Rex Regis

11

In the end, Quaeryt, Vaelora, and their forces did not leave Daaren until Vendrei morning, partly because obtaining supplies took longer than Quaeryt had anticipated and partly because both Khaern and Calkoran felt that the mounts needed more rest. The additional day did give Quaeryt some time to start drafting what he thought of as a code for factors and trade. He had no illusions that what he wrote would be approved by Bhayar without change, but with three different sets of laws governing trade and commerce, Quaeryt felt that Bhayar would want some uniform code … and if Bhayar changed it, even for what Quaeryt might think was for the worse, one code was better than three-or four, if the High Councilors of Khel ever came to their senses and agreed to some sort of terms with Bhayar.

For the first eleven milles north on the east side of the Phraan River, all the way to the small town of Faantyl, the road was slightly better than it had been south of Daaren. In Faantyl, surprisingly, every building seemed to have been built of the pale yellow brick that Quaeryt had first observed in Daaren, except in Daaren, not every structure had been built of it. Once in the town proper of Faantyl, Quaeryt reined up and asked one of the local crofters, seated on his wagon seat, on the west side of the churned dirt open space that passed for a square, about the road to the north.

“Well … it’s not as bad as it might be this time of year, after the swampy part a mille or so north.”

“What about the roads on the west side of the river?”

The grizzled crofter shook his head. “Aren’t none to speak of.”

“How bad is the swampy part?”

“Right now, I wouldn’t be going there. It’s passable enough come summer.”

“All the way to Eluthyn?”

“I wouldn’t know about that. Never been farther north than Eelan, and not there recently.”

“How far is Eelan?”

“Mayhap twenty milles, could be a shade more.”

“Do people travel here from farther north?”

“In the summer, they do. Not now, most years.”

Quaeryt asked more questions, but it was clear that the man had told him what he knew. And others around the square couldn’t add much.

“We might as well push on,” he decided. And we’ll likely need imaging in more than a few places.

Less than two milles north of Faantyl, the outriders came hurrying back to Quaeryt and Zhelan.

“Sirs…”

“There’s an impassable swampy stretch of road?” asked Quaeryt.

“Pretty much, sir.”

“What does the road look like beyond the swampy place?” asked Quaeryt.

“Can’t tell, sir.”

“Is there a track that leads around it?”

“There’s a narrow path, but Cloryt’s mount’s foreleg sunk so deep we had to use ropes to pull him clear.”

“We’ll have to see what the imagers can do, then.” Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Imager undercaptains! Forward!” Then he looked at Vaelora. “The road repairs begin. I hope we don’t have to rebuild it all the way to Eelan.”

“If you do, that will make life better for the people.”

“And take days…” he replied dryly, turning to Zhelan and saying, “Have the men take a break, and pass the word back to Calkoran and Khaern. Water the mounts, and then move ahead to join us. But take your time.”

With the four imager undercaptains and Elsior, Quaeryt rode forward a good quarter mille along the section of the road that rose very gradually, perhaps five yards over the distance. He reined up where the outriders waited on the gentle crest just south of an area that looked like a gigantic mud puddle, stretching several hundred yards to the north and east and some thirty to the west. His first inclination was to have one of the imagers just remove the sloppy mess, but he saw that the road was actually in a depression with higher ground to each side, and that ground was a good two yards higher. Still, that gave him an idea, and he guided his mount toward the river, where he looked over the higher ground between the muddy mess and the slope down to the Phraan. Then he rode back.

“Horan … do you see where that bare bush is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think you could image out a channel two yards wide from the road through the higher ground?”

“So that the slop will flow toward the river?”

“That’s the idea. Even if it doesn’t, that will allow drainage in the future so that this mess doesn’t happen again.”

Horan concentrated, and in instants there was a channel from the west side of where the road might once have been through the higher ground to the slope leading down to the river, a distance of about fifty yards.

“There you are, sir.” Horan blotted his forehead.

“Let’s wait and see how much drains away.”

While the water on top of the mud slowly flowed through the channel, after a quint had passed it was clear that the mud below the surface water wasn’t moving. Not anytime soon, Quaeryt realized.

“Lhandor, image away a few yards of the mud, starting there.” Quaeryt pointed several yards north of the slightly higher and drier ground where he had reined up.

“Yes, sir.”

After just a few efforts by Lhandor and Khalis, and even a smaller amount being removed by Elsior, Quaeryt called a halt when he saw, at the bottom of the excavated area, the remnant of what appeared to be a stone wall.

“Take away a bit to the north,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Khalis did so, revealing more mortared stone.

With the additional removal, Quaeryt could see that at some time in the past, someone had built a stone causeway through the swampy ground, and that the causeway had included two culverts to drain water away.

