Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I doubt I will break the world, and it does not have to break me.”

  Phargos smiled softly, sadly. “We will see, Princeps.” He turned to Vaelora. “You have graced us, Lady, and may you grace others as well.”

  Vaelora inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  Neither Quaeryt nor Vaelora spoke until they left the anomen and were walking across the courtyard in a blustery wind.

  “You worry him,” said Vaelora.

  “I doubt that I worry him. He likes me, and he’s concerned that my lack of faith in the Nameless will leave me bereft when times and life turn against me, as they likely will.” And have in the past.

  “Will it?”

  Quaeryt laughed briefly, almost sardonically. “To me, it is obvious that if there is a Nameless, that deity does not interfere one way or the other in the lives of men and women. Life may indeed break me. Who can say what will happen? But if broken I become, life and the deeds of men and women will break me, not a lack of faith in a deity that leaves us to our own devices.…”

  Vaelora reached out and squeezed his hand, and they continued walking through the cold wind.

  14

  The easiest part of leaving Tilbora on Mardi morning was departing the Telaryn Palace. The days before had been hectic for Quaeryt, to say the least. He’d taken the precaution of packing up blank spare ledgers, copies of the Tilboran and standard Telaryn tariff schedules, and all other manner of administrivia that might be helpful, especially given that apparently neither the governor nor the princeps had survived.

  The lane down from the eastern gates was dry, and the snow heaped on each side frozen and coated with ice. The road to the west was passable, even for the last supply wagons. Quaeryt had wondered why Skarpa was headed west—until they reached the river, still iced over, and he understood as the regiment navigated over the uneven surface. Even without having to rely on ferries, the crossing of less than two hundred yards of ice took until almost midday, but it would have taken far, far longer had they had to rely on the ferries at the mouth of the river. Then the regiment turned back southeast and followed the west river road back down to Bhorael.

  By the next day, some twenty milles south of Bhorael, the snow alongside the road was less than knee deep. By late afternoon, some ten milles farther south, the top mud on the roads had unfrozen, and the column slowed. All in all, reaching Ayerne took six days, and Quaeryt felt fortunate indeed that he was a princeps headed to be a governor, because at those stops where quarters were nonexistent, at least he and Vaelora could sleep in a wagon. Even so, by the time they reached Ayerne, both of them were tired of mud, frozen mud, and more mud. Both also had mud spattered over boots and trousers and occasionally higher.

  Even the rations seemed to taste of mud.

  Late on Solayi, just before sunset, Quaeryt and Vaelora rode up the narrow brick-paved lane that led to Rhodyn’s main hold house and that was thankfully free of mud

  Lankyt stood on the front steps, peering out into the low western sun. “Princeps? Is that you? And your lady?”

  “Both of us.” Quaeryt did not dismount. Although he was hoping for a warm reception, he knew Bhayar’s forces had already imposed greatly on Rhodyn, although Bhayar himself, according to Vaelora, had reimbursed the holder for his entourage.

  “Let me tell Father. He’ll want to see you.”

  “I’d like to see him.”

  As Lankyt reentered the dwelling, Vaelora turned in the saddle. “He is a sweet young man.”

  “He also loves the land, and his father.”

  “That speaks well of Rhodyn.”

  “It does.” Yet Quaeryt wondered if such love of parents resulted just from the parents’ acts. Jorem loved his father—that was also clear, even if the eldest son had not wished to leave Bhorael and the family of his Pharsi wife. Yet Syndar, who would likely make a solid scholar, did not seem to manifest the same devotion toward his sire, while Lankyt did. Was there something about being a middle son? Quaeryt didn’t know, or have any way of knowing.

  In moments, Rhodyn was standing on the front steps.

  “Holder Rhodyn,” announced Quaeryt, “I fear I’m here to take advantage of your hospitality once again.”

  “Nonsense, your presence is welcome, and that of your lady.” The gray-haired holder inclined his head. “Lady Vaelora, it is a pleasure to see you again. You did not tell me that one of the purposes of your journey to Tilbora was to wed the princeps.”

