“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll need Belsior tomorrow, from about noon on, so don’t have him do anything in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Akoryt raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t say a word.”
The younger maitre grinned. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
When Akoryt left, Alastar went to find Obsolym to see if he knew what High Holder might have livery of scarlet and black, but the older maitre had already left for the day. He was just entering the study when Lystara and Alyna appeared.
“How was your day, Lystara?”
“It was good, except we didn’t get to practice imaging on the water. How long will we have to stay away from the river?”
“Until we can find and stop the men that are trying to shoot at young imagers.” Alastar paused. “I have a question for you. I’m not angry, but I need to know something. Have you been practicing and using a concealment any of the times you’ve been at the imager factorage?”
“Is this important?”
“It could be.”
Lystara sighed. “Most times. Just a little bit, though. If I disappeared for long, Tertia Linzya would get upset and start looking. I’ve been really quiet.”
“I’m glad you’re practicing, and you’ve obviously gotten very good … but I’m going to ask you not to do any more concealments in or around the factorage for the next month. There’s a reason for that, but I can’t tell you yet.”
“Can I still practice concealments?”
“In other places, but not during instructionals, and not to eavesdrop on maitres … or other imagers.”
“And if you do hear something you shouldn’t, if you think it’s important,” added Alyna, “you’re to tell one of us. If it’s not, you’re to keep it to yourself. You know what I think about gossip.”
“Yes, Mother … Father.”
At the slightest sound, Alastar turned and said, “That goes for you, too, Malyna.”
The concealment vanished and Malyna stood just inside the study door. “I thought you couldn’t see me.”
“We couldn’t,” said Alastar. “That didn’t mean I couldn’t hear you.”
“Oh…”
“That’s why you have to be quiet, especially inside, if you don’t want to be discovered.”
Alyna looked to Alastar.
He nodded.
“I think it’s time we left for home. It’s been a long day.”
And tomorrow will be even longer.
As Alyna and Alastar walked from the administration building, she asked, “Why did you make Lystara promise not to do concealments in the factorage? Because someone else might be?”
“Charlina told Akoryt that there’s been even more of it. I didn’t think about Malyna, but if you’d ask the same of her…?”
“I can do that. She likes to be helpful.”
Alastar smiled.
“I hate it when you smile like that.” Then Alyna laughed.
So did Alastar.
20
Much, much later on Meredi evening, Alastar and Alyna sat on the porch, one of the few cool places, and one where finally there was enough of a breeze to keep the mosquitoes and moths from bothering them excessively.
“There’s something on your mind…” she ventured quietly.
“Several things. I didn’t have a chance to tell you. The other letter was from Voltyrn. He’s urging me to choose a successor to Zhelan. Immediately. He didn’t make it quite that obvious. Almost, but not quite. He must have written it even before he could have received any response to his letter about Zhelan’s death.”
“He wants to be Maitre.”
“He wants it that badly, and that suggests I shouldn’t choose him, but send someone from here.” Alastar shook his head. “I haven’t really even had time to think about it in the past few days.”
“You haven’t wanted to.”
“You’re right. It will be a thankless job for anyone from here.”
“Bettaur would love it.”
“He’s too junior and not even a Maitre D’Structure … but you know that. It’s still disturbing.”
“What else?”
“Akoryt had Belsior scouting the Chateau D’Council today.”
“You’d mentioned that you were thinking of that.”
“He discovered there is a meeting tomorrow afternoon … and Meinyt is ill, and will not be attending, and there are guards with the new heavy rifles on duty at the chateau.”
“Then they’re about to act … fairly soon … and Meinyt’s not ill, not from what you said about your meeting with him.”
“Unless Cransyr found a way to poison him. I thought he was too honorable to get involved, and, apparently, I’m guessing, Cransyr felt the same way and took steps to keep him from being involved.”
“Do you know that?” Alyna’s words were low, with a tone between sadness and amusement.
“Of course not.” Alastar’s soft laugh was ironic. “Meinyt likely didn’t realize how serious Cransyr was, and also didn’t want to say anything until he was certain. That’s often the problem with waiting until you’re certain.”
“That’s why you’re going to do something tomorrow.”
“I didn’t say anything about that.”
“You didn’t have to. Can I do anything?”
“Only if something goes wrong, and I don’t return. Then you and Cyran are to destroy the chateau with the High Council—excepting Meinyt—in it. He likely won’t be there anyway. Remove permanently any High Holder who objects. Explain to Factoria Kathila and Factorius Elthyrd that the High Holders were about to depose Rex Lorien, destroy the Collegium, and take total control of Solidar.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d take enough care so that such a bloody eventuality isn’t necessary. Are your shields even up to what you plan?”
“I’m mostly planning on eavesdropping. They’re certainly up to that. After that … even if nothing happens, things will get bloody.”
“If so … I’d prefer the blood were on both our hands, and that our hands remain warm. So would Lystara and Malyna.”
Alastar glanced up at Erion, the reddish moon that was nearly full. “That makes all of us, I think.”
21
The first thing Alastar did upon reaching the administration building on Jeudi was to seek out Obsolym, who was dusting his table desk when Alastar appeared.
