Madness in Solidar

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Carmina nodded, but did not speak.

  Finally, Alastar said, “I won’t trouble you more. I wanted you to know I understand your sorrow.”

  “How would you?” Her words were bitter.

  Alastar resisted the urge to explain. “I am more sorrowed than I can say.” And you have every right to be angry at me. He nodded and stepped back.

  Suddenly, her face softened, if slightly. “I’m sorry, Maitre. You’re trying to help. I’m just angry.”

  “I understand that, too,” Alastar said, knowing his words were even more true than what he had expressed.

  “I’ll be there. At the services.” She stepped back and closed the door.

  Alastar turned and walked slowly back to the Maitre’s house, knowing that he also needed to visit the two injured imagers as well. But that can wait until tomorrow.

  He still needed to go over the ledger that Arhgen had left him to see how much in golds the Collegium had and to figure out what was necessary, because sooner or later, he was going to have to ask Lorien for more. He took a deep breath and kept walking.

  Despite having had a long day, with a suspicion that he had not come anywhere close to doing all that he needed to do, eighth glass arrived, finding Alastar in his study, tired but scarcely sleepy. Because he wanted to clear his mind of the events of the day, especially of the brief visit with Carmina D’Mhorys, if but for a time, he reached for the last volume of Chorister Gauswn’s journals and began to read.

  Pages later, he came across another revealing passage, so different from the almost mundane accounts of the chorister that it was almost as if winter had descended upon the study.

  I once asked Maitre Quaeryt how he had accomplished the imaging that defeated the Bovarians. He demurred. I asked him several more times, over the first years at the Collegium. Finally, many years later, when it was clear to us both that he and Vaelora did not have too many years left, he said that how he accomplished what he did was better forgotten, that three times in the history of Solidar was quite enough …

  Three times? Alastar had no idea what the first time had been. After several moments, he continued reading.

  … I asked if he feared that someone else would discover how he had done what he had. He laughed. It was a bitter laugh. He said the cost of that knowledge had been so high that it was unlikely that anyone could ever muster the price again, even if they knew how he had done what he did. He told me never to ask again. The darkness in his eyes and the iron in his voice convinced me. I never did.

  Hints … why just a few hints over all these years and pages of journals?

  Alastar slowly closed the volume, then rose, and imaged out the single lamp in the study before heading for his bedchamber.

  29

  After a brief meeting with the senior maitres on Samedi morning, during which they discussed details of the rebuilding and other adjustments necessary to keep the Collegium functioning, Alastar set out for the infirmary to check on the imagers who had been injured during the cannon attack.

  He had only taken a few steps inside the infirmary when Gaellen hurried up. “Good morning, Maitre. You’re here to see about the three young imagers?”

  “And whoever else is here and injured.”

  “The wounds of the Collegium workers were either fatal or minor, and the minor ones are all in their cottages or quarters.”

  “How is Nyell? Akoryt said he took stone splinters.”

  “I think he might be all right, if his wounds don’t fester. I imaged the splinters I could see out of him. That’s dangerous, but less so than cutting into him. They weren’t as deep as I thought.”

  “And you imaged clear spirits into the deeper wounds?”

  “As soon as I could. We’ll see in another day or two.”

  “What about the two who were injured by doing what they shouldn’t have been?”

  “Kaylet and Shannyr? They should be fine.”

  “After I finish talking with you, I thought I’d pay my respects to the three of them, although I suspect Kaylet and Shannyr might not be exceptionally pleased to see me.”

  Gaellen grinned. “Some young men will be young men, even when cannon shells are falling around them.”

  Except Shannyr hadn’t been doing that, and Alastar wanted to know what he had been doing and why, but not until he’d seen the other two. “If you’d lead the way.”

  Gaellen walked down the hallway to the second door and opened it slowly. Nyell was lying on his side, propped into that position with folded blankets, seemingly dozing, except he was moaning softly.

