Treachery's Tools

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I never did anything about Vaschet … or that bastard Murranyt.”

  “Vaschet won’t be a problem. There’s a story about him in Veritum. I left a copy on the desk in your study. I thought you’d want to see it. As for the Civic Patrol … you have time. After all that’s happened, Murranyt may decide to take his stipend quite soon.”

  “You speak as though you know. And what about Vaschet—”

  “You can’t do anything about what’s happened … and we’re almost there.” She opened the door to the administration building for him.

  “You do put matters in perspective.” He managed a smile. “Likely another result of your training in geometry.” But more likely the result of growing up in a High Hold.

  “No more than you, dear.”

  Alastar doubted that, but he wasn’t about to say so at that moment.

  As they approached the anteroom, Alyna reached out and took Alastar’s hand, then squeezed it as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you at the meeting. There are some things I need to do, and you should read about Vaschet and meet with the others alone.”

  Then she was gone.

  Both Dareyn and Maercyl stood outside the door to the Maitre’s study.

  “Welcome back, Maitre,” said Dareyn cheerfully.

  Maercyl nodded in agreement and smiled.

  “Thank you both. Have Akoryt come in as soon as he arrives.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alastar took off the oilskin and handed it to Maercyl. “If you would … somewhere out of the way. The aroma…”

  Maercyl smiled broadly. “Yes, sir.”

  Alastar left the door open as he made his way to the desk, polished and without a speck of dust anywhere. The only item on the desk was the single copy of Veritum.

  How did they find another printing press so soon? Then he picked up the newssheet. The date was Vendrei, 27 Erntyn, and the lead story was about the rebel army marching on L’Excelsis … and how it was being led by commanders loyal to dissident High Holders. The headline of the second story caught his eye—IRON FACTOR MURDERED.

  That must have been what she meant.

  Vaschet D’Factorius was shot leaving a Factors’ Council meeting on Meredi morning. He died on the spot from a single bullet that went through his eye and into his brain. Civic Patrollers found an almost new R-2 rifle of the type manufactured by Vaschet’s own ironworks less than a block away. No one saw the killer.

  Vaschet had been meeting with the council about his petition that the council press for legal charges dealing with damages to his ironworks incurred as part of events connected with the ongoing High Holders’ rebellion. Council members declared that the matter would not be pursued, given the circumstances surrounding Vaschet’s death and the fact that it was clear Vaschet had provided aid to the rebels.

  A single bullet? Through the eye? Alastar nodded slowly, and a wry smile crossed his lips.

  He barely had set down the newssheet and hadn’t even seated himself when Akoryt appeared. Alastar motioned for Akoryt to close the door and then sat down. Once the grayed redhead seated himself, Alastar began. “You did a remarkable job over the past month.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Have you thought about being senior imager?”

  Akoryt looked directly at Alastar. “I couldn’t do that, sir. The only one who could fill Cyran’s boots is Maitre Alyna.”

  “What about the fact that we’re married?”

  “Sir, there’s not an imager on all Imagisle who doesn’t know she would be senior imager if Cyran hadn’t already been.”

  “You’ve been outstanding as Maitre of Students.”

  “Thank you, but the senior imager should be Maitre Alyna.”

  Alastar smiled. “Then I should bow to your judgment, which I’ve always trusted. I do feel a little awkward…”

  “Don’t. You should feel awkward about considering me when she is so much more qualified.”

  Alastar shook his head. “I said I trusted your judgment and your honesty, and you’ve just demonstrated why.”

  “You should announce it at the meeting.”

  “I think I can do that. What do you think about the situation at Westisle?”

  “You need to send a young and strong Maitre D’Structure there, and several Maitres D’Aspect.”

  “Would you be interested?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind … no. I prefer working with you and Maitre Alyna, and Corlyssa hates really warm weather.”

  “What have I missed? Or what recommendations do you have?”

