“The northwest quarter of the city…” gasped Vaelora, “it’s all covered in black rock … only one tower left of the palace … and the north market…”
Quaeryt followed her gesture with his eyes. To the northwest, closer to the foot of Mount Extel, not all the rock was black. There were lines of orange-still-hot lava.
A light gust of wind swirled warm sulfurous air and ashes around them, some of which Quaeryt brushed off his browns before he looked at Vaelora. She looked back at him and shook her head. “I never imagined it would be this bad.”
As the mare carried him down toward the river, Quaeryt studied the devastation. A reddish orange fountain of lava spurted intermittently from the side of the mountain and then oozed downhill, winding its way around and over earlier, but still recent, hardened and blackened flows. In some few places, such as the tower Vaelora had noted that jutted up from the black stone, a remnant of the old palace, the lava had seemingly flowed around a few structures while obliterating or covering most of the northwest section of the city. One flow had reached the river, well north of the city, and created a dam and a lake, over which poured steaming water, but the hills along the river south of the lava dam had diverted the molten rock back into a narrow area of streets and structures, leaving most of the destruction in the northwest quarter of the city.
Tents and huts and other crude structures dotted the east side of the river, but well south of the main part of Extela and only on the higher ground beyond the low hills that rose from the eastern shore.
“What about the posts?” Quaeryt asked Meinyt, who rode on the far side of Vaelora. “Can you tell how much they’ve been damaged?”
“The main post is well to the south of the city, and there does not seem to be that much damage to the south,” said Meinyt. “There was a smaller post below…”
“Below where the palace used to be?” asked Quaeryt.
The major nodded. “We’ll need to see if the main bridge is usable. Otherwise … it’s another five milles to the south bridge.”
The fields and meadows on each side of the road were covered in a thin layer of gray ash, along with piles of ash along the shoulder gathered by runoff from the lands. As they neared the river, Quaeryt noted the piles of debris from an earlier flood-or floods-and the ruins of houses and other structures within fifty to a hundred yards of the river.
What had once been a bridge was now more of a dam with gaps in it crossed by heavy planks over timbers and braced by oddly shaped chunks of stone, offering passage barely wide enough for a single supply wagon at a time.
“Looks almost as bad as the bridge in Gahenyara,” observed Meinyt sourly.
Unstable as the bridge appeared, the heavy planks barely vibrated as the scouts, and then Quaeryt and Vaelora, crossed, followed immediately by troopers. Even before more than a squad of the first company of Meinyt’s battalion had crossed the narrow makeshift bridge and formed up, figures appeared from what had appeared to be deserted streets and lanes. At first, there were but a handful, but the numbers began to swell, and all moved toward the riders, so that by the time all four squads of the first company had reached the ash-strewn plaza on the western shore of the Telexan River, close to fifty people in ash-smeared clothes were converging on the riders. Most were women, many with small children. Despite the damp chill, few if any of the women wore head scarves, although many had shawls across their shoulders.
“Do you have food?”
“… food…”
“… days since we ate…” A gaunt woman in gray and faded brown held up an infant. “Please … food…”
“First squad! Form up on the governor!”
Quaeryt didn’t know the squad leader, but he appreciated the command. There was little enough in the way of provisions in the wagons that followed, and trying to distribute that small amount was more likely to cause a riot and more deaths. He could have used shields, if necessary, but armed men would provide a more visible and understandable deterrent.
“They’re truly starving. Can’t we do something?” asked Vaelora.
“We may be able to,” he replied, “but not here and now. If we show food, hundreds more will appear, and they’ll push those in front toward us.…”
Vaelora winced.
“Arms ready! Forward!” ordered the squad leader.
Slowly, the squad moved forward, farther into the plaza, to allow the companies behind to form up once they crossed the rubble-built bridge. The crowd swelled to close to a hundred, but some at the fringes began to fade back into buildings and lanes as it became clear that there was no food to be had. Meinyt’s battalion was across the bridge, followed by the first supply wagon when a voice called out, “They have wagons coming!”
“They do have food! See the wagons!”
“Food!”
The movement away from the plaza halted, and then reversed. Even more people appeared out of the dust and ashes, heading toward the river end of the plaza and forming a human spearhead toward the bridge, giving the armed squad at the head of the column a clear berth.
“Protect the Lady!” snapped Quaeryt as he turned the mare and extended his shields, riding toward those leading the hunger-driven mob.
The force of the mare’s weight and movement behind the shields cleared those at the edge of the mob’s back, allowing Quaeryt to aim at the front of the near-raging crowd, forcing them away from the first wagon. As he reined up, Quaeryt forced himself to ignore the old woman who fell under the press of rioters forced back-and the child torn from her arms.
The crowd halted … as if those who had led it were uncertain.
“Ready arms!”
Quaeryt sensed, rather than saw, the flash of sabres.
The crowd stopped, but did not retreat.
Quaeryt stood in the stirrups, using imaging to project both his voice and the sense of authority and power. “Go back to your homes. Attacking soldiers for food will only get you hurt! Go back! Now!”
As he finished speaking, but kept trying to image authority across the crowd, he could feel a slight throbbing, but nothing more. He remained standing, watching, as slowly, and then more quickly, the hungry people began to disperse.
“Governor…?”
Quaeryt dropped into the saddle and turned to see Meinyt rein up. “Yes?”
“How…? It was … I even felt I needed to leave.” The major frowned.
“I didn’t want anyone hurt any more than they already had been.” He glanced to his right, seeing Vaelora riding toward him, flanked by troopers. She eased her mount toward the old woman who had struggled into a sitting position and somehow found the small child she had lost in the crowd. Vaelora bent down from the saddle, with a flexibility and skill Quaeryt could never have come close to, and extended something, biscuits perhaps, to the old woman.
“The Nameless bless you, Lady…”
Vaelora straightened up in the saddle and rode slowly over toward Meinyt and Quaeryt. “Can she and the child come with us, at least to the post?”
The major looked to Quaeryt.
Quaeryt nodded. “She was hurt when I ordered everyone away from the wagons. That wasn’t her fault.” They’d only been in Extela a quint or so, and he’d had to image authority and threaten people with armed men. He feared that matters would only get worse … and that power might be the only way to keep order.
“Jusaph! Have your men get the woman and child in the wagons. We need to keep moving.”
“Yes, sir.”
In less than half a quint, the two battalions, every man with his sabre ready, were riding down the ash- strewn boulevard that ran southwest parallel to the river. The doors of shops that had been secured with iron grates appeared largely untouched, as did those that appeared ironbound and sturdy.
