Madness in Solidar

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  As soon as Alastar rode across the narrow east bridge and onto Imagisle, a junior imager ran toward him, calling, “Maitre! Sir!”

  Alastar reined up and took the folded and sealed paper that the youth extended, breaking the seal. The words were simple.

  Rex Ryen wants you at the Chateau D’Rex immediately upon your return. His messenger did not say why.

  The signature was Dareyn’s, and the word “immediately” was underlined twice.

  Alastar turned to his escorts. “I’m wanted at the Chateau D’Rex immediately.”

  Since it was quicker and shorter, he guided the gelding across Imagisle and over the Bridge of Desires and then up the West River Road to the Boulevard D’Ouest. Once he reached the chateau, he dismounted and hurried up the steps to the entry. From there a chateau guard escorted him to Ryen’s private study.

  “It’s about time.” Ryen’s voice was chill, and he did not look up from where he sat beside the desk.

  “I was meeting with High Holder Nacryon.”

  “You finally got around to that. Marvelous.”

  Alastar stood before the desk, waiting.

  “I don’t know why my father or his father ever put up with the Collegium. You … you have made things worse. Everything you do makes things worse.”

  “Might I ask what has troubled you?”

  “You don’t even know? What stupidity! What inanity! I’m trying to persuade the High Council and the factors to go along with an increase in tariffs, and you do this. Yes, you. I’m talking about your repairing the sewers. I wasn’t about to provide the council with any more stipends for roads and sewers, not until they agreed to support an increase in tariffs. Half of what I’ve given them goes to their own wallets, anyway. They’re greedy bastard children of the Namer, every last one of them. You, the head of the Collegium … you had to go and undo all the pressure I was putting on them through their own incompetence.” Ryen’s glare was withering.

  Alastar ignored it. “You might have told the Collegium the reason for the stench that made breathing on Imagisle a disgusting and tedious matter.”

  “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  “The less you tell me, the more likely I’ll end up doing something else that you won’t like. The more you tell me, the more I’ll be able to help … or at least not get in the way.”

  “You’ve already done enough, Maitre. You fixed their frigging Namer-fired sewers … and you tell me you can’t start on my projects for another week.”

  “Just three days after we have your proclamation, your map, and your assurance that we can remove buildings along the route.”

  “Just go. Don’t do anything if you can’t do it without causing me more trouble.”

  Alastar did not move.

  “You heard me! Go!” Ryen’s voice rose almost to a screech.

  Alastar didn’t trust himself to reply. Besides, in Ryen’s mood, saying anything would only have made matters worse. He inclined his head, if only slightly, turned, and left, making certain his shields were strong as his back was to the rex.

  From the Chateau D’Rex, Alastar and his escorts rode west nearly two milles and then slightly north into an area of rolling hills in order to reach Councilor Moeryn’s L’Excelsis residence, the grounds of which resembled a hunting park. Although perhaps thirty yards across the front, the single-level structure was smaller than any other councilor’s residence that Alastar had so far visited. From what Alastar could tell, it was just before third glass when he dismounted on the brick-paved square in front of the roofed entry porch, a space that could only have held a handful of people at most.

  A burly man with a reddish square-cut beard stepped out and waited for Alastar to approach. Unlike the other High Holders, he wore a woolen brown tweed jacket and trousers, brown boots, and a pale ivory shirt open at the neck, a space filled with a brown silk scarf. Yet his complexion was more like the honeyed skin shown by most Pharsi. “Greetings, Maitre.”

  “Greetings to you,” replied Alastar, not entirely certain if the man happened to be Moeryn. He walked toward the entry.

  “You arrived almost exactly on the glass. I was beginning to wonder if you had been delayed. Come on in. We’re not all that formal here.” Moeryn, for it had to be the High Holder, looked to the two younger imagers. “If you’ll ride to the north side of the house, you can water the mounts there and have some refreshments.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied the two, almost in unison.

  “You’re more than welcome. It’s a ride out here from Imagisle, and you’ll have to ride back.” Moeryn grinned, then opened the oiled oak door, and motioned for Alastar to enter.

