Free Rex Regis by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page A

wanted is good roads for Kharst’s forces to be able to reach him easily.”
    “So they all let the roads deteriorate to make it harder for Kharst to reach them?”
    “Given what you know about him, wouldn’t you?”
    Vaelora just shook her head.
    “That brings up one other thing that has bothered me, on and off,” Quaeryt ventured.
    “Which is, dearest?”
    “Imagers. There were always rumors that Kharst had imagers. We never encountered any. No one has mentioned them, either.”
    “That’s not surprising,” she replied. “When you turned the battlefield at Variana and the Chateau Regis to ice, you likely killed almost everyone who knew anything … and possibly the imagers themselves … if there were any. If they weren’t there, don’t you think they would have gone into hiding or fled?”
    “Because of what they did for Kharst?”
    “Well … anyone who had a company of assassins…”
    Quaeryt nodded, but he wondered if they’d ever really find out.
    Less than a glass later, they rode into Eelan, an old river town, with two river piers, old enough to look like they should sag out over the water, although they did not, and a single inn, across the river square from the piers. Clean and tidy as it was, the Silver Swan had seen better days, with slightly sagging and worn floorboards, and a public room. Every building in the town appeared to have been constructed of the same pale yellow brick that they had seen at the holding.
    After the initial meeting with the innkeeper, Quaeryt left the details of settling the men in to Zhelan and Khaern. Barely allowing Vaelora a chance to wash up, he requested a squad of troopers from Eleventh Regiment to accompany him and Vaelora back to the high holding. Khalis also rode with them, before Quaeryt and Vaelora and alongside squad leader Kezyn.
    They had scarcely ridden away from the inn when Vaelora turned in the saddle and said, “Do tell me we’re doing this now so that we don’t have to spend another day here.”
    “That’s precisely why we’re doing it.” Quaeryt glanced at the small chandlery on the west side of the main street, its shutters already closed for the day, even though it was barely past fifth glass.
    “What is the name of the High Holder?” asked Vaelora.
    “I told you. It’s Nephyl-”
    “You may have told me, dearest, but you didn’t bother to see if I happened to be where I could hear what you had to say.”
    Quaeryt held in a wince, and continued. “He has some contact with the town, but seldom has visitors from the north, except by the river … and not many of those. The innkeeper said that his family was here before the town, or so the story goes, and that his bricks built all of Eelan, all of Faantyl, and much of Daaren.”
    “I didn’t see much sign of a brickworks.”
    “It’s supposedly on the other side of the river, downstream and out of sight. The good High Holder doubtless did not wish his view spoiled.”
    When they reached the gates, Kezyn gestured, and a trooper dismounted and walked to the gates.
    “The gates are locked, sir.”
    “Stand back, if you would,” ordered Quaeryt, who gestured to Khalis.
    The trooper backed away, and the undercaptain imaged away a link of the heavy iron chain.
    “Try it now.”
    The trooper unwound the chain and then pulled back one gate, then the other. Both creaked loudly.
    Quaeryt studied the short brick-paved apron leading to the gate, then nodded. “No recent tracks. Most visitors and supplies come by river.” He looked to Khalis. “Shields up. Lead the way to the side entry.”
    Khalis led the way along the brick-paved lane to the entry on the north side of the hold house.
    As they neared, Quaeryt could see that another brick lane angled up from a pier and boathouse on the river some ten yards lower than the side terrace that appeared to serve as a receiving portico. No one appeared on the unroofed terrace, which had four gray stone pillars on the east side and four on the