“We leave on Samedi morning.”
“Samedi morning! One day to make arrangements and to pack! One day! And Shenna, poor Shenna … What will I do for her?”
“We could give her some golds…”
“Of course, but that’s little enough … and for all we’ve done…”
Quaeryt realized that he was not going to have much of a chance to say more. So he listened for almost two quints before he finally slipped in another sentence. “I have an errand to take care of…”
“Now?!! For what reason when you’re being rewarded like this?”
“If I don’t take care of it, I will regret it, and Extela will suffer.”
“What is all that important if we’re leaving on Samedi morning?”
“I’ll tell you when I return.” Quaeryt offered the sentence quietly.
“Is it that important?”
“It is to me. It’s something that needs to be done.”
Strangely, at least to Quaeryt, the anger seemed to vanish from Vaelora’s face, but she said nothing for several moments.
Quaeryt waited.
“You have to set something right, don’t you?”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Please be careful, dearest.” After a moment, she added, “In every way.”
“This time, I intend exactly that.” Quaeryt took a deep breath. He wasn’t looking forward to what he planned, for more than a few reasons. Still …
He used a concealment shield to walk back to the stable, and he held it over both the mare and himself when he rode out from the villa, rather than try to explain to the rankers assigned to the villa why he needed no escorts. Since he’d had to make several trips to Hyleor’s dwelling before finally meeting the factor, Quaeryt had no difficulty finding his way there under his shield.
When he saw the house, and the brick wall topped with ironwork spikes that fronted the street and formed part of the enclosure around the garden between the house and street, he frowned again at the sheer ill chance that had befallen Versoryn.
Might have been better for all of us if they’d whipped Hyleor to death. Quaeryt shook his head. Then you’d have had to execute him and the others … and that would have been worse, especially given High Holder Cransyr. Except Hyleor’s caused at least five deaths you know of, and probably more that you don’t. Like so many things in life, there was no ideal resolution. But that’s why you’re here this afternoon.
As he rode closer, he could see that no one was outside in front, despite the open gates.
Holding a concealment shield over himself and the mare, Quaeryt rode slowly through the gates. He looked again at the drive. The last time he had seen Hyleor, the drive had been muddy and rutted. Now it was smooth and graveled. He slowed the mare, then almost a step at a time rode down the dirt on the side away from the graveled drive toward the dwelling and the small building behind it. He chose the dirt because the sound of hooves on the gravel would be noticed more than silent tracks appearing in the dirt … assuming anyone noticed at all.
He was halfway down the drive when two men stepped out of the small shedlike building behind the dwelling. One was the fleshy-faced and black-haired Hyleor, looking fatter and greasier than Quaeryt recalled. The other was wiry and dressed in faded gray, moving his head from side to side with a jerkiness that reminded Quaeryt of a wary rodent.
Quaeryt reined up and waited, listening.
“… do about Cauflyn?”
“… once he’s out of the patrol gaol … the same as the others … except I’ll carve my initials in his guts so big he doesn’t have guts…”
“Patrol chief or governor might have something to say about that.”
“Word is that the governor won’t last long…” The spice factor looked up and turned his head from side to side. “You hear something?”
“Just the wind.”
“Could have sworn I heard a horse whuffling.”
“Do you see a horse, sir?” asked the man in gray, his head moving rodent-like from side to side.
“I heard one.”
Quaeryt didn’t bother to wait longer. He imaged water into Hyleor’s lower throat and lungs.
The factor staggered, then tried to speak. No sound issued forth. An attempted cough spewed forth some liquid, but Quaeryt imaged more water into Hyleor’s lower throat.
The man in gray pounded on Hyleor’s back. Hyleor coughed out a small spurt of water, but his face was turning red.
“Elenda! Elenda!” yelled the man in gray.
Hyleor staggered, then bent forward, trying to clear his lungs and throat.
Quaeryt waited.
Abruptly, the factor pitched forward into the gravel of the drive. The other man pushed on his back and kept pressing intermittently. Water gushed from Hyleor’s mouth, but Quaeryt imaged more into the factor’s throat.
In time, Quaeryt could see that the factor’s chest was moving slower and slower … until it wasn’t rising and falling at all.
The man in gray rolled Hyleor over so that he faced skyward in the late afternoon. “Elenda!”
No one appeared.
The gray man ran for the rear of the house.
Once he was out of sight, Quaeryt turned the mare and rode slowly back up along the far side of the drive until he was outside the gates. He reined up and waited. Still … no one appeared.
After half a quint, he turned the mare.
He was just glad Hyleor had been there. He would have come back later that evening, or on Vendrei evening, had it been necessary. He just couldn’t have left Hyleor to create more trouble for Pharyl and for the people of Extela.
But won’t someone else just step into his boots? And what right did you have to act as justicer and executioner?
His laugh was silent and bitter. No right at all, only the responsibility not to let a man who caused death after death keep doing it when no one else could or would stop it.
Quaeryt didn’t have any better answers to his own questions. He kept riding, back toward the villa that he and Vaelora had occupied for such a short time with such high hopes for a future that had not come to pass.
He’d been able to do nothing about improving matters in Extela or in any other part of Montagne for either scholars and imagers. He hadn’t finished resolving many of the problems facing the city, and he’d already been dismissed and replaced.
57
Quaeryt’s head was aching, and little flashes of light sparkled in front of his eyes by the time he returned to the villa, unseen beneath the concealment shield. Once in the stable, he released the shield, and took a deep breath. The imaging he’d done hadn’t been that strenuous, but he was out of practice in holding both personal and concealment shields simultaneously … and for such a long period of time. After several moments he unsaddled and groomed the mare. Since none of the rankers were waiting or looking for him, his absence from the villa had apparently gone unnoticed.
He walked up from the stable to the villa, his thoughts on what might await him in Ferravyl. His boots had barely hit the floor inside the entry hall, echoing unevenly, when Vaelora hurried out of the main level study. She stopped a yard short of him.
“How did … your errand … go?” Her voice was soft.
“I took care of it,” replied Quaeryt tiredly.
“Not Grelyana? She’s a bitch, but…”
At the worried expression on his wife’s face, Quaeryt shook his head. “Hyleor. He ordered one of his guards to kill another, deceived him, and got the man sentenced to be beheaded. The man who was killed was a patroller recruit. He was murdered because he knew too much about Hyleor, not that I’d ever be able to prove it. That’s what I know directly. Then there are all the girls Hyleor drugged for his pleasure houses, not to mention all the elveweed and other drugs he’s carted into Extela. Oh … and he was also the one who set up the attack on the flour wagon, where two men and a pleasure girl got killed.” Quaeryt sighed. “Someone will replace him. There’s always someone, but they won’t know as much, and they’ll have to go on the assumption that bad things happen if they get too far out of hand. That’s the best I can do for Pharyl and the city … so far as that’s concerned.”