Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “We’re almost there.” Quaeryt again shifted his weight in the saddle and tried to ease the soreness in more muscles than he recalled having.

  “We’re not anywhere,” replied Vaelora tartly, “except closer to being separated.”

  “You’ll be better off in Solis than if you’d stayed—”

  “Dearest…” she interjected, drawing out the endearment in a fashion that sounded anything but endearing, “you have said that every day for the entire journey. Even if I agreed with you, and I’m less inclined to be agreeable with each passing glass, I do not need to hear that piece of dubious wisdom again.”

  Quaeryt winced inside, trying to keep a smile on his face.

  “And don’t smile that condescending smile, either.”

  Quaeryt let himself wince.

  “That’s not much better.”

  Quaeryt laughed, if ruefully.

  As Vaelora looked to Quaeryt, behind her Taenyd gave the smallest of head shakes, as if to say that nothing Quaeryt could do would placate Vaelora, before he quickly looked forward at the road that turned eastward toward Tresrives itself, just downstream from the junction of the Telexan and the River Aluse. Ahead of them rode the first company of Third Battalion, acting as vanguard and commanded by Jusaph, with Skarpa beside the captain. Behind them were the remaining companies of the battalion, and then the other three battalions, and the engineers, a column stretching more than a mille to the rear to the supply wagons and the rear guard.

  “How much farther to the post?” asked Quaeryt.

  “It’s just upstream of the piers. It’s really not a post, just staging barracks built in the old days when Lhayar wanted loyal armsmen closer to Solis.”

  “And it’s still a staging barracks, except it’s now for troopers headed west,” said Quaeryt dryly. “Or a barracks to rest men and mounts before they move on.”

  “How long do you think Commander Skarpa will rest the mounts?” asked Taenyd.

  “You’d know that better than I, Captain,” replied Quaeryt. “I’d judge at least a day. What do you think?”

  “He hasn’t pushed us as much as he could have,” mused Taenyd.

  Quaeryt considered that. They’d moved at a good pace all the way, but then Skarpa hadn’t pressed. He just hadn’t allowed any dallying or wasted time, but he hadn’t had the regiment start out until there was good light each day, and except for the present day, he’d called a halt a good glass before sunset.

  “Two days, I’d judge,” Taenyd finally said.

  “That’s at least another day before we have to leave for Solis,” said Vaelora.

  “You’ll be safe there long before we get to Ferravyl,” noted Quaeryt.

  “In Solis, yes…” murmured Vaelora. “But back in confinement.”

  “Aelina will be there.”

  “That’s about the only good thing about being back in the palace,” she continued in a low voice.

  “You can’t very well accompany the regiment into battle,” he pointed out.

  Vaelora did not respond.

  Rather than press her, Quaeryt looked past her to his right as they rode around the curve that followed the river. Absently, he wondered just how many of the “suggestions” he had left for the new governor would be implemented.

  More than if you had left none. Not that the thought was much comfort.

  Before long, they passed the point where the bluish gray waters of the Telexan flowed into the Aluse. Quaeryt could see plumes of blue extending into the larger river before being swirled away and mixed into the brownish gray of the Aluse, as if the smaller river had never been.

  Is that how uniqueness gets swallowed, mixed into a swirling mass so much larger?

  “I know…” said Vaelora quietly, easing her gelding closer to his mare.

  “Know what?”

  “You were looking at the river. I remember the first time I rode back from Extela and saw the Telexan’s blue waters swallowed and vanish. Usually, the water is even bluer, but I think it’s grayer now because of the eruption and the ash.”

  “I was thinking about that, and a bit more.”

  “You usually are, dearest. You can tell me later.”

  Quaeryt was glad for the softening in her voice, but still worried about her reactions to Bhayar’s ordering her to Solis.

