Rex Regis (21 page)

Finally, he spoke. “We need a gray granite wall deep into the riverbed and rising a good three yards above the stone ledges there. In time, we’ll raise the entire isle close to that height. That will keep it above the spring floods.” Quaeryt glanced back at the imager undercaptains, Elsior, and the student imagers. All of the undercaptains looked exhausted, their uniforms showing sweat.

He turned back to the isle and concentrated, drawing all the heat and power he could from the River Aluse.

A blast of wintry air rocked Quaeryt and all the others back in their saddles, and tiny crystals of ice rained down on them. A thick white fog covered the entire river from the water to a good ten yards up, totally obscuring the isle … and the view of Variana to the east. Quaeryt’s head throbbed, and flashes of light flared across his eyes. He swayed in the saddle for a moment, then reached for the water bottle filled with lager. After several swallows, the throbbing subsided somewhat, and the light flashes became less frequent.

The gentle breeze out of the northwest slowly began to disperse the fog into fragments that revealed that the entire river was covered in ice from at least two hundred yards north of where the imagers had reined up to somewhere south of the fog. In addition, the north end of the isle, a distance of well over half a mille, was sheathed in what appeared to be white stone. As the imagers watched and the breeze and warm spring sun further shredded and evaporated the mist, the thin white ice that covered the stone began to crack and shatter revealing a stone battlement similar to the prow of a vessel, a structure that covered the entire end of the isle and a good hundred yards south on each side.

Quaeryt took another long swallow of lager from his water bottle, then corked it and replaced it in its holder. “I think that’s enough for today.” He raised his voice, image-projecting it slightly. “Captain! We’ll head back to headquarters!”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt flicked the reins of the black gelding and guided him around north toward the north bridge-and the north road.

Gauswn eased his mount up toward Quaeryt. “If I might ride with you, sir?”

“As you wish.” Quaeryt managed a smile, despite the continuing headache.
You shouldn’t have let your impatience get the better of you.
He took another swallow from the water bottle.

“You didn’t exactly explain why you’re changing that isle,” ventured Gauswn.

“I’m sorry. We’ve talked it over so much … I didn’t think. Lord Bhayar has agreed that we can build a Collegium-a scholarium for imagers-on the isle.”

“You mentioned the school, but not where.”

“The isle is one place. There may be another in Antiago.” Quaeryt went on to explain the general idea behind the Collegium.

When they finally reined up in the headquarters’ rear courtyard, Gauswn looked to Quaeryt. “Lydar will never be the same.”

“That may be, but would we have wanted it the way it was heading?”

Gauswn shook his head. “I talked to some of the captains last night, and a major or two. They all say you’re as powerful as any submarshal or marshal. Far more powerful from what I saw this afternoon. The students haven’t said a word. Usually, I have to remind them not to chatter.”

“That’s not because of what I did. They were quiet before that.”

“You’re right. They never dreamed of what they saw today.”

Quaeryt sighed. “Having them accompany us may have been a mistake. If you’d gather them up after the mounts are taken care of and bring them to the study … I’d better talk to them. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not trying to be commanding, Gauswn. If any of them try a fraction of what they saw, it could kill them. I need to get that across before they do.”

Gauswn smiled sadly. “It’s hard to believe you’re only a commander.”

“That’s the highest rank I should ever hold, and I’ll be happy when I can relinquish it.”

The chorister nodded slowly. “I can see that. There are many commanders, and a few submarshals, and an imager who became a submarshal would create much fear in the hearts of the powerful.”

“In the hearts of most people,” corrected Quaeryt. “The idea behind the Collegium is that the imagers are protected and in turn protect the ruler who protects them. It will give parents hope for those few children who are imagers, and will provide a check on the power of the High Holders and the wealthy factors.” He dismounted, then handed the gelding’s reins to the waiting ranker. “I’ll be waiting for the students.”

* * *

Half a quint later, Gauswn and the four student imagers filed into the small study. Gauswn gestured to the two dark-haired and dark-eyed students at one end. “You might remember Chartyn and Doalak.”