  “Arion, Khaelis, or Shaelyt would do well in Westisle, but Tiranya wouldn’t. She’s anything but fond of either the ocean or heat.”

  “That leaves Arion or Khaelis.”

  “Either would do well.”

  “Anything else?”

  “From what I saw, Seliora is more than qualified to be a Maitre D’Structure.”

  “Thank you. I’d already planned to tell her and announce that, but I’m glad that you agree.”

  Akoryt smiled. “That’s all I have, sir.”

  Alastar stood. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support and your hard work over all the years.”

  “I’ve enjoyed it, and I look forward to continuing.”

  “So do I.”

  After Akoryt left, Alastar walked to the window, closed against the rain that had become more of a downpour, and looked out. Even more damage to the crops, as if there’s all that much left to harvest.

  There was a knock on the door, and Dareyn announced, “Maitres Arion and Seliora are here.”

  “Have Arion come in.” Alastar turned and waited.

  “Sir, you wanted to see me?”

  “I did.” Alastar did not sit down. “It won’t take long. I’d like you to consider becoming Maitre at Westisle.”

  “Sir? Me? There are others more senior…”

  “From what I’ve seen, you’re at least as strong an imager as any, and you have a better background in the sort of dealings the Maitre must have. You also aren’t likely to be flattered into defecting by rebellious High Holders.”

  “I hadn’t even thought…”

  “You also have the makings of a Maitre D’Esprit. So the rank would come with the title of Maitre.”

  Arion smiled wryly. “There is one consideration.”

  “Oh?”

  “Seliora. We’d thought … I wouldn’t…”

  “If she wants to go to Westisle if you do, that would be even better. Go ask her, and then come back. I understand she’s in the anteroom.”

  “Right now?”

  Alastar nodded.

  In moments, Arion returned. “She said yes. We’ll go.”

  “Excellent!” Alastar didn’t have to counterfeit satisfaction and enthusiasm. “Keep that between you two until I announce it at the meeting.”

  “We can do that.”

  “Now … have her come in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Seliora entered the office, quietly closing the door behind her. “Sir?”

  Alastar smiled happily. “First, I wanted to thank you for probably saving my life several times over. Second … it’s more than clear to me, and to every imager who was with us, that you are more than capable of everything required of a Maitre D’Structure and then some. So you’re to attend the senior maitres’ meeting in a few moments, where I will make that formal announcement.”

  “Thank you, sir.” With the words came a quiet smile.

  That pleased Alastar especially, because she offered no false modesty, and no protests, just a quiet acceptance of what she knew she deserved. “I understand you’re willing to go to Westisle?”

  “I am, particularly now.”

  Alastar understood that as well. “Good. There will probably be a Maitre D’Aspect going as well. That has not been decided.”

  “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “Not at the moment.” Alastar grinned. “Go tell Ar
ion.”

  Seliora offered a most uncharacteristic impish smile. “I just might.” She turned and left the study.

  Alastar nodded. He’d always thought Seliora would turn out well. He just hadn’t realized how well.

  “Maitre Taurek is here,” announced Maercyl.

  Alastar motioned for the burly maitre to enter.

  Taurek closed the door behind himself. “Sir?”

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “I’d rather not guess, sir.” Taurek grinned. “But I imagine it’s not about creating a branch of the Collegium in Estisle.”

  Alastar laughed at Taurek’s open and good-humored words, then said, “You’re to attend the senior maitres’ meeting. You’ve demonstrated the abilities of a Maitre D’Structure.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We’ll talk about Estisle in a while … maybe a year or so.”

  “Yes, sir. I won’t forget.”

  “I’m sure you won’t. Now … go, so that I can get ready for the meeting.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A quint later, Dareyn announced, “The maitres are all in the conference room.”

  Alastar frowned. Alyna hadn’t come to see him first. Did you upset her? Worried as he was, he offered a pleasant expression as he walked to the side door and then entered the conference room.