  The raised stone road ran along what was effectively a levee from the west bridge over the Telexan River for almost a mille, so that on the north side of the road were marshes, and on the left was the River Aluse. Then the road passed through a cut in a low bluff and entered the town. Above the roofs of Tresrives hung a grayish haze, but Quaeryt couldn’t determine what had caused it because the weather was warm and he knew that there were no metalworks near the town. Nor could he think of any other cause.

  The other aspect of the town that struck him immediately, despite the fact that the day had been sunny and the sun had not yet quite touched the western horizon, was that Tresrives itself looked gray, even though the wooden dwellings and buildings were more like faded brown.

  As they neared the river piers, Quaeryt could see that Taenyd had been right. In fact, the captain had been generous in his description of the “staging barracks.” A low stone wall, barely chest-high, separated the west end of the dockyards that serviced the river piers from a rough brick-paved space between the wall and the stables. West of the stables were three long two-story buildings whose brick walls carried the soot of years. Farther west was a smaller building, the officers’ quarters, Quaeryt presumed, and beyond that structure some twenty yards was a low building that might contain the troopers’ mess.

  A ranker rode toward Quaeryt and Vaelora, reining in his mount. “Governor, sir, Lady Vaelora, Commander Skarpa would like to invite you to join him, in order to make quarters assignments.”

  “Thank you,” replied Quaeryt, before turning to Taenyd. “And thank you, Captain. If you will excuse us.”

  Taenyd nodded. “It has been my pleasure.”

  Skarpa had reined up opposite the building that Quaeryt thought contained the officers’ quarters. He turned his mount slightly to face Quaeryt and Vaelora when they joined him so that he didn’t have to turn in the saddle. “The officers’ quarters aren’t much, sir and Lady,” said Skarpa. “There are two larger rooms for commanders, and I thought you should choose the one that suits you best. The officers’ quarters are in the building between the last barracks and the mess building by the wall, and the commander’s rooms are on the river end.”

  “You’re most kind, Commander,” said Vaelora. “I do appreciate that.”

  “And all the officers would appreciate your joining us for the evening meal.”

  “We would be pleased.” Vaelora smiled pleasantly.

  A ranker followed them as they rode toward the quarters building, in order to take their mounts back to the stables, so that they would not have to carry their gear past the three barracks buildings.

  “We’ve slept in worse,” murmured Vaelora. “Too many times.”

  “And just as you begin to get things the way you want them…” Quaeryt let his words hang.

  “Exactly, dearest.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t blame her, even if he didn’t know what else he could have done in Extela. Or what else you could have done and lived with yourself.

  One thing he did know. He wasn’t the kind of man who was comfortable in using the law to justify doing nothing when people were being hurt or killed. But … that might just mean you’re the wrong kind of man to be governor for any length of time.

  59

  On Lundi morning, Vaelora sat up in the bed barely big enough for the two of them and yawned, then looked at Quaeryt. “I am not staying in these quarters for two days. Or even close around them.”

  Given how lovely she looked, Quaeryt tore his eyes away from her before he said something that was inappropriate and looked toward the shuttered window. “What do you have in mind? Tresrives is not exactly Extela or Solis, and we can�
�t use the horses.”

  “I wouldn’t mind walking. Anything but sitting around here.”

  “We can do that, I’m certain.” Quaeryt rose and strode to the window, adding, “If it’s not raining.” He eased open the inside shutter slightly and discovered that it sagged so much he feared it would rip out of the casement. Then he peered through the hazy glass. “It’s not even cloudy.” He gently lifted the shutter back in place.

  “It wouldn’t matter if it were.”

  Quaeryt nodded sympathetically.

  “You’re being condescending…”

  “Yes, dear.” He ducked and caught the pillow flung in his direction, hiding a smile.

  “You can be most difficult, dearest.”

  “You knew that before you married me.”

  “I didn’t marry you. Bhayar did, and I had no choice in the matter.”

  Quaeryt grinned and tossed the pillow back in her direction. “You weren’t complaining last night. Not at all.”

  “You’re not just difficult. You’re impossible.”

  But she was smiling.

