Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “You’ll have it when it’s right. I have worked on it. I did hope you’d be here today.”

  It was Charyn’s turn to be confused.

  “I needed to see you to get the ending the way it should be. Music is more than just the notes and the melody.”

  “I can see that.” Charyn took the golds from his wallet—three of them. “I’m paying myself because these come from what I’ve earned off the lands that were mine before I was Rex.” He couldn’t have said why that was important, but it was. “And they’re for the tuning and the lesson.” He handed them to her.

  “That’s too much.”

  “No, it’s not. Part of that is because you’re among the very best, and part is because I can trust you, both with my life and to be honest in instructing me. I really can’t buy that, but I can offer a token of my appreciation for it.”

  Palenya shook her head slowly. “Take very good care of yourself, Charyn. Solidar needs the ruler you can be.”

  “Whatever that is,” he replied, not quite wryly, “I wouldn’t be that without all you’ve given me.”

  “And I’d be a barren, bitchy, widowed musician with nothing if it weren’t for you.” She smiled. “I need to tune the clavecin, and you need to get back to ruling.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to it.” He offered a last smile, then turned and left the music room, forcing himself not to look back.

  18

  Just after seventh glass on Meredi morning, Charyn was seated behind the table desk in his study, going over the order in which he wanted to present matters at the meeting of the councils that afternoon. Except his mind drifted back to Mardi afternoon—and Palenya.

  He’d thought over his time with Palenya the previous afternoon, and the lesson that had been a lesson … and not anything more. Should it have been?

  That unspoken question almost hung in the air.

  Then he shook his head. Palenya was right. Yet, as he was coming to realize, he could never repay her for all she had given him, although with the funds he had provided her and the stipend, she should always be comfortable, especially since she was also housed and paid by the Collegium. And she’s also safe there.

  At that point, Norstan appeared.

  “Your Grace?”

  “Yes?”

  “Chorister Saerlet is here. He appears agitated. He thinks he should speak to you before the Council meeting.”

  “Bring him up. I’ll see him now.” Much as Charyn had doubts about Saerlet’s probity with golds, if the chorister was agitated, it was likely for a good reason, if one Charyn likely would not like.

  In what seemed moments, a slightly disheveled Saerlet entered the study, inclining his head and saying, “Your Grace,” after which he made his way toward the table desk and then took the chair to which Charyn gestured.

  “Something appears to have given you concern.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Chorister Orlend has just arrived from Caluse. He had to flee his anomen there because men in white robes and hoods stormed it.”

  “The True Believers?” Charyn wasn’t exactly pleased with the thought, especially given the two white belts that had been delivered to him.

  “It would seem so, sir. The floods were even worse in Caluse. Thousands and thousands of hectares of croplands were flooded. The crops were largely destroyed. The True Believers were chanting that the Nameless was punishing those who turned from the True Faith and the teachings of Rholan…”

  “Why didn’t Chorister Orlend come with you?”

  “He was exhausted. He is not a young man, Your Grace.”

  “Is he, perhaps, carrying more weight than he should?” Charyn was likely indulging his suspicions, but he was curious.

  “Your Grace, he is old enough to be older than your father.”

  “Then he does carry considerable bulk, I take it?”

  “That is not the question, Your Grace.”

  “What is the question?”

  “An anomen has been attacked and profaned. The chorister had to flee for his life.”

  “That isn’t good, I grant you, but what do you expect of me? I am Rex, but I’m not a chorister, nor should I be the one to tell choristers what to preach in their homilies or what not to preach. I also do not control the Civic Patrol of Caluse, or for that matter, the Civic Patrol of L’Excelsis. Have these True Believers actually struck or attacked Chorister Orlend?”

  “They would have if he had not fled.”

  “Did he go to the Civic Patrol of Caluse?”

  “The Civic Patrol said that matters of faith were not their concern.”

