“We will be detouring through the vale on the way back to the palace. The vale is an unfortunate necessity, one my predecessor didn’t understand. Some of the men, usually the younger ones, do need a place away from the palace grounds in order to feel relaxed or to obtain some measure of female charms … To keep matters in order, I need to appear there upon occasion…”
“I’m certain your presence provides a certain reminder…”
Rescalyn laughed. “It appears to have a salutatory effect. My officers insist it does, and I heed their observations, especially in matters involving their men. I do not always do as they recommend, but I do listen and understand the spirit behind those recommendations. You cannot lead armies if you do not understand those you lead.”
“I suspect that is true of anyone leading anybody, sir.”
“Indeed, it is.” Rescalyn laughed again.
66
On Meredi morning, Quaeryt was up early and the first one into and out of the officers’ mess in order to be ready for the long ride to meet with High Holder Fhaedyrk. While Quaeryt had not seen the princeps when he had returned late on Mardi afternoon, Vhorym had informed Quaeryt that an Undercaptain Skeryl would command the squad escorting him.
Skeryl turned out to be young, at least for an undercaptain, possibly three or four years younger than Quaeryt, slightly round-faced despite a trim and muscular figure, with a cheerful smile and voice. Quaeryt decided to refrain from saying more than general pleasantries until they were well away from the palace walls … except that before he could say much, once they were barely beyond the lower gates, Skeryl spoke.
“Did you study to be a chorister before you became a scholar, sir?”
Quaeryt had a good idea from where that question had come, but he only smiled. “I studied history. You can’t learn about history without learning about Rholan and how the worship of the Nameless has affected the lands of Lydar.”
“And you never were interested in becoming a chorister?”
“I actually left the scholars and spent years before the mast as an apprentice quartermaster. That convinced me I’d rather be a scholar. How did you come to be an undercaptain?”
“I had three older brothers. They were better smiths than I was…”
For much of the rest of the ride, Quaeryt asked questions about Skeryl himself, but the kind designed to reveal as much about Tilbor as the undercaptain. He also worked, as he could, on maintaining and improving his shields. After riding, with breaks, some four and a half glasses, they reached the entry to High Holder Fhaedyrk’s estate-far less imposing than that of Freunyt, and far more chill in its hilly location. Quaeryt was glad to have worn the undress brown jacket over his regular browns, given the wind gusting downhill.
The gateposts were about the same size as those of Freunyt’s entry, but the iron gates were narrower and painted black, and the gatehouse barely large enough to hold the single guard who waved them through, while the paved lane was only wide enough for a single carriage or wagon. No gardens flanked the lane, just meadows with shaggy grasses that had turned the tan brown of fall. The meadows sloped north and upward to the mansion, and behind the dwelling were forests that extended to and over a ridge perhaps a mille uphill of the estate buildings. The main dwelling was of two levels, its walls of a mixture of natural stones, not dressed or cut, with a square tower at the west end, and extended perhaps seventy yards from one end to the other.
As Quaeryt and the squad neared the mansion, he made out a covered entry that extended to the paved lane, but not over it. A long waist-high hedge bordered the lane on the side away from the entry, extending some thirty yards on each side, but there were no gardens in front of the hedge, although the grass had been rough-cut to ankle height.
A wiry blond figure stepped out and halfway down the five wide stone steps, waiting. He wore a brown leather vest, with tooled designs on the leather, pressed brown trousers, and polished brown boots. His shirt was golden yellow and of shining silk.
Quaeryt reined up short of the entry. “Greetings, sir.”
“Greetings, master scholar, and welcome to Dyrkholm.” The High Holder turned his eyes to Skeryl. “The stables and quarters for resting are the second buildings in the upper side courtyard, Captain. My head ostler is waiting for you. You can water and feed your mounts, as you see fit, and there are refreshments for you and your men.”
Skeryl bowed in the saddle. “Our thanks and appreciation, sir.”
Fhaedyrk nodded, then turned. “Master scholar … again, welcome to Dyrkholm.”
Quaeryt hurriedly dismounted, then handed the mare’s reins to the ranker who rode forward.
“I will send word to you, Captain, when the scholar is ready to depart.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt walked to the steps, stopped at the bottom, and inclined his head. “High Holder.”
“Fhaedyrk, if you please. And you are Quaeryt? Fitting name for a scholar. Come.”
Quaeryt joined the wiry holder who had appeared shorter than the scholar but turned out to be the same height as they walked through the wide single door of the mansion into a smallish oblong entry foyer, with two staircases, one heading up to the east and one to the west, and then straight back into a modest hallway floored with cut and polished natural stones set in mortar, with a green bordered dark gray carpet runner in the middle.
“I trust you do not mind if my wife joins us for a light meal.”
“I’d be delighted.” Quaeryt didn’t have to counterfeit his pleasure; he had no doubts that Fhaedyrk’s wife was most likely to be as intelligent and perceptive as the High Holder, or she would not have been included.
The High Holder stopped at the last door on the right-already open-and gestured. “This is the summer parlor-that’s what Laekyna calls it.” He extended an arm to the slightly stocky blond woman standing beside the circular table located in a windowed nook and set for three. “Don’t you, dear?”
Laekyna smiled, and her entire face came alive. For some reason, although the two looked not at all alike, for that moment, the High Holder’s wife reminded Quaeryt of Vaelora. “He does make fun of me, master scholar, but it is the most pleasant room in the summer.”
“Any room is pleasant with you in it, dear.”
Quaeryt could not miss the obvious affection in word and expression, and it cheered him, even as he warned himself that a man could love his wife and still be a foe not to be trusted.
Fhaedyrk gestured to the table. “We took the liberty of preparing some light fare for you, knowing how far you have ridden.” He seated himself in the middle place, and Laekyna was already standing before the place to his right.
Quaeryt took the chair to the High Holder’s left and sat down. “You’re very kind.”
“It was kind of the princeps and governor to send you. Few wish to travel far from Tilbora. I thought we might begin with a cool potato soup.”
As Fhaedyrk spoke, a server appeared with a dish and a ladle and began to fill the bowls, set on green porcelain chargers. A second server appeared and placed dark rolls on the small plates beside the chargers.
“The rolls are sweet dark rolls with honeyed raisins. The raisins come from our lower vineyards. I can offer lager, white or red wine, or grape or berry juice.”
“What would you recommend?”
“I’m actually going to have lager.”
“Fhaedyrk’s lager is the best in Tilbor,” added Laekyna.
“Then I’ll have the lager.”
After one swallow, Quaeryt agreed. “It’s not just the best lager in Tilbor; it’s the best I’ve had anywhere.”
“You see, dearest,” said Laekyna. “I told you so.”
Just from what was clearly the first course, Quaeryt would not have considered the fare “light” by any means, but suspected the time and terminology had been set for reasons of custom. If asked by other High Holders, Fhaedyrk could say, with perfect honesty, that he had met with Quaeryt in midafternoon and offered light refreshments to the assistant to the princeps, as was only courtesy after such a long ride.