Quaeryt stood and nodded. He’d met Chartyn, but not Doalak, although he had arranged for the latter to study at the scholarium in Tilbor.

“Poincaryt, here, came from Santara, and Moraen from outside Cloisonyt.”

“All four of you are welcome here. Matters are unsettled and will be for a few weeks.” Quaeryt surveyed the four for a long moment before speaking. “Today, all four of you have seen what trained and skilled imagers can do. What you have not seen is what trying to image what you cannot do … or what is beyond your ability … will do. Have you ever thought of imaging golds?” His eyes swept across the four.

Finally, the small dark-haired boy on the left gave a small nod.

“Do you know what could happen if you tried that here … in this chamber … really tried it?”

“No, sir.” But there was a question in the boy’s eyes.

“It could kill you. That was how the Antiagon imagers who were captured killed themselves. They imaged a disk of gold large enough to kill themselves. That’s because, when you image, you’re drawing what you image from around you. If you image stone, that’s easier than metal, because there’s much stone beneath the soil-or beneath a river. Gold is rare and hard to find. It takes much strength. If you are strong enough to image gold, but there is no gold in the ground near you … it could kill you. Please don’t try it. You can image coppers … one at a time … if you can do it. But don’t pass them off on others. Not yet. Not until they’re perfect.”

“Isn’t that counterfeiting, sir?”

Quaeryt gave a ragged grin. “If they’re perfect and made totally out of copper … no. The value is in the metal. You won’t cheat anyone if the copper is perfect. And you’ll likely work as hard to image it as you would to earn it.”
And every imager I know has tried it; so there’s no point in forbidding it.
After a moment, he went on. “Before long, you’ll be having classes, like in the scholarium, and some of those will be about imaging. Until then, until you learn more, please limit your imaging to small things and familiar things. Too many rankers and even imagers have died to give you this chance. Don’t waste it by trying to image too much and killing yourself.”

“Sir … did you know you were an imager when you were young?” The questioner was the small dark-haired boy.

“I was younger than you. I couldn’t do even a small portion of what you saw today until two years ago. It takes time. Most imagers aren’t patient. That’s one reason why so many died young.” Quaeryt looked to Gauswn. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Gauswn nodded, then turned to the students. “The commander was a strong imager two years ago. He still took a crossbow bolt in the chest. Months later he almost died in the last great battle in Tilbor. I know. I was there. None of you are anywhere close to his ability. Heed his words.”

Quaeryt offered a smile. “I’m not trying to frighten you. I want every one of you to become the best imager you can. There aren’t enough good imagers. But trying to do more than you can will only put you in danger. You need to improve your imaging bit by bit.” He grinned. “Now … that’s enough homilies. They’re all yours, chorister.”

Gauswn ushered the four out, then paused in the study door and said, quietly, “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” replied Quaeryt.

For a time, he just stood there, half standing, half propped against the desk, before he roused himself for the ride back to the Chateau Regis.

By the time he reached the stables there, his headache was no worse, but not any better, and at times his vision blurred. He dismounted and handed the gelding over to the ranker ostler. “Thank you. I won’t be needing him tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Quaeryt made his way to the three studies that would initially comprise the spaces for the Ministry of Supply and Administration for Bovaria. He found Vaelora in the middle study, going over a ledger with a ranker clerk.

She straightened and walked over to him, studying him. Then she said in a low voice, in court Bovarian, “You’re exhausted, and your eyes are bloodshot. What did you do?”

“A little more imaging than I intended,” Quaeryt admitted.

“What have you eaten?”

“I had some lager and a biscuit or two.”

Vaelora gave a sigh even more expressive than the theatrical ones offered by her brother, then shook her head. She turned to the young ranker clerk standing beside one of the writing tables. “Stennyl … run down to the kitchen and get some bread and cheese. Tell them it’s for Commander Quaeryt. If they protest, tell them that Lord Bhayar’s sister insists.”

