“Whether they do or not will reveal something.”
“Whether the clouds cover the sun or not reveals something.”
“If the shooter is present and after senior imagers, he will shoot. If he does not shoot, why then, he is either not present or looking for more vulnerable imagers as targets.”
While Alastar could not help but feeling tense and very much like a target, the remainder of their return to the Collegium was uneventful, and he was back in his study at a quint past ninth glass.
Just after midday, as Alastar was wondering if it might be safe to leave the heat of the administration building, since it was end-day once the bells struck noon on Samedi, Belsior, the duty maitre for Samedi, rushed into the study. “Maitre! Someone’s shot at juniors by the Bridge of Desires!” Then he turned and ran from the study.
Alastar followed at a run, if not at the headlong sprint exhibited by the younger maitre. Despite his regular morning runs and the exercise sessions added by Akoryt, he was breathing hard and sweat was running off his forehead and into his eyes when he reached the grassy swale between the causeway leading to the bridge and the raised stone walk that ran just behind the west riverwall.
A student imager lay sprawled on his back on the grass just below the stone walk. He did not move, and his eyes were open. An imager third—Glaesyn, Alastar recognized belatedly—was sitting on a stone bench, with a female student imager holding something against his shoulder.
Belsior was talking to the two at the bench. “… was he hit…”
As soon as Alastar reached Glaesyn and the two others, he immediately demanded. “Show me the wound.”
Orlana, the student third, answered, “I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”
“That can wait for a moment.” Alastar gently but quickly moved Orlana’s hand and the cloth—likely her scarf—and studied the wound. The shell wasn’t visible, but there wasn’t that much blood … Last time you waited. “This could hurt.” He concentrated.
Glaesyn shuddered and uttered a low, “Oooo.”
A bloody lump appeared on the stone pavement.
“Don’t touch it!” snapped Alastar. “Orlana and I will get Glaesyn to the infirmary. Belsior … get all the juniors and anyone else away from the riverwalls. Get anyone you can to help. Find a maitre to man the sentry box until I can get back. Oh … use oilcloth or a lot of fabric to pick up that bullet and have someone bring it to Maitre Gaellen. And send someone to find Maitres Akoryt and Cyran. Have them meet me at the infirmary.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Alastar helped Glaesyn to his feet, he caught sight of the student sprawled on the grass on his back, an expression of shock or surprise frozen on his dead face. He recognized Lyam, a second, a good solid student. Then he turned to Orlana. “You can press that scarf against the wound again.”
With Orlana on one side and Alastar on the other, they managed to walk Glaesyn to the infirmary, although his steps were uncoordinated, almost shambling.
Gaellen was waiting.
“I imaged the bullet out. Belsior or someone will be bringing that. I might have done some damage, but I tried to keep the imaging to the area around the bullet.”
“They kept shooting…” mumbled Glaesyn. “Two of them … couldn’t hold full shields … then they were gone…”
“How many shots?” asked Alastar.
“Nine or ten,” said Orlana. “Maybe more.”
“Enough,” said Gaellen. “Get him into surgery.”
Alastar and Orlana guided Glaesyn the few yards to the surgery.
Once Gaellen had Glaesyn on the table, Alastar guided Orlana back outside the infirmary and under the shade of the nearest tree. “Tell me everything you can remember.”
“We were walking along the riverwall path near the bridge,” said Orlana. “It’s been so hot, and there’s always a breeze on the west side of Imagisle, and the summer flowers haven’t faded. I heard something—it was like a shot—and Maitre Akoryt had said that we needed to drop to the ground if we heard shots. I went down on my hands and knees. Lyam—he just laughed at first. Maybe he didn’t hear the shots. Maybe he didn’t know what they were … then one of them hit him. He said something like ‘I’m shot.’ He was hit again … and he fell. He just lay there. Glaesyn was on bridge duty, and he came running out of the box. Whoever it was fired at him, and they kept shooting. Glaesyn jerked, like something hit his shields. Then he staggered down the slope and sat on the bench.… I called for help, and Thoms came running. I sent him for the duty maitre … and then I tried to stop the bleeding until you and Maitre Belsior came.”
“Is there anything else?”
“I … I don’t think so.”
“If you remember anything, please let me know.”
“I will, sir.”
“Stay away from areas where you can be seen from the far banks of the river.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Orlana left, Alastar turned toward Thoms, whom he now recognized as the second who had been carrying the basket.
“I gave the basket that had the bullet to Osfuerk. He’s Maitre Gaellen’s assistant. I told him that the bullet might have poison in it.”
“Thank you, Thoms. I appreciate it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Since he didn’t see Akoryt or Cyran yet, Alastar walked back into the infirmary to see if Gaellen had done what he could for Glaesyn. He was afraid that he hadn’t arrived soon enough and that his removal of the bullet had either been too late or too violent.
Pacing back and forth along the corridor several yards from the surgery, Alastar waited almost a quint before Gaellen emerged.
The healer looked at Alastar. “He might make it. He’s not getting any weaker, and his breathing isn’t getting worse. You did the right thing in imaging out the bullet. His shoulder is going to take a long time to heal, and he may have some trouble moving it as well as he could. Then again, he might not. He wouldn’t be moving anything if you hadn’t gotten it out. There was still poison in the shell.”
