Antiagon Fire (11 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“It should run from one end to the other, but how high should the stone be?”

“About a digit below the bottom of the lowest course of the stonework on each side.”

Quaeryt studied the gash, and the hundred or so yards between the undamaged canal walls, thinking. Then, he reached out into the lands to the south of the canal, lands he hoped had been warmed by the weak autumn sun during the morning. Carefully, he visualized a smooth stone footing, filling the lower trench, and stretching from one wall to the other.

A flash of light and a wave of chill swept over the group, and a slight feeling of dizziness struck Quaeryt … and passed. He looked across the empty canal at the smooth expanse of gray stone, then at the sparkling ice and frost stretching southward across the stubbled fields beyond the canal for close to half a mille. After taking a deep breath, he said to Neusyn, “That will have to warm up, I think, before the others begin to image the walls back in place.”

The captain swallowed. “As you say, Commander.”

Quaeryt looked to the undercaptains. “We all need a break, and some rations, before we go back to work on the walls.”

In the later part of the afternoon, after a break of nearly a glass, Quaeryt directed the undercaptains in their imaging to replace the stonework, then the clay, and finally the berm. They did not finish until well after fourth glass. While they made ready to return to the regiments, Quaeryt and Neusyn walked the several hundred yards to the small canal house. The weathered canalman was standing outside, waiting.

“The repairs are finished,” Quaeryt said.

“Sir … never seen anything like that,” said the weathered canalman, looking westward at the stonework, then back at the commander.

“It’s not something imagers usually do,” replied Quaeryt, “but Lord Bhayar needs the Great Canal in working order. I don’t think you should open the locks and emergency water gates for another glass or so.” Quaeryt was being cautious, but he couldn’t help but worry that some of the material might be chill and should warm before coming in contact with water.

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Quaeryt nodded, then headed over to where the mare and the undercaptains were mounting up.

On the ride back to the canal boats and first company, Quaeryt took some time imaging the dried mud off his trousers, but being careful not to image away any of the fabric. When he finished, he realized that he was tired, but only physically so, and that he was having no trouble with his shields. That was good, especially after imaging a massive section of stone into place.

“Well?” said Vaelora when Quaeryt returned. She wrinkled her nose. “What…?”

“Canal mud. It’s not exactly perfume. I imaged away the worst of it.”

“How bad was it?”

“One of Kharst’s engineers cut corners…” He went on to explain what had happened and what he and the other imagers had been forced to do, then finished, “It will likely be tomorrow afternoon before the springs refill this section of the canal, and we’ll have to wait until at least some of the cargo boats—”

“Why do we have to wait?”

“Because they’re all jammed up at the locks in Eluthyn. We couldn’t get through until they’ve moved.” Before Vaelora could say more, he went on. “Since we’re going to be here for another day, we might as well visit Eluthyn tomorrow. The locals should be getting used to a Telaryn force of some size by now. There might even be an inn with decent fare.” He paused. “I do think that the accommodations here are likely to be better than in the town.”

“In that, dearest, I would agree, but it would be nice to see more than water and canal walls and fields and small towns.”

“We can manage that.”

Vaelora smiled.

10

Quaeryt woke up with a start, lying on his back. He could not move, except to breathe, and his breath was a thin white cloud above him that crystallized into fine needles of ice that stabbed at the flesh of his face as they solidified and fell. The chill seeped over him like ice water, but without any sense of wetness as it bit into his exposed flesh.

Standing in the ice mist facing him were white figures, assemblages of bones, angular skeletons. The sightless eyeholes of the skulls looked at him, accusingly. As he lay there, Quaeryt became aware that standing on each side of where he lay were men in the blue-gray uniforms of Bovaria. Each Bovarian trooper was coated in ice, and each stared down at him, as if to demand a reason why he stood there, frozen and immobile.

“No…” Quaeryt could barely choke out the words. “No…”

Then … the skeletons and the ice-covered troopers faded away, and Quaeryt lay in the icy sheets of the wide bed in the canal boat’s sleeping chamber, with Vaelora’s arms and warmth around him.

“Dearest … dearest…”

“I’m here,” mumbled Quaeryt.

