Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  More shots echoed across the bridge, some seemingly flying just above Charyn as the chestnut struggled to move away from the white-clad True Believers. Screams and shouts rose, and then faded away.

  Abruptly, the shots stopped.

  “Sir! Sir!”

  Somehow, Charyn kept a hold on the chestnut’s mane, not certain who was shouting.

  Then another of the guards rode up beside. “They’re all gone.”

  Charyn struggled to clear the foot on his unwounded leg from the stirrup, and then half-fell, half-slid off the gelding, teetering on his one good leg, still grasping the chestnut for balance with his left hand. He found himself looking back across the bridge to the east, but there was no one there, except two sprawled figures in white, and two imagers sprinting toward them.

  “He’s wounded!”

  “Get him back to the Maitre’s house!”

  Then a figure in imager gray appeared, followed by another, and an authoritative voice ordered, “Get him to the infirmary. It’s closer. Send for Maitre Gaellen. Lead the chestnut to Maitre Kaylet. The mount’s wounded as well.”

  “The chestnut has to be hurt worse than me,” Charyn insisted.

  “Sir … I need to bind that leg. You’re losing blood.”

  Charyn found himself being half-walked, half-carried past the sentry box and along a drive to a gray stone building. Before he knew it, he was stretched out on a pallet table and a slender older imager was working on his calf. He thought he recognized the imager, but couldn’t put a name to the man, possibly because whatever the imager or healer was doing hurt so much that stars sparkled in front of Charyn’s eyes for a moment.

  “Your boot stopped the worst of that bullet. Otherwise, you’d have broken bones, but there was a lot of bleeding. Now … let’s see that hand.” His eyes narrowed, as his fingers gently felt over the hand.

  Even the gentle touch sent jolts of fiery pain up Charyn’s arm.

  “You’re right-handed, I take it?”

  Charyn nodded.

  “It’s going to be a while before you’ll get much use out of the two little fingers. And a time before you can use the hand more than just a little because of the splint and dressing.”

  “If ever?” asked Charyn.

  “They won’t be what they were. I need to work on that some.” His eyes didn’t quite meet Charyn’s.

  Charyn wasn’t exactly in a haze of pain. He did lose some track of time before his hand and leg were dressed, but not enough track that he didn’t see Maitre Alastar standing and watching just inside the door to the small chamber.

  The imager healer finally turned to Alastar. “There’s no sign of poison, and the wounds are cleaner than they might have been. I’d rather have him stay here or with you tonight, just in case.”

  “If he stays here, Gaellen, you’re staying in the next room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alastar looked at Charyn. “Apparently, you were right to worry about being shot.” His voice was sardonically dry. He moved closer to Charyn. “How did you manage to escape with just leg and hand wounds?”

  “I behaved like a coward,” admitted Charyn. “I ducked and turned the gelding and used him as a shield.”

  “If you hadn’t, you’d likely be dead, like the two guards who were on your right.”

  “They’re dead?”

  Alastar nodded. “Your two surviving guards and the duty imagers managed to capture several of the True Believers. The True Believers had no idea that someone would be shooting at you. Not the few that our imagers caught and questioned. They were told that the Rex was attending services on Imagisle so he didn’t have to listen to True Believer protests about corrupt choristers.”

  “After everything I did?”

  “People hear what they want to hear. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “Who told them I was here?”

  “Some other True Believers. At least, whoever told them was also wearing those white garments and hoods.”

  “So it could have been anyone. Can you keep your imagers from saying much about it for at least a few days?”

  “I’ve already put out that word. It might help reveal who knows what.”

  And it might not.

  At that moment, Aloryana appeared almost beside Alastar. Charyn blinked. He could see that her cheeks were damp.

  “Charyn!”

  “I should survive,” he managed. “I won’t be playing the clavecin any time soon, not with both hands. Nor dancing.”

  “As you can also see,” said Alastar with an almost helpless shrug, “your sister is quite good with concealments.”

  51

  By midday on Lundi, Charyn was back at the Chateau, courtesy of Alastar and Alyna, and an imager escort. He had disliked being carried up the stairs to his own apartments, but at least he could walk a few steps, very slowly and painfully.

  He could have walked farther with the help of a cane—except the pain and the broken bone in his right hand precluded that. Maitre Gaellen had also insisted that he sleep with his wounded leg elevated. He hadn’t slept well at the infirmary, despite a healthy dose of willow bark tincture leavened with wine. Thinking about the two dead guards, and that the chestnut gelding hadn’t survived, either, hadn’t helped with sleeping.

  He was sitting in an armchair in his sitting room, with his right leg elevated on a stool as he looked morosely at the bookcase opposite him, not really even seeing it, when Chelia stepped into the chamber.

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  “I don’t think I’m feeling any worse.” Not that that’s saying much. “For what it’s worth, Bhayrn was right. At least he didn’t tell me so when I came in this morning.”

  “He was quite solicitous, I thought.”

  “As solicitous as he ever is.”

  “I did send word to Ferrand and Elacia.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you have any idea who might be behind this?” Chelia turned a chair to face her son and sat down.

