Treachery's Tools

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“We’ll need to have everyone ready at the stables. We’re to meet up with the main force where the Poignard Road meets the West River Road at seventh glass.”

  Akoryt frowned momentarily. “That’s where the river bends and heads due south, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” replied Cyran. “South and west of the barge piers.”

  “That’s only a ride of three quints at best,” offered Akoryt.

  “I think you’re suggesting that being ready at fifth glass is perhaps early?” Alastar smiled warmly.

  “I might be at that,” replied Akoryt.

  “Two quints before sixth glass, then?”

  “That should provide more than enough time,” said Alyna.

  “Can any of you think of anything I need to do before leaving tomorrow?”

  Akoryt and Cyran exchanged glances. Both shook their heads.

  “If you do, let me know. Otherwise, get on with your preparations. First off, Akoryt, you make sure that all of those going are told and know when to muster. Then go over the equipment and gear listings with each one.”

  “Yes, sir. I went over the gear with each yesterday.”

  “Good.”

  “Cyran, you have the bullets in special cartridge cases?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure someone is watching them all the time, once we set out.”

  “Alyna, how many of those bullets did you two manage to image?”

  “A thousand.”

  “And they’re all to tolerances for the heavy rifles?”

  “That’s why there are only a thousand. We also fired some using the captured rifles. There didn’t seem to be a problem.”

  Beside her, Cyran nodded.

  Akoryt gave the faintest of headshakes.

  “I don’t like it, either, but I’d rather try to take out the leadership than slaughter the rebel troopers.” Alastar just hoped he didn’t have to use the bullets on troopers, but he wasn’t about to rule that out, not if it meant the difference between putting down the revolt and not doing so.

  “When you put it that way…”

  “Exactly,” said Alyna.

  Another quint passed before Cyran and Akoryt left. When Alastar and Alyna were alone in the study, he turned to her. “You know I’m not pleased about possibly having to use those bullets.”

  “I know.”

  “I won’t if I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  “You may not have a choice. We both know that.”

  After Alyna left, Alastar turned to Dareyn, the only one in the anteroom. “I’ll be going over some matters with Maitre Thelia. After that, in about two glasses, I’ll need an escort and a mount—but not the gray. He needs to rest today.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Alastar then walked back to Thelia’s study, where he spent slightly more than two quints going over the last details of arranging the supplies and the two wagons necessary to carry them.

  When Alastar returned to the anteroom, Maercyl said, “Beltran and your mount are waiting by the main entrance.”

  “Thank you.” Alastar paused. “Is Dareyn all right?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s helping Maitre Obsolym.” Maercyl smiled. “He’s almost back to where he was.”

  “We don’t want him overdoing things.”

  “No, sir. I’ve threatened to tell Elmya when he pushes himself too hard. That seems to work.”

  Alastar laughed, then turned and headed for the main entrance.

  As he approached the horses, Beltran, who stood between the two, holding the reins, said, “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning. We won’t be riding far. Just over the East Bridge and south to the Banque D’Excelsis. After that, we might ride another few blocks.” Alastar took the reins of the chestnut mare from Beltran and mounted.

  As he rode across the East Bridge, Alastar checked the water level in the river—still roughly a yard below the top of the riverwall, and far higher than he would have liked. He would have been surprised if more than a few fields and lands south of L’Excelsis weren’t flooded, and that could change everything in terms of what Wilkorn had planned.

  When they reached the Banque D’Excelsis, Alastar took a good look as he dismounted. The narrow stone building appeared far better than it had the first time Alastar had seen it some thirteen years earlier. Then the gray stone had been covered with years of smoke and grit that had given it almost the color of charcoal. Now the light gray stone was clean, and the bars that covered the windows were painted a shiny black. A stone plaque with the letters stating BANQUE D’EXCELSIS had been set into the stone above the door several years back, recalled Alastar, replacing the older signboard. The brass on the heavy oak door shimmered. Two guards, with sabers at their sides, stood just inside the entrance. Both looked at Alastar, then inclined their heads.

  Inside the door was a small foyer, its floor of gray marble. Beyond the square arch at the rear of the foyer was a single large chamber, at the back of which was a counter. The top of the counter was graced by a bronze railing fastened to a bronze plate, with bronze bars connecting the plate and railing. At three places, there were openings in the bronze bars, and behind each sat a man in a green jacket, presumably on a high stool.

  “Maitre Alastar…” Estafen appeared from somewhere to the side and walked forward, stopping a yard away. “You honor us.”

  “I have to say that you’ve definitely improved the building … and especially the interior, I suspect.”

  “You’re kind. Might I ask…?”

  “I’d like a few words with you, preferably not in public.”

  “Of course. This way.” Estafen led the way to a very small study, one with just a circular table and two chairs, a single bookcase, and two file chests on narrow tables. He closed the door behind Alastar, then gestured to the table and chairs.

  As he took one of the chairs, Alastar observed that both chairs were positioned so that whoever sat in either could see the door.

  Estafen took in Alastar’s glance and said, “Some of those with whom we do business very much wish to keep their plaques close to their jackets.”

  “I’ve found that a great many factors share that feeling.”

