Rex Regis

43

By the time Quaeryt conveyed Seliadyn’s invitation to his officers and the two companies reached the barracks, all the shutters and doors had been opened, and a footman waited to show the officers through the quarters. An assistant ostler also helped with informing the squad leaders where they could find the hay and grain set asides for the companies’ mounts, while an assistant cook helped with the preparation of rations for the men and officers.

The barracks were indeed spare, but there were enough bunks with pallets for all the rankers and every officer had a small chamber on the upper level. Quaeryt’s was slightly larger and had a table desk and attached washroom and jakes. The spaces were clean, although there were some traces of dust, suggesting that they had been used sometime in the last year, or that they were cleaned and maintained regularly. Quaeryt also could see that there were three buildings on the south side of the hold, roughly matching the barracks in position, that looked to be in regular use. While not as large as the Telaryn Palace in Tilbora, Seliadyn’s hold was the largest in extent of any belonging to a High Holder that Quaeryt had ever seen … and was definitely kept in good repair.

For the size of the high holding, there was a definite feeling, at least to Quaeryt, that the staff and occupants represented but a fraction of what the holding either could contain, or once had. Yet everything was in good repair, and there was no sign of neglect anywhere. And before Quaeryt retired, when he surveyed the tower, he saw the glimmer of but a few lamps.

The mattress pallet in his quarters was comfortable enough and better than many beds in the inns in which he had stayed, but his sleep was restless, and filled with unsettling dreams he could not remember when he woke early on Meredi. He was relieved that he had not imaged in his sleep, or not enough to have left any traces in the chamber, although he thought the air seemed cooler than it should have.

He was down in the mess early, but Zhelan and Ghaelyn immediately saw him and headed his way. Both looked concerned.

“What is it?” he asked as they approached.

“One of the couriers from Northern Army escaped, sir,” reported Ghaelyn as he stopped and stiffened. “He slipped away sometime after midnight and before dawn. He rolled up a pallet to look like a sleeping man and pulled a blanket over the pallet.”

“Did he take a mount?”

“No, sir. There were guards on duty.”

“So he’s on foot, unless he steals a horse … or someone miscounted.”

“I talked to the High Holder’s ostler,” said Zhelan. “They aren’t missing any horses, and our counts match the records. Do you think he’s headed for the submarshal’s forces?”

“At High Holder Fiancryt’s?” replied Quaeryt. “It’s hard to say. On foot, it’s likely to take a good day, and he might not be well received. Then again, he might be. Or he could just be hoping to lie low and see what happens. And he still might have a mount. There’s always the possibility that the mount totals didn’t include the spare mounts of the first riders.”

“Ah … I don’t think they did,” admitted Ghaelyn.

“Lying low might be hard, sir. Most rankers don’t speak Bovarian,” Zhelan said.

“Do we know if he did? Myskyl likely would have wanted either the courier or one of his escorts to speak Bovarian, I’d think.”

“I’ll see if his escorts know,” volunteered Ghaelyn.

Quaeryt nodded for the undercaptain to leave.

“Even if he does have a mount, it will take him a good three glasses, most likely, if not more, to reach Rivages,” said Zhelan.

“Which means he could already be there, if he left at first glass this morning.” Quaeryt shook his head. “There’s no help for it. We’ll have to assume that Myskyl knows we’re here, or that he’ll know shortly. He’ll also know that we’ve read one of his dispatches and one from Deucalon. But he won’t know what Deucalon wrote. Whether that will make a difference…” He shrugged.

Quaeryt only had to wait a fraction of a quint before Ghaelyn returned.

“You were right, sir. Khend does speak Bovarian … and one of the couriers’ spare mounts is missing.”

“How soon can we move out?” Quaeryt asked Zhelan.

“A quint after the men finish eating. Say three quints. Could be sooner.”

“Then we should. Give the orders to first company. I need to brief Subcommander Calkoran.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt found Calkoran near the east end of the fenced pasture, talking over something with Major Eslym, in Pharsi, while some of the rankers of his company were gathering and saddling their mounts.

Calkoran looked up. “Yes, Commander?”

“We need to move out in the next few quints … as soon as all your men finish eating. One of the dispatch riders escaped. We’ll have to assume that he’ll be making his way to report to the submarshal. He may not be, but I’d be surprised if it were otherwise.”