“The windows … They’re coated with ice.” Vaelora wrapped her arms even more tightly around Quaeryt. “Another terrible dream, dearest?”

“I was frozen in ice … again. This time … there were skeletons, bones of ice, and they were all looking at me.”

“Bones, skeletons?”

“Yesterday, when we repaired the canal, we discovered bones, bones of the workers who died building it and who were buried under the walls and the bottom of the canal.”

“You didn’t say anything about that last night.”

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to think about it.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with them.”

“No … but I couldn’t help thinking about how they died for a purpose. Have the thousands I’ve killed, more than those Kharst and his sire killed in building the canal, died for any real purpose?”

“You can’t think that way, dearest. You can’t.”

“I keep telling myself that. I keep saying I’ve had to do what I’ve done, but sometimes I’m not very good at persuading my dreams to consider things that way.” Quaeryt shivered.

“Thousands would have died if you hadn’t done what you did. In the end, it might have gone the other way, and thousands more in Telaryn might have died. Bhayar is far more merciful than Kharst ever was. Neither he nor Father nor Grandsire killed thousands to build canals. They didn’t employ assassins to kill uncooperative High Holders.”

Quaeryt sat up slowly, looking around the sleeping cabin. The frost that had coated the inside of the shutters and the paneled walls was beginning to melt, but the air was still far cooler than it should have been, even in late fall. “Are you all right?”

“Me? I’m fine.” She paused. “Are you?”

“I will be … thanks to you.” He turned and put his arms around her.

Somewhat later, after Quaeryt had stopped shivering and both were dressed, they sat across from each other at the narrow table in the salon, sipping tea and finishing the remnants of egg toast drizzled with an apple-berry syrup.

“I wonder how Skarpa is doing in finding supplies in Eluthyn,” mused Quaeryt.

“He won’t be having that much difficulty. It would be rather hard for factors to deny someone with nine regiments.” She paused. “Didn’t you get a message while I was dressing?”

“I did. It just said that he had established quarters in the north of Eluthyn and that the town was calm. The factors wouldn’t cause problems, but purchasing their supplies could be hard on the town if there aren’t High Holders with supplies. I should have mentioned that. Then…”

“Then what?”

“Purchasing supplies from either holders or factors will drive the costs of goods up here, no matter how it’s done.”

“There are costs to war that no ruler can pay.” Vaelora smiled. “I have no doubts Submarshal Skarpa will have done what he can, dearest. If he hasn’t, you can always go to the High Holders. You have a way with them.”

Quaeryt made a sour face. “Just another form of coercion.”

“All power is a form of coercion,” she pointed out.

“It is,” he agreed, “but the problem is that you can’t get much done without power, and the less power you use, in whatever form, the longer it takes to get things done. The more you use, the more likely people are going to get hurt or killed.”

“Sometimes, using more quickly hurts fewer people than not acting.” She looked at him. “A man who doesn’t act can claim he didn’t do anything to hurt people, but what happens if more people die because he doesn’t want blood on his hands?”

“I understand that argument all too well, dear. It’s why I have nightmares.”

“No … you have nightmares because you understand the costs of power. Those who don’t sleep soundly. You’ve often wondered why Bhayar is up so early every day. It’s because he worries himself awake.”

Quaeryt hadn’t even considered that, he had to admit.

“Now … dearest … shall we prepare to ride to Eluthyn?”

By way of an answer, Quaeryt stood and extended his hand to Vaelora.

Two quints later, as they rode westward on the towpath, escorted by first squad from first company, Quaeryt looked at the canal water level, which seemed to be almost as high as it had been before the breach—until they reached the closed water gate. While water was filling the space between the easternmost lock and the water gate, it was less than a yard deep, needing another yard before it reached a level equal with that behind the emergency water gate to the east.

Before long, they began to ride past more and more cots set in the fields, both to the north and the south of the canal, and then the towpath was bordered by warehouses and factorages, stretching for the several hundred yards leading to the first lock just east of where the canal crossed the Phraan River. The water level remained about a yard deep, and most of the canal boats tied to the bollards on the canal wall tilted slightly one way or the other, indicating that the water had not yet risen enough to lift them off the bottom of the canal.