  “The problem isn’t who might be behind it. There are too many people who could be.” The real question is just how deeply Bhayrn’s involved.

  “Then, among those who don’t like what you’ve done, who’s not likely to be behind the latest shooting?”

  “First, it’s likely to be the same person who was behind the attempt at the Anomen D’Rex. Someone else might be copying that. It’s possible, but I don’t think so. Now … who likely isn’t? I doubt that it’s an unhappy crafter or worker. There was more than one shooter, this time, and probably the last time as well. They shot very accurately both times. I don’t see crafters and workers having the time, the silvers, or the rifles. Because of Tableta, anyone who reads the newssheets knows I’ve been attending services at Imagisle. But to organize two demonstrations or even influence them and carry the shootings out, that requires golds and contacts.”

  “You’re saying it has to be a wealthy factor, a High Holder, or possibly a very senior High Command officer.”

  “I suppose an officer is possible, but I’m more inclined toward a factor or High Holder.” Charyn’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “There are enough of either who don’t like what I’ve been doing.”

  “What about the True Believers?”

  Charyn shrugged. “Most of them wouldn’t have the resources, but there well might be an angry factor who’s also a True Believer. That’s certainly possible. But since they’re all in white and hooded…”

  “Why would factors want to kill you? Then they’d have to deal with Bhayrn.”

  “Bhayrn would have brought in the army weeks ago, and that’s what they’d want. He’s definitely more traditional.”

  “How many of them know that?” pressed Chelia.

  Charyn nodded slowly. “That’s a very good question.” And I’m very glad you asked what I already knew. “I doubt that any of them know that.”

  Chelia smiled. “I’m glad to be of help. Is there anything else I can do for you right
now?”

  “Would you tell Maertyl and Faelln I’d like a few moments of their time?”

  “They’re not blaming…” Chelia paused, then said, “Or is that what you want to tell them?”

  “That’s exactly what I want to tell them … and a little bit more.”

  After Chelia left the sitting room, Charyn just sat there, thinking, and shaking his head … more than once. Then he eased the pistol out of the concealed holster, placed where he could use his left hand, studied it for a moment, and then replaced it.

  Less than half a quint later, Maertyl and Faelln entered the sitting room, now guarded by Moencriff.

  Charyn motioned the two officers to chairs, then said, “You both were worried, and you were right. Obviously, I will not be attending services anywhere anytime soon. I was also wrong for another reason. I thought my precautions would be adequate. They weren’t. Because I was wrong, both Rykael and Ghasaen were killed. There’s no way I can make it up to them or their families.”

  Maertyl nodded slowly, then said, “Your Grace, none of us fault you for what happened. You took the steps you thought would be the safest. You tried not to be too predictable. You avoided appearing in public in a way where people would notice you, and you avoided taking the very visible regial coach.”

  “Now, it appears,” replied Charyn, “even those precautions were not enough.”

  “We need to think about what else might be possible and how to guard against it,” said Faelln. “You don’t plan to leave the Chateau any time soon, do you?”

  “That depends on how well and how fast I heal, but it’s safe to say I’m not going anywhere in the next week, possibly longer. I will need your help in another way. Because I can’t leave the Chateau, I’ll need Wyllum to go various places for me. What would be the safest way for him to travel?”

  “I’d say for him to ride, with just a single guard,” said Maertyl, “especially for the next few days. Whoever shot you knows, or will know, you’re wounded. You wouldn’t risk riding with just a single guard, and there would be signs that you’re wounded.”

  “Have there been any more signs of people watching the Chateau?”

  “Nothing obvious, sir,” replied Faelln, “but there are buildings around the Ring Road where they could watch from their windows and we couldn’t see them. They also might just have watched either the Anomen D’Rex or the Imagisle bridges.”

  “I think they were waiting for when you used the east bridge off Imagisle,” said Maertyl.

  “The west bridges are much more open. The imagers cut away many of the trees years ago after the High Holders used them as cover to shoot at student imagers.”

  “But they couldn’t have gathered a mob of True Believers for every week, could they?”

  “It’s not likely, but … haven’t you used the east bridge more often than the other bridges?” asked Maertyl deferentially.

  Charyn had to think, mentally going back over the previous Solayis, before nodding, then saying, “They must have been watching for weeks.” What it also told him was that someone had known for weeks, if not longer, that he’d been wearing a junior officer’s uniform.

  “It appears likely,” Maertyl agreed.

  Faelln nodded as well.

  “I don’t think I’ll be making their memorial services,” Charyn said.

  “No, sir. That wouldn’t be wise.”

  “You’ll take care of the arrangements and let me know?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the two had left, Charyn was mulling over what he knew, and not liking the implications, when Alucar appeared.

  “Your Grace … I can’t believe…”

  “I don’t think I really did, either.”

  “After all this, Your Grace, do you really think that you should proceed with the factors’ tariff census?”