  As they walked through the oak-paneled entry hall, Alastar said, “As a matter of fact, I was summoned rather unexpectedly to the Chateau D’Rex.”

  “Might I ask why?”

  “The rex had some urgent instructions for the Collegium dealing with several tasks we have undertaken, including a repair of a small section of sewers south of the east bridge on East River Road.” Alastar kept his expression pleasant.

  “I can’t imagine…” Moeryn shook his head and offered a wry smile. “I hope you don’t mind if I include my wife in our conversation. She has always wanted to meet a real imager, and I find that she often has insights that I lack.” The High Holder chuckled ruefully.

  This man knows his faults, and that may make him more dangerous than he seems. “I certainly have no problem with her joining us.” Alastar paused, then said, “You are from Khelgror, I understand…”

  “Where there are more Pharsi and more imagers except, well, there are very few other Pharsi High Holders. Most of them are near Jovahl or along the coast. That’s a far piece from our holding.”

  The way Moeryn said “our holding” suggested strongly that the lands had belonged to his wife’s family and that he had married into her family, and that he had likely been the younger son of another High Holder. He gestured and turned, leading Alastar into a salon on the west side of the house, a chamber far brighter than Alastar would have thought, given the hangings over the windows, until he realized that the fabric was sheer, designed to block the glare from the afternoon sun, but allow more than a modicum of light. A muscular and not-quite-stocky woman was already standing beside a leather armchair, one of three arranged in a fashion to facilitate conversation, with a low circular table set in the middle of the three.

  “Dear,” offered Moeryn, “this is Maitre Alastar. Maitre, my wife Thearra.”

  Thearra, whose heart-shaped face was framed by comparatively short silvered blond hair, strikingly set off by her pale golden skin, inclined her head. “Maitre, welcome to Hillpark.”

  “Thank you.” The way the two had positioned themselves meant that Alastar had to take the dark leather chair facing toward the windows, but when he seated himself, he discovered it had been placed so that the light filtered through the sheer hangings did not strike him directly.

  “I presume you are here to feel out how the High Council will react to Rex Ryen’s intent to increase tariffs.” Moeryn’s voice was hearty, but matter-of-fact.

  “Rather more to get a better feeling for the High Council and its members, since I had never expected to become Maitre of the Collegium.”

  “Was that because you were the second senior imager at Westisle?” asked Thearra.

  “Frankly … yes. I find myself having to learn a great deal more than I’d thought would be necessary.” Alastar looked to Thearra, noting that her eyes met his, neither challenging nor deferential. “That, I have discovered, and rediscovered, is the nature of life.”

  “If one wishes to be fulfilled in life,” she replied.

  A red-haired young woman, a girl really, entered the sitting room with a large tray on which were three beakers, two pitchers, and three platters.

  Thearra stood immediately and set the pitchers on the low table, followed by the beakers, while the girl placed a platter on the table before each armchair. Then
Thearra looked to the girl. “Thank you, dear.”

  “Our eldest,” said Moeryn once the girl had departed.

  “We’re not terribly formal here,” explained Thearra.

  “We’re not formal anywhere except when the occasion demands it,” added Moeryn.

  “The white pitcher holds amber lager, and the brown one the dark,” said Thearra. “There is a sampling of refreshments on the platter—dates wrapped in thin ham, shortbread biscuits, olives, apple slices, and a small loaf of freshly baked dark bread, and some salted almonds. We thought you might need some replenishment.”

  “I’m certain he does,” added Moeryn, “seeing as he just came here after meeting with Rex Ryen.”

  “Is he really as difficult as Moeryn insists that he is?”

  “Let us just say that he has definite opinions,” returned Alastar dryly, before lifting the brown pitcher and looking to Thearra, who nodded. He filled both her beaker and his to roughly two-thirds of their capacity before looking to Moeryn.

  “I prefer the amber, thank you. Definite opinions.” The High Holder chuckled. “A diplomatic way of putting what most would call madness. If he were as diplomatic as you are, he’d have fewer difficulties.”

