variana merely to make my acquaintance?”

“I went to Rivages to resolve a situation for Lord Bhayar. One of his submarshals was compromised by Lady Myranda of Fiancryt and by the surviving imagers of Rex Kharst. I’ve met with as many High Holders as I could on the way out, and I’m doing so on the way back.”

“I presume you removed the submarshal and the imagers.”

Quaeryt didn’t answer the question, but merely raised his eyebrows.

“Every High Holder in Bovaria knows that a white-haired and young-faced commander who is likely an imager himself destroyed Kharst’s army to almost the last man and then was involved in the campaign to subdue Antiago. There cannot be many such, and you are returning from Rivages. Had you not been successful, you would not be heading out of your way to meet with one of the less renowned High Holders.”

“The matter was resolved, with the exception of Lady Myranda, who escaped.” Before Magiian could reply, Quaeryt added, “I was a little surprised when I saw your hold.”

“Why?” asked Magiian with a smile.

“There aren’t any walls, no hedgerows…”

“No defenses,” admitted the High Holder. “What would be the point? There aren’t any towns near here, not even hamlets. To build anything to withstand an attack would be prohibitively costly, and paying the guards to man it more so. The land holds the value, and there are enough men with skill at arms here to deal with common bandits and raiders.”

“I see no signs of older fortifications. One of your forbears came to that conclusion?”

“My great-great-grandsire. He also had a knack of convincing others. Most of those, and their descendants in this part of Bovaria, look at matters in much the same way as we do.”

“Concentrating on the land and leaving the politics to others?”

Magiian laughed softly. “I can’t see that getting closely involved with a rex has ever benefited a High Holder’s children, and certainly not his grandchildren.”

Quaeryt offered a wry smile in return. “There’s much to be said for just paying your tariffs and not plotting or scheming. Lord Bhayar has already tried to make it clear that he has little intention of disinheriting those who have followed that path.”

“I would hope that would be the case.”

“It has been so far. He may take a holding from a holder who dies without a widow or heirs. Do you have a dwelling in Variana?”

“Yes. It’s also rather modest. None of us-except me-have visited in years. I traveled there as little as possible, and at times when few others would.”

“In the depth of winter? Or the height of summer before harvest?”

“Something like that.”

“High Holder Caemren said that you deal largely in oilseeds, and somewhat in flax. Do you ship the linen to Variana by the Aluse?”

“When we produce more than the weavers in Choelan need.”

After that Quaeryt asked a number of questions, but from all that he could tell Magiian was what he purported to be-a High Holder more actively involved in his lands than most and one totally uninterested in much else … except as other matters might impact his holding.

Less than two quints later, Quaeryt and first company were riding back toward the River Aluse. While his visit revealed almost nothing new, in another way it was strangely reassuring to learn there might be significant numbers of High Holders who would pose no problems at all.

He nodded and looked at the flatness of the road. He had no doubt that it would take most of the day to catch up to Northern Army, and he almost wondered why he’d taken the time to ride all that way to visit with yet another politely self-centered High Holder. On the other hand, in addition to what he had learned, he had also conveyed the unspoken message that time and distance would not be a barrier to oversight or action by Bhayar … or his subordinates.

Unfortunately, the good weather that had favored Northern Army for the first part of the journey toward Variana did not last. By midafternoon on Mardi, the rain began to fall, heavily enough that the river road was soon a quagmire. That slowed the army so that it took three glasses to cover the last few milles into Roleon, and it was well after eighth glass before the men and mounts were settled … as well as possible. The rain did not let up until late Meredi. Finally, at eighth glass on Vendrei, Northern Army plodded out of Roleon.

The road had largely dried, but the worst part of riding, from Quaeryt’s point of view, was that the moisture and the summer sun had combined so that he felt as though they were riding through a steam bath populated with hordes of mosquitoes and red flies, both of which were far too small for him to use shields against.

By the time the army reached Caanara on the following Mardi evening, Quaeryt had insect bites in more places than he wanted to count, despite the fact that he’d worn his visor cap and a long-sleeved uniform shirt the entire time. He felt he’d seen and experienced more mosquitoes and red flies over the past two days than he had on the entire campaign the previous summer, a fact he mentioned to Justanan as the two of them sat at a corner table in the public room of the best inn in Caanara, the Red Bear, which, in Quaeryt’s mind, barely merited being termed an inn. Each had a beaker of lager before them, supposedly pale, but more like amber.

“I’d have to agree,” said the older officer. “They weren’t near as thick there, especially the red flies. Well … maybe in a few places, but not for days straight, even when it rained.”

“I wondered if I was the only one who thought that way.”

“Nieron has more bites than you do, I think, from the way he talks.”

“How do you think he feels about Myskyl, now that he’s had a chance to think it over?”

“He hasn’t said much. We were never close, you know. He did say that it was obvious that your loyalty was to Lord Bhayar.” Justanan paused. “You meant what you said about not being marshal, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely. That would not be good for Bhayar or for Lydar.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“That doesn’t mean that I should be. I’d be seen as having too much power. It’s one thing to be an imager and one commander among many…” Quaeryt let the words hang.

The older commander nodded. “You prefer to remain less visible.”

“It’s not just that. Lord Bhayar needed the imagers after Kharst attacked, but imagers should not be a part of the armies on a permanent basis. They should be separate, and they should provide other benefits and services, and they should report directly to the ruler. They also need to be better organized and structured.”