Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (16 page)

When the gates gaped wide, the keeper hurried forward and extended a heavy ring of keys to Vaelora. “If you’d return them when you leave, Lady…”

“I will indeed. Thank you.”

The gatekeeper did not look in Quaeryt’s direction as he backed away.

Vaelora raised the ring and keys, and Quaeryt eased the mare forward, through the gates and onto the rutted lane that might once have been heavily graveled—if the intermittently spaced heaps of gravel and dirt along the right side of the lane were any indication.

The lane curved to the left gently and gently uphill for only about fifty yards before splitting. The right branch led to a cluster of outbuildings some thirty yards from the east end of the chateau, while the left ended in a stone-paved square before the main entry—a wide but single ironbound door fronted by an oblong stoop of natural stone. There was neither a roof over the stoop nor any sign of a mounting block, although a good teamster might have been able to position a coach to use the stoop as such.

The stone-walled chateau itself had two levels aboveground, and extended no more than fifty yards from one end to the other, and less than thirty from front to rear. All the windows were shuttered, and most of the shutters sagged in some measure. While the shutters and casements had once likely been oiled or painted, any vestige of either had vanished, leaving the wood one shade of gray or another.

Vaelora reined up beside the stoop and immediately dismounted, handing the gelding’s reins to a ranker. Quaeryt followed her example.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Lady … Governor,” offered Jusaph, “I’d feel remiss in my duties if my men didn’t enter the chateau first.”

“Of course.” Vaelora smiled and waited.

The undercaptain gestured, and three rankers and a squad leader dismounted, hurrying forward. Vaelora handed the key ring to the squad leader, who inclined his head, then moved to the door. The door opened easily, but squeaked as it did, and the four troopers entered the chateau.

“It looks clear,” called the squad leader after a time.

Quaeryt and Vaelora stepped inside, into a modest hall some four yards by four. Quaeryt almost tripped when the longer heel on his left boot caught the edge of the stone doorsill, but caught himself quickly enough that Vaelora didn’t notice.

Off the foyer to the left through a square arch was a great hall, empty of furnishings. At one end was a hearth and a fireplace large enough to hold several grown men. To the right was a hallway that appeared to stretch to the eastern end of the chateau. Directly opposite the entry was a stone staircase some two yards wide, certainly the narrowest main staircase Quaeryt had ever seen in a holder’s dwelling.

He looked to Vaelora. “Up or to the right.”

“I’d like to see the main floor first.” She turned and walked to the first doorway, where the open door had sagged enough that the end away from the hinges rested on the rough stone floor. Beyond the doorway was an empty square chamber with a hearth and modest fireplace.

“A parlor?” suggested Quaeryt.

“Most likely.”

The doorway opposite the parlor revealed a larger room, also with a fireplace and without furnishings except for the east wall, where slightly drooping shelves of once-polished goldenwood had likely held books. The two proceeded through the main floor past a family dining room, and then into a large kitchen, still holding a massive trestle table and little else. Off the kitchen were several storerooms, one of which had rows and rows of shelves for dishes and platters and the like. There was also a narrow stone staircase down to the lower level and the storage cellars.

The upstairs held six modest bedrooms, two chambers for washing, and the holder’s private apartments, consisting of a sitting room, a bathing chamber, a small jakes, and at the eastern end a large bedchamber.

Quaeryt followed Vaelora into the bedchamber, then stopped and frowned as he looked to the south side.

“There’s a small room off here,” said Vaelora. “It’s barely large enough for a storeroom … but it has windows and shutters.”

Or what’s left of them.
Quaeryt stepped forward and looked at the sagging narrow shutters in the wall and then at the archway, where a still polished, but heavy carved goldenwood door sagged on its heavy iron hinge pegs. “It’s rather oddly placed, and that door is heavy enough to be used to guard a strong room. But there’s no lock and no hardware for that, and the room has windows.”

“Oh…”

Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “Oh … what?”

“Grandmere said that her grandmother always slept alone. She never explained. She only said that it was safer for everyone that way.”

“How did they have children?” asked Quaeryt wryly.

