Rex Regis (41 page)

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Did you learn anything new from the factor?”

“A few things, but they all tend to confirm what we’ve been seeing all along. According to Zoalon, Kharst ended up relying on the factors because the High Holders were stiff-necked, uncooperative, and totally dishonest. Then, given how Kharst dealt with them, I can see why they might be perceived that way.”

“They deserved each other,” said Calkoran. “Bovarian High Holders value their power and privileges over everything. Bovarian factors value golds above everything.”

Quaeryt smiled wryly, then frowned. There had been something like that … in
Rholan and the Nameless.
But he waited while the server set three beakers on the table, then handed her a silver. “The extra is for you.”

Her mouth opened for a moment, then closed, before she finally said, “Thank you, sir,” and hurried off, as if afraid Quaeryt would change his mind.

“You were about to say something, sir,” reminded Zhelan.

“I was just recalling something Rholan was supposed to have said, something along the line that everyone thinks merchants and factors know the price of everything and the value of nothing, but that’s not true. They know the value of every kind of good to the last part of a copper…” Quaeryt paused. There was something else that had been there.

“Sir?”

“There was more. I can’t remember it exactly, but it was about how factors don’t value beliefs or understand what they mean to others.”

“Does anyone who has power?” asked Calkoran sardonically.

“I believe Lord Bhayar understands the importance of at least some beliefs, and that others value their beliefs. But he has been forced to see more than most rulers. I don’t think the same of most factors, especially not Bovarian factors. That’s also why I think that factors should always advise, but never govern, because a land can’t be governed just on the basis of golds.”

“He was forced to see?” asked Calkoran. “Who forces a ruler?”

“In his case, his own father,” replied Quaeryt.

“You said that Bhayar was actually a ranker in Tilbor?” said Zhelan.

“He was. His sire wanted him to understand what the men he commanded felt. That has been a tradition since the time his forbears were just Yaran warlords.”

“He was on the field at Variana,” Zhelan pointed out.

“Better than any other ruler in Lydar,” conceded Calkoran.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach Rivages?” asked Quaeryt, not wanting to get into a detailed discussion about Bhayar, because, at times, he wondered if he truly knew the man who called him a friend.

“Looks to me like we’re less than a hundred milles from Rivages,” said Zhelan. “That’s if the maps and what the locals say is right. If the roads don’t get worse, four long days.” He paused. “You just want to ride in?”

“I was thinking of sending out scouts, with one of the imagers to give them concealment, just to see what they can find.”

“That might be best.” Calkoran nodded.

Zhelan nodded.

Quaeryt lifted his beaker and took a swallow of the pale lager. He’d had better, but he’d had much worse.

Quaeryt was up early on Vendrei, not that it mattered, because it had turned out that many more horses needed reshoeing than he had realized. Since that would take most of the day, he and the troopers would be spending an additional day in Yapres.

So much for making good time,
he thought as he rode off to see Suelyr, on one of the spare mounts, as soon as he had finished meeting with the imagers-to whom he assigned specific exercises-and his senior officers. Since Suelyr was the wealthiest factor, Quaeryt suspected that he would find the man in his factorage, almost exactly as far south of the inn as Zoalan’s factorage had been to the north. While Suelyr had one more warehouse than did Zoalan, he also had one less pier, and his study was located on the end of the smallest warehouse, rather than in an elaborate separate building.

Suelyr was also older, with iron-gray hair and a brush mustache, and he wore a plain white linen shirt above gray trousers. When Quaeryt entered the factor’s study, escorted by a young clerk, Quaeryt also saw a gray jacket hanging on a wall peg behind the desk. The factor did not rise from a battered desk and gestured to the single chair before it. “Commander. I thought I might see you.”

“Why might that be?” Quaeryt smiled easily as he sat down on the chair that was as battered and scratched as the desk.

“You have two companies of troopers. Troopers usually need supplies, especially provisions and grain, and you only have a single supply wagon.” Suelyr’s smile was not quite predatory. “You’ll find that I’m most reasonable in my terms.”