“Can you tell what it is?”
“It smells like bleufleur, but there’s something else in it.”
“Did he say any more about the shooting?”
“He wanted you to know that one of the men was blond and he wore a brown shirt and trousers. The other man also wore brown. Both had rifles. They were on the knoll to the north of the bridge on the far side.”
And no one saw them until they started shooting? “Thank you. Can he talk?”
“He was rambling for a bit, but that settled down. I’d let him rest for a time.”
“Then I’ll be back later.”
Gaellen just nodded.
Since neither Cyran nor Akoryt had arrived, Alastar left the infirmary and started toward the administration building when he saw Alyna, accompanied by Lystara and Malyna, headed toward him. They met some twenty yards from the main door of the administration building.
“Someone was shot. Who?” asked Alyna.
“Secondus Lyam was killed. Glaesyn was wounded. I imaged the bullet out. Gaellen thinks his chances are good. The bullet was poisoned. It appeared that Lyam was struck twice and both bullets were poisoned. One of the shooters was probably the man who killed Harl.”
“Did you see him?” asked Malyna.
Alastar shook his head. “He was long gone by the time I got there. They shot from that knoll on the west side of the river north of the Bridge of Desires. I sent for Akoryt and Cyran, but I haven’t seen either yet.”
“It is Samedi afternoon,” Alyna said, the tone of her voice between dry and sardonic. Then she smiled. “I’m glad you’re fine. Is there anything I can do?”
“Just have Tiranya keep the young women away from the riverwalks and exposed places for now.”
“Every shot has been taken from the west bank of the Aluse,” Alyna pointed out. “That’s likely because the shooters can get to hidden places more easily without being seen.”
“We can’t co
unt on them not sneaking into buildings on the east bank.”
“That could come next.” She nodded. “You have things to do. We can talk later.”
Alastar had just turned to make his way to the administration building when Akoryt hurried toward him. “Maitre! I just heard.… What about Glaesyn?”
“Gaellen thinks he might make it.”
“What do you need from me?”
“For now, I think it’s best that anyone on Imagisle avoid open spaces where they can be seen from across the river—unless they have very strong shields or they’re posted in one of the sentry boxes.”
“That’s making everyone a prisoner of sorts,” replied Akoryt.
“It’s better than losing more imagers. We also need to have concealed maitres watching the west bank during daylight hours to see if they can spot and capture—or wound—the shooters.” At Akoryt’s expression, Alastar asked, “Do you have a better idea? We still have no idea who the shooters are or who is behind the shootings.” He had some strong general suspicions, centered on the thought that most likely to be involved were High Holders, possibly a group of them.
“Except that they are very good shots,” Akoryt pointed out. “That means that they’ve been well trained, and they’re likely not from the army, because that would be too easy to discover.”
“Unless they’re former army sharpshooters. There are likely scores of them around. The question is not only who they are, but just how many shooters there are and what is their ultimate goal, if there is one, besides destroying the Collegium.”
“Isn’t that enough, so far as we’re concerned?” asked Akoryt.
“More than enough for us, but not enough to get Lorien to act willingly, or to get others to back that action … and if we act against anyone but the shooters…”
“Too many will turn against us. That means we have to catch some of the shooters.”
“Which is why we need maitres posted in places where they can catch or kill a shooter in the act—and recover a rifle with poisoned bullets in it … or a dead shooter carrying such ammunition.” Alastar offered a wintry smile. “See what you can do. If any maitre questions your assignments, send them to me.”
Akoryt chuckled. “If I say that they can come to you … not a one will.”
“One or two might.”
Akoryt shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I won’t keep you, but I want maitres watching from where they can’t be seen beginning within a glass. Oh … I almost forgot. There have to be poisoned bullets up where Glaesyn was hit, because most of them bounced off his shields. They need to be collected. If someone picks one up and isn’t careful…”
“Yes, sir.”
Once Akoryt was on his way, Alastar headed back to the infirmary where he found Gaellen.
“How is Glaesyn?”
“His shoulder hurts like the Namer hammered it with a sledge he says. I gave him some willow powder with water. That’s about all I dare give him with bleufleur in him.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“For a little while. He’s in the first room beyond the surgery. Don’t upset him, if you can help it.”
“I’ll try not to.”
When Alastar entered the small room, Glaesyn was in the bed, but propped up in a sitting position.
“How are you feeling—besides having a very painful shoulder?”
Glaesyn looked over. “Maitre … thank you. Maitre Gaellen says I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t imaged out that bullet.”
“I don’t know about that. I do know…” He almost said that when he hadn’t with Harl, it had been a mistake. “I did know that your chances were better if I got it out. I wanted to ask you a few questions about anything you noticed about the shooters. You said they were on the knoll?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many were there?”
“I didn’t see any at first. That was why I left the box. I thought they might have been more to the north. They were in brown. They kind of blended into the brush on the knoll. I didn’t see anyone at first, until one of them shot. It hit my shields, but I saw a puff of smoke. The next shot hit my shields, and then there was another one. I only saw two of them.”
