Madness in Solidar

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I’ve been doing that for the past week.”

  “Can you tell any difference?”

  “I’m already stronger. It does make a difference.”

  “Can you suggest that to Tiranya?”

  “I already have. She thinks I’m being too cautious, but she’s doing it. Mostly, anyway.”

  “Thank you.’

  “You’re very worried, aren’t you?” Alyna’s voice was low.

  “More than I’ll say openly,” he admitted.

  “I won’t say a word.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” He paused. “Did you ride a great deal as a child?”

  “All the time. It was the only way I could keep up with my brothers.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “She rides well enough, but she never enjoyed it the way I did.”

  “I envy you,” Alastar said with a soft laugh. “The first long rides I took were on the way from Westisle to L’Excelsis. I was sore for days.”

  “You ride well now.”

  “I look like I know what I’m doing in the saddle now. You ride well.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alastar thought he detected a slight hint of a blush, but he wasn’t certain. “I’m just observing what I see. Were you also tutored in the womanly arts?”

  “Singing and playing the clavecin?” Alyna laughed. “I cannot carry a tune, and my skills at playing are similar to the way you describe your riding. I worked hard enough that I would not disgrace myself if I had to play…”

  Three quints after leaving Imagisle, Alastar was almost sorry when he reined up a half block short of Hagahl Lane on Nordroad. “This is one of the places where we need to make repairs. This will be the only repair for the day…”

  “Not nearly so bad as the last,” murmured Cyran, almost under his breath.

  “… and you can see where the sewage backs up from that drain and flows along the gutter to the next drain. Maitre Alyna will be in charge of who does what, while Cyran will make certain that those actually working on the repairs are undisturbed.” Alastar nodded to Alyna and then to Cyran. “I will see you all later back at the Collegium.” He gestured to Belsior.

  The two of them rode south on Nordroad, past the center of L’Excelsis, where it became Sudroad, and then to Fedre, following it east to East River Road, where they turned south and continued for slightly more than three blocks, until they reached Wylum’s factorage. The brass letters set against the black background of the sign over the entry read WOOLENS AND CLOTH.

  Alastar dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to Belsior. “This might not be brief, but I doubt it will take that long.” He walked to the black-painted door, and opened it, stepping into an open space filled with large racks holding bolts of what appeared to be various types of woolens. An empty cart stood before one of the racks.

  A thin young man, vaguely resembling Gherard, turned and saw Alastar. He froze in place for a moment, then stuttered, “Just a moment, sir.” With that, he turned and hurried toward the back of the factorage.

  Alastar could hear words being exchanged, but could not make out exactly what was said.

  Several moments later, a tall square-faced man with thinning brown hair and broad shoulders, but with a solid midriff as well, walked from between a set of racks and stopped some two yards from Alastar. “I know why you are here, Maitre. You don’t have to explain. My son is dead. He died because the Collegium failed him. Why didn’t you inform me last night?”

  “By the time I was informed it was late, and, frankly, since the Collegium does not keep records of the domiciles of factors, I came first thing this morning.”

  “Oh? Then how did I learn?”

  “How did you learn?”

  “I was informed by someone at the Collegium who obviously knows more than you. That, too, I find disturbing. Not nearly so disturbing as losing my son to the carelessness of the Collegium. I was under the impression that sending my son to the Collegium was in his best interest and that he would be safe there. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

  “No, you were not mistaken,” Alastar replied quietly. “Before there was a Collegium, less than one in ten imagers lived to adulthood. Imaging is incredibly dangerous, and it is easy to make fatal mistakes. Your son attempted a kind of imaging he had been told repeatedly not to do until he was more skilled. We cannot watch every student every moment of every day. Even a student who was with Gherard told him not to do what he was trying. Because your son was bigger and stronger and a better imager than his peer, the other student could not stop him. So the student ran for the duty maitre. The maitre hurried, but arrived too late. Your son died for the reason many young people die—because he did not listen to those older and more experienced. This is worse for imagers, because there are more ways for the young to do stupid things that are fatal, especially if they ignore warnings and instructions.”

  “Excuses are all very well, but he was in your care, and he is dead.”

  If you hadn’t instilled all that pride and arrogance in him, he would still be alive. “He is dead. I cannot change that. He has been at the Collegium two years. I also cannot change what he learned or did not learn before that.”

  “I cannot believe you’re blaming him.”

  “He was told repeatedly not to try what he tried. He was told what would most likely happen if he did—”

  “Mostly likely? Then if it does not happen to all young imagers, why did it happen to him?”

  “Some few young imagers who image foolishly only injure themselves. Most who ignore the rules do end up killing themselves. I personally told him that he was not ready to accomplish greater imaging only a few days before he did just that.”

  “Why would he have done that? Why?”

  “He told another student imager he was going to show the maitres how wrong they were. That was when that student ran for help.”

  “Who saw all this? I have only your word.”

  “The student who was with Gherard saw it. He was in tears because he could not stop Gherard. The duty maitre saw the results.”

  “Just what was this … imaging he tried?”

