Rex Regis (63 page)

“Both Marshal Deucalon and I thought that a formal transfer of position would be the most suitable way to commemorate his service and to begin Marshal Justanan’s responsibilities as marshal of the armies,” said Bhayar pleasantly.

Deucalon nodded stiffly, and Quaeryt half wondered just what Bhayar had said to him.

“Commander Quaeryt,” Bhayar continued, “you will enter first and call the officers to attention. Then you will join the other officers. The marshals and I will deal with the rest of the ceremony. You should leave shortly, and send a guard to inform us when all officers are present.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt understood perfectly what Bhayar was doing, and he appreciated its necessity. He inclined his head, then turned and left the study. Once he reached the area outside the double doors to the upper great hall of the chateau, he took his position and waited.

The first officers to arrive were, unsurprisingly, Zhelan, Calkoran, Eslym, and Khaern. And Khaern’s four battalion majors. All eight stopped short of Quaeryt.

“Can you tell us what the meeting is about, sir?” asked Khaern.

“I can only say that Lord Bhayar has requested that all senior officers gather so that he can address them. I wouldn’t wish to say more, since I don’t know exactly what he wants to say, only the general subject, and he’s requested that I say nothing yet.”

Calkoran and Zhelan exchanged quick glances. Khaern smiled faintly. “I understand, sir.”

Quaeryt smiled in return. “I’m certain you do, but I’d appreciate your keeping any speculations to yourselves.”

“Yes, sir.”

The next officers were several subcommanders Quaeryt did not recognize, although he possibly knew their names from various dispatches, along with their senior majors.

Then came Commander Pulaskyr, who stopped and addressed Quaeryt. “Commander, any word on what Lord Bhayar will be saying?”

“I don’t know what he’ll say, only the general subject, and he’s requested that I not divulge that so that he can address it in his own way.”

Pulaskyr nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

Shortly after Pulaskyr entered the hall, Subcommander Ernyld stopped and looked at Quaeryt. “Commander … I find myself at a loss. I’m the chief of staff to the marshal of the armies, and I have no idea about the subject of this meeting. It seems most … irregular.”

“A number of things have been rather … irregular lately, Subcommander,” replied Quaeryt, his tone mild. “This meeting was called by Lord Bhayar to restore a certain … regularity to the activities of the armies. I’m certain he will make that perfectly clear.”

“I would hope so, Commander.”

“Whatever he says or does, Subcommander, he is the head of the armies, and the one to whom all officers and men, whether rankers, undercaptains, or marshals, owe their allegiance and loyalty. And that is how it should be.” Quaeryt smiled.

Ernyld swallowed just slightly.

“Everything will be fine,” Quaeryt added. “You’ll see.”

“Thank you.” Ernyld did not sound convinced.

It was almost fifth glass before Quaeryt felt that all the officers were present, slightly less than seventy in all, and sent word to Bhayar. The ruler of most of Lydar and the two marshals appeared almost within moments. When Bhayar approached, he nodded to Quaeryt, who stepped inside the great hall and to one side.

Deucalon was the first one through the door, and at that instant Quaeryt announced, boosting his voice slightly with image-projecting, “Lord Bhayar!”

All the officers stiffened.

Deucalon led the way to a place before the assembled officers, followed by Justanan, and then Bhayar, who took a position just forward of the two, with Justanan to his right and Deucalon to his left.

“Commanders, Subcommanders, and Majors,” began Bhayar, “I appreciate all that you have done in our efforts to unite Lydar into a single land. Without you and your men, what we have accomplished would not have been possible. One whose knowledge and experience in this has been most noteworthy is Marshal Deucalon. He served my father loyally and faithfully, and in leading you and in serving me, he always put foremost his beliefs of what was best for Telaryn. He is stepping down after a long and distinguished time as a senior officer, and I have appointed him as a High Holder. Which high holding he will receive will be announced within the next week or so, once I finish determining which of those who have no heirs as a result of the war will be most suitable.” Bhahar smiled broadly and warmly. “I am sure that you all can appreciate that such long service should be rewarded.”

