Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (17 page)

The major looked to Quaeryt.

Quaeryt nodded. “She was hurt when I ordered everyone away from the wagons. That wasn’t her fault.” They’d only been in Extela a quint or so, and he’d had to image authority and threaten people with armed men. He feared that matters would only get worse … and that power might be the only way to keep order.

“Jusaph! Have your men get the woman and child in the wagons. We need to keep moving.”

Before those in the crowd regain their courage and desperation.
Quaeryt did not speak, only nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

In less than half a quint, the two battalions, every man with his sabre ready, were riding down the ash-strewn boulevard that ran southwest parallel to the river. The doors of shops that had been secured with iron grates appeared largely untouched, as did those that appeared ironbound and sturdy.

But then, that just might mean intruders found easier access. Or that some crafters are still in their shops, waiting behind those doors.

There were some shops and dwellings where the ash had been swept away from doors and off shutters, and with the other signs he saw, such as footprints in the ash, unshuttered second-level windows, and the like, Quaeryt thought that not quite half the structures held inhabitants, probably those who had had fuller larders.

Another mille or so brought them to the main post, located on a low rise overlooking the river. The ironbound gates swung open as the column neared the stone walls of the post, but archers manned the ramparts, and two squads of cavalry were mounted up in the main courtyard. They remained so until the gates were closed.

Quaeryt immediately surveyed the structures inside the walls of the post. Directly to his right, beyond the mounted squads, was a modest anomen, with its dome of faded yellow-gold. Although it did not appear in poor repair, it had an air of disuse, and a length of chain with a lock on it secured the double doors, whose weathered oak had seen better days. Beside the anomen was the first of several structures that looked to be stables, and beyond them was a long barracks building. To Quaeryt’s immediate left was an oblong black stone structure of one level that suggested a command building, perhaps with an officers’ mess. Farther back was a two-story structure with a railed balcony and doors set at regular intervals opening on to the balcony, with matching doors below, most likely officers’ quarters.

Quaeryt’s survey was cut short as a graying commander hurried across the courtyard from the single-story black stone building, making his way directly to Vaelora, Quaeryt, and Meinyt. The commander’s hair was not quite the color of the ash that still drifted down everywhere, if of a finer nature and in far smaller quantities south of the main party of Extela, and his face was drawn.

“Governor? Major? I’m Zhrensyl, the post commander.”

Quaeryt studied the commander, whose eyes were red-rimmed, and who did not look to be in the best of health, but said nothing as Meinyt began to speak.

“This is Governor Quaeryt … and Lady Vaelora as well. I’m Meinyt, major in command of Third Battalion, Third Tilboran Regiment.”

“Thank the Namer you’re here, Governor, Major. You, too, Lady. We barely have enough men to keep the rabble from overrunning the gates. It’s been that way for near-on two weeks, ever since the other regiment left.”

“The rabble?” asked Vaelora coolly.

“Many of those who had the means began to leave weeks ago, Lady. Those that survived the eruption and the floods, that is. The rest…” Zhrensyl shook his head.

“What about the holders farther from the city?” asked Quaeryt.

“They just retreated behind their walls. They can hold off planting for a few weeks. They hoped that Lord Bhayar would send another force.” The commander glanced toward the now-closed gates. “We had hoped…”

“There are two more battalions and the engineers following,” Quaeryt replied to the unspoken inquiry. “We had to leave them to rebuild the bridge in Gahenyara in order to allow the rest of the supply and engineering wagons to pass. How are your provisions?”

“We have field rations for two regiments for another month. Little else.”

“And water?”

“So far the springs remain clear and cool.”

“What about fodder or grain?”

“Less than a month for a regiment.”

“We’ll need to plan how we can get more provisions here and more food to the city.”

“There needs to be order. I have not had the men…”

“Commander … unless people see that there is food, the only order that will exist is that imposed by the edge of a sabre, and that order will only remain while the sabre is unsheathed and ready to wield.”

Quaeryt’s words were quiet, but the commander involuntarily took a step back.