  “Might I ask what you have in mind, Maitre?”

  “Commander Murranyt.”

  “Oh? In what regard?”

  Although Estafen’s expression remained pleasant, Alastar could definitely sense a tension that had not been present a moment before.

  “I recall that his predecessor died of the red flux. Most people don’t.”

  “That’s true. Most have it as children.”

  “I also discovered that there is a tonic that, helpful as it may be in dealing with other illnesses, actually makes the red flux much worse. Why this may be of interest is that in searching the study of the late High Holder Laevoryn—who supported armed brown-shirts against Rex Lorien—I came across this.” Alastar laid the card on the table before Estafen.

  The financier read it slowly, then looked up. “It is suggestive.”

  “In more ways than one…” Alastar gave a brief summary of his meeting with Murranyt, concluding, “so you can see why I have certain concerns.”

  “I would suggest that you are not the only one, but…”

  “Unpleasantnesses tend to occur to those who cross the commander?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ve been getting that impression.” Alastar smiled pleasantly. “That’s really all I wanted to say. It’s not a matter with which I’m likely to concern myself or the Collegium until we finish dealing with the High Holder rebels.”

  “And that is likely to happen … when?”

  “As matters now stand, within the next few weeks … possibly sooner.” Alastar stood.

  “Is what you showed me something you wish kept between us?” asked Estafen as he rose.

  “I have no problem in others knowing the contents of the card, or the fate of the previous commander. I would
appreciate that any others not be informed of how you came to see it.”

  Estafen nodded. “There are a few…”

  “I believe I understand.” Alastar inclined his head slightly. “Until later.”

  Estafen inclined his head in return.

  Alastar had thought about conveying similar information to Alamara the younger, but after seeing Estafen’s reaction decided against it. He also had his own preparations to make for the battle ahead. He just hoped it wouldn’t turn into a campaign.

  34

  While Alastar had hoped to get back to the Maitre’s house by third glass, word about his departure had apparently spread, and more than a few imagers appeared at his study door with various matters they felt needed decisions or resolution before he left. Some things did indeed need resolution—such as Petros’s concerns about the continually rising prices for hay and feed grain, although in the end, there wasn’t much of a choice besides trying to negotiate the best prices, but Alastar did have to make sure that Thelia knew he had approved the purchases to come.

  When he finally reached the Maitre’s house, it was well after fourth glass, and he was wondering what he’d overlooked. With so many aspects of the Collegium, there had to be something. Not that he worried overmuch. Alyna was more than capable of dealing with matters in his absence.

  Deciding what to take from all the gear he had assembled was the next step. He squared his shoulders and headed up the stairs to the sitting room. After glancing around, he set out his saddlebags, then laid out the two sets of grays he’d already decided upon—one to wear and one spare. The two were his oldest, since he suspected that neither would be worth wearing after what was likely to happen.

  At that moment, Alyna appeared. “You’d hoped to be home earlier.”

  “I did.”

  She handed him an oilskin jacket. “This might take up less space than your full-length one.”

  “I hate the idea of taking an oilskin, even the shorter jacket,” declared Alastar. “It’s still heavy and takes up space, and everything in that saddlebag will smell of fish oil.”

  “Dear … after two days everything will smell, and we’ve not had a week in the last two seasons when it didn’t rain at least once, and sometimes almost every day.”

  “If I take it, it won’t rain.”

  “That alone is reason enough…”

  Alastar folded the jacket and put it in one of the saddlebags. “I do have two water bottles for lager.”

  “Good. What about spare boots?”

  Alastar gestured toward the boots and smallclothes on the side table.

  Even with Alyna’s help and suggestions, or perhaps because of them, Alastar didn’t finish packing his gear until two quints past sixth glass, and it was a quint before seventh glass before Jienna announced that dinner was ready.

  Once everyone was settled around the table and Alastar had filled his beaker and Alyna’s, and given each of the girls half a beaker of the dark lager, he took a sip and cleared his throat. “Tomorrow morning, as you know, I’ll be leaving with most of the senior imagers, except for your mother and aunt, and Maitres Shaelyt, Gaellen, and Obsolym. We’ll be traveling with the army battalions in order to stop and defeat the High Holder rebels. They left Nordeau on Mardi afternoon.” He served Alyna two of the gravied pork cutlets, then took two himself before passing the platter to Malyna.

  “Why is Maitre Shaelyt staying here?” asked Lystara. “Is he hurt?”

  “No, he’s not,” replied Alyna, “but Tiranya has stronger shields, and they have a child. That’s another reason why I’m staying here. We need to keep some senior maitres here in case some of the rebels decide to attack Imagisle.” She broke off a chunk of bread and handed the basket to Alastar.

  “You’re a stronger imager than Maitre Cyran, aren’t you?” asked Lystara.

  “I don’t know that’s ever been determined,” replied Alyna.

  “Your mother will be better at dealing with the factors, the High Holders, and Rex Lorien,” declared Malyna.

  Alastar managed not to choke on his lager. “That might be true, but it’s not something that either of you should ever mention to anyone except the four of us. Is that clear?” His voice was chill as he spoke.

  “Yes, sir,” chorused both girls.

