Princeps ip-5

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  When Skarpa finished, he looked directly at Quaeryt. “Like I said earlier, sir, looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  More than that. “About a quarter of the city’s buried in ash and lava. We distributed bread and potatoes today … and some flour.” In less than half a quint, Quaeryt explained what had happened, including the missing Civic Patrol and the possible problems with the various High Holders and the fact that he hadn’t even dealt with all of them.

  “They’re like that everywhere, most of them, it seems.”

  “Oh … do you have any other problems I need to deal with? Ones that I can do something about?” Quaeryt kept his voice light, trying to be humorous.

  “Well … there is one,” mused Skarpa. “And it’s something you could do easily, sir, seeing as tomorrow is Solayi … and there’s an anomen in good repair right here on the post.”

  No! Not again … But Quaeryt said nothing, knowing that any words that slipped out he would regret.

  “Some of the officers, and a lot of the men … well … they saw all the destruction … They’d like a little reassurance.”

  “Comfort from the Nameless,” Quaeryt managed to say.

  “Yes, sir. I know it’s not something you like to make a practice of, sir…”

  “I don’t know the service that well, but if they’ll all bear with me…” Quaeryt shrugged helplessly. “I’m not a chorister.”

  “Everyone would appreciate it, sir.”

  “So long as they understand…”

  “Sir … they understand.”

  Quaeryt took a long, last swallow of the bitter lager from his mug. “I suppose I’d better let you get to your officers and get some sleep in a decent bed.” He stood.

  So did Skarpa. “That’d be good. Really good.”

  Quaeryt walked slowly across the darkness of the courtyard to the officers’ quarters and then up the staircase and along the balcony. The door bolt on their quarters was not thrown, and he opened the door, stepped inside, and slid the bolt. Vaelora rose from where she’d been sitting at the writing desk. Although her portable inkwell and a pen were on the desk, the single sheet of paper was blank.

  “You’re upset, dearest. What happened? Did Commander Skarpa lose men in another flood? Did another bridge go out?”

  “You had to clean up the anomen, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

  “It needed to be done,” she replied.

  “Why? Was it another vision?”

  Vaelora stiffened ever so slightly. “Yes. If you must know. I saw you standing at the pulpit. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Skarpa asked if I’d conduct services tomorrow.” He shook his head.

  Vaelora was silent.

  “If the anomen were still locked…”

  She nodded gently.

  “But it’s not … You know how I feel!”

  “Then don’t do it.”

  “I can’t not do it. They need the services. There’s no one else who can do it. Some of them, maybe a lot of them, are likely to die for Bhayar if it comes to war with Bovaria. And I’m going to complain about having to talk and inspire them?” When you feel like a fraud doing it in an anomen?

  “I’m sorry, dearest.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” Not when I’m so angry I might say something hurtful or that I might later regret. Recalling what she’d said about not having secrets, he added, “I will later, but not now.”

  “Try not to be too angry…”

  Her voice was so woeful that he stopped short, then realized that she was exaggerating the tone to excess, and he found himself grinning, even as he recognized the blatantness of her words and expressions. He shook his head. “No wonder…”

  “Not another word, dearest.”

  He decided that was probably for the best-for the moment.

  27

  Quaeryt didn’t sleep well on Samedi evening, between being upset over being maneuvered into acting as a chorister once more and worrying about how he was ever going to restore order and function to Extela, not to mention his unease about whether he had been unfairly angry at Vaelora, although he’d tried not to show it. Then too, he’d always been uncomfortable acting as a chorister for the Nameless when he had no idea whether there even was a Nameless.

  On Solayi morning, his first thought upon wakening was, If there is a Nameless out there, that Nameless has got quite a sense of humor. The thought helped, but not much, as he and Vaelora readied themselves for the day. He was just glad she didn’t press him to talk about why he’d been so angry; yet relieved as he was, he also wondered at her forbearance, because in the short time they’d been married, she’d always pressed to talk out matters when they disagreed.

  Even so, she was pleasant at breakfast and later, as they readied to ride out.

  Fhaen’s second company escorted Quaeryt and Vaelora back across the rickety and makeshift bridge to the east side of the river and then south and east to the lands of High Holder Thysor. While Quaeryt had hoped Thysor would be available, given that it was a Solayi, the High Holder was out inspecting his timberlands to the south, and Quaeryt merely left a note saying that he hoped that they might be able to meet at some time during the coming week.

  When they returned to the post, Quaeryt met with Major Dhaeryn of the engineers. Work had begun on modifying the old factorage, and the plans were complete for rebuilding the bridge, although Dhaeryn asked for permission to use stones from buildings in the northwest that had been badly damaged by the earthquakes and eruption. Quaeryt agreed, but only for buildings that were complete ruins.

  Then he met again with Heireg to work out the arrangements for selling goods in the marketplaces on Lundi … and asked him to work with Jhalyt to set up payroll and supply ledgers for the Civic Patrol.

  What with one thing and another, before he knew it, they were eating dinner, and then he was walking across the courtyard to the anomen, escorting Vaelora in and settling her at one side before he repaired to the rear chamber to wait until the bells rang the hour.

  At that moment, he stepped out, walked to the middle of the dais that held the pulpit, then turned and faced the worshippers. The small anomen was filled, possibly with three hundred officers and men.

  Quaeryt didn’t even attempt the wordless invocation used by all true choristers to open a service. He just started with the greeting. “We gather together in the spirit of the Nameless and to affirm the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do.”

  Following came the opening hymn, and the only one that Quaeryt knew by heart-that he could trust himself to sing-was “Glory to the Nameless.” Thankfully, Vaelora knew it as well, and after the first phrase, he let her voice lead those in the anomen.

  After that came the confession, which was one of the hardest parts of the service for Quaeryt, given that he was leading a confession of error to a deity he wasn’t certain existed. Although he had no trouble confessing to error, only to the idea that he and those who followed his words would be forgiven by the Nameless, he’d observed precious little forgiveness in life, and wondered of what use it would be elsewhere, if there indeed happened to be an “elsewhere.”

  “We name not You, for naming presumes, and we presume not upon the Creator of all that was, is, and will be. We pray not to You for ourselves, nor ask from You favor or recognition, for such asks You to favor us over others who are also Yours. We confess that we risk in all times the sins of presumptuous pride. We acknowledge that the very names we bear symbolize those sins, for we strive too often to raise our names and ourselves above others, to insist that our small achievements have meaning. Let us never forget that we are less than nothing against Your Nameless magnificence and that we must respect all others, in celebration and deference to You who cannot be named or known, only respected and worshipped.”

  Quaeryt did lead the chorus of “In Peace and Harmony.”

  Before the offertory began, he announced, “The coins gathered in the offertory will b
e used to help poor mothers with children in Extela.” And Vaelora will decide who deserves such coins.

  Finally the time came for him to ascend to the pulpit for the homily, but he decided against that and merely stood on the middle of the platform holding the pulpit. Absently, he wondered if that meant he’d end up doing it all again, given Vaelora’s vision of him at the pulpit. He cleared his throat and began. “Good evening.”

  “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.”