Once the doors opened, it took me but a moment to spot Dartazn’s tall figure and make my way toward him.
“Maitre Rhennthyl. I thought you might be the one to greet us.” He offered an open smile, one that carried a certain relief, as he lowered his duffel to the stone tiles of the platform.
“Welcome back…and congratulations,” I said warmly. “You did an outstanding job of leading and coordinating the attack on the Ferran ports. Fleet Marshal Asarynt sent a glowing dispatch praising your leadership, initiative, and tact. We’ll talk about that later. I have seven coaches waiting across from the station.”
“Thank you.” He turned. “Imagers! On me!” His voice dominated the platform, and people turned to watch as the gray-clad figures lined up with duffels at their feet.
I counted sixteen seconds and thirds, and I did see both Shault and Eamyn. I didn’t see Ralyea anywhere, and I wondered if I’d been wrong to agree to send him. Then Shault caught sight of me and smiled. I nodded in return. Still…we’d lost over a third of those I’d sent out. That was the side that people like Sebatyon never considered. Between covert duties and circumstances such as the incendiary operation against Ferrum, the Collegium suffered greater losses on a proportional basis than did either the Navy or the Civic Patrol. Yet revealing such figures was a double-edged blade, because they also demonstrated our comparatively small numbers and our vulnerability.
“Maitre Rhennthyl has coaches arranged across from the station. You can situate yourselves in any but the first…” Dartazn began to explain.
I listened, waiting, and when he was finished, we walked back through the station.
When we were in the coach headed back to Imagisle, I asked, “Can you tell me more?”
“The Navy was surprisingly cooperative. They seemed to know they needed help as soon as we started to board the Lyiena.” He snorted. “Just as we were casting off, an imager ran up the pier, demanding to talk to the senior imager. He yelled something about the master in Westisle needing to know what we were doing. I told him he’d have to make that inquiry of the Collegium Maitre. He didn’t seem too pleased, but I wasn’t holding up our departure.”
“Maitre Dyana and I took care of that later. Go on.”
“There’s really not too much to say. I had them practice some on the trip outbound, but seawater doesn’t have very good concentrations of what they needed to image. So I had them work on projection imaging of water, just to strengthen their abilities. When we reached Ferran waters, the Navy ferried me to the flagship. I met with the Fleet Marshal himself and explained the general plan. He pointed out where it wouldn’t work, and then we came up with some revisions. We briefed all the gunboat commanders, and they put me on a fast frigate, and dispersed the others among the gunboats.” Dartazn shrugged. “We did the best we could.”
“I don’t think it was anywhere close to that easy or simple.”
Dartazn smiled sheepishly. “I listened intently, agreed politely, and then did what needed to be done. I told everyone that I was following orders…and it worked out. I couldn’t have done it without all the preparation you and Chassendri gave me.” His face sobered. “We lost more than we should have. Some of them were too brave. Ralyea was one of them. He destroyed the naval base and shipyards at Greissyn. He had the gunboat captain make a last run so that he could try a final imaging at the magazines. He was successful, but the explosions were so devastating that some of the shells and shrapnel shredded his boat and turned it into an inferno. The other boat reported that. Was it worth it?” He paused. “What Ralyea did deprived their fleet of a good portion of their reserve munitions and destroyed the second largest naval station. Fleet Marshal Asarynt was very pleased when he heard that.”
Sitting there in the coach, at that moment, he looked much older than I.
“It was devastating, wasn’t it?”
“It was awful. With the sea winds, the fires spread everywhere. The shore was filled with flame and smoke as far as we could see when we headed back to the fleet. You could smell it milles offshore, days later.” He paused. “Things exploded, in places where you wouldn’t have thought there was anything. At times, the snow turned to steam.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then he asked, “How did you know their cities would burn so much?”
“Patterns. Quaelyn’s and Ferlyn’s patterns. Ferrum is heavily forested so that timber and planks are much less expensive. All their commerce is based on competition among factors and merchants, and they want high profits in a short time. Solid stone and brick buildings are costly and take time to build. I wasn’t certain, but it seemed likely that their cities would be likely to burn. It also seemed they wouldn’t spend as much on fire brigades or have as many of them.”
“I don’t think they do…or they did.” After another pause, he asked, “You knew it would be like that, with fire everywhere, and people dying, didn’t you, sir?”
“I did. I would have taken your position…if I could have, but Maitre Dyana refused to consider it, almost before I brought it up.”
Dartazn shook his head. “With Master Dichartyn gone, you couldn’t. Even I saw that.”
That might have been, but, especially after seeing what lay behind Dartazn’s eyes, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Yet, in a way, feeling guilty on my part was also an indulgence. So I plowed on. “You’re now a Maitre D’Structure, and you won’t be going back to the Council Chateau.”
“A Maitre D’Structure, sir?”
“Maitre Dyana and I already agreed on that.”
“What will I be doing, sir? I only know security…and what…what we did.”
“We need to have a closer relationship with the Naval Command, the way I once did with the Civic Patrol. Not exactly the same, but you’ll be the master in charge of dealing directly with the fleet and reorganizing the use of imagers on board warships. After all this, I think we’ll be able to persuade the Sea-Marshal to grant you an equivalent rank, something like a submarshal, high enough that you’ll outrank any vessel commander.” I paused. “So far as I know, you haven’t married.”
“No, sir, but…”
“There is a lady?” I smiled.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think she would mind living at the Collegium in Westisle? I understand that the Naval Command will be moving fleet headquarters there, and due to events here in Solidar while you were gone, we’ll need a new Maitre of the Collegium there. You would have senior master quarters, very spacious quarters, I understand. You would have to come back here, several times a year, though.”
He smiled slowly. “I haven’t talked to Veroniqua, obviously, but I think I…we…would like that.”
I had to be fair. “There’s one other thing.”
“Sir?” His eyes narrowed.
“You’re a bit of a hero, and people will likely be watching you.”
He nodded slowly, then grinned. “So you want me to act the part?”
“It would be helpful, given all the Collegium has been through in your absence.”
“Oh?”
“Councilor Glendyl died after you left, and Assistant Sea-Marshal Geuffryt killed Sea-Marshal Valeun and tried to kill me…” I gave him a quick summary of events, including the role of Vyktor and what we’d discovered about the various Ferran fronts and agents.
When I was finished, he looked at me. “Those are the official versions, I take it.”
I nodded.
“I thought as much.” After a momentary hesitation, he said, “I didn’t mention it to you, because it was obvious you knew, but I never had that good a feeling about Sea-Marshal Valeun. Fleet Marshal Asarynt, though, he was always very solid, very direct.”
“So far, I’ve found Sea-Marshal Caellynd the same way.”
“Asarynt said that he had orders from Caellynd to give us every consideration.”
“I think you’ll find working with the Navy much easier than you might have otherwise, but you will have to work to instill a
bit more discipline and respect in the Collegium in Westisle…” I explained about Dhelyn and what had happened.
When I finished, he shook his head. “I promise you. I won’t do anything like that.”
“We already knew that. That’s why Maitre Dyana thought you’d be good there.”
The coach came to a stop at the west duty coach station on Imagisle, and I opened the door and stepped out. Dartazn followed, then retrieved his duffel.
“I won’t keep you. I imagine you’ll want to share your news with the young lady.”
He grinned at me. “She’ll be pleased. I hope she will be.”
“You might also tell her that she may have to accompany you a few places over the next few weeks before you leave for Westisle.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I’m guessing at this point, but I expect you’ll be attending the Council’s Winter Ball this coming Vendrei—as a guest, not as a security imager. I can’t imagine that the Council would not want to see and congratulate the hero who ended the conflict.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
I had. “You’re fortunate in a way, because everyone will want to meet you, and then you’ll have the perfectly acceptable departure for your position in Westisle, and that will leave the Council with a lasting favorable impression.” And that just might mute less favorable impressions they had of the Collegium as a result of my acts.
“That’s only because they didn’t see what Ferrum looked like after we finished.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “Isn’t it always that way? Now…go and find your lady.”
He didn’t need any more urging.
I walked past the other coaches as they drew up and then slowly along the riverwalk on the west side of Imagisle, back toward our house, thinking as I did, not that I came to any earth-shattering conclusions.
Seliora and I spent the rest of the day with Diestrya, until Klysia returned to watch Diestrya, and we walked through the early evening and to the anomen for Solayi services.
Isola’s homily could have been targeted at me, and perhaps it was.
“We often praise the glory of the Nameless, and that is right and just so to do, but praising our own glory is only an exercise in naming. When we do, we become disciples of the Namer. There are many definitions of glory, such as exalted reputation, worshipful praise or adoration, but seeking glory, especially for the sake of praise by others, can all too often result in pettiness and egotistical self-praise, if not in death and destruction. In our history, which has been bloodier than the Nameless ever could have wished, often the greatest glory has been bestowed on those who achieved their ends with blades and bullets, rather than upon those who accomplished their goals with quiet and constructive building of cities and societies that cherished cooperation and peaceful resolution. Yes, there are times, such as those through which we are now passing, where there is no substitute for force, but those times should be recalled not with praise and glory but with regret that no other solution was possible. They should be followed by sober reflection on how to avoid situations that require the so-called glory of destroying an enemy…”
Isola was right there, too, I realized. The reason we had been forced to act as we had was because we had neglected to build our strength constructively. Had we had more than one engine works, better and more modern warships, and more modern manufactories, Ferrum would never have dared to invade Jariola. Our failure to achieve, as Isola put it, “quiet and constructive building,” had led to war, and in that sense the “glory” that had come from it was ill-deserved.
I glanced across the anomen, where Dartazn stood with a tall dark-haired woman, a thoughtful expression upon his face as he watched the chorister.
“…and in the end the only glory of worth belongs to the Nameless, for all earthly glories are based on the exaltation of naming, the wish to have one’s name greater than one’s achievements. There are great achievements and those that are less great, but those achievements of worth are those whose legacies outlive the names of those who accomplished them…”
After the final words of dismissal, Isola and I left the anomen and headed back home, moving bit more quickly than we had come, because the wind had picked up and the air had gotten far colder.
“That homily was intended for you and Dartazn,” observed Seliora.
“You think so?” I laughed softly. “How could you tell?”
“Because she didn’t look at you, and you nodded and were very thoughtful-looking as she spoke. So was Dartazn, and she looked at him.”
“She was right in what she said.”
“You already knew that.”
I did indeed, but that wasn’t the question. The real question was whether I’d remember it and live by it.
73
As I had suspected, invitations to the Council’s Winter Ball did arrive…or rather a note from Ramsael did, stating that as the second highest ranking imager I was considered a member of the Council for purposes of Council Balls. Interestingly enough, although the Maitre of the Collegium was also considered as such an “honorary” member, in accord with tradition, the Maitre never attended unless the Chief Councilor was unable to do so.
With the note were five invitations for me to use or not, as I chose. Since Suyrien’s death meant neither Frydryk nor Kandryl would necessarily receive invitations, I offered invitations to both, but Frydryk had already been invited as a courtesy by Fhernon. Iryela and Kandryl accepted, as did Dartazn. My parents declined, but since there wasn’t time to get an invitation to Khethila, I did write and tell her that I expected her to be in L’Excelsis for the Spring Ball so that she could meet Madame D’Shendael. I also offered an invitation to Commander Artois, and he and his wife also accepted. Had my parents accepted, I would have invited the Veblynts as well. Instead, I invited no one else.
Vendrei evening was freezing, and felt colder because of a bitter wind, but without snow, and after feeding our daughter and giving her a story, if earlier than usual, we dressed and then made our way to the duty coach station. I was in the formal blacks of a Maitre, with a formal black cloak. Seliora was in black and shimmering green, a gown she’d worn before but not to a Council Ball, also with her formal cloak.
Dartazn and the tall young lady were waiting for us. He wore the same imager formal blacks as did I. Under a dark blue cloak, she was in deep blue.
“Good evening,” I offered.
Dartazn bowed. “Might I present my fiance, Veroniqua D’Semaelyn. Veroniqua, Maitre Rhennthyl and Madame D’Rhennthyl.”
“Seliora, please,” interjected my wife.
“I couldn’t…”
“She means it,” I said with a smile, “and I never cross her when she means it.”
Dartazn barely managed to avoid smiling.
I opened the coach door and offered a hand to Seliora. Once we were on our way, I looked to Dartazn.
“I have told her,” he admitted. “Can you tell me how long before I’m expected to be in Westisle?”
I smiled. “How long do you need? You could easily stay here three weeks to a month. Longer than that might require that you travel to Westisle.”
He looked to Veroniqua.
She smiled shyly, then leaned toward him and whispered.
“She says a month would be lovely. We’d already planned tentatively for the twenty-seventh of Fevier.”
“Is your family from here?” asked Seliora.
“Yes…Seliora.” Veroniqua blushed. “I feel so strange using your first name. I always loved the name, but to know…”
“You’re acquainted with its meaning?” I asked.
Veroniqua nodded. “My father’s side is all Pharsi.” She looked to Seliora. “My aunt…she saw you once, with a pistol in your hand, and she said that you were truly the Daughter of the Moon.” Her eyes went to me, but she said nothing.
“Yes,” said Seliora, “he is.”
I knew what she meant. More than once we’d been compared
to the ancient Pharsi legends—the Daughter of the Moon and Erion, the hunter and the lesser red moon. Whether the comparison was apt or even accurate was another question, but there were some things about which I wasn’t going to contradict Seliora. Besides, I’d seen her with the pistol, too.
Because it was so chill, when we arrived at the Council Chateau, there were close to fifteen coaches lined up before us. Once we disembarked, while we didn’t rush up the open stone steps, neither did we tarry. Dartazn and Veroniqua led the way, in deference to my seniority, in through the Grand Foyer and past the ceremonial guards and the winged angelica statues I recalled all too well, before ascending the Grand Staircase and then leaving our cloaks with the functionary off to the side of the top of the steps. At the doorway to the Great Receiving Hall, Dartazn and Veroniqua stepped up to the same balding man who announced all arrivals at every Ball.
His deep bass voice boomed out, “Dartazn D’Imagisle, Maitre D’Structure, and Veroniqua D’Semaelyn.”
The murmurs died away, and most of those in the crowd turned toward the entrance of the Great Receiving Hall.
As we waited to be announced, Seliora leaned toward me and whispered, “You wanted him to stand out like that, didn’t you?”
“I’d hoped for it. They all need to focus on a hero, the one who ended the war.”
“You’re the one who ended the war.”
I shook my head. “I made it possible. He did it. He deserves the credit.”
When we stepped up, the announcement was simpler: “Maitre Rhennthyl and Madame Rhennthyl.”
“I still don’t feel like I should be announced as Madame,” murmured Seliora as we stepped away and toward the three Councilors on the Executive Council.
“You said that at the last Ball.”
Imager’s Intrigue Page 59