In the end, some two glasses later, a stone roadway, with three arched culverts beneath and smaller channels feeding into the larger one that Horan had created, stretched almost four hundred yards through what had been a swampy depression.

Once the last traces of frost from the imaging had faded, they resumed their journey.

“If the people here had just maintained what was built here in the first place, they wouldn’t have had that problem,” observed Vaelora.

“The local smallholders don’t have the ability to do that, not without neglecting their own lands. There aren’t any High Holders near, and the factors in Faantyl and Eelan don’t want to spend the silvers or golds because they don’t see any immediate coins from repairing the road. That’s the problem with leaving everything in the hands of the factors. If it doesn’t benefit them directly and immediately, most of them won’t do things that help others, especially here in Bovaria, it appears.”

Two milles north of the swampy area and the newly rebuilt causeway, Vaelora suddenly pointed to a low rise on which there were several scattered stone and brick walls. The brick was, once more, pale yellow. “Over there, on the hillside.”

Just ahead, also on the left, was a double line of trees, although there were many gaps in the trees that had once flanked a drive leading to the buildings.

“Most likely, the former High Holder who once lived there built the causeway,” suggested Quaeryt.

“This isn’t that narrow a road. Or it wasn’t. Look at how wide the shoulders are.”

Quaeryt had noticed that earlier. “You’re thinking that this was once the main way from Varian to Daaren before the Great Canal was built?”

“It was a more important road then.”

“That makes sense. The route is shorter.” It also proved to Quaeryt how much Kharst and his sire had neglected the roads of Bovaria.

For the rest of the morning and the first three glasses of the afternoon, the road remained passable, although in two cases, Quaeryt had the imagers replace small timber bridges with stone spans, but those were across small creeks.

Just after fourth glass, up ahead, he saw an oblong stone, upright, but half buried in turf that threatened to engulf it. When they rode closer, he could see that the millestone held letters carved into the stone that time and weather had softened until they were barely readable: EELAN-4 M.

“Have you ever heard or read of the place?” asked Vaelora.

“Except as a name on a map? No.”

They rode another two milles. Then the road curved away from the river, running due east for a good half mille before turning back north again. Quaeryt also noticed that the Phraan River itself had bent more to the west, and he wondered why the road hadn’t at least gone straight. After another half mille, he saw why. Off the road to the left was a high holding, not a huge one, but definitely a high holding with a large residence constructed out of pale yellow brick and gray stone situated on a low rise that presumably overlooked the river, although Quaeryt couldn’t see the river from the road. Ahead was a set of gates, simple black iron anchored in two large yellow brick and gray stone pillars, with a low pale yellow brick wall running some fifty yards back from the gates on each side.

As they rode past, Quaeryt saw no indication of who the High Holder might be, although the well-kept grounds and thin trails of smoke from more than a few chimneys indicated that the holding was definitely in use.

“I would have thought,” ventured Vaelora, “that the High Holder might have had some interest in better roads.”

“His holding is on the river, and it’s deep enough, barely, for travel and probably for small boats to bring goods down from Eluthyn. The last thing he’d have wanted is good roads for Kharst’s forces to be able to reach him easily.”

“So they all let the roads deteriorate to make it harder for Kharst to reach them?”

“Given what you know about him, wouldn’t you?”

Vaelora just shook her head.

“That brings up one other thing that has bothered me, on and off,” Quaeryt ventured.

“Which is, dearest?”

“Imagers. There were always rumors that Kharst had imagers. We never encountered any. No one has mentioned them, either.”

“That’s not surprising,” she replied. “When you turned the battlefield at Variana and the Chateau Regis to ice, you likely killed almost everyone who knew anything … and possibly the imagers themselves … if there were any. If they weren’t there, don’t you think they would have gone into hiding or fled?”

“Because of what they did for Kharst?”

“Well … anyone who had a company of assassins…”

Quaeryt nodded, but he wondered if they’d ever really find out.

Less than a glass later, they rode into Eelan, an old river town, with two river piers, old enough to look like they should sag out over the water, although they did not, and a single inn, across the river square from the piers. Clean and tidy as it was, the Silver Swan had seen better days, with slightly sagging and worn floorboards, and a public room. Every building in the town appeared to have been constructed of the same pale yellow brick that they had seen at the holding.

After the initial meeting with the innkeeper, Quaeryt left the details of settling the men in to Zhelan and Khaern. Barely allowing Vaelora a chance to wash up, he requested a squad of troopers from Eleventh Regiment to accompany him and Vaelora back to the high holding. Khalis also rode with them, before Quaeryt and Vaelora and alongside squad leader Kezyn.

