Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (26 page)

“Good evening,” came the murmured reply.

“Under the Nameless all evenings are good, even those that seem less than marvelous … and after seeing the devastation that lies to the north of us, we can all agree that there are some evenings that definitely seem less than wonderful…” Quaeryt paused just slightly before continuing. “Often we face daunting tasks, such as the ones that lie before us, and someone will say that all we need is faith and that we will prevail in whatever endeavor we must undertake. But what is faith? All throughout my life, I’ve heard choristers and others speak of faith, without ever explaining what faith might be except a belief in the Nameless, as if that were all I needed to know. Since the Nameless has not chosen to appear before us in any manifestation that one could call absolute proof, that faith is a belief in the Nameless without obvious proof. Another definition of faith is simply allegiance or fidelity, and yet another is confidence in another as being worthy of trust. From all these definitions, two things stand out as necessary elements of faith. We must have something in which to believe and what we believe must be worthy of our trust. If you will, faith is composed of belief and trust in the worth of that belief.

“There have been many deities worshipped throughout Terahnar over the past thousands of years, and I have no doubt that you have heard of at least a few of them in the course of your lives. Since it appears that the majority of men and women believe in something beyond themselves, what is most important is whether we can trust the guidance of our belief. Belief in itself is not enough. That belief must go beyond mere acknowledgment of the belief and its teachings.

“All of you are soldiers, and how well you fight the next battle or undertake the next duty depends in large measure on those who guide you and lead you, or if you’re an officer, whether you make good decisions and whether your men have the faith necessary to follow you. Good officers and squad leaders inspire faith in their men, and good rankers inspire faith in their comrades.

“The Nameless is no different in that respect. What inspires faith is not just the fact of the Nameless, but the equally important fact that the guidance of the Nameless represents good counsel that can be trusted … if … IF … that counsel is followed without Naming, and without self-serving desires and motivations.

“What follows from this is the need to know what one believes, not just that it is, but what it means, and what it requires of us. We must understand fully what Naming is, and that is not just acting on or against mere names of things, but seeing how names hide the true nature of the world and those who inhabit it…”

After a few more sentences on Naming, Quaeryt concluded the short homily. “… in the end, faith requires knowledge, for without knowledge, blind belief is little more than Naming under the guise of worshipping the Nameless.”

For a moment after he finished, he just stood there, before remembering that he had to lead the closing hymn and give the benediction. He chose one of the few closing hymns he knew almost by heart—“For the Glory”

For the glory, through all strife,

for the beauty of all life,

for all that is and will ever be,

all together, through forever,

in eternal Nameless glory …

He couldn’t do the standard benediction, well as he knew it, because that would have, for him, presumed too much. He simply said, “As we have come together to seek meaning and renewal, let us go forth this evening renewed in hope and in harmony with that which was, is, and ever shall be.”

After the benediction, he stepped down from the platform and walked to where Vaelora stood against the side wall, with Skarpa beside her.

“I still say you’d make a chorister, Governor,” said the commander.

“You’re kind. Let’s leave it at that.”

Skarpa snorted. “I’m not kind, and you know it. If you’d talked nonsense up there, I’d have told you.” He glanced sideways at Vaelora and grinned. “So would your wife, I’d wager.”

“She has been known to speak her mind.” Quaeryt couldn’t help smiling.

Vaelora smiled back.

“I’ll be leaving you two, sir and Lady, and wishing you a pleasant evening.” With that Skarpa nodded and departed.

“It is true,” said Vaelora. “I have been known to speak my mind, but … did you have to tell him that?”

“I didn’t. I just agreed with him.”

“That just—”

“Might
not
be disrespect,” Quaeryt concluded quickly.

“Sometimes…” But she smiled.

Once they returned to their quarters and Quaeryt had thrown the bolt, Vaelora turned to him and said quietly, “You were wonderful, dearest.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt took a deep breath. “You know I don’t like doing it.”