From where he stood at the side of the great hall, Quaeryt could see that most officers were nodding, although Khaern, Zhelan, and Calkoran were understandably not among them.

“The new marshal of the armies of Telaryn is former Senior Commander Justanan, who has most recently commanded Northern Army and who has been most effective in assuring that northern Bovaria is completely loyal.” Bhayar turned to Justanan and nodded.

The new marshal smiled, almost shyly, then said, “Most of you know this is a position I did not seek and did not expect. One thing I have learned, especially from others, is that demanding anything as due or owed is usually the road to disaster. Doing one’s duty as well and as faithfully as possible is not merely a goal for an officer. It is a necessity. I have attempted to follow that precept all my life, and I intend to continue following it as marshal. I also expect the same of you.” He smiled again. “I’ll probably have more to say later, perhaps too much.” He turned back to Bhayar.

Bhayar glanced to Quaeryt.

“Attention!” Quaeryt amplified his voice with image-projection.

Bhayar followed the two marshals from the great hall.

Once they were well clear and on their way back to Bhayar’s study, Quaeryt made the last announcement. “As you were.”

Within moments, Quaeryt was joined by Pulaskyr.

“You handled that rather well, Commander.”

“I just announced people,” replied Quaeryt blandly.

“That you did, but it was better this way. A pity about Myskyl, though.” Pulaskyr’s voice was so matter-of-fact that it was clear he felt no sympathy whatsoever.

“It is,” Quaeryt replied.

“It’s said that you don’t plan to remain a commander.”

“Only so long as necessary. I’ll likely become head of the imagers’ Collegium. Lydar needs a place where imagers can be schooled and where they can feel safe and be productive supporters of Lord Bhayar and his heirs … and their heirs.”

“That’s also likely for the best,” replied Pulaskyr. “I don’t know if I’ll be seeing you again.”

“Oh?”

“Bhayar has asked me to serve as regional governor of Solis and acting governor of Telaryn during the transition … and to arrange for Lady Aelina and the children to come to Variana. I’ll be taking several regiments, of course.”

“I wish you well.”

“And I you.” Pulaskyr smiled, then turned.

Bhayar had definitely been busy, Quaeryt reflected.
And that’s good.

By Mardi morning, Quaeryt was beginning to feel as though he had at least a basic grasp of what Vaelora had dealt with and accomplished while he’d been involved in thwarting Myskyl’s and Deucalon’s scheming. Although Bhayar had not indicated whether he intended to accept Quaeryt’s recommendation for the eventual disposition of the lands belonging to the late High Holder Fiancryt, he had issued a proclamation declaring Lady Myranda guilty of treason and her life forfeit.

Quaeryt had also arranged for Calkoran to ride out to meet whomever the High Council of Khel had sent as envoy once word was received that the envoy was within a glass or so of the chateau. That left him free to deal with the other matters that seemed to appear from everywhere, including yet another letter about repairs of the Anomen D’Variana and an inquiry from the sole scholarium, the one north of Variana, asking for consideration and support.

Quaeryt had almost, but not quite, mentally pushed aside the issue of Khel and the arriving envoy when a trooper hurried into Vaelora’s study slightly after midday and announced, “The Khellan envoy is riding up to the front of the Chateau Regis.”

“We should greet him, then,” said Vaelora calmly, “even though no one greeted us properly in Sandeol.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help smiling, thinking,
She may forgive, but she never forgets.
He’d learned that quickly. “Him?”

“Bhayar sent me. The High Council will send a man, most likely Councilor Khaliost.”

“Because he’s the only man on the High Council and the oldest, so that he can be replaced when he commits Khel to terms that the others don’t like?”

Vaelora shook her head. “They’ll keep him on the Council for a time so that everyone can demand of him the reasons why he gave away so much.”

“Bhayar won’t-”

“Bhayar might,” she said. “We won’t. Let’s go see if I’m right.”

Quaeryt would have been surprised if she’d been wrong.

“We need to let the kitchen know to send up the refreshments to the lower receiving parlor,” added Vaelora.

