Princeps

like that.”

Quaeryt didn’t protest either her assumption or the biscuits that she handed him.

Skarpa rode back from where he had been surveying what the engineers had been doing, and his eyes drifted to the fragments remaining of the debris. After a moment he shook his head.

“What is it, Commander?” asked Vaelora.

“I don’t recall that water channel in the middle of those boulders. It’s so odd that I’d think I would.”

“You probably didn’t notice it before because the water level was much lower,” replied Vaelora.

“That might be … but … why would they have cut that there?”

“Maybe the river used to run higher,” suggested Quaeryt.

After a moment the commander shrugged. “I’m just glad you could loosen all that. I wasn’t looking forward to retracing our path or waiting for days.”

“Neither was I,” admitted Quaeryt. He just hoped he could regain enough strength to carry his shields before they ran into more trouble.

16

Even by traveling the post road, it took Third Regiment until the following Jeudi to reach the outskirts of Cloisonyt. Quaeryt worried for two days, until he could finally feel his ability to hold shields begin to return on Lundi evening. Yet by Mardi morning, holding them was no problem, and by Meredi, he realized he was barely aware of them, leaving him to wonder if stretching his imaging ability almost to the point of his own collapse was required in order to become a stronger imager. That was frightening, because he worried that going too far would lead to his death … and yet, he had the feeling that if he did not become a stronger imager, the failure to do so might also lead to his demise.

Consequently, he’d decided to say nothing about that to Vaelora, not until he was certain that the last episode had truly increased his capabilities.

In late midafternoon, under a clear sky with a cool wind at their back, he rode beside her, with Skarpa on her right, as they passed the as-yet-untilled fields and woodlots on the outskirts of Cloisonyt. Ahead, Quaeryt could barely make out where the fields and small cots gave way to the conglomeration of houses.

They rode on for another half glass, and the extent of the fields surrounding each cot dwindled as they neared the ancient city located on the north side of the River Acliano. Since the post road entered the city of hills from the northeast, their first view was that of stone dwellings scattered closely, but seemingly haphazardly, up a gentle slope to a low ridge topped by a line of far larger dwellings, also of stone. Unlike in the north, the roofs were of many different types-slate, shakes, and brown and red tile, creating the impression of different colored plaques thrown carelessly from a gambler’s deck.

“Is there somewhere for the men to stay?” Vaelora asked Skarpa. “Besides in barns and warehouses and stables and worse?”

“Yes, Lady. There is a post there. It is old, but well built, and can hold a garrison the size of a regiment. Most times, there is but a company stationed there.”

“One of Hengyst’s old posts built after his conquest?” asked Quaeryt.

“So it’s said.”

“Is it still the home of great artisans?” pressed Quaeryt, thinking of the graceful ancient vase of the innkeeper destroyed by the boorish patroller in Nacliano and wondering if such artistry still remained in Cloisonyt.

“There are many artisans. Their shops are everywhere.” Skarpa offered a sound between a laugh and a snort. “Many of their works are pleasant to look upon. Whether they are great, I could not say.”

“Where is the post from here?”

“On the other side of the ridge and to the north a mille or so. It guards the road to Montagne.”

“That’s a good road?”

“As good as the one we travel now,” replied Skarpa with a smile. “The road from Extela to Montagne is very good.” He paused. “Or it was before…”

“Mount Extel exploded?”

The commander nodded. “It’s likely to be good until we near Extela. Then…” He shrugged. “Who can say? The engineers may have much to do.”

Ahead of them was a pair of stone pillars flanking the road, signifying, Quaeryt suspected, the edge of the city proper, since immediately beyond it were houses with walled courtyards. The houses were not centered on the courtyards, as was the case in Solis. Instead, the stone walls enclosed a space behind the houses and appeared to encircle gardens and tiny orchards. Between the ground before each dwelling and the road were stone sidewalks, the first Quaeryt had seen since leaving Nacliano the summer before. Had it been less than a year?

There were few people on the streets or sidewalks, and while some hurried out of the riders’ way, most gave them little more than a passing glance. The farther Quaeryt and Vaelora rode up the hill, the more winding the road became, and the smaller the houses they passed were. Before long, the houses gave way to small shops, scores of them, squatting side by side, their stoops and porches beginning almost at the edge of the sidewalk, with lanes so narrow that they resembled alleys more than anything. Many, as Skarpa had said, showed artistic wares in their display windows. In one potter’s window, there was a beautiful white cat, and for a moment Quaeryt marveled at the artistry, until the feline moved, and revealed that the “artistry” was from nature and not from the potter.

Less than a half mille ahead, Quaeryt could make out a line of ancient trees, towering against the sky, if still leafless, and behind them, the beginning of the larger dwellings, some almost chateau-like, that he had seen from afar.

“Death to the Yarans! Death to the Yarans!”

Quaeryt jerked his head in the direction of the words offered in old Tellan just in time to see a man wearing a uniform he did not recognize. The man had apparently dashed out of an alleyway even narrower than a lane until he was less than a handful of yards from Quaeryt, if two or three yards forward of him. Even before the words were finished, the man released a long spear.

Knowing he’d never free his staff in time, Quaeryt tried to extend his shields … and did so barely quickly enough to block the weapon from hitting Vaelora. As the spear bounced off Quaeryt’s expanded shields, he concentrated on imaging it back into the chest of the burly man who had thrown it.

A flash of light flared for an instant, and the assailant’s mouth worked silently as his hands tried to grasp the shaft of the weapon whose barbed point had gone through his body and which protruded from his back.

Quaeryt managed to keep his mouth shut as he reined up. How did you do that? He’d imaged a crossbow bolt into Rescalyn, but a long spear? That did tend to answer his question about stretching his abilities, because he didn’t even feel the slightest bit strained or tired.

“After him!” snapped Skarpa.

Quaeryt forbore to mention that the man wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, by the time the troopers from the squad following them had ridden over and dismounted, the attacker was dead.

Several bystanders gawked, but edged back from the armed soldiers.

“Stay with him until the wagons reach you. Then tie him onto one,” ordered Skarpa. “Make sure that spear comes with him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vaelora looked to Quaeryt. He thought she was trembling, but as she saw him looking, she stiffened and offered a smile, if a very faint one.

“I’ll be fine, dearest.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’m very certain. You’re beside me.”

Quaeryt eased his mount slightly closer to hers, letting his shields retreat to the lighter trigger shields, but keeping them extended enough to cover her. “You will be fine.”

She forced a grin. “I think I said that.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone else,” said Skarpa, “but we ought to pick up the pace a bit.”

Quaeryt nodded.