“You like doing it. You like inspiring people and challenging them to think. What you don’t like is feeling like a fraud because you’re not sure that there even is a Nameless. You worry that you’re doing good things under what are false pretenses.” Vaelora stepped up to him and put her arms around his neck, then kissed him gently on the cheek. “I understand, dearest. I do.”

There’s something in her tone …
“You do?”

“Women have to do it all the time.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me … or Aelina. She has to do it even more.”

Quaeryt couldn’t argue with that. The impositions that scholars had to deal with were nothing compared to what women put up with in Telaryn, and from what he’d heard and read, women were treated far worse in Bovaria and Antiago. And he was all too aware that women had often had to do what they disliked for love of others … or even survival.

Vaelora moistened her lips. “I have to confess … Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Confess what?” he asked warily.

“I didn’t have any visions about the anomen. It just looked … forlorn … and lonely, and then when I saw the faces of some of the men … when we cleaned it up…”

“Vaelora…” Quaeryt’s voice held exasperation … and a touch of anger, he had to admit.

“Did you see the faces of the officers and the men when they left the anomen tonight?”

“I was looking at you,” he admitted.

“They felt better. I could see it and sense it.”

“Your Pharsi background?”

“You’d have seen it, too, if you’d looked.” She dropped her eyes for a moment before lifting them to him again. “I am sorry … but … you need to do this. Not for me, not for you…”

“But for them?” He shook his head. “Why do you think it upsets me? They need that reminder of their faith, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else…”

“Do you think all the soldiers like killing?”

“Some do. I’d say most don’t.”

“But they do it because it’s their duty.”

“You’re telling me that…”

“Yes, dearest. I am.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Unlike others, Vaelora had seen that kind of duty, or possibly the lack of it. After a moment he put his arms around her and just held her.

Her arms went around him, comfortingly.

28

On Lundi morning, under a clear sky, if with the slightest trace of haze, Vaelora departed with the companies that would be selling bread, flour, and potatoes, first at the south market square and then at the main square. Skarpa insisted on three companies, given that Vaelora was accompanying them, and put Meinyt in command.

Immediately after that, Quaeryt joined Major Dhaeryn, and they rode with some of the engineering rankers to the factorage that would soon be a Civic Patrol station.

One way or the other.

The southeast section of Extela was definitely the rougher part of the city, with older houses, some of brick, some of weathered wood, but most of the black stone that had to be ancient lava, with small areas of shops, and a tired feel to every street. Still, he did see a few people about, and many the dwellings were unshuttered, and even a few of the shops.

But then, where do these people have to go?

The empty factorage, like many structures in Extela, was of a single level, built of rough-trimmed black stone, with a slate roof. Quaeryt judged that it was thirty yards across the front, and perhaps twenty deep, with a wagon courtyard on the south side, where there was a single loading dock. Two men, not rankers, were replacing cracked and broken roof slates as Quaeryt and Dhaeryn reined up in front.

“The doors are heavy enough,” offered the major, dismounting.

Quaeryt dismounted and tied the mare to the hitching rail, a worn pole suspended between two black stone posts.

“I got the masons to start yesterday, after we cleaned out all the junk and stacked it in the side courtyard. Walls are solid, but the place was filthy.” The major shook his head. “I’ve got a couple of rankers who are good with wood, and they’re setting up the front the way we drew it. It’s like the patrol stations in Estisle, because that’s what I remember.”

Quaeryt looked to the major.

“My uncle was a patroller.”

Once inside, Quaeryt glanced around. Two rankers had already framed what looked to be a counter with a built-in desk.

“That’ll be a receiving desk. It also keeps a wall between the duty patroller and trouble. We’ll need to put heavy doors in this archway…”

Quaeryt listened as he followed the engineering major, and as Dhaeryn explained.

“… and this is the storage area I told you about. I’ve got the masons building twenty cells here. For now, we’ll have to use double-thick doors with peepholes.”

“We can only do what we can.”

“Sirs?”

Quaeryt and Dhaeryn turned.

“There’s a patroller in uniform outside, sir,” said the approaching ranker engineer. “He wants to talk to the new chief patroller.”

