“It seems to me that Rex Kharst was more inclined to deal with the factors than the High Holders.”
“Wouldn’t you be? The High Holders always want things their way. They never want to pay the market price of anything. Rex Kharst and his sire, their men would dicker, but they didn’t demand. Of course, a few factors who cheated them ended up dead. For the most part, Kharst paid for value and got it.”
“And because the factors proved more trustworthy, the factors’ councils were used to gather, collect, and send tariffs to Variana?”
“Exactly!”
“Even the tariffs of the High Holders?”
“You wouldn’t trust them to be honest if you were ruling Bovaria, Commander.”
“Possibly not.” Quaeryt had his doubts about the reputed honesty of the Bovarian factors, although he couldn’t dispute the fact that the factors might well have been comparatively more honest than the High Holders. “That’s also why the council oversees the town patrol and chooses the chief?”
“You get a good chief, and you don’t have to oversee much. You don’t, and you can’t do enough oversight. We’ve got a good chief, and that’s one of the things that makes Yapres a good place to work and live.”
“What about High Holder Caemren?”
“He’s better than most. He’s a practical type, and knows value. He and his family keep to themselves most times.”
“Have you ever heard about a High Holder Fiancryt?”
“Not much. He got along with Rex Kharst, which shows common sense, but wasn’t too close, I hear.”
“What about Ryel?”
“Him?” Zoalon shook his head. “Everyone thought he was Kharst’s spymaster. I had my doubts. How could anyone be an effective spymaster if everyone knows that’s what you are? They say his wife saved his holding. She was wealthy, maybe from Khel or someplace. People don’t ask questions when you’ve got gold and jewels.”
Although Quaeryt talked to Zoalon for another two quints, he didn’t learn anything significantly new after the factor’s comments on Ryel.
When Quaeryt returned to the inn, he found Zhelan and Calkoran, and the three took a table in the corner of the public room.
A red-haired and freckled serving girl, probably younger than Elsior, thought Quaeryt, approached, looking tentatively at the officers.
“Pale lager, or whatever lager’s the lightest, if you would,” requested Quaeryt.
“Dark lager,” added Calkoran.
“Ale,” said Zhelan.
After the server hurried toward the kitchen, Quaeryt asked, “How are the dispatch riders?”
“They’re still confused,” replied Zhelan. “I just asked them what they thought might happen to them if someone was capturing and killing dispatch riders. I said we were making good time toward Rivages, and that they’d only be a day or two longer … and that they could blame you for the delay.” The major grinned.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Did you learn anything new from the factor?”
“A few things, but they all tend to confirm what we’ve been seeing all along. According to Zoalon, Kharst ended up relying on the factors because the High Holders were stiff-necked, uncooperative, and totally dishonest. Then, given how Kharst dealt with them, I can see why they might be perceived that way.”
“They deserved each other,” said Calkoran. “Bovarian High Holders value their power and privileges over everything. Bovarian factors value golds above everything.”
Quaeryt smiled wryly, then frowned. There had been something like that … in Rholan and the Nameless. But he waited while the server set three beakers on the table, then handed her a silver. “The extra is for you.”
Her mouth opened for a moment, then closed, before she finally said, “Thank you, sir,” and hurried off, as if afraid Quaeryt would change his mind.
“You were about to say something, sir,” reminded Zhelan.
“I was just recalling something Rholan was supposed to have said, something along the line that everyone thinks merchants and factors know the price of everything and the value of nothing, but that’s not true. They know the value of every kind of good to the last part of a copper…” Quaeryt paused. There was something else that had been there.
“Sir?”
“There was more. I can’t remember it exactly, but it was about how factors don’t value beliefs or understand what they mean to others.”
“Does anyone who has power?” asked Calkoran sardonically.
“I believe Lord Bhayar understands the importance of at least some beliefs, and that others value their beliefs. But he has been forced to see more than most rulers. I don’t think the same of most factors, especially not Bovarian factors. That’s also why I think that factors should always advise, but never govern, because a land can’t be governed just on the basis of golds.”
“He was forced to see?” asked Calkoran. “Who forces a ruler?”
“In his case, his own father,” replied Quaeryt.
“You said that Bhayar was actually a ranker in Tilbor?” said Zhelan.
“He was. His sire wanted him to understand what the men he commanded felt. That has been a tradition since the time his forbears were just Yaran warlords.”
“He was on the field at Variana,” Zhelan pointed out.
“Better than any other ruler in Lydar,” conceded Calkoran.
“How long do you think it will take us to reach Rivages?” asked Quaeryt, not wanting to get into a detailed discussion about Bhayar, because, at times, he wondered if he truly knew the man who called him a friend.
“Looks to me like we’re less than a hundred milles from Rivages,” said Zhelan. “That’s if the maps and what the locals say is right. If the roads don’t get worse, four long days.” He paused. “You just want to ride in?”
“I was thinking of sending out scouts, with one of the imagers to give them concealment, just to see what they can find.”
“That might be best.” Calkoran nodded.
Zhelan nodded.
Quaeryt lifted his beaker and took a swallow of the pale lager. He’d had better, but he’d had much worse.
39
Quaeryt was up early on Vendrei, not that it mattered, because it had turned out that many more horses needed reshoeing than he had realized. Since that would take most of the day, he and the troopers would be spending an additional day in Yapres.
So much for making good time, he thought as he rode off to see Suelyr, on one of the spare mounts, as soon as he had finished meeting with the imagers-to whom he assigned specific exercises-and his senior officers. Since Suelyr was the wealthiest factor, Quaeryt suspected that he would find the man in his factorage, almost exactly as far south of the inn as Zoalan’s factorage had been to the north. While Suelyr had one more warehouse than did Zoalan, he also had one less pier, and his study was located on the end of the smallest warehouse, rather than in an elaborate separate building.
Suelyr was also older, with iron-gray hair and a brush mustache, and he wore a plain white linen shirt above gray trousers. When Quaeryt entered the factor’s study, escorted by a young clerk, Quaeryt also saw a gray jacket hanging on a wall peg behind the desk. The factor did not rise from a battered desk and gestured to the single chair before it. “Commander. I thought I might see you.”
“Why might that be?” Quaeryt smiled easily as he sat down on the chair that was as battered and scratched as the desk.
“You have two companies of troopers. Troopers usually need supplies, especially provisions and grain, and you only have a single supply wagon.” Suelyr’s smile was not quite predatory. “You’ll find that I’m most reasonable in my terms.”
Quaeryt nodded, then said, “If we need provisions, I’m certain we’ll reach terms.” He gently projected absolute confidence and authority. “We’ll talk of such later. I actually came as much to hear what you might have to say about the role of the factors here in Yapres as to talk about provisions.”