“The way he smiles at her makes the girls a little jealous of her.”
Everything about that young man is trouble.
“I’m hoping to talk to Seliora this afternoon. She’d know if Bettaur passed a note. I think she would. I’m not sure the other girls would admit it.”
“If necessary, I could talk to them,” Alastar suggested.
“That might be best as a last resort.” Alyna offered the smile that was slightly mischievous.
Alastar couldn’t help but smile back.
“If you wouldn’t mind…” ventured Alyna.
“Just walking you to your cottage?”
She nodded.
“I would mind, but I’ll forgo the pleasure of your company for the greater good.”
“And I will forgo the pleasure of your company for the same reason.”
While Alyna’s voice was cheerful and pleasant, there was something … something left unsaid. “Did I offend you?”
Alyna stopped. “You listen to what’s not said, don’t you? That’s rare, especially in a man.”
“You mean, especially in a Maitre Imager?”
She smiled. “Not bad.”
Alastar tried to figure out exactly how his words had put her off. Without an immediate rational thought in mind, he went with his gut feeling. “I didn’t mean to be condescending in saying I’d forgo the pleasure of your company, as if it were only my feelings that counted. I don’t know if that’s exactly the way to say it…”
“I’m glad you listen,” she said softly. “I can’t tell you what that means.” The smile returned. “I was telling the truth when I said I’d forgo the pleasure of your company, because I’ve never enjoyed talking and being with anyone the way I do with you.”
“I’ve come to look forward to seeing you and talking with you. I’ve never had that before, especially not with a woman.”
Alyna frowned.
“It wasn’t the same with Thealia. I had so much yet to learn. I was afraid to reveal what I didn’t know, as are many young men.” He smiled wryly. “There was so much I didn’t know, and so much more that I didn’t even know that I didn’t know.”
“Is that all?”
“No. You’re an equal. You quietly insist on that, and in some matters, you’re definitely more knowledgeable.”
“Most men don’t like that.”
“That may be. That is their loss.” He stopped short of the steps to her cottage and looked at her again, taking in her dark eyes and perfect skin, and slight quizzical look.
“Men and women imagers becoming close, truly close, is like hedgehogs,” she murmured.
He took her hand, neither large nor small, and bent and kissed it, before releasing it and stepping back. “Then we must be very careful.”
“I will see you tomorrow.” With a last smile, an expression somewhere between warm and enigmatic, she turned and entered the cottage.
As Alastar walked back to the Maitre’s house, he kept thinking about hedgehogs … and being careful, wondering where the line was between being too careful and too headstrong, and whether he would be able to recognize where it lay.
Not having an answer, or one with which he was satisfied, he tried to read some more in Gauswn’s journals, but his eyes kept drifting toward the windows. After half a glass in which he read and reread the same page several times and still did not remember what he had read, he decided to put aside the volume and make a list of all the problems he needed to address in the coming weeks, with a second listing of those that needed to be resolved over the coming year.
Slightly before seventh glass, Alastar once more stood in the anomen, thinking far more about what awaited him in the days ahead than truly about the service. Yet, whether he liked it or not, among other duties, his was also to set an example, and from what he’d seen of Johanyr and Bettaur, who definitely remained a problem, more than just a handful of student imagers needed some ethical guidance. Not that those who do will likely take in what Iskhar has to say, let alone make those guidelines part of their behavior.
Alastar forced himself to concentrate on what the chorister had to say as he began his homily with the traditional, “Good evening, and it is a good evening.”
“Good evening,” came the chorused reply, although Alastar’s response was barely murmured.
“All evenings are good evenings under the Nameless,” Iskhar went on, “even in times that are less than good. Earlier today, we held a memorial service for those who died either in the attack on the Collegium or in defending the Collegium against that attack. I have heard some ask why the Nameless could allow such an attack. That is not the right question. The Nameless grants us freedom of action. With that freedom, we choose to do good or evil. We also have the freedom to respond to the good or evil actions of others. To ask why the Nameless permits an evil action is to avoid understanding that we are the ones who either act to do evil or fail to act to prevent it. The imagers of the Collegium acted to stop worse evil, because failure to stop the cannon bombardment would have resulted in the deaths of many more. Yet to stop evil, they killed far more troopers than we lost. That is the conundrum we always face in responding to evil. The response is necessary, but it is so often as costly as the evil to which it responds. Would it not be far better to find ways to head off or transform that evil than to wait and then respond…”
As Iskhar went on to talk about transformation, Alastar could not help but wonder if anything short of what he had done would have been adequate to change the course of the seemingly inevitable confrontation between the rex and the High Holders. But that confrontation was only inevitable because past Maitres had refused to act as the founder had designed the Collegium to act.
The question wasn’t whether Alastar could return the Collegium to its proper role. That was a necessity, if imagers were to survive as other than fugitives in Solidar. The question is just how high the price will be … and for how long it must be paid.
32
Just after seventh glass on Lundi morning, another gray day that matched Alastar’s mood when he thought about meeting with Lorien and Petayn later in the day, the remaining senior maitres—Cyran, Obsolym, Taryn, Akoryt, and Alyna—sat around Alastar’s desk in his study.
