Princeps

the villa. On the south side of the avenue, behind a low wall, were several peach trees. Quaeryt nodded and reined the mare to a halt. Then, mentally reaching out to the peach trees, he imaged pitricin into Lysienk’s brain and waited, still holding the concealment.

Lysienk raised his hand, the one not holding the reins, toward his forehead, then tried to speak. He began to convulse, then collapsed forward in the saddle against the neck of the gelding, which stepped sideways. Two of the guards moved toward him. The other two turned their mounts, looking everywhere.

“Something’s happened!”

“He’s dying, I tell you.”

“How can he be? There’s no one around.”

Quaeryt continued to wait silently, until the four were completely involved in dealing with the dead factor. Then he eased the mount around and rode back eastward. When he reached the side street on which the villa was located, he turned the mount north for several yards, then edged next to a fir, where, after looking around and seeing no one, he released the concealment shield, then rode back out to the avenue. From there, he rode eastward and rejoined the two rankers.

“I forgot something I had to do,” was all he said.

He kept thinking about Lysienk.

Having killed Lysienk wouldn’t bring back Andryt or all the others the imager-factor had harmed or killed, but it would stop those kinds of abuses, and it also would stop Lysienk from creating unsavory rumors about imagers and giving them a bad reputation.

Good points, but are they enough? No … but what are the alternatives? He’s killed more than a few factors, never leaving any traces … and waiting will only result in more deaths. Still …

For the moment he pushed away those thoughts, not that they would remain absent, he knew.

The events of the petitioners’ hearing had confirmed Quaeryt’s desire to find a competent and honest justicer as soon as possible, and as soon as he arrived at the post, he had quick meetings with Skarpa, Heireg, and Jhalyt. Then, with an escort squad, he left the post immediately, riding westward toward Mynawal, in order to meet with Bieryn Blaksyn, the “young” advocate that Aextyl had recommended as a possible justicer. Although he passed close to where he had killed Lysienk, he saw no sign of the guards or that they had even been on the avenue.

Why was that so easy? Because Lysienk never thought he’d encounter another imager?

Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. He’d killed men before … too many, but it had been in battle or when he’d been attacked. That’s not true. What about the patrol chief and patrollers in Nacliano? They had tried to kill him, and they had burned the scholarium and killed scholars … So why did his murder of Lysienk bother him? The man had used imaging to kill others. He’d been corrupt and abused power.

Was it because there were no checks on either him or Lysienk? Most likely … and that suggests that imagers need a system to patrol themselves, both to protect others and themselves. That was yet another problem, and he kept mulling it over, now and again, all throughout the ride.

As he neared his destination, he wondered why an advocate would be located in a small town some fifteen milles from Extela-until he reached the edge of Mynawal, some two glasses later, and discovered that while it was no city, it was not a small town, but a thriving place set on a slightly raised plateau above the groves and fields that surrounded it. From what he saw as he rode down the main street, careful to maintain his imaging shields, Mynawal must have contained several thousand people. While that answered one question, it also made locating the advocate somewhat more time-consuming, requiring a number of inquiries along the main street until he finally received a satisfactory one.

“Bieryn Blaksyn? Oh … the advocate fellow? The next block down, second door, past the silversmith’s.” The cooper, who had been lifting a barrel into a wagon, looked at Quaeryt. “You must be an important scholar, sir, to have such following you.”

“There are those who think so. Thank you.” Quaeryt smiled and urged the mare forward.

The directions appeared to be accurate. At least, there was a narrow building without a signpost past the almost equally small shop of the silversmith. Quaeryt dismounted, handed the mare’s reins to a ranker, walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

A young man, barely out of schooling, stood from behind a table desk where he had been copying something in the small front room with single closed door at the rear. Several chairs were lined up against the front wall, on each side of the narrow window.

“Sir…” The young clerk looked past Quaeryt to the squad of uniformed troopers lined up in the street. “Sir?”

“I’m Governor Quaeryt, and I’m here to see Bieryn Blaksyn.”

The young man looked at the troopers in the street, then swallowed. “I’ll … I’ll tell him you’re here, sir.”

The clerk hurried to the door behind him, opened it, stepped through, and closed it behind himself. Through the not-so-heavy walls, Quaeryt could make out some of the words that followed.

“… says he’s … governor … score of troopers outside…”

“… tell you why…?”

“… just to see you…”

The door reopened, and the clerk stood there, holding it open for Quaeryt. “Sir…”

“Thank you.”

When Quaeryt stepped into the small study beyond, he took a quick glance around, noting the plain desk, the file chests neatly stacked against one wall, and the two bookcases, only one of which held volumes, the other of which contained two miniatures and several stacks of papers. Two wooden and unupholstered armchairs faced the desk. Beside the desk stood a neatly dressed angular man who looked to be five years or so older than Quaeryt and a few digits shorter.

“Governor … I don’t have comfortable chairs.”

“These will be fine.” Quaeryt could sense the door closing quietly behind him as he took one of the chairs and waited for Bieryn to seat himself before continuing. “You might know why I’m here, Advocate Bieryn.”

“Justicer Aextyl wrote me. I can’t say as I believed him.”

“Why not?”

“Most justicers are either the sons of High Holders or their relations … or they have … ties … to the governor.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. The only justicer I’ve heard of or met with a reputation for honesty is Justicer Aextyl. He declined to accept a position as justicer because his health is not good. I asked him who he would recommend. He named you.”

“That was kind of him.”

“Kind? I doubt it. From what I’ve seen, it’s a mostly thankless job, especially for an honest justicer.”

“For a governor who’s looking for a justicer, you’re not that encouraging,” replied Bieryn dryly.

“I’d rather not be falsely encouraging.”

“I don’t know that I’d be that interested.”

“The compensation isn’t exorbitant.” Quaeryt knew, having checked with Jhalyt. “Historically, it’s been between a gold and two golds a week. At present, the amount of time devoted to hearings amounts to less than half a day twice a week. That will doubtless increase, but by how much I cannot say.”

“Justicer Tharyn disposed of all his hearings in a half day once a week,” noted Bieryn.

Quaeryt laughed. “You know more than I do about what it would take. That’s why I’m here.”

“I just don’t know.” Bieryn shook his head.

“I won’t press you. I would like you to think about it for a week or so. Then we can talk again.”

“What do you want from a justicer, Governor?”

“Justice under the law … where possible. Sometimes, it’s not, as I’ve already discovered.”

“I heard about the hearing you held on Vhalsyr.”

“And?” asked Quaeryt.

“Under the law, you had no choice.” Bieryn smiled faintly. “Some justicers tend to impose what they believe is justice regardless of the law.”

“I’ve seen that elsewhere. In those instances, the law simply acts to facilitate the aims of the justicer or those who influence him, and before long, it offers no protection to the innocent and not even an attempt at justice