Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  At fifth glass, wearing dress uniform greens, without insignia, he stepped into the unmarked coach in the rear courtyard of the Chateau. The two guards and driver were in army greens. Two quints later, after an uneventful ride, the regial coach rolled to a stop outside the Maitre’s two-story stone dwelling, one that looked recently completed, for all that it was some four hundred years old and close to indestructible.

  Charyn immediately stepped out and started to walk toward the front door.

  “Charyn!”

  He couldn’t help smiling as Aloryana hurried toward him, wearing the tailored light gray imager jacket and trousers, and with her blond hair cut far shorter than he’d seen before.

  She slowed to a more deliberate walk as she neared him. “I should be angry at you.” The firmness of her tone gave way to a smile. “And I would have been if you hadn’t written that letter.”

  “I didn’t know if Maitre Alastar would agree to the plan of my coming here and your going there, but I did arrange for the family-type dinner at the Chateau whether or not you wanted to attend services.”

  “Maitre Alastar told me that, too.”

  Behind Aloryana walked another young woman imager—Lystara, who had the black eyes and brown hair of her mother and the height and broad shoulders of her father. Charyn realized, again, that Lystara was almost as tall as he was.

  “Good evening, Maitre Lystara.”

  Lystara offered an embarrassed smile. “Lystara, Your Grace, please. I’m only seventeen, and for a Rex to call me ‘Maitre’ … that doesn’t seem right.”

  “I won’t press the point, Lystara, but you’re here on duty, to protect me and Aloryana, and for that you deserve being addressed as ‘Maitre.’”

  “Charyn’s right, you know,” said Aloryana.

  “Are you two ready?” Charyn said quickly.

  “Only if you promise you’ll come back for refreshments after services,” said Aloryana.

  “I promise. I already promised.”

  “I wanted to make sure.”

  Lystara took the front seat, so that she could look back to see if anyone happened to be following them, while Aloryana sat beside her brother.

  “Bhayrn isn’t coming?” asked Aloryana as the coach began to move.

  “He’s visiting Laamyst in Talyon. Even if he were here, he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be wise for both of us to go out together. It would also be asking a bit much of Lystara.” Charyn knew that Lystara had even stronger shields than Malyna, who’d saved his life, but she was also three years younger, and holding shields to protect two people was more than enough, although from what he’d seen of the young imagers, they were very capable.

  “That’s right,” said Aloryana, her voice thoughtful. “He’s your heir. Until you marry and have children.”

  “That’s a way off.”

  “Malyna said you danced with three women twice at the Spring-Turn Ball.”

  “Four, actually.”

  “So no one would guess which one you liked best?”

  Charyn just raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you learning any new music?”

  “I’m working on another Farray piece. What about you?”

  “Palenya has me working on a melody by Chaarpan and the short Farray piece you learned first. I’m not as good as you are … yet.”

  “You keep practicing and you’ll end up better. What about your imaging?”

  “I can do shields now. They’re not very good, but they might stop one bullet, Maitre Alastar says. Concealments are easier for me.”

  Charyn frowned. “I thought…”

  “For most imagers,” said Lystara, not taking her eyes from outside the coach, “they’re harder, but for Aloryana, they’re easier.”

  “That’s because of what you taught me.”

  The ride ended too soon, as far as Charyn was concerned, because it seemed like almost no time had passed before the coach turned off the Boulevard D’Rex and rolled to a halt outside the Anomen D’Rex.

  “You two go first,” declared Lystara as soon as all three were out of the coach. “I’m right behind you, but you’re both shielded.”

  Followed by Lystara, and the two guards, Charyn led the way, along the back corridor, toward the regial enclosure, a space he hadn’t stood inside in more than seven months. As they neared the side door out into the nave, Chorister Saerlet appeared.

  “Your Grace, it’s so good to see you, and you, Lady Aloryana … or should I say Imager Aloryana.”

