Imager's Challenge (44 page)

That left me at a good stopping point, and I had Seliora sit down while I cleaned up.

Then we went back to my quarters—or I did. She waited in the entry below while I quickly folded another outfit into the carrying bag.

We actually reached NordEste Design before half past two.

There, I learned more about saddling the mare, a patient creature, as Seliora instructed and watched as I struggled with blankets, and girths, and the saddle. Eventually, I did manage all those details, and we rode out of the courtyard, me on the mare, and Seliora on a much friskier chestnut.

We took the direct route, and in roughly half a glass, the Plaza D’Nord was behind us, as well as most of the carriages and wagons that had thronged the Boulevard D’Este. I wouldn’t have claimed that I rode well, but I was finally developing some sense of what I was doing.

“Is the ride helping put the past days behind you?” I asked as we turned northward on the paved road leading to the estate.

Seliora’s first response was a faint smile. “I’d already done that.”

“You’re worried, still.”

“Knowing you, how can I not be worried?”

“Farsight?”

“Not really. Not mostly. You’ve made an enemy of one of the more powerful High Holders. You’re a powerful imager. He’s too arrogant to back off, and that leaves you with no choices.”

I’d known that for a long time. So had Seliora, I suspected.

“Rhenn?”

“Yes?”

“High Holders don’t believe in mercy or fairness. Their honor is based on power. Nothing else. I understand that. Please remember that I understand.”

“You’re one of the few outside the High Holders and the Collegium who does. Or who’s willing to say it.”

“My whole family knows.” Her tone declared that they knew personally, and that she’d tell me when the time came. And that such a time might never come.

I nodded.

We reached the low rise to the south of the one on which stood Ryel’s chateau, and I studied the lands once more. Even at a glance, I could see that there was but one gate in the long wall around the estate—that part I could
see—and that was the massive entry gate. Again, I was struck by the tower that rose off the terrace at the end of the chateau’s south wing, overlooking the formal gardens that stretched a good half mille down to the stream flowing in a swale whose far southern side was less than a hundred yards from the southern wall.

To the east of the gardens was what looked to be an orchard, and then a small woodland farther east. From what I could determine, the grounds were modest—for a High Holder—roughly three-quarters of a mille north to south and possibly twice that from west to east.

Once we followed the road down and into its lowest point between the two rises, I eased the mare to the right side of the road, letting her walk slowly as I studied the wall that surrounded the estate. The wall stood close to two and a half yards high, but the top was set with a mortared surface from which protruded all sorts of sharp objects—broken glass and crockery, nails, the edges of shattered blades. The gray stone had a slightly irregular finish, but not rough enough to afford handholds. The only break in the wall occurred where the stream—a small river—flowed between two stone pillars. There the walls turned at a right angle and ran back another five yards or so along the stream, but they had been set so that they constricted and deepened the stream and so that it rushed through the gap and down a short rapids before entering a culvert that continued under the road.

Beyond the stream, the road rose more steeply, so that if I looked forward, I couldn’t see the chateau from the side of the road. I glanced around. While there were a few low bushes, there were no trees. Some of the bushes looked fairly sturdy.

Beyond the wall, I could hear dogs—a combination of deep barks and baying. Doubtless, the beasts ran free at night, although since all the sounds came from one general area, I felt they were presently kenneled.

When we rode past the gates, I scarcely looked at them. Although there were no guards stationed outside, I had the feeling that someone watched us through the iron grillwork.

Neither Seliora nor I said anything until we were a good hundred yards past the gate.

“That’s just his small estate in the capital.” Her words were light.

“Set among another hundred or so of lesser holders, I’d judge.”

“His is among the more impressive I’ve seen, but he’s one of the wealthiest High Holders.”

There was little to add to that. I just said, “We can stop and rest the horses at the turnaround.”

“There’s a trough there. We can water them some, but not too much.”

“I leave that judgment to you, dear lady.”

My words, or my tone, did bring a brief smile to her lips.

While we watered our mounts and tarried a bit, I studied the grounds even more, if not obviously, I hoped. From the north side, I could see the tower in perspective. Its uppermost level was almost level with the hilltop turnaround . . . or so it seemed.

When we headed back, I realized, as with all too many things I’d planned in recent weeks, that I’d underestimated the time required. It was close to sixth glass when we reined up in the NordEste courtyard.

“We’re going to be late,” I confessed as I dismounted.

“What time are we supposed to be there?”

“In about a quint.”

Seliora just looked at me.

“It’s my fault.”

Then she grinned. “So long as you tell them that.”

“I promise.”

How we managed it, between stabling and grooming and washing up and changing, I wasn’t quite certain, but it wasn’t that much past half past six when the hack rolled up before my parents’ dwelling.

Seliora looked beautiful—and far more composed than I felt when I lifted and dropped the knocker.

Mother immediately opened the door. “I was getting worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry we’re a bit late. That was my fault.”

From where she stood behind Mother, Khethila laughed and looked at Seliora. “You’re definitely good for Rhenn. He’d never have admitted that a year ago.”

“He wouldn’t have admitted it three months ago,” Seliora replied cheerfully as she stepped into the house.

