Treachery's Tools (24 page)

“No. I have my doubts that we'll ever know.”

“Why would anyone do that to a student imager?”

“I don't know. Weren't you and Oestyl followed coming back to Imagisle one evening last week?”

“Yes, sir. But he was only following, and we gave him the slip. You think someone's out after imagers?”

“It could be. That's why I've had Maitre Akoryt suggest to every imager who can hold shields to do so when they're away from the Collegium and that students always go in pairs or groups.”

“We haven't done anything, have we, sir?”

“Not that I know of, but there have always been people who don't like imagers.”

Harl didn't say more, but his questions rekindled Alastar's own concerns. He'd been careful not to take any sort of publicly stated position favoring either the High Holders or the factors, and outside of Alyna, the only others to whom he'd even hinted at what he felt were to Lorien and, most recently, to Chelia.
Is someone just assuming you're going to favor the factors?

Alastar was still pondering the matter when they crossed the West River Road and rode onto the causeway between the river road and the Bridge of Desires. Just as the gelding's hooves touched the stone roadbed of the bridge, from nowhere, something slammed into Alastar's shields, rocking him forward in the saddle, almost jamming his nose and visor cap into the gelding's mane. That impact was followed by a second.

“Keep your shields!” he ordered, expanding his own shield to cover the gelding as he turned back toward the West River Road. He scanned the nearest sections of the road itself, but outside of several wagons that seemed not to even have noticed anything, there was no sign of a shooter—for the impacts had to have come from a heavy rifle.

“Sir!” called Noergyn. “Harl's hurt.”

Alastar immediately turned toward Harl, extending his own shields to cover Harl even before he rode up beside the third.

“It's not bad, sir. My shields … stopped the first one … slowed the second.” Harl pressed his right hand against the back of his left shoulder, just above the shoulder blade.

“Is it bleeding a lot?”

“I don't think so…”

“Then you and Noergyn ride to the infirmary—as fast as you can!” Belatedly, he asked Noergyn, “Did you get hit?”

“There was one shot that hit my shields.”

“Get moving and hold your shields!” Alastar wanted the thirds across the bridge before the shooter, if he had remained hidden nearby, could reload, since most heavy rifles held five cartridges in the magazine. Harl hadn't been turning white, but that could change in a moment.

Once the two thirds were on their way, Alastar concentrated on methodically studying the entire area west of the causeway, including the riverbanks north and south of the bridge. A half quint of scrutiny revealed nothing, and he finally turned the mare back toward Imagisle, reaching the stables another half quint later. He turned the mare over to one of the student imagers working under Petros and hurried toward the infirmary.

He had no more stepped inside than Noergyn rushed toward him, stopping abruptly.

“Sir.” The third swallowed. “Harl's dead.”

“Dead?” The wound hadn't been bleeding that much. How could Harl have died in little more than a quint?

Behind Noergyn, Gaellen walked toward the two. The healer maitre for Imagisle was shaking his head, more to himself, Alastar thought.

“Maitre…”

At Gaellen's single word, Noergyn stepped back, and made to move away, but Alastar motioned for him to remain, then said, “What happened? He didn't look that badly wounded.”

“He wasn't. The bullet was poisoned. There were signs of bleufleur, but it couldn't have been that alone, because he had a seizure as well.”

Not only bullets, but poisoned bullets as well?

“How long ago was he shot?”

“About a quint. We were coming back from the Chateau D'Rex. We were fired on as we started across the Bridge of Desires. I couldn't see anyone, not in the open or on the riverbank. Harl's shields stopped the first shot and slowed the second…”

“I thought as much. His shields and grays slowed it enough that it didn't penetrate more than a digit. But he was struggling to breathe when Noergyn practically carried him in. Then he convulsed.” Gaellen shook his head again. “There wasn't anything I could do.”

Alastar winced, before another thought struck him. “If I'd only known, if I'd just imaged the bullet out…”

“It might not have helped. The impact likely spread the poison beyond the bullet itself.”

