L. Modesitt - Imager’s Battalion

“So fortunate, one time,” said Fauxyn mockingly, retreating and producing another blade, which he hurled at Quaeryt’s chest. The sharp-edged knife, deflected off shields and the staff, clattered to the marble. Fauxyn’s eyes widened.

In that moment, Quaeryt struck, one end of the staff knocking Fauxyn’s blade from his hand, and the other coming back and cracking the High Holder across the side of the jaw. As Fauxyn staggered, Quaeryt put as much force as he could into the next strike, right into the High Holder’s right knee. The knee cracked, and Fauxyn went down, with a short scream that he could not quite choke off.

Lying on the marble and trying not to writhe, Fauxyn glared at Quaeryt. “Go ahead. Kill me. That’s what you want.” The words were almost garbled, most likely because Fauxyn’s jaw was also broken.

Quaeryt shook his head. “No. That would be too easy. You need to understand that Lord Bhayar decides who lives and who does not, and that you need to obey. I will leave you to the tender care of your wife.” He turned to Ghretana. “He should live. I expect him to live. Is that clear? Very clear?”

Lady Fauxyn tried to conceal her swallow. “It is indeed.”

“Excellent. We will be back for what supplies we determine you can spare, most likely tomorrow. I expect nothing to be moved. Nothing at all.”

She nodded, involuntarily, then said, “You are not just a subcommander. You are more than that.” Ghretana looked to Arion. “Is he not, Major?”

“Yes, Lady. He is a lost one.”

She frowned.

“A child of Erion, you would say.”

“I meant … his position.”

Arion smiled. “That is not my part to say, although he is well above me and his official rank.”

Quaeryt looked to Ghretana. “Good day, Lady of Fauxyn.”

“Good day, honored sir.” There was not the slightest hint of mockery in the curtsey that followed her words.

Quaeryt turned to see the functionary with the scar glancing from Fauxyn to Ghretana before stiffening under Quaeryt’s gaze. What was all that about?

While there was no point to asking about a glance, because the retainer would certainly deny anything, Quaeryt tried to fix the man’s visage in his mind. Then he walked out of the damask-walled receiving hall, the unsmelled odor of corruption strong in his nostrils. Neither he nor Arion spoke as they reached their horses and mounted.

Before leaving Fauxyn’s holding, Quaeryt took the time and the precaution of inspecting the storehouses, where he discovered several hundred barrels of assorted provisions, including almost a hundred barrels of flour and ten of rice, not to mention other staples.

Once he’d completed the inspection and the companies were on the road back to Caernyn, he couldn’t help thinking over the incident with Fauxyn. Fauxyn had been insolent, almost seeking a fight, creating a situation that no commander could have afforded to let stand, yet one that would most likely resulted in his own death. He couldn’t have been so stupid as to think otherwise. Why had he behaved so? He’d been equally scornful and contemptuous of his wife … despite the fact that he’d gained title and lands because, under the laws of Bovaria Quaeryt had studied so many years before and which it was clear had not been changed, she’d been forced to marry him to keep the holding in her own bloodline.

At the same time, it bothered Quaeryt that he’d had to depend on his shields to avoid being wounded. It was another form of battle, wasn’t it? Fauxyn attempted to cheat as well, after all. Still, the fact that he thought of shields as cheating bothered him.

“You are concerned about what happened?” asked Arion after they had ridden for several quints.

“More about why it happened,” replied Quaeryt dryly. “Why were the holder and his wife still there?” He had his own ideas, but wanted to hear what Arion thought.

“He was ordered to remain,” suggested the major. “Only Kharst could have done that.”

“And?”

“You would know better than I, sir.”

“He wanted to offend me enough that we would destroy the hold … and thus destroy his wife’s heritage? And leave nothing for Kharst to claim if we’d executed the entire family?”

“I could not see any other reason for his acts.”

Neither could Quaeryt.

“You have destroyed him,” added Arion. “He will die or live as a shell of himself.”

“Because his wife will make sure he survives as a cripple?”

Arion nodded.

“I thought that only fair. The lands were hers, and so long as he lives, she cannot be forced to marry someone else.”

“If she has no children, he will live only long enough for her to find another High Holder suitable for her. If she has children … he will live only long enough for her to claim that he died of natural causes that came from his stupidity in attacking you.”

Quaeryt nodded. Arion sounded as though he knew the Bovarian laws of succession better than did Quaeryt. “How do you know the laws of Bovaria?”

“I studied to become an advocate … until the time of the Red Death and the Bovarian invasion. Then there was greater need for skill with arms than with law.”

“Isn’t there a great deal of difference between the laws of Khel and those of Bovaria?”

“In many areas, they are similar. In the matter of property-holding and legal standing, women have more rights in Khel than they do in Bovaria … or Telaryn.”

That scarcely surprised Quaeryt, not given what he had learned about Pharsi women, especially in the last year. “But why did you study the laws of Bovaria and Telaryn?”

“Not so much the laws of Telaryn. Because there was much trade between Bovaria and Khel, our factors needed to know what recourse they had under Bovarian law.”

“Not much, I imagine,” said Quaeryt dryly.

“More than the Bovarians wanted us to have. That was another reason for the invasion. Many Bovarian factors owed thousands of golds to Khellan factors and traders, and they did not wish to pay what they owed…”

As Arion explained, Quaeryt listened, discovering in greater depth yet another reason for the Bovarian invasion of Khel.

In the end, it wasn’t much before the evening meal by the time the companies returned to Caernyn. Because Skarpa was tied up with his regimental quartermaster and requested that Meinyt and Quaeryt meet with him after the evening meal, Quaeryt checked with the other Fifth Battalion company commanders and the imagers, barely finishing before it was time to eat.

Afterward, Quaeryt and Meinyt waited until the public room of the River Inn emptied before joining Skarpa, as he had requested, in the corner farthest from the kitchen and the entry archway. Quaeryt brought a recently refilled mug of pale lager to the table. Meinyt’s mug contained lager, Quaeryt suspected, while Skarpa’s likely held ale.

Skarpa set down his mug and motioned for them to sit, then looked to Quaeryt. “How did your venture with the High Holder go?”

“Let’s say that it didn’t go exactly as planned, but he does have supplies that will be available to us. We also learned a few things … perhaps confirmed is a better word…” Quaeryt went on to explain what had happened.

When he had finished, Skarpa nodded. “That sounds like what I’ve heard about Rex Kharst. It’s good to know about the supplies.” He paused. “I’ll need to report about your encounter.”

“I had thought as much. I’ll also note it in my observations of High Holders.”

“Just say that this … Fauxyn was insolent and unwilling to be cooperative. He attacked you, and rather than killing him, you merely broke his knee and jaw. That should be sufficient, and that is what I will also report. His acts come from Bovarian law and customs, and Bhayar doesn’t much care for them. So they shouldn’t concern us or the campaign.” Skarpa turned to Meinyt. “Do you have anything to add?”