“As would I.” Calkoran snorted. “You should have chained him.”

“For doing his duty under the command of a Telaryn submarshal? If this all turns out to be a misunderstanding, I could be the one ending up in chains. Or having to explain chaining one of our own men when we haven’t chained Bovarian prisoners.”

“That is the problem with treachery. It puts the honorable men in most difficult positions. That is something traitors seldom worry about.”

Quaeryt smiled. “You’re right about that. Will you have any problems being ready in three quints?”

“No, sir. Most have already eaten, except for the duty squad.”

“Good.” Quaeryt headed to grab a quick bite and his own gear.

Little more than a quint and a half later, as the companies were forming up in the paved area east of the barracks, Quaeryt rode to the tower to pay his respects and offer thanks to Seliadyn. He tied the gelding to one of the bronze hitching rails and had barely started up the stone steps to the second-level entry when Wereas appeared.

“Commander … the master is not yet awake, and is not receiving.” The steward walked down the steps. “He thought you might be leaving early, and he left this for me to give to you if you should come to see him.” The steward extended an envelope closed with a yellow and black wax seal.

“Thank you … and please convey my thanks and appreciation to the High Holder. We did our best to leave the barracks and quarters in good array.”

“Even had you not, that would have been fine, but your care is appreciated.”

“As is yours.” Quaeryt paused. “I would not intrude, but the High Holder mentioned his daughter … Yet … there are few signs … Has he sent her elsewhere for her safety?”

Wereas smiled almost sadly. “She is with her aunt in the hill hunting lodge. Many of the master’s retainers are there as well.”

“Thank you. I just wondered.”

“He would appreciate your concern, sir, but even short visits take their toll.”

“If you would convey my concerns, as you see proper, Wereas.”

“I will indeed, sir.”

Quaeryt inclined his head, then turned, descended the steps, and mounted the black gelding. After riding to the head of the column, while he waited for the last of the squads to join the formation, he imaged the seal farther down the envelope, then opened it. Inside was a brief note, accompanied by a hand-drawn map of Rivages, showing the main roads and the location of the four high holdings, as well as a pointed arrow simply labeled “Regiment patrol.” Fiancryt was on the west side of the river, Ryel and Paliast on the east. The west river road was also drawn in. He slipped the map into his uniform shirt, then began to read the brief missive.

Quaeryt Rytersyn, Commander and Envoy

Southern Army of Telaryn

My dear Commander,

Much as I would have enjoyed a longer visit, I am not the man I once was. None of us are, I suppose, even when we were. I trust you will allow me the indulgence of vanity, one of the few I can still enjoy, if in a limited fashion.

The map is as accurate as my hand and memory can make it. Trust none of the High Holders, except Lady Tyrena D’Ryel, and her only if she gives her word. Nothing at Fiancryt is what it seems, even when it appears obvious.

You may be the man others think you are. You may even be the Lost One of Pharsi legend. Yes, I know the legend, and you fit that description. But none of us are the man we think we are. Remember that.

With my highest regards.

Seliadyn D’Alte

Quaeryt read the short missive twice, then folded it and slipped it into his battered leather dispatch case. Especially after the map and missive, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder about Seliadyn. Caemren had said Seliadyn had ways of knowing things, but Quaeryt hadn’t expected all that the missive revealed. But then, there was the phrase about Tyrena. Had she stopped to see Seliadyn on her return to Rivages? It was possible, but going back and asking more questions of Wereas would change nothing and intrude too much on a man who was clearly trying to hold on to his faculties. For all of the High Holder’s courtesy and assistance, Quaeryt had only seen Seliadyn for one brief period, and had not been invited to dine with him. Usually, such courtesy included a dinner with the High Holder, but the missive gave the impression that Seliadyn was not up to a long dinner or conversation … and so had Wereas’s first comments. Yet the High Holder’s concern for his people was palpable.

And what about his daughter? Was there something not quite right there? Wereas’s expression had suggested something.

Quaeryt shook his head, then straightened in the saddle as Calkoran and Zhelan rode up to report.

“Ready to ride out, sir!”

Quaeryt nodded assent.

“Column! Forward!” ordered Zhelan.

