Madness in Solidar

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “They haven’t said. I haven’t asked. Yet. It’s likely to be this year’s tariffs. Why else would they say that now? I have to announce next year’s tariffs before this year’s are due.”

  “You have to?”

  “It’s in the codex.”

  “What if you don’t?” Who could make you?

  “According to the codex, they don’t have to pay this year’s tariffs until I announce next year’s.”

  “That could pose a problem…” temporized Alastar, suspecting that if even a small fraction of the High Holders withheld tariff payments, Ryen—and the Collegium—would face difficult times before long, certainly within months, if not weeks.

  “Pose a problem?” snapped Ryen. “There are Namer-fired few golds left in the treasury. They know that. There have been fewer every year by the end of harvest. That’s why I need to increase the tariffs. They haven’t been increased in years.”

  “What about the factors?”

  “What about them? They don’t have to pay, either.”

  “Could you leave the tariffs at the same level for next year, and say that they’ll increase next year?”

  “Are you an idiot, Maitre?!! That’s how I got into this mess. That’s what your predecessor suggested. Then he went and died.”

  Alastar managed not to swallow. Fhaen had never mentioned tariffs. Then, the former Maitre hadn’t mentioned all too many problems. “Is Guerdyn speaking for himself or as chief of the High Council?”

  “He can’t speak for the High Council until they meet on the eighteenth of Feuillyt.”

  “Have you heard anything from the other four councilors?”

  “Haebyn and Nacryon agree with Guerdyn. Moeryn and Vaun won’t oppose me.”

  “Vaun won’t be a councilor after Year-Turn,” Alastar pointed out.

  “I know that. I want you to do something about one of those against me.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Whatever it takes.” Ryen’s smile vanished. “Those insufferable malcontents … privileged and spoiled brats … all of them…”

  “That may be, sir, but if any of those three vanish or die suddenly, everyone will blame you. They will as well if any of them takes ill this soon before the High Council meets.”

  “Then find a way to get one of them to change his mind.” The rex’s voice turned cold. “Your predecessor was less…”

  “Less willing to point out the unpleasantnesses? That is true.” And that was one of the reasons why the senior imagers continued to support him until almost the end.

  “I was sorry to learn of his passing.” Ryen’s voice softened, then turned colder once more. “You know that Demykalon doesn’t like imagers, especially when they bring up the unpleasant.”

  “I’m well aware of the marshal’s distaste for both scholars and imagers. Have you talked with him about this?”

  “I’d prefer not to use force of arms at this point, or even threaten it. Haebyn and several others would refuse to pay until I put a battalion on his doorstep, and sending a battalion all the way to Piedryn would create problems I don’t want to think about.”

  Alastar nodded. From what little he’d heard about Haebyn, and he had heard a few things, Haebyn never let go of a grudge, at least according to Maitre Zhelan.

  “I’d end up having troopers riding everywhere. That would cost more golds. I won’t countenance spending golds to obtain them. I won’t!” Ryen’s voice rose not quite to a shout.

  Alastair waited a long moment. “The High Holders might raise private armies in return, and we’d have a civil war on our hands.” And because some of the commanders come from High Holder families, they might well not obey orders to discipline other High Holders.

  “I’m glad you include the Collegium as part of ‘we.’” Ryen waved toward the study door. “Let me know when you’ve taken care of the problem.”

  “I’ll look into it,” replied Alastar. “Then we’ll see.”

  “If you don’t solve it, I’ll have to cut the golds to the Collegium, you know.”

  “I’m well aware of the source of much of our funding, but at times, tightening one’s belt is preferable to slitting one’s throat.” Or the throats of innocent students and young imagers, which is more to the point.

  “I won’t press the point, Maitre, but an increase in tariffs would serve us all far better than belt-tightening. That would only encourage more attempts to throttle us both in the future.”

  Alastar nodded, if reluctantly, although Ryen was doubtless right. He turned and made his way from the rex’s study, well aware that Ryen’s gaze had turned to the window even before Alastar closed the study door on his way out.

