Rex Regis (62 page)

“You’ve given them pride and hope … and a sense of being able to control their own future. No one has ever done that for imagers.”

Except perhaps the Naedarans … and that might be doubtful.
“What else could I have done?”

“What Myskyl and Deucalon tried … to seek power and fill your wallet. You didn’t.” Gauswn smiled, almost ironically, yet gently. “In turning from that kind of power, you may have become the most powerful man in Lydar, simply by refraining from excesses … from Naming.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” said Quaeryt quietly.

“How many men would recognize that?”

“There must be some.”

Gauswn shook his head again. “Calkoran talked to me last night. The Khellans believe that you’re the son of Erion. So do some of the imager undercaptains. I hope you won’t disappoint them.”

Someone else had said similar words. After a moment Quaeryt realized who it had been … and that recalled what Skarpa had said about Gauswn. In turn, that reminded Quaeryt all too clearly of how a single failure to correct a misconception had led to Skarpa’s assassination … all because Quaeryt had failed to do the littlest thing. With that jumbled recollection, Quaeryt found his eyes burning,

“What is it?” asked Gauswn gently.

For a moment Quaeryt could say nothing. Then he shook his head. “You never escape the past … and within us, it’s never really totally past.”
And Erion told you that would be so.

Gauswn smiled, sadly. “No … it is only never past for those who understand.”

“You may be right about that.” Quaeryt forced a smile. “I did say you’d be a good chorister, and I think you’re also going to be a good head of studies for the young imagers…” Even as he forced himself to concentrate on what he needed to tell Gauswn, Quaeryt still found himself thinking of Skarpa … and wondering why Gauswn’s words, echoing those of Phargos, another chorister, had brought on such strong and bittersweet memories.

Promptly at sixth glass on Vendrei evening, Quaeryt and Vaelora met Bhayar outside the family dining room of the chateau.

Bhayar smiled warmly at them. “I always like seeing you two. You belong together.”

“We do,” said Vaelora, “and you can be proud that it was your idea.”

Quaeryt managed not to smile, knowing that it had been Vaelora’s idea at a time when Quaeryt wouldn’t have dreamed of it and Bhayar wouldn’t even have considered it.

“I suspect you had a few ideas along that line, sister dear, but I will take credit for allowing it to happen.” He gestured toward the dining room.

Once they were seated-Bhayar at the head of the table, Vaelora on his right, and Quaeryt across from her and on Bhayar’s left-the serving girl, a change from the troopers who had served at the time when Quaeryt had left for Rivages, set two crystal carafes of wine before Bhayar, one of a white with the slightest hint of yellow and the other deep red.

Bhayar looked to his sister.

“The white, please.”

Bhayar filled her goblet with the white and his own with the red.

Quaeryt took white.

“To your safe return and to health.” Bhayar lifted his goblet.

Quaeryt and Vaelora lifted theirs. Then they drank.

“Ten thousand golds, you say, arriving with Justanan?” asked Bhayar.

“Slightly more. We also left three hundred with Subcommander Moravan for anything in the way of supplies and provisions he could not obtain from the holding.”

“We can use them. It’s still months before the regular tariffs are due,” said Vaelora.

“Spoken like the Minister of Administration and Supply,” replied Bhayar, pausing and taking another sip of wine as the two servers set three platters and a covered dish on the table.

None of the three spoke while they served themselves in turn, beginning with Bhayar, with thin slices of beef covered in a wine reduction, tarragon lace potatoes in cream butter, early beans almandine, hot fried peach slices, and fluffy brown bread rolls.

“Just a simple family dinner, but good,” said Bhayar with a glint in his eye.

“No family dinners are ever simple,” replied Vaelora sweetly.

“Do you have any later word on the progress of the Khellan envoy?” asked Bhayar.

“Only the first message,” replied Vaelora.

“Will this envoy actually be empowered to consider and agree to terms, do you think, or will his-or her-presence merely be a way to stall for time while the Khellans try to rebuild their land?” Bhayar looked to his sister and then to Quaeryt.

