Madness in Solidar

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “That was with the group of student imagers that included Orlana, Borlan, Marraet … oh, and Kaylet and Seliora?”

  “I think there were others.”

  “But not Johanyr, Klovyl, or Shannyr?”

  “No, sir.” Bettaur’s voice was firm.

  “Thank you. I’m trying to find out why Johanyr and Klovyl were in the administration building when it was hit by cannon fire. Do you have any idea why that might be?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, sir. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere near where the cannonballs were striking.”

  “Thank you. We may talk later.” Alastar turned and left the tack room.

  Akoryt was waiting outside the stables. “Did he say anything?”

  “He said he hadn’t talked to Johanyr since before he was locked up. Or any of the others. Shannyr certainly didn’t talk to him.”

  Akoryt shook his head, “I’m very glad not to be in your boots, Maitre.”

  Alastar smiled ruefully. “I’ll be back at the Maitre’s house if you need me.”

  As Alastar walked back along the east side of the central green, he glanced across to the far side as he passed the doorway with the green and black mourning drape. Like so many good imagers, Mhorys had been the quiet type. Is that trait from innate character or from experience? Alastar shrugged. There was no way, not really, of knowing.

  When he reached the hallway outside his study, he asked, “Dareyn … are there any messages?”

  “Just one. Rex Lorien would appreciate your presence at third glass, rather than at fourth glass. Oh, and Maitre Alyna will be back shortly. She wanted a word with you.”

  “Good. I need to talk to her about several things. Just have her come in.”

  “Yes, sir. How are the injured students?”

  “Nyell seems to be holding his own. Maitre Gaellen is cautiously optimistic. Both Shannyr and Kaylet will recover. They’ll be in the infirmary for a time though.”

  “Maitre Obsolym wanted to know.”

  “You can certainly tell him that … and anyone else who asks.”

  Once Alastar was in his study, he did not sit down, but walked slowly around the room, thinking. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t quite place it. He was still pondering when the door opened and Alyna entered.

  She smiled cheerfully, and Alastar felt better. He also immediately realized that it had been a long time, if ever, that someone’s smile had done that.

  “You’ve been busy this morning, Dareyn says.”

  “I’ve been busy finding more puzzles and problems.” Alastar gestured to the chairs in front of the desk, standing beside one and waiting until Alyna took one before seating himself. “Tell me what you know about the founder’s sabre, if you would.”

  “The founder’s sabre?” Alyna smiled again. “There’s a story that Erion, the great hunter, the god of the lesser moon, and the consort of the daughter of Artiema, bestowed the sabre on Maitre Quaeryt, and that the sabre has great powers. When wielded by the right imager, no one can prevail against the wielder.”

  Alastar shook his head. “Quaeryt was such a powerful imager that I doubt he ever needed to use his sabre. That’s if the sabre that was mounted on the wall of the study was even his. Was there any proof of that?”

  “I have no idea. Obsolym might know, if anyone does. What about those journals you’ve been reading?”

  Abruptly, Alastar recalled one of the passages he had read. “There was a reference to a blade of Erion that had saved Quaeryt, but Gauswn wrote that it had been returned to Khel. There was no mention of it ever being Quaeryt’s weapon.”

  “That’s most likely where the legend came from.” After a pause, she asked, “Why did you want to know about the founder’s sabre? Because of Johanyr and Klovyl? Do you think Johanyr or Bettaur thought they could use the blade against you?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I talked to Shannyr and Bettaur earlier…” Alastar went on to recount what he had learned, and not learned, from each. When he finished, he asked, “What do you think?”

  “Bettaur’s very careful of his words, isn’t he?”

  “Very much so.”

  “He said he didn’t talk to any of them.”

  Alastar laughed. “So … how do we find out if he sent a note?”

  “Let me see what I can do, dear Maitre.”

  “You think Bettaur charmed one of the few young women student imagers?”

