Princeps

73

Obviously acting under Bhayar’s orders, Deucalon ordered a major to find and assign a small chamber where the undercaptains could sleep on Mardi night. Quaeryt had a tiny chamber to himself with a pallet bed, almost directly under the parapets from which they had imaged. He collapsed onto that bed almost immediately after returning from the evening meal in an overcrowded mess.

On Meredi morning, he woke well before sunrise, fully alert. He glanced around the chamber he’d barely taken in the day before, noting that it was both bare and spare, with the only furnishings being the pallet bed, a chair, and a writing desk with a single drawer. He walked over to the desk and opened the drawer partway. It appeared empty, but when he pushed it closed, he felt something move. He opened it all the way, to discover a leather-bound volume at the back, so small that it was little more than the length of his hand from wrist to his middle fingertip. The volume was so covered in dust that when he lifted it from the drawer, gently as he did, dust flew upward and everywhere, and Quaeryt sneezed time after time.

When he finally controlled his sneezing, he carefully removed the remainder of the dust and then, more curious than ever, opened the volume, which bore no title on the cover or spine, to the title page. It read, Rholan and the Nameless. There was no author’s name given, either there or on or behind the frontispiece. Finding that strange and intriguing, he moved to the small window, where there was more light, and began to read the opening page.

All know of the words of Rholan and his thoughts and observations, as well as the precepts he formulated in support of the Nameless. Yet for all those precepts, and the wisdom behind them, few, if any, have dared voice or write one fact. There is no proof that there is a Nameless. There is also no proof that there is not a Nameless, but proving a negative is effectively impossible, particularly when one speaks of a deity whose invisible and unnameable presence and voice have never been seen or heard, except by those claiming to be its prophets.

For these reasons, over the years, I have made thoughts and observations about the Nameless, the Namer, Rholan, and others, and since the Nameless is without nomen, so will I remain as well. For the interested reader or the casual peruser, I hope you will find what follows thought-provoking, informative, or at the least entertaining.

Quaeryt stopped reading and examined the small volume more closely. There was no date anywhere, only the words “Cloisonyt, Tela,” which indicated the volume had been written before Hengyst had conquered Tela and that the writer had likely lived in the time of Rholan or close to that time. The leather was relatively soft, but clearly older, but the binding had been painstakingly done, and the text had been carefully hand-scripted, suggesting that there were few copies of the volume. Indeed, he might be holding the only one.

He turned to the second chapter of the volume.

In practical terms, Rholan has become synonymous with the worship of the Nameless. Therefore, to understand the appeal and growth of the cult of the Nameless, one must begin with Rholan. Already, the word has begun to spread that the man was mysterious and unknowable. He was neither. He was a physically unprepossessing scholar, the bastard son of High Holder Niasaen of Tela, possessed of a deep, melodic, and mesmerizing voice and an intellect surpassed only by his own sense of destiny …

Quaeryt looked at the book again. He couldn’t believe what he held in his hand. It might technically belong to the Lord of Telaryn, but Quaeryt was going to keep the volume with him, at least until he had read it all the way through. He slipped it into his gear bag and then began to dress for the day.

Immediately after an early breakfast with the other senior officers, Quaeryt was summoned to meet with Bhayar-this time in a spare study overlooking the narrow courtyard.

The Lord of Telaryn sat behind a table desk on which was spread a map. He did not rise as Quaeryt entered and closed the door behind him, but gestured to the chairs across the desk from him.

As he sat, Quaeryt noticed the dark circles under Bhayar’s eyes immediately. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

“No. You wouldn’t have, either, except you wouldn’t have been any good at the staff meeting anyway. You did most of what happened yesterday, didn’t you?”

Quaeryt didn’t bother to deny it, because Bhayar already knew he was an imager, but he did shake his head. “A third or a quarter. Threkhyl is capable, and so is Shaelyt. Voltyr had a little trouble at first, but he figured it out. Baelthm, Desyrk, and Akoryt could only do it once, and Baelthm only when the barge came toward the north side of the river and was practically right underneath him.”

“That’s done for now, thank the Nameless,” said Bhayar.

“There have to be more barges…” began Quaeryt.

“Kharst can’t afford wasting that much powder again. The powder he used would charge cannon thousands of times, and he needs that for the cannon that keep the Antiagon fleet at bay. By the time he could gather the barges and make them ready, it wouldn’t matter.” Bhayar smiled politely. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“How did you know the Bovarians would try to use the exploding barges to destroy the Narrows Bridge?” asked Bhayar. “I never asked you how you knew.”

“How did you know?” countered Quaeryt.

“Spies. They’re more useful than guessing.”

“How many did you lose?”

Bhayar’s lips quirked into a tight smile. “More than I would have liked. How did you figure it out without spies?”

“It made sense after you’d explained how Kharst could take over Telaryn. He wouldn’t have to do it all at once. First, he’d destroy the bridge. That would allow him to invade the south side of the river. He could spend years fortifying and building emplacements.”

“I understand that, but what about the barges?”

“When they used mock barges for the false diversionary attack from Cleblois and then used unseasoned troops against Third Battalion, I had to ask why. Why would Kharst spend all that time and effort building mock barges? Why not just use real barges, especially if they weren’t really going anywhere? And if he were going to use real barges for a direct assault on Ferravyl, why alert us with a false attack? That suggested that the barges were already being used. That meant either a direct attack or an attack on the bridge.”

“Both, it appears. Kharst used some of those barges to carry at least two regiments to the east side of the Vyl some ten to fifteen milles south.”

“Is that where you’re sending Third Regiment?”

Bhayar nodded.

“Just Third Regiment?”

“It’s more to slow them down. Deucalon doesn’t want to send more, not with at least four Bovarian regiments still across the Vyl and enough barges remaining to ferry them across.”

“Do you think they’ll still attack?”

“We’ve already taken steps to encourage them. Third Regiment crossed the bridge well before dawn this morning. We had artists paint a canvas so that the bridge looks more damaged than it is, and we’ve strung a cable from bridge pier to bridge pier, and we’re having boatmen use it as a guide across the river.”

“To give the Bovarians the impression that the bridge isn’t safe to use?”

“That’s the idea. Now … Commander Skarpa has requested your presence. That brings up another question. What if the Bovarians try another attack here … at the same time that you’re with Third Regiment?”

“I could split the imagers, and leave several under Voltyr’s command for whatever use you can make of them.” Quaeryt paused. “But how are you going to get Zhelan’s company across the bridge without anyone seeing them?”

“They crossed with Third Regiment this morning. They had your mare as well. You can walk across after you choose who will accompany you.”

“You knew I’d suggest splitting the imagers?”

“No. Commander Skarpa said you were more of an officer than you would admit, and that you’d end up with him.”

Somehow … even as Skarpa’s assessment amused Quaeryt, it also bothered him. Are you that easy to read? “He needs Zhelan more than he needs me.”

“He said you’d say that, and his answer was that he needs Zhelan under your command.” Bhayar laughed.

All Quaeryt could do was shrug helplessly.