Treachery's Tools

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “But the High Holders have to make the choice. If I even…”

  “You don’t have to say a word. If Ryel makes it known that he would serve, he’ll be chosen in a moment.”

  Abruptly, Lorien laughed. “You’re crueler even than people think I am.”

  “Just practical,” demurred Alastar.

  “Who’s going to pay for it all?”

  “Maurek’s disbanding the rebel battalions. It will likely be a year before they’re reconstituted. That will save you golds. You can also change the tariff laws so that tariffs are assessed equally on High Holders and factors—except phase the change in.” Those would cover all the costs of the short war, but Alastar wasn’t ready to propose more at the moment, and definitely not off the top of his head.

  “What else do you have in mind?”

  “Appoint Vaelln as marshal of the armies and promote Maurek to vice marshal. Never have more than one son of a High Holder as a senior officer in L’Excelsis. Three were definitely too many.” Before Lorien could say more, Alastar went on. “That’s enough for now. Have Chelia draft that letter. We’ll go over it in a day or so.” He stood. “I need to get to the Collegium for other necessary tasks.” After a moment, he added, “And, Lorien, don’t do anything or sign anything. Anything at all—until we meet and talk it over.”

  Alastar turned, but heard Lorien murmuring under his breath.

  “… more trials … always more trials…”

  Alastar walked out of the study. He didn’t bother to close the door.

  49

  Alastar did not make it back to Imagisle, riding through the light drizzling rain that begun to fall shortly after he had left the Chateau D’Rex, until well past second glass. He left Remaylt and his squad at the Bridge of Desires, then crossed the bridge with Taurek and Dylert. Rather than go to the stables or the administration building, he rode directly to the first of the maitres’ cottages along the green. He reined up, more than reluctantly, dismounted, and handed the gelding’s reins to Dylert, then walked up to the door. He was about to knock when the door opened.

  Meiryl stood there. Her eyes were reddened. “I’ve been expecting you, Maitre.”

  “I wish I weren’t here.”

  “So do I.” Her words were barely a murmur, and she made no attempt to invite him in.

  “I came here as soon as I crossed the bridge.”

  “You would.” More tears oozed from her eyes. “He … said…” She shook her head.

  “He was the most noble imager I’ve ever known.” That was definitely true, and Alastar wanted his words to convey that. “All of us who returned owe our lives to Cyran. The Collegium owes its future to him. So does Solidar. None of that will ever make up for your loss, but I wanted you to know that.”

  “He … said … either you or he wouldn’t be likely to return.”

  That surprised Alastar. “He never even hinted at that. But he wouldn’t have.”

  “No. He wouldn’t.” Meiryl shook her head slightly. “I didn’t want him to go. He said he had to, that the children … that…” She swallowed, unable to speak.

  “He was right. Without any of those who went…” Alastar stopped and just stood there.

  After a moment, she stepped back and closed the door.

  When he climbed back into the saddle, Alastar felt exhausted, and he still had one more visit to make—at the last maitres’ cottage on the green. Dismounting was an effort, but he forced himself to walk up to the door and knock.

  Linzya’s eyes widened, and she paled as she saw Alastar standing there. “No! No … it can’t … it mustn’t…”

  Alastar glimpsed Charlina standing in the foyer behind Linzya. That Linzya wasn’t alone offered him some small measure of relief. “I’m afraid it is, Linzya. He was one of the reasons we were able to defeat the rebels. He killed the last three renegade imagers from Westisle who had backed the pretender, but the effort left him without shields. High Holder Regial stabbed him in the back before we could get close enough to help him.”

  Linzya just stood there, not speaking.

  “You should also know … his last words. He said, ‘Tell Linzya I love her … that I’m no traitor and never was.’” Behind Linzya, Alastar saw a quick expression of disbelief cross Charlina’s face, and he added, “I’m not making that up. If either of you don’t believe me, you can ask Seliora or Arion. They were right beside me and heard what he said. And he was right. He wasn’t a traitor.” Unwise and almost mad with the belief no one would ever believe him, but not a traitor. “And he did save me.” Which is also likely.

  “He … did?”

  Alastar nodded. “I was almost without shields at that point. Maitre Cyran was already dead, and Seliora, Arion, and I were facing three fresh Westisle imagers. Bettaur put iron darts through their shields. It took all he had.”