  Alastar looked to Gaellen.

  “Most of the splinters hit on one side of his back and buttocks. Lying on his back is more painful.” Gaellen spoke softly.

  Deciding not to wake the injured imager, Alastar eased back from the doorway.

  Gaellen eased the door almost all the way closed. “I’ll tell him you came to see him.”

  “Thank you. Which door is Kaylet’s?”

  “The next one on the left. Shannyr’s at the end. Do you need me?”

  Alastar shook his head, then made his way to the next chamber. As soon as he stepped inside the room and saw Kaylet, he had a hard time not offering a knowing smile as he saw the thin-faced young secondus with too-long floppy brown hair. Both wrists were in heavy braces, and Kaylet wore a woeful expression that changed into concern as he saw the Maitre.

  “Sir?”

  “I heard you broke your wrists,” said Alastar. “Both of them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did it happen? That’s rather difficult to do, I would think, both of them at once, that is.”

  “Didn’t Maitre Akoryt—” Kaylet broke off with a momentary look of hope in his eyes, that faded almost as soon as it appeared, followed by the same mournful expression that Alastar had seen initially.

  “He did. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kaylet paused, as if considering how much to say.

  “All of it, if you please,” said Alastar.

  “Yes, sir,” said Kaylet, his voice despairing. “Maitre Claeynd—he was in charge of the thirds—took us to the north park. That was after Maitre Akoryt sent word for all of us to leave the Collegium buildings. Nothing happened. We just stood there and looked at each other. Maitre Claeynd’s wife was with us. She’s a third herself, you know?…”

  That was something Alastar knew, but hadn’t recalled until Kaylet mentioned it.

  “… she had their children with her. One of them was crying. She was sick, I guess. Orlana—she’s always trying to be so good—she was playing with their little boy, but he … well he was getting bored…” Kaylet paused. “Sir…?”

  “Go on.”

  “Like I said, the boy was getting bored. So I made some faces. He got bored of that after a little while. So I did a handstand and made faces upside down.”

  Alastar had a feeling he knew where the story would end, but he just nodded.

  “Well … then I jumped up on the river wall and did another handstand.” At Alastar’s glance, he added quickly, “The wall’s more than a yard wide on top, sir. I used to do handstands on the wire.”

  “You came from a carnival family?”

  Kaylet swallowed “Ah … yes, sir.”

  “That’s not in your records.”

  “No, sir. People think less of carnival people than they do of Pharsi. My father also thought Maitre Fhaen might not give him the two golds if he knew that.”

  Even Fhaen wouldn’t have stooped that low. “So how did you fall?”

  “I was going to do a backflip into a handstand … except my feet slipped when I started, and I tried to get my hands down to keep from hitting my head … I don’t know what happened.”

  Alastar was afraid he did. “Who was in the group watching you? The other imagers?”

  “Konan was there. Orlana—I told you about her—and Borlan, Marraet … there were others. And Seliora, she was there. She wa
s trying to get away from Bettaur. He thinks every girl…” Kaylet stopped. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have … Anyway, Kierstia—the maitre’s wife, she bound my wrists until Maitre Gaellen could do something because the cannon shells started hitting the Collegium right after I slipped and fell.”

  “Was the stone slippery?”

  “I looked before I started. It didn’t seem to be.”

  “I see.” Alastar managed a serious expression. “You know, Kaylet, even with your experience, walking on the river wall isn’t the safest thing to do, and doing flips is less so.” After a pause, he added, “Even if you were trying to impress Seliora.”

  Kaylet flushed … and swallowed. “Sir … I wasn’t hurting anyone…”

  “No … except yourself. I hope it was worth it. Did Seliora come to see you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Kaylet grinned.

  Alastar couldn’t help but like the young man. “By the way, did you tell anyone here you came from a carnival family?”

  “Not until now, sir.”

