Rex Regis

48

On Jeudi evening Quaeryt took over Luchan’s personal quarters in the guesthouse, but only after making certain that both his own companies were fed, with the other regiments, from a kitchen in one of the outbuildings. The men were quartered together in one of the converted barns. While the spaces were tight, both Zhelan and Calkoran professed themselves satisfied. The fact that only Myskyl-and apparently the three imagers-had been actually quartered in the hold house added weight to Quaeryt’s beliefs about the submarshal, not that he was about to use that fact except to Bhayar and Vaelora.

Quaeryt slept heavily, but not all that well, waking up at dawn out of disturbing dreams he could not recall. He washed and dressed and went to find Zhelan … who was awake and waiting for him.

“No one tried to enter the hold house.”

“Good. Has it cooled enough for inspection?”

The major nodded.

“Did you hear anything last night?”

“Most of the majors didn’t want to say much. A couple of captains I knew years back did.”

“And?”

“They weren’t feeling all that bereaved. Some of them said that it wasn’t right the way Myskyl was acting more like a High Holder than a submarshal.” Zhelan paused. “Most of the majors are scared shitless of you, sir. Probably the commanders, too. I did hear one major say that Myskyl was an idiot to do anything against you.”

Quaeryt smiled. “If he’d been successful, they’d have said I was an idiot to do anything against him.”

“That might be, but it didn’t happen that way.”

“No, it didn’t, but it could have.” And might well have if the three undercaptains hadn’t been there. “I’m just glad it didn’t.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a smile, Quaeryt headed for the officers’ mess, a small chamber at the end of the converted stable that had become a mess hall for the rankers and squad leaders. He was among the first there, although Calkoran was sitting at the end of one of the two tables. Quaeryt joined the former Khellan marshal, and a mess server immediately set a beaker of lager before him.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll have something for you right away, sir.” The server hurried off.

He knew I’d want lager. Quaeryt turned to Calkoran. “Did you tell him I’d want lager?”

“Of course.”

“Did everything go well last night?”

“Yes, sir. No one gave us any trouble. They wouldn’t.” Calkoran paused. “I talked to Elsior. He said Erion appeared and melted a hole in solid iron and pinned Myskyl to an oak door with a long silver dagger.”

Quaeryt took a swallow from the lager before replying. “That was what I saw as well.” He shook his head. “I still doubt the existence of either the Nameless or Erion. But that was what I saw.”

“Lhandor and Khalis saw it as well. And you doubt?”

“I don’t doubt what I saw. I’m not certain…” Quaeryt shook his head. “It seemed real and unreal at the same time.”

Calkoran laughed. “Never have I known a man who fought for what he believed in so much who also fought the idea that he was different that much.”

“I am different. I’m an imager. I was a scholar. I suppose I still am. But I could die just like other men. I almost have. I love like other men. I make mistakes like other men.”

“All that is true,” said Calkoran. “You know you are a man. You know you have limits. All that is good. But … you are blessed, and that is both gift and curse. You understand the curse. I have seen that. Accept that there is a gift as well. Does it matter from where it came?”

Quaeryt started to reply, then stopped. Does it? What if it came from the Namer … something you also doubt? He smiled. Ironically. Then you’re beholden to do what is right. He didn’t feel like debating internally at that moment the question of what might be right. “Only insofar as I do my best to do what is right.”

“As any man should,” replied Calkoran.

At that moment the server set a platter of egg toast, ham rashers, and several biscuits before Quaeryt. “Would you like anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you.”

Quaeryt ate methodically, mostly listening to Calkoran. He did notice that no other officers sat anywhere close to the two of them.

At a quint before seventh glass, under hazy skies that suggested a hot day to come, Quaeryt walked over to the charred ruins of the south wing of the hold house. A squad from Calkoran’s company was waiting, along with Major Eslym.

“The subcommander thought you’d need men to clear away stuff to get into that mess, sir.”

“He’s very right. I appreciate it. I should have thought of that.”

“You’ve thought of plenty, sir.” Eslym smiled happily.

Before long, Justanan walked toward Quaeryt. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you. How are the regimental commanders this morning?”

