North of Caanara, the river road ran along a low bluff beside the Aluse, the edge of the pavement some fifty yards from the edge. The undergrowth on the top of the bluff between the road and the dropoff to the river was mainly weeds and a few scraggy bushes, and only a handful of trees. At first Quaeryt wondered why, but then he began to notice all the stumps. Everyone logs the lands of the rex … where they can. At least, it keeps it easier to see the river. On the side of the road away from the river were scattered cots, with woodlots and fields, some more well tended than others, and occasional patches of grass.
The top of the bluff paralleling the river was flat enough, but to the east of the road the ground rose unevenly, gently in some places, and those areas held fields, sometimes terraced. The steeper slopes were often rocky and rugged covered with grass and sparse trees, while the steep stretches that were not excessively rocky were thickly wooded, and in a few instances, the branch tips were within yards of the road’s shoulder.
Quaeryt had just ridden past a millestone that, on the north side, read: CAANARA—5 M when one of the scouts rode back toward first company.
The ranker called out, even before he swung his mount around and up beside Quaeryt and Zhelan. “Sir! There’s a gorge ahead with a bridge.”
“And there’s a problem with the bridge or the gorge … or both? Or the paving ends?”
“Best you see for yourself, sir.”
Quaeryt led first company forward for almost half a mille along the bluff road before he could see a bridge, but the ground was so level it was difficult to make out what the problem might be. Only when he was within a few hundred yards did he begin to see. The timber bridge was narrow and crossed a space of no more than ten yards. It also appeared rickety.
Then … some fifteen yards short of the bridge, the stone paving ended. Although Quaeryt had expected that from his talk with the innkeeper at the Black Bear, what he hadn’t expected was the nature of what the bridge spanned.
Quaeryt reined up a few yards short of the bridge, then eased the gelding forward until he could see fully. The narrow timber bridge crossed a gorge some ten yards wide, but one that had been eroded more than that in depth so that the stream that had cut it flowed almost lazily westward into the Aluse. Quaeryt doubted that anything larger than a single light cart drawn by a small horse or donkey could safely cross the gorge. For a time, he studied the earthen walls of the narrow canyon, but it was clear that with each year, more of the walls would crumble away. He glanced to the east, but the narrow gorge was at least seven or eight yards deep even a half mille to the east, and there the trees ran to the edge. In fact, in one place a young fir angled out over the stream, as if the ground under a portion of its roots had been washed away. His eyes went back to the bridge. The second time he noticed that the planks and timbers were relatively new, certainly less than a year or two old.
“I’d not want to risk more than a rider at a time on that,” said Zhelan.
“If that.” Quaeryt turned in the saddle. “Imagers, forward!”
The three young imagers rode forward and reined up just behind Quaeryt.
“Undercaptains … and Elsior … take a good look.”
Quaeryt waited until the three had studied the bridge and the gorge. “How would you suggest you image a bridge across this little canyon?”
After a time, Lhandor said, “It depends on what’s at the bottom of the gorge. If there’s rock not too far below the stream level, we could image away the dirt and stones above the rock, and then image a bridge pier on each side. We’d need an arch across the middle to support the roadbed, and a half arch from each pillar to support the approach causeway on each side. That ought to work for at least five or ten years. It could be longer.”
“Khalis? What do you think?”
“I won’t disagree with Lhandor on this.”
“Elsior?”
“I would not disagree…”
“But you have a suggestion?”
“Yes, sir. If we can image retaining walls away from the piers on each side, no more than three yards up from the base of the pier, that would channel the stream away from the back of the piers. The stream is not much higher than the river now. It can’t dig down that much farther.”
Quaeryt held back a smile. “Go to it. If you want me to image part of it, I will, but you have to describe what you want done. Since it’s your idea, Lhandor, you’re in charge.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt watched as the three dismounted and then walked just a few steps onto the bridge to study the gorge. They conversed quietly before Lhandor stepped close to the edge of the gorge and focused on the far side. At the base of the gorge on the far side, a trench appeared, at the bottom of which Quaeryt could see stone—before it was covered with stream water.
All in all, the imaging of a new stone bridge, wide enough for two wagons, if barely, took almost two glasses—and Quaeryt ended up imaging the retaining walls proposed by Elsior, as well as the last sections of the approach causeway.
The three undercaptains crossed the new span first, followed by Quaeryt and Zhelan, and then first company.
Halfway across, Zhelan turned to Quaeryt. “You could have done that yourself, could you not?”
“I could have created something, but what they did is a better bridge, and they need the experience of thinking it out and then doing it. I’ve done more in battle because too much was at stake. Now is the time for them to do all they can.” Quaeryt laughed softly. “I won’t always be around them, and I certainly won’t be here forever.”
“You’re young as commanders go, sir.”
“That may be, but things can happen to young commanders as well. The greater the experience they have, the more likely the Collegium is to be successful.” And a permanent part of Bhayar’s Solidar to come. After a moment Quaeryt added, You hope.