I closed the door and followed them into the family parlor. That was a good sign.

Even before we could sit down, Khethila asked me, “Dare I ask what you were doing?”

“She’s teaching me to ride, and I thought we could go farther than we should have. I didn’t listen to someone.” I shrugged. “Horses get tired, too, and it takes longer to return . . . and to groom them.”

“Greetings, Seliora,” Father said as he rose from his armchair. “We’re glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be here.”

Father half turned to me, gesturing for everyone to sit down. “It seems to me that you’re being trained, or training yourself, more like an Army commando than an imager.”

“Imaging is far more work than most people could believe,” I answered. “I’ve never ridden before, and when I mentioned it to Seliora, she decided that it was a good idea. I’ll probably be sore enough tomorrow that I won’t be so sure that it was a good idea.”

“What’s a good idea?” asked Culthyn, slipping in from the kitchen with a smudge of something on his cheek.

“Have you been in the tarts?” demanded Khethila.

“Rhenn was late. I was hungry.”

“And you couldn’t have had a piece of bread or a biscuit or an apple, I suppose?” asked Father.

Mother looked hard at Culthyn. “Then you have had your dessert. Please join us.” She patted the settee and the open space between her and Khethila. “I don’t believe you’ve met Seliora. I understand she has a younger brother close to your age.”

Culthyn as much as slunk onto the settee as seated himself. He kept his eyes averted from Mother and me.

“Methyr is two years younger, from what Rhenn has told me,” Seliora said. “You both share a fondness for sweets. Last night, he shaved a slice off Odelia’s pie when she wasn’t looking.”

“Is he still walking?” I asked.

“He was moving a little stiffly this morning, I thought.”

Culthyn’s eyes widened a touch, and Khethila concealed a smile.

“Rhenn was a bit more indirect, as I recall,” Mother said. “He’d take the dough, before it was baked, and roll it around something sweet—jelly or jam or honey—when no one was looking. It took a while for the cook to figure out why the pastry was often short when he was around.”

“I never heard that,” said Khethila.

“See? I wasn’t the only one.” Culthyn’s tone carried the same self-justification that I’d heard too much from Rousel.

Seliora smiled at me.

Dinner would be fine. That I knew.

Because we were both tired, Seliora and I hadn’t stayed all that late after dinner, and we’d been fortunate, although I’d hoped for it, that Mother had paid Charlsyn to work late and take Seliora back to NordEste Design and me to the Collegium. I had held Seliora quite closely on the first part of that trip.

I’d also slept past breakfast on Solayi, and I took my time getting cleaned up and dressed, thinking over what I wanted to do and what I needed to do. Seliora had a number of “family things,” as well as some work she’d put aside to spend the day with me on Samedi. So I had Solayi to myself, except that I needed to meet Chelya when she came to visit Shault, something that I’d almost forgotten, perhaps because my plans had changed somewhat, and the cloth scrap wasn’t as vital as I’d originally thought it would be, although I still might be able to use it.

Once I’d planned out my schedule, I left my quarters, enjoying another sunny, if crisp, day. The benches on the quadrangle were empty, except for a few primes and young seconds. Then, I saw Ferlyn walking toward the dining hall for lunch and hurried to catch up with him.

“Duty, once more?” I asked, rhetorically and dryly.

“What else?” He shook his head. “I don’t mind it that much. I’m not married, and I’m not struggling through all the extra duties that Master Dichartyn lays on you security types, so it’s not as though it’s a great imposition.”

“Aren’t you learning things from Quaelyn?”

“True enough, but there’s time for most of that during the week, when I’m not supervising and checking the armory imagers and their work.”

“You have the skill to use imaging to compare things to exact tolerances, or something like that?” That was a guess, but I couldn’t figure out what other skill would have made him a master so young, since he was probably only five or six years older than I was.

He shook his head, if ruefully. “Master Schorzat warned me about you, Rhenn. He said that you had this talent of discovering things with no facts at all to support you.”

I didn’t point out that I’d had two facts. “What can I say?”

“You can’t.” He laughed. “But let’s say you’re close enough.”

“Can you tell me what you know about the war—based on what the armory is doing?”

“Not really. The Navy doesn’t say much, but I don’t think matters are going as well as they’d hoped.” He frowned. “That’s not quite right. They’re pleased with the . . . with what we’re doing, but I get the impression that while the Ferrans are losing ships and taking heavy losses, there’s no slacking in the fighting.”

I held the outer door to the dining hall and followed him into the corridor inside. “From what I’ve heard, there won’t be until winter, and then everything will come unraveled for them.”

“That will mean more casualties for both the Ferrans and Jariolans.”

“And less golds for our factors—because the shipping’s been largely cut off.”

“That hasn’t seemed to bother the Council,” Ferlyn said.

It probably hadn’t, because the longer the war dragged on, the less likely either land would be able to create future problems for Solidar. If the Oligarchy merely survived, the High Holders on the Council would be relieved that another land had not become governed by mercantilists, and the factors and guilds would be happy to see Ferran competitiveness reduced.

Just after we’d seated ourselves, alone at the masters’ table, Shault entered the hall with two other primes. The three talked animatedly, and I caught a few fragments of what they said.