Or even a world where evildoers were struck down by lightning or plague sent by the Nameless? Could it be that all evenings are good, because each one offers us the possibility of affirming what we are and what we can be at our best?
“If there were no evil … could there be good? And what would that good be worth? Could it be that the good of every evening is that we are granted the power to choose what course we will follow, to make of ourselves what we can…”
When he finished, he surrendered the pulpit to Phargos for the concluding hymn and benediction.
Vaelora slipped up to Quaeryt after the service, but said nothing as Phargos approached.
“I can see that you don’t mind touching the most fundamental questions,” observed the chorister. “Yet I did notice that you did not actually affirm that there is a Nameless.”
“I tried not to. I honestly don’t know if the Nameless exists. I can’t proclaim what I don’t know.”
“That’s the beauty of faith.”
“No … that is faith. Whether faith is beauty depends on whether the Nameless exists.”
Phargos shook his head. “If you were young and had not seen what you have seen, Princeps, I would say that you did not understand the need for faith. But you have seen and endured much, and you have clearly felt the agony of others. So I will say nothing except that you will either break the world or it will break you.”
“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.”
“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.”