  After he dressed, while Vaelora finished readying herself, Quaeryt sought out Skarpa. He found the commander in a small conference room adjoining the mess, by himself, looking over maps with a set of calipers in his hand.

  Skarpa looked up. “Yes, sir?”

  “Any word about anything?” asked Quaeryt.

  “Only a dispatch from Submarshal Myskyl stating that our presence is needed and requesting that Third Regiment take no more than two days rest in Tresrives before setting out for Ferravyl.”

  “He’s a submarshal now?”

  “That’s what the dispatch says, sir, and who am I to argue?”

  “Neither one of us is in a position to argue at the moment,” replied Quaeryt warmly. “And since I’m no longer governor, and since I never was comfortable with you calling me ‘sir,’ please don’t argue with me when I tell you to stop it.”

  “I could say, ‘Yes, sir,’” replied Skarpa, returning the smile, “but I won’t.” After a pause, he went on. “I know you haven’t received any dispatches, but do you have any idea what Lord Bhayar has in mind for you? After you get to Ferravyl?”

  “Besides report? No. The last time I saw him, he was talking about what I needed to learn as princeps of Tilbor. He wrote a letter or two to Vaelora while we were still in Tilbora, but none of that mentioned me, except in passing. I haven’t heard anything since the dispatch I showed you.” Quaeryt shrugged.

  “I was just curious.”

  “As for today, I’d thought that we might ride around Tresrives, except I realized that wouldn’t rest the horses. So we’ll walk.”

  “You can see it easily—the parts that you and the lady would like to see. Take the main avenue behind the middle of the piers.” Skarpa snorted. “There’s little enough here these days, except a lot of empty dwellings and buildings. I’m not sure there’s been that much for years, not since Bhayar’s family unified Telaryn.”

  “That should make a comfortable walk.”

  “I’ll send some rankers as an escort.” Before Quaeryt could protest, Skarpa went on. “You may not be governor any longer, but your wife remains the Lady Vaelora, and she’s Lord Bhayar’s sister. I’m not about to risk my neck by not protecting her.”

  “I won’t argue that.”

  “Good.”

  “How long will it take to reach Ferravyl?”

  “With good weather, at least a week. If it rains … who knows?” Skarpa looked at the maps again. “Planning where to stop gets tricky because we’re going in high water time and there are so many swamps and marshes along the river road—for the first hundred milles or so. After that, past the Great Bend, it’s just flat.”

  “That should make traveling quicker, then.”

  “If…”

  “It doesn’t rain,” finished Quaeryt, smiling.

  “I’ll have the rankers waiting outside the mess.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt stepped out of the chamber and went to rejoin Vaelora.

  After eating breakfast in the mess, Quaeryt and Vaelora set off, walking eastward toward the piers, followed by four rankers at a distance of several paces.

  The piers were largely empty, with only a single barge and one flatboat tied up at the second pier. A single guard appeared to be watching both.

  “It’s almost sad,” said Vaelora. “It’s as if part of the town isn’t here. Why aren’t there more people here if Bhayar’s mustering troops in Ferravyl?”

  “There’s no point in having them here. It’s too far from where the regiments are to support them and too close to Solis that it offers much of an advantage.”

  The first shop opposite the foot of the westernmost pier was, unsurprisingly, a chandlery, if one whose weathered front siding suggested it had seen far better days. Quaeryt and Vaelora walked past it and past a second building, shuttered and seemingly deserted, then turned northward on what looked to be the main street Skarpa had mentioned.

  The buildings nearest the piers largely held crafters, including a smithy, a coppersmith, a cooper, a rope factor, and a cabinetmaker. At the end of the first block, where there was a small square, was an inn with a brick and timber front, kept in better condition than many of the shops, and across the street from it, a tidy-looking café with a wide front window flanked by reddish shutters. Two pots of hyacinths were set on each side of the door.

  “Given what you thought of breakfast and what you didn’t eat, we might want to come back later and eat there,” suggested Quaeryt.

  Vaelora’s eyes flicked behind them.

