“All of you are soldiers, and how well you fight the next battle or undertake the next duty depends in large measure on those who guide you and lead you, or if you’re an officer, whether you make good decisions and whether your men have the faith necessary to follow you. Good officers and squad leaders inspire faith in their men, and good rankers inspire faith in their comrades.
“The Nameless is no different in that respect. What inspires faith is not just the fact of the Nameless, but the equally important fact that the guidance of the Nameless represents good counsel that can be trusted … if … IF … that counsel is followed without Naming, and without self-serving desires and motivations.
“What follows from this is the need to know what one believes, not just that it is, but what it means, and what it requires of us. We must understand fully what Naming is, and that is not just acting on or against mere names of things, but seeing how names hide the true nature of the world and those who inhabit it…”
After a few more sentences on Naming, Quaeryt concluded the short homily. “… in the end, faith requires knowledge, for without knowledge, blind belief is little more than Naming under the guise of worshipping the Nameless.”
For a moment after he finished, he just stood there, before remembering that he had to lead the closing hymn and give the benediction. He chose one of the few closing hymns he knew almost by heart-“For the Glory”
For the glory, through all strife,
for the beauty of all life,
for all that is and will ever be,
all together, through forever,
in eternal Nameless glory …
He couldn’t do the standard benediction, well as he knew it, because that would have, for him, presumed too much. He simply said, “As we have come together to seek meaning and renewal, let us go forth this evening renewed in hope and in harmony with that which was, is, and ever shall be.”
After the benediction, he stepped down from the platform and walked to where Vaelora stood against the side wall, with Skarpa beside her.
“I still say you’d make a chorister, Governor,” said the commander.
“You’re kind. Let’s leave it at that.”
Skarpa snorted. “I’m not kind, and you know it. If you’d talked nonsense up there, I’d have told you.” He glanced sideways at Vaelora and grinned. “So would your wife, I’d wager.”
“She has been known to speak her mind.” Quaeryt couldn’t help smiling.
Vaelora smiled back.
“I’ll be leaving you two, sir and Lady, and wishing you a pleasant evening.” With that Skarpa nodded and departed.
“It is true,” said Vaelora. “I have been known to speak my mind, but … did you have to tell him that?”
“I didn’t. I just agreed with him.”
“That just-”
“Might not be disrespect,” Quaeryt concluded quickly.
“Sometimes…” But she smiled.
Once they returned to their quarters and Quaeryt had thrown the bolt, Vaelora turned to him and said quietly, “You were wonderful, dearest.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt took a deep breath. “You know I don’t like doing it.”
“You like doing it. You like inspiring people and challenging them to think. What you don’t like is feeling like a fraud because you’re not sure that there even is a Nameless. You worry that you’re doing good things under what are false pretenses.” Vaelora stepped up to him and put her arms around his neck, then kissed him gently on the cheek. “I understand, dearest. I do.”
There’s something in her tone … “You do?”
“Women have to do it all the time.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me … or Aelina. She has to do it even more.”
Quaeryt couldn’t argue with that. The impositions that scholars had to deal with were nothing compared to what women put up with in Telaryn, and from what he’d heard and read, women were treated far worse in Bovaria and Antiago. And he was all too aware that women had often had to do what they disliked for love of others … or even survival.
Vaelora moistened her lips. “I have to confess … Please don’t be angry with me.”
“Confess what?” he asked warily.
“I didn’t have any visions about the anomen. It just looked … forlorn … and lonely, and then when I saw the faces of some of the men … when we cleaned it up…”
“Vaelora…” Quaeryt’s voice held exasperation … and a touch of anger, he had to admit.
“Did you see the faces of the officers and the men when they left the anomen tonight?”
“I was looking at you,” he admitted.
“They felt better. I could see it and sense it.”
“Your Pharsi background?”
“You’d have seen it, too, if you’d looked.” She dropped her eyes for a moment before lifting them to him again. “I am sorry … but … you need to do this. Not for me, not for you…”
“But for them?” He shook his head. “Why do you think it upsets me? They need that reminder of their faith, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else…”
“Do you think all the soldiers like killing?”
“Some do. I’d say most don’t.”
“But they do it because it’s their duty.”
“You’re telling me that…”
“Yes, dearest. I am.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Unlike others, Vaelora had seen that kind of duty, or possibly the lack of it. After a moment he put his arms around her and just held her.
Her arms went around him, comfortingly.
28
On Lundi morning, under a clear sky, if with the slightest trace of haze, Vaelora departed with the companies that would be selling bread, flour, and potatoes, first at the south market square and then at the main square. Skarpa insisted on three companies, given that Vaelora was accompanying them, and put Meinyt in command.
Immediately after that, Quaeryt joined Major Dhaeryn, and they rode with some of the engineering rankers to the factorage that would soon be a Civic Patrol station.
One way or the other.
The southeast section of Extela was definitely the rougher part of the city, with older houses, some of brick, some of weathered wood, but most of the black stone that had to be ancient lava, with small areas of shops, and a tired feel to every street. Still, he did see a few people about, and many the dwellings were unshuttered, and even a few of the shops.
But then, where do these people have to go?
The empty factorage, like many structures in Extela, was of a single level, built of rough-trimmed black stone, with a slate roof. Quaeryt judged that it was thirty yards across the front, and perhaps twenty deep, with a wagon courtyard on the south side, where there was a single loading dock. Two men, not rankers, were replacing cracked and broken roof slates as Quaeryt and Dhaeryn reined up in front.
“The doors are heavy enough,” offered the major, dismounting.
Quaeryt dismounted and tied the mare to the hitching rail, a worn pole suspended between two black stone posts.
“I got the masons to start yesterday, after we cleaned out all the junk and stacked it in the side courtyard. Walls are solid, but the place was filthy.” The major shook his head. “I’ve got a couple of rankers who are good with wood, and they’re setting up the front the way we drew it. It’s like the patrol stations in Estisle, because that’s what I remember.”
Quaeryt looked to the major.
“My uncle was a patroller.”
Once inside, Quaeryt glanced around. Two rankers had already framed what looked to be a counter with a built-in desk.