They had scarcely ridden away from the inn when Vaelora turned in the saddle and said, “Do tell me we’re doing this now so that we don’t have to spend another day here.”

“That’s precisely why we’re doing it.” Quaeryt glanced at the small chandlery on the west side of the main street, its shutters already closed for the day, even though it was barely past fifth glass.

“What is the name of the High Holder?” asked Vaelora.

“I told you. It’s Nephyl-”

“You may have told me, dearest, but you didn’t bother to see if I happened to be where I could hear what you had to say.”

Quaeryt held in a wince, and continued. “He has some contact with the town, but seldom has visitors from the north, except by the river … and not many of those. The innkeeper said that his family was here before the town, or so the story goes, and that his bricks built all of Eelan, all of Faantyl, and much of Daaren.”

“I didn’t see much sign of a brickworks.”

“It’s supposedly on the other side of the river, downstream and out of sight. The good High Holder doubtless did not wish his view spoiled.”

When they reached the gates, Kezyn gestured, and a trooper dismounted and walked to the gates.

“The gates are locked, sir.”

“Stand back, if you would,” ordered Quaeryt, who gestured to Khalis.

The trooper backed away, and the undercaptain imaged away a link of the heavy iron chain.

“Try it now.”

The trooper unwound the chain and then pulled back one gate, then the other. Both creaked loudly.

Quaeryt studied the short brick-paved apron leading to the gate, then nodded. “No recent tracks. Most visitors and supplies come by river.” He looked to Khalis. “Shields up. Lead the way to the side entry.”

Khalis led the way along the brick-paved lane to the entry on the north side of the hold house.

As they neared, Quaeryt could see that another brick lane angled up from a pier and boathouse on the river some ten yards lower than the side terrace that appeared to serve as a receiving portico. No one appeared on the unroofed terrace, which had four gray stone pillars on the east side and four on the west river side. Three wide steps ran from the paved lane up to the portico terrace.

A gray-haired man in pale yellow livery, trimmed in white, stepped out onto the side portico, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Lady Vaelora and Commander Quaeryt are here to see High Holder Nephyl,” announced Khalis.

“He is not receiving,” announced the functionary.

“I don’t think you understand,” said Khalis. “Lady Vaelora is an envoy and the sister of Lord Bhayar, who now rules Bovaria. Your master can receive them … or he can contemplate his failure to do so amid the ruin of his holding.”

“I do not believe-”

Before the man could complete his sentence, Khalis imaged away the first two pillars on the left side of the receiving terrace.

The functionary swallowed. “I will convey your message.” He did not quite bolt inside.

In moments, a short and slender figure in an elegant blue jacket, a white ruffled shirt, and gray trousers above polished black boots appeared. His eyes darted to the missing section of the portico, and he smiled wryly as he turned to face Khalis, Quaeryt, and Vaelora. “I see that Vheran was not exaggerating. I’m Nephyl, current holder, if recently. Welcome to Lehyln. We did see your forces pass earlier. Will you be requiring the holding for quarters or the like?”

“No … not unless matters deteriorate,” replied Quaeryt. “We were passing through on our return to Variana, and the Lady Vaelora thought we should pay our respects.”

“You’re welcome to enter, and we would be happy to receive you…”

Quaeryt smiled. “Thank you. Of necessity, our visit will be short. Undercaptain Khalis and the troopers will remain here. Khalis is, of course, quite capable of bringing down the entire holding by himself.”

“I had heard that Lord Bhayar’s forces were not unduly bothered by obstacles that had in the past thwarted other conquerors.”

Quaeryt dismounted and extended a hand to Vaelora.

Her fingers barely touched his as she vaulted down from the saddle, a gesture expressing appreciation while making the point that she needed no aid. “Thank you.”

As Quaeryt and Vaelora walked toward the slender holder, half a head shorter than Quaeryt, who was barely taller than average, Nephyl studied the two from behind a pleasant smile. Quaeryt maintained shields covering both himself and Vaelora.

The holder gestured toward the open door, then stepped through and led the way. Beyond the wide but single door was a modest entry hall with a slightly raised ceiling and a floor tiled in pale yellow and a dark gray. Waiting was a black-haired maid in the pale yellow livery of the hold. She stepped forward to take Vaelora’s riding jacket, then looked at her closely. Her eyes widened and went to Quaeryt, running from his brilliant white hair and eyebrows, even to his fingers. She said nothing, but took Vaelora’s jacket and Quaeryt’s visor cap, bowed, and immediately retreated down a narrow hall immediately to the right.

“We had not expected visitors,” said Nephyl, “and what refreshments we can offer are perforce limited.”

“We understand,” replied Quaeryt. “We had not intended to be visitors, but we could not pass up the opportunity to visit another High Holder.”