“Has anyone heard anything about Desyrk?” asked Alastar.
There were headshakes around the table.
“Are there any problems that we haven’t already talked about?”
“Petros worries about storage space,” said Cyran. “He’s got winter fodder coming in. We took that space for food supplies because of the loss of the cellars and bins in the dining hall.”
“Can you make space in the armory?”
“Some.” Cyran’s reply was reluctant. “That will make it hard to get to some weapons.”
“Outside of the sabres, have we used anything else there in years?” asked Alastar dryly.
“Well … no, sir.”
“Then do what you can.” Alastar turned to Akoryt. “Is there enough space in the anomen to hold some instructionals there?”
“Most of them. We can work around the others.”
“Some of you may not have heard,” Alastar went on, “but Rex Lorien does want the avenue finished. I’ve persuaded him that more construction will have to wait until after we rebuild the administration building and dining hall. He’s not pleased, but he understands. He also wants me to meet with the acting marshal and the sea marshal this afternoon.”
“What about the tariff problem?” asked Taryn.
“The rex is supposed to be drafting a proposal to present to the High Council. He hasn’t heard from them, nor have I. I didn’t expect them to respond immediately.”
“They’ll do whatever you suggested,” said Obsolym. “Next year might be different.”
“We’ll have to make sure it doesn’t come up again.” Alastar paused. “Is there anything else? If not…” He turned to Alyna. “The new administration building?”
“I’ve talke
d to all the maitres.” Alyna offered a wry expression. “There were a number of suggestions. All of them were good. One or two may not be possible. Everyone agreed that the studies for all the maitres should be on the same hallway and that should be a different corridor from the instructional rooms. If we don’t want the building to sprawl onto the green, I’d suggest it be two stories with the studies on the upper level…”
Alastar nodded as she began to present what had been suggested.
More than a glass later, after Cyran, Taryn, and Obsolym had left, Alastar remained in the study with Alyna and Akoryt. After closing the study door, he turned to Akoryt. “From what I’ve seen and what you’ve reported, it appears that Taurek is doing well. We may have more problems with Bettaur…” Alastar went on to explain about what he had learned, then looked to Alyna.
“I did finally get a few words with Seliora. She’s certain that Orlana passed something to Johanyr, but she has no idea what it might have been. Both Orlana and Dorya would likely do anything he asked, so long as it appeared reasonable to them.”
“Reasonable to them?” Akoryt frowned. “How far might that stretch?”
“They’d pass a note, especially if it appeared innocuous. Bettaur also was very convincing in telling Orlana and Dorya how misunderstood his acts were, and how everything was blown out of proportion, that no one could ever have accused him of so much as laying a finger on Taurek.”
“All of which is true,” commented Alastar. “But in order to protect those involved, none of the maitres would tell what actually happened, and certainly the four involved with setting up Taurek wouldn’t reveal what they did.” He paused. “We should think about having open meetings, perhaps even formal hearings, in cases like this.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Akoryt.
“Having kept the proceedings quiet certainly has made the situation worse,” Alyna said.
“There’s a balance here,” mused Alastar. “We need to think about what kinds of student problems should be resolved quietly and which should be handled in full open hearings with students and imagers present.”
“That would be quite a change,” observed Akoryt.
“It might make the maitres more cognizant of the fact that how they handle matters could come up in public,” replied Alastar, “but that’s a blade that cuts both ways. If we do change things, we’ll need to be very careful.”
“So what do we do with Bettaur now?” asked Akoryt.
“Keep a very close eye and tight rein on him.” What else can we do, given that the detention cells were in the administration building? “And don’t trust him any farther than you can throw a horse.”
“Thank you,” replied Akoryt solemnly, a solemnness more effective than sarcasm.
Once Akoryt had left, Alastar walked from the study to the front porch with Alyna, but as he stood there, he realized that with the gray skies and the bitter wind out of the northeast, the air felt more like winter than fall, although true winter was still more than a month away.
“About Seliora … she’s part Pharsi, isn’t she?” Even as he asked the question, Alastar wondered what exactly being Pharsi meant. Certainly, Alyna was part Pharsi, given that she was a descendant of Vaelora.
“Are you suggesting something?”
“No. Just wondering. We use names, and sometimes … I’m not even sure what those names mean.”
“‘Seliora’ means something like ‘the daughter of Artiema,’ except it comes from a Pharsi word meaning the greater moon.”
“You’re more literal than I meant. I was actually wondering if names convey a meaning beyond meaning. Are you Pharsi because one of your ancestors was Vaelora? Am I because my great-grandmother came from Sandeol?”
“You never said anything about that.”
“I guess I didn’t,” he admitted almost sheepishly.
“Every time I talk with you, there’s something new.” She smiled. “I’m freezing, and I need to get ready for my mathematics instructional.”
“Then I won’t keep you.” Alastar stayed on the porch and watched her stride toward the anomen. He didn’t even mind the cold.
After dealing with Dareyn and Arhgen and determining what supplies were immediately necessary for the Collegium—and how to pay for them—Alastar made certain he was at the Chateau D’Rex more than a quint before first glass. Since he had to wait outside in the wind with Glaesyn and Belsior, he was glad he’d worn his heavy gray riding jacket and gloves.
“Didn’t the first Maitre turn the stone of the chateau white?” asked Glaesyn.
“That’s what has been said,” replied Alastar cautiously. “I’d tend to believe that because the white stone of the exterior is so hard that a blade won’t scratch it, and the blade will break before the stone will show even a trace of a scratch.”
“Could you do that, sir?” Belsior looked intently at Alastar.
“For a small section of wall … I think. I’ve done it for a stone chest … once.” Alastar regretted saying that and immediately went on. “According to some records, Maitre Quaeryt said it was unlikely that anyone could ever again muster the price to do what he did.”
“What was that price?”
“We don’t know exactly. It’s said that he personally killed over a hundred thousand men in the Wars of Consolidation, but I don’t see how that was possible.”
“A hundred thousand?”
“That number appears in several histories.” Alastar turned. A squad of troopers was riding up the entry lane, doubtless escorting Acting Marshal Petayn and Sea Marshal Wilkorn. “Excuse me, but it’s time for an entrance.” He dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to Belsior, then walked up the steps to the main doors to the chateau.
The guard there glanced at the oncoming group, then back at Alastar, then swallowed. “Ah … perhaps you should go up and announce yourself, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alastar inclined his head politely, then made his way inside the chateau, up the grand staircase, and back to the study.
The guard at the study door stiffened slightly as Alastar approached, then rapped, and announced, “Maitre Alastar, sir.”
“Have him come in.”
Lorien rose from behind the goldenwood table desk.
Before the rex could speak, Alastar asked, because he wanted to bring up the subject before the others arrived, “How are you coming on your tariff proposal for the High Council?”
“I hope to have that ready by Meredi. Have you seen the marshals?”
“They were approaching when I entered the chateau.”
“You didn’t wait for them, I see. Interesting.”
“I thought it might be better if I were here first.”
“Better for you. Is it better for me?”
“I would think so, because it implies that I am united in purpose with you.”
“Unfortunately, you’re likely correct.” Lorien glanced toward the window and the gray skies to the north. “How much do you distrust the marshals?”
“I trust them to react to anything that would threaten or reduce their power.”
“Are you any different, Maitre?”
“In that respect, no. The difference is that I’m fighting for a very small group of people whose very lives will be threatened if I fail. The marshals are fighting for personal power and glory. They could take stipends and live comfortably for the rest of their lives if they do not agree with what you or I might propose. As shown by Demykalon’s acts, any great failure on the part of the Maitre of the Collegium could result in the death of many if not most imagers.”
“Your acts killed hundreds. Theirs only killed, what, a score.”
“But a score is one part in five of all imagers in Solidar. A hundred troopers lost is one trooper out of every seventy-five just here in L’Excelsis. It’s not only the total number, but the impact, both on the imagers … and on your future.”
“I might beg to differ…” Lorien broke off his words as the duty guar
d announced, “Acting Marshal Petayn and Sea Marshal Wilkorn.”
The smooth-faced Petayn was the first to enter, his graying black hair perfectly in place, and wearing the silver starbursts of a full marshal, rather than the gold of a submarshal. Behind him was another marshal, most likely the sea marshal. While Petayn was of average height, perhaps a digit or two shorter than Alastar, Wilkorn was a broad-shouldered, hefty figure close to half a head taller than the Maitre.
“Your Grace,” offered Petayn, inclining his head.
Wilkorn merely nodded.
Lorien gestured to the small conference table. Alastar took the seat to Lorien’s left, and Petayn to his right, leaving Wilkorn in the seat facing Lorien.
“I trust you had no difficulties in returning your forces to headquarters, Marshal,” offered Lorien as an opening statement.
“They are all where they should be, sir.”
Lorien raised his eyebrows.
“On post at headquarters. Even those who died as a result of the perhaps excessive reaction of the imagers to warning shots fired at Imagisle.”
“In less than half a glass,” said Alastar quietly, “the cannon killed or wounded more than a score, largely students, cooks, and others who posed no threat to anyone, damaged four structures, and destroyed two completely. You will pardon me if I express a certain doubt that those were warning shots.”
“I share that doubt,” added Lorien, “but the late Marshal Demykalon has paid for those excesses, and the purpose of this meeting is to discuss the future of the army and the navy of Solidar. At present, as I recall, Marshal Petayn, you have some eight regiments of troopers, three of which are posted at headquarters. And you, Marshal Wilkorn, have a fleet of twelve ships. According to the orders issued by Ryen, Rex Regis, and his predecessors, the size of the army was to be fixed at six regiments. The size of the fleet was set at twelve ships, with periodic replacements as necessary. Are there any questions about those orders?” Lorien looked to Petayn, then Wilkorn.
“No, sir,” replied Petayn, then the sea marshal.
“Why might you have eight regiments instead of six, and why three in L’Excelsis, instead of two?”
Madness in Solidar Page 43