  “That’s more likely.”

  “I don’t think it will be Seliora.”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s something else you should know. Kaylet’s injury wasn’t exactly an accident…” Alastar explained what he had learned from the former acrobat.

  “You think that Bettaur was stupid enough to image oil or something on the stone?”

  “More likely on Kaylet’s shoes. And he’s not stupid, except in so far as arrogance makes one stupid. If what Kaylet said about not revealing his past is correct, Bettaur wouldn’t have known that Kaylet wouldn’t have slipped by accident. But that arrogance…” Alastar broke off his words and said instead, “I have to wonder from the wrong side of which High Holder’s family blanket Bettaur comes…”

  “You almost said that such arrogance is typical of High Holders, didn’t you?” asked Alyna gently.

  “Not quite. I was going to say that it runs strongly in High Holder males.” He looked directly into Alyna’s black eyes. “I really was.”

  “I was giving you just a little jab.” But she did smile. “You think his supposed foster mother was in fact his real mother?”

  “She could have been. I’m also cynical enough to believe that she and her husband may not have died from the gray plague. Most of those who died were either very young or very old.”

  “Poison? Or do you suspect something else?”

  “I don’t know, except there is little information on Bettaur, his guardians are dead, and Maitre Fhaen brought him to the Collegium. Both Bettaur and Dareyn agree on that.”

  “Do you think that Maitre Fhaen told Desyrk not to be hard on Bettaur?” asked Alyna. “And that’s why he got away with so much with Taurek?”

  Alastar thought over what he recalled of his conversation with Desyrk about the problems between the two. “Desyrk did start to say something about Maitre Fhaen, but he broke it off and said that Fhaen had told him to remember that student imagers were just boys.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Fhaen at all.”

  “So we’re left with the fact that Bettaur’s the bastard child of someone powerful, that Fhaen knew something about it, and that someone was powerful enough that Fhaen probably hinted to Desyrk that it would be best if Bettaur didn’t have too many problems.”

  “You don’t think … Ryen?”

  “Everything fits that possibility except for the fact that Bettaur doesn’t have a single, solitary feature resembling either Ryen or Lorien. That makes it unlikely, if not impossible.”

  “You’re probably right about that.” After a moment, Alyna went on, “You’re going to the Chateau D’Rex every day now, aren’t you?”

  “It looks as though that’s the way it will be.”

  “You need to be careful.”

  “I always carry shields.”

  “They’re not proof against everything.”

  “Falling off the grand staircase? Or poison? Perhaps, I shouldn’t eat or drink anything there.” Alastar’s words were half humorous.

  “For as long as Lorien is rex.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Just … be careful, especially off Imagisle.”

  “And not on it?”

  “Poisons are very complex, most of them. I don’t think there’s an imager who could image poison into something without creating such an awful taste or smell that you’d be warned.” Alyna smiled. “Have you ever tried to image wine or lager?”

  “No. Redberry juice when I was a junior imager at Westisle. It tasted … well … awful.
” Alastar grimaced at the memory.

  “You’d likely do better now, because you know more, and it might even be barely drinkable, but poisons … no.”

  “Are poisons part of the education of a lady in a High Holder’s family?” he inquired dryly.

  “No. I overheard more than I was supposed to. I was, as my father put it, ‘prone to excessive curiosity.’ That was another reason why he was happy, I think, that I turned out to be an imager.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “Loryna wouldn’t think of it, and, even if she did, she wouldn’t likely tell me anything. That’s because she wouldn’t want me to think less of her. There are certain … ingredients that one can put in certain dishes that create odors or colors if some poisons are used. Those are usually the fast-acting ones.” Alyna shrugged. “But since no High Holder wants a poisoning traced to his table…”

  “No one uses fast-acting poisons?”

  “Except at other High Holders’ functions. Usually ones with many attendees … or small functions where the poisoner is not actually present.”

