Quaeryt walked slowly toward Vaelora, who stood waiting in the limited shade offered by the single wagon. She held a water bottle.
“Are you all right?” asked Vaelora. “You look like something the Namer dragged in.” She handed him the bottle.
Quaeryt put it under one arm and handed her the casket. “Be careful. It’s filled with silvers. It didn’t have a lock. The five big chests did.” He took a long swallow of watered lager before replying. “It took some work to get into the strong room. I broke one lock with a sledge and picked the other two with the key you provided.” He pulled it from his jacket pocket and extended it to her. “It was very useful.”
“Especially since it was designed for my jewelry chest in Solis.” The hint of a smile crossed her lips. “You’re still pale. You need to drink more.”
“Yes, dear.” He wasn’t about to argue. His head still throbbed, and he could barely hold the light trigger shields.
“You also need to eat.” A biscuit followed her words.
“How many of those did you bring?” He took the offering and bit into it.
“As many as I could pry out of the cook. I had the feeling you’d need them. I was right.”
“You were indeed,” he mumbled through the biscuit crumbs. “Anyway, we did what we could. The chests might see us through for a while.”
“For a while. It takes so much…” She shook her head. “You know as well as anyone.”
“Unfortunately.”
Two quints later, the chests had been secured in the wagon and cart, and the company prepared to head back to the post. After Vaelora and Quaeryt mounted, he glanced at the square opening in the wall of the governor’s building. In all likelihood, in time, the upper floor would be stripped, but not for a while, but with what was likely contained in the chests, given their weight, he didn’t want to leave any rankers behind.
His eyes flicked to where the sun hung just over the jagged peaks nearly to the horizon on the far side of the vast valley that stretched westward from Extela almost as far as the eye could see-and where the most fertile lands lay.
Even so, obtaining the governor’s treasury, hard as it had seemed, was likely to be far less difficult than getting enough food for the city, the post, and the regiment would be.
“Dearest … what is it?” asked Vaelora as she eased the gelding forward and the column began the ride back southward to the post.
“I was thinking that this was the easiest part. It doesn’t deal with people.”
She nodded.
23
The company returned to the post just before sunset on Meredi … and without further incident-other than more of the poor begging for food. The chests were stored in the commander’s strong room. Quaeryt had reluctantly “unlocked” one to assure himself that it actually contained golds, and it did, more than five thousand at a quick estimation, although he and Jhalyt would have to count out the coin to the last copper before he could have the clerk set up the ledgers. He left the other four locked, since he had no keys to them and did not wish to break the locks and thus subject others to unnecessary temptation. The strong room was certainly not as secure as the governor’s had been, but far more accessible, reflected Quaeryt.
By Jeudi morning, the remnants of his headache had vanished, especially after breakfast, when he met with Commander Zhrensyl in his study. No sooner had Quaeryt seated himself across the table desk from the commander than the older man asked, “And how might I help you?”
“What happened to the Civic Patrol? There was one, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, sir. Their headquarters was on the south side of the governor’s square.”
Zhrensyl shrugged. “The chief lived in the northwest. I imagine he’s among those no longer with us. There are probably patrollers around, but…”
“You made no attempt to organize them?”
“That’s not my responsibility, sir, and I didn’t have the men. When Commander Huosyt came, he couldn’t even find any patrollers”
Quaeryt managed not to snap at the older man. After several other questions that established that Zhrensyl felt he had no responsibility beyond the post itself, Quaeryt decided not to frustrate himself further and asked, “What can you tell me about the High Holders to the west?”
“Not so much as the governor could have, sir.”
“Who purchases grain and food for the post?”
Zhrensyl frowned momentarily, as if the change in questions puzzled him.
Quaeryt waited.
“That’d be Major Heireg, sir. He’s in charge of supply and the quartermasters.”
“Then I’ll be talking to him after we finish here. Now…” Quaeryt paused, trying to conceal the fact that he wasn’t terribly impressed with the commander. “In your mind, who are the strongest and most powerful High Holders closest to Extela?”
“The nearest is High Holder Aramyn. His hold is five milles due west. Next is Wystgahl. He’s about twelve milles south on a hill overlooking the river. The next nearest is Thysor, but his lands are more into timber, and he’s to the east across the river.”
“Who might be the strongest of the High Holders?” Quaeryt kept his voice pleasant, although he was less than pleased.
“That’d be hard to say, sir.”
“What can you tell me about Aramyn?”
“I’ve never seen the High Holder, sir. Nor his place. I’d not wish to speculate on what I’ve not seen.”
“What about Wystgahl and Thysor?”
“I’ve not met either, sir.”
“Have you met any others?”
“No, sir. They’d be farther away.”
Quaeryt was about to excuse himself when one other question, one he’d wondered about intermittently since he’d arrived in Extela, occurred to him. “I noticed that the anomen was locked…”
“Ah … yes, sir. That’s because we’ve not a proper chorister. Well … not even an improper one, and there not being one, I felt it was best to secure the building. You wouldn’t have a regimental chorister coming, would you?”
“No. There’s no chorister with the regiment.” Quaeryt wasn’t about to get tangled up any more in providing homilies, especially given what he’d seen in Extela. For all that he’d said in the last homily he delivered-and he sincerely hoped it was indeed his last-he still had trouble reconciling a benevolent Nameless with the destruction wreaked on the city.
“That’s a pity. The officers and men were hoping…”
“I can understand that.” Quaeryt nodded as he stood. “Where might I find Major Heireg?”
“He has a study in the quartermaster’s spaces-the end of the south stable.”
“Thank you.”
Quaeryt returned to the smaller study he’d claimed and immediately summoned Meinyt and Fhaen. As soon as they arrived, he waved them into the two chairs.
“Part of the problem here is that the Civic Patrol chief is apparently dead, the headquarters was destroyed, and no one bothered to reorganize the patrol, since the chief reported to the governor. Major Meinyt … I’d like you to have one of your captains or undercaptains scout around for a suitable building, preferably empty, that can be used as a temporary space for the Civic Patrol, one where cells or the like can be quickly built. Once we have a building, some of the engineers, and any stone or masonry workers we can find, will convert it, and chief clerk Jhalyt will write up some notices requesting patrollers who wish to retain their positions meet there. The sooner we