“You think there were more?”
“Yes, sir. They fired more than ten shots without stopping. I only saw the two. They had on brown hoods. Except the hood fell back when one of them was running back toward the road. I didn’t really see him until it did.”
All in brown and hooded—along with three shooters, all with poisoned bullets, that definitely suggested some thorough advance thought and planning. “Could you tell if they had mounts or a coach waiting?”
“No, sir.”
“Was there anyone on the river?”
“I didn’t see any barges or boats, sir.”
Although Alastar took his time with additional inquiries, Glaesyn could add nothing to what he had already revealed.
Alastar left the infirmary with more questions than answers and headed back to the administration building to write out a few more instructions for Akoryt, such as removing the brush from the knoll and a few other places along the west bank of the river. He also wondered where Cyran was and when he might show up.
15
The remainder of Samedi passed without incident, and Cyran did appear, if a glass later, because he’d been working in the forge with Arthos, trying to replicate the construction of the poisoned bullets, and hadn’t even heard all the commotion. He’d only found out when he’d gone home and Meiryl had told him. He did inform Alastar that making the bullets required a good deal of skill.
Most of Solayi passed without incident, although Akoryt did come to the Maitre’s house briefly in midafternoon to go over the schedule of maitres who would be watching and monitoring the east and west banks of the River Aluse for the next week.
Almost before Alastar realized it, it was after dinner—since dinner was always in the late afternoon on Solayi—and time to set out for the anomen. Alastar wasn’t looking forward to going, since the service on Solayi evening would also serve as the memorial for Harl, who had no relatives near L’Excelsis, and for Lyam, who had been a foundling raised from the age of seven at the Collegium.
“Don’t forget your mourning scarves, girls,” Alyna called up the steps, adjusting her own black and green scarf.
“Aunt Alyna … I don’t have one,” Malyna called down from the top of the stairs.
“I thought you might not. There’s one on your dresser.”
“Oh … I didn’t see it.”
“I doubt that,” murmured Alyna to Alastar. “She never misses anything. She said something about dark colors…”
“What about them?”
“I didn’t hear the rest. She thinks her skin is too dark.”
“She has the same wonderful skin you have. She’s already very pretty. Before long, we’ll have to worry about the young men.”
“Your judgment is suspect, dear. Her skin is darker than that of most young women from a High Holder background. She’s aware of that.”
“It doesn’t matter here.”
“She wasn’t raised here…” Alyna turned as Lystara came hurtling down the steps and raised her voice. “It’s about time. Malyna?”
“I can’t get the scarf right.”
“Bring it down. I’ll fix it.”
“Yes, Aunt Alyna.”
Alyna just looked at Alastar, not quite rolling her eyes.
When Malyna reached the bottom of the stairs, she extended the black-trimmed dark green scarf. She did not look up as Alyna adjusted it.
“Remember. It covers your hair until the memorial part of the service is over. If you’re not sure, just do as I do.”
“Yes, Aunt Alyna. I understand.” Malyna’s tone was submissive, resigned, and close to quiet defiance.
“Rules are rules,” Alyna said firmly. “Your personal sense of taste in dress is secondary to the customs of the Collegium … and
to the respect due to two young men who died too young and too cruelly. Now … we need to go.”
As they walked down the steps and then along the west side of the split avenue that led to the administration building and to the anomen south and west of it, Alastar and Alyna let the girls lead the way. Noticing that Malyna squared her shoulders, as if she faced some trial, he gestured to his wife.
She leaned toward him and murmured, “Ignore it.”
Alastar nodded, but wondered if he’d see the same sort of maneuvers with Lystara, then decided it was all too likely, and the only question was how soon.
Once inside the anomen, Alastar, Alyna, and the girls moved to the front and to the left side. Although the nave was already crowded, the students and imagers moved aside to allow Alastar to take the place where they always stood.
When the last chime of the glass died away, Chorister Iskhar took his place in the middle of the sacristy dais. “We are gathered here together this evening not only for worship, but also in the spirit of the Nameless, in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do, and in celebration of two lives ended too soon by senseless violence. We are here to remember Lyam and Harl, and to give thanks for their lives.”
The opening hymn was “The Glory of the Nameless.”
Then came the confession, followed by the charge from Iskhar. “Life is a gift from the Nameless, for from the glory of the Nameless do we come; through the glory of the Nameless do we live, and to that glory do we return. Our lives can only reflect and enhance that glory, as did that of Lyam and of Harl, whom we honor, whom we remember, and who will live forever in our hearts and in the glory of the Nameless.”
Another hymn followed—“In the Footsteps of the Nameless.”
When we walk the narrow way of what is always right,
when we follow all the precepts that foil the Namer’s blight …
Then Iskhar said, “Two imagers died this week, one on Vendrei, another on Samedi. Tertius Harl was a solid and dedicated young imager who was shot in the back as he escorted the Maitre back to the Collegium.…” The chorister went on to talk of Harl’s honesty and dedication, before turning his words to Lyam. “Secondus Lyam was a promising student. He worked hard, and he was noted for his cheer and warmth. There were few indeed who did not respond to that warmth and openness.…”
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