“For the moment,” added Quaeryt with a smile, “we need to get the men and their mounts settled and everyone fed.”

“For you and Lady Vaelora … we only have the senior officers’ quarters … since the palace and governor’s house…”

“Those will be fine.”
Especially after all the places we’ve slept along the way.

“They will,” added Vaelora with a smile.

“Ah … the officers’ stables are the ones at the end…”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt turned to Meinyt. “We’ll need to talk with the commander after we eat.” Then he looked at Vaelora, and the two eased their mounts forward toward the stables.

Almost two quints later, Quaeryt and Vaelora stood inside the senior officers’ quarters, located at the west end on the top floor of an old black stone building holding quarters for squad leaders and officers. The quarters consisted of a sitting room, a bath chamber and jakes, and a bedchamber, much smaller than the apartments Quaeryt and Vaelora had occupied in Tilbora, and yet far more spacious than anything in which they had stayed since then.

As the door closed behind the ranker who had carried two of their bags, in addition to the kit bags each had lugged up from the stable, the pleasant smile dropped from Vaelora’s face, replaced by an expression of concern. “How do you feel, dearest?”

“Just a touch of a headache, and it’s going away.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“I saw what you did,” Vaelora persisted. “Every time you do strong imaging, it takes effort on your part.”

“Unfortunately, it does. But everything in the world takes strength of some sort.”

“But there are different kinds of strength. Waterwheels work without horses or people pushing them.”

“And sails on ships,” he added.
Could there be any way to have the wind or water add force to imaging? Or something like that?
He shook his head. That seemed improbable. Most improbable.

After a moment he smiled. “The commander said that there was warm water in the bath chamber.”

“You are so gallant.”

Just hopeful.
“I do try, dear.”

21

Despite what Commander Zhrensyl had said about rations, the evening meal at the officers’ mess consisted of a mutton stew with root vegetables and potatoes and fresh-baked bread, as did the fare for the other two battalions, served in the troops’ mess at the west end of the compound. In a slight break with tradition, Vaelora also ate with the officers, at a long table that could have held fifty, instead of the sixteen who were seated there, most of whom were undercaptains and captains. The chamber itself was oblong and paneled in oak that had aged into a deep golden brown, as had the slightly battered if well-polished table and the straight-backed chairs.

After the meal, once the junior officers had been dismissed and departed, Zhrensyl, Meinyt, Fhaen, Quaeryt, and Vaelora reseated themselves around the end of the table, with Quaeryt seated at the head.

“The people need food, but commandeering it from the surrounding lands isn’t advisable, except as a very last resort.” Quaeryt turned to the commander. “Do you know what happened to the provincial treasury?”

“No, sir,” replied Zhrensyl. “I imagine it’s buried under all that ash and lava. Almost no one escaped from the first ash storm.”

Fhaen raised his eyebrows, but did not speak.

“The ash came down like the worst rain anyone had ever seen. That’s what the handful who escaped said.” Zhrensyl went on. “It swept down the mountainside and buried almost everything in its path—the palace, the command base, the governor’s building and quarters. The lava came later.”

“Just ash?” asked Fhaen.

“It wasn’t just ash, Major. There was a massive thunderclap, and the ground shook. Then a wall of ash roared down the mountain. It happened at night. The wind was so hot that it roasted people alive in their beds before they knew what happened.” The commander shook his head. “We tried to help, but when we got there, we found people had either escaped, perhaps with a few burns, or they had died where they stood or slept. We found a few horses and oxen roasted in their traces or yokes … except there was little remaining of either traces or yokes. We had to leave after that, when the lava began to flow over everything.”

“Did any clerks who worked for the governor or the princeps escape?”

Again … Zhrensyl frowned.

“We’ll need clerks and others to rebuild the tariff system and the ledgers to account for spending. You also should have one or two.” Quaeryt looked hard at the commander.

“Ah … there are two clerks. They’ve been staying in the barracks.”

“Good. I’ll see them in the morning. How hot is the area around the palace and the governor’s buildings? Has it cooled off much?”