But it might have …

Gaellen looked to Noergyn. “It's a good thing your shields held.”

“Very good,” agreed Alastar, still wondering if he had just immediately imaged out the bullet …
That won't do any good, but if it happens again …
“If you can, without endangering yourself, save the bullet.” Alastar not only wanted to confirm that it came from a heavy rifle, although that wouldn't tell him whose heavy rifle it might have been, but also something about the bullet might tell who had made it.

“I can do that.”

Alastar and Noergyn walked out of the infirmary together.

“I didn't know, Maitre. We rode as fast as we could, but then … when we got to the infirmary, Harl was white, and his arms and legs weren't working. Not like they should…”

“You couldn't have done any more,” Alastar said gently.

“Sir … why would anyone do anything like that?”

Alastar didn't answer the question the way he could have—that until Quaeryt had created the Collegium most imagers died unpleasant deaths. “There are always people who think that killing people they don't like will make their lives better. Over the long run, it never does. Even killing people who killed others out of hatred isn't much better, necessary as that is.”

By the time Alastar strode into the administration building it was a quint before noon. Both Dareyn and Maercyl looked up from where they sat, side by side, at the table desk in the anteroom.

“Maercyl, find Maitres Cyran, Akoryt, and Alyna, and have them meet me here as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, sir?” Maercyl's face showed puzzlement.

“Someone fired a heavy rifle at us when we were returning from the chateau. Harl looked to be slightly wounded, but the bullet was poisoned, and he died at the infirmary.”

“He died, sir? Harl?”

Alastar nodded. “About summoning…?”

“Oh … yes, sir!” repeated Maercyl before turning and hurrying off almost at a run.

Alastar turned to Dareyn, who still looked pale. “How are you doing?”

“Just fine, sir.”

“That's good, but you're only supposed to work half a day for a while. Once Maercyl returns, I think you should head home and rest. After this, especially, I may need you more tomorrow morning than this afternoon.”

“Sir…”

“Dareyn … even if you think you're doing well, Elmya wants you home. Think of me. Do you really want me to have to explain why I let you talk me out of what she and you agreed to?” Alastar managed a mournful expression.

After a moment, Dareyn smiled. “Two quints past the glass, sir?”

Alastar managed a grin he didn't feel. “That wouldn't be stretching it too much.”

Alyna was the first to arrive, but before she could say a word, Akoryt followed her. Alastar motioned them both into the study.

“Are you all right?” demanded Alyna.

“I'm fine. Someone shot at the three of us just as we started across the Bridge of Desires. Harl's shields held up against the first shot at him, but collapsed partly at the second. He took a minor wound, less than a digit into the back of his shoulder. But the bullet was poisoned. He died just after he got to the infirmary. Gaellen thinks there might have been two separate poisons in the bullet. I'll tell you all the details as soon as Cyran arrives … and some of what happened at the chateau.”

Alyna looked intently at Alastar, an expression not quite a glare.

Fortunately, Cyran appeared in the study doorway at that moment.

“Please close the door and join us.”

Cyran did. “I heard someone shot at you. Do you know who?”

“No. Whoever it was shot from a concealed position from behind us…” Alastar went on to describe what had happened from the time of the first shot until he had left the infirmary. “… and I immediately had Maercyl get the three of you.”

“Do you think the shots were aimed just at you?” asked Cyran.

Alastar shook his head. “There were two that hit my shields, two that hit Harl's shields, and one that hit Noergyn's. That many shells, spaced across the three of us, when our backs were turned. That doesn't seem like an attack on me.”

“Not after Frydrek's disappearance, and the fellow who was following Oestyl and Harl.… Could Harl have been the target?” asked Cyran.

Alastar shook his head. “Then all five shots should have been at him, because the shooter wouldn't have known right away that he'd hit Harl. Harl just had the misfortune to be in the wrong place twice.”
Except it turned out to be far more than mere misfortune.
“The immediate question is what steps we should take to protect Imagisle and the Collegium. Especially with someone shooting poisoned bullets at imagers.” He waited.

