Madness in Solidar (8 page)

You hope.

 

5

On Samedi morning, Alastar allowed himself another half glass of sleep, and cut his run to going around the northern half of the isle, so that he did not reach the dining hall until just before sixth glass. He was still the first maitre there, although Claeynd arrived within a tenth of a glass, sleepy-eyed, rumpled, and obviously the duty master. Alastar motioned for the other to join him. “You look a little tired this morning, Claeynd.”

“Yes, sir. I don't sleep well when I have duty. Don't know why. Kierstia says it's because I worry, even sleeping in our own bed. Lilabeta's old enough that she sleeps the night.”

“No problems, then?”

“No, sir. Quiet as could be when we closed the gates. All the students accounted for.” Claeynd smiled faintly. “When I've the duty on Samedi night, that's when I worry. There have been times when an older third wasn't in when the gates are shut. One of them imaged himself a rope and climbed over. Maitre Fhaen wasn't amused. Maitre Cyran suggested no harm was done, seeing as it was but a quint past ninth glass.”

“You might pass the word that I'll be even less amused than Maitre Fhaen was.”

Claeynd's brow furrowed slightly.

“You're wondering why? Because Rex Ryen has angered the High Holders and the factors, and imagers are seen as supporters of the rex. Being out late, especially alone, isn't a good idea right now, not that it ever was. How are your regular duties coming?”

“There's not too much change, sir. We're working on replacing the cracked roof tiles on the anomen. They say it's older than the Collegium.”

“That's what the records show. But it was rebuilt by the first imagers of the Collegium.”

“It's a tricky business, imaging out one tile at a time, then replacing it with a new one.”

“Just ten of them and a few students built the older part of the administration building, the first twelve cottages, the old student quarters wing, as well as the newer ones, the first two, except they were barracks, the stables, and the Maitre's dwelling … and they did it all in a year … plus the stone walls around Imagisle and the southern west bridge.” Alastar smiled. “That's the level of imaging skill we need to rebuild.”

“That's hard to believe, sir.”

“There are enough records about what they did that there's not much doubt.”
But there are no records about
how
they did all that.

Claeynd took a cautious sip from the steaming mug the server set before him. “Maitre Obsolym says that they risked more, and that most of them died young.”

“We don't know that they died young just from attempting imaging. We do know that the ones who founded the Collegium survived persecution and war. The strong who work together have a better chance of surviving. Maitre Quaeryt was farsighted enough to get them to do that.”

The server slipped a platter in front of Alastar, who looked at the egg toast—only tan instead of dark brown—and at the sausage patty, perhaps slightly greasy, but definitely cooked. He drizzled some of the honey-berry syrup, far more tart berry than sweet honey, over the egg toast, cut a piece of sausage and ate it with a chunk of the toast, then took a sip of the bitter tea. He ate for a time without speaking.

“Is it true that more young imagers at Westisle…” Claeynd let his words fade off, as if unwilling to finish the question.

“Some student imagers have died at Westisle. Some have died here. There will always be foolish or careless young imagers. The task of the Collegium is to turn foolish or careless young students into careful and thoughtful imagers. Failure to learn care and thought in imaging may have unfortunate consequences. We try to minimize those consequences, but the task is creating responsible imagers, not excessively protecting those who will not learn or understand.”

“Isn't that expecting a bit much, sir?”

“It's expecting a great deal, but the survival of imagers in Solidar is at stake. Do you want to go back to the times before Rex Regis and the establishment of the Collegium, when imagers were hunted down … when most were killed as children? If we do not demonstrate that imagers are responsible and valued, there will be no future for the Collegium and for imagers. Right now, we are seen merely as tools of Rex Ryen.”
And not very strong tools at that.

“Yes, sir,” replied Claeynd.

Alastar could tell that the younger maitre had his doubts, and rather than press, he merely said, “Just think about what I've said as matters unfold over the next few weeks.”

“What's going to happen then, sir?” Claeynd's voice took on a worried tone.

