“Well … you’re here. You might as well dismount and come in.” The High Holder turned and walked to the door. “Come on, Commander. Don’t dawdle. I’m sure you’ve got others to visit. Tiresome business it must be, being at someone else’s beck and call. Even at a distance.”
Quaeryt suppressed a grin, dismounted, and handed his mount’s reins to the ranker who had moved up beside the squad leader. “This might take a bit longer. You might let some of the squad stretch their legs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Caemren stood waiting as Quaeryt walked quickly toward him.
“You’re young for a commander. Your sire a marshal or a High Holder?” He looked closely at Quaeryt. “No … wouldn’t be that. Don’t know of any Pharsi holders or marshals. I’d wager that you’re the highest-ranking Pharsi officer in either Telaryn or Bovaria.”
“That’s probably true.”
“No probability about it, Commander.” Caemren turned and walked through the door, saying over his shoulder, “We’ll sit on the north terrace. Coolest place around during the summer, and it might as well be, close as it is by the calendar.”
The north terrace was roofed and off a small salon and occupied the northwest corner formed by the center square of the main section of the house and the north wing. Caemren gestured to a table set back from a small fountain, comprised of what was meant to be a stone seasprite with water spraying up from its blowhole. Quaeryt had only seen one of the shy creatures ever, but they didn’t look much like the statue. He seated himself across the small circular table from the High Holder.
For a moment Caemren looked closely at Quaeryt, who had removed his visor cap and set it on the edge of the table. Then the High Holder nodded. “Lord Bhayar’s said to be part Pharsi. You his tribute officer?”
“Hardly. I was a scholar before the war. I ended up directing troops in Tilbor during the hill holder revolt. I was appointed princeps after the fighting was over. What with one thing and another, when Kharst attacked Ferravyl, I ended up commanding a company, then a battalion, then a regiment.”
“You ever lose a skirmish or a battle?”
“No. Except for the first skirmish, when I was just observing and took a crossbow bolt in the shoulder.”
“You look like the Pharsi descriptions of a hand of Erion, and you limp. You paint your fingernails?”
“No. After the battle of Variana, they turned white. So did my hair.”
Caemren nodded again. “What do you want?”
“Information.”
“Fair enough. About what? Or who?”
“The High Holders around Rivages. Are there others besides Fiancryt and Ryel?”
“Two others. Paliast and Daefol.”
“What about them?”
“I’ve nothing to say. They’re non-entities who mean nothing and who will defer to anyone who has power in order to keep their lands and privileges.”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there to say? You must know the type.”
Quaeryt couldn’t contest that. So he went on. “Most towns in Bovaria only have one or two High Holders.”
“Rivages is a city, not a town. It is a place unto itself. It was also the home of Caldor.”
“The unifier of Bovaria.”
“So-called unifier. The Yaran warlords who were your Lord Bhayar’s forbears were paragons of virtue by comparison.”
“And Rivages has not changed much since?”
“With High Holders such as Ryel and Fiancryt in power and indulging Kharst’s every whim? How could it change?”
“I’d be interested to hear what you know about High Holder Fiancryt, the late High Holder, rather than his heir … if he has one.”
“Ah, yes. Fiancryt. Interesting fellow. He kept to himself and his lands when he was in Rivages, but he was very social in Variana. He married twice, both wives to his advantage. He obtained additional lands from his first wife. Cytha was the sister of Ryel, the father of the Ryel who died when Lord Bhayar took Variana and destroyed the Chateau Regis…”
Quaeryt didn’t bother to correct Caemren, but continued to listen.
“The lands were thought to be worthless, but Fiancryt found coal there. Cytha supposedly died of a fever she caught from her eldest daughter, who also died. That left Fiancryt with a son. He was about ten. After Cytha conveniently died, Fiancryt wasted no time. His second wife is said to be beautiful, but in the way a good blade is beautiful. Never talked to her, and I don’t care to. Myranda came from Variana. She was once a favorite of Kharst’s. Nameless knows how she survived, but Fiancryt’s fortunes improved even more after he wed her. Of course, he was at Chateau Regis when it fell to the brother of all storms.” Caemren looked guilelessly at Quaeryt. “It was either that, or a storm brought by the hand of Erion.”
“It froze all of Kharst’s troopers and anyone who was in or around the Chateau Regis,” Quaeryt said evenly.
“That was your doing, wasn’t it?”
“I had something to do with it.”
“That’s like saying winter has something to do with the cold.”
“Myranda wasn’t in Variana?” Quaeryt really didn’t want to say more. For all of Caemren’s gaudy finery, Quaeryt trusted the High Holder less than any he had met, if for reasons he couldn’t voice.
Caemren laughed, a softly ironic sound. “She never set foot in Variana after she wed Fiancryt. It’s been said that was one of the conditions. I don’t know that it was her condition, either. Kharst was said to be wary of her after a time. I saw the way every eye turned to her when she entered a chamber in Variana.”
“I thought you hadn’t met her.”
“I saw her. That was enough. Even most men who don’t like women were caught by her presence.”
And she’s the one whose holding Myskyl is using as a base of his operations.
“What about Fiancryt’s son? The heir?”
“He died this winter. Fell in the river on a hunt. He was with his stepmother and the Telaryn submarshal.” Caemren’s eyes, hard and intense green, focused on Quaeryt. “That’s why you’re asking all these questions, isn’t it?”
“I’m just following Lord Bhayar’s orders to see what the situation is in Rivages. I take it that Myranda has a son by Fiancryt?”
“She has a son. He was born at Fiancryt.”
Most likely by Kharst. That was the conclusion Quaeryt reached by the way Caemren had spoken. “What else should I know about Myranda and Fiancryt?”
“Does it matter?”
“It could.”
“It wouldn’t hurt if Lord Bhayar turned Fiancryt-without the lady-over to the most loyal and least corruptible officer he has.”
“I’ll pass that on.” Quaeryt nodded. “What about Ryel?”
“He’s dead. His widow is an outlander. She’ll do fine … if Bhayar lets her.”
“He already has,” replied Quaeryt.
For the first time in their conversation, Caemren showed a brief flash of surprise. Then he smiled. “Your doing?”
“Yes. And Lady Vaelora’s.”
“You knew her … before?”
Quaeryt shook his head. “I knew who she was. I never met her until she came to Variana to petition Lord Bhayar to hold the lands for her children.”
When Caemren did not speak, Quaeryt asked, “Who else might be able to tell me about what has happened in and around Rivages in the past two seasons?”
“Besides Lady Myranda, you mean?”
Quaeryt nodded.
“You might try Seliadyn. His hold is in Vaestora. That’s some fifteen milles south of Rivages. He’s … different. He’s also one of the oldest High Holders, and he has ways of finding out things. That’s if he’ll talk to you.”
“He’ll talk to me.” One way or another.
“You don’t take no for an answer, I see.” The High Holder smiled, then added, “Sometimes, it’s better not even to ask.”
Quaeryt thought about that and smiled. “That’s a very good point.”
“I thought so.” Caemren stood. “You ought to be about your business, Commander.”
Quaeryt didn’t object. He just stood. “Thank you for the time and information. I do trust that you pledge allegiance-and tariffs-to Lord Bhayar.”