“You can tie your mount here.” The guard rang a bell set in a bronze bracket on a bronze post by the foot of the staircase.
As Quaeryt dismounted, a figure in black and yellow livery stepped out of the doors at the top of the steps.
“A commander from Lord Bhayar to see the master!” called the young guard.
“He’s expected.” The functionary bowed slightly.
Quaeryt turned to the rankers. “Just wait here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then he turned to the guard. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Quaeryt made his way up the steps to the wide area outside the double doors.
“I’m Wereas, the steward, sir. How might I announce you, sir?”
“Commander Quaeryt.”
“You’re fortunate. He saw your forces enter the town. He’s curious. He isn’t always.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, sir. He just said that there was something different, and that he was receiving.”
Receiving?
“In his study. That’s on the fourth level, facing the river. This way, if you would, sir.” The steward held the polished and oiled heavy oak door, then closed it behind Quaeryt, and stepped ahead to lead Quaeryt through the square entry hall past an arch to another staircase, one of green marble that led up a level to a landing, with two smaller staircases, one at each end of the wide landing, and each leading back east and up another level. The staircase in effect created an atrium of sorts almost three levels high. After riding much of the day, Quaeryt was careful with his bad leg as he made his way up the grand staircase, with its green marble steps and its dark wooden paneled walls, graced in places with light green silk hangings.
“To the left, sir,” suggested Wereas once they had reached the fourth level, “and all the way back.”
Quaeryt only passed one door, and it was closed, before the steward stopped at the second door, also closed, and rapped on it once. “Commander Quaeryt, from Variana and Lord Bhayar.”
“Have him come in.”
Wereas opened the door.
Quaeryt stepped into the study, a chamber whose interior walls were entirely covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, possibly one of the two or three largest collections he’d seen, certainly smaller than the collection of the Khanar in the Telaryn Palace, and possibly the same size as that of the scholarium in Solis. The exterior walls, except for the tall and narrow windows, were paneled in the same dark wood as the staircase. Each window was flanked by the pale green silk hangings. A thick carpet of a darker green, its border showing intertwined black and gold chains, covered most of the dark wooden floor except a half yard from the walls.
High Holder Seliadyn sat behind a wide table desk, empty except for two volumes, bound in green leather. As Quaeryt stepped toward the desk, Seliadyn stood.
Quaeryt hadn’t been certain what to expect, given the way Caemren had described Seliadyn, but the High Holder was a tall man, at least a few digits taller than Quaeryt. He wore dark gray trousers and a matching jacket over a pale gray shirt. His boots were black and polished, and his silver-white hair was thick, but cut short. He gestured to the pair of wooden armchairs, upholstered in leather stained pale green to match the hangings.
Seliadyn asked politely, “Do you prefer lager, ale, or wine, Commander?”
“Pale lager, if possible.”
“A fighting commander, but one with taste.” The High Holder addressed the steward. “Two lagers, Wereas.”
The steward nodded and stepped back, departing, but leaving the study door open.
Quaeryt moved to the chair closest to the window, but did not seat himself until Seliadyn began to do the same.
“Also familiar with court protocol,” said the High Holder. “You brought two companies. That speaks of a man sent to investigate or to take over command. Even with that white hair, I have my doubts about your taking command of six regiments from a submarshal. Do you care to tell me the problem?”
“Let me just say that Lord Bhayar doesn’t know if there is a problem, except in communications.” Quaeryt smiled politely.
“Your uniform is a brownish green, but well cut. That doesn’t suggest shoddy tailoring or cloth. Were you a scholar? Or are you?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“You limp slightly, and there’s something wrong with your hand. How many times have you been wounded?”
“Enough.” Quaeryt almost laughed.
Seliadyn’s eyes went to the door, and he motioned.
Wereas carried two beakers on a tray. Both held an extremely pale lager. He offered the tray to Quaeryt, who took the beaker slightly farther from him.
Seliadyn took the other beaker and lifted it, then took a small swallow before setting it on the table desk. “This isn’t mine. My vineyards produce a good hearty red and a passable white, but I don’t have the best grain lands. We do get a few barrels of a decent apple brandy once in a while.” After the slightest pause, Seliadyn went on. “You’re Pharsi, aren’t you? Was your hair black or white-blond before it turned white?”
“White-blond,” replied Quaeryt, before taking a small sip of the lager. “This is excellent.”
“Thank you. I’ve always thought so. White-blond. That makes you the dangerous kind. It also explains why Bhayar won.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Even with his heritage, you wouldn’t be a commander if you weren’t good at something. Cowards or those who command from the rear-or cosseted staff officers-usually don’t get wounded. If you’re commanding from the front, you’re good or you’d be dead.”
“So why are you still alive?” asked Quaeryt.
Seliadyn nodded. “That’s a perceptive question. I assume you noticed the real gates?”
“Two sets of ironbound war gates and a portcullis.”
“That’s part of the reason. The hold is close to self-sufficient. It’s also almost three hundred milles from Variana, and I said little on the few occasions I was requested to attend Rex Kharst. I’ve always paid my people well for information, and whenever Kharst’s assassins appeared nearby … well … they found matters difficult here. After I outwaited them several times, while giving no overt offense, Kharst decided other interests were less troublesome. That could not have continued, of course. My eldest daughter is twelve and is already showing signs of beauty. So I must admit that I’m grateful for Lord Bhayar’s intervention. You are married?”
“Yes. Comparatively recently.”
“Of course. Young and dashing commanders are much more appealing than scholars. But then, scholars are also often more ruthless.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m dashing.”
“But you’re well connected. For that reason, and for reasons of my own, you and your men are welcome to use the old barracks for the night. I can supply provisions, but your cooks will have to do the preparations. The officers’ quarters are spare but comfortable. The rankers’ quarters are just spare. There is a small fenced pasture inside the walls which should hold your mounts.” Seliadyn smiled. “That way, also, you won’t have to impose on the people of Vaestora.”
Quaeryt returned the smile. “I had hoped that your hospitality might be a possibility.”
“I can be hospitable to those who are reasonable.”
“Such hospitality is still much appreciated.” Quaeryt lifted the beaker to the High Holder.
Seliadyn nodded, then said, “I assume you are headed to Rivages. You might be interested to know that the submarshal has stationed a regiment-I assume he is rotating them-some five milles south of Rivages proper.”
“Is there a road along the west side of the Aluse?” asked Quaeryt.
“There is, but it’s a poor excuse for one, except for the last four or five milles into Rivages. That’s because Daefol has his holding off it. His great-great-grandsire built it on the top of the highest hill around. Rather, the highest hill with a spring. The present Daefol claims that was so that his forbear would always have water and never be flooded out.” Seliadyn snorted.”It doesn’t matter if you’ve got water and walls, if you’re a fool.”