The bluff road stretched ahead for what looked to be another mille before it looked to slope downward toward a level closer to that of the River Aluse.
More mud and problems, thought Quaeryt. But he did not voice those words.
35
By midday on the following Solayi, Quaeryt and his two companies had just passed through a small hamlet some 150 milles north of Variana … or so he judged from the maps and his own calculations. He had used the imagers, as well as his own talents, to repair and strengthen a handful of bridges, although none had required the amount of imaging necessary just north of Caanara, and in one place, to fill and pave a section of the river road where it had descended into what would be a morass with the slightest amount of rain. Along the way, they had passed two older ruins of what might have once been high holdings, one of which appeared to have been abandoned and dismantled in an orderly fashion, with only the foundations remaining. The other had been burned, but not recently
When Quaeryt had inquired about local High Holders, he’d discovered that there were several in the areas where he asked, but all at least ten milles from the River Aluse. That didn’t exactly surprise him, and he continued to be appalled at the state of what was the major road north from the capital. And, according to the maps he had and what he’d asked of the locals, no one knew of any better roads.
The weather continued hot and damp, and Quaeryt was continually drenched with sweat. He had decided to alternate the lead companies, but keep the imagers with him, as well as ride for a time with each imager. On Solayi, Elsior was riding beside Quaeryt for the first time, with Calkoran and the two imager undercaptains immediately behind.
“Where were you from?”
“Navarou … it’s a fishing village on the coast south of Westisle, sir.” The slender dark-haired youth sounded almost apologetic.
“Your family is Pharsi?”
“My mother is.”
“Are there many other Pharsi in Navarou?”
“No, sir. She washed up on the beach after a storm. She was clinging to some timbers.”
“Where was she from?”
“She would never speak of what happened or where she was from, sir. All she said was that the past was a closed book, and that only the hand of Erion would ever open it.” Elsior smiled. “She never expected I’d run into one.”
“Beware of names placed on you by other people.” Quaeryt shook his head. “Tell me about you and her, if you would.”
“She was a seamstress, and a fine one. Folks come from towns along the coast for her to sew their fine garments, for weddings and the like. We had a little cot at the base of the hills. There was enough to eat, for the two of us, anyway.”
“Did your mother ever speak of your father … or was that part of the closed book?” Quaeryt tried to keep his voice light.
“No, sir … excepting she did once say that his station was naught to be ashamed of. I was born soon after she washed up.”
“I’m assuming that when your mother said something was closed, it was closed. Did she have the farsight?”
Elsior tilted his head, as if considering, although Quaeryt couldn’t tell whether he was considering whether his mother did or whether he should say anything. Finally, he said, “She never said she’d seen something that would happen, but there were times when she should have been surprised and she wasn’t.”
“What about you?”
Elsior shook his head. “If anyone needed farsight…”
“How did you end up as an imager for the Autarch?”
“What else would I do after she died?”
“Oh … I didn’t realize…”
“Folks didn’t say much so long as she was there, because there wasn’t anyone who could sew like she could, but they always looked away from me.”
“Did you image a few extra coppers for her?”
Elsior grinned. “Of course. Not too many, and I gave them all to her. She knew, but she said that so long as I never had coppers no one would think about my being an imager. If she had a few more coppers, who would know?”
“Did you have trouble being accepted as an imager by the Autarch?”
“It wasn’t easy. Before you’re apprenticed to a master, you do anything wrong, and you could be blinded.”
“How long…”
“I was lucky. Only a year after they took me in.”
Elsior’s tone conveyed anything but luck, but Quaeryt didn’t pursue that. Instead, he asked, “What do you think about Imagisle and the Collegium?”
“You are right, sir. Imagers do need a place where they’re not special and not feared. I think that living in Navarou would have been hard as I grew older. Even the imagers’ quarters in Liantiago were better than what most of the others went through before they became imagers for the Autarch.”
“Do you have any suggestions as to what might make Imagisle better?”
“Good beds and a library! Khalis has been working with me to improve my reading and writing so that I can write Bovarian as well as I can write Pharsi.”
“Why do you think a library is important?”
“Because my mother said it was. She taught me Pharsi, but she didn’t speak Bovarian that well.”
“She must have been from Khel, then.”
“She never said.”
“You said that, but it makes sense. Navarou is south across the Gulf from Khel. If she were shipwrecked coming out of Kherseilles or Pointe Neiman … or even coming from the ports on the west of Lydar…”
Elsior nodded.
Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder just what lay behind the covers of the closed book that had been the past of Elsior’s mother, just as he’d wondered the same about his own parents when he’d been as young as Elsior. But there was little point in pursuing that. Instead, he asked, “How are you coming with your shields?”
The young imager smiled happily. “Khalis says that mine are almost as good as his. Well … if I keep them close to me. I can’t extend mine as far as he can. Mine aren’t nearly as strong as yours.”
“How do you know that?” Quaeryt asked, almost in jest, because he didn’t think Elsior had ever been that close to him when his shields had been under attack.
“Oh … I can sense shields.” Elsior looked almost embarrassed.