Quaeryt nodded, then said, “If we need provisions, I’m certain we’ll reach terms.” He gently projected absolute confidence and authority. “We’ll talk of such later. I actually came as much to hear what you might have to say about the role of the factors here in Yapres as to talk about provisions.”

After just the slightest hesitation, Suelyr replied, “The role of factors? We gather and transport goods so that others may purchase them. We turn trees into planks and timbers, wheat corn into flour, and pack it in barrels so that those in other places may have bread. We make a modest profit in doing so, and everyone benefits.”

“Factors do indeed undertake all you have said, but you do far more than that, I understand. You gather tariffs for the rex and for the town. You pay the town patrollers and choose the patrol chief. In various ways, you and all the factors have enforced standards so that the streets, lanes, and alleys are clean, and so that low women do not solicit from dark alleys.”

“We do have a hand in such.” Suelyr paused. “And your point is…?”

“I’m interested in what else factors do. Do you collect fees for those who use the River Aluse? Who pays for keeping the river road in good repair? And I must congratulate you for its condition.”

“Thank you. All the factors and merchants of Yapres-and some of the larger growers around the town-contribute to maintaining the roads, either coin or labor. We feel it is our duty.”

“And it encourages people to come here and to trade … and patronize the gaming houses. Tell me. Which one do you own?”

“Sandina’s,” replied the factor calmly. “It’s the best. I prefer to be the best at all I do.”

“That’s understandable. I assume you have your own guards, then?”

“Just for Sandina’s and the warehouses at night. The town patrol is adequate for everything else.”

“And river tariffs?”

“We keep the river north and south of Yapres free of debris and dredge out sandbars or mud bars that block the channels. We charge a modest fee for that, but only for those using the river for trade.”

“Do not some High Holders do the same?”

“I think you know that few indeed are interested in providing services beyond their own lands. Have you seen otherwise?”

“Certainly not in Bovaria,” admitted Quaeryt. “It is more common in Telaryn.”

“What about provisions? Surely, you could use some.”

“We could use some grain,” Quaeryt admitted, “but it is not absolutely necessary.”

From there, the negotiations proceeded, and in the end, Quaeryt managed to procure some replacement grain for a copper a barrel, not too dear a price, and given the small number of barrels, there was little to be gained by pressing for less, and far too much to be lost. Quaeryt saw that Suelyr understood that as well.

After leaving Suelyr, Quaeryt rode back to the inn with the four ranker escorts to meet the duty squad, also riding spare mounts, for the ride north to High Holder Caemren’s estate.

Riding beside Squad Leader Paelort, Quaeryt asked, “What do you think of this part of Bovaria?”

“It’s a mite bit cooler. The folks on the street and in the fields look to be the same, excepting that most of us can’t understand more than a few words.” Paelort paused, then asked, “Why do all the officers speak Bovarian as well as Telaryn?”

Quaeryt laughed. “Because Lord Bhayar’s grandsire decided that everyone in his court would speak Bovarian in his presence. He’d learned it so that he could understand what Bovarian captives were saying when they tried to attack Extela. He wasn’t exactly the most trusting of rulers. It’s been said that he insisted on those around him speaking Bovarian to prove that speaking one language or another wasn’t a mark of superiority, and that if the Rex of Bovaria only spoke one language, then everyone around him would speak two. He insisted that anyone who wanted to curry his favor had to have served as a ranker or officer and speak two languages. He couldn’t force the High Holders to serve in his forces, although the younger sons of a number did, but he refused to talk to them and increased their tariffs by one part in ten if they didn’t learn Bovarian. After he leveled three holdings, the other High Holders decided they’d learn Bovarian, or so the story goes. Then it became a point of pride, and … well, officers who wanted to advance beyond captain found they just didn’t get promoted if they didn’t have at least passable Bovarian. I learned it because the scholars insisted on it for the simple reason that the Lord of Telaryn wouldn’t support them or favor them in the slightest way if they didn’t address him in Bovarian.”

“That’s very strange, sir…”

“Is it? Many things have happened because of the whims of rulers. Anyway, that’s the way it is.”

