Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page A

no evil … could there be good? And what would that good be worth? Could it be that the good of every evening is that we are granted the power to choose what course we will follow, to make of ourselves what we can…”
    When he finished, he surrendered the pulpit to Phargos for the concluding hymn and benediction.
    Vaelora slipped up to Quaeryt after the service, but said nothing as Phargos approached.
    “I can see that you don’t mind touching the most fundamental questions,” observed the chorister. “Yet I did notice that you did not actually affirm that there is a Nameless.”
    “I tried not to. I honestly don’t know if the Nameless exists. I can’t proclaim what I don’t know.”
    “That’s the beauty of faith.”
    “No … that is faith. Whether faith is beauty depends on whether the Nameless exists.”
    Phargos shook his head. “If you were young and had not seen what you have seen, Princeps, I would say that you did not understand the need for faith. But you have seen and endured much, and you have clearly felt the agony of others. So I will say nothing except that you will either break the world or it will break you.”
    “I doubt I will break the world, and it does not have to break me.”
    Phargos smiled softly, sadly. “We will see, Princeps.” He turned to Vaelora. “You have graced us, Lady, and may you grace others as well.”
    Vaelora inclined her head. “Thank you.”
    Neither Quaeryt nor Vaelora spoke until they left the anomen and were walking across the courtyard in a blustery wind.
    “You worry him,” said Vaelora.
    “I doubt that I worry him. He likes me, and he’s concerned that my lack of faith in the Nameless will leave me bereft when times and life turn against me, as they likely will.” And have in the past.
    “Will it?”
    Quaeryt laughed briefly, almost sardonically. “To me, it is obvious that if there is a Nameless, that deity does not interfere one way or the other in the lives of men and women. Life may indeed break me. Who can say what will happen? But if broken I become, life and the deeds of men and women will break me, not a lack of faith in a deity that leaves us to our own devices.…”
    Vaelora reached out and squeezed his hand, and they continued walking through the cold wind.

 
     
    14
     
    The easiest part of leaving Tilbora on Mardi morning was departing the Telaryn Palace. The days before had been hectic for Quaeryt, to say the least. He’d taken the precaution of packing up blank spare ledgers, copies of the Tilboran and standard Telaryn tariff schedules, and all other manner of administrivia that might be helpful, especially given that apparently neither the governor nor the princeps had survived.
    The lane down from the eastern gates was dry, and the snow heaped on each side frozen and coated with ice. The road to the west was passable, even for the last supply wagons. Quaeryt had wondered why Skarpa was headed west—until they reached the river, still iced over, and he understood as the regiment navigated over the uneven surface. Even without having to rely on ferries, the crossing of less than two hundred yards of ice took until almost midday, but it would have taken far, far longer had they had to rely on the ferries at the mouth of the river. Then the regiment turned back southeast and followed the west river road back down to Bhorael.
    By the next day, some twenty milles south of Bhorael, the snow alongside the road was less than knee deep. By late afternoon, some ten milles farther south, the top mud on the roads had unfrozen, and the column slowed. All in all, reaching Ayerne took six days, and Quaeryt felt fortunate indeed that he was a princeps headed to be a governor, because at those stops where quarters were nonexistent, at least he and Vaelora could sleep in a wagon. Even so, by the time they reached Ayerne, both of them were tired of mud, frozen mud, and more mud. Both also had mud spattered over boots and trousers and occasionally