Princeps

distance.

At the next cross street, he looked northwest, but the lava still blocked the way, although the amount appeared noticeably less-and lower. After three more blocks, they could turn north once again, but an almost stifling heat permeated the streets, certainly one reason why those begging for food had gathered farther south.

“Not so chill now, dearest, is it? It’s too bad we couldn’t take the warmth back to those poor people on the south side of town. If only their problem were just keeping warm.”

Quaeryt nodded, wondering if he could even do imaging in the heat. He frowned. There was something in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t recall what it was.

Did you read something somewhere about using heat? Smiths and metal workers use heat all the time to form and shape metal. You’re able to image things from one place to another? What about heat? Or would that just exhaust you? He didn’t know, but he knew that he’d have to be very careful, whatever he tried.

At the next cross street, he looked uphill, but there was lava two blocks up. Another block farther on, and the street was clear. They rode uphill.

“The governor’s square is only about four blocks that way.” Vaelora pointed in the direction of Mount Extel, roughly west-northwest.

“The question is how close we can get to it and in a place where the lava isn’t too high and is cool enough to approach.”

“You don’t want much, dearest, do you?”

“Not at all,” he replied pleasantly. “Not at all.”

Almost a glass later, after weaving back and forth, and up an alleyway to another cross street and then back south, Quaeryt and Vaelora rode along a street that, from what he could tell, had been covered with hard ash to a depth of more than a yard. While grayish ash or dust puffed up with each step of their mounts, the ash was hard- packed enough that the horses’ hooves only sank into it a digit or so.

Finally, they reined up about ten yards back from an irregular mound of black rock that stretched roughly level across an open space, but the hardened lava directly before them was certainly not deep enough to have covered any buildings. While the hardened lava rose gradually from where it ended before them until it was high enough to engulf buildings, at the lowest point near them the black stone was a good yard above the packed ash.

“This is the east side of the square … I think.” Vaelora looked around, then gestured. “It has to be. There’s the old southeast tower of the palace. All the rest of it … well … not quite.”

Following her outstretched arm, at first, all Quaeryt could see was black stone and more black stone, out of which rose the one tower. Then he looked more intently before he made out a section of wall joining the tower, but the wall looked blackened. He frowned. It wasn’t blackened. The stones were black. He wanted to shake his head.

Exactly from what did you think all the black stone buildings were constructed?

“The tower stands out because the stone there is much older and something happened to it long ago. Grandmere told me that once when I was little, but I don’t remember exactly why that was.”

Quaeryt dropped his eyes to what remained of the square, and looking more intently, some fifty yards away, he could make out the black stone corner and slate roof of a building not entirely covered by lava-except that he was only a few yards below the top of the uncovered roof. Slowly, he eased the mare forward, but the heat didn’t seem as intense as it had in other places in the city. Was that because the ash and lava had struck the palace and the square first and the later molten rock had flowed around them?

He turned in the saddle. “Squad Leader, if you’d have the scouts and a few others, as you see fit, ride back to the others and then guide them here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt then dismounted and handed the mare’s reins to Vaelora.

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

The first thing Quaeryt did was walk along the irregular edge of the lava, trying to gauge where it was the coolest and where it was the hottest. He did not quite touch the stone, but it didn’t radiate much heat … anywhere. So he went back to the mare and took his water bottle, filled with watered lager, out of its holder and uncorked it. He walked along the stone again, flicking water at the rugged black surface, but the liquid remained. Only then did he touch the stone. While it was warm, it was not uncomfortably so, but he had no doubt that beneath the hard surface, there were places where the stone was far, far hotter.

He returned to where the hardened lava was the lowest and, taking the staff, pressed one iron-capped end against the top of the stone. The warm rock did not yield. So he jumped up, careful to concentrate on lifting his bad leg, so much so that he almost lost his balance before straightening on the rough surface, but the staff helped. He began to walk toward the lava-swathed building, one step at a time, testing the rock before him with the staff.

While he could sense greater warmth as the rock thickened as he climbed up the rock until he reached the uncovered stone corner of the building and the slate roof above it, the increase in heat was not that great. He bent over and lowered his hand to just above the solidified lava. It was warmer than he’d thought, almost warm enough to cook on. His boots were thick enough that they protected his feet.

He’d hoped that there would have been somewhere that they could have used picks to chip away the lava down to the ash, but especially given the heat of the lava under the crust, he could see that the easiest way to enter the building would be through the wall, and that might well be difficult with the limited tools they had brought.

He turned and walked back across the warm stone, very carefully. He could see that edges in places were sharp enough to slice through clothing and flesh.

Vaelora looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

“I think we can get in, but it won’t be easy.”

Before that long the rest of the company and the wagon and cart arrived, and Quaeryt accompanied several burly rankers with picks across the hardened lava to the exposed section of wall, choosing the lowest black building stone that was completely free of lava. If Jhalyt’s hand-drawn map was accurate, and he was reading it correctly, behind the stone was a narrow chamber that had held file chests.

“We’ll have to use the picks to chip out the mortar.” He pointed to the first ranker and stepped back. “You start.”

“Yes, sir.”

The ranker took aim and swung, but the pick hit stone, rather than mortar, and rebounded. With a second swing, the ranker hit the mortar, but again the pick bounced away, leaving only the smallest scratch.

“Let me try,” said Quaeryt. “If you’d stand back.” He aimed the pick at the thin line of mortar and swung. Right as the pick struck he imaged away some of the mortar, leaving a deep line between the two stones.

“How…?”

After another swing, and removing more mortar, he handed the pick back to the ranker from whom he had taken it. “You try it now.”

Bit by bit, Quaeryt watched and quietly imaged away mortar, trying to draw strength from somewhere, as the rankers, with his unnoticed help, cut away the support for one stone and then another, until, after almost a glass, two sagged perceptibly. It took another half glass before they could pull the two free, only to reveal charred wooden lathe.

Quaeryt nodded. “Now the next two stones.”

It was close to midday before enough stones had been removed for a man to climb through-assuming that the lathe didn’t front more stonework.

“Bring up a sledge!” As Quaeryt waited for the sledge, he realized two things. He didn’t have a headache, and that the lava around where the men worked seemed noticeably cooler. Had his efforts to draw strength from elsewhere worked? They must have, but why? Was that why the lava was cooler?

He frowned. When he’d done imaging in the cold rain during the battles with the hill holders, on at least one occasion he’d been pelted with ice when he’d seen rain all around himself. They must be connected. But how?