Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (55 page)

57

Quaeryt’s head was aching, and little flashes of light sparkled in front of his eyes by the time he returned to the villa, unseen beneath the concealment shield. Once in the stable, he released the shield, and took a deep breath. The imaging he’d done hadn’t been that strenuous, but he was out of practice in holding both personal and concealment shields simultaneously … and for such a long period of time. After several moments he unsaddled and groomed the mare. Since none of the rankers were waiting or looking for him, his absence from the villa had apparently gone unnoticed.

He walked up from the stable to the villa, his thoughts on what might await him in Ferravyl. His boots had barely hit the floor inside the entry hall, echoing unevenly, when Vaelora hurried out of the main level study. She stopped a yard short of him.

“How did … your errand … go?” Her voice was soft.

“I took care of it,” replied Quaeryt tiredly.

“Not Grelyana? She’s a bitch, but…”

At the worried expression on his wife’s face, Quaeryt shook his head. “Hyleor. He ordered one of his guards to kill another, deceived him, and got the man sentenced to be beheaded. The man who was killed was a patroller recruit. He was murdered because he knew too much about Hyleor, not that I’d ever be able to prove it. That’s what I know directly. Then there are all the girls Hyleor drugged for his pleasure houses, not to mention all the elveweed and other drugs he’s carted into Extela. Oh … and he was also the one who set up the attack on the flour wagon, where two men and a pleasure girl got killed.” Quaeryt sighed. “Someone will replace him. There’s always someone, but they won’t know as much, and they’ll have to go on the assumption that bad things happen if they get too far out of hand. That’s the best I can do for Pharyl and the city … so far as that’s concerned.”

“They don’t deserve your help,” retorted Vaelora.

“Pharyl does. I’m the one who made him chief. So does Hrehn. Besides, the ones who caused all the trouble for me aren’t really the productive part of the city. For the most part, they’re parasites on the city.”

“More of them deserve what Hyleor got.”

“They probably do,” Quaeryt admitted, “but I’m not sure I’d want to meet the sort of man I’d become if I took on that task for all those who deserve it.” He paused. “I’m not even sure I’d want to meet the man I’ve become in trying to put Extela back together.”

“What choice did you have?”

“We all have choices. I chose to go outside the law three times. I did it because the law failed … but the law fails so much…” He shook his head. “Bhayar’s right. I’m better not being a governor.”

Vaelora frowned. “No. You’ve been a good governor in a bad time. And those three … that’s why they get away with it. If a governor or a patrol chief can’t show publicly the evil someone has done … or if that evil isn’t widely known to almost everyone, any punishment delivered is seen as unjustified and tyrannical.”

“That’s exactly what happened to me, in a way,” Quaeryt pointed out. “It takes time to make people aware of things, especially if they don’t want to know.”

“Sometimes, they never want to know.” Vaelora’s words held a sour tone. “They’d rather ignore the problems.”

“Especially if they’re guilty of the same sorts of acts, even on a lesser scale.”

“The ones like Grelyana.”

Quaeryt nodded.

“Is there … anything else?”

“Besides the fact that I need to write a list of items for the new governor?”

“Why?”

“So that he’ll do what needs to be done, knowing that Bhayar will have been informed as well.”

“It might work.” She shook her head. “What else for us?”

“Well … you still have to pack,” he observed quietly, with a slight lilt in his voice.

“
We
still have to pack, you mean. You don’t have that much, and it won’t take me that long. I never had a chance to get any more dresses or gowns sewn, and half my clothes aren’t worth packing.”

Quaeryt nodded. “But you still look good in them.”

“I couldn’t wear some of them a day without the seams splitting and leaving me riding in undergarments.” She gave him a mock glare. “And don’t say a word about where that would be appropriate.”

He offered a grin.

“I said not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

But she smiled back, Quaeryt saw, if only for a moment.