Justanan offered a crooked smile. “Worried. Some of them didn’t realize who you were. It will do them good.”

Quaeryt glanced around, then asked, “Nieron?”

“He’s still upset. Not so much at you. He can’t believe it. He’ll be looking closely.”

“There’s nothing to hide.”

“Interestingly enough, that was one of the few things that Myskyl said about you. He said that you had no secrets, that you did everything in the open, and that men like that were dangerous.”

Quaeryt laughed softly. “I learned that from watching him … and others.” Except you do have secrets, and some you’ve even kept from yourself.

Quaeryt turned to Eslym, who had stepped back to allow the commanders space. “If you’d have the men clear the end entryway and start up the main corridor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If there are any bodies, leave them where they are, and leave all weapons or personal articles alone.” According to the musters of the night before, the only casualties from Northern Army were Luchan and Myskyl … but there was no way of telling how many or who from the hold staff might have perished, not with Lady Myranda and her personal retainers missing.

“Yes, sir.”

“You think others might have perished?” asked Justanan.

“It’s possible. It’s also possible that the only casualties were the three, Luchan, and Myskyl. I just want them to be careful.”

“That would be good,” said Nieron, who had clearly heard the interchange, as he joined Quaeryt and Justanan.

The three commanders moved to the entry and watched as the rankers began to clear away debris. Nearly a glass passed before the nearly thirty yards from the entry to near the officers’ salon was passable. Even so, Quaeryt and the other two commanders had to step over and around massive charred timbers and stone and masonry that had fallen in from the upper level. Finally, they reached the area outside the chamber that had been the officers’ salon.

“You can see the blunderbuss from here, or what’s left of it,” observed Justanan, stopping a good five yards from where the doorway to the salon had been. “It looks like it was loaded and the fire set off the charge.”

Nieron moved forward, stepping around a large section of what had to have been the tile flooring of the upper level, until he was within several yards. “That’s a gun port as well.” He shook his head. Then he looked down. “There are bones here. Parts of them.”

“That was where Commander Luchan fell,” said Quaeryt.

“You didn’t try to drag him out?”

“He was dead, and with everything on fire and exploding around me, I wasn’t exactly feeling charitable,” replied Quaeryt.

“I suppose not.”

“We did drag out Captain Whandyn, you might recall.”

Nieron moved to his left, bending down and moving aside a large piece of thin iron, frowning as he did so. “This looks like it was fastened inside a door, but there’s a hole in the middle. Like it had been pierced by a blade.” He moved a few more chunks of tile, then stopped. “Something shiny…”

Slowly he pulled something out from under a small pile of rubble and held it up, his mouth open. In his hand was a silvery blade, totally unmarked, except for fragments of soot that flaked away. Even the hilt and grip were silvery. The polished blade itself looked to be a little more than half a yard long.

“Erion’s dagger?” asked Justanan.

Nieron said nothing. Instead, he turned and bent, extending the blade toward the discolored iron sheet he had earlier set aside.

“It looks like the door was lined with iron and that silver dagger went through Myskyl and the iron and pinned him to the door,” observed Justanan. “Are there any bones there, or insignia?”

Nieron turned and looked down. “There’s one melted star and crescent here. It looks like that’s what it was.”

“Are you satisfied?” asked Justanan, his voice kinder than Quaeryt had heard before.

Nieron straightened, still holding the silver dagger. Wordlessly, he nodded, then handed the dagger to Justanan. “You should keep this for now.”

“For now,” agreed Justanan, although he glanced to Quaeryt for a moment. “It looks like there was another chamber, opposite where the blunderbuss is.”

Nieron turned and nodded, almost despondently.

Justanan then pointed toward what remained of the outer wall. “There’s also that.”

Nieron followed the worried-looking commander’s gesture. Where the window and iron shutter had been was an archway, with stone and metal fused all the way around the edges. Nieron turned and looked at Quaeryt. Then he shook his head. “I’ve seen more than enough. Myskyl was a fool.”

Quaeryt spoke for the first time. “I think we might return to the study and discuss what should be said at the senior officers’ meeting. We all should agree on that.”

“Might be best,” agreed Nieron.