  “They could use a meal besides barracks rations,” replied Quaeryt. “It won’t be that expensive.” Besides the rankers need to know they’re appreciated with more than words.

  The main street continued northward past the square, and then angled slightly right, to the northeast. Quaeryt noted a narrow shop that looked to be that of a seamstress, but said nothing, although he noted his wife’s eyes flicked in that direction.

  “Even if she’s good, I likely couldn’t get anything finished before I have to leave.”

  “I imagine there are better seamstresses in Solis,” replied Quaeryt.

  “How would I know? I was never allowed to visit any. The only one I ever met was the one Aelina picked out, and she came to the palace.”

  Quaeryt decided not to comment on seamstresses again. Instead, he studied the more varied shops in the next block.

  Close to three glasses later, Quaeryt, Vaelora, and the four troopers were walking back down the main street toward the square. As they neared the small café, Quaeryt turned. “We’re going to eat there.”

  “Sir,” said the trooper with the insignia of a junior squad leader, “we’ll just wait outside.”

  “Absolutely not,” declared Quaeryt. “You four need to eat as well.” Seeing the dubious look on the squad leader’s face, he swiftly added, “I’m paying for it, and besides, if you’re worried about protecting Lady Vaelora, you won’t be doing her any good if you’re out here, and she’s inside.”

  “Sir … we’re not supposed to intrude…”

  “You can sit at another table. That’s the only concession I’ll make,” Quaeryt insisted.

  “Yes, sir,” the squad leader replied cheerfully.

  The six of them walked into the café. The public spaces consisted of a large front chamber with eight tables, and a back room with a handful of smaller tables. From what Quaeryt could see, the only patron was a large man seated in the back room, facing away from the door and the front room.

  A slender serving woman, barely more than a girl, appeared and bowed, gesturing toward the tables. Quaeryt and Vaelora took a smaller circular table on one side, near the wall, while the troopers took an oblong table against the other wall.

  The serving girl moved to a position between and back from Quaeryt and Vaelora.

  “What do you suggest?” asked Quaeryt.

  “The hunter
stew is good, very filling. So is the domchana. We use our own grain-fed game hens. The lady might like the lace rice fries as well.”

  “Do you have skelana?” asked Vaelora. “With dark rice?”

  “Yes, Lady. That is my favorite.”

  “Then I’ll have that with whatever your best white wine is.”

  Quaeryt didn’t have the faintest idea what his wife had ordered. “I’ll try the domchana, but with some dark rice as well. And a pale lager.”

  “We only have amber, sir.”

  “That will do.”

  “It’s very good, and your meal will be, too.”

  “Oh … and I’m paying for the four over there.”

  As the server crossed the room to the troopers, Quaeryt looked at Vaelora. “What is skelana?”

  “It’s pulled lamb shredded and seasoned, then seared until barely brown, and warmed in a cucumber and heavy cream and lager sauce.” She smiled. “You can try a bite of mine to see if you like it.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt glanced up and toward the troopers.

  The serving girl had barely stepped away from the other table and headed toward the kitchen when Quaeryt heard the sound of something falling and turned.

  “He’s one of them! They’re both evil ones!” The burly gray-haired man charged from the back room, with something in his hand, lunging toward the table where Quaeryt and Vaelora sat. “Die! Pharsi scum!”

  Triggering full shields and extending them, Quaeryt leapt between the man and Vaelora, then anchored the shields to the floor.

  The attacker hit the shields with such force that the cudgel he wielded slammed into the shields and rebounded, tearing itself from the man’s grasp.

  “Evil protects him! Evil—” The man’s words stopped cold as one of the rankers slammed the flat of his sabre against the side of his head.

  Quaeryt contracted the shields so that they were almost against his body as two other rankers grabbed the attacker’s arms and threw him to the floor. The squad leader whipped out a short length of rope and bound the man’s hands behind his back. Then the two hoisted the groggy figure to his feet. The fourth stood with his sabre ready.