Princeps

But then, that just might mean intruders found easier access. Or that some crafters are still in their shops, waiting behind those doors.

There were some shops and dwellings where the ash had been swept away from doors and off shutters, and with the other signs he saw, such as footprints in the ash, unshuttered second-level windows, and the like, Quaeryt thought that not quite half the structures held inhabitants, probably those who had had fuller larders.

Another mille or so brought them to the main post, located on a low rise overlooking the river. The ironbound gates swung open as the column neared the stone walls of the post, but archers manned the ramparts, and two squads of cavalry were mounted up in the main courtyard. They remained so until the gates were closed.

Quaeryt immediately surveyed the structures inside the walls of the post. Directly to his right, beyond the mounted squads, was a modest anomen, with its dome of faded yellow-gold. Although it did not appear in poor repair, it had an air of disuse, and a length of chain with a lock on it secured the double doors, whose weathered oak had seen better days. Beside the anomen was the first of several structures that looked to be stables, and beyond them was a long barracks building. To Quaeryt’s immediate left was an oblong black stone structure of one level that suggested a command building, perhaps with an officers’ mess. Farther back was a two-story structure with a railed balcony and doors set at regular intervals opening on to the balcony, with matching doors below, most likely officers’ quarters.

Quaeryt’s survey was cut short as a graying commander hurried across the courtyard from the single-story black stone building, making his way directly to Vaelora, Quaeryt, and Meinyt. The commander’s hair was not quite the color of the ash that still drifted down everywhere, if of a finer nature and in far smaller quantities south of the main party of Extela, and his face was drawn.

“Governor? Major? I’m Zhrensyl, the post commander.”

Quaeryt studied the commander, whose eyes were red-rimmed, and who did not look to be in the best of health, but said nothing as Meinyt began to speak.

“This is Governor Quaeryt … and Lady Vaelora as well. I’m Meinyt, major in command of Third Battalion, Third Tilboran Regiment.”

“Thank the Namer you’re here, Governor, Major. You, too, Lady. We barely have enough men to keep the rabble from overrunning the gates. It’s been that way for near-on two weeks, ever since the other regiment left.”

“The rabble?” asked Vaelora coolly.

“Many of those who had the means began to leave weeks ago, Lady. Those that survived the eruption and the floods, that is. The rest…” Zhrensyl shook his head.

“What about the holders farther from the city?” asked Quaeryt.

“They just retreated behind their walls. They can hold off planting for a few weeks. They hoped that Lord Bhayar would send another force.” The commander glanced toward the now-closed gates. “We had hoped…”

“There are two more battalions and the engineers following,” Quaeryt replied to the unspoken inquiry. “We had to leave them to rebuild the bridge in Gahenyara in order to allow the rest of the supply and engineering wagons to pass. How are your provisions?”

“We have field rations for two regiments for another month. Little else.”

“And water?”

“So far the springs remain clear and cool.”

“What about fodder or grain?”

“Less than a month for a regiment.”

“We’ll need to plan how we can get more provisions here and more food to the city.”

“There needs to be order. I have not had the men…”

“Commander … unless people see that there is food, the only order that will exist is that imposed by the edge of a sabre, and that order will only remain while the sabre is unsheathed and ready to wield.”

Quaeryt’s words were quiet, but the commander involuntarily took a step back.

“For the moment,” added Quaeryt with a smile, “we need to get the men and their mounts settled and everyone fed.”

“For you and Lady Vaelora … we only have the senior officers’ quarters … since the palace and governor’s house…”

“Those will be fine.” Especially after all the places we’ve slept along the way.

“They will,” added Vaelora with a smile.

“Ah … the officers’ stables are the ones at the end…”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt turned to Meinyt. “We’ll need to talk with the commander after we eat.” Then he looked at Vaelora, and the two eased their mounts forward toward the stables.

Almost two quints later, Quaeryt and Vaelora stood inside the senior officers’ quarters, located at the west end on the top floor of an old black stone building holding quarters for squad leaders and officers. The quarters consisted of a sitting room, a bath chamber and jakes, and a bedchamber, much smaller than the apartments Quaeryt and Vaelora had occupied in Tilbora, and yet far more spacious than anything in which they had stayed since then.

As the door closed behind the ranker who had carried two of their bags, in addition to the kit bags each had lugged up from the stable, the pleasant smile dropped from Vaelora’s face, replaced by an expression of concern. “How do you feel, dearest?”

“Just a touch of a headache, and it’s going away.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“I saw what you did,” Vaelora persisted. “Every time you do strong imaging, it takes effort on your part.”

“Unfortunately, it does. But everything in the world takes strength of some sort.”

“But there are different kinds of strength. Waterwheels work without horses or people pushing them.”

“And sails on ships,” he added. Could there be any way to have the wind or water add force to imaging? Or something like that? He shook his head. That seemed improbable. Most improbable.

After a moment he smiled. “The commander said that there was warm water in the bath chamber.”

“You are so gallant.”

Just hopeful. “I do try, dear.”

21

Despite what Commander Zhrensyl had said about rations, the evening meal at the officers’ mess consisted of a mutton stew with root vegetables and potatoes and fresh-baked bread, as did the fare for the other two battalions, served in the troops’ mess at the west end of the compound. In a slight break with tradition, Vaelora also ate with the officers, at a long table that could have held fifty, instead of the sixteen who were seated there, most of whom were undercaptains and captains. The chamber itself was oblong and paneled in oak that had aged into a deep golden brown, as had the slightly battered if well-polished table and the straight-backed chairs.

After the meal, once the junior officers had been dismissed and departed, Zhrensyl, Meinyt, Fhaen, Quaeryt, and Vaelora reseated themselves around the end of the table, with Quaeryt seated at the head.

“The people need food, but commandeering it from the surrounding lands isn’t advisable, except as a very last resort.” Quaeryt turned to the commander. “Do you know what happened to the provincial treasury?”

“No, sir,” replied Zhrensyl. “I imagine it’s buried under all that ash and lava. Almost no one escaped from the first ash storm.”

Fhaen raised his eyebrows, but did not speak.

“The ash came down like the worst rain anyone had ever seen. That’s what the handful who escaped said.” Zhrensyl went on. “It swept down the mountainside and buried almost everything in its path-the palace, the command base, the governor’s building and quarters. The lava came later.”

“Just ash?” asked Fhaen.

“It wasn’t just ash, Major. There was a massive thunderclap, and the ground shook. Then a wall of ash