“I can ask no more.” Heskhaeld bowed, clearly mollified, but less than satisfied.
Quaeryt slipped toward Vaelora and handed her the goblet of wine.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“He wants to purchase lands from your brother…” Quaeryt explained quickly.
“At a ball?”
“I’m only a princeps,” Quaeryt said wryly. “He obviously felt the courtesies don’t apply to me.” Unlike Fhaedyrk.
“Lady Vaelora?”
They both turned to see another couple, neither of whom Quaeryt recognized, approaching.
The rest of the evening will be like this. Nonetheless, Quaeryt smiled.
13
Quaeryt had barely finished dressing on Solayi morning when the bells in their quarters rang so insistently that someone had to be yanking the bell-pull with either excessive enthusiasm or great urgency.
“Who can that be?” asked Vaelora.
“It’s not good. Not on Solayi morning.” Quaeryt turned and hurried down the private staircase to the access doors. He peered through the peephole and saw a squad leader he did not recognize standing there, most likely one on duty. Still, he raised his shields before opening the door. “Yes, Squad Leader?”
“Princeps, sir, the governor requests that you join him in his study at your earliest convenience.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there. You wouldn’t know what this is about?”
“No, sir.”
Quaeryt smiled politely and tried to use his imaging ability to project friendly and open curiosity.
“He did receive an urgent dispatch, but he didn’t say what was in it, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Quaeryt took the steps back up to their quarters two at a time and strode to their dressing room.
“What is it?”
“As I said, it’s not good. Straesyr just got a dispatch, and he wants to meet in his study immediately. The regular couriers never arrive on Solayi.”
“You’ll tell me?”
“As soon as I can. Save me some breakfast.”
“I can do that.”
Quaeryt bent over and kissed her neck, then made his way back down to the second level. When he reached the governor’s chambers, Quaeryt hurried in past the empty table desk where Undercaptain Caermyt usually sat. The governor did not rise from behind his desk, but motioned to the chairs. Straesyr was wearing an old set of winter greens, suitable for the chill of the study where the stove had not been fired up.
Quaeryt sat. “What’s the problem, sir?”
“There are several.” Straesyr’s mouth curled into a smile both sardonic and rueful. “Mount Extel … it erupted last week. A quarter of Extela is covered in lava…”
Vaelora’s grandmere’s foresight flash … Quaeryt repressed a shiver.
“… Kharst is rushing troops to Ferravyl, obviously wanting to attack if Lord Bhayar removes any forces there at present. Lord Bhayar wants you and his sister to leave immediately with Third Regiment for Extela. You’re to go to Extela and take over as temporary governor. Governor Scythn was killed by the flow of hot ash that preceded the lava. So were the princeps and most of their staff. I’m to send Second Regiment-somehow-to Ferravyl within two weeks of your departure.” He handed a single sheet of paper, sealed, to Quaeryt. “This was included for you.”
Quaeryt broke the seal and read quickly.
Quaeryt-
Extela was in chaos. I have a regiment there, but they need to return to Ferravyl before your arrival. Send a courier to Commander Zhrensyl when you’re two days away. You will be governor of Montagne province, and you and Vaelora will be my personal representatives there. Don’t neglect the safety of the people, but release as many companies from your regiment as soon as you can …
There was more, but the remainder of the missive expanded on the basic responsibilities laid on Quaeryt-and Vaelora.
“He’s sent a regiment there to keep order, but we’re to replace them, and Vaelora and I are supposed to use our presence to keep order so that most of Third Regiment can leave as soon as possible.” Quaeryt paused. “You probably knew that already.”
“In general terms.”
“How soon are we leaving?”
“Mardi-if it doesn’t snow.”
“I’ll send a messenger to Raurem and tell him to deliver whatever he can tomorrow. The rest can go for Second Regiment…”
For almost a glass, the two discussed what arrangements had to be made and which of them would do what.
Then Quaeryt headed back up to Vaelora to inform her before he went to deal with everything else.
Vaelora jumped up from where she sat at the table. “What did he want?”
“To tell me that your grandmere was right. He didn’t put it-”
“She was right about what?”
“You’ll need to pack up everything that will fit on a mount and in one trunk. Mount Extel erupted…” Quaeryt went on to explain.
When he paused, Vaelora asked, “What about the people? How many people were hurt?”
“A quarter of Extela was destroyed. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, are missing. They’re likely dead, especially with the flooding.”
“Flooding? In winter? Oh … the heat melted-”
“All the snow and ice at once,” he finished.
“Those poor people…” mused Vaelora. “That was what Grandmere said would happen.”
“Was she always right?”
“That was the only vision I know of that had not come to pass when she died. I don’t know what Bhayar expects of us…”
“I don’t know what we can do, either … but your brother expects us to make things better.”
“You’ll think of something.”
“We’ll think of something. Remember … your brother insisted you come, too.” He shook his head. “On top of it all, I need to give a homily at services tonight.”
“What?” Vaelora’s voice rose just slightly.
“I promised Phargos I would give one homily-just one-before I left Tilbora.”
“Oh … dearest…” Vaelora shook her head. “Do you know what you’ll say?”
“No … but I’ll think of something.”
“I’m sure you will.” She smiled. “I’d like to hear it as well.” The smile vanished. “One trunk?”
Quaeryt shrugged. “Do you want your brother’s soldiers commenting on how you carried everything you had in a supply wagon?”
“How much are you taking?”
“I think I can fit almost everything I own in an officer’s kit bag.” Tightly.
Vaelora made a face. “I can do the same with one trunk. If I can find one.”
“If you can’t, I’ll get two kit bags for you.”
“Go!” The single word was delivered with mock gruffness. “Do what you must.”
“I need to eat something, first.”
“Oh … I forgot. There’s plenty left.”
Quaeryt ate the cold omelet and the bread, if smeared liberally with a quince jelly that was so tart it was just short of bitter. Then he headed for his study to compose messages and try to begin to do what Straesyr had delegated to him.
Amid his efforts to make the arrangements for their departure, Quaeryt did locate Phargos, several glasses later, actually in the anomen.
“The word is that you and Third Regiment will be leaving in the next day or so.”
“Mardi morning, if it’s not storming.” Quaeryt paused. “I made you a promise…”
“I hope you intend to keep it.” Phargos grinned. “I was worried about the homily for this evening anyway.”