  Vaelora laughed, huskily, but warmly. “I did not know that was what my brother had in mind. I had hoped for such, but he gave neither of us any choice.”

  “A wise man.” Rhodyn looked to Quaeryt. “I can offer dry quarters to all, as I have before, such as they are, but my table is limited. Perhaps you might ask the commander and any majors or other officers he might wish to include?”

  “I will certainly ask … but I do not know what his duties may entail. I do not know that you have heard, but Mount Extel has exploded, and much of Extela is in ruins. That is where we are bound.”

  “That does not bode well.”

  “No … and there are fears Rex Kharst may attempt to take advantage of the situation.”

  “That would be…” Rhodyn stopped and shook his head. “I should not keep you cold and mounted. You two, at least, must have a warmer room for the evening, and if you would convey my invitation?”

  “I will accept that room, for my lady, especially, although I fear it is more accurate to say that I am her princeps.”

  “That verges on disrespect … again,” murmured Vaelora, but Quaeryt could hear the unvoiced laughter beneath the words.

  “Let me take your mount, Lady,” insisted Lankyt, hurrying up.

  “That would be most kind of you,” replied Vaelora, her voice conveying relief, appreciation, and warmth without the slightest trace of condescension. She dismounted with a grace that Quaeryt could only envy.

  “I will convey your invitation to Commander Skarpa and return as I am able,” he said. “And I do thank you for the invitation and hospitality.”

  It took Quaeryt close to a quint to locate Skarpa, out near the largest outbuilding, and to offer Rhodyn’s invitation.

  “We’ll take the invitation,” said Skarpa with a laugh. “That way, we can save a few rations. It’s better food, but we do pay holders what we can, anyway.”

  “I saw the golds on the manifest for the regiment, but what would you pay for what he’s offering?”

  “Ten golds.”

  “Can you do fifteen if I add a few personally?”

  Skarpa laughed again. “The governor already told me to give him twenty, for all he’s done, and not to take your coins. Not here, anyway.”

  “The men won’t mind if we eat … there?”

  “Most of them won’t care so long as they’re dry and fed. The company officers understand that holders like to feed officers and that means their men get quarters, even if they’re just dry barns.” He smiled. “They hope they get promoted so that they get fed that way someday.”

  In the end, after Skarpa and Quaeryt had seen that all the men and company officers were fed, Rhodyn provided a late supper for Quaeryt and Vaelora, the commander, and the battalion majors. Rhodyn sat at the head of the long table, with his wife Darlinka at his left and Quaeryt to his right, with Vaelora beside her husband. Lankyt sat at the end of the table.

  As the serving women set the platters on the table, after all the glasses had been filled with ale or lager, Rhodyn lifted his glass. “To your health and safety on your journey to come.”

  The second toast was Quaeryt’s, and he offered, “Our deepest thanks and appreciation for your kindness and hospitality.”

  “We cannot thank you enough,” added Skarpa after the toast.

  “Commander,” replied Rhodyn, “most times holders bear the brunt of quartering armsmen, wincing and saying nothing. I’ve been more fortunate. The princeps favored me by going out of his way to do tasks that benefited me and
my family. He offered counsel in an indirect way that let me keep my family and my pride, and his wife has graced my hold so that we will be able to tell our children and grandchildren how we’ve been favored. On top of that, Lord Bhayar removed the last of the ship reavers and made the Shallows Coast safe to ride and travel again … and that will allow us to graze lands closed for generations. All that would not have happened, I suspect, without the princeps’s presence in Tilbor.” The holder’s eyes twinkled and he inclined his head to Vaelora. “And yours, Lady. Now … enjoy the fare before it cools.”

  The heaping platters held slices of mutton covered in dark gravy, fried potato/onion cakes, and large pickles cut into halves lengthwise. Another bowl held applesauce, and the bread in the baskets consisted of small warm golden loaves.