  “I suppose she’s both now,” said Charyn. “Please don’t mention that we’re here. People will see, but an announcement,” he grinned, “well, that might be a form of Naming.”

  “You do have a way with words, Your Grace.”

  “I’ll leave the words to your homily, Chorister.”

  Saerlet nodded and opened the door.

  The five in Charyn’s party stepped out into the nave and then into the regial space, set off merely by a green and gold braided rope. Charyn noted that the anomen was perhaps only half full. Given that it was summer and warm, that didn’t surprise him. Then he noticed something folded carefully over the braided rope—a simple square of white cloth, but when he picked it off the rope, the square unfolded into a white strip nearly a good yard and a half long. There were no markings on the cloth.

  “What’s that?” murmured Aloryana.

  “I don’t know. It’s just white cloth.” Charyn handed it to his sister.

  “It’s hemmed. It must be a belt of some sort.” Aloryana refolded the cloth and handed it back to her brother.

  “Someone must have left it here.” Charyn tucked it into his jacket.

  For several moments, those standing nearby seemed not even to notice their arrival. Then more worshippers looked quickly in their direction and quickly away.

  Shortly, the choir sang the choral invocation while Saerlet stood in the center of the dais, facing the congregation. Then he spoke.

  “We are gathered here together this evening in the spirit of the Nameless and in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do.”

  Charyn didn’t really know the opening hymn—“Forsaking Foolish Pride”—and neither did Aloryana. While it was clear that Lystara did, her words and voice were low.

  The confession followed, which Charyn did know, although he spoke barely above a murmur. “We do not name You, for naming is a presumption, and we would not presume upon the creator of all that was, is, and will be. We do not pray to You, nor ask favors or recognition from You, for requesting such asks You to favor us over others who are also your creations. Rather we confess that we always risk the sins of pride and presumption and that the very names we bear symbolize those sins, for we too often strive to arrogate our names and ourselves above others, to insist that our petty plans and arid achievements have meaning beyond those whom we love or over whom we have influence and power. Let us never forget that we are less than nothing against your nameless magnificence and that all that we are is a gift to be cherished and treasured, and that we must also respect and cherish the gifts of others, in celebration of You who cannot be named or known, only respected and worshipped.”

  “In peace and harmony,” was the chorused response, followed by the offertory baskets, which did not enter the regial space.

  A moment of silence ensued as Saerlet ascended to the pulpit for his homily, the same pulpit from which Charyn had spoken at his father’s memorial service—and where he had received one of the letters threatening his own assassination.

  “Good evening.”

  “Good evening,” came the reply.

  “And it is a good evening, for under the Nameless all evenings are good. Tonight we gather again to offer thanks for that goodness. Some may feel that this life is not what it could be, and that is so. Because life is not what it could be, some people blame the Nameless, or they blame the Rex, or a chorister like me. Or they blame a people, like the Jariolans or the Pharsis. But what makes life le
ss than it could be? Or for that matter, better than it could be, for there are those times as well. The Nameless created the world, and the greater and the lesser moon, the oceans and the tides. They are neither the cause of evil or the source of joy. They are.

  “Rholan the Unnamer once observed that more evil and killing was done in this world in a single year by men who wished to impose their view of what was right upon others by force, than all the deaths in history caused by storms or by lightning or by the shaking of the earth. We cannot change the physical world. What we can change is how we live in that world…”

  Charyn found his thoughts wandering as Saerlet continued, because he was thinking about what Saerlet had not said, or had avoided saying. Lack of rain did cause crops to fail. So did too much rain, but when people died from starvation, it was usually not because there was no food, but because food had become too dear for them to buy or because it would have cost too much to ship grain or maize from elsewhere. Or it would take too much time.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the service as Saerlet finished the homily, murmured the closing hymn—“The Path to Joy”—and listened to the final benediction.

  Then he smiled at Aloryana. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  “He speaks well. I think I like what Chorister Iskhar says better.”

  “Sometimes,” murmured Lystara dryly, adding, “Shouldn’t we go?”