“She didn’t say…” Vaelora shook her head. “Sleep alone, dearest, not make love. They are different. As you should know.”

Quaeryt definitely understood the difference—especially after all the days on the road—but why had Vaelora’s great-great-grandmere always slept alone … and why, in those days, had her husband acquiesced in that arrangement? “Did she have a temper?”

“Grandmere did. I don’t know about her grandmere.”

“Did they ever move to Extela?”

Vaelora shook her head. “They both lived here until they died, Grandmere said. Their son and his wife eventually moved to Extela after Grandmere married Grandpere. Grandmere’s younger brother died in a hunting accident, and the lands became hers because he had no heirs.”

Quaeryt nodded slowly. “It has to have something to do with your grandmere’s visions. Did her mother and grandmother have that ability?”

“Grandmere never said. They were both Pharsi, though. From wealthy families.”

Quaeryt would have wagered that one or both had had visions, but after all the years, who would know? “Have you seen enough?”

Vaelora nodded. “It’s sad. This was once a place filled with people. They loved and cried and laughed. Now … there’s no one.” She stood in the chamber for a long time, saying nothing.

Quaeryt waited.

Finally, they left, walking slowly back along the rough stone floor toward the staircase. Neither spoke.

20

Quaeryt, Vaelora, and the two battalions reached Montagne by midafternoon on Mardi, through one rainstorm and more high waters, but did not have to cross any more flooded or damaged bridges. The post at Montagne was far older than the one at Cloisonyt, and the two battalions filled every available space in the barracks that could be called habitable. That did not include three barracks that resembled abandoned storehouses. After talking matters over with the two battalion majors and Vaelora, Quaeryt decided they would stay the one night in Montagne and leave the next morning for Extela.

Five days later, on Solayi afternoon, Quaeryt and Vaelora followed the outriders over the crest in the road leading out of the hills and down to the valley that held Extela—situated largely on the west side of the Telexan River. The sky was dusky orange, not with clouds, but with a heavy haze, and what looked to be a gray fog rose from a peak to the north of the city. As dry flakes fell intermittently around him, Quaeryt realized that the mountain had to be Mount Extel and that the gray plume rising from it had to be ash.

“The northwest quarter of the city…” gasped Vaelora, “it’s all covered in black rock … only one tower left of the palace … and the north market…”

Quaeryt followed her gesture with his eyes. To the northwest, closer to the foot of Mount Extel, not all the rock was black. There were lines of orange—still-hot lava.

A light gust of wind swirled warm sulfurous air and ashes around them, some of which Quaeryt brushed off his browns before he looked at Vaelora. She looked back at him and shook her head. “I never imagined it would be this bad.”

As the mare carried him down toward the river, Quaeryt studied the devastation. A reddish orange fountain of lava spurted intermittently from the side of the mountain and then oozed downhill, winding its way around and over earlier, but still recent, hardened and blackened flows. In some few places, such as the tower Vaelora had noted that jutted up from the black stone, a remnant of the old palace, the lava had seemingly flowed around a few structures while obliterating or covering most of the northwest section of the city. One flow had reached the river, well north of the city, and created a dam and a lake, over which poured steaming water, but the hills along the river south of the lava dam had diverted the molten rock back into a narrow area of streets and structures, leaving most of the destruction in the northwest quarter of the city.

Tents and huts and other crude structures dotted the east side of the river, but well south of the main part of Extela and only on the higher ground beyond the low hills that rose from the eastern shore.

“What about the posts?” Quaeryt asked Meinyt, who rode on the far side of Vaelora. “Can you tell how much they’ve been damaged?”

“The main post is well to the south of the city, and there does not seem to be that much damage to the south,” said Meinyt. “There was a smaller post below…”

“Below where the palace used to be?” asked Quaeryt.

The major nodded. “We’ll need to see if the main bridge is usable. Otherwise … it’s another five milles to the south bridge.”

The fields and meadows on each side of the road were covered in a thin layer of gray ash, along with piles of ash along the shoulder gathered by runoff from the lands. As they neared the river, Quaeryt noted the piles of debris from an earlier flood—or floods—and the ruins of houses and other structures within fifty to a hundred yards of the river.

