Rex Regis (23 page)

“Don’t push it, Quaeryt,” said Bhayar genially.

“Sir … have I ever not acted in your interests?”

“Just leave it at that.” Bhayar looked to Vaelora. “Try to keep him from acting in interests I don’t even know I have.”

“Yes, brother dearest.”

Bhayar offered a long and dramatic sigh. “Go … both of you.”

Neither Vaelora nor Quaeryt spoke until they were alone in the smallest of the studies they had taken for their ministry, the one with a desk and a conference table. Quaeryt had insisted that the desk was Vaelora’s.

Vaelora looked at her husband. “What are you going to do first today?”

“As I told your brother, start working to turn the isle of piers into the grounds for the Collegium Imago.”

“Bhayar hasn’t approved the name…”

“I’m not using it except with you and him until he does.” Quaeryt smiled. “He will.”

“So long as you keep yourself safe and don’t try something like the other day.”

“I won’t.”

Vaelora looked at him firmly.

“I promise.”

“Can you finish surveying and hand things over to the imagers?”

“I haven’t even started because we were working on the roads and the entrances to the Chateau Regis.”

“I think he’s right.”

“I’ll see what I can do today and early tomorrow.”

She nodded, then slipped her arms around him for a moment.

Even so, in less than a third of a quint, Quaeryt was mounted and riding toward the headquarters holding with half a squad, and by a quint past eight glass, Quaeryt, the imagers, and Elsior, and the duty company were at the bridge to the isle of piers.

Imagisle … in time,
thought Quaeryt,
you hope.

“Lhandor … a gate in your grillwork, please.”

“Yes, sir.” The Pharsi undercaptain concentrated but briefly, and a set of double gates replaced a section of the iron grillwork.

One of the duty company rankers rode forward and swung the gates wide.

“Company! Forward.”

At the end of the bridge Quaeryt called another halt and turned in the saddle. “Elsior! Forward.”

The Pharsi trainee from Liantiago rode forward. “Yes, sir?”

“See what you can do to create a causeway from the end of the bridge down to that ruin of a road.”

“Yes, sir!” Elsior straightened in the saddle and concentrated.

White mist appeared at the end of the bridge, extending perhaps five yards. When it cleared, there was a stretch of paved causeway. The young imager frowned, then wiped his brow.

“It’s harder than it looks,” observed Quaeryt mildly. “Have some lager from your bottle and a biscuit. I’ll do a little stretch and then you can try again.”

“Yes, sir.”

All in all, it took two quints to finish the fifty yards of the causeway, with Quaeryt alternating with the young trainee. When it was done, Elsior was pale and shaking, and that was fine with Quaeryt, because that kind of stressful imaging was what it took to strengthen any imager. After that, as he rode down the last section of the newly imaged causeway toward the warren of rubbish behind the ruined buildings fronting the river and the sagging piers, Quaeryt could immediately see that the destruction was far worse than he had thought. Nearly all the warehouses either were roofless or their roofs had collapsed onto empty and sagging interiors, as if most had been abandoned years before. In a few places he could see charred timbers and signs of a fire, but even the charred sections of wood had faded into a dark gray.

He turned to Baelthm, riding beside him. “It doesn’t look like the isle’s been used in years.”

“No, sir. I’d wager that it flooded too much.” The older imager pointed to the northeast. “That section over there … looks like it’s only a few yards above the water.”

“Then we’ll just have to deepen the river on each side and image the spoil onto the isle.”

Quaeryt turned in the saddle and grinned at Lhandor and Khalis. “That will keep you both in practice … and strengthen Elsior and the student imagers.”

For a moment Lhandor looked stricken, until he glanced at Khalis, who had grinned back at Quaeryt and said, “Yes, sir, but what do you want us to do with the cataract that will create at the north end of the isle?”

“Maybe we’ll have to widen the channel, too,” replied Quaeryt with a smile. “We need to ride north and see how bad it is. Keep sketching any ideas you have, Lhandor.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt gestured and then urged the gelding forward.