“We'll have to see. In the meantime, just keep your eyes and ears open.” Alastar took a last swallow of tea and rose. “Have a good Samedi and end-day tomorrow with your family.”

Alastar kept a pleasant smile on his face as he left the dining hall, nodding to the primes and seconds who were dragging into the building and who immediately inclined their heads and stepped out of his way. He worried that Claeynd's attitude was all too prevalent among the junior masters. He had barely stepped out of the dining hall when the odor of sewage and worse filled his nostrils, so strong that he almost retched.
And the rex and the factors are still squabbling over who is to pay for the repairs?
He kept walking,

Dareyn was tidying up the anteroom when Alastar arrived.

“You're here early,” Alastar offered.

“I woke up early, and Elmya is visiting our daughter in Caanara. There was no reason to lie around, and there have been some things I've wanted to organize better.”

“Far be it for me to get in the way of that.” Alastar smiled cheerfully. “I will need you to dispatch some messages in a while.”

While Alastar could theoretically have sent one of the imager messengers, what he was ordering would be unpopular, and verbal messages of an unpopular nature had a tendency not to be received, or the recipients somehow “misinterpreted” them. When he seated himself behind his desk, he immediately began to write, first a short note to Obsolym, then an identical one to Akoryt, followed by ones to the other three senior maitres, followed by the same note to several of the Maitres D'Aspect—Alyna, Khaelis, Mhorys, Narryn, Shaelyt, and Tiranya. He decided against including Warryk, because he was recovering from a nasty flux, and Claeynd, because he was the duty maitre for Samedi, although Claeynd could have used the example Alastar intended to set. He wrote a different note to Petros.

When he finished, he took the notes out to Dareyn. “These are to the senior imagers, including Obsolym, and to some of the Maitres D'Aspect. The notes are to be delivered personally. For your information, I've summoned them to meet me here tomorrow morning at eighth glass. I'd also like you to send word to Maitre Petros to have thirteen mounts ready for me and those imagers by a quint past eighth glass tomorrow.”

“It is Solayi, sir.”

“That's why I'm delaying the meeting until eighth glass.”

“Will you be needing anything else, sir?”

“Not for the moment. At eighth glass, I'm going to see how Maitre Cyran is doing in overseeing weapons training with the junior thirds.” Alastar also wanted to continue his review of the imager assignments with Desyrk, but whether he could fit that in depended on how long he watched Cyran's students and whether Desyrk would be punctual in leaving at noon—since noon on Samedi was the beginning of end-day, which lasted until services began in the anomen at sixth glass on Solayi evening.

When he returned to his study, Alastar took out his copy of the master ledger, updated and returned weekly by Arhgen, to go over the Collegium accounts to see where spending might be cut, and just as important, what was being neglected. He had jotted down several areas where he needed to look into changes in Collegium spending when Dareyn knocked on the door, then opened it slightly.

“There's a courier from the Chateau D'Rex, Maitre.”

A courier from the rex most likely meant trouble, and Dareyn's absolutely calm tone of voice suggested the old secondus had the same opinion.

“Have him come in, if you would.”

Dareyn opened the study door wide, stood back to let the courier enter, and then closed it, leaving the courier alone with Alastar.

The courier—a young man in the yellow-trimmed green jacket and trousers of a chateau guard—stepped into the study. “Maitre … sir?”

“Yes? I take it you have a message for me.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard swallowed.

Alastar had a good idea what was coming. “Yes?”

“Rex Ryen would appreciate your immediate attendance at the chateau, sir.”

“Were those his exact words?” Before the stunned guard could reply, Alastar held up his hand. “You don't have to answer that. As soon as I can get a mount saddled, we can ride back together. That might be for the best. If you'd wait out front for me, I'll join you shortly.”

“Yes, sir.” The courier didn't sound happy.

Believe me, young man, you'll be far happier arriving with me.
Alastar stood and walked to the door, opening it and gesturing for the courier to precede him. “Dareyn, send word to the stables that I'll need my horse saddled, and two escorts to accompany me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar turned to the courier. “I'll meet you in front as soon as my mount arrives.”