  “But it is true, Uncle Alastar, and she is a stronger imager,” Malyna added.

  Alastar wasn’t quite certain how to respond to that, but he couldn’t not deal with it. “She is. Almost everyone knows it, but declaring how good an imager anyone is doesn’t happen to be the wisest thing to say in public, at least most of the time.” Particularly if the imager is a woman.

  “That’s only true if the imager is a woman,” Malyna replied.

  “It’s true for all imagers. It’s even more true for a strong woman imager.”

  “How can something be more true, Father?” asked Lystara. “Aren’t things either true or not true?”

  Alastar could see Alyna trying not to smile. “You’re absolutely right, Lystara. What I should have said is that most men don’t like to admit that a woman is better or especially that she is stronger in something in which men think men should be the strongest.”

  “Men are vain about being strong,” murmured Malyna.

  “Most men are,” agreed Alastar, “just as most women are vain about the way they look.” And just as most women worry about losing their looks, most men worry about losing their strength … or their power, if they don’t have great physical strength. He wasn’t about to say that aloud, outnumbered as he was at his own table … and not with the ramifications of his words that Alyna might think about.

  He cut another bite of the cutlet and followed it with a mouthful of fried apples, and then dipped his bread in the apple drippings. He was going to miss Jienna’s cooking.

  “I’m glad you mentioned the vanity of men, dear,” said Alyna dryly.

  “I admit it. Men are vain. Most of their vanities differ from those of women, although I’ve known some men so vain about their clothes and appearance…” He shrugged, thinking that completing that thought was definitely unwise.

  “So vain that no woman could compare?” asked Alyna, a glint in her eye.

  “I said nothing of the sort.” Alastar took refuge in another swallow of lager.

  “I would hope not,” she replied. “I do find it interesting that the birds where the males have the most gorgeous plumage are those who do the least in rearing their young and also that the most effective birds of prey are those where the males and females differ the least.”

  “By that reasoning Quaeryt was very wise in insisting that imager grays be essentially the same for men and women. I have no doubt that Vaelora made her thoughts known there.”

  “I doubt she had to.”

  Alastar laughed. “In turn, I have no doubt of that, coming as you do from her lineage.”

  “You’re a wise man, dear.” Alyna grinned.

  So did Malyna.

  “Is there dessert?” asked Alastar.

  “Tonight? Of course. Jienna’s apple cobbler.”

  Alastar was definitely going to miss Jienna’s cooking.

  Much later, after the girls had retired to their rooms, where they were hopefully sleeping, Alastar and Alyna sat in their sitting room, sipping the last of the lager in the beakers they had brought upstairs.

  “… still wonder what part, if any, Bettaur plays in all this,” mused Alastar. “I’d have no doubts whatsoever if it weren’t for Linzya. You’ve never been fond of him. Nor have I been, but … something…” He shook his head. “Am I getting that old, that I’m not seeing what’s before me?”

  “No. You see what’s before you, and it doesn’t fit. I have the same problem. I don’t trust Bettaur. I never have. I likely never will. But Linzya has always been perceptive, and every detail suggests that, for whatever reason, he loves her, and that, because of her, he wants to prove we were wrong about him.”

  “It still doesn’t make se
nse.”

  “Some things don’t, dearest. Ever.” She took the last sip from her beaker. “It’s getting late.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve said it before, but I have to say it again. Please be careful. You’re…” She shook her head.

  “I’m what? Getting older? Not as strong as I used to be?”

  “Not yet … but you’ve even said that you don’t recover as quickly anymore.”

  Alastar wasn’t sure he’d ever said that, although he’d felt that way over the past few weeks. And Alyna’s “not yet” was an indirect way of suggesting that he probably wasn’t as strong as he had been ten years earlier. “Then it’s a good thing that I’ve got a bunch of younger maitres who are stronger than they were ten years ago … and recover more quickly.”

  “It’s a very good thing, and it’s time they learned just what it costs to protect the Collegium. Actually, it’s past time. I think your choice of who is accompanying you and the troopers was very wise.”

  “Even if I didn’t include you?” he asked lightly.

  “Your choices are wise. I can’t argue with them, much as I’d like to. But…” Alyna paused letting the silence draw out to punctuate the words that followed. “If you do something foolhardy, that will mean I’ll have to prop up whatever male succeeds you as Maitre. That will weaken the Collegium so much it may not recover. That’s even truer because of the decline of the imagers at Westisle.”

  “Which is no one’s fault but mine.”

  “That can be remedied … if you survive the battle or battles to come.” She stood, walked to his chair, and took his hand. “It is late, and you do have to get up early…”

  Alastar understood what she wasn’t saying. He stood, then took her other hand, and imaged out the oil lamps.

  35

  Alastar had to struggle out of bed on Vendrei morning, even though it was less than a glass earlier than he usually rose. But then, he and Alyna usually didn’t stay up so late as they had the night before. Or is it because you’re getting older?

  After he and Alyna had a quick breakfast, and Jienna had filled the water bottles with the best lager he’d likely have for who knew how long, Alastar swung the saddlebags over his shoulder and looked to Alyna. “Time to go.”