“Yes, Lady.” The ranker hurried out the study door, not quite at a run.

Once they were momentarily alone in the middle study of the three, Vaelora looked at Quaeryt and asked quietly, but far from gently, “Just what did you image? An entire anomen? A massive bridge across the Aluse?”

“Just the stoneworks on the north end of the isle.”

“Just? The isle is more than a half mille wide.”

“A bit wider,” Quaeryt admitted.

“All at once?”

“It seemed better that way.”

“Quaeryt Rytersyn … you may be the most powerful imager ever and a hand of Erion, but you are an idiot! It’s one thing to have to do something like that in battle … but…” She shook her head again, almost violently.

“I feel like we’re running out of time. This way … as the other imagers build on what I’ve done, they can’t slack off. They’ll have to match the height and strength of the stone walls, and that will keep the isle safe from flood damage. It will also create an image of power. That won’t hurt.” He lifted a hand to her lips to stop her protests. “People forget what they don’t see. In a few years, all but the oldest person in Variana will have forgotten the devastation and the death. You wouldn’t think so … but they will. A mighty stone isle-like a ship in the river-that’s harder to forget.”

“Dearest…” Her voice softened. “No one could ever accuse you of dreaming small dreams.” She paused. “Please don’t do quite so much again.”

He could hear the plaintive concern behind her soft words. “I won’t.”
Unless there’s no choice.

After eating some bread and cheese, retiring to their quarters … and a glass and a half later, Quaeryt felt better, and ready to escort Vaelora from their quarters to the formal dining chamber at the south end of the lower level of the Chateau Regis. He found the formal dress uniform slightly looser than he recalled, and that surprised him, because the last time he had worn it, he’d been recovering from his injuries from the battle of Variana.

Vaelora wore the same black and silver dress and jacket she had worn then … and looked even more stunning, Quaeryt thought.

When they reached the main level, a ranker escorted them to the receiving room adjoining the dining chamber.

“Deucalon is here,” Quaeryt murmured after they stepped through the open double doors and he scanned the forty or so people in the room, in groups of three or four.

“How could he not be?” replied Vaelora. “We should pay our respects to brother dear.”

“Oh?”

“He gave me a look.”

There can be definite disadvantages to brother-sister communications,
reflected Quaeryt as they made their way across the green and gold carpet toward where Bhayar stood, with his back to the closed doors leading to the dining chamber. Rankers circulated through the room, carrying trays with goblets of either white or red wine.

When Vaelora and Quaeryt neared Bhayar, he nodded to the trumpeter standing to his left and a pace back, and a short fanfare silenced the muted conversations around the reception room.

“Just so that all of you know a few of those attending … the distinguished gray-haired officer in the uniform of a marshal standing near the windows is Marshal Deucalon, in command of the armies of Telaryn … when I’m not interfering.” Bhayar gestured toward the marshal, then waited several moments before continuing. “You might also wish to know this charming couple,” announced Bhayar. “The beautiful one is my sister Vaelora, who was recently envoy to Khel, and the rugged-looking one is her husband, Commander Quaeryt, whose accomplishments are too numerous to discuss here.”

Another fanfare followed those words as conversations threatened to rise once more. “I haven’t even tried to seat anyone by position or protocol,” said Bhayar, adding with a smile, “except myself. So when we enter the dining chamber, please do not be surprised or offended by where you are seated or by whom your nearest companions may be.”

After a moment when Quaeryt felt that most eyes in the room remained on the three of them, the various conversations resumed.

“I assume we’re to be charming and not terribly informative,” said Quaeryt dryly.

“That would be helpful,” said Bhayar. “I’m told that I only have-properly-until the end of Avryl before I should cease entertaining for the summer and the first month of harvest.”

“I know how you love entertaining,” said Vaelora. “You can hardly wait for Mayas.”

“It’s necessary,” replied Bhayar.

“To let everyone know that the fighting is over and the intriguing can resume?” asked Quaeryt.

“Of course.”