  “He tried to image an intricate figure out of gold, silver, brass, and black onyx. Even imaging a single gold is dangerous for most maitres. Not a single junior maitre would have attempted what Gherard did. There is a very good reason why the Collegium needs golds from the rex.”

  For a moment, Wylum looked puzzled. Then he shook his head. “Excuses … excuses.”

  “Factorius Wylum, the Collegium needs every imager it can train. There is no way I would ever countenance anything that increased the threats to a young imager. Learning how to image properly is dangerous enough. Every Maitre of the Collegium has felt this way. The Collegium has been able to reduce the threats so that most young imagers do in fact survive and prosper. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that your son was not one of them. But do not ever discount the dangers facing an imager as a mere excuse.” As he spoke, Alastar tried to image the impression of both sadness and absolutely certainty.

  The taller factor almost seemed to wilt in front of Alastar, but then straightened. “That is all well and good, but you have not lost a son.”

  “No, I have not. I lost both my wife and my son. She died because she was with child and did more imaging than she should have, and that imaging inadvertently killed them both.”

  Wylum looked to speak, then shook his head. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “You can understand my grief.”

  “I understand your grief. Perhaps you can also understand why I would never have allowed your son to endanger himself and why not only I, but his maitres, tried every way of cautioning him against trying to do too much.”

  “He … was strong-willed…”

  Alastar nodded again. Will alone is not enough, not for an imager. Perhaps not for anyone.

  In time, Wylum looked at Alastar. “Despite what I said, you were kind to come. I thank you for that.�
�

  “I wish most deeply I had not met you this way, Factorius Wylum.”

  “That makes us a pair, Maitre. I will send a wagon immediately.”

  Alastar was glad not to have to ask whether the family wanted to handle the memorial services or leave it to the Collegium.

  “He will be ready.”

  Wylum nodded.

  “I would not impose more.” Alastar inclined his head, then seeing Wylum’s nod in return, turned and left the factorage.

  By the time he reached the Collegium, it was two quints before noon. After arranging for the transport of Gherard’s body, by a quint past the glass, he was immersed in a pile of maps, looking to see what they might indicate about the area around Imagisle. After another half glass, carrying several rolled maps, he left the administration building and walked to the stables, where he commandeered Tertius Neiryn as an escort, saddled his gelding, and then mounted.

  First, he and Neiryn rode to the north end of Imagisle. There Alastar dismounted and tied the gelding to the hitching rail at the end of the lane. From there he made his way up the stone steps on the east side to the upper walk that ran immediately behind the stone river wall. He studied the back side of the stone ramparts that looked like the prow of a vessel facing into the River Aluse. The grassy ground behind the gray stone walkway was slightly more than a yard lower than the stones of the wall itself, each massive stone close to a yard in thickness, and extended back at the same level for about three yards before sloping down to a point a yard and a half lower. The lower ground was park-like, with old oaks, winding walks, and a pavilion surrounded by a waist-high hedge. There were stone benches along the walks, but not placed in any pattern Alastar could discern. He walked the entire north end of the isle, studying everything, with Neiryn following, and then back to the gelding.

  “We’ll take the Bridge of Desires,” Alastar announced as he mounted.

  As they crossed the bridge, Alastar studied the West River Road to the south, especially the area along the river between the two bridges linking the isle to the west bank of the river. Then he and Neiryn rode north. Alastar rode slowly on the river side of the road, stopping occasionally, and using a black pastel crayon with a fine point to note something on the writing pad he carried. Less frequently, he unrolled a map and compared it to what he saw. When they neared the Nord Bridge, he needed to slow or stop less frequently.

  The two continued north on the West River Road until half a mille past where the paved road turned away from the river. There Alastar reined up and surveyed the welter of houses and shops to the west and northwest. Turning to Neiryn, he said, “We can head back now.”

  The return to Imagisle was not as deliberate as the ride out, but Alastar did stop several times, particularly near what appeared to be an abandoned, or at least disused, mill of some sort.

  When he returned to the anteroom outside his study, just after fourth glass, he found Obsolym there, apparently finishing a conversation with Dareyn, since Dareyn immediately said, “Here comes the Maitre now.”

  “Very good.” Obsolym turned to face Alastar.

  “You wanted a word with me?”

  “Just a few moments.”

  Alastar motioned to the study, then walked into it, with Obsolym following. The Maitre D’Structure closed the door after he entered.

  Alastar did not sit down. He’d spent almost three glasses in the saddle and felt more like standing. “What is it?”

  “I wondered how matters went with Factor Wylum.”

  “He wasn’t happy, understandably. We talked for a short while. I made arrangements with him to send Gherard’s body to his factorage, as he requested.”

  “Is there anything else necessary?” asked Obsolym.

  “Only to find out how Factor Wylum learned of his son’s death almost before I did, since there is no home address for the good factor in the file on Gherard.”

  “He knew already?”

  “He did.” Alastar had no doubt that Obsolym had been the one to inform Wylum, since he had been Gherard’s preceptor, but Alastar wasn’t about to make an accusation.