  “We should.” Charyn immediately turned toward the side door.

  Lystara stepped in front of Charyn, opened the door, and held it.

  Just as the door closed behind Aloryana, Chorister Saerlet appeared.

  “It’s so good to see you and Lady Aloryana,” began Saerlet.

  “And Maitre Lystara,” added Charyn. “Without her, we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Will we be seeing Lord Bhayrn?”

  Don’t get greedy, Chorister. But Charyn merely said, “Since he’s my heir, it’s unlikely we’ll ever be in the same place outside of the Chateau at the same time.”

  “Oh … do you think it’s that dangerous?”

  “Possibly not, Chorister, but it’s an unnecessary risk. I did find your homily thought-provoking. I’m sure I will find others equally so, but my presence is likely to be unpredictable. Now … I did promise to have Aloryana back to the Collegium in a timely fashion. So…”

  “Oh … yes.”

  “Good evening, Chorister,” added Aloryana sweetly.

  Lystara led the way to the unmarked coach at a brisk pace with the two guards following Charyn and Aloryana.

  Once they were in the coach, and headed back northeast on the Boulevard D’Rex, Aloryana said, “At least it wasn’t too long.”

  “The Collegium must be good for you,” teased Charyn. “You used to think his services took forever.”

  “Maitre Obsolym is the one who talks forever,” replied Aloryana. “He’s interesting, though.”

  “The first five times you’ve heard it,” murmured Lystara.

  “What did you think of the Anomen D’Rex, Lystara?” asked Charyn.

  “It’s much bigger than our anomen. Darker, too.”

  “Charyn,” said Aloryana, “you said his homily was thought-provoking. Did that mean you didn’t agree?”

  “I don’t think the Nameless cares what storms do. People can die or starve because of prolonged bad weather, but the weather isn’t evil. It just is. It is what it is, and it doesn’t have a choice. People usually do have a choice, especially people with golds or power. Evil is, in a way, I think, a judgment on the choices people make.” And that means people can term some of your choices as evil, even when there’s no good choice. Which there wasn’t, Charyn knew, in choosing where to send warships to fight the Jariolans … and in more than a few other decisions he’d made.

  “You mean if a choice you make hurts someone, they’ll say it’s evil?”

  Charyn nodded. “And if it helps someone else, that person will likely say it’s good.”

  “You’re talking differently,” observed Aloryana.

  “I’m little older.”

  Aloryana frowned, but didn’t reply.

  Both Alastar and Alyna greeted the coach as soon as it pulled up in front of the Maitre’s dwelling.

  Alastar looked to Lystara and then Charyn.

  “There was no sign of trouble,” said Charyn, although he hadn’t expected any. Trouble, if there were to be any, would come later, when people learned he was attending services, if less than predictably.

  “You will join us for refreshments, I hope,” said Aloryana.

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “We’ll also send some out to the guards and driver,” added Alastar.

  As Charyn and the imagers walked toward the covered front porch, Alastar said, “I heard from Aloryana that you’re not exactly fond of dark lager. So there’s also a decent white wine, if you’d like that.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Before long the five were seated in the parlor, beakers or glasses in hand, and there was a platter of assorted biscuits, crackers, and cheese slices on the low table.

  Alyna looked to Aloryana. “How was the service?”

  “It was like most services.”

  “She was glad it was short,” added Charyn.

  “I assume you know that, by the end of the week, if not sooner, one of the newssheets will report that you attended services,” said Alastar.

  “That’s why I’d thought to come here, if that’s agreeable, next Solayi and attend your services.”

  “You will?” asked Aloryana.

  “Yes.”

  “That might fluster Iskhar, but I’m certain he will manage,” observed Alastar.

  “He’ll rise to the occasion, if you tell him in advance,” said Alyna.

  “Please … I’d really appreciate it if he didn’t acknowledge my presence,” said Charyn.

  “I can do both,” said Alastar.

  “Isn’t the Chateau … sort of empty?” asked Aloryana.