Paelort was still shaking his head as they left Yapres behind and rode along the river road under a hazy sky that reminded Quaeryt of midsummer in Tilbora, but then, he supposed, Rivages was just about as far north as was Tilbora.

The road was surprisingly good, as the five milles into Yapres had been. He wondered whether the road would deteriorate after a point five milles north of Yapres when they left for Rivages, but after four milles, when the stone walls of Caemren’s holding came into view on the left side of the road ahead, the road remained packed and level. The walls surrounding Caemren’s hold weren’t that high, about three yards, and they were designed for privacy and to keep out casual intruders, given that they were constructed of soft limestone, and showed some softening of what had once doubtless been crisp edges.

When Quaeryt reined up outside the entry gates, he could see that the iron gates were clearly sturdy enough to stop anything short of a military attack, and the guardhouse was inside the gates.

The single guard stood behind the gates, locked and chained, and possibly even blocked with an iron bar set in brackets. “High Holder Caemren’s not receiving.”

Quaeryt repressed a sigh. “Tell the High Holder that Commander Quaeryt is here to see him. I’m representing Lord Bhayar, who is now Rex of Bovaria. It might be best if we didn’t have to destroy such beautiful ironworks.” He smiled. “We’ll wait for you to convey the message, but we won’t wait too long.”

The guard looked at Quaeryt and the trooper, and then glanced at the long drive, a good half mille straight back to a white-stone mansion on a slight rise, presumably overlooking the River Aluse. He looked at Quaeryt again.

Quaeryt waited.

“Those are heavy gates,” the guard said.

Quaeryt looked at the chains and concentrated.

With a dull clanging, the chains dropped to the stone drive.

The guard looked at the chains, then at Quaeryt before offering a resigned look. He walked to the middle of the gates and dragged the heavy chains to one side, then moved to the back side of the right gatepost, where he began turning a wheel. A slight grating accompanied his turning. Shortly, the guard walked back to where the gates joined and lifted a heavy latch, then slowly backed up, pulling the gate open. He watched, almost dolefully, as Quaeryt and the squad of troopers rode past and onto the stone-paved drive up to the main dwelling.

The house was not excessively large for a High Holder, just two levels, with a central square section, and a wing on each end. The central part was roughly thirty yards across, and each wing was twice that. The mansion walls were of the same limestone as the walls along the road, and the roof was of moderate pitch, finished in slate. A small, at least for a high holding, covered portico extended from the main entry, and Quaeryt led the squad into the shade under the portico.

Two men stood at the top of the three steps up from the paved area below the portico. One wore gray livery with white piping, the other maroon trousers and jacket with a bright green shirt. Quaeryt managed not to blink at the unusual attire of the man he thought might be the High Holder. He inclined his head politely and said, “High Holder Caemren, I’m Commander Quaeryt, here on the affairs of Lord Bhayar.”

“How did you convince Whealyt to open the gates?” asked the white-haired man in maroon and green.

“We removed the chains, and suggested it would be better if we didn’t have to ruin the gates. He wasn’t pleased, but he did see our point.”

“Well … you’re here. You might as well dismount and come in.” The High Holder turned and walked to the door. “Come on, Commander. Don’t dawdle. I’m sure you’ve got others to visit. Tiresome business it must be, being at someone else’s beck and call. Even at a distance.”

Quaeryt suppressed a grin, dismounted, and handed his mount’s reins to the ranker who had moved up beside the squad leader. “This might take a bit longer. You might let some of the squad stretch their legs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Caemren stood waiting as Quaeryt walked quickly toward him.

“You’re young for a commander. Your sire a marshal or a High Holder?” He looked closely at Quaeryt. “No … wouldn’t be that. Don’t know of any Pharsi holders or marshals. I’d wager that you’re the highest-ranking Pharsi officer in either Telaryn or Bovaria.”

“That’s probably true.”

“No probability about it, Commander.” Caemren turned and walked through the door, saying over his shoulder, “We’ll sit on the north terrace. Coolest place around during the summer, and it might as well be, close as it is by the calendar.”