Rex Regis (51 page)

“His assistants?” asked Nieron.

“What assistants?” inquired Justanan almost simultaneously.

“The commander was supposed to bring the Bovarian imagers. That’s all I knew, sir.” Whandyn trembled.

“You knew that was what the submarshal meant?” asked Justanan.

“Yes, sir. He’d told me they were always to be called his assistants.”

“Go on.”

“The submarshal and Commander Quaeryt went into the salon. It wasn’t long because Commander Luchan and the imagers came almost immediately. The imagers went into the little room with the peepholes into the salon…”

Quaeryt could see Nieron’s eyes widen.

“… and then Commander Luchan told me to knock on the door and tell the submarshal that he-Commander Luchan, I mean-had an urgent question for the submarshal. I did that. The submarshal hurried toward the door, and then he stopped … like he couldn’t move…”

“Pardon me, Commander,” said Nieron, turning to Quaeryt, “but there is one question I do need to ask.” He looked back to Whandyn. “At any time, did Commander Quaeryt threaten or use force against the submarshal?”

“Oh, no, sir! Not that I heard, sir … He just stood there when it all happened. The others … Erion and the imagers, they did everything. Well, and Commander Luchan. He tried to trigger the blunderbuss, but the imagers did something to stop him, I guess, because he fell down, but Commander Quaeryt couldn’t even have seen that. He was inside the salon.”

“Erion?” asked Nieron. “Erion?”

“Well … there was a figure that appeared. He looked like Erion. He said something, and then there were lightnings and flame everywhere. Then he was gone, and the Bovarian imagers were all burned up.”

“What about the submarshal?”

“Erion threw lightning or something at him.”

“Erion? How did you know it was Erion?”

“He gleamed all silver and he came down a path from the moon, and there was a huge bow across his back, and he melted an archway in the iron shutter.”

“Oh?”

“Sir … it sounds strange, but that’s what happened. It really did.”

“And Commander Quaeryt had nothing to do with this?”

“No, sir! It was Erion. Commander Quaeryt couldn’t do anything, either.”

“And Commander Quaeryt did nothing?” repeated Nieron.

“No, sir. It was like the submarshal and he were caught. I didn’t see how, but they couldn’t move.”

“I see.” Nieron looked to Justanan.

Justanan shook his head.

“Do you have any more questions of the captain?” asked Quaeryt.

“No,” said Nieron, a clear tone of discouragement in his voice. “That is sufficient.”

“Likely more than sufficient,” added Justanan.

“Captain, you may go. Please report back to Major Zhelan,” said Quaeryt quietly.

“Yes, sir.”

After the door closed behind the departing captain, Quaeryt asked, “Do you want to hear from my undercaptains?”

Nieron shook his head. He looked at Quaeryt. “How did you manage it?”

“I didn’t manage what happened in the officers’ salon,” Quaeryt replied. “I honestly have no idea how that happened. I am an imager, and I was holding full shields to protect myself, but something had clamped around me, and I couldn’t move. I thought that was something done by Myskyl’s imagers. I had a good idea that he would use them against me, and I was prepared to defend myself. I’d thought that would prove he was disloyal.” Quaeryt shrugged. “How all that happened after that … I don’t know.”
Not precisely, anyway, and it’s better left like that.

“The captain’s story is very hard to believe,” stated Nieron.

“That’s most likely why he did see what he did,” said Justanan. “Do you honestly think any officer could invent that? Especially one that has never even met Commander Quaeryt before?” Justanan looked to Quaeryt. “Begging your pardon, Commander.”

“No offense taken,” replied Quaeryt. “I didn’t believe what I saw, either.”

“It may be better just to tell the other officers that the fire and explosion caused by the Bovarian imagers’ attack on Commander Quaeryt created the fire and killed Myskyl and Luchan.”

Nieron nodded slowly. “It’s so hard to believe.” Suddenly he looked at Quaeryt. “If we agree that you’re in command, what are your plans?”

“To leave one regiment here, and ride with the others back to Variana,” said Quaeryt. “One regiment here is enough. One has proved sufficient in the west, at Laaryn, and two companies are at Kephria, holding southern Bovaria at the moment.”

Justanan nodded.

“Who would you suggest…?”

“One of the subcommanders,” suggested Quaeryt. “With the death of Commander Luchan and the submarshal, you two are among the most senior officers remaining, and the marshal and Lord Bhayar may have need of you.”

“That makes sense,” said Justanan.

More than you know.
But Quaeryt did not voice that as he watched Nieron.

After a moment Nieron nodded. “When would we leave?”

“As soon as possible. Within a day or so.” Quaeryt paused. “I’d suggest we plan to inspect the hold house first thing in the morning, at seventh glass. I’ve posted guards to keep men away from the building. It could be dangerous, and we don’t want anyone tempted to try to loot.”

“The tariff golds aren’t there, anyway,” said Justanan. “They’re in the strong room below.”

“That’s good to know. Will you take responsibility for guarding and transporting them?”

The balding blond officer smiled wryly. “The submarshal already gave me that duty.”

“Good.” Quaeryt returned the smile. “I’d also suggest that Commander Justanan and I address the senior officers tomorrow after we inspect the hold house and meet among ourselves. Perhaps at ninth glass?”

“That would be good,” said Justanan.

Nieron nodded.

“Is there anything else we need to discuss before then?”

The two exchanged glances. Then both shook their heads.

“Then I suggest we meet outside the hold house, or what remains of it, at seventh glass tomorrow morning.” Quaeryt rose.

So did the other two.

Once they had left, Quaeryt sent word that he needed to speak to the imager undercaptains. Then he sat back down behind the table desk and took a deep breath, wondering what else he had forgotten or overlooked, but at that moment could think of nothing else.
Because you’re too tired?

Elsior entered the study first, followed immediately by Lhandor and Khalis.

Quaeryt waited until the door was closed and all three were seated before he spoke. “I haven’t had a chance until now to tell you three how much I appreciated your help in dealing with the Bovarian imagers. If you hadn’t done what you did, I doubt I’d be here at the moment.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” replied Khalis, “if you hadn’t done what you did, we wouldn’t be here, and the other imagers wouldn’t have much to look forward to.”

“That might be so, but it took all of us, just as it did at Liantiago, and just as it likely will in the years to come, if in a slightly different way. I did want you to know that I understand that and that I am grateful for all that you did.”

“Sir…” ventured Elsior, “how did you manage Erion?”

“Manage Erion?” asked Quaeryt, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact.

The other two looked at Elsior.

“I can sense shields. You know that. Everything was linked between you and Erion. How did you do it?”

Quaeryt laughed ruefully. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. After you three stopped Myskyl, I tried to put shields around him, but that was all I could do. Then Erion appeared. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but it was too real for that.”

“It was real,” affirmed Lhandor. “Terribly real.”

“But it was you,” insisted Elsior.

“My dreams, thoughts of Erion? That could be, but I didn’t image him into being, not that I felt then or recall now.”

“Whatever you did, it worked out,” said Khalis. “We’re all glad of that.”

“So am I,” replied Quaeryt.
So am I.
“And I’ll say one more time that it wouldn’t have happened without you three. Thank you.” He smiled. “That’s all I had to say.”

“Thank you, sir.” Elsior paused, then added, “I’m glad you saved me in Liantiago. I never had an imager maître there say ‘thank you’ or much like it. I’m not saying that just because of today, either.” He looked down, as if embarrassed.

“We all feel that way,” added Khalis.

The other two nodded.

“I’m glad you do.” Quaeryt paused, then said, “We’re all tired. Let’s get something to eat and see what we can do about quarters.”

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.”