  All the surviving senior imagers of the Collegium were seated around the table with Alyna in her usual position on Alastar’s left. The seat to his right had been left vacant. As he sat at the head of the table, Alastar looked at each imager in turn—Alyna, Akoryt, Khaelis, Tiranya, Gaellen, Obsolym, Arion, Shaelyt … and Seliora and Taurek. Finally, he spoke.

  “Before I brief everyone on my meeting yesterday with Rex Lorien, I have a few announcements to make.” He turned to Alyna. “If you would please take the chair to my right, Senior Imager Alyna.”

  “About time!” snapped Obsolym, the one senior maitre that Alastar would have thought the least likely to make such a comment.

  The nods that ran around the table seconded Obsolym’s tart comment.

  “I’d also like to welcome Maitre D’Structure Seliora and Maitre D’Structure Taurek to the ranks of the senior imagers.” Alastar paused. “The last matter of this nature is the appointment of the new Maitre of the Collegium at Westisle. Maitre D’Esprit Arion has accepted the post, and he will be accompanied by Maitre Seliora. At least one other junior maitre will accompany them, but that imager has not yet been determined. See me or Maitre Alyna later if any of you have suggestions.” Alastar gestured. “Maitre Arion?”

  Arion smiled ruefully. “My father said to make the most of opportunities. I believe that Seliora and I will certainly have the chance to make the most of what appear to be almost, but not quite, insurmountable opportunities in Westisle, just as Maitre Alastar did here in Imagisle some thirteen years ago.” He smiled at Seliora. “That’s likely more than I should have said.”

  Alastar waited for the soft laughs and chuckles to fade, then said, “I met with Lorien yesterday afternoon…” In less than half a quint, he summarized what had been said.

  “Will he do all that?” asked Gaellen.

  “If he wants to remain as rex,” replied Alastar. “Charyn is almost old enough to succeed him, and Lady Chelia would be a more-than-adequate regent.”

  After Alastar’s response there were no other questions.

  “Then the meeting is over.” Alastar stood, then waited as the other imagers left before turning to Alyna. “I’d like to meet with you, Senior Imager.”

  “I’d like that.”

  After they entered the study and he closed the door, he said, “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “I thought, but I didn’t know. It had to be your decision. All yours. That was why I went directly to the conference room.”

  “You’re likely to be as much Maitre as I am.” He gestured toward the newssheet on the desk where he’d left it. “How did you find out when the Factors’ Council was meeting?”

  “I just asked Thelia if she’d keep me posted on whatever the council was doing. From what you said, Vaschet’s the type who never thought he was wrong about anything and would keep pushing until he was dead. So he’d keep pressing with the council. We did have more than a few of the new rifles left from the attacks here.” Alyna paused. “Either Lysara or Malyna could have just as easily been the ones killed by the brown-shirts. They came close enough when they wanted to see the glowbugs. You and the Collegium didn’t need to worry about Vaschet. And Solidar didn’t need a factor who’d stoop to manufacturing poisoned bullets. Not for all the golds in L’Excelsis.”

  “Very neatly done.”

  “I didn’t like doing it, but I can still see Lyam’s face.” She shook her head. “And the way you looked after you came back from the ironworks.”

  “You’re more qualified than me—”

  “No. I’ll be your senior imager.”

  “I’ll need your judgment … and more than that.”

  “You’ve always had my thoughts.”

  “But the Collegium hasn’t always, and it needs them, and your actions, too.”

  “That’s one of the things I admire most about you, dearest. You respect the past. You understand the traditions, but you’re not afraid to change.” She offered the mischievous smile he liked so much. “Even if you are conservative in how you change … and sometimes need a little encouragement.”

  “I’ve thought about that, especially in the last few days.” Alastar offered a faint smile. “I’ve done a lot of thinking. If you remember everything, and you’re tied to the past, you can be weighted down and chained not only by unfilled expectations, but also by the angers, grievances, and sorrows, unable to change and improve. If you remember nothing, and all you can do is make the same mistakes, time after time, and that, too, leaves you unable to change and improve.” He shook his head. “I sound all too pretentious. It might be better said that Quaeryt was right in not wanting too much remembered.”