  “Best you keep it that way, at least until you become a maitre.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, try and take better care of yourself, young man.” With a smile, one he didn’t totally feel, Alastar turned and left the chamber, making his way to the next door.

  Shannyr’s right arm was in a sling, one bound to his body. He glanced up as Alastar entered the sickroom, and if Kaylet’s expression had been mournful, then Shannyr’s was more like terror-struck as he beheld the Collegium Maitre.

  “We need to talk, Shannyr.”

  “Yes, sir.” The two words seemed to tremble.

  “Tell me why you, Johanyr, and Klovyl were trying to get into the administration building in the middle of the cannon attack.”

  “Sir, I don’t know—”

  “Spare me the lie, Shannyr.” Alastar’s voice was cold.

  “It was Bettaur, sir.”

  That scarcely surprised Alastar. “Bettaur? He wasn’t even with you.”

  Shannyr did not comment.

  “Go on and explain,” added Alastar.

  “No, sir. He couldn’t be, not with Maitre Akoryt and Tertia Kierstia watching him like sun eagles. But he said that it would show you and the other maitres that we meant well if we rescued the founder’s sabre from the administration building.”

  Why would Bettaur say that? The only reason Alastar could come up with was that Bettaur wanted the three dead … or injured and out of the way. But why?

  “Did Bettaur tell you this? Personally?”

  “No, sir. He told Johanyr. Johanyr said we’d have to hurry.”

  “Did Johanyr say anything else?”

  “No, sir. Just that Bettaur wouldn’t like it if we didn’t save the founder’s sabre.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How did you get out when Johanyr and Klovyl didn’t?”

  “Johanyr said I wasn’t tall enough and that I needed to stay outside in case anyone came along.”

  Was Johanyr even after the founder’s sabre? Was going into the administration building Johanyr’s idea, or Bettaur’s? “Didn’t you all know that it was dangerous?”

  “Johanyr said that no one could hit the administration building from across the river, even if they tried.”

  Alastar managed not to shake his head. “I’m not sure I understand. If the army cannon couldn’t hit the building, then why did anyone need to go and rescue the sabre?”

  “That’s what Johanyr said.”

  “Has Bettaur come to see you?”

  “No, sir. I don’t imagine he could.”

  “Do you want him to come?”

  Shannyr looked down.

  “Bettaur can be rather nasty when things don’t go his way, I take it?”

  Alastar waited.

  “Couldn’t you just send me to Westisle, sir?”

  “You’re not going anywhere until you’re better,” replied Alastar.

  “Yes, sir.” Both Shannyr’s words and posture reflected complete dejection.

  “We’ll talk later.” That was a fact, not a promise, because one way or another, Alastar would be talking to the injured third again, and likely much more than once.

  After leaving Shannyr’s sickroom, Alastar headed back toward the entry, looking for Gaellen, but the Maitre D’Aspect was already standing outside his study, as if waiting.

  “What do you think, Maitre?”

  “It appears as though both Kaylet and Shannyr will recover. How long do you plan to keep Kaylet here?”

  “He’s fine, except for the fractures. It’s just that he can’t do much of anything. If he had a family, someone to … do everything…”

  “Just let me know when you think he can leave.”

  Gaellen frowned. “That will be several weeks, I’d judge.”

  “Oh … and Tertius Bettaur is not to see either Kaylet or Shannyr. I doubt that he’ll try, but if he does, don’t let him near them.”

  “More trouble? Hasn’t Bettaur done enough? Why would he—”

  “I don’t know that it’s Bettaur, but I’d feel a great deal better if he doesn’t see either until I get to what’s behind a few events.”

  “I can do that. Do you mind if I just say that because of the nature of their injuries no one is to see anyone without my permission or yours?”

  “That would be fine. Thank you.”

  From the infirmary, Alastar returned to the Maitre’s dwelling, hoping that Akoryt might be there, but the Maitre D’Structure was not, although Dareyn was seated behind the small table desk in the hall outside Alastar’s personal study.