They rode up the ramps beside the two locks, both empty of boats, and then to where the canal crossed the Phraan River. The river was narrower than even the canal, and Kharst’s engineers had resolved the problem of crossing the river simply. They’d just created a stone culvert under the canal, so that where the canal crossed the river, it was effectively a stone tube above the culvert.

To the west of the river, the canal widened to almost twenty yards across for close to half a mille, and canal boats were tied end to end and two deep for most of that distance. A hundred yards ahead, a large stone plaza extended north from the canal towpath, and beyond it a wide paved boulevard, the first paved street or road Quaeryt had seen since leaving Variana. He gestured to the squad leader and Vaelora, then turned the mare north and led the others across the plaza. Because it was Samedi, a market day, there were carts and stalls and vendors set up all around the plaza. Quaeryt also noted more than a few men in the garb of boatmen, but that was to be expected, given that Eluthyn was a stop on the canal and that more than the normal number of canal boats were tied up because of the breach in the canal.

More than a few people glanced at the uniformed riders, particularly those closer to the center of the plaza as they edged back from the armed troopers, but most soon looked away once it was clear that the riders were passing through the plaza.

“They don’t seem terribly worried,” said Vaelora quietly.

“Most likely because of the way Skarpa handled things.” Quaeryt’s words were supported by the fact that he saw no Telaryn patrols riding the boulevard. If the people in Eluthyn had accepted Bhayar’s rule, patrols were not called for unless there were disturbances.

Beyond the plaza the boulevard gradually narrowed, although there remained enough space for several wagons abreast. The shops and crafting establishments that stood back of the wide stone sidewalks were modest, but well kept. Quaeryt noticed two coppersmiths in the space of a long block, as well as a silversmith.

“You! The Telaryn officer!”

Quaeryt turned and reined up the mare, gesturing for the squad to halt. Then he rode over to a gray stone building on the east side of the boulevard, roofed with gray slate, old enough that the slate tiles were green with moss in places. There on the limestone steps stood a heavyset man in a stylish gray coat and matching trousers.

“You had a question?” asked Quaeryt, looking at the older man, who was likely half a head taller than Quaeryt himself.

“What are you doing here? You and all the other Telaryn troops? The war’s over, isn’t it? We agreed to accept your lord’s rule.”

“You haven’t heard?” asked Quaeryt mildly. “Although Lord Bhayar defeated Rex Kharst at Variana over a month ago, not all parts of Bovaria have been as agreeable as you have. As for why we’re here, we’re in the vanguard of the Southern Army headed for Ephra. Some regiments will be posted there to watch Autarch Aliaro’s forces. Some others will be heading to the lands that were once Khel, since they have not yet agreed to Lord Bhayar’s terms. The troopers here will not remain long, most likely only another day … unless there are severe storms.” Quaeryt smiled politely. “Might I ask your name, sir?”

“My name is mine, not yours.”

Quaeryt refrained from sighing. While image-projecting both absolute authority and well-meaning friendliness, he spoke again. “I certainly mean you no harm, sir, but as an officer of Lord Bhayar, I cannot accept the way in which you replied. So I will offer my name and ask once more for yours. I am Commander Quaeryt Rytersyn, in command of the Eleventh and Nineteenth Regiments. You are?”

The large man paled slightly, then swallowed. “Grekial D’Factorius, Commander.”

“Thank you. I wish you well, Factor Grekial. Good day.” With a nod Quaeryt turned the mare and rode back to where he rejoined Vaelora.

“You were powerfully mannered, dearest,” she murmured.

“I wish I had not been required to do so.”

“He will remember both your power and your forbearance.”

Quaeryt certainly hoped so.

After several blocks the shops gave way to two-story dwellings, and then to those of one story, and before long they were nearing what looked to be the northern end of Eluthyn proper. Ahead was a squad of Telaryn troopers, heading southward, with an undercaptain in the lead.

“Commander! Sir!” The undercaptain rode forward and reined up as Quaeryt signaled his own troopers to a halt.