  “You’re right, and so was he.” Alyna nodded. “You could also say that the High Holders like Cransyr, Laevoryn, and Ryel were wrong in hanging on to a time that was long past. As was Ryentar.”

  Alastar frowned. “I’m not sure about Ryel. He certainly used the unattainable past to motivate the others … and he’s emerged, largely untouched, as the de facto leader of the High Holders. Which makes him perfect to be the next head of the High Council.”

  “He’ll accept. He has no choice.”

  “Do any of us?”

  “You did. You didn’t have to choose me.”

  “No.” He smiled broadly. “I had absolutely no choice.”

  “Neither did I.”

  They both laughed, if softly.

  EPILOGUE

  “Maitre Alastar and Senior Imager Alyna,” the footman announced.

  Alastar and Alyna stepped into the rebuilt and refurbished receiving study of the Chateau D’Council.

  The man who stood beside the ebony conference table could have been no other than High Holder Ryel, not with the fine blond hair, blue eyes, and the warm welcoming smile that seemed to embrace whoever received it. His attire was what Alastar would have expected, a formal but austere black jacket with a silver-gray shirt, and a black and silver silk cravat. His trousers matched his shirt, and his boots were black.

  Alastar and Alyna walked across the black marble floor and halted a yard or so from Ryel.

  “Welcome to the Chateau D’Council, although you’re more familiar with it than am I, since I arrived but yesterday.”

  “Only the entry, hallways, and receiving study,” replied Alastar with a smile. “Oh, and one parlor. You must have had the study here refurbished before you arrived.”

  “That seemed opportune.”

  “I’m pleased that you saw your way to becoming High Councilor,” Alastar said.

  “I fear events—and you, Maitre Alastar—left me little choice.” Ryel again offered the same warm, winni
ng, and oh-so-sincere smile that Alastar had seen too often from Ryentar … and Bettaur.

  “That’s true. Events have left all of us with few choices, and some events predictably lead to others, often with fatal outcomes. Failing to see that was a mistake Ryentar and your predecessor Cransyr both made. Your serving as High Councilor will, I am most certain, assure that the High Holders will not ever again attempt to press change upon Solidar through force of arms or spurious legal claims.”

  “I think we all have seen the dangers of that, and I will be more than pleased to work with a strong Collegium to assure any change that may occur will be through the laws and in accord with the Codex Legis in a manner acceptable to all.”

  “We are agreed in that,” said Alastar almost amiably.

  “Indeed,” added Alyna, her eyes fixed on the High Holder, “we are.” She smiled. “And we will always agree on that, I am most certain.”

  Ryel paused, then said, “How could it be otherwise?”

  “How indeed?” replied Alyna, and her words were silvered, even as her black eyes fixed the High Holder where he stood.

  Ryel’s smile was thin as he nodded. “Indeed.”

  Tor Books by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.

  The Imager Portfolio

  Imager

  Imager’s Challenge

  Imager’s Intrigue

  Scholar

  Princeps

  Imager’s Battalion

  Antiagon Fire

  Rex Regis

  Madness in Solidar

  Treachery’s Tools

  Assassin’s Price (forthcoming)

  The Corean Chronicles

  Legacies

  Darknesses

  Scepters

  Alector’s Choice

  Cadmian’s Choice

  Soarer’s Choice

  The Lord-Protector’s Daughter

  Lady-Protector

  The Saga of Recluce

  The Magic of Recluce

  The Towers of the Sunset

  The Magic Engineer

  The Order War

  The Death of Chaos

  Fall of Angels

  The Chaos Balance

  The White Order

  Colors of Chaos

  Magi’i of Cyador

  Scion of Cyador

  Wellspring of Chaos

  Ordermaster

  Natural Ordermage