  For a time, no one spoke.

  Finally, with a grin upon his face, Skarpa did. “The princeps has never said much about his meeting with you, Holder Rhodyn, only that he praised your kindness and courtesy. Might you tell us more?”

  “I only did what any good person would do,” demurred Rhodyn.

  “Since the good holder is too modest,” said Quaeryt dryly, “I will offer a bit more. I was shipwrecked in a storm off the Shallows Coast. An elderly lady there offered me water, which I foolishly accepted, thinking water would be safe, although I worried about her very mien. After that I was chased by brigands through the fog following the storm. While I was able to escape them, when I reached Ayerne, here, I spoke but a few words to Holder Rhodyn before I collapsed. He and his wife nursed me through the poison and the injuries I had suffered until I was well. Then he even persuaded the local ostler to sell me the very mare I still ride for far less than she is worth. Mind you, he did not do this for the princeps, but for the mere scholar assistant to the princeps, and he did so without a thought of himself.”

  Rhodyn shifted his weight in his chair, and Quaeryt thought the older man had blushed slightly.

  “As I said, I only did what any good man would do.”

  “And what very few men in fact do,” added Vaelora softly.

  “I was not quite so selfless as the princeps says,” protested Rhodyn. “I did read the letters he carried. One appointed him as a scholar assistant. The second was from a lady, and it was written in a fine hand. It asked the kind of questions any ruler should ask. More than anything, it was her letter that told me about the man who lay close to dying in my house. Darlinka read it and told me that it would be a great loss to the lady and the world if I let him die.”

  “I’m so glad you did not,” murmured Vaelora.

  “As am I,” stated Darlinka.

  “Now that you have your answers, Commander,” said Quaeryt, “might I turn the tables and ask how you came to serve Lord Bhayar?”

  “You have me there, Princeps,” replied Skarpa. “Simple enough, it was. My father was a cooper, and after I’d destroyed enough staves in trying to make barrels, he said that the only trade there was where a man got paid for hacking everything to pieces was being a soldier … and since he had other sons who weren’t so destructive…” The commander shrugged.

  From that point on, everyone talked.

  More than a glass later, once the door had closed behind the departing officers, Rhodyn turned to Quaeryt. “Might I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why did you write me about Syndar?”

  “Originally, I wanted to find some way to tell you that Syndar was not suited to be a holder, but that did not seem … right. When Yullyd told me how well Syndar did in helping with the ledgers, I realized that while my feelings had been correct, I hadn’t fully understood why. Your son Jorem has made the produce factorage more successful because he loves his wife and what they do together. Lankyt will make a good holder because he loves the land so much that he has gone out of his way to discover ways to improve what can be grown and how. Those were obvious to me, but when I saw, through others, that Syndar truly loved the life of study and numbers, I wrote … because men and women, I believe, find the most in life when they love what they do, either because they always love that or come to find that they do.”

  “And you, Princeps,” asked Darlinka softly, “what do you love?”

  “Besides Vaelora?” replied Quaeryt with a smile.

  “You still answer some questions with questions,” said the holder’s wife.

  What do I love doing in life? After several moments of silence, Quaeryt replied, “That’s because I question that myself. I don’t know that I have an answer for you, not one that would be completely honest. I like making things … better. But ‘better’ is something that is different for each man, each woman.” He offered a crooked smile.

  Darlinka looked to Vaelora, questioningly.

  “I would not dispute my husband’s answer, nor would mine be much different.”

  Rhodyn laughed. “Then it appears you are well matched.”

  “I only hope that you are strong enough together to survive what you love,” said Darlinka, her voice still soft, with a hint of sadness beneath the words.

  So do I. Quaeryt did not voice the thought, but just reached out and squeezed Vaelora’s hand.