  “I see. I wonder how that happened.”

  Alastar smiled. “So do I. Is that all you wanted to know?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  As Obsolym left the study, Alastar couldn’t help but wonder why the other maitre had let Wylum know. Because he believed that Alastar was being too hard in what he asked of students and senior maitres, or because he had other ambitions … or just to make life difficult for Alastar? Then he started back to work correlating his observations with the maps. That lasted for less than a quint before Dareyn announced. “Maitres Cyran and Alyna to see you.”

  “Have them come in.” Alastar stood.

  Some sort of dust streaked the trousers of both imagers, and Alastar had to admit they looked tired as they walked into the study. “Were you able to deal with the problem, or will you have to go back?”

  “We managed, once we figured out the problem … or Alyna did.” Cyran gestured to Alyna. “You can explain.”

  “I just noticed that the sewer water ran past two of the drains, “Alyna said, “and then went down the third, mostly anyway. I thought that we ought to see what was wrong with the drains first.” She offered a rueful smile. “Some idiot poured mortar down two of the drains and some down a third, just on the west side of the road. Or something like it. The sewer ditches themselves were fine, except backed up. Imaging out chunks of stone took most of the day. We only had to replace two small sections of the ditches where we couldn’t separate the mortar from the ditch walls and pavement covers.”

  “They all seem to be working now.” Cyran paused. “If you wouldn’t mind, Maitre. I did promise … Alyna can explain…”

  “You can go. If there’s anything else, we can talk in the morning.”

  Once Cyran had left, Alastar said, “I noticed that the water ran past the drains, but I thought that was because the sewer itself was plugged up.”

  “That was my first thought, too. But I didn’t want to image huge holes in the pavement if we didn’t have to. I decided that, even if the sewer was plugged, we’d still have to clean out the drains. So I had us start with the drains. I was fortunate. At least, less unfortunate. Imaging out solid mortar is definitely hard work.”

  “Thank you. That’s for both the ingenuity and the work.” Alastar smiled warmly. “I do appreciate it. Is there anything else I should know? Did anyone complain?”

  “No one seemed to pay much attention, except for the last two glasses, when we had to block almost half the road. The only thing that looks different is that the pavement we replaced looks newer.”

  “A few weeks, and no one will even notice, even if the stones stay a different shade.”

  “They’re close to the original.”

  “I’ll be interested to see how your imaging feels by Solayi.”

  “In addition to carrying stronger shields?”

  Alastar nodded. “You’ve already had a long and hard day. I don’t want to keep you.”

  “It has been a long day … but it was good to fix something.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “The thanks are all mine.”

  After Alyna had left, Alastar just stood by his desk, not really quite sure what he was thinking, except that her smile had definitely had an unsettling effect on him. Because you’re hoping? He shook his head and went back to work on the maps and what he had discovered.

  Later, after eating in the dining hall, Alastar returned to his study in the administration building. There, he picked up the second and third volumes of Gauswn’s journals and carried them back to the Maitre’s residence, where he set them on the desk and then sat down, thinking.

  What else can you do about the standoff between the rex and the High Council? You can’t have the Collegium seen as beginning anything. That would undo everything that it stands for, and it would rekindle the distrust and hatred of imagers. He shook his head. But d
oing nothing for fear of that is what led to the present situation.

  Finally, he took out Gauswn’s journal and finished the last twenty pages in the first volume, and started the second volume. After reading another twenty pages and finding only passing references, or day-to-day activities of Quaeryt being mentioned, he closed the heavy volume and sat silently at the desk for a time.

  For so many mentions, there’s so little that really says anything. He smiled wryly. Isn’t that true of all of us? The Maitre did this. He did that. He said this. He said that … and little of that says much about the man … or the imager.

  At last, he rose and imaged out the lamp.

  19

  Alastar woke early on Samedi morning, sweating, despite the chill in the bedchamber, and recalling a nightmare where he had ridden from chateau to chateau, seeking someone who could agree on what was indeed a proper tariff, except every High Holder cried back from barred doors, “None!” Then he had walked from factor to factor, and all the factors had declared that most of the tariffs should be paid by the High Holders. Even his morning run didn’t dispel the gloom brought on by that dream. Once back at the residence, he washed, shaved, and dressed quickly, leaving the dwelling before Jienna arrived for the day, then made his way to the dining hall where he ate before hurrying to his study. There were no messages from anyone. Nor did any arrive in the next glass.

  You can’t just wait for something to happen. With those thoughts in mind, he made his way to the instructional building, where he heard a lutelin being tuned. Curious, he eased down the hallway to the chamber from where the sound came.

  After raising a concealment, one that also blurred the door, he entered the chamber. None of the students noticed, since they were facing Shaelyt, although the junior maitre paused for an instant before continuing,

  “… ah … sometimes, ah … as I was saying, songs tell us things that the histories or even the stories handed down don’t. I’d like you all to listen to the words of this one.” Shaelyt strummed the lutelin and began to sing.