“Because Myskyl was very persuasive, obviously,” replied Quaeryt. “I was wrong, you know? I thought that Myskyl was merely a loyal follower of Rescalyn, when it had to have been the other way around.”
“How did you know? And when?” asked Bhayar.
“I didn’t, not for certain. But when Skarpa and Southern Army were always detailed to attacks and positions designed so that we took the greatest risk … and then when Deucalon changed who was to attend senior officers’ meetings, it became clearer and clearer that one of them, if not both, wanted me dead in a way that couldn’t be traced to them, as well as isolated from the other commanders. Looking back, I can see that Myskyl feared that the imagers would undermine his and Deucalon’s power and influence. I suspect, but there’s no proof, that Kharllon was part of it. If he’d been allowed to remain as acting governor of Antiago, and Myskyl controlled Northern Army, and Deucalon the regiments remaining near Variana…”
“I’d have had a hard time not doing what they wanted if they’d been able to remove you,” concluded Bhayar.
Vaelora nodded.
“So what solution do you have-besides the execution he deserves?”
“The execution is exactly what he deserves,” began Quaeryt, “but that will not serve you all that well. The proof we have of what he did is more than sufficient to prove his guilt, but not the sort that is easily explained to troopers and officers-or to many others. We were thinking about a gilded prison of sorts-rewarding him with a high holding in a locale where he could not make trouble … and where, if he did, an accident would not be all that unusual … or noticed…” Quaeryt went on to explain his thoughts. When he finished, he waited.
Bhayar fingered his chin. Then he frowned. He shifted his weight in his chair and frowned again. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of his getting away with this. I don’t.”
“He won’t,” said Vaelora. “Keep him here until you decide on which high holding. Make him a guest.”
“But forbid him any contact with other officers, beginning right after you tell him of his good fortune.”
“He won’t see it as good fortune,” said Bhayar.
“He will if you point out that his acts could be seen as treason,” said Quaeryt,”and that you have evidence and witnesses.”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” replied Bhayar.
For the next quint, the three discussed how they would proceed.
Then Vaelora stood. “If this is a matter for officers, I should not be present.”
Bhayar nodded, but did not speak, as his sister slipped from the study.
Less than half a quint passed before the guard announced, “Marshal Deucalon.”
“Have him enter.”
Quaeryt stood. Bhayar did not.
“Sir,” offered Deucalon, bowing his head slightly to Bhayar as he stepped into the study. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Commander.”
“Marshal,” returned Quaeryt, without offering the usual head bow to a superior officer. It might be petty, but Deucalon doesn’t deserve it.
Bhayar gestured to the seat at his left.
Deucalon offered the hint of a frown, but seated himself. Quaeryt took the seat to Bhayar’s right.
Bhayar did not immediately speak, but studied Deucalon almost as if he had never met the marshal before. Finally, he began. “Deucalon, you served my father long and loyally and well. And for several years you did the same for me.”
“I have always served you and the interests of Telaryn to the best of my ability.”
“If you believe that,” said Bhayar quietly, “then you and I have quite different ideas about what my interests and those of Telaryn are. For the past three months, I have inquired, time after time, about the activities of Northern Army. You have insisted that you have heard no word from Submarshal Myskyl. I dispatched Commander Quaeryt to see what might be the difficulty. Not only did he discover that the late submarshal was plotting a rebellion with the assistance of Bovarian High Holders and three imagers who had served Rex Kharst, he also intercepted dispatches proving that you lied about not receiving word from the submarshal.”
“That is only his word, sir, and if I might say so, his interests are not yours.”
“It is not just his word. One of those dispatches has your signature on it, and its content indicates that you had received dispatches from the submarshal during the time when you insisted there were none. There are also scores of troopers and doubtless several officers who can name the couriers who rode from your headquarters and returned. There are two senior commanders who know that as well.”
“Their ambition will justify their perjury.”
Quaeryt had to admire Deucalon’s air of injured outrage, not that he believed in Deucalon’s innocence for a moment.
“The couriers have no reason to lie, either about their dispatches or about the fact that they were ordered to avoid Commander Quaeryt’s forces. Any reasonable interpretation of your acts would suggest either incompetence or treason,” replied Bhayar.
“No one will believe your charges, sir. They have been fabricated by this…”
“Commander Quaeryt has risked his life time and time again over the past years. I allowed you to order attacks that put him and his troopers in danger in battle after battle because I trusted you. I even let you change the attendance for senior officers’ meetings to exclude him. That was wrong on my part, and even more so on yours.”
“If there was any treason, it was on the part of the submarshal. I have served you loyally, with your best interests at heart.”
“That may be, but you recommended that Myskyl be made a submarshal and you failed to exercise adequate supervision.”
“My conscience is clear, sir. I did what I thought best, but I had no idea…” Deucalon stopped abruptly.
“No idea of what?” asked Bhayar mildly.
“About whatever it was that Submarshal Myskyl was doing.”
“You certainly knew that he had collected significant tariffs from the High Holders and factors, but those never reached me. Ignoring orders and keeping tariff revenues from your ruler…” Bhayar shook his head. “Those are not the acts of a loyal marshal.”
“I acted in your interests, sir.” Deucalon looked pointedly at Quaeryt.
“No … you decided that Commander Quaeryt was acting against what you thought were your interests, and you decided that your interests were mine. It doesn’t work that way, Deucalon. My interests are yours, not the other way around.”
“And his are not yours, either.”
“Actually, they are. He wants a land where imagers and those suspected of imaging are not hounded and killed. Where the Pharsi are treated fairly as well. So do I. He wants a land where wars do not occur between neighbors every generation. So do I. And he wants a land where the ruler does not have to look over his shoulder at those who serve him, wondering who will try to betray him next. That … that, I definitely want.” Bhayar’s voice softened as he asked, “What do you want, Deucalon?” His dark blue eyes fastened on the marshal.
After a moment Deucalon replied, “A fair hearing, not a trumped-up judgment.”
Bhayar shook his head. “No, you don’t. If I give you a fair hearing, I’ll have to order your execution. I already have enough evidence to justify that.” Again he looked hard at Deucalon.
After a long time the marshal looked down.
“On the other hand,” Bhayar continued, “you have rendered long and diligent service to both my father and me. It may be that this service has created too great a burden on you. For this reason, I will be appointing a new marshal. I am also allowing you to leave my service with a full and honorable stipend…”
Deucalon’s face hardened, and Quaeryt could see the suppressed anger.
“… and further, in recognition of your devoted service, especially to my father, you will be granted a large and prosperous high holding. Because of the speed of recent events, I have not had a chance to review all of the holdings available and suitable, but I will decide shortly. In the meantime, you will be my guest here at the Chateau Regis.”