  On his ride back to the Collegium, Alastar pondered the situation facing both Ryen and the imagers … and the fact that Fhaen had never mentioned the tariff problem.

  Once he was back in the administration building, he stopped at the table desk set in the anteroom outside his study and looked at the elderly imager secondus seated there. “Dareyn … would you please inform the senior imagers that there will be a meeting in the conference chamber at the first glass of the afternoon. It won’t take long, but I expect all of them to be there.” Not that there are that many seniors these days.

  “Yes, Maitre.”

  “Thank you.”

  After Alastar returned to the study, his eyes took in the ancient Telaryn sabre mounted on a plaque hung on the wall behind the desk. Not for the first time, he wondered why the most tangible memorial remaining from the Collegium’s founder was a sabre, given that the founder had been an imager. With a faint smile, he took his copy of the Collegium’s master ledger from the small bookcase behind and left of his desk chair, sat down, and began to peruse the ledger. After that came an examination of the Collegium roster … and the revised junior imager training and academic program that he had proposed a month earlier, when he had become Maitre, and oh-so-slowly begun to implement. He was still going over that when Dareyn knocked.

  “The others are all in the conference room, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Alastar stood and left his study, crossed the anteroom, and entered the conference room, where he took his place at the head of the long, time-darkened, and well-polished oak table, glancing at the five senior imagers gathered there. Outside of Cyran and himself, there were only four others—Taryn, Akoryt, Desyrk, and Obsolym, all of those four Maitres D’Structure, although the white-haired Obsolym was barely that in terms of imaging ability.

  “You’re not going to bring up more changes to the academic, physical, and imaging training again, are you?” wheezed Obsolym.

  “No, I’m not. I’m going to go over your roles in implementing it.” Since some of you aren’t doing what is necessary. “But before we get to that, I’m going to tell you why.” He paused. “I had a meeting with Rex Ryen this morning.”

  “What did he want?” asked Cyran.

  “He wants us to build an avenue straight from the Bridge of Desires to the ring road around the Chateau D’Rex. That was the more reasonable demand. After that, he effectively demanded that we make certain that the High Council does not vote to oppose the increase in tariffs on High Holders and factors that he intends to impose next year. That will require changing one of the probable votes in the coming High Council meeting because the High Council is opposed to paying any increase in tariffs. Ryen doesn’t want to announce an increase if they’ll vote to withhold their tariffs. They don’t have to pay this year’s tariffs until he announces next year’s, and the treasury is almost empty.”

  “It’s always been almost empty by the end of the year,” declared Obsolym. “What about this avenue?”

  “I told him we could do the road, but not until he owned the property and had made the arrangements. I also told him it would take weeks, possibly longer. The other matter is … more delicate and dangerous. I’d like each of your thoughts on that, especially given the precarious position the Collegium finds itself in.” He looked t
o Taryn, the black-haired Maitre D’Structure to his left.

  “Ryen hasn’t been the best of rexes…”

  That total understatement drew a few chuckles, mostly from Cyran and Desyrk.

  “… and he’s never been predictable, but he has a point. We’re struggling to pay for everything. The factors and the High Holders complain if we use imaging to make anything that cuts into what they do. The army consists of six regiments, or thirty battalions, and the navy is made up of a score of antique warships. Ryen barely rules, but a tariff increase is necessary.” Taryn turned his head to the redheaded Akoryt, the youngest man at the table.

  “The High Holders won’t listen to reason,” said Akoryt mildly. “They only respond to force. Force won’t work with the factors. There are too many of them, and too few of us to intimidate enough of them to make a difference.”

  “The factors will follow the lead of the High Holders, though,” added Cyran. “Even if they’re not happy about it. So far, they have, anyway.”

  Desyrk cleared his throat. “My brother the commander has often pointed out that force is often the only thing that works. Force will turn everyone against us. That makes all the choices before the Collegium unpleasant.” His brown eyes fixed on Alastar, then dropped.