  “Right now, it is. I told you that Bhayrn is visiting friends. You know Mother is in Rivages. She likely won’t be back until the beginning of Erntyn, but I do tend to keep busy … and, yes, I am continuing to practice on the clavecin, and I’m trying to learn a new piece or two.”

  “You’ll have to play it for us when we come to see you,” declared Aloryana.

  “We’ll see. And only if you play for me.”

  “I will.”

  “Then, I’d better arrange for Palenya to tune the clavecin just before you come.” Charyn almost wished he hadn’t said those words, but she was by far the best that he knew. He’d just have to keep it a matter of tuning. And not memories.

  “Has Bhayrn been playing?” asked Aloryana.

  “No. Mother’s not here, and I’m not about to insist that he pound the keys.”

  “Then Palenya won’t have to do much,” declared Aloryana.

  Lystara raised her eyebrows.

  “He hammers the keys,” explained Aloryana.

  Almost a glass passed, all too quickly for Charyn, before he sensed it was time for him to leave. He stood. “I really should be going.”

  Immediately, Aloryana wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’ll see you next Solayi … and keep working on your shields,” Charyn added. “You know, I’m jealous that you can do that, and I can’t.” He smiled broadly.

  Aloryana just grinned as she released her brother and stepped back.

  As Charyn headed for the door, Alyna joined him.

  “I’ll walk out with you.”

  Charyn wondered what she was about to convey, but nodded and said, “I do appreciate Lystara’s being our escort.”

  Alyna did not reply until they were on the front porch and out of earshot of the others. “Actually, I’m glad Lystara wanted to escort you two. It’s a way for her to see more that she needs to see. Malyna saw that world growing up, and so did I, but Lystara hasn’t had that opportunity. That�
��s another reason why both Alastar and I appreciate the invitation to what you called a family gathering.” She paused, then asked, “Might I ask what prompted your decision to host such a gathering?”

  Charyn laughed. “I had no coldly reasoned rationale. It just felt like I should. In fact, I felt I’d been remiss in not doing so earlier.”

  Alyna nodded. “That’s a very good reason. We’ll see you next Solayi, I trust.”

  “Unless there’s something awful and unforeseen, I’ll be here.”

  As the coach carried him away from the Maitre’s dwelling, and then over the bridge to the Boulevard D’Rex, Charyn couldn’t help feeling just a little wistful. Somehow, the sight of Erion, a thin crescent just above the western horizon, didn’t help, although he couldn’t have said why.

  5

  By the time Charyn rose on Mardi morning, the Chateau truly felt empty. With Bhayrn having left the previous Vendrei, the only people with whom he’d interacted since going to Imagisle on Solayi evening were his ministers, Guard Captain Maertyl, Undercaptain Faelln, and other Chateau staff. Even his Aunt Elacia only came on Mardi, Meredi, and Vendrei—unless Charyn was having some sort of function, and he’d had almost none since his mother had left for Rivages and the Ryel holding.

  Something you’re working to change … something you definitely do need to change.

  He was making progress in learning “Pavane in a Minor Key,” but then, he should have been, given how few distractions he had.

  After finishing his morning routine, Charyn made his way to his study, where he immediately picked up Veritum. As he had suspected, there was a small article on the bottom of the front page, the key words of which were definitely pointed.

  … and after months of apparent moping in the Chateau D’Rex, our beloved Rex Regis, Charyn, finally returned to attending services at the Anomen D’Rex, accompanied by no less than his sister, and now imager, Aloryana. Lord Bhayrn was nowhere to be seen …

  Charyn shook his head, although it was certainly to be expected, given how reclusive he’d been. It also reminded him of the white cloth belt that rested in his armoire. The only thing it could be connected to, so far as he could determine, might be the True Believers, because he didn’t know of anyone else who might wear a plain white cloth belt. It had been left for him, but why? A notice that the True Believers were watching? But the last thing he or any Rex wanted to do was to interfere with what a chorister did or said.