  “Then … he wasn’t … he really wasn’t…”

  “No. And it’s very clear that he truly loved you. He didn’t want you and your child to live under a cloud … or under the rebels.”

  Tears were streaming down Linzya’s cheeks, and she sobbed uncontrollably.

  Charlina moved forward and put an arm around Linzya, easing her back into the cottage, mouthing to Alastar as she did, “Thank you.”

  Alastar waited until the door closed before he turned and walked back through the rain to the gray. As he mounted, he said to Taurek and Dylert, “The Maitre’s house.”

  “We’ll take your mount to the stable, sir,” offered Taurek.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it, and so will my family.”

  “Our pleasure, sir,” added Dylert.

  Alyna, Lystara, and Malyna were all standing on the front porch, waiting as he dismounted.

  “If you’d take your kit, sir.” Taurek’s reminder was gentle.

  Alastar smiled wryly. “That’s a good idea. Thank you.” He handed the gelding’s reins to Dylert, then quickly unstrapped his gear and threw it over his shoulder before walking swiftly, or as swiftly as he could, along the walk and up the stone steps out of the rain and into Alyna’s arms. The gear hit the porch floor with a dull clunk, just before Lystara wrapped both her arms around his waist.

  “… so glad you’re back,” Alyna murmured as she held him.

  “… makes two of us…”

  “Akoryt told me you were safe, but I still worried.”

  “I had to stop to tell Meiryl. She might have already heard, but she needed to hear from me.”

  Alyna eased back, but still held Alastar’s hand. “I think she knew already. She came to see me last night. She wanted to know if I’d heard anything. She said she’d had the most terrible feeling.”

  “And when she saw the others return…”

  Alyna nodded.

  “I needed to tell Lorien as soon as possible, so that he didn’t do anything stupid. The Nameless knows, he’s capable of it. But I went to see her first after that. Then I saw Linzya.”

  “Bettaur?”

  “He died saving my life. I’ll tell you more later.” He offered a tired and ragged smile. “I’d like to wash up and change into something that doesn’t smell…”

  “I think we can manage that.”

  “We?”

  “You and me. Do you think I’m letting you out of my sight?” Alyna turned to Lystara. “If you and Malyna would take your father’s bag to the washroom.”

  Alastar bent slightly, not that he really needed to, and gave his daughter a heartfelt embrace, then looked to Malyna and smiled. “I’m very glad to see you, too.” Malyna’s smile was so much like Alyna’s that he just froze for a moment. “You definitely are family.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So are we,” said Alyna. “Now … that bag. I need to get your father cleaned up and made presentable. We’re going to have an early dinner.” She looked to Alastar. “And we are not going to services tonight.”

  Almost two glasses later, later than Alyna had planned, Alastar suspected—although she
had not protested the reasons for the delay—the two of them joined the girls at the entrance to the dining room.

  “You two took too long,” declared Lystara.

  “Or not long enough,” murmured Malyna, so low that Alastar almost didn’t catch the words.

  Lystara looked puzzled.

  “That will do, Malyna.” But Alyna’s voice was amused, rather than cross. “We’re here and it’s time for dinner. We’ll also break another rule and let your father tell us everything that happened.” Her eyes met Alastar’s.

  He nodded, understanding what he was to offer in detail and what would be deferred until Lystara was older. Alyna would fill Malyna in over the next day or so.

  Once they were seated, Alyna looked to Malyna.

  “For the grace and warmth from above, for the bounty of the earth below, and for all the wonders of this world, and especially for the safe return of the one we all love, we offer our thanks and gratitude, both now and ever more, in the spirit of that which cannot be named or imaged.”

  Alastar found he could not speak for a moment. So he reached for the pitcher of dark lager and half filled Malyna’s beaker, then Lystara’s, before he filled his own. He set down the pitcher and said to Malyna, “That was beautiful. Thank you.”

  “It was beautiful, indeed,” added Alyna.

  Jienna appeared and set a platter before Alastar, and another before Alyna.

  Alastar found his mouth watering as he saw the platter of game hens, a half hen for each of them, with lace potatoes and fried apples, and, of course, two baskets of freshly baked bread. “This looks wonderful.” Especially after all that dried mutton, porridge, and too-bitter dark lager.

  “You said you’d tell us everything,” said Lystara.

  “I will,” promised Alastar, “but let me drink a little good lager and have a mouthful of the best food I’ve seen in weeks first.”

  “It was just nine days, Father.”

  Alyna rolled her eyes, then looked hard at her daughter.

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  Given Lystara’s contrite tone, Alastar smiled. “I accept the apology.” He took a slow swallow from the beaker, enjoying the full but not bitter taste before he set the beaker down. Then he served himself a game hen and passed the platter to Alyna.

  When everyone’s plate was full, Alastar cut a morsel of the game hen, ate it slowly, and then began, “A week ago Vendrei morning, thirteen of us rode out across the south bridge and south on the West River Road…”

  In between bites, he told the essential elements of what had happened, but without speculation, and without dealing with the politics that lay behind many of the actions. A good two quints later, he finished, cleared his throat and refilled his beaker.

  “Why did the Westisle imagers join the rebels?” asked Lystara.

  “We don’t know yet,” replied Alastar. “Since they’re dead, we may never know. I can only guess that those who did felt that they should have had greater recognition and praise than they received or that Voltyrn even wanted to become Maitre of the Collegium here.”

  “Did Bettaur really save your life?” pressed Lystara.

  “Yes. Whatever else he may have done or not done, he saved my life and made victory possible.”

  “Then that makes him a hero, like Maitre Cyran.”

  “All of the imagers from Imagisle who died were heroes,” said Alyna gently. “Now … the time for breaking the rules is over … and we’ll have dessert.”

  Lystara nodded. Malyna glanced at her cousin and smiled.

  Alastar could smell the apple pie long before it arrived.

  Later that evening, well after the girls were in bed, Alastar and Alyna sat in their sitting room.

  “I still have to wonder,” she said. “How did they think they could possibly succeed?”

  “Because they were far better prepared than we had any idea of. Just one example was the fact that Ryel, or someone, subverted close to ten imagers from Westisle.”

  “But Voltyrn wrote you…” Alyna paused. “He knew you wouldn’t make him Maitre of Westisle. The letters were just to keep you from thinking about the fact that he’d already decided to back the rebels.”

  “That’s my guess. Ryel or Caervyn, most likely Caervyn, persuaded Ryentar to join the cause. Ryel found some way to blackmail Bettaur…”

  Alyna frowned. “I thought you said he saved your life.”

  “He did.” Alastar gave the complete story of the encounter with Ryentar, Voltyrn, and Bettaur. “I doubt if my shields could have stopped a wooden wand at that point. As it was, breaking three imagers’ shields left Bettaur defenseless, and that allowed Ryentar to run him through.”

  “That makes Ryentar one of the most despicable characters in the history of Solidar. He conspired with his mother to kill his own brother and half sister … well, half brother and half sister. Next he killed his mother so that no one could prove the first conspiracy. Then he rebelled against his brother, and ended up stabbing his other half brother in the back.”

  “And that’s just what we know,” replied Alastar sardonically. “And the worst of it was that he and Bettaur were really only Ryel’s tools.” He paused. “Even Laevoryn, despicable as he was, was only a tool.”

  “Just tools…” She shook her head. “I still wonder how they thought … or how Ryel thought…”

  “How did the first rex regis think he could possibly unite Solidar?” asked Alastar, almost rhetorically. “He was outnumbered, and his enemies had better weapons. He didn’t even have rifles or cannon. He only had a handful of imagers. Today, no one even thinks about how improbable his success was. If Ryel’s scheme had succeeded, a generation from now, it would merely be regarded as a coup, the overthrow and replacement of one rex by his younger brother.” Alastar shook his head. “This was so much closer than anyone will know.”

  “Or should know.”

  “I made a mess out of all this,” he said slowly. “I’m not as strong an imager as I once was. I didn’t see how well the rebel High Holders had planned, even to how the legal petitions played into it. I certainly didn’t see what Vaschet’s ironworks represented, or the treachery brewing at Westisle. My failures led to the deaths of Cyran and Taryn and all the others, even Bettaur’s death. I think he really did want to go to Westisle, where no one knew him…”

  “Do you think Voltyrn was the one who blackmailed him?”

  Alastar didn’t say anything for several moments. “I didn’t even think of it that way.” He shook his head. “I suppose there’s really no way to know.” He paused again. “But it doesn’t matter. I made too many mistakes. I failed the Collegium, and Cyran redeemed my failure. So did Taryn, Julyan, Chervyt, and Bettaur.”

  “Dearest, none of them would have been able to