  Alastar found it hard to imagine living in a society that engaged in that kind of rat and terrier game, but he didn’t doubt that it existed. “That makes me even happier that I’m an imager … even at present.”

  “I think most of the maitres who have considered the matter are glad you’re here right now.”

  “I’m thankful you’re also here.” For many reasons.

  “You’re being kind.”

  “I’m being accurate. I’m not exactly noted for kindness, especially at the moment.”

  “The greatest kindness is to do what is necessary and painful when no one else will.”

  “If the act is correct … and that’s not always easy to know. I’m still wondering about what I’ve been doing these past few days.” He paused. “Have any of the other maitres offered suggestions or requests about the new buildings?”

  “Akoryt was the first. So did Petros and Taryn … and Cyran—he’s afraid of being too forward.” She smiled sadly. “He’ll always be a good senior imager, if the Maitre is good, but…”

  “Would you ever want to be—”

  “No. Neither senior imager, nor Maitre. Solidar isn’t ready for a woman Maitre, and I’d rather not be senior imager.”

  “You’re too strong-willed, behind that quiet and reserved exterior, to be subservient, or appear to be, directly to the will of another. You also don’t like to ask for what you deserve.”

  “Zaeryl sent me another letter…”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “I am.”

  Alastar smiled. “What did he say?”

  “Not to trust Guerdyn—that was indirectly stated in a veiled way…”

  For a moment Alastar wondered why Zaerlyn would say that about a dead man, except he realized that Rivages was days away, even for a fast courier.

  “… He also said that he’d heard good words about you from some of the High Holders in the south. That’s about as close to praise as anyone gets from him.”

  “You come from a demanding family.”

  “All families are, I think, in one way or another.”

  Far from the first time, Alastar was again struck by her insight. “I enjoy being with you, talking with you,” he said quietly.

  “I know. I enjoy it also.”

  “But? There’s a hint of reservation there.”

  “I don’t like to do things halfway. So far as the Collegium is concerned, that’s sometimes necessary.” She looked at Alastar directly and intently once more.

  “I understand. I don’t, either.”

  “For now … then?”

  “For now.” But only for now.

  “Still friends?”

  Alastar laughed, gently. “Never just friends, but I’ll behave.”

  “You always have, dear Maitre. That’s one of your many endearing traits.”

  Alastar wasn’t about to ask what his less endearing traits might be.

  Alyna rose from the chair. “I have things to do, and so do you.”

  “Until later, then, whenever that is.”

  “Until later.”

  Alastar walked her to the front porch then watched as she walked briskly through the chill afternoon toward the cottage she shared with Tiranya.

  Then he returned to his study.

  Given Lorien’s peremptory request, Alastar was almost tempted to arrive at the chateau a few moments late, but since he’d derive no advantage from doing so and might pay in some fashion later, he resisted the urge … and reined up promptly at the entry steps a quint before the glass struck. Another guard, one he had not seen before, ushered him upstairs to Lorien’s study, where the new rex was standing by the small conference table.

  “How are you and the other imagers coming on rebuilding your Collegium?” asked Lorien as he seated himself.

  Alastar sat and set his cap on the side of the table before replying. “We’ve finished all the repairs to buildings that were damaged. We haven’t begun on rebuilding the dining hall or the administration building.” Seeing a certain glint in Lorien’s eyes, Alastar asked, “Why?”

  “Are you going to leave that avenue unfinished?”

  “We hadn’t thought to, but we won’t be able to finish it until we can rebuild some of the Collegium.”

  “I trust that will not take an excessively long time.”

  “We will be as expeditious as possible.”

  Lorien nodded. “Lady Asarya and I thought that it might be appropriate to name it in honor of my sire.”

  “L’Avenue D’Rex Ryen?”

  “It was his idea.”

  “We will complete it. You and Lady Asarya can choose the name you feel appropriate.”

  “Good. Have you heard anything from the High Holders?”