“Beloved Maitre, what obscure bit of information do you seek?”
“I don’t know that it’s obscure. I just don’t know. Would you happen to know what High Holder might claim scarlet and black for his colors?”
“Scarlet and black … hmmm. Scarlet or red—that’s common enough. Courage, breeding, blood … but black, the sinister side of family and nature, as a significant part of livery or a banner?” The old Maitre D’Structure shook his head. “Oh … there have been those who did. Green and black, at one time, those were the colors of the house of Ryntar, as I recall. And silver and black are Ryel’s colors, but I can’t think of another High Holder who uses black, or even scarlet and black.” Obsolym laughed. “Then with fifteen hundred High Holders spread across Solidar, who could know all their colors? Some don’t even claim colors. I know Calkoran doesn’t. Neither did Guerdyn nor does Lhullyt…”
“If you happen to recall or come across that, I’d appreciate your letting me know.”
“I probably won’t, not anytime soon, but if I do…”
“Thank you.” Alastar headed back to his study.
Akoryt and Cyran were waiting in the anteroom, talking with Dareyn and Maercyl. All four stopped as Alastar entered.
Dareyn picked up an envelope from the table desk and offered it to Alastar. “This just came from the High Council.”
“Did the messenger say anything about a response?” Alastar took the envelope.
“No, sir.”
“Thank you.” After motioning for Akoryt and Cyran to follow him, Alastar walked into the study
and to his desk, where he remained standing as he slit open the envelope and extracted the single sheet. Absently, he noticed Akoryt glancing at the two water bottles set on the desk, bottles filled with dark lager. “Refreshments for later, if necessary.”
He began to read.
Maitre Alastar—
In view of our shared concerns, the High Council would like to invite you to a meeting at the Chateau D’Council on Lundi, the sixteenth of Erntyn, at the first glass of the afternoon, in order that we might discuss the possibility of an amicable resolution of at least some of the differences of opinion about the meaning of certain sections of the Codex Legis.
We look forward to seeing you then, or if that time is not agreeable, to another time you might suggest.
Alastar nodded and passed the letter to Akoryt. “Read it, and then let Cyran see it.”
“Yes, sir.”
After reading the short missive, Akoryt passed it to Cyran, frowning as he did.
Cyran looked mildly puzzled when he returned the letter to Alastar. “That seems to suggest that it’s all merely a mild disagreement.”
“I’m certain that’s exactly what Cransyr wants us to think. He’s trying to keep us from acting, and that means we need to, possibly sooner than I ever intended.” Alastar knew that was shading matters quite a bit, but he went on, “As you two may already have guessed, Belsior will be helping me infiltrate the High Council meeting this afternoon. While I expect to return, in the instance I do not, as I’ve told Maitre Alyna, you’re to destroy the Chateau D’Council and remove all the High Councilors except Meinyt. You may also have to remove Commander Marryt and Subcommander Hehnsyn, who turns out to be a younger son of High Holder Cransyr. I trust those actions will not be necessary, but if something fatal occurs to me, those removals will be the minimum necessary to keep the High Holders in check.”
Cyran swallowed. Akoryt merely nodded.
“You will take care, sir?” Cyran finally said.
“As much as I can. If I can discover more about which High Holders are those with control over what have to be private armies, we may be able to limit the damage.” And then again, defeating this so far subterranean revolt may require ever greater force than any of us would wish.
“You could be there a very long time.…” Cyran pointed out.
“That’s unlikely. I would doubt the meeting will take more than a glass, two at most.” Alastar shrugged. “I could be wrong.”
“You couldn’t just invite yourself?”
“Then I’d learn nothing. We’ve already had too many young imagers shot, and we still have nothing on who did it.” Cyran’s question reminded Alastar exactly why Cyran being Maitre would not have been good for either the Collegium or Cyran himself. If necessary, Alyna could keep Cyran on task. But you definitely don’t want matters to end up that way. Which meant he would need to be very, very careful. “Just have Belsior here at two quints before noon, with our mounts.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once the two left, Alastar walked to the window, where he glanced at the high hazy clouds, a possible indication that the day might be cooler that most of those of the previous week. He was debating whether he should also pay a visit to Elthyrd and Kathila when Dareyn appeared with a missive in hand.
“From Rex Lorien?”
“No, sir. From Factor Elthyrd.”
Alastar took the envelope, and Dareyn immediately withdrew as Alastar walked back toward his desk before opening it and beginning to read.
Maitre Alastar—
After receiving your explanation about events which precipitated your actions at the ironworks of Factorius Vaschet and those which occurred during your visit, I thought it best to send a copy of your explanation to the other members of the council for their information before the council makes any decision on whether to pursue the matter further.
You must realize that the personal sanctity of factor accounts is something of great concern, and that some factors regard those accounts as highly as those they employ, if not more so. At the same time, the council does not wish to see L’Excelsis become a battleground between thus-far-unknown forces and the Collegium. We trust that, before the Factors’ Council deliberates the matter, the Collegium will be able to provide additional clarification of the situation without divulging whatever information may be in the ledgers you borrowed.