  Charyn was silent for several moments. What can you do? Should you get involved in a dispute over beliefs? But what if there are more of these attacks on choristers? And who sent those white belts and why?

  “Don’t you have a duty as Rex to protect your people?” pressed Saerlet, his voice fringing on indignation.

  Charyn managed not to snap back, but took a deep breath before replying. “I have a duty to protect them against foreign enemies, as well as a duty to make sure that High Holders do not exceed their rights. I have the duty to set the laws of the land, but protecting people against lawbreakers within cities is usually the province of the Civic Patrol.”

  “The Civic Patrol did nothing. Surely, you can do something in such an instance.”

  Charyn took another slow breath and waited before replying. “Chorister Saerlet, the only thing within my immediate power would be to send a company of army troopers to Caluse. What do you think would happen, if, instead of sending assistance to ruined growers and crafters, I sent army troopers to Caluse to reclaim an anomen and to protect Chorister Orlend? Would that help either the chorister or me?”

  “Then what will you do to stop such an outrage? I told you it wasn’t the first. How long will you wait?”

  That’s unfortunately a very good question. “You raise some good questions. I’d like to discuss the matter with the Minister of Justice before rushing to a decision. Chorister Orlend is here and safe, is he not?”

  “Yes. But the anomen … who knows what those … those unbelievers … have done?”

  Another question occurred to Charyn, one he’d never considered. “Who owns the anomen? Any anomen?”

  “You own the Anomen D’Rex.”

  “But it’s the only one I own. Who owns the Anomen D’Excelsis? Or the Anomen D’Caluse?”

  Saerlet did not answer for several moments. Then he finally said, “The congregation does. Each congregation entrusts their anomen to the chorister.”

  “So any damage to the anomen is a loss to the congregation?”

  “I suppose it must be. As your chorister, I never thought of it that way.”

  “Let me talk this over with Minister Sanafryt. I’ll get back to you and Chorister Orlend. A day or so won’t make any difference, and my doing the wrong thing could make matters much worse. Also, I can bring up the problem to the councils so that they’re aware of it as well.”

  “I suppose…” Saerlet looked dubious.

  “Chorister, some of my predecessors made quick decisions on matters they didn’t know enough about. They often weren’t good decisions.”

  “When you put it that way, Your Grace…”

  “I can assure you that I won’t forget the matter.” There’s no way I dare to, as widespread as it seems to be. Charyn stood.

  So did Saerlet. “Chorister Orlend and I thank you, Your Grace.”

  No sooner had Saerlet left than Moencriff ushered Elacia into the study.

  She inclined her head to Charyn. “I have the responses for the dinner on the twenty-eighth. High Holder Plessan regretted, or rather his personal secretary did, since the High Holder and Lady Plessan D’Priora went to visit relatives near Ferravyl and a message to them would not arrive in time for them to return. High Holder Fyanyl will attend, but not Lady Fyanyl. She is in her confinement and a travel of some forty milles would be excessive at present
. The others accepted.” Elacia laid a sheet on the desk. “They’re all listed. You will seat them in order of precedence, I assume.”

  “Of course.” Charyn knew his aunt wasn’t exactly questioning. “Except for you. You have Mother’s precedence in her absence. And Ferrand will be seated by his holding’s precedence, not by his relationship to the Rex.”

  “That is likely for the best.” Elacia’s voice was level, an indication of reluctant acceptance.

  “What about this evening?”

  “I’ll be checking with the cooks shortly. Since this is a family dinner—on the other side of the family, so to speak—you won’t need me to stay for the actual dinner, will you?”

  “No. Once you’re satisfied this afternoon, you can certainly leave.”

  As soon as Elacia left, Charyn picked up the list and glanced over the names, all High Holders bringing their wives—except for Fyanyl and, of course, Shendael, who would be accompanied by Alyncya.

  Then he stood and walked to Sanafryt’s study, entering and closing the door behind himself, motioning for Sanafryt to remain at his desk. “I just had a talk with Chorister Saerlet…” Charyn related the gist of what the two had discussed, then asked, “As Rex, do I have a legal obligation to protect a chorister from dissatisfied parishioners?”