Quaeryt glanced at his wife.

Vaelora took a sip of her wine before answering. “Either is possible. From what we saw, it will be years before Khel recovers. The High Council is aware of that. They also fear Quaeryt and his imagers. If they are as wise as I hope they are, they will press for the best terms they think they can obtain.”

“I cannot be too generous,” said Bhayar.

“You cannot afford to
appear
too generous,” suggested Quaeryt.

“How do you propose I accomplish that?” Bhayar’s tone seemed genuinely curious.

“You insist on language whereby the High Council and people of Khel agree to be part of the great land of Solidar and to acknowledge you as the sole sovereign. You insist on a total of annual tariffs based on the accounting of the Ministry of Administration and Supply, not to be less than a certain amount that we’ll have to calculate, but raising roughly the same revenue per person as you receive in Telaryn, except the terms won’t put it that way-”

“Why … oh … because they don’t have any High Holders … and not that many factors?” replied Bhayar.

Quaeryt nodded. “We might need some language making raising those tariffs the responsibility of the local councils, with, of course, the oversight of the governor and his princeps. Oh, and you will have to insist on having at least a few high holdings, including most of those already established by Kharst.”
So we can place a few people here and there, including Deucalon.

“What else?”

“Ports obviously open to all Solidaran ships, with standard tariffs on all outside merchanters…”

The talk about the terms continued through the main course.

Then, as the servers were clearing away the dishes, Bhayar cleared his throat.

Both Vaelora and Quaeryt looked up.

“There is one other matter I wanted to bring up,” said Bhayar. “I’ve received a letter from a High Holder Ensoel. Several in fact. They concern you, Quaeryt.” His face remained pleasantly bland.

“I don’t recall that name,” replied Quaeryt. Although he was fairly sure he had never met the High Holder, there was always the possibility that he had passed the man’s lands or that some of his forces might have … and even damaged something.
But several letters?

“You wouldn’t.” Bhayar smiled. “In his first letter, he inquired about a rumor that I was establishing a school for imagers and wished to know if that might be true. I replied that construction of the school, the Collegium, was under way and that a number of students were already receiving instruction in both the usual subjects, as well as training in proper imaging.” Bhayar looked to Quaeryt. “I trust that is correct.”

“It is,” replied Quaeryt.

“Good. Because he sent a second letter saying that he has a daughter who he believes is an imager, and that renders her … unsuited … to the usual life of a High Holder’s daughter. He also wished to know if the Collegium would be suitable for a young woman of her background.”

“What he means is that no son of a High Holder would ever consider marrying a woman who is more powerful than he is,” said Vaelora.

“Quite possibly,” admitted Bhayar.

“There aren’t many women imagers,” ventured Quaeryt, looking to Vaelora and continuing, “although I think you might be one, or close to it, and your great-great-grandmere likely was.”

Bhayar frowned, but did not speak.

“I think we can make it suitable without much trouble,” said Quaeryt. “We might need a separate cottage-”

“No,” interjected Vaelora. “Just make one end of the student quarters totally separate from the one for the boys, with a separate room for bathing. If necessary, she can stay here while the changes are being made.”

“They shouldn’t take that long. I think Horan and Baelthm could probably just add that section to the end of the student quarters. That might actually be easier.”

“You’ll need some women there,” added Vaelora. “It wouldn’t hurt to have some cooks and a few other women to help.” She looked to her brother. “You will have to pay for this for a time.”

“I hadn’t thought otherwise,” replied Bhayar dryly.

From there the conversation continued on various aspects of the Collegium and what else might be required, for which Quaeryt was thankful.

Quaeryt was working with Vaelora in her ministry study on Samedi morning when one of the clerks brought in a dispatch from Justanan, indicating that Northern Army would be arriving at headquarters slightly before noon. Quaeryt carried the message up to Bhayar, who read it and said, “I’ll have a message ready in less than half a quint, commending him on his speed and politely requesting that he deliver the tariff golds here and then meet with me. The rest of Northern Army can return to the headquarters holding.”