  15

  South of Ayerne, the ice-covered snow of Tilbor and the north gave way to softer snow that was little more than calf-deep and soft and slushy. Even so, only by concentrating could Quaeryt make out the snow-covered remnants of the towns that Rhodyn and the other holders north of the Ayerne River had leveled years earlier. Progress for the regiment was slow until they reached the small town of Sullys, three days south of Ayerne, where they turned west on the solid stone-paved post road built generations earlier in the time of Hengyst.

  Roughly at midmorning on Samedi, under high gray clouds, Quaeryt and Vaelora were riding beside Skarpa near the front of the column when a scout headed toward them from around a wide curve in the road. The scout reined in his mount, then drew alongside the commander.

  “Sirs! The bridge is covered with water. It’s deep, more than head-high. The water’s running too fast to cross, even if we could see where the bridge is. There are chunks of ice everywhere.”

  “We might as well see how bad it is before we decide,” said Skarpa, looking to Quaeryt.

  Quaeryt nodded.

  “I’d like to come, too,” said Vaelora.

  Quaeryt wasn’t about to deny her, not when she was a far better rider than he was.

  Skarpa turned in the saddle and raised an arm. “Regiment! Halt!”

  As the command rippled back along the column, Skarpa, Quaeryt, and Vaelora rode forward with the scout. The road between two tree-covered ridges was level all the way around the curve, then descended gently to an expanse of murky gray water, dotted with chunks of grayish ice, that covered the bridge. The four reined up beside another scout, some ten yards back from the edge of the water, and surveyed what lay between them and the road on the far side.

  The river ran between two long ridges, neither more than fifty yards above the road, and less than a hundred yards apart at the level of the road, before plunging over a barrier of frozen vegetation, branches, and tree trunks, at the top of what was likely the top of a moderate cataract most of the year, but the barrier formed a dam that had lifted the water level well above the road leading to the submerged bridge, and whatever eroding effect the frigid water might be having was more than outweighed by the vegetation and chunks of ice piling up behind the existing tangle.

  “It could be days…” said Vaelora quietly.

  “Is there any way around this?” asked Quaeryt.

  “From the maps we have, and from what I recall from when I was here before, we’d have to go back more than ten milles to take a more southern road, and it’s not paved.” Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “You know what that means, sir.”

  Quaeryt did. The southern road would be even less passable in spots, besides taking much, much longer.

  After a time, he said, “Let me take a closer look.” Before eithe
r Vaelora or Skarpa could say anything, Quaeryt eased his mount off the road, southward along the lower part of the hill on the east side of the slowly rising water, trying to let her pick her way over the soggy ground between dampened and flattened bushes and leafless trees.

  As he neared a point opposite the tangle that comprised the barrier, he could see that part of the hillside had collapsed, perhaps because of rain or melting snow, if not both. The combination of the rocks and soil and trees that had slid into the river and the debris carried downstream and snagging on who knew what else below the surface of the water, not to mention the ice, had created a temporary but effective dam.

  But temporary could mean it lasts for days or weeks.

  He tied the mare to the exposed root of a tree partly ripped out of the hillside by the landslide, then took his half-staff from its leathers and slowly made his way downhill to the end of the debris, a mass of ice, soil, and twisted branches and roots. He put one foot on the end. The debris did not budge. He took three more careful steps, using the staff to probe for solid footing, but when he tried to extend his boot for the fourth, he could feel the makeshift dam shift, if ever so slightly. Less than three yards from where he stood, water poured over the middle part of the barrier, almost as if it were a spillway, and then cascaded down over and around icy rocks and huge boulders, dropping a good thirty yards over a distance of less than a hundred.

  He glanced back upstream. The torrent of murky gray water and ice chunks seemed endless. He looked at the face of the “dam,” trying to pick out places where the water was seeping through in more than mere tricklets. Finally, he located a streamlet of water almost as big around as his wrist, shooting out from the front, some two yards down and possibly four toward the center of the twisted mass from where he stood.

  He bent and began to wiggle a root, not that his efforts did so much as even cause a stir in the debris, but none of those around Skarpa could have determined that from where they watched. Then he concentrated on trying to image away some of the debris above the streamlet.