  “Not the way you put it. You have no obligation to provide affirmative protection, but you can require the local authorities to prosecute those who damage property or harm individuals.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “You can bring the town or city authorities before the High Justicer for failure to enforce the law.” Sanafryt smiled wryly. “That would mean I’d have to prove they knew who committed the crime and failed to charge them. That might be difficult. It would be impossible if they honestly don’t know, and they could claim that, since those who threatened the chorister apparently all wore hoods.”

  “So it would be difficult to do anything with what Saerlet and Orlend know now?”

  “More like impossible, Your Grace.”

  Charyn took a deep breath. “Has anything like this come up before?”

  “Not since the time of Rholan, I don’t believe.”

  “As Justice Minister, what would you suggest?”

  “The only thing I can suggest is that you send a proclamation to the regional governors declaring that violence against any chorister or anomen is a criminal attack and should be treated as such by the Civic Patrols and other local authorities. That is the law, but some may not understand that it applies to religious practitioners and buildings.”

  “I think, for now, that’s the most I should do. Would you please draft something to that effect?”

  “I can do that, Your Grace.”

  “Oh … there’s one other thing. Do you attend services at the Anomen D’Rex?”

  “No, Your Grace, we live closer to the Anomen D’Ouest.”

  As he walked back to his own study, Charyn couldn’t help thinking, Why are all these things that haven’t happened in centuries or never occurred before all happening when I’m Rex?

  Or had other things happened to his predecessors in the same fashion and he just hadn’t known it? He had the feeling that it was probably the latter.

  That realization wasn’t that much help.

  As had come to be normal, Maitre Alastar arrived at the study door early—this time more than a quint before first glass.

  Charyn was the first to speak, as he stood to welcome Alastar. “Good afternoon … whether it will be or not.”

  “That sounds more like your father, except you say it so much more cheerfully.”

  “There are more than a few problems, as you know. By the way, while I didn’t reply to your letter about Antiagon Fire, I support your decision and will be saying so when Chaeltar brings it up.”

  “You didn’t tell him that?”

  “I wrote him that I was considering the matter. I decided that, if I wrote him my decision, he’d just write everyone else about how I hadn’t considered the matter.”

  “He will anyway, if he hasn’t already.”

  “That’s likely, but I want the other High Holders to get the impression that I’ve studied it and didn’t react immediately. Also, I’d rather deal with it one less time.” Charyn moved to the chairs at the side of the conference table and gestured, then sat down, as did Alastar.

  “That’s probably wise. Deferring a decision beyond the meeting wouldn’t be.”

  Charyn understood the reference to his father’s practice of not deciding until a decision was forced on him, but did not comment, instead saying, “Not all children of imagers grow up to be imagers, do they?”

  “No. Quite a few don’t. More than half, in fact.”

  “So they have to make their way elsewhere?”

  “Some do. Many prefer to work at the Collegium. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you have any children of imagers who are not imagers that might do a good job as my personal scrivener?”

  The silver-haired Maitre frowned. “I’ll have to think about that. I assume you’re asking me because of the need for trustworthiness?”

  “I’ve observed that imagers are very trustworthy, and I would think any child raised there would be as well.”

  “Not all imagers have been trustworthy. There have been a few that have been anything but that.”

  “I doubt that is so now,” replied Charyn dryly.

  Alastar chuckled. “You may be giving me too much credit.”

  “And you may not be taking enough credit,” countered Charyn.

  The Maitre only shook his head.

  Less than half a quint before the glass, Moencriff ushered Marshal Vaelln into the study.

  “Your Grace, Maitre Alastar…”

  Charyn stood and moved more toward the window. “Are there any great surprises since your latest report?”