The commander shrugged. “Some places are still hot enough to be hearths or stoves. Other places are just unpleasantly warm. So they say.”

“The palace is on higher ground, and the governor’s square is on a lower hill below it,” volunteered Vaelora.

“So there might be less lava around the governor’s square?”

“It’s possible.” Vaelora frowned.

“Might I ask what you have in mind?” inquired Zhrensyl.

“I’m wondering if enough ash buried the building that held the strong room,” Quaeryt said.

“Enough ash for what, Governor?”

“You know what a burned-out and banked fire is like in the morning? When there’s ash covering everything, and the ash on top is barely warm, but there are still hot coals beneath? Well … if the ash came first, and then was covered with lava…” Quaeryt saw the comprehension in Vaelora’s eyes immediately, but she did not speak.

Finally, Meinyt did. “You’re saying that what’s under the lava might be cooler?”

“It’s worth looking to see,” Quaeryt pointed out. “If we can get to the strong room, we’ll have more golds for food and supplies. If not, I’ll have to promise golds to the local High Holders … and getting them from Solis will take time and more golds.”
Which Bhayar won’t be happy to provide—assuming that he even can if Bovaria is building forces on the border or threatening an attack.

“They won’t sell. I’ve asked,” replied the commander. “Said I couldn’t pay enough.”

“The High Holders did?” asked Quaeryt.

“That’s what their stewards told the supply major.”

“They wouldn’t sell to you. If I have to ask, I’ll have a regiment behind me and Lord Bhayar’s sister at my shoulder,” Quaeryt pointed out.

“That might be convincing enough. They won’t be happy.” Zhrensyl didn’t look especially pleased as he spoke. “They stalled on doing anything until Commander Huosyt’s regiment pulled out.”

“No … they won’t. They’ll just be less unhappy than they would be with the consequences. Tell me … do you have shovels and picks here?”

“Some…”

“Tomorrow, we’ll take some and look into the area around the palace and the governor’s square. What about brooms?” After a moment of silence, Quaeryt went on. “One way or another, we’re going to have to feed at least some people. We need to get the streets and sidewalks swept off. The more ash that accumulates, the more people will want to leave, and there’s really nowhere for them to go, not at this time of year.”

“Begging your pardon, Governor, but you don’t know that the ash and lava won’t keep coming or getting worse.”

“You’re right. I don’t know. But…” Quaeryt waited for several moments before he continued. “If all that lava and ash covered everything that I’ve seen in the first days, and it looks like it did because almost all the lava I saw on the way here was dark and looked to be hardening, then it would seem that the lava and ashfall are lessening. What we can’t afford to do is just wait and do nothing. That will also cause more people to leave.” Quaeryt took a swallow of the bitter lager left in his mug, managing not to wince as he did so.

“Yes, sir.” Zhrensyl’s polite tone conveyed disagreement more pointedly than any words to the contrary could have.

Quaeryt laughed softly. “If you happen to be right, Commander, then you’ll be able to say so to the end of your days, but we need to do something because Lord Bhayar happens to want the situation improved, and Extela is his ancestral home. We can’t improve it by doing nothing. The only question is what will make matters better, and how we accomplish that. My task is to discover that and bring it about. We can’t even begin to determine whether I’m right or you are unless we go and take a closer look at the damaged parts of the city.”

“I haven’t had the men…”

“I know that,” replied Quaeryt as warmly as he could, although he suspected Zhrensyl had had more than enough men for what Quaeryt had in mind. “But I do, and we have more on the way. What do you have in the way of carts and dray-horses?”

“Three carts, and four wagons in good repair…”

For the next half glass, Quaeryt asked about what manner of resources remained at the post. He listened not only to what the commander said, but how Zhrensyl reacted to the questions. He also watched the two majors, Fhaen in particular because he hadn’t spent much time at all with the younger major.

Then he rose. “It’s been a long day for all of us. I’ll see you all in the morning immediately after breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.” The others stood immediately.