Riding to the northern end of the isle, a good mille from the bridge, took a good half glass, just because of the need to image rubbish and rubble out of what had once been a road or a lane behind the abandoned buildings on the west side. As Quaeryt had surmised, though, the last quarter mille or so sloped upward to the rocky outcrops that had partly protected the southern section of the isle from being eroded completely by the River Aluse.

He reined up short of the rough ground that held no structures and surveyed the back side of the granite ramparts he had earlier imaged. From what he could tell, they were solid enough. “We’ll head back along what passes for a lane on the east side.” He turned the black gelding.

The east side of the isle was even more dilapidated than the west side had been. At the lowest point, roughly a third of the way south, the floodwaters had apparently earlier flowed over the isle embankment, and then receded to leave a small pool.

“We’ll definitely have to build up this part of the isle,” said Quaeryt.

“You want me to do some of that now, sir?” asked Horan from where he rode behind Khalis and Lhandor.

“Not right now. You’ll have enough to do shortly.”

Near the southern tip of the isle on slightly higher ground to the west, they came to the ruin of the anomen, standing between two tumbledown buildings that might once have been warehouses of some sort.

“Sorry-looking anomen,” observed Baelthm.

Quaeryt studied the building. Despite the years, or possibly century or more of neglect, the tan stone walls appeared solid, and behind the heavy sagging beams that blocked the entrance, the ironbound, age-darkened, double oak doors looked sturdy. The roof tiles were chipped and cracked, but most appeared still in place, if most precariously. “It’s held up well against time and neglect. As you can, Baelthm, I’d like you to take charge of restoring it. You’ll need to call on the others to help, but we do have a chorister now, and he should have a proper anomen.”

“I can see that, sir.”

The only other buildings Quaeryt judged worth saving were a pair of newer and very solid long warehouses near the south end of the isle, but north and east of the anomen, and south of the new bridge. As with the anomen, they were located on somewhat higher ground and looked to be able to be converted into good barracks.

Once he completed his informal survey, Quaeryt gathered the imagers, as well as the company captain and the squad leaders, then began to outline the plan for the remainder of the day. “Most of the buildings aren’t worth saving, except for the two stone warehouses and the anomen, and most of the ground is lower than it should be. We’ll begin by clearing the south end of the isle, except for the anomen and the two warehouses. You’re to flatten the buildings into small pieces but not to remove the pieces because we’ll need all the fill we can find. After that, we’ll see where we need to build up the isle the most…” He went on to explain before turning to Lhandor. “You’ll likely have to modify the plans you drew earlier because I want you to work with me-as we can-on a plan for the entire isle.” At the looks that crossed the imagers’ faces, Quaeryt smiled. “No … we won’t be doing all that this week or the next, but we need a plan so that we don’t have to do things over…”

By the time fourth glass had approached, every structure on the isle, except the three buildings, had been reduced to fill, not that it had taken as much effort as Quaeryt had thought it might because most of the buildings would have collapsed before long anyway.

“That’s more than enough for today!”

As the tired imagers and troopers rode off the west end of the bridge, Quaeryt could see people watching from the east side of the old river road. Those nearest the bridge eased away quickly.

For all their trepidation, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder how long that deference would last.
A few years after the last building is in place-unless we do something else massive and mighty.

He didn’t shake his head as he led the column toward the north road.

Quaeryt didn’t sleep all that well Jeudi evening, what with visions of Imagisle flitting through his dreams, and with unseen imagers imaging away buildings as soon as they were constructed … not to mention a raging flood that inundated everything. He woke up with a start and covered in sweat. Beside him, Vaelora was asleep, apparently peacefully. He eased the sheet away and just lay there cooling off, trying to compose himself, mentally going over the code of laws that he and Vaelora had begun putting together. He wished he had the treatise on law and justicing that he’d briefly borrowed from Aextyl, the old high justicer of Montagne, who had helped him so much before his death … a death, Quaeryt recalled with bittersweet clarity, for which he had been blamed, even while the dead justicer’s family had been appreciative of all that Quaeryt had done for their father.