Alastar snorted. In short, don’t tell anyone what you’ve discovered about Vaschet’s less than savory dealings with High Holders, but please bring all this to an end immediately. And don’t let the High Holders take back all the privileges revoked by the first Rex Regis. And, oh, yes, do it all in the next few days so that we can get back to making silvers and golds.
For a moment, just a moment, Alastar wondered if it would be less trouble just to seek an agreement with the High Holders. Except that would only prolong the inevitable and make it more bloody in the long run … and something that Lystara and Malyna would have to live with, if the Collegium could even survive under those circumstances.
By the time Belsior arrived, Alastar was more than ready to leave the Collegium, and he was walking out toward his mount, carrying the water bottles, even before Belsior reined up outside the main entrance to the administration building. Alastar put the water bottles in the saddlebags, then mounted immediately and turned the gray gelding westward toward the Bridge of Desires.
“Maitre Cyran never said what you needed from me, sir.”
“That’s because I never told him,” replied Alastar, adjusting his visor cap. “I’ll explain as we ride. We’re headed to the Chateau D’Council. You’re going to watch and hold my mount, under a concealment, of course, while I make my way inside and observe what I can of the meeting that is supposed to take place. If all goes well, then I will return, and we will return to the Collegium knowing more about the conflict to come.”
Belsior nodded, although a quizzical look flashed across his face.
“You wonder why I’m talking of conflict when all you’ve seen is a few imagers being shot? What you haven’t seen is the head of the Factors’ Council being shot down by a High Holder, hundreds of new heavy rifles passing into High Holder hands, anger and resentment resulting in quiet killings of young men, both factors and High Holders, an effort by the High Holders to remove all restraints on their actions and make them effectively equal to the Rex … and quite a few more matters which I’m not about to reveal at the moment.”
“Might I ask why all this is happening now?”
“Because we’ve had two years of terrible harvests here in the middle of Solidar, and a number of High Holders are facing ruin, while the factors are largely prospering to the point that some are wealthier than High Holders. As a group, the factors are becoming more prosperous and the High Holders less so, and the High Council wants to put a stop to it … and they’ll try to destroy the Collegium to do so, especially if we weigh in on the side of the factors … which, in the end, is the only way to preserve the Collegium. Rule by the High Holders would destroy Solidar in the end, just as happened with Antiago.”
“Sir?”
“History, Belsior. Antiago was effectively ruled by the Autarch and the High Holders. They were called something else, but effectively they were High Holders. The Autarch made a few imagers his tool for controlling the High Holders, but the imagers were essentially slaves. By keeping any High Holder from getting too powerful, Antiago as a whole was weak and became easy prey for the first Rex Regis. Most of the Antiagon imagers died as a result.”
“Oh…”
“History doesn’t repeat itself exactly, but the patterns do, if they’re allowed to.” As he rode up the causeway and onto the bridge, Alastar studied the west bank of the river and the West River Road. “Make sure you’re carrying full shields from here on.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll raise blurring shields once we pass your favorite bistro, and then ease into a full concealment when we near the chateau.…” Alastar went o
n to explain what he planned and what he required of Belsior.
After crossing the bridge, the two rode north on the West River Road. Several blocks north of the Bridge of Desires, they passed the bakery and the bistro.
“Blurring shields, now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The day was milder, and there was even a breeze out of the north, for which Alastar was grateful, even though he was still wearing his lightest grays. Little more than a quint later, the two crossed the Boulevard D’Ouest, avoiding several heavy wagons headed eastward toward the Nord Bridge. Alastar’s gray gelding tossed his head once, as if he had smelled or heard something that displeased him, then settled down.
Alastar glanced toward the Chateau D’Council, a half mille ahead on the left. “Time for a full concealment.” He drew his mount closer to that of Belsior and lowered his voice even more. “We’ll rein up at the corner of the wall. From there I’ll walk to the gates, under a concealment. Then I’ll just follow whoever comes first inside. Later, when I leave, I might have to create a diversion. Wait a quint after that if I don’t show up immediately. Getting out undetected might be a little trickier.”
“Yes, sir,” murmured the junior maitre.
Alastar could see the guards inside the gates, but neither even looked in the direction of the concealed imagers as he dismounted and handed the gray’s reins to Belsior. Then he walked slowly and as quietly as possible beside the stone wall toward the gates, finally stopping some five yards from the gatepost.
Alastar had to wait more than a quint before a coach appeared, slowing in front of the tall, wrought-iron gates. As the driver, in pale blue livery, halted the coach, Alastar eased from beside the wall and walked to just behind the back wheels, thankful there was no footman at the rear, not that there usually was, but Alastar had worried that the footman’s stand might be occupied by a guard.
“High Holder Staendyn…” announced the driver.
The two guards in maroon opened the gates, and Alastar kept close to the middle of the rear of the coach as it moved through and onto the stone-paved lane between the formal gardens. The pace was slow enough that Alastar could keep pace at a fast walk that slowed gradually to bring the coach to a halt under the covered portico. He moved around the wheels and to the side of the stone steps.
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