  “After all this, it’s even more important that we proceed. If I back off, that will show weakness.” Even more weakness. “But I will need to reclaim Wyllum immediately for the rest of the day, and I may need him occasionally for a time.” Charyn glanced down at the dressing and splint structure that immobilized more than half his right hand.

  “Ah … I can see that, sir. I’ll send Wyllum up right away.”

  “Make it in half a glass, and if you’d pass the word that I need to see Minister Sanafryt right away. Also, how many clerks can you spare for the tariff census?”

  “Two for this week, and four beginning on the ninth.”

  “Starting slowly might be better anyway. I’ll let you know if matters change.”

  Alucar nodded and left.

  As soon as Sanafryt stepped into the sitting room, Charyn said, “I want a final draft of the law to impose a two-copper daily wage and a nine-glass day ready for me to read over by noon tomorrow. Oh, with no children under fourteen working in the covered factorages or manufactorages.”

  “I thought you were deferring that, Your Grace.”

  “It was deferred until the next Council meeting. That’s only two weeks away, and you know how much I hate getting things at the last moment.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Sanafryt sounded anything but pleased.

  Charyn ignored the Justice Minister’s barely concealed irritation. “Thank you.”

  A quint later, slowly, with Wyllum’s help, Charyn limped to the study, where he sat behind the desk and looked to Wyllum. “The first letter is to Factor Estafen. You might recall that he’s the head of the Banque D’Excelsis. The second one goes to Maitre Alastar. Now, for the first, I’d like a letter requesting that he and Engineer Ostraaw come to the Chateau tomorrow at the first glass of the afternoon. The second is to ask Maitre Alastar if he would be so kind as to attend me here tomorrow at second glass.”

  Wyllum settled himself at the end of the conference table and began to write.

  When he finished, Charyn laboriously signed each one with his three half-working fingers and had Wyllum seal them. “Now, what I need you to do is to hand-carry each of these letters. You need to deliver the one to Estafen first. Then the one to Maitre Alastar. You’re to wait for the Maitre’s response, then return with it. Guard Captain Maertyl will provide you with an escort. Do you have any questions?”

  “Am I likely to be shot at, sir?”

  “I doubt it very much. Whoever shot me knows I’m wounded and that I’d have more than a single guard as an escort. Before you leave the Chateau, send Seneschal Norstan up here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charyn didn’t have to wait long for Norstan.

  “You sent for me, sir?”

  “I did. I need you to go see a Factoria Kathila. I’d like to see her sometime tomorrow afternoon after third glass, if she can do it then, or early on Mardi morning.”

  “You want me, sir?”

  “Wyllum’s on another task for me, and I need to see her. Obviously, I can’t easily go to see her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Norstan left the study, Charyn took out the folder that held the poems he’d copied from Alyncya’s small volume and began to read through them.

  He hadn’t even read the first one when Moencriff announced, “High Holder Delcoeur.”

  “Have him come in.”

  Ferrand’s eyes fixed on Charyn the moment he set foot inside the study. “How do you feel?”

  “I’ve felt better, but I’ve also felt worse.”

  Ferrand settled into the center chair across the goldenwood table desk from Charyn. “Your color’s good. I didn’t want to come too early. I stopped and asked your mother if you were well enough to see me. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

  Charyn smiled. “Your being here is a tonic in itself.”

  “The word is that it was the True Believers again.”

  “They were just a convenient cover. The problem is that they could be a cover for anyone.”

  “Anyone?” asked Ferrand, raising his eyebrows.

  “Not anyone. I doubt that a crafter or a worker is behin
d it, and probably not an unhappy chorister, given that the first time they tried was before I proclaimed the new laws for choristers. That still leaves enough factors and High Holders to fill half the ballroom.”

  “Not nearly that many. You know that as well as I do.”

  Charyn smiled sardonically. “That’s what I’m saying. The numbers are far fewer, but there’s no evidence pointing to anyone, none at all.”

  “Who knew you were riding out in a guard officer’s uniform?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your mother told me.”

  “Don’t you read the newssheets?”

  “Hardly ever. They’re trash and gossip. No one of substance reads them.”

  “Trash and gossip notwithstanding, there have a been at least a half-score mentions of me wearing greens in Tableta, and almost as many about me attending services at either the Anomen D’Rex or the Anomen D’Imagisle.”

  “Factors are more likely to get their information from the newssheets.”

  “Uncle Ryel used the newssheets quite effectively.”

  Ferrand frowned. “He did, didn’t he? I’d still say … but … even if only a few High Holders read them…”

  “You see what I mean?”

  “You know more than you’re saying,” declared Ferrand.

  “I don’t know. I suspect more than I’m saying or that I can afford to say, especially with all the difficulties I’m facing with the problems between the unhappy workers and the factors and some High Holders. I have to resolve those problems first.”

  “If you get yourself killed, then the factors and workers don’t matter.”

  “They matter to Solidar, Ferrand. Some of the old-style High Holders would like nothing better than an armed confrontation between the factors and workers that would lead to the breakup of Solidar and the destruction of the government of the Rex, not to mention the destruction of the present Rex.”

  “What does that have to do with voicing your suspicions?”