“I’ll have a trooper standing by to carry it back with the courier.”

Bhayar nodded and sat down at his desk.

Three glasses later, Justanan and a full company of troopers-and two armored wagons-arrived in the rear courtyard of the Chateau Regis. Vaelora took charge of having the golds-in locked chests-transferred to the underground vaults, while Quaeryt escorted Justanan from the courtyard and up the grand staircase.

The older commander studied the staircase and the walls. “You and your imagers rebuilt this, didn’t you?”

“No.” Quaeryt smiled. “They did it all. I was still recovering.”
And out of my mind amid the whiteness of ice and death.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Many people don’t. The two imagers I left on Imagisle have done wonders there already.” After the slightest pause, Quaeryt asked, “How is Commander Nieron?”

“He’s in good spirits now. What happened at Fiancryt unsettled him, but after he saw the bridge your imagers built, and all the improvements to the roads, I think he understands just what a boon the imagers could be.”

And that he wants me heading them and not the armies.
But Quaeryt just nodded, rather than voice that thought.

“Do you know what Lord Bhayar wants?”

“To talk to you,” replied Quaeryt. “He only told me that he wanted to meet you immediately upon your return. I did tell him that I thought you could handle a position of greater authority well, but that was only my recommendation.”

“Only your recommendation? Do you make many, Commander?”

“More than Lord Bhayar would like at times,” said Quaeryt wryly. “Did you encounter any unforeseen difficulties after we departed?”

Justanan shook his head. “Everything went as expected.”

When they reached the closed door to Bhayar’s study, Quaeryt looked to the guard. “I’ll announce us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt eased the door open just slightly. “Commander Justanan is here, as you requested, sir. So are the tariff golds. Lady Vaelora is overseeing their transfer to the vaults.”

“Have the commander come in, Quaeryt. I’d appreciate it if you’d wait outside until summoned.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt turned to Justanan and gestured for him to enter, then stepped back.

A quint passed, then two, and then three, before the bell rang and the guard at the study door opened it. He listened, then motioned for Quaeryt to enter the study.

Quaeryt did so.

Bhayar rose from behind his desk, not the conference table, and Justanan quickly stood from one of the chairs before the desk.

“Commander Quaeryt,” said Bhayar formally, “I have offered the position of marshal of the armies and Commander Justanan has accepted.”

“Congratulations, Marshal,” offered Quaeryt. “You have my support and loyalty.”

“As he should,” said Bhayar, adding after a pause, “There will be a meeting of all available senior officers, major and above, in the upper great hall at fifth glass. I will make the announcement at that time. Until then, you are not to mention the appointment.”

“Yes, sir,” replied both Quaeryt and Justanan.

“I will see you both a quint before fifth glass. I realize you both have much to do, but I do not wish to leave the marshal’s post vacant any longer than necessary.” Bhayar offered a wry smile. “You may both go.”

Once they were outside Bhayar’s study and well away from the guard, Justanan looked to Quaeryt. “Being marshal is not something that I ever sought.”

“That’s likely one of the reasons you are receiving the position.”

“I know what you have said about it not being wise for you to be promoted…”

“I’m too young in the eyes of many, too close personally to Bhayar, and I’m an imager. Bhayar and the senior officers need a trusted and trustworthy officer of proven experience. You recall how Nieron reacted to the idea that I might take over command of Northern Army.”

“Still…” pressed Justanan.

“It should not happen, and I should never be more than a commander.” Quaeryt smiled. “And you have much to do before fifth glass.”

Justanan chuckled. “I suspect that’s all the answer I’ll get.”

“That’s because it’s the right answer and right for the officers and men.”

Once Quaeryt had seen Justanan off, he returned to Vaelora’s study to try to get caught up on more of what Vaelora had handled in dealing with various matters of administration while he had been gone.

He kept at that until a quint before fifth glass, when he met Justanan. The two walked up to Bhayar’s study. When they entered, both were surprised to see Deucalon, in full uniform, standing somewhat stiffly by the conference table.