“Tell him I’ll be out in a moment,” said Quaeryt.

“Yes, sir.” The ranker turned and hurried back through the archway.

“I was wondering if there were any patrollers left,” said Quaeryt.

“Probably they lost everyone at the top. You lose too many officers or the like, and some outfits just fall apart.”

That might have been, but Quaeryt had to wonder. “I’d better go talk to him.” He walked back outside, checking his shields before he left the building.

The patroller who waited wore a gray uniform with black belt and boots, and a visor cap with a black leather bill. He was burly and a few digits taller than Quaeryt.

“You were looking for the patrol chief?” asked Quaeryt, stopping a yard from the man.

“Sir … begging your pardon…” The patroller looked curiously at Quaeryt’s browns. “Are you the new patrol chief?”

“No. I’m the new governor. I don’t know what happened to the old chief, but I assume he’s dead or fled. The patrol building’s buried in ash and lava. So I’m having the engineers convert this building for patrol use. We don’t have the time or golds to build a new one. And you are?”

“Jaramyr, patroller first, sir. There’s maybe thirty-five of us left. The others put me up to finding out what was going to happen.” Jaramyr glanced to the roof, and then to the open doors.

“You’re the most senior?”

“One of the most senior, sir. There are eight of us who are patroller firsts. None of us saw the chief or the two captains after the firestorm. The others are seconds and thirds, mostly. We’ve got three patroller recruits. They’d just started the first of the year.”

“Can you gather them all together? Those who want to continue with the patrol. Here on Meredi morning at eighth glass?”

“We’ve not been paid … sir.”

Quaeryt looked hard at the patroller. “I’ve ridden here straight from Tilbor, and I haven’t been paid, either. Not in almost two months.…” That was a slight exaggeration, but Quaeryt didn’t like starting on the note Jaramyr was voicing. “There aren’t any records left anywhere—unless you have some.”

“Chelsyr has a duty book, sir.”

“Does that have a roster in it?”

“No, sir. Almost as good, though. It has every duty assignment from the first of the year to the time the mountain blew.”

“Why didn’t you keep patrolling?”

“We did … for the first three weeks, sir. But lots of us have families … The regimental commander left, and the post commander wouldn’t see us. He said we’d have to wait for the new governor…”

Quaeryt could believe that. He managed not to sigh. “Have everyone here on Meredi morning. If you and the other firsts want to work on everyone getting paid sooner, meet me at the post at eighth glass tomorrow morning … with the duty book and any other records you’ve managed to save. We’ll start straightening matters out then.” Quaeryt image-projected both assurance and authority, although he didn’t like relying on that as much as he was fearing he would have to.

The burly patroller seemed to shrink back, although he did not physically move. “Yes, sir. We’ll be there.”

“In uniform.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Quaeryt smiled pleasantly.

Jaramyr inclined his head politely. “Tomorrow morning, sir.” He stepped back, turned, and strode off.

“What did you say to him, sir?” asked Dhaeryn. “You looked at him, and he wilted. My men said he was belligerent, wanted to know why we were putting the patrol station here … talking about the worst part of the city…”

“It probably was,” admitted Quaeryt. “But if they start carrying out their duties, it won’t be.”

“You think they will?”

“If they don’t, they won’t be patrollers very long.”

Dhaeryn barked a sort laugh. “That’s the way it should be.”

After leaving the patrol building, Quaeryt, Dhaeryn, several engineers, and a company from Second Battalion rode through the largely undamaged southern section of Extela, as well as the areas farther north that had suffered from some damage from ash and lava, to determine what other repairs needed to be made to streets and drainage sewers … and what could be accomplished quickly. One matter they did discover was that of the two aqueducts supplying the city’s water, only the east aqueduct, the one called the River Aqueduct, was functioning, but it needed cleaning and repairs, with heavy leaks in several places. A section of the northwest aqueduct almost a mille in length had been destroyed by the lava and ash, but that aqueduct had largely served the destroyed part of the city, and repairs, rebuilding, or a new aqueduct would have to wait.