  “I don’t know about fewer difficulties,” said Alastar. “Less unpleasantness, though, I would judge.” He took a small swallow of the dark lager. “This is quite good, by the way.”

  “Thank you. Thearra is the one who takes care of purchasing lager. She has far better taste than I do.” Moeryn paused. “Why do you say that he would not have fewer difficulties?”

  “There are difficulties with people and their manners, and there are difficulties that have less to do with people, but the way things are. The rex will need more ships if piracy is to be curtailed. That is not a matter of manners and pleasantness, but of golds. High Holders and factors would prefer not to have their outlays increased by higher tariffs. Again, not a matter of manners … if you see what I mean. There are other needs, on both sides, of course.”

  “What you say sounds like a prelude to negotiation,” suggested Moeryn.

  “I have neither the commission nor the direction to treat with the High Council on any such matters. I’m just trying to get to know the councilors.”

  “To what end, then?” asked Thearra.

  “To determine what is necessary to return the Collegium to its former position of respect.” Alastar smiled. “That by itself I find to be a most daunting task.” He took another swallow of the lager, and then one of the ham-wrapped dates … simultaneously slightly too sweet and too salty for his taste. The olive that followed was more to his liking. So he took another, and then a few almonds.

  “Daunting?” asked Thearra. “I fear I do not understand. Do not imagers have considerable powers?”

  “Some do. Some do not. Many are students who may develop their abilities after years of training … but the greatest warriors were all babes once.”

  Thearra nodded. “I had not thought of it in that fashion. That does suggest, if I might be so bold to say it, that the Collegium is not so independent as it once was or as many believe it to be.”

  “The Collegium could be more independent than it is, were it not for an excess of deference to others that led to the neglect of certain skills. Not those for which imagers are feared,” Alastar went on smoothly, “but those that would have provided greater financial independence.”

  “Meaning that the Collegium needs the rex’s golds?” asked Thearra.

  “For a time, that is likely to be necessary.”

  “You find yourselves caught between Ryen and the High Council,” declared Moeryn evenly.

  “That could happen if we are not careful. That is one reason why I am here.”

  “Again … most delicately and diplomatically put,” said Thearra with a smile.

  “Hardly delicately, but diplomatically, I would hope,” replied Alastar, before taking one of the shortbread biscuits.

  Thearra took a small but lingering sip of her lager before speaking again. “You don’t look to come from a Pharsi background, but I’d always heard that many imagers did.”

  From her statement, Alastar understood that there would be no more even indirect talk about Ryen and the High Council. “There is a greater likelihood of an imager being born to a Pharsi family, but there are far more people in Solidar who are not Pharsi, and they occasionally have children who are imagers. From what I know, perhaps one in five imagers has some Pharsi blood in his or her ancestry.” He smiled. “Given what is hidden in families, there might be more, but there are definitely fewer Pharsi imagers than imagers from other backgrounds.”

  “You’re from Liantiago, I understand?”

  Alastar nodded and took another sip of the lager.

  After an additional glass of pleasant talk and refreshments, amid tacit unspoken signals, Alastar finally said, “I’ve tariffed your hospitality far too long, but I have enjoyed both meeting you both and eating too many of your delicacies, and it is not a short ride to the Collegium.”

  “Would that you could stay longer,” returned Moeryn, rising as Alastar did, “but we do understand.”

  Thearra smiled and nodded. “I did so enjoy learning about the Collegium at Westisle.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Once Alastar and the two imagers were on the road and well away from Hillpark, Alastar turned in the gelding’s saddle, grinned, and asked Belsior, “Did the redheaded girl serve you refreshments?”

  “Why … yes, sir.” Belsior blushed.

  “And she asked you how you liked being escorts or guards for me?”

  “Ah … yes, sir…”

  “What else?” Alastar looked to Neiryn.

  “Just things about Imagisle … whether things had changed much with a new Maitre … and if we ever saw the rex…”

  Alastar prompted the two gently as they rode, thinking as he did that, after meeting all five councilors, he wasn’t so sure that the two that Ryen was counting on for support weren’t the most unpredictable … and potentially the most dangerous.