  “One of our flotillas engaged the Jariolans just off the Abierto Isles. We lost five ships, mostly third-raters, but one second-rater. We sank twelve Jariolans. Only one first-rater of theirs escaped. Right now we control the seas around the Isles.”

  Charyn nodded. “I’ll wait to hear the rest until the others are here, when you can fill in the details.”

  Promptly, as the chimes struck the glass, the factors entered the study, followed by the High Holders. Charyn waited until everyone was seated, then took his place at the head of the table and gestured. “Marshal Vaelln, if you would brief the councils on the Jariolan situation.”

  The Marshal stood, then cleared his throat. “Our position around the Abierto Isles is vastly stronger at present…” From there he detailed the battle between the two forces and the results. “… in the Southern Ocean, we still lack sufficient ships to protect all Solidaran merchanters. Since the last Council meeting, we have sunk four more Jariolan privateers and two warships in the waters off Otelyrn, but several Solidaran merchanters have also been lost.”

  “How long will this drag on?” asked Hisario.

  “Until the Jariolans stop attacking our ships or until we sink all of theirs, whichever comes first,” replied Vaelln evenly.

  “I meant, how long will that take?”

  “It will take two to four years for us to drive the Jariolans from the oceans, assuming that they don’t start building ships faster than they are. I cannot say if or when they might decide to approach Rex Charyn with terms.”

  “They rebuffed our diplomatic efforts less than a year ago, you might recall,” added Charyn.

  Hisario nodded.

  “There’s another aspect to the Jariolan problem, and that’s what’s happened to High Holder Ghasphar,” declared Chaeltar. “His ships are armed with guns that fire Antiagon Fire shells. He lost his senior imager armorer. Without an imager of skill, he cannot create the Antiagon Fire for those shells, but Maitre Alastar has refused to send an imager to help him. This I find unconscionable.” Chaeltar turned and looked at Alastar. “High Holder Ghasphar is the only merchant shipper
who has armed his vessels and whose ships have fought against the Jariolans, and you, as Maitre, are refusing to support him? How in good conscience can you do that?”

  “As I have responded to you and to Rex Charyn, the Collegium has done nothing to forbid adult imagers from working for High Holder Ghasphar to make Antiagon Fire. We have kept children from being used to make it because Antiagon Fire is dangerous, both to its makers and users. The fact that the High Holder lost his experienced imagers, most likely to those dangers, and the fact that others want nothing to do with it, should tell you just how dangerous it is.”

  “All weapons are dangerous to some degree,” returned Chaeltar. “We are at war with the Jariolans. If you do not help High Holder Ghasphar, then you are helping the Jariolans.”

  “What you are saying is that you want me to order—to force imagers—to do something that could kill them, so that High Holder Ghasphar will make more golds, or lose fewer ships. You’re not talking about what will win this conflict with Jariola, but how it will affect Ghasphar financially.”

  “What about the men on those ships?” countered Chaeltar. “Some of them could die.”

  “They could,” agreed Alastar. “But every man on those ships has a choice about whether to sail on that ship. Likewise, every grown imager has a choice about whether to make Antiagon Fire, and none of them have shown that they want to.”

  “It’s not the same,” said Chaeltar.

  “Are you saying that sailors can choose, but imagers shouldn’t be allowed to?”

  “Antiagon Fire can’t be that bad.”

  “Have you seen personally what Antiagon Fire can do?” asked Alastar.

  “It destroys Jariolan ships,” replied Chaeltar.

  “Only in limited circumstances, and that’s if the ship with such shells can get close to another ship. The Diamond Thuyl was sunk by long-range gunfire. The majority of Jariolan warships have that capability. During the last battle of the High Holder revolt, several rebel imagers created Antiagon Fire and launched it against the army and the imagers supporting the army. When confronted with two other imagers, the insurgents lost control of the Antiagon Fire. As a result, the Collegium lost a third of its most capable imagers and more than three thousand troopers died, all in an instant. Antiagon Fire is unstable and dangerous to its users, and especially to those who make it.”