  “I put those names on your desk, sir … and something about each of them. Thought that might help.”

  “Thank you very, very much.” Alastar meant that. “Do you know where Maitre Akoryt might be, Dareyn?”

  “He left word that he’d be at the stables helping Maitre Petros.”

  “That’s where I’m headed. I’ll be back after that.”

  As Alastar walked back south on the west walk, the one that would take him past the ruins of the administration building, he wished that he’d talked to Bettaur about his background, rather than deciding to wait until the third completed his detention. But how could you have known what else would happen? Except there was the old saying about not putting things off … And you shouldn’t have.

  Even before Alastar reached the stables, a third carrying a bucket of grain saw him and hurried into the stables.

  In moments, Akoryt emerged and stepped forward to meet Alastar. “You’ve got a determined stride there, Maitre.”

  “Where’s Bettaur?”

  “He’s in the tack room. Petros has him cleaning saddles and riding gear. You did say that he needed special disciplinary assignments.”

  “I did, but I need to talk to him. Some more things have come up.”

  “Do you think he was behind the three trying to get the founder’s sabre?”

  “I just talked to Shannyr. He says that Johanyr said Bettaur was, that Bettaur said they’d all be in better standing if they rescued it. But…”

  “It could have been Johanyr’s idea, and he was using Bettaur,” finished Akoryt.

  “Or not,” added Alastar.

  “Did Shannyr give a reason?”

  “He said that Johanyr said that if they saved the sabre they’d be in better standing.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “In more ways than one.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” asked Akoryt.

  “I think not. Not this time.”

  Alastar could see a certain relief in Akoryt’s eyes before he made his way into the stables and to the tack room.

  Bettaur turned from the saddle he was cleaning, then inclined his head. “Maitre.” He smiled pleasantly.

  “I was going over the rosters of student imagers, Bettaur. All your record says is that you entered the Collegium six years ago, in Finitas of
383 After Lydor.”

  “Not quite six years ago, Maitre.”

  “Close enough. Tell me about your background.”

  “I was an orphan. That’s what they told me.”

  “Who told you?”

  “My guardians.”

  “Who were?”

  “Elsevier D’Tuuryl and his lady.”

  “A wealthy landowner of Tuuryl and his wife?”

  “They were. They died in the gray plague that ravaged the lands west of L’Excelsis the year after I came to the Collegium.”

  “Do you know who your true parents were?”

  “No, sir.” Bettaur shrugged apologetically. “I doubt I was truly an orphan.”

  “Oh?”

  “In the year or so before I came to the Collegium, I noticed that at times, a messenger in a dark cloak visited Holder Elsevier, and thereafter I usually was paid a visit by the local tailor.” Bettaur smiled ironically. “I have no idea from where the messenger came, and Elsevier and Alysetta refused to speak of anything about my past, except to say that I had been well-loved. They were very kind and gentle, especially Alysetta.”

  With those words, Bettaur’s voice wavered slightly, but Alastar had no idea whether the waver was real or feigned.

  “Did they have any other children?”

  “No. She said that I was the only child she would ever have.”

  “Did she use that phrase?”

  “She did. I wondered, just as you are, Maitre, but that was all she ever said.”

  Alastar nodded. “Who brought you here? Your guardians?”

  “No, sir. Maitre Fhaen came in a coach. The Collegium coach. That was after I imaged a comb for Alysetta.”

  “Did they tell you that you were coming to the Collegium?”

  “Not until Maitre Fhaen arrived.”

  Stranger and stranger. Alastar offered several more questions, the answers to which shed no more light on Bettaur’s past, then asked, “When did you last talk to Johanyr?”

  “I didn’t speak to him since before the detention meeting. Maitre Akoryt released me from the detention cell only a glass before the cannon began to fire, and I was with him or Tertia Kierstia all the time until after the bombardment ended.”