  By the time he, Belsior, and Neiryn returned to the Collegium, the administration building was dark, except for the entry area that held the duty desk. Even after Alastar unsaddled and groomed the gelding, it was too early for the evening meal, but he didn’t want to walk all the way to the Maitre’s dwelling, wait a fraction of a glass, and then walk back to the dining hall.

  He glanced over at the anomen to the west. He could see light there. With a wry smile, he walked to the ancient building, hoping Iskhar might be there. The chorister was, possibly working on a homily for the coming Solayi, with papers and a book on his desk.

  “What is it, Maitre?” Iskhar’s voice was polite, but formal.

  Alastar understood and got straight to the point. “Are there any records from previous choristers that date back to the first chorister of the Collegium?”

  Iskhar offered a puzzled expression. “Of course. Gauswn kept very good records.”

  Gauswn?

  “The first chorister of the Collegium.”

  “Did Maitre Fhaen ever read them?”

  “I wouldn’t know. He never asked me, but I’ve only been at the Collegium nine years.”

  “And you’ve read them?”

  “Chorister Ulrek insisted that I do so.”

  “Are there any references to Maitre Quaeryt?”

  “There are some and quite a few mentions of what Quaeryt did as Maitre, but very little about how he founded the Collegium. Just some passing mentions.”

  “If you could let me borrow those…?”

  “Certainly, sir, but there are three volumes. They’re bound, you know. Do you need them right now?”

  “No. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  “I’ll have one of the students bring them over in the morning, if that’s all right.”

  “That would be fine. I won’t take more of your time.” Alastar smiled. “I wouldn’t want you to have to slight your hom
ily.”

  Iskhar offered an embarrassed smile. “Sometimes … well, it’s harder. This is one of those times.”

  “Have as pleasant an evening as you can.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Alastar headed back from the anomen to the dining hall. He’d still be early.

  11

  Alastar had no more than reached the bottom of the steps of the Maitre’s dwelling on Vendrei morning, for the second time, the first being when he had left on his morning run, when the gray-haired and sprightly Jienna appeared.

  “Maitre Alastar, have you thought about the bed linens? Before long, if we don’t get more, you’ll be sleeping on rags.”

  Alastar smiled. “I’ve slept on much worse, but I’ll have Dareyn order a set. Just one. The Collegium can’t afford more.” In actuality, he’d pay for them.

  “Two’d be better. The pair would last longer.”

  “I’ll see what I can do … and thank you.”

  “Don’t be working until all glasses every night, either.”

  Alastar nodded. “I’ll see what I can do in that regard as well.”

  Jienna shook her head.

  Alastar managed not to grin as he left for the dining hall and breakfast.

  The first thing he did once he reached his study after eating was to instruct Dareyn to request another meeting for him with Factor Elthyrd. He’d meant to do that on Jeudi, but what with Ryen’s temper, he hadn’t gotten back to the Collegium until it had been too late to do that. You thought you’d have time. Another reminder not to put anything off until later, because there won’t be any more time then. Not the way matters were headed. Then he asked Dareyn to take care of the bed linens, two sets of them, because Jienna would keep bringing it up.

  He frowned. There was something else he’d meant to do … someone else he needed to talk to, but he couldn’t remember who. Too much going on … and you still don’t know enough.

  When official studies began on Vendrei morning, Alastar was in the corner of the chamber used by Akoryt, who was conducting a new course of study on the role of law in Solidar. He had raised a concealment, although he had informed Akoryt that he would be observing—or rather largely hearing, since he could not make out facial expressions from where he was positioned, only hear words and sense large gestures. The student imagers with whom Akoryt was working were all older seconds, and the short course of study was designed to refresh whatever they had been taught when they were younger and—equally important—to make them more aware of certain aspects of law. Alastar was well aware of the unevenness of how law applied in practice, and the imagers of the Collegium needed to understand that, as well as the fact that imagers could not afford the slightest impression that they were above the law … or that it did not apply to them. He also worried about whether Akoryt was the best senior imager to instruct the older seconds. But there are so few senior maitres.