Still, with the centuries-old law code Vaelora had unearthed from somewhere, and from what they both recalled, they’d made a decent start on a basic code of laws for the land that Bhayar hoped would be Solidar before too long.

“What are you thinking?” asked Vaelora, breaking into Quaeryt’s reverie.

“About the law code. I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was … until you started sighing so loudly.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We both ought to be up-” Vaelora raised an arm. “That’s not what I meant.”

“After last night…” Quaeryt began suggestively.

“Last night was last night. We both have too much to do today.” Vaelora sat up in the wide bed.

Quaeryt tried hard not to look too closely.

“I said enough … dearest.”

The “dearest” was offered warmly enough that Quaeryt didn’t feel quite so rejected as he got up to wash and dress.

When they sat down to the cool breakfast delivered to their quarters, he looked to Vaelora. “Has your brother mentioned anything about Myskyl?”

She shook her head.

“I think I’ll tell him how we’re coming on Imagisle-”

“Don’t call it that yet.”

“I won’t, except to him. I can report and then ask about Myskyl.”

“He’ll know what you’re doing.”

“Of course. But he did ask to be kept informed.” Quaeryt ate a bite of the cool egg toast. The sweet syrup helped in getting it down, and the tea was at least warm.

Immediately after breakfast he made his way to Bhayar’s study, where Bhayar was looking out the west window.

“What is it now?” asked Bhayar.

“I just thought you’d like to know that we cleared all the ruined buildings from the isle of piers. There are two sturdy warehouses we can convert to barracks, and an old anomen that shows possibilities. The rest wasn’t worth saving. I’ve got Lhandor working on plans for the isle. We’ll have to build up parts of it so it doesn’t suffer in the spring floods.”

“You won’t have to be there all the time now, then?”

“I wouldn’t think so, but I’ll likely have to be there a bit of most days for a time to make sure things go as planned.”

“You didn’t when the chateau was rebuilt.”

“That was because Voltyr was there. He’s in Antiago. Once we get started here, though, I think Baelthm and Horan can keep matters in order.”

“Good.”

“Have you heard anything from Submarshal Myskyl?” Quaeryt asked.

“No … and neither has Deucalon.”

Or Deucalon says he hasn’t.
Quaeryt wasn’t about to verbalize that thought.

“Why are you so concerned? I didn’t hear anything from you and Vaelora all winter.”

“We were in Khel and in Antiago, much farther away, and it’s approaching summer, and you haven’t heard from Myskyl in more than two months.”

“What do you suggest I do? Send you to see what’s happened?”

It might not hurt.
“That’s your decision, sir.”

“I’ve thought about it … If there’s no word in another week, we’ll have to consider it.” Bhayar shook his head. “It’s not like Myskyl.”

To the contrary, it’s very like him. He only communicates when it suits him … or when he has to.
“That is a bit worrisome.”

“Quaeryt … I know you distrust Myskyl, but he has yet to prove that he is not to be trusted.”

He can be trusted to serve his own ends.
“For your sake, sir, I hope that such proof never occurs.”

“Enough. Just go on and get your isle in order so that you can spend time administering all the troubling details that are cropping up.”

“I will … but you could send some of them to Vaelora right now.”

“I already have, but I’d feel better with both of you working on them.” Bhayar paused. “When will you have the draft of that codex done?”

“In a few days, we hope.”

“What about tariff schedules?”

“We’re working those out as part of the code.”

“And the tariff notices?”

“There’s no way we can send those yet, but they’re not due until the end of Erntyn.”
Almost four months away.
“We don’t have enough dispatch riders yet, and no dispatch stations, and we’re still working on a census of High Holders. The ones we’ve met with know what’s expected, and what happened to those who didn’t pledge allegiance should encourage all of them to pay. The factors already know they have to send them in.”
Because we made that clear in every town through which we passed.