He felt so tired …

58

Vaelora and Quaeryt rose early on Samedi morning and were at the post a good two quints before seventh glass, when Skarpa gave Third Regiment the orders to head out. The initial route was simple—southward on the road that led to—and past—the chateau of High Holder Wystgahl and continuing to the southern bridge over the Telexan River, a narrow stone span that had withstood the river floods, but was barely wide enough for a single wagon or two horses abreast. On the southern and eastern side of the river, the stone-paved road extended through various towns and hamlets, past two cataracts, and the portage stations used by the traders, hugging the banks of the Telexan for over 330 odd milles to Tresrives, where the Ruil River and the Telexan joined the mighty Aluse.

Just before sunset on the fifteenth of Mayas, Quaeryt and Vaelora rode past a millestone reading
TRESRIVES—2M.
To Vaelora’s right rode Captain Taenyd, and to her left was Quaeryt.

They had just passed the stone bridge over the Telexan, its three arches aligned almost due west, a bridge that Quaeryt would be taking with Third Regiment before long on the way to Ferravyl to join up with the bulk of the Telaryn forces—and with Bhayar.

“We’re almost there.” Quaeryt again shifted his weight in the saddle and tried to ease the soreness in more muscles than he recalled having.

“We’re not anywhere,” replied Vaelora tartly, “except closer to being separated.”

“You’ll be better off in Solis than if you’d stayed—”

“Dearest…” she interjected, drawing out the endearment in a fashion that sounded anything but endearing, “you have said that every day for the entire journey. Even if I agreed with you, and I’m less inclined to be agreeable with each passing glass, I do not need to hear that piece of dubious wisdom again.”

Quaeryt winced inside, trying to keep a smile on his face.

“And don’t smile that condescending smile, either.”

Quaeryt let himself wince.

“That’s not much better.”

Quaeryt laughed, if ruefully.

As Vaelora looked to Quaeryt, behind her Taenyd gave the smallest of head shakes, as if to say that nothing Quaeryt could do would placate Vaelora, before he quickly looked forward at the road that turned eastward toward Tresrives itself, just downstream from the junction of the Telexan and the River Aluse. Ahead of them rode the first company of Third Battalion, acting as vanguard and commanded by Jusaph, with Skarpa beside the captain. Behind them were the remaining companies of the battalion, and then the other three battalions, and the engineers, a column stretching more than a mille to the rear to the supply wagons and the rear guard.

“How much farther to the post?” asked Quaeryt.

“It’s just upstream of the piers. It’s really not a post, just staging barracks built in the old days when Lhayar wanted loyal armsmen closer to Solis.”

“And it’s still a staging barracks, except it’s now for troopers headed west,” said Quaeryt dryly. “Or a barracks to rest men and mounts before they move on.”

“How long do you think Commander Skarpa will rest the mounts?” asked Taenyd.

“You’d know that better than I, Captain,” replied Quaeryt. “I’d judge at least a day. What do you think?”

“He hasn’t pushed us as much as he could have,” mused Taenyd.

Quaeryt considered that. They’d moved at a good pace all the way, but then Skarpa hadn’t pressed. He just hadn’t allowed any dallying or wasted time, but he hadn’t had the regiment start out until there was good light each day, and except for the present day, he’d called a halt a good glass before sunset.

“Two days, I’d judge,” Taenyd finally said.

“That’s at least another day before we have to leave for Solis,” said Vaelora.

“You’ll be safe there long before we get to Ferravyl,” noted Quaeryt.

“In Solis, yes…” murmured Vaelora. “But back in confinement.”

“Aelina will be there.”

“That’s about the only good thing about being back in the palace,” she continued in a low voice.

“You can’t very well accompany the regiment into battle,” he pointed out.

Vaelora did not respond.

Rather than press her, Quaeryt looked past her to his right as they rode around the curve that followed the river. Absently, he wondered just how many of the “suggestions” he had left for the new governor would be implemented.

More than if you had left none.
Not that the thought was much comfort.

Before long, they passed the point where the bluish gray waters of the Telexan flowed into the Aluse. Quaeryt could see plumes of blue extending into the larger river before being swirled away and mixed into the brownish gray of the Aluse, as if the smaller river had never been.

Is that how uniqueness gets swallowed, mixed into a swirling mass so much larger?

