Madness in Solidar (53 page)

“What do you think, Maitre?”

“It appears as though both Kaylet and Shannyr will recover. How long do you plan to keep Kaylet here?”

“He's fine, except for the fractures. It's just that he can't do much of anything. If he had a family, someone to … do everything…”

“Just let me know when you think he can leave.”

Gaellen frowned. “That will be several weeks, I'd judge.”

“Oh … and Tertius Bettaur is not to see either Kaylet or Shannyr. I doubt that he'll try, but if he does, don't let him near them.”

“More trouble? Hasn't Bettaur done enough? Why would he—”

“I don't know that it's Bettaur, but I'd feel a great deal better if he doesn't see either until I get to what's behind a few events.”

“I can do that. Do you mind if I just say that because of the nature of their injuries no one is to see anyone without my permission or yours?”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

From the infirmary, Alastar returned to the Maitre's dwelling, hoping that Akoryt might be there, but the Maitre D'Structure was not, although Dareyn was seated behind the small table desk in the hall outside Alastar's personal study.

“I put those names on your desk, sir … and something about each of them. Thought that might help.”

“Thank you very, very much.” Alastar meant that. “Do you know where Maitre Akoryt might be, Dareyn?”

“He left word that he'd be at the stables helping Maitre Petros.”

“That's where I'm headed. I'll be back after that.”

As Alastar walked back south on the west walk, the one that would take him past the ruins of the administration building, he wished that he'd talked to Bettaur about his background, rather than deciding to wait until the third completed his detention.
But how could you have known what else would happen?
Except there was the old saying about not putting things off …
And you shouldn't have.

Even before Alastar reached the stables, a third carrying a bucket of grain saw him and hurried into the stables.

In moments, Akoryt emerged and stepped forward to meet Alastar. “You've got a determined stride there, Maitre.”

“Where's Bettaur?”

“He's in the tack room. Petros has him cleaning saddles and riding gear. You did say that he needed special disciplinary assignments.”

“I did, but I need to talk to him. Some more things have come up.”

“Do you think he was behind the three trying to get the founder's sabre?”

“I just talked to Shannyr. He says that Johanyr said Bettaur was, that Bettaur said they'd all be in better standing if they rescued it. But…”

“It could have been Johanyr's idea, and he was using Bettaur,” finished Akoryt.

“Or not,” added Alastar.

“Did Shannyr give a reason?”

“He said that Johanyr said that if they saved the sabre they'd be in better standing.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“In more ways than one.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Akoryt.

“I think not. Not this time.”

Alastar could see a certain relief in Akoryt's eyes before he made his way into the stables and to the tack room.

Bettaur turned from the saddle he was cleaning, then inclined his head. “Maitre.” He smiled pleasantly.

“I was going over the rosters of student imagers, Bettaur. All your record says is that you entered the Collegium six years ago, in Finitas of 383 After Lydor.”

“Not quite six years ago, Maitre.”

“Close enough. Tell me about your background.”

“I was an orphan. That's what they told me.”

“Who told you?”

“My guardians.”

“Who were?”

“Elsevier D'Tuuryl and his lady.”

“A wealthy landowner of Tuuryl and his wife?”

“They were. They died in the gray plague that ravaged the lands west of L'Excelsis the year after I came to the Collegium.”

“Do you know who your true parents were?”

“No, sir.” Bettaur shrugged apologetically. “I doubt I was truly an orphan.”

“Oh?”

“In the year or so before I came to the Collegium, I noticed that at times, a messenger in a dark cloak visited Holder Elsevier, and thereafter I usually was paid a visit by the local tailor.” Bettaur smiled ironically. “I have no idea from where the messenger came, and Elsevier and Alysetta refused to speak of anything about my past, except to say that I had been well-loved. They were very kind and gentle, especially Alysetta.”

With those words, Bettaur's voice wavered slightly, but Alastar had no idea whether the waver was real or feigned.

“Did they have any other children?”

“No. She said that I was the only child she would ever have.”

“Did she use that phrase?”

“She did. I wondered, just as you are, Maitre, but that was all she ever said.”

Alastar nodded. “Who brought you here? Your guardians?”

“No, sir. Maitre Fhaen came in a coach. The Collegium coach. That was after I imaged a comb for Alysetta.”

“Did they tell you that you were coming to the Collegium?”

“Not until Maitre Fhaen arrived.”

Stranger and stranger.
Alastar offered several more questions, the answers to which shed no more light on Bettaur's past, then asked, “When did you last talk to Johanyr?”

“I didn't speak to him since before the detention meeting. Maitre Akoryt released me from the detention cell only a glass before the cannon began to fire, and I was with him or Tertia Kierstia all the time until after the bombardment ended.”

“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.”