“By pressing yours against others?”
“No, sir. I’ve always been able to sense shields. Yours are stronger than any imager’s, even the best of the Autarch’s imagers. You always carry strong shields all the time, don’t you?”
“I do that to keep in practice. You ought to try the same.”
“I’ve been doing that, sir. So have Khalis and Lhandor. They told me that.”
Quaeryt smiled wryly. Those two would. “Do you know if other imagers can sense shields the way you do?”
“I don’t know, sir. I never told Magister Trewyno.”
“Because revealing something was dangerous?”
Elsior nodded.
“From how far away can you sense shields?”
“Not all that far. It depends on the shields. For you … maybe a hundred yards.”
Quaeryt pondered that for a moment and was about to ask another question when he saw one of the scouts riding back toward them. He waited until the trooper had turned his mount and was riding beside him before grinning and asking, “What is it? Another bad bridge or a swamp?”
”No, sir. The road’s about the same as always. Just thought you’d like to know. There’s another burned-out hold up ahead, sir, maybe a half mille around the bend in the river. Doesn’t look like anyone’s nearby, but there are sheep in the pasture to the north and in the fields across from it to the east.”
“Thank you.”
As the scout rode forward to rejoin the other scouts, Elsior asked, “Sir? Is it true that Rex Kharst burned the places of High Holders he didn’t like?”
“He burned the holdings of those who displeased or angered him.”
“Why? He could have killed them and kept their goods and valuables.” Elsior immediately added, “I don’t mean … I mean that’s not good, but … if you’re going to take people’s things, why destroy them? That’s stupid.”
“He may have taken their valuables and any livestock. He probably did, but we don’t know for sure.”
“But these hold houses … they’re worth a lot.”
“And in some cases, he salted the land immediately around the house so that little of value would grow there.”
Elsior shook his head. “The Autarch wasn’t even that bad.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No, sir. Most imagers never did. That’s what Magister Trewyno said. Will we ever meet Lord Bhayar?”
With a slight jolt, Quaeryt realized that none of the imagers had properly actually met Bhayar—and that wasn’t good. After a moment he said, “Some of the imagers who were with me from the beginning have seen him, fairly close up. I will make sure, once we get back to Variana, that you all get a chance to meet him.”
“What is he like, sir? They say you were students together.”
“We studied with the same scholar. It might be stretching matters to say that we were students together, although that is how we came to know each other.” Quaeryt paused. Exactly what could he say that was both accurate and not misleading in some way or another? “He wants to be a strong ruler, but not a cruel one. He does his best to be a just ruler. I cannot recall a time when he has executed a High Holder or someone who served him, although he has discharged those who have failed him, or sent those who made mistakes to lesser posts, sometimes in most remote regions. He is deeply in love with his wife and, to my knowledge, has never taken a mistress. He does have a temper, but when he is truly angry he turns stern and cold. He has, I believe, deferred too much upon occasion to the High Holders of Telaryn, but that is because he relies more heavily on their tariffs than he should.” Quaeryt thought about saying that Bhayar wanted to unite Lydar into one land, because Bhayar believed that there would always be war if someone did not, but decided against saying that because he suspected that was as much his own
goal as Bhayar’s. Bhayar had only talked about the need to conquer Bovaria because whoever had been rex there had always caused trouble for Telaryn.
“How well do you know him, sir?”
That’s a very good question. “I suspect I know him as well as anyone besides his wife and mine. It helps that Lady Vaelora can offer insights.”
Elsior nodded.
Before that long, Quaeryt and Elsior were approaching the burned-out hold house. As was often the case in Bovaria, along the rivers, the road swung away from the water, so that the hold house sat at the top of a slope overlooking the river. Only the stone foundations of the gateposts remained, and a stone-paved drive ran due west toward the ruins.
The hold house had been extensive. That didn’t surprise Quaeryt. What did was the fact that the damage looked to be comparatively recent … sometime within the last year, possibly less than six or seven months ago. The remaining brick walls held soot that was largely still black, but there was no odor of smoke or recent fire. The grounds were still black, and nothing grew up through the charred soil, a fairly good indication that the ground had been salted as well—and, given the lack of tilling, possibly through imaging.
Why did Kharst have imagers torching and destroying high holdings in the middle of a war? The more Quaeryt saw of Bovaria, the less he felt he understood.
* * *
“It was a large hold.” Elsior shook his head.
“Most of those burned were,” replied Quaeryt.
Once they were well past the ruins, Quaeryt sent Elsior back to rejoin the other imagers and motioned for Calkoran to rejoin him.
“The young one, he looks like he came from Khel,” observed the older subcommander.
“It’s likely his mother and father did, but he doesn’t know.”
Calkoran nodded. “There have been many like that over the past years.”
Quaeryt removed his visor cap and blotted his forehead, then replaced the cap. He turned toward Calkoran. “It may be two weeks before summer’s here by the calendar, but I’d say that it’s already arrived. This is almost as bad as Solis at this time of year.”
Rex Regis Page 29
