Arion looked to Alastar. “Then that’s the way it was. He died … just like Taryn … and the others.”
“That’s the way it always was,” said Seliora firmly, “and every imager who was here will insist on it.”
Alastar smiled inside, if faintly, knowing what Seliora hadn’t added—especially for the sake of Linzya and her unborn child. Then he looked toward the river road, where the command tent still stood, seemingly alone in light of the afternoon sun. He wasn’t looking forward to learning just how great the toll on Wilkorn’s troopers had been. The toll on the imagers had been far too high—six out of fifteen, counting Bettaur and presumably Ashkyr, not to mention how many rebel imagers there had been from Westisle. All because you wouldn’t name Voltyrn Maitre there.
He kept riding and reached for his water bottle, hoping there was at least some lager remaining in it.
47
The ride back along the dirt road to the river road took almost three quints, what with avoiding bodies and scavengers. Alastar left Akoryt in charge of the imagers and rode to the command tent, simply because he was too tired to walk. Once there, he handed the gelding’s reins to one of the troopers standing guard and walked inside. Maurek was talking to Luerryn.
Alastar just stood quietly, not wanting to interrupt.
Suddenly, Maurek looked past Luerryn. “Maitre, what can you report?”
“High Holder Regial died in the last part of the battle after he killed an imager. The rest of his personal guard surrendered. So far as we know, there are no renegade imagers remaining.”
Maurek nodded to Luerryn. “You can go.” He didn’t speak again until the major had left the command tent. “What did you do up there on the south road?”
“We did our best to reinforce the foot there when the mounted infantry had to stop the attack from the west.” Alastar didn’t feel like explaining in detail.
“We wouldn’t have won without what you did to Hehnsyn’s battalion,” said Maurek. “That allowed us to concentrate all our forces on Aestyn and Marryt. Some of them lost heart when they saw half a regiment had been wiped out all at once.” He paused. “How did you do that?”
“I didn’t,” Alastar admitted. “Cyran and Taryn did. They imaged a massive blast of Antiagon fire back at the imagers who were supporting the High Holders. I can’t explain what happened, except that there was apparently a massive interaction of imaging forces, and Cyran managed to channel it against the attackers. I’ve never seen anything like it. We lost a third of our imagers there. We lost the other two in dealing with the Ryentar’s personal guard and the last of the renegade imagers from Westisle.” That wasn’t precisely true, but it was better stated and left that way.
“Renegade imagers?”
“It turned out that there were more than we thought, and that they came from Westisle. The two imagers missing from the Collegium were actually helping us, but they died destroying the last three renegade imagers.”
“How did that kind of treachery happen? I thought you had tighter control over your imagers.”
“So did I.” Making his words sound wry was an effort for Alastar. “How does any treachery occur, either in the army or the Collegium?” he went on tiredly. “Usually because someone who has an excessively high opinion of himself feels slighted and is flattered and persuaded to betray those he feels slighted him. I doubt we’ll ever know all the details, just as you probably won’t about Aestyn, Hehnsyn, or Marryt. How heavy were your casualties?”
“Dead and wounded, close to eight hundred of ours. Over three thousand of theirs, maybe four thousand if you count what you and the imagers did earlier.”
Alastar paused, then asked, “Where’s the marshal?”
“He rallied two companies and led them against Aestyn … from the front. They shot him five times, Luerryn said, but he still broke their formation.”
“He told me he had to be here,” said Alastar.
“He did. He felt it was his fault that the army was corrupted.”
Alastar understood too well. All too well. Wilkorn had felt responsible for allowing the army revolt to happen.
“He never wanted to be put out to pasture like a warhorse who outlived his purpose.”
Not as a warhorse who felt enormous guilt that would have gnawed him into a slow and agonizing death. “He wanted to act, not be acted upon.” That was also true enough.
“I suspect you are much the same, Maitre.”
Alastar wasn’t about to comment on that. “What do you intend to do with the rebel troops?”