What had once been a bridge was now more of a dam with gaps in it crossed by heavy planks over timbers and braced by oddly shaped chunks of stone, offering passage barely wide enough for a single supply wagon at a time.

“Looks almost as bad as the bridge in Gahenyara,” observed Meinyt sourly.

Unstable as the bridge appeared, the heavy planks barely vibrated as the scouts, and then Quaeryt and Vaelora, crossed, followed immediately by troopers. Even before more than a squad of the first company of Meinyt’s battalion had crossed the narrow makeshift bridge and formed up, figures appeared from what had appeared to be deserted streets and lanes. At first, there were but a handful, but the numbers began to swell, and all moved toward the riders, so that by the time all four squads of the first company had reached the ash-strewn plaza on the western shore of the Telexan River, close to fifty people in ash-smeared clothes were converging on the riders. Most were women, many with small children. Despite the damp chill, few if any of the women wore head scarves, although many had shawls across their shoulders.

“Do you have food?”

“… food…”

“… days since we ate…” A gaunt woman in gray and faded brown held up an infant. “Please … food…”

“First squad! Form up on the governor!”

Quaeryt didn’t know the squad leader, but he appreciated the command. There was little enough in the way of provisions in the wagons that followed, and trying to distribute that small amount was more likely to cause a riot and more deaths. He could have used shields, if necessary, but armed men would provide a more visible and understandable deterrent.

“They’re truly starving. Can’t we do something?” asked Vaelora.

“We may be able to,” he replied, “but not here and now. If we show food, hundreds more will appear, and they’ll push those in front toward us.…”

Vaelora winced.

“Arms ready! Forward!” ordered the squad leader.

Slowly, the squad moved forward, farther into the plaza, to allow the companies behind to form up once they crossed the rubble-built bridge. The crowd swelled to close to a hundred, but some at the fringes began to fade back into buildings and lanes as it became clear that there was no food to be had. Meinyt’s battalion was across the bridge, followed by the first supply wagon when a voice called out, “They have wagons coming!”

“They do have food! See the wagons!”

“Food!”

The movement away from the plaza halted, and then reversed. Even more people appeared out of the dust and ashes, heading toward the river end of the plaza and forming a human spearhead toward the bridge, giving the armed squad at the head of the column a clear berth.

“Protect the Lady!” snapped Quaeryt as he turned the mare and extended his shields, riding toward those leading the hunger-driven mob.

The force of the mare’s weight and movement behind the shields cleared those at the edge of the mob’s back, allowing Quaeryt to aim at the front of the near-raging crowd, forcing them away from the first wagon. As he reined up, Quaeryt forced himself to ignore the old woman who fell under the press of rioters forced back—and the child torn from her arms.

The crowd halted … as if those who had led it were uncertain.

“Ready arms!”

Quaeryt sensed, rather than saw, the flash of sabres.

The crowd stopped, but did not retreat.

Quaeryt stood in the stirrups, using imaging to project both his voice and the sense of authority and power. “Go back to your homes. Attacking soldiers for food will only get you hurt! Go back! Now!”

As he finished speaking, but kept trying to image authority across the crowd, he could feel a slight throbbing, but nothing more. He remained standing, watching, as slowly, and then more quickly, the hungry people began to disperse.

“Governor…?”

Quaeryt dropped into the saddle and turned to see Meinyt rein up. “Yes?”

“How…? It was … I even felt I needed to leave.” The major frowned.

“I didn’t want anyone hurt any more than they already had been.” He glanced to his right, seeing Vaelora riding toward him, flanked by troopers. She eased her mount toward the old woman who had struggled into a sitting position and somehow found the small child she had lost in the crowd. Vaelora bent down from the saddle, with a flexibility and skill Quaeryt could never have come close to, and extended something, biscuits perhaps, to the old woman.

“The Nameless bless you, Lady…”

Vaelora straightened up in the saddle and rode slowly over toward Meinyt and Quaeryt. “Can she and the child come with us, at least to the post?”