“You have visited many?”

Quaeryt frowned, trying to make a quick mental calculation. “I would say a score or more, in one fashion or another, but that is just an estimate.”

“You are the seventh hold in southern Bovaria,” added Vaelora.

Quaeryt’s eyes darted to the narrow side hall where he saw the maid whispering something to a taller young woman with curly brown hair, wearing a hip-length gray silk jacket over gray trousers and a bright yellow silk blouse. The taller woman slipped away from the maid and hurried into the entry hall.

“My wife, Mergiana.”

“I apologize. I had just come in from riding. We had not expected such distinguished personages.” Mergiana’s voice was warm, although her smile was tentative.

“We’re pleased to meet you,” said Vaelora warmly.

“If you would join us in the salon,” suggested Nephyl. “It does have a lovely view of the river.”

Quaeryt stayed close to Vaelora, his shields covering them both, as they followed the couple, both far closer to Vaelora’s age than Quaeryt’s, down the larger corridor that led straight back from the entry hall. Mergiana leaned toward her husband and murmured a few words. While Quaeryt could not hear them, he could sense the urgency behind them, and he strengthened his shields.

Some twenty yards down the corridor was an archway into a large chamber that stretched some fifteen yards toward the river. Wide windows overlooked a roofed terrace beyond, the roof clearly being necessary so that those on the terrace could enjoy the breezes and the river view in late afternoon.

Nephyl gestured toward a settee and the chairs flanking it, all facing the river.

Quaeryt guided Vaelora to the far end of the settee, then stood beside the chair, waiting for the holder and his wife to take their places, seating himself as they did, with Mergiana taking the place beside Vaelora.

“My wife informs me that you, Commander, are somewhat more than a commander, and that the lady is also more than that.”

Quaeryt smiled. “I am a commander in the Telaryn forces, and I do have the honor to be married to Lady Vaelora, who is indeed the sister of Lord Bhayar, and who is returning from a mission as envoy to the High Council of Khel.”

Nephyl frowned, as if uncertain as to what else he might say without being impolite.

“I believe my husband was referring to the fact that you both appear to have a Naedaran background, and such is rare these days.”

“It is no secret that Lord Bhayar’s family is half Pharsi,” said Quaeryt, “and I was an orphan who did not discover I was of Pharsi blood until I was full grown.”

“My maid Semila is of that background,” pursued Mergiana. “She says that you bear all the … attributes of those who are sometimes called sons of Erion.”

Quaeryt shrugged, as if helpless to refute the statement.

“My husband can be modest about such,” said Vaelora. “He has always believed that actions define someone better than words. He is the most effective commander in all my brother’s armies. He just returned from the conquest of Antiago.”

“Antiago…? It is also in Lord Bhayar’s hands?” asked Nephyl. “What of the Autarch … and his Antiagon Fire … and imagers?”

“The Autarch and most of his troopers are dead, as are most of the imagers,” replied Quaeryt. “We also destroyed perhaps seven or eight warships as well. Submarshal Skarpa is acting governor of Antiago.”

“The world has changed … greatly … in the last year,” said Nephyl slowly.

“It will continue to change in the year to come,” observed Quaeryt. “You may have received a summons to pay a token tariff for the past year. If you have not, you will.”

“Token? How great a token … if I might ask?”

“A hundred golds, I believe.”

“Some might not consider that a token.”

“Perhaps not, but he is also requiring token tariffs from the factors, and there is much that needs to be done in Bovaria, such matters as rebuilding neglected roads and applying the same laws to all. Lord Bhayar would prefer not to remove High Holders, but he will do so if they do not pledge allegiance to him and pay their tariffs.”

“I had not heard…”

“There were four High Holders near Kephria,” said Vaelora. “They did not believe the commander. Their holds no longer exist. There is not a stone remaining. There are other High Holders who did. Outside of the token payment, and occasionally the purchase of supplies at a cheaper rate, they remain untouched.”

“Lord Bhayar is a man of his word,” declared Quaeryt.

“And so are you, it is said,” suggested Mergiana. “Can you assure us-” She stopped at a sharp gesture from Nephyl.

“We have no intention of doing you any harm,” replied Quaeryt. “Lord Bhayar expects allegiance and loyalty. We’re here to let you know that, not to strip your holding or destroy it.” He smiled politely. “I understand that your holding is known for the fine pale yellow bricks that appear to have built every structure in Eelan, Faantyl, and many elsewhere, as in Daaren. Tell me about that, if you would.”

“Ah … yes.” Nephyl cleared his throat. “My great-great-grandsire was fortunate enough to discover that the lands on the far side of the Phraan contain great deposits of a fine clay…”

Quaeryt listened, but remained alert. So did Vaelora.