As they rode out through the gates and past another pair of guards in yellow and black, Quaeryt was still wondering about Seliadyn. Had Caemren purposely intrigued Quaeryt into visiting the High Holder, or had Seliadyn-or even Tyrena-set it up? Or was it all coincidence? Or something even more devious?

Neither Quaeryt nor the scouts saw any tracks in the road once they had left Vaestora. That didn’t mean anything, because a courier would know not to leave tracks.

After the first seven or eight milles, Quaeryt rode on the left side and kept studying the river, looking for a place suitable for a bridge across the Aluse, its waters now less than fifteen yards across in spots. Once or twice he could see what looked to be the west river road, and it was a dirt track, if one wide enough for the single donkey cart he did see.

Quaeryt rode another mille before he located what appeared to be a likely spot, where the river in ages past had cut through higher ground, with a narrower channel below two bluffs. He turned in the saddle. “Call a halt here.”

“Column! Halt!”

“Imager undercaptains! Forward!”

Once the three had gathered around him, he continued. “We’re going to ride out to the end of that low bluff there. If it’s suitable, we’re going to image a bridge across there. Not a wide grand one, but a simple stone structure comfortably wide enough for one wagon or two mounts abreast. We’ll also have to image causeways and enough of a paved road to join to the east river road here and the west river road there. We’ll do it mainly piece by piece, because I don’t want any of us too tired to image from here on. But we do need another way to get to Rivages, one by which we’re less likely to be expected … and there aren’t any bridges until we reach Rivages itself.” As he finished speaking, he eased the gelding forward and then to the edge of the road.

From there, Quaeryt began by imaging a paved causeway from the river road to a point some ten yards from the edge of the bluff. The air was warm enough that only a faint white frost appeared on the gray stone, disappearing almost immediately. He was pleased that he didn’t feel a touch of tiredness. Even so he took a healthy swallow of the watered lager in his bottle, and then chewed on a biscuit before leading the imagers westward along the gently sloping pavement. He reined up just short of where the pavement ended, then turned the gelding so that he could see both the three imagers and the River Aluse.

“We’ll need a stone pier on each side, down to the bedrock and rising to the height of the bluff here. Remember … the bridge is only to be three yards wide. Lhandor, would you like to try imaging the one on the far side?”

“Yes, sir.” Lhandor eased his mount forward and studied the river. After several moments, he concentrated. Mist wreathed the pier that rose from the edge of the water on the far side, then dispersed, leaving a smooth gray pier, an oblong whose top looked to be a yard wide and three long, the long side paralleling the river.

“Good. Khalis, if you would create a matching pier on this side.”

“Yes, sir.”

In moments, another mist-shrouded pier appeared.

“Now … drink something and eat a biscuit or two, both of you.”

While Lhandor and Khalis refreshed themselves, Quaeryt imaged the span between the piers. He did feel a bit tired after his second imaging. He took out his water bottle again and ate another biscuit before addressing the third imager. “Elsior, image the paved causeway connecting the bridge to the road here.”

“Yes, sir.”

After that, the three undercaptains alternated in adding the stone side rails and pillars. Then they rode to the far end of the bridge, where Elsior added the approach causeway, and each of the three added five-yard sections of stone paving from the end of the causeway until they reached the rutted dirt track that passed for the west river road.

“Now … we’ll take a break while the companies cross and then rest the men and water the mounts.” Quaeryt signaled to Zhelan to have first company begin crossing the bridge, then waited for the major.

“That’s a solid bridge, Commander,” observed Zhelan when he reined up beside Quaeryt. “I’d wager that the locals will be using it in days.”

“Most likely. We’ll stand down here for two or three quints. Men can rest and water their mounts. They’ll have to ride back south to get access to the river.”

“You want the imagers rested, don’t you, sir?”

“I’d rather be careful.”

Zhelan nodded, then turned to Ghaelyn. “Have the men water their mounts. Stand down for two quints … and pass the word to the Khellans.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt rode south a good hundred yards and turned the gelding. Before heading down to the water, he looked back at the gray-stone bridge with its gentle arch over the River Aluse. A solid workman-like structure, and none of us are noticeably exhausted. And they were on the west side of the river, with Daefol likely only a few milles ahead. And our real difficulties are just beginning.