  “They are,” responded Alastar. “When I was summoned here from Westisle by the former Maitre, I had no idea how much the position of the Collegium here had deteriorated. I have debated summoning several Maitres D’Aspect and perhaps one Maitre D’Structure from Westisle, but, if I did, they would not arrive for more than a month, perhaps not until mid- to late Finitas, and that will be too late for them to help with this difficulty.” He paused, knowing what he was about to say would sound like ancient history, but knowing it had to be said. “The first imagers of the Collegium were warriors. They were survivors of prosecution and persecution and murder. They numbered only a handful, but they were battle-hardened veterans who had developed enormous powers, the kind of powers we’ve not pursued developing to that degree in all imagers. We’ve neglected them because that kind of upbringing, testing, and training kills nine out of ten would-be imagers.” As it almost has you several times. “As some of you know, as the senior imager of the Collegium in Westisle, I was criticized because my training methods resulted in greater losses of young imagers, even though what we did there was as nothing compared to what those first imagers endured. If imagers are to survive in Solidar, we must toughen our studies and our training.”

  “The kind of training you’re talking about takes time and patience,” declared Taryn. “You’re right about how we should train imagers in the future. That was why I supported Maitre Fhaen’s decision to summon you, but we have to deal with the problems we’re facing now.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” agreed Alastar. “We can’t rush training of the younger imagers. In fact, their training will have to take longer if it is to be effective. That means we must deal with Ryen and the High Holders by subterfuge, give the impression of greater strength than we have in fact, and create the sense that we are forbearing use of mighty powers in the hope that the High Holders will come to their senses.”

  “You and Cyran are the only ones with those kinds of abilities, especially at a distance,” pointed out Desyrk. “Even you two might be pressed against the latest cannon of the army. Or the focused fire of the heavy rifles.”

  “When do you intend to make all these changes?” demanded Obsolym.

  “We’ve already started. You know that. Maitre Cyran is working with the most promising seconds and thirds to develop shields and other capabilities sooner in their studies.”

  “The older way was safer,” declared Obsolym.

  “Safer for the individual imager at the time, but failing to develop imaging capabilities to a greater degree has put them more at risk than they ever would have been if we’d followed what I’ve set out.” Or what we began two years ago at Westisle. “Something like ten imagers brought Rex Kharst and Bovaria to their knees. Ten. We have close to a hundred, between L’Excelsis and Westisle, and I doubt that any of us could image a fraction of what those ten could do.” Alastar was understating slightly, because he and Cyran could do quite a bit more than a fraction, but nothing close to what the structures created by the legendary Quaeryt and even the less legendary Elsior showed was possible. “Now we’re faced with a near-impossible situation, and we’re in that position because we’ve pampered ourselves and the young imagers.”

  “You can’t change that overnight,” Obsolym pointed out.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Alastar repeated, hating to keep harping on the situation, but knowing that at times repetition was necessary, “but the sooner we begin, the sooner we can begin to change matters, and improve our situation.” If we can hold off Ryen, the marshal, the High Holders, and the factors … and possibly even the guilds. “Now … let me go over the outline of the training program … and what I expect of each of you. I’m open to any suggestions about improving matters…” Alastar had no doubt that the meeting would last at least another glass, but he had to make certain that each senior imager understood not only his responsibilities but also the responsibilities of every other imager.

  2

  Meredi morning just after seventh glass, a good glass and a half after rising, and after an easy run around Imagisle, Alastar stood in the rear courtyard of the armory, watching as Cyran conducted a training session with imager seconds. A cool wind continued to blow, and Alastar could see a line of gray clouds above the walls to the northwest.