Before that morning, Quaeryt hadn’t even known there was such a parlor, let alone where it was, not that he was surprised to find one existed, given the size of the Chateau Regis.

After sending instructions to the kitchen, the two left the study and headed for the front entry. They had only been waiting at the top of the white-stone steps for about a third of a quint when the squad from Major Zhael’s second company reined up. A second squad was behind the first, led by Major Eslym. Quaeryt frowned, then realized that Calkoran was at the front of the group, and beside him was the white-haired Khaliost, and beside and behind him several others in Khellan garb.

Calkoran dismounted immediately and walked halfway up the steps, then turned to face Quaeryt. “Lady and Minister Vaelora, Commander Quaeryt, might I present the envoy of the High Council of Khel, Councilor Khaliost?”

“We look forward to receiving the councilor and his party,” replied Quaeryt.

At that, Khaliost immediately dismounted and walked up the steps. He still wore the tan tunic and red chorister-like scarf. He also carried a leather folder. Behind him was a black-haired older woman, if not so old as Khaliost. She wore dark leathers, despite the warmth of summer, and the red leather gloves and belt of a Khellan Eleni.

Quaeryt knew he had seen her before.

“The Hall of Heaven,” murmured Vaelora.

Quaeryt waited until the two reached the top of the steps and stood opposite them, then offered the sole Pharsi greeting he knew, and then in Bovarian, “Welcome to the Chateau Regis, Councilor and honored Eleni.”

Vaelora added a few words in Pharsi.

Khaliost inclined his head. “Your men have treated us well, Son of Erion and Daughter of the Greater Moon, but we are glad to be here.”

“We have refreshments for you inside,” said Vaelora, stepping back.

The Eleni studied the chateau, then looked to Quaeryt. “Your imagers are skilled.”

“Some of them. Others are just powerful.”

She merely nodded thoughtfully.

Once the four of them were seated in the receiving parlor, and Khaliost and Vaelora had sipped some of the white wine, and the Eleni and Quaeryt had tried the pale lager, Khaliost looked across the circular table.

“I stopped to talk to the Khellan officers and troopers in Kephria,” said the white-haired councilor.

“What did you discover?” asked Vaelora.

“That Liantiago belongs to Lord Bhayar. We knew that. The High Council would not have sent me otherwise. I wished to know how that had happened. They told me.” Khaliost turned slightly to address Quaeryt directly. “They also told me that there are at least four other imagers of great power, although you are more than a great imager, and far more than a mere commander.” His eyes shifted to Vaelora. “And you see more than any woman, even any
Eherelani
or Eleni, should see. The majors told me you lost your daughter protecting them.”

“I did lose her at Kephria.”

“You expect another,” said the Eleni flatly.

“I do,” admitted Vaelora.

“She will be an imager. I do not know if she will have your sight. That comes later.”

“Thank you.”

“I would not wish thanks for that, Lady. A woman who is an imager … she will face great trials, even with the protections you and your consort can provide.”

After another sip of the wine, Khaliost went on. “I took the liberty of also talking to Marshal Calkoran after he came to escort us. He insisted that I meet with Major Eslym. The major presented me with a dagger. He insists it is the dagger that Erion threw to protect you against the remaining imagers of Rex Kharst when you faced them while trapped in a chamber lined with lead and iron.” The older man smiled cheerfully. “Is it?”

“It was thrown by a figure that looked like Erion,” Quaeryt admitted.

“It is stronger than iron and lighter, and the edge is sharp enough to shave a man or behead him. The major says that it also pierced an iron-lined door.”

“That is true. It pinned Submarshal Myskyl to the door.”

Khaliost nodded. So did the Eleni.

For several moments, there was silence.

Then Quaeryt asked, “Are you empowered to agree to the final terms you work out, and will the Council be bound by those terms? Or will we work out something only to discover that the Council will reject it, and then we’ll have to invade Bovaria?”

“That is why Chiana is here. Whatever terms we agree on, the High Council will accept.” Khaliost sighed. “I hope we can agree, because I cannot agree to what would amount to a complete surrender of who and what Khel is.”

“Lord Bhayar is generally reasonable.”