tell, almost no one had used the road as far as Haeryn’s gates since he and fourth company had ridden back the afternoon before-just one rider and a single cart pulled by an ox. That didn’t count any scouts, either Bovarian or Telaryn, of course, because they likely would have ridden on the harder parts of the road or on the shoulder to minimize their tracks.
Some three milles beyond Haeryn’s gates, the road dipped down into another marsh, the western end of the lake that had swamps at both ends. Quaeryt caught sight of one swamp lizard, more than three yards long, before it slipped under the murky water. The levee-like road across the swamp was more than half a mille long before it again rose onto the higher ground bordering the River Aluse. While it widened once above the marsh, the roadbed was more rutted and not all that well traveled.
Both Major Zhael and Major Arion rode near the front, one with Quaeryt and the other with Captain Wharyn, Zhael’s second in command, alternating occasionally. All six imager subcaptains rode behind Wharyn.
The first thing that Quaeryt noticed as they neared where Fauxyn’s holding was supposed to be was the high and thick hedgerow along the river side of the road, and the fact that the road ran along the south side of what appeared to be a long ridge whose crest had been flattened years, if not decades, before. There were no breaks in the hedgerow, and the top ranged from three to five yards above the shoulder of the road.
When they reached the holding entrance, Quaeryt blotted his damp forehead. He was mildly surprised at the plain gray stone and the dull iron gates and the fact that there were no tracks or wheel ruts from the gate onto the river road. He was less surprised at the chains and double locks.
At Quaeryt’s command, Shaelyt removed the locks, and two troopers swung open the gates to reveal a stone-paved lane that led directly to the rear of a two-story structure situated on a low rise less than half a mille from the gates. The lane bore no tracks at all, as if it had been swept recently. As Quaeryt, led by the scouts and followed by the two companies, neared the hold house, he could see that it was far more than a hold house, with wide covered porches, a walled garden off the rear verandah, and a small garden off each wing of the small palace, not to mention a pair of hedge mazes flanking the side gardens.
A thin wisp of smoke rose from a chimney, possibly the one serving the kitchen. That, and the fact that none of the windows were shuttered, suggested the hold had not been locked and abandoned … and that it was occupied with the holder either absent or most confident.
“They do not expect us?” murmured Zhael in Bovarian, from where he rode beside Quaeryt. “How could they not know?”
“Perhaps no one told them,” replied Quaeryt. “Did you see any other access to the grounds? I didn’t.”
“There must be another entrance.”
Quaeryt nodded, but he was convinced that they had not passed anything that would have afforded access to the grounds. Part of that mystery was resolved when they followed the lane up the rise and to a point where the ground leveled out just east of the holding buildings. From there, Quaeryt looked down a long gradual slope to the river, where an elaborate dock, with an elegant boathouse, jutted out into the water. From the foot of the pier a wide lane wound up the slope through elaborate gardens in sweeping turns, ending at a paved circle under a roofed portico supported by fluted stone columns. A row of statues, sea-sprites, crowned the low wall between the columns on the river end of the portico. The leaded glass windows overlooking the river were wide and tall.
“Access is largely from the river,” said Quaeryt.
“It looks more like a summer palace for the rex,” observed Arion from behind Quaeryt.
“It displays more taste than that,” countered Zhael.
Quaeryt noted that no boats were tied at the dock, but it was possible that the large boathouse held some craft, since one end extended well out into the river. His eyes turned to the small palace. Several windows on the upper level were open. As he studied the portico once more, two figures in livery stepped out and took positions on the wide white marble steps.
A smile crossed Quaeryt’s face. High Holder Fauxyn had style. Whether he had any sort of power was another question, but Quaeryt wasn’t about to leave himself open to attack. He strengthened his shields as he directed the scouts to follow the stone lane to where it joined the wider lane leading up from the dock.
Quaeryt ordered the two companies to draw up in formation well back from the portico, then turned to the officers, nodding at Zhael. “Arion will accompany me. You’re in command.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Undercaptain Voltyr, you’re in charge of the imagers. I don’t expect any difficulty, but if something should happen to us, you’re to bring down this entire confectionery structure.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt nodded to Arion, and the two rode forward, reining up just short of the wide white marble steps.
“Honored sirs,” announced the taller dark-haired man in the white and peach colored livery. “High Holder and Lady Fauxyn bid you welcome to Fauxheld.”
“Are they present?” asked Quaeryt.
“They are indeed, sir.” The functionary’s eyes went from Quaeryt to Arion and back to Quaeryt. “How might I announce you, sir?”
“Subcommander Quaeryt and Major Arion.” Quaeryt noted that the functionary had a military bearing, not to mention a scar across his forehead above his left eye.
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt eased the mare to the side of the steps where there was an ornate gilded hitching ring. There he dismounted.
“Allow me, sir,” said the shorter retainer, stepping forward and extending a hand for the mare’s reins.
“Thank you.” Quaeryt let him take the reins … and waited while he also took those of Arion’s mount.
“If you would follow me, sirs…” suggested the taller retainer.
“Stay close to me,” Quaeryt murmured to Arion.
The dark-haired retainer turned, opened the right-hand, gilded-iron outer door, and then the inner door, ornately carved with hunting scenes. He stepped back until the two officers stood in a vaulted receiving hall, then closed the inner door, but not the outer one. “This way. I am requested to escort you to the parlor.”
“Don’t most visitors come by river?” Quaeryt glanced around the receiving hall, its walls covered in a peach damask above the darker goldenwood wainscoting. Two full-length portraits, one on each side, each of a man in formal attire of some time in the past that Quaeryt didn’t recognize, were the only decoration. He did note that both men portrayed, one blond and one brown-haired, possessed eyes of a color that partook of both blue and violet-an odd shade.
“They do, sir.” The retainer walked through the archway into another chamber, from which corridors extended directly ahead and to the right and left. He turned to the left. “Only certain goods from the local area come through the rear gates, and that is by prior arrangement.”
“How long has the hold been in the family?”
“I could not say, sir. No one can recall the memory of a time when there was not a High Holder Fauxyn.” He stepped into the first archway on the left and bowed.
Quaeryt repressed a frown at the way the retainer had replied.
The individual waiting in the parlor, if a chamber some ten yards by five could be called a parlor, was not High Holder Fauxyn, but a blond woman who looked to be about Quaeryt’s age. Her eyes were a shade that was neither blue nor purple, but somewhere between-and intense-much like the color of the eyes of the two men in the receiving hall portraits. Her skin was a flawless creamy peach, and her form was exquisitely female, accentuated by the not quite sheer and clinging pale green gown she wore. The shade of her shoes matched the gown, but the stone in the pendant attached to the golden rope chain around her neck was the same color as her eyes.
“Lady Fauxyn, Subcommander Quaeryt and Major Arion.” The retainer bowed, then retreated to the wide hallway outside the archway into the parlor.
“Officers.” Lady Fauxyn smiled warmly, even with her eyes.
That she could project that warmth in such a situation chilled Quaeryt through. “Lady Fauxyn,” he replied, inclining his head slightly.
“My husband will be here shortly, but I thought it would be best if I made you welcome.” Another smile, warmer than the first, followed her words in Bovarian.
“Shortly?” asked Quaeryt politely in Bovarian. “As in within a quint … or within several days?” He glanced