“I know…” said Vaelora quietly, easing her gelding closer to his mare.

“Know what?”

“You were looking at the river. I remember the first time I rode back from Extela and saw the Telexan’s blue waters swallowed and vanish. Usually, the water is even bluer, but I think it’s grayer now because of the eruption and the ash.”

“I was thinking about that, and a bit more.”

“You usually are, dearest. You can tell me later.”

Quaeryt was glad for the softening in her voice, but still worried about her reactions to Bhayar’s ordering her to Solis.

The raised stone road ran along what was effectively a levee from the west bridge over the Telexan River for almost a mille, so that on the north side of the road were marshes, and on the left was the River Aluse. Then the road passed through a cut in a low bluff and entered the town. Above the roofs of Tresrives hung a grayish haze, but Quaeryt couldn’t determine what had caused it because the weather was warm and he knew that there were no metalworks near the town. Nor could he think of any other cause.

The other aspect of the town that struck him immediately, despite the fact that the day had been sunny and the sun had not yet quite touched the western horizon, was that Tresrives itself looked gray, even though the wooden dwellings and buildings were more like faded brown.

As they neared the river piers, Quaeryt could see that Taenyd had been right. In fact, the captain had been generous in his description of the “staging barracks.” A low stone wall, barely chest-high, separated the west end of the dockyards that serviced the river piers from a rough brick-paved space between the wall and the stables. West of the stables were three long two-story buildings whose brick walls carried the soot of years. Farther west was a smaller building, the officers’ quarters, Quaeryt presumed, and beyond that structure some twenty yards was a low building that might contain the troopers’ mess.

A ranker rode toward Quaeryt and Vaelora, reining in his mount. “Governor, sir, Lady Vaelora, Commander Skarpa would like to invite you to join him, in order to make quarters assignments.”

“Thank you,” replied Quaeryt, before turning to Taenyd. “And thank you, Captain. If you will excuse us.”

Taenyd nodded. “It has been my pleasure.”

Skarpa had reined up opposite the building that Quaeryt thought contained the officers’ quarters. He turned his mount slightly to face Quaeryt and Vaelora when they joined him so that he didn’t have to turn in the saddle. “The officers’ quarters aren’t much, sir and Lady,” said Skarpa. “There are two larger rooms for commanders, and I thought you should choose the one that suits you best. The officers’ quarters are in the building between the last barracks and the mess building by the wall, and the commander’s rooms are on the river end.”

“You’re most kind, Commander,” said Vaelora. “I do appreciate that.”

“And all the officers would appreciate your joining us for the evening meal.”

“We would be pleased.” Vaelora smiled pleasantly.

A ranker followed them as they rode toward the quarters building, in order to take their mounts back to the stables, so that they would not have to carry their gear past the three barracks buildings.

“We’ve slept in worse,” murmured Vaelora. “Too many times.”

“And just as you begin to get things the way you want them…” Quaeryt let his words hang.

“Exactly, dearest.”

Quaeryt couldn’t blame her, even if he didn’t know what else he could have done in Extela.
Or what else you could have done and lived with yourself.

One thing he did know. He wasn’t the kind of man who was comfortable in using the law to justify doing nothing when people were being hurt or killed.
But … that might just mean you’re the wrong kind of man to be governor for any length of time.

59

On Lundi morning, Vaelora sat up in the bed barely big enough for the two of them and yawned, then looked at Quaeryt. “I am not staying in these quarters for two days. Or even close around them.”

Given how lovely she looked, Quaeryt tore his eyes away from her before he said something that was inappropriate and looked toward the shuttered window. “What do you have in mind? Tresrives is not exactly Extela or Solis, and we can’t use the horses.”

“I wouldn’t mind walking. Anything but sitting around here.”

“We can do that, I’m certain.” Quaeryt rose and strode to the window, adding, “If it’s not raining.” He eased open the inside shutter slightly and discovered that it sagged so much he feared it would rip out of the casement. Then he peered through the hazy glass. “It’s not even cloudy.” He gently lifted the shutter back in place.