The courier nodded, almost glumly, then turned and walked from the anteroom out into the corridor, then toward the main entry.

“Did the courier say what the rex wanted, sir?”

“Does he ever let anyone know? I'm just expected to attend him instantly.” Alastar offered a crooked smile. “It could be anything. Oh … and would you send a messenger over to Cyran to tell him where I'm going to be?”

“Yes, sir.”

Less than a tenth of a glass later, Alastar mounted the gray gelding and rode away from the central green on the Collegium beside the courier, with the two imager thirds behind them.

“What's your name?” Alastar asked the guard.

“Llasel, sir.”

“How long have you been a guard and courier at the chateau?”

“I was a page for three years. Then I went through rankers' training.”

“At the training post to the north on this side of the river? Five milles out?”

“Yes, sir. They said it was once a scholarium. It's where the army trains rankers.”

That was something else Alastar hadn't known, that there had actually been a scholarium in L'Excelsis. There was no mention of such in the archives he'd read, but then, he'd only scratched the surface of what lay in the stacks of file chests in the cellar. “Do you know how long ago that was? Did anyone say?”

“No, sir.”

“How many chateau guards are there?”

“Three companies' worth. That's here in L'Excelsis. There are guards at all the chateaux the rex owns.”

“There are quite a few of those.” Alastar had seen estimates that Ryen owned fifteen large estates across Solidar, but those numbers had decreased since the time of Rex Regis, as some had been given to nonruling offspring over the generations.

“I wouldn't know, sir.”

Less than a glass later, Alastar and the three others reined up at the white stone steps leading up to the main entrance of the Chateau D'Rex.

“Thank you, Llasel.”

“My pleasure, Maitre.” The chateau guard eased his mount away.

Alastar dismounted and handed the gelding's reins to Akkard, the older of the two thirds. “Just wait here.”

Both imagers nodded, and Alastar made his way up the steps to the entry, where another guard, this one white-haired, accompanied the Maitre through the receiving hall and then up the grand staircase to the second level and back to the closed door of Ryen's private study.

The guard outside the study knocked and announced, “Maitre Alastar, sir.”

“Send the good Maitre in.”

Alastar concealed the wince he felt at the false heartiness he heard in Ryen's voice, made certain he had a pleasant expression on his face, and stepped into the study. The guard quickly closed the door behind him.

Ryen stood beside the wide desk and its stacks of papers, between the desk and the closed windows to the north. Two other men, much younger, stood on one side of the desk opposite the rex. One was clearly an offspring, because he had the same lank black hair and gray-blue eyes and thin build as Ryen. The other had fine blond hair and greenish gray eyes. He was also slightly taller and more broad-shouldered than either of the others, and he immediately smiled warmly at Alastar.

“Maitre,” continued Ryen in his falsely hearty voice, “I thought you should meet my sons. Lorien here”—he pointed to the older-looking and more slender man—“and Ryentar.” The rex followed by inclining his head toward the still-smiling younger man, then continued, “And this distinguished personage, my sons, is the new head of the Collegium, Maitre Alastar, and the most powerful imager in Solidar.”

Both Lorien and Ryentar nodded politely to Alastar.

“I'm very pleased to meet you, sir,” offered Ryentar warmly.

“Likewise,” said Lorien cordially, but far from effusively.

“And I, you,” replied Alastar.

“You may go.” Ryen looked first to Lorien and then Ryentar. “At the stables at noon.”

Alastar hoped he wouldn't be spending nearly that long with the rex, but kept a pleasant expression on his face. “Fine-looking young men.”

“They are.” Ryen laughed. “What else could you say, Maitre?”

“That I was glad to meet them, which I was.”

“Sit down.”

Alastar waited until the rex was about to seat himself before settling into the chair across the desk from Ryen.

“How are you managing with changing the councilors' minds?”