  As Maitre of the Collegium, Alastar needed to meet with High Holder Guerdyn, but that required finding out where Guerdyn might be. Whatever High Holder served as head of the High Council could use a comparatively modest but elegant chateau just off the West River Road about a half mille north of the Boulevard D’Ouest. That dwelling, although too small to accurately be termed a chateau, also served as the meeting place for the High Council. Unfortunately, because High Holder Guerdyn had his personal chateau and holding only ten milles east of L’Excelsis, Alastar had to send one of the young imagers as a courier to determine if Guerdyn was at the Council Chateau or at his own holding, and if he happened to be in L’Excelsis, to have the courier request a meeting for the afternoon.

  Since worrying would not bring a reply any sooner, Alastar forced his concentration back to the courtyard. Leaning against the stone wall at the west end were wooden targets cut into shapes representing troopers in various positions. Standing to Alastar’s right, a few paces from the east wall, were Cyran and seven imagers second, five males and two females, ranging in age from ten to fifteen, not old enough to be men and women, and too old to be boys and girls. The distance from the imagers to the targets was close to thirty yards. A large pile of iron scrap stood in the corner of the courtyard nearest the young imagers, a necessity to keep the seconds from drawing iron from the armory itself, weakening the building or the pitifully few weapons stored there.

  “When I point to you,” ordered Cyran, “image an iron dart into the target in front of you with enough force to hold. I won’t point in order. So watch me.” He pointed and snapped, “Beltran!”

  A sliver of iron, hardly a dart, appeared in the target opposite the second, wobbling and barely sticking.

  “That wouldn’t even cause a coney to halt,” observed Cyran. “Oestyl!”

  A shorter, broader, and younger second concentrated, and a knife-shaped dart bounced off a target, not even the one directly before Oestyl.

  “You can make the dart smaller. You don’t need a hilt, but you need more power. It would also help if it went where it was supposed to. Julyan!”

  Julyan’s dart was smooth and deadly and buried itself halfway through the thick plank from which the target had been cut.

  “Good! Now you, Celiena!”

  The young woman did not seem to concentrate, but a perfectly shaped dart struck the target, but barely hard enough to stick in the tough wood.

&nbs
p; “Excellent dart. You need to find more power. Aelbryt!”

  Aelbryt’s dart looked more like a spear point. It hit the target, held for a moment, then dropped to the stones below.

  “You need more power, young man. Much more,” declared Cyran.

  Alastar walked over to the other maitre. “You’ll keep them at it until they’re exhausted … then bring them back for another session late this afternoon?” His words were barely a question.

  Cyran nodded. “They’re a bit tired already. They ran a mille first. They’ll need to work up to two milles without collapsing. I had them imaging salt mist and fine pepper after that.”

  “I’ll see you later.” Alastar left the armory courtyard quietly, still holding full shields, as part of his own efforts to maintain his abilities amid all the politics and planning, not to mention trying to unscramble the finances and administration of the Collegium. As he passed the locked door to the armory, he wondered again why the Collegium even bothered with an armory, or had it just remained from the time centuries ago when a regiment had been quartered on Imagisle? So many useless remnants combined with an education little more than meaningless memorization of rhetoric and rote imaging. If it weren’t for the fact that imagers needed a strong Collegium in L’Excelsis, where it could effect the rex and the High Council, Alastar would have been tempted to close Imagisle and ship all the imagers to Westisle. But that would just delay the decline of imager power, when what was necessary was to reverse that decline and reestablish the power of the Collegium in L’Excelsis—close to the rex and the High Council.

  After he returned to the administration building, he went to the archives, overseen by Obsolym, who was absent at the moment. The archives were one of the few areas of the Collegium that did happen to be well-organized, and Alastar wanted to see what he could find about the past history of the present members of the High Council. Not surprisingly, he found nothing, except their names, as well as the names of every councilor who had served since the time of Elsior. Elsior, not Quaeryt? When he returned to his study, he took down the copy of the legal codex of Solidar, supposedly yet another creation of the legendary Quaeryt, and opened it, thinking as he did, Was there any aspect of the founding of Solidar that wasn’t his doing? No man could do all that.