(eng) L. E. Modesitt - Imager Portfolio 07 by Antiagon Fire

Author:Antiagon Fire [Fire, Antiagon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

35

As the undercaptains formed up on Vendrei morning outside the Stone Inn stable doors, Quaeryt rode over to where Khalis and Lhandor waited, almost stirrup to stirrup.

“How did you find the local beer?” he asked, smiling.

Khalis looked to Lhandor.

Lhandor laughed softly. “It was awful, sir.”

“But I noticed you two were lifting your mugs rather often.”

“So were you, sir,” replied Lhandor. “How did you find it?”

“As you did,” Quaeryt said pleasantly. “You seemed to find a way to deal with it. Water, wine, ale, lager … what did you manage?”

Khalis grinned ruefully. “Berry juice and water. I tried to image lager, but it was worse than the beer.”

“And you?” Quaeryt looked to the other Pharsi undercaptain.

“Piss-poor lager, sir, but better than the beer,” replied Lhandor.

“What’s in your water bottles?”

“Piss-poor lager,” replied Lhandor.

“Good,” said Quaeryt. “Keep your eyes open today.”

“More so than usual, sir?” asked Khalis.

“Call it a feeling.” Quaeryt nodded, then eased his mount forward to rejoin Vaelora near the head of the column. He was pleased that the two youngest imagers were widening their skills, and not just at his urging.

As Quaeryt and Vaelora rode away from the Stone Inn, Quaeryt could see the innkeeper and the two younger men standing just outside the stone arch over the entry, watching impassively as the column of troopers passed. Very few of the doors in the sandstone cliffs that held the rest of the town had any signboards, but many of those that did bore letters or symbols that Quaeryt did not understand, leaving him with the feeling that they had not so much as ridden through Khel but through a part of Lydar’s distant past.

Just north of Sovahl, the road turned almost due west up a gently sloping dry valley that was little less than a half mille across at its base. Quaeryt saw no sign of any dwellings, nor of livestock or even of goats. Yet the stone road ran straight as a quarrel up the middle of the valley that held only sparse grass and bushes, and little enough of either.

“Tell us more about Saendeol,” prompted Quaeryt. “How big is it? What are the buildings like? The land around it?”

Arion shrugged, then gestured at the stony and near-barren hillsides on each side of the valley. “The land is much like this for the next fifteen milles or so. They call it the stone desert. After that, there are pines and other trees on the heights, and there are tall grasses, good forage in places. There is a small river that runs through the long valley that holds Saendeol. There are many apricot orchards, and the brandy they make from it is well known. The traders of Jariola send ships every year to Pointe Neiman to buy kegs of it.”

“What about the buildings?” asked Quaeryt. “Are they hollowed into the stone?”

“No. The oldest are built of the gray stone like the road. The newest are of sandstone, but they look the oldest.”

“Are there council buildings that are also old?”

“There is only one council building.

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