“With the rankers and squad leaders—let them go. The rankers, even the squad leaders, don’t have that much of a choice. They’ve suffered enough. If any want to rejoin the army a year from now, we’ll look at them one by one. The officers? They swore an oath to support the rex and Solidar.” Maurek shook his head. “They had a choice, and they chose disloyalty and treason. I’ve had everyone who survived shot. Not that there were all that many. Aestyn was killed in the marshal’s attack, and Marryt probably wouldn’t have survived his wounds. Hehnsyn … your imagers took care of him and his officers.” Maurek’s smile was grim. “What about your renegades?”
“So far as we can determine, they’re all dead. We’ll have to change all the leadership in Westisle and move some imagers from there to the Collegium in L’Excelsis … and go from there. Since there appears to be no immediate need for the imagers, we will return to L’Excelsis in the morning.” After a brief hesitation, Alastar asked, “Have you dispatched a messenger to Rex Lorien?”
“I have. I kept the dispatch brief. I just wrote that we had destroyed the rebel force, and that all the officers involved had died in the course of the engagement. I did not mention anything about High Holder Regial. At the time, I did not know, and I wanted Rex Lorien to know that we had prevailed.”
“I’ll let him know about his dear brother.”
“That might be for the best,” said Maurek.
“If there’s nothing else?”
The commander shook his head. “If there’s anything else you should know, I’ll inform you.”
Alastar inclined his head, then turned and left the command tent. He mounted the gray and headed back north along the river road. He took his time covering the hundred or so yards back to where the imagers had tied their mounts, thinking about what he might say to them.
Even before he dismounted, Dylert was standing there. “I’ll take care of your horse, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alastar dismounted carefully, then turned to wait as Akoryt walked toward him. Alastar couldn’t help but note that Akoryt’s formerly red hair was now mostly gray. Did that just happen … or is it another thing you failed to notice?
“Sir … I’ve gathered the others…”
“Thank you.” Alastar already knew what Akoryt wasn’t saying—that Alastar needed to talk to all the imagers. “Dylert offered to groom my horse.”
“I’ll have one of the teamsters take care of that.” Akoryt motioned, and a teamster hurried to catch up to Dylert.
Alastar realized that Akoryt had already thought that out. He’ll make a good senior imager or maitre.
The two walked toward where the others waited.
Once there, while he waited for Dylert to join them, Alastar looked across the faces of the eight surviving imagers. All of them looked the way he felt—drained and anything but triumphant. After several more moments, Dylert hurried up and stood between Belsior and Taurek.
“It’s been a long day,” Alastar began, prosaically, “a long week as well. In fact, it’s been a long harvest season, but the worst is over. All the rebel commanders and their officers are dead. So, it appears, are the imagers from Westisle who turned on the Collegium, simply because I hesitated to appoint one of them as Maitre at Westisle.” He paused. “I didn’t make a choice because I had concerns about either of the most senior imagers at Westisle, and I wanted to think over who might be most suitable from the Collegium here. Then I didn’t
make a choice because we got involved in a war, and I didn’t want to distract any of you from the problems here.” He offered a wintry smile. “Obviously I was right and wrong. Right to be concerned and wrong to put off deciding.” He paused once more.