Justanan nodded.

The three retraced their steps back out from the burned ruin. As they stepped away from the south entry Quaeryt heard murmured words from someone among Calkoran’s rankers.

“Erion’s dagger…”

Another legend to live down … or outlive. If you can … Quaeryt kept walking.

Just before ninth glass, Quaeryt, Justanan, and Nieron stepped into the officers’ mess room off the south courtyard. Every waiting officer stood.

Justanan nodded to Quaeryt.

“As you were,” Quaeryt commanded, infusing the words with a touch of image-projected authority. “Please be seated.”

The three commanders remained standing, with Quaeryt in the center, Justanan to his right, and Nieron to his left.

Quaeryt looked out at the three subcommanders and at the more than twenty majors seated at the two long tables. “I’m Commander Quaeryt. Some of you may know who I am. Some won’t. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ve all been led astray.” Quaeryt image-projected the sense of absolute assurance and truth. That wasn’t hard, since most of what he was going to say was indeed the truth, with one slight amendment.

“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…” Quaeryt went on to give the simplified and shortened version of what he’d told Justanan and Nieron the afternoon before, with the changes that they had suggested. Then he added, “I’d like Commander Justanan, as the senior commander here, to add whatever he would like to say.”

Justanan stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Difficult as what Commander Quaeryt has said may be to believe, it appears to be absolutely true. When Commander Quaeryt met with the submarshal yesterday, the submarshal, Commander Luchan, and three imagers who had served Kharst attempted to kill Commander Quaeryt, both with imaging and with a special blunderbuss actually built into the wall of the officers’ salon. The commander’s defenses held, and the blacklash from the imaging created the explosions and fire that gutted the hold house. During the fire, the Lady Myranda and her personal retainers fled, suggesting that she may have had something to do with matters. Commander Nieron and I physically investigated the hold house this morning, once the embers and ashes had cooled enough for us to do so. We found the blunderbuss. We also found a secret room with access to the salon with the bones of the Bovarian imagers. There are dispatches which reveal that the submarshal was requested to send the tariffs he collected to Lord Bhayar and that he never did. I feel that we are most fortunate that Commander Quaeryt merely defended himself in this deplorable situation. The three of us have met several times, and in accord with Lord Bhayar’s orders, we will be leaving one regiment here in Rivages to keep order in the area. That regiment will be Sixteenth Regiment, under Subcommander Moravan. The rest of us will be leaving on Mardi morning to return to Variana.” He looked to Quaeryt.

“Are there any questions?” asked Quaeryt.

“Do you have any idea where we’ll be assigned once we return to Variana?” asked one of the subcommanders, Ostlyn, Quaeryt thought.

“That will be up to the marshal and Lord Bhayar. It’s likely that several regiments will return to Solis fairly soon, but that had not been decided when I left Variana.” Quaeryt glanced around the mess.

“Will we have to fight in Khel?”

“Lord Bhayar sent envoys to ask the High Council of Khel to consider terms. The Council is considering those terms. Lord Bhayar is hopeful that an invasion will not be necessary, but that depends on the High Council. Any other questions?”

There were no more questions.

“That will be all, then,” Quaeryt finally said, after a long silence.

Quaeryt followed Justanan and Nieron from the mess. Once outside, he looked to the older blond officer. “You handled that well.”

Justanan shook his head. “You handled it well. I picked up the pieces as well as I could.” He paused. “Do you think Lord Bhayar will wish to replace Moravan?”

“I doubt it. He said that he trusted Moravan more than any regimental subcommander in Northern Army. When he goes on his own instincts, and not out of loyalty to those who served his father, his judgment of people is usually accurate.”

“What did his father think of you? Did he know you? Or say anything?”

“He said something, according to Bhayar, along the lines that I’d be a loyal friend and that it would be best were I not an enemy.”

“I can see that,” said Justanan slowly, then looked at Quaeryt directly. “You’ve risked more for Bhayar than any senior officer. Why?”

“Because he is a friend and because he has been fair and because he offers the only hope for imagers in all of Lydar.”

Justanan nodded.

Even Nieron nodded, if reluctantly.