“For now, we'll have to restrict the students to Imagisle,” Akoryt said. “Most of them don't have shields strong enough to block a bullet.”

“Most of the longtime seconds don't, either,” Alastar pointed out, “and likely a good number of older thirds would fare about as well as Harl.”

“When you leave Imagisle, your escorts will have to be those with strong shields,” added Alyna.

Or go without escorts.

“Shouldn't we have two monitors at each bridge?” asked Cyran. “For a time, anyway? Until we know more?”

“That makes sense.” Alastar frowned. “We'll need to design and image stone guard boxes for each bridge. If the monitors are in the open…” He looked to Alyna. “Can you do that? Can we image a glass strong enough to stop a bullet?”

“I can try.”

“What else?”

“It's hard to say what might be effective,” mused Cyran, “when we don't know who's behind it or where they'll strike next.”

“We'll have to assume that they'll continue to strike at imagers who are alone or who can be targeted from cover.…”

Although the three discussed the matter for another quint, by then it was obvious to Alastar that there was little point in continuing, and he called an end to the meeting, sending Cyran and Akoryt off to pass the word.

When they were alone in the study, he turned to Alyna. “What do you think that you weren't saying?”

“That you never said what happened at the chateau.”

“Lorien wasn't there. In fact, Chelia sent him off as soon as he received word I was approaching the chateau.…” Alastar recounted what happened when he met with Chelia, as close to word-for-word as he could recall, then waited for her reaction.

“She's probably right. The longer Lorien can appear to be treating the situation dispassionately, the better. From their perspective.”

“Do you think we should press Lystara and Malyna on learning shields?”

“Lystara can handle concealments,” replied Alyna. “A shield of some sort shouldn't be a problem.”

“But how strong is another question.”

“She'll take it as a challenge. We'll just have to watch carefully so she doesn't overdo it.”

“Like her mother?”

“You're not going to let me forget that, are you?” Alyna offered the mischievous smile that Alastar loved.

“Not entirely. You're so perfect otherwise.”

Her laugh expressed total disbelief.

“Can you image those sentry or guard boxes?”

“I'll have them done this afternoon. I'll have to see how strong I can make the glass, though. What are you going to do?”

“Think for a bit. Have Cyran talk to the Civic Patrol. Then ride out and talk to shopkeepers along the West River Road. It could be that someone saw the shooter.” Alastar didn't know what else he could do, but he felt he had to do something.

“Please be careful.”

“As careful as I can be.”

After Alyna left, Alastar made his way to the armory, where Cyran had always had his study, and where the senior imager of the Collegium preferred it to remain.

“I thought I might see you.” Cyran stood beside his table desk, polishing a saber, although Alastar wasn't certain that Cyran had ever used it.

“Do you think it would be useful for you to talk to Heisyt or Murranyt about the shooting?”

“Heisyt would be better. He knows some of the thirds. He should be around the main patrol station this afternoon.”

“I'd appreciate that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Talk to shopkeepers and crafters along the West River Road.”

“They might have seen something. They'd talk to you, I think.”

“Meaning that they won't say much, but I might get a bit more.”

Cyran chuckled. “Something like that.”

“You talk to the patrol, and I'll talk to some people, we'll meet at a quint before seventh glass tomorrow—unless we discover something we need to act on immediately.”

“That makes sense to me.”

Alastar nodded and headed to the nearby stables, where he saddled a chestnut mare. Then, regardless of appearances or custom, he rode out over the Bridge of Desires alone. His shields were strong enough to withstand the impact of a heavy rifle, and he didn't want to risk anyone else.

The closest shop to the bridge was that of a cooper on the northwest corner of the Avenue D'Rex Ryen. As Alastar reined up outside, the gray-haired man who was sweeping the paving stones in front of the entry looked up then stepped back. Alastar decided not to dismount, at least not for the moment. “Have you been here since midmorning?”