“Nothing is achieved without hard work. Often that hard work ends up requiring sacrifices—of time, of pleasure, and, as it did today, of lives. All too often, those with power use that power not only unwisely, but selfishly, as if they and those like them are the only ones in all Terahnar who matter. To stop such abuses and selfish power requires greater power, of some sort, and that power may take lives, as it did today. We would all like to think of success or victory as a triumph. That is our nature. But, as happened today, sometimes the greatest victories, the most important triumphs, feel anything but triumphant. But had we failed today, all of Solidar would slowly but inexorably have sunk back into the chaos and tyranny that preceded the founding of Solidar, where any High Holder could condemn someone to die for merely displeasing him, where young imagers could be enslaved or killed, where crafters and tradesmen would ply their trade only at the whim of the wealthiest, where there would be no women of property, where no one of Pharsi blood could be certain when he or she would be hounded or killed. We did not fail, but that success, a success which feels little like triumph, would not have been possible without each and every one of you—and without the sacrifices of Cyran, Taryn, Chervyt, and Julyan—and, strangely enough, of even Bettaur and Ashkyr.” Alastar paused for a long moment. “What we must do next is to assure that all the pain and sacrifice do not go in vain. We must rebuild the Collegium to be even stronger. We must assure that those imagers in Westisle never again feel that they are not part of the whole Collegium. And we must make certain that every High Holder is held to obey the Codex Legis as it was written, and not when or where they wish to obey. These things we can do. These things we must do … in the name and spirit of those who gave everything for this bitter triumph.”
Alastar didn’t know what else he could say. He just lowered his head.
“I don’t think there’s more to be said,” offered Akoryt quietly, but firmly. “Except one thing. None of us would have survived or triumphed without good leadership. The greatest fortune we had was Maitre Alastar. None of us should forget that. He has always put the Collegium first, and he has never hesitated to take the greatest risks on behalf of all of us. Ever.”
Alastar looked up. He hadn’t expected that.
Taurek and Arion were both nodding. In fact, all of them were.
Alastar swallowed. He couldn’t speak for several moments. Finally, he said, “I did the best I could, but I wasn’t perfect. I made mistakes, as I just told you. You will, too, when you lead. It’s what you do after you make a mistake that counts.”
Since he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he didn’t.
48
With a cool wind blowing out of the northwest, and under an overcast sky, Alastar and his surviving imagers left the site of the battle just after dawn on Solayi. They were accompanied by what remained of Weidyn’s Fifth Company. Behind them, the remaining troopers were collecting wood and timbers and building the pyres to burn the dead from both armies. All—except the rebel officers—would have a few words said on their behalf. The memorial services for Cyran and the other imagers would be offered at the Collegium anomen, sometime in the next week.
Weidyn rode beside Alastar, behind the squad riding vanguard, with Akoryt and Tiranya riding directly behind Alastar, and the remaining imagers in pairs behind them and ahead of the sixty-odd troopers who had survived the carnage.
Beyond commands to the troopers and pleasantries, Weidyn did not speak until they had been riding close to three quints, when he finally said, “Always wondered how the first rex regis did it. Not anymore.”
“His imagers were stronger than we are,” Alastar said quietly. “At least, he and Elsior were. Much stronger.”
“Makes sense. Even your lady imagers … Remaylt told me how one just froze the bastard pretender with his saber still in his hand.”
“For her, that was the easy part.” Alastar chuckled. “Will you stay with the army?” He didn’t want to talk about the imagers or the battle, not when he could still recall those terrible flashes of light that had consumed first Chervyt and then Cyran and Taryn.
“After this, sir … what else could I do? I’d like to go back to training recruits at some time.” He barked a short laugh. “Could tell ’em all, honestlike, that I’d seen an outfit that made the toughest of them look soft, and one where the women were just as tough and deadly. One where everyone fought to the death. Most wouldn’t believe me. A year ago, if someone had told me, I wouldn’t have believed either.” The captain paused. “Not a trooper who was here is ever going to forget the sight of the nine of you riding back up the road. Remaylt told me that every ranker stopped and watched when you rode past.”
“I was too tired to notice,” Alastar admitted.
“I figured as much. That’s why I told you. Thought you ought to know.”
“Thank you.” Maybe, just maybe, that might keep all of the army loyal … for a few years, anyway.
Two quints before noon, Alastar reined up outside the Chateau D’Rex, accompanied just by Taurek and Dylert, and a squad from Fifth Company, the squad commanded by Remaylt, since Alastar had had Captain Weidyn escort Akoryt and the other imagers directly to Imagisle. He had just dismounted and turned to the two imagers when Guard Captain Churwyl hurried down the alabaster-white steps at almost a run, stopping just short of Alastar.
“Maitre Alastar!”
“He wants more details on what happened, I take it?” More likely, Lorien was furious that he hadn’t heard more.
“Yes, sir.”
“And that’s an understatement?”
“Ah … yes, sir.”
“Lead on, Guard Captain.”
Churwyl winced, but turned and headed up the white stone steps.
Alastar followed.
At the top of the grand staircase Alastar caught a glimpse of blond hair from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Chelia standing outside the door to her salon. She froze where she stood. Alastar turned and walked to the north corridor and to Lorien’s study door. He didn’t bother to knock.
“Maitre Alastar,” announced Churwyl from behind Alastar, immediately closing the door.
Lorien stood before the open north window closest to his desk. He turned and glared. “Well … it’s nice that someone finally decided to inform me—”
“Lorien, shut the frig up.” Alastar’s voice was flat and cold.
The rex’s mouth opened.
“Don’t say a frigging word. I’m liable to image anything you say down your throat. Sit down, and I’ll tell you what happened … all of it. Don’t say a word until I’m done.” Alastar dropped into the chair in front of the goldenwood desk.
Lorien actually swallowed, then sat down behind his desk, moistening his lips.
“I’m not in the best of moods, right now,” began Alastar. “That’s because this stupid revolt killed six imagers from Imagisle and most likely ten or so from Westisle. There are close to five thousand dead or injured army troopers, on both sides, and Wilkorn is dead. So are all the rebel officers. Maurek executed those who survived. Ryentar killed one of my imagers, and he died for it.” Alastar cleared his throat. “That’s the short version. Now, you’re going to listen to the long version, every frigging word of it, and if you don’t pay attention, you’re going to be very uncomfortable…”
Giving Lorien the longer summary still took more than a quint.
When he finished, Alastar looked at Lorien. “Now … if you have any questions, I’ll answer them.”
“Why didn’t you bring that bastard brother of mine back here?”
“Because neither he nor you deserved it. He deserved to die Namer-near anonymously in a bloody battle and not be given even the recognition of a regial execution.” Even if he was
only treachery’s tool. “And after the mess you’ve made of things, you certainly don’t deserve whatever you might get out of such a spectacle.”
Lorien’s jaw tightened, but he only asked, “Is there any proof that Marryt, Aestyn, and Hehnsyn are dead?”
“Maurek’s not exactly charitable. He saw Aestyn’s body, and stood there and had Marryt executed, although Marryt probably would have died from his wounds. Hehnsyn was incinerated in the Antiagon fire flare that turned him and his entire battalion to ashes.”
“What about the other High Holders?”
“They were all smart enough to remain well away from the rebel army. Your brother was their figurehead, and if they’d defeated us, the rebel army would have removed and executed you and put him on the throne. The only High Holder you can really tie to this mess—with any sort of real proof—who isn’t already dead is Caervyn. His son led the rebel army and his daughter married Ryentar. You probably ought to order his execution.”
“How generous of you to allow me that privilege. What about Ryel?”
“You’re going to insist that he become High Councilor, and head of the High Council.”
“That scheming bastard? Never!”
“There’s not one frigging shred of proof that he did anything, and not even the notes Chelia got will prove anything. Do you want him plotting from Rivages for the rest of your life? His heading the High Council will keep him where you—or the Collegium—can easily reach him. We can control him, and we will. It will also reassure the High Holders that their voices will be heard. Just have Chelia write him a pleasant letter telling him that he will be much happier and safer as a High Councilor and as head of the Council. I’m certain he’ll understand.”
“That’s what he wants.”
Alastar shook his head. “That’s the last thing in all Terahnar he wants. Two of the last three heads of the council have died in office. He’d much rather plot from the shadows. There’s an old saying about holding your friends close, and your enemies even closer.”
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