Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (15 page)

Choryn shivered in the saddle.

Major Duffryt looked from Choryn to Quaeryt, but said nothing.

After dismissing Choryn to make his way back to the council building, Quaeryt eased the mare closer to Vaelora and her gelding. “I have the feeling that Ghanyst put the least likely names at the top of his list, including those no longer among the living. He obviously hoped that we would lose interest and would only make token inquiries.”

“It would seem that way,” she replied.

He nodded.

“You were serious about conscription,” Vaelora observed.

“I was. People who have time to create replicas of old uniforms and weapons and who go to great lengths to stir up trouble have too much time on their hands and not enough useful work to do. Conscription would stop much of the trouble, put them to work, and pay them for it. Not that I think I’ll have to resort to it.” He laughed. “Besides, I don’t even know that Cloisonyt is part of the Montagne regional governor’s ambit. I’ve never seen a map.”

“It isn’t,” replied Vaelora. “Your territory ends about halfway between Cloisonyt and Montagne.”

“Then I’ll have to send a dispatch to your brother telling him about Ghanyst’s less than enthusiastic cooperation. I’ll also tell him what I said about conscription and offer that as a solution if there is more trouble, perhaps giving Ghanyst a commission as an undercaptain.”

“It is the sort of solution he likes.”

“I know.” Quaeryt grinned. “From whom do you think I got the idea?”

18

Just past midafternoon on Vendrei, Quaeryt turned in the saddle and looked to Vaelora. “How did you and Bhayar get to Tilbora so fast? We’ve been on the road for a little more than two weeks, and we aren’t even to Montagne.”

“The weather was drier, and we only traveled with a company of cavalry with a spare mount for every rider. Also, the roads are better, and it’s quicker from Solis to Cloisonyt to Tilbora than from Tilbora to Cloisonyt to Extela.”

Quaeryt nodded. “I see.”
Even so, you must have ridden from sunrise to sunset and commandeered mounts along the way.
He was about to say something to that effect when, as they rode around the side of a hill, he saw a collection of houses and buildings less than two hundred yards ahead. The town was so small that there wasn’t even a millestone with a name cut into it. At least, Quaeryt hadn’t seen one.

“Do you know the name of the town?” Quaeryt asked Skarpa, riding on the far side of Vaelora.

“Ah … no, sir. It’s on the map, but I don’t recall.”

“Gahenyara,” said Vaelora brightly.

Quaeryt looked to his wife. “That must mean something.”

“I was told it means the eastern end of Yara.”

“The boundary of the Yaran warlord’s lands? How did you know that?”

“Grandmere’s mother came from here. Her father was a large holder to the north of town.”

“A High Holder?” asked Quaeryt.

“What amounted to one. He only had daughters, and the lands went to Grandpere Lhayar.”

“So they’re Bhayar’s now?”

“Unless he granted them to someone. I don’t think he has, but he doesn’t exactly tell me everything.” Vaelora smiled mischievously. “He tells me very little, but he does tell Aelina.”

“And you’re very close to her.”

“Without her…” Vaelora shook her head.

Quaeryt said nothing, although he had suspected Aelina’s influence early on in his and Vaelora’s correspondence.

Ahead of them was a narrow timbered bridge, wide enough for a wagon or three horses side by side, and little else, that extended a good twenty yards over a small river, supported by two sets of stone pylons, each one set equidistant from the end of the bridge and the other pylon. The river was running high enough that the water was less than a yard beneath the bridge deck.

As the scouts crossed the middle section of the bridge, Quaeryt noted that the planking and timbers flexed more than he thought they should, especially on the south side, but there was little give on the last third of the bridge, the one closest to Gahenyara.

“We can only do two at a time,” suggested Skarpa as the three neared the bridge. “I’ll drop back a bit.”

Quaeryt could feel the bridge depress as the mare moved to the midsection, but there was no sense of recovery or rebound in the planking—only an ominous creaking that intensified. He immediately extended his shields to the planks and anchored the shield to the two pylons.

“Keep riding!” he hissed at Vaelora. He turned in the saddle. “Keep clear of the midsection of the bridge! It’s going to give way!”

“Should I turn?”

“No. Keep moving.” Quaeryt couldn’t explain his words, but with each step the mare and Vaelora’s gelding took, he felt more and more pressure on his shields—as if they were contracting around him. He concentrated on holding them, despite the pain and pressure, until both of them were on the far section, when he released all shields because he could barely hold on to them.

He glanced back over his shoulder, but kept riding until he and Vaelora were off the bridge, when he turned the mare and reined up. So did Vaelora.

The heavy planks on the south side of the middle section of the bridge—where he had been riding—slowly sagged into the water. For almost half a quint, nothing seemed to happen. Then the rushing water ripped away one plank … and then another … and a third, until even part of the bridge where Vaelora had crossed was gone. Before long, only the northern third of the midsection remained. The rest of the midsection had been carried away by the flood waters. The northern part
might
support a single horse and rider at a time, but what remained was far too narrow for any of the supply wagons.

Skarpa had retreated to the eastern end of the bridge, where the bulk of the regiment now waited.

Quaeryt’s head ached, and his eyes burned so much that he could barely make out much beyond the bridge and the river.

“You’re pale and shaking,” Vaelora said. “You need to eat something.” She reached back to the pack behind her saddle, then handed a hard biscuit to him.

He fumbled out his water bottle, filled with watered lager, took a mouthful, enough to make the biscuit chewable, and slowly ate it. “We’re going to be here a while, until the engineers can repair the bridge.”

“If you keep making a habit of this,” murmured Vaelora, handing him another biscuit, “I won’t have any extra food left.”

You won’t have a husband, either.
Except … what else could he have done?

“You need to be more careful.”

“I didn’t think it was going to collapse when we started across, and I wasn’t going to let you get swept away by the river.”

“You were on the weaker part.” A grin followed. “I do appreciate the thought, though.”

Quaeryt refrained from pointing out that the planks where she’d been riding were also at least partly gone as well. “Thank you, dear one.”

“Well … I was riding close to what collapsed.”

“I worried.” Quaeryt paused but slightly. “Is this under the administration of the governor of Montagne? Do you know?”

“On this side of the river. That’s why—”

“The town is named Gahenyara,” he finished.

Two men came running toward the riders from the town.

Quaeryt and Vaelora eased up beside the scouts and waited.

19

By nightfall on Vendrei, two battalions had walked their mounts across the remainder of the bridge one at a time. That portion of the regiment had taken over what empty barns there were in and around Gahenyara, and Quaeryt and Vaelora had occupied the best chamber in the ten-room local inn.

When Quaeryt woke on a very lumpy mattress beside Vaelora on Samedi morning, his headache was gone, and his eyes no longer burned. He could also hold light shields, but heavier ones only for a few moments before his head began to throb again.

After breakfast, the two stood on the narrow front porch of the inn, waiting for Skarpa.

“How long will the repairs take?” asked Vaelora.

“Several days, at least. I’d like to hear what Skarpa has to say.”

“You didn’t plan on stopping here…” Vaelora broke off what she might have said as the regimental commander rode up to the inn.

Neither she nor Quaeryt said anything until Skarpa joined them on the porch.

“The river’s down half a yard from yesterday,” said Skarpa. “The engineers have located some trees that look solid and tall enough, but getting them turned into planks will take another two days. Most of that will be felling the trees and getting the trunks across the river. The local mill can handle the logs. Barely.” He shook his head. “Hate using green timber, but there’s nothing long enough that’s dried and seasoned around here. You’d think the locals would know better.”

“If the former governor hasn’t been here recently…” Quaeryt had the feeling that the previous governor, most likely a casualty of the eruption, hadn’t been as far east as Gahenyara in a long time … if ever.

“You’re as cynical as I am, Princeps.”

“Can you get another battalion or two across what’s left of the bridge while the engineers work on the trees?”

“I’d planned on that.”

Quaeryt nodded. “I’d like to take a battalion and leave tomorrow.”

“Thought you might have something like that in mind.”

“We can’t do anything to help you, and a battalion should be enough to deal with anything we encounter.”