  “Not yet, but it will likely take several days before we should press. If I don’t hear anything by Meredi, I’ll meet with Vaun. You’ll need to put your proposal in writing, an increase of four coppers on the gold above the existing tariff levels, with the possibility of smaller increases in the years after next year.”

  “Smaller?” Lorien’s eyebrows rose.

  “Smaller. If you establish the right to annual increases…”

  Abruptly, Lorien smiled. “Of course.” The smile vanished. “But this coming year, how will we manage?”

  “By reducing expenses by the army and by looking at other places where the golds have not been wisely spent. In the end, you will come out better.”

  “Speaking of the army…” Lorien drew out the words before continuing, “Instead of our fourth-glass meeting on Lundi, I’d appreciate your being here at first glass for the meeting with Acting Marshal Petayn and Sea Marshal Wilkorn … for those discussions on the future of the army and the navy that you recommended.”

  “I will be here.”

  “Excellent. There are a few other things we should discuss. First, there is the question of my father’s memorial service…”

  Alastar almost groaned. He should have thought about that. “Perhaps on Lundi or Mardi?”

  “That’s too soon to arrange it properly. We have already had the private services, but a public memorial at the Anomen D’Rex next Samedi would be most appropriate, don’t you think?”

  The less pomp and formality the better. Alastar wasn’t about to say that, not directly. “You’d like to leave the best possible memory of your father, I take it. I would suggest subdued formality. That is, of course, only a suggestion. You and your mother and brother need to decide what is appropriate.”

  “Subdued formality…” mused Lorien.

  Alastar could tell the afternoon would not end soon, and certainly not soon enough for him.

  30

  Going over the details of what Lorien proposed for his father’s public memorial took another two glasses, and more details than Alastar had thought were necessary, many of which, it was clear, were the result of Lady Asarya’s “
suggestions.” Once he left the Chateau D’Rex, Alastar rode back along the route of the Avenue D’Rex Ryen, noting just how far the imagers had gotten, which was almost a third of the total distance, and how well and with what care to details that Alyna and the others had finished the paving, sidewalks, drains, and gutters on that section. He also noted that already some of the damaged or truncated shops were being replaced with new or refurbished establishments of a far more commercial nature than the apothecaries they replaced. He had the feeling that the apothecaries of the former lane were not faring so badly, and some likely had received additional golds for their property.

  When he reached the Maitre’s dwelling, the dining room was filled with hungry pupils, unsurprisingly, since all imagers were effectively barred from leaving Imagisle. He waited until only a few students remained in the dining room before joining them, eating quickly, and then retiring to his study. Once there, he began work on the homily he would have to deliver on Solayi for those who died in the cannon attack. That was anything but easy, since he didn’t know that much about most of the victims, and, in the case of Johanyr and Klovyl, much of what he did know was not anything suitable for a memorial service. At the same time, he could not slight any of those who died, and he discovered that finding suitable words was extraordinarily difficult.

  Well after eighth glass that evening, when Alastar had finally worked out an acceptable homily, and when Jienna and the other cook had long since left for the night, Alastar took three crystal beakers from the pantry that held glassware and platters and carried them carefully into his study, where he set them on the desk and picked up the small lamp that he had imaged into light. Carrying the lamp, he returned to the kitchen, where he opened the door that concealed the narrow steps, then picked up an empty pitcher and made his way down to the cellar. There, he drew a half pitcher of lager from the small keg, then returned to the kitchen, setting down the pitcher in order to close the cellar door, before taking the lamp and pitcher back to his study.

  He imaged out the small lamp, leaving the larger one in the wall bracket overlooking the desk still lit, and sat down. He poured half a beaker of lager and sipped it, concentrating on how it tasted before setting the beaker down beside the other two, so that all three were in a row. Then he looked at the first empty beaker and concentrated on imaging the exact same amount of lager into it. Almost instantly, the beaker was half full.