“Vaelora did that, not me,” protested Quaeryt.
“Your lady would not have wed anyone without outstanding qualities, master princeps. Nor would her brother have let her. That, we both know.” When Quaeryt offered a dubious expression, Phargos added, “Tell me that is not so … if you dare to do so honestly.”
Quaeryt laughed. “She does know her own mind.”
“As do you, my friend. Now … about that homily…”
“What homily?”
“The only one I’ll ever insist on your giving here. I want a promise that before you leave, whenever that may be, you will deliver the homily at services in the anomen. Everyone has heard you deliver a homily … except me.”
“Just one … one time?” asked Quaeryt warily.
“One … once.”
“For you … I will. But just once. I’m not a chorister.”
“But you could have been … and an excellent one.”
Phargos laughed. “We will see.” He stood. “I did want you to know about Cyrethyn.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt rose as well. “He was a good man in a difficult position, who feared he had not done as well as he should have. That is something all of us should keep in mind.”
“I might point out that any chorister would be happy to have uttered the words you just did.”
“Go back to your anomen…” But Quaeryt couldn’t help grinning.
“For now, most honored master princeps. For now.” Phargos was smiling broadly as he left the study.
11
Samedi and Solayi passed without incident. The weather remained unchanging-cold under high clouds. Lundi brought snow flurries that briefly changed to rain, and then to ice that coated the snow and pavements that night, all of which melted by Mardi afternoon, just in time for another light snow. When Quaeryt and Vaelora rose on Meredi, the day was cold, but clear.
As he walked with Vaelora to the dining chamber for breakfast, he hoped that all was well with Lankyt and First Regiment, although it was likely they wouldn’t reach Ayerne until that evening.
After they seated themselves, and he poured tea into their mugs, Vaelora took a slow swallow and then set her mug down. “Quaeryt dearest … we are attending this ball held by High Holder Thurl. Can you tell me anything about those who will be there? Besides Straesyr and Emra, of course.”
“Except in terms of their names and positions, I know little. I have met only two of them, and only one of their wives. I had a midday meal with Governor Rescalyn at the estate of High Holder Freunyt, and a visit by myself with High Holder Fhaedyrk and his wife. Freunyt has a large holding outside of Tilbora, not so near as that of Thurl. He is intelligent and most well off…” After describing Freunyt, he recounted what he could remember of the holding, which wasn’t that much. “As for High Holder Fhaedyrk … he is younger, and his holding is a ride of some four glasses to the north. In this weather…” He shrugged.
“Tell me anyway … and what you recall of his wife.”
“I asked to visit Fhaedyrk because he was the target of several assassination attempts by Zarxes…” He went on to explain the background and the events of the visit, and the fact that Fhaedyrk’s holding brewed excellent lager.
“I don’t believe you mentioned his wife, dearest.”
“Oh … she struck me as very intelligent, but much like you in that she reveals little to those she does not know-except when it suits her husband’s purposes and her wishes.”
“What does she look like?” There was the slightest edge to Vaelora’s words.
“She is blond, like many people here, somewhat stocky, and a bit shorter than you, I think. She is very much in love with her husband, it seemed, and he with her. They were most charming and hospitable … and they did reveal, if indirectly, their concerns about the scholars … once I broached the matter. I was possibly more direct than another High Holder might have been.”
“She did not flirt with you, then?”
Quaeryt detected a hint of amusement in her voice, for which he was grateful. “No, not in the slightest. She did serve a most tasty berry custard, though.”
“You do have a weakness for sweets, dearest.”
There wasn’t anything he dared to say directly in reply to that. So he didn’t. “Do you think your brother will attack Antiago this spring?”
“I doubt it. He is more likely to respond to what others do … and then turn their weaknesses against them. In that, you and he are much alike.”
“Then he anticipates an attack by Kharst. Autarch Aliaro would not be so foolish as to attack either Telaryn or Bovaria.”
“What one anticipates is not always what happens.”
“Especially since matters sometimes do not go as planned.”
“Were you thinking about Rescalyn when you said that?” she asked.
“No. I was thinking about Zorlyn and the hill holders. They assumed that matters would continue as they always had. Rescalyn let them believe that would be the way it was, even while he was planning to destroy them.”
“Why was that necessary? If he really wanted to become Lord of Telaryn, why did he bother with the hill holders?”
“I can think of several reasons.” Quaeryt served her the cheesed eggs and mutton strips, and then himself before continuing. “First, keeping the hill holders as a threat allowed him to build up the regiment to three times what it had been. Second, it allowed him to give all of the officers and rankers experience in fighting. Third, by taking over the holdings of Zorlyn and the others with silver mines, he would have obtained that silver to pay for the war against your brother. And fourth, he couldn’t afford to have a dangerous enemy behind him while setting out to fight another war. He planned on using the winter and the spring to rebuild his forces, and he would have diverted all the tariffs from Tilbor-” Quaeryt stopped abruptly.
“What is it?”
He laughed. “I just realized something. Well … I knew it … but I never put the pieces together. I read all those dispatches … years’ worth … and never did Rescalyn ever mention the silver mines of the hill holders.”
“How many golds worth of silver would they produce?”
“I’ve looked at the records for last year … well, for four out of five seasons. They don’t mine in the winter. Zorlyn’s mine produced something like two thousand golds worth last year, but it could do more. They didn’t want to flood the east with silver. That would only drive its worth down.”
“But … if Rescalyn had been successful…”
“He could have produced more and sold it or coined it and used it all over Telaryn. Zorlyn was minting coins, though. There were molds and stamps-close to identical copies of Telaryn silvers.”
“That’s counterfeiting … or is it?”
“I don’t know that it is.” Quaeryt shrugged. “He was using real silver, and now it doesn’t matter. The mines all belong to your brother.”
“I doubt he even knows it.”
With all that Bhayar held, that was likely true, but it was yet another reminder of the vast difference between the life Quaeryt had led and the one Bhayar had.
Quaeryt was still thinking about Rescalyn’s omission of the silver from the dispatches when he reached his study … and all the ledgers and records he needed to peruse … and all the time he would spend trying to persuade factors and others to do what was in their own best interests.