“I’d feel happier if you took two. We can unload two wagons and break them down and ferry the supplies across by hand. That should be enough to get you to Montagne, and it will keep everyone busy. We’ll catch up as we can.”

“That might be better in any case,” Quaeryt said. “Gahenyara isn’t provisioned to support a regiment. Not for long, in any case.”

“I’ll send Third and Fourth Battalion with you.”

“Was that Meinyt’s request?” asked Quaeryt.

Skarpa grinned. “He did say that he couldn’t imagine you’d wait around when there was trouble in Extela. He volunteered Third Battalion in the event you did want to go on. Major Fhaen also volunteered.”

Quaeryt knew little about Fhaen, because he’d been stationed at Northcote, except that Meinyt had high regard for the redheaded major. “Then we’ll leave early tomorrow.”

“I’ll let them know.”

After Skarpa had mounted and ridden back east toward the bridge, Vaelora cleared her throat.

“Yes, dear?”

“We can’t do anything to help rebuild the bridge,” she said. “Can we go look at the old chateau?”

“Is it still standing?”

“It is. It was still able to be occupied when we were children, Bhayar said. It’s been empty for years, though.”

“Why?”

“It costs too much to ship timber and crops from here to most places, and it’s too far from anywhere, or other holders.”

Meaning Solis.

“… and it’s also too big for the keeper to maintain anything but the building. He and his family live in the gatehouse.”

“It might be a good thing to visit it,” agreed Quaeryt.

“You’re just not humoring me?”

“No.”

“Why do you think so?”

“I couldn’t say,” replied Quaeryt. “I just feel that it would be.”

“Good.”

With one thing and another, including obtaining directions and arranging with Meinyt for a squad to accompany them, which became two squads led by the company commander at Meinyt’s insistence, it was almost a glass later before they set out from the side courtyard of the unnamed inn. Undercaptain Jusaph rode ahead of Quaeryt and Vaelora as they made their way westward from town along the old stone-paved road.

Less than two milles farther on, they reached a stretch of stone wall extending a quarter mille on each side of a set of ironbound wooden gates. On the other side of the wall, west of the gates, was a stone dwelling, clearly inhabited, since a thin trail of white smoke issued from the chimney. Farther to the north, rising over the bare limbs of the trees, Quaeryt could see a long slate roof, from which sprouted a half score of natural stone-faced chimneys.

Even before Quaeryt and Vaelora reined up at the wooden gates, a man in a gray jacket and brown trousers had hurried from the iron-grated opening in the wall beside the gates. “These are the lands of Lord Bhayar.”

“We know,” said Vaelora. “He’s my brother, and this is Governor Quaeryt. He’s the new governor of Montagne. He’s also my husband.”

The black-bearded man glanced up at Vaelora, then to Quaeryt and then at Undercaptain Jusaph and the squad of uniformed riders behind him.

“A thousand pardons, Lady … a thousand pardons.”

“We’re here to inspect the chateau,” Vaelora went on, “before we continue on to Montagne and then to Extela.”

“The chateau … I do what I can, Lady…”

“We know. It has been years…”

“Since the time of my grandfather. That was when Lord Lhayar trained men on the lands to the north.”

“If you would open the gates,” suggested Vaelora.

“But…”

Quaeryt could see that trying to be patient with the man would only result in Vaelora losing respect. He tried to image the sense of authority toward the gatekeeper. “The Lady Vaelora has every right, indeed the duty, to inspect her family’s lands.”

The gatekeeper stepped back, his face suddenly pale. He swallowed. “Yes, sir … Governor, I mean. Just a moment.” He hurried back through the archway, leaving the gratework open.

Shortly, the ironbound wooden gates began to creak open.

“What did you do?” murmured Vaelora. “All of a sudden, it was like you were Bhayar. You didn’t look like him. You just had that presence. Except it was greater.”

“Imaged authority,” he replied in a low voice.

“You can do that?”

“I didn’t know for certain. I thought it was worth a try.”

“Don’t let Bhayar know. He’ll want you with him all the time.” Vaelora smiled wryly. “He suspects, but he’d rather not know. Not at the moment.”

“Deniability,” suggested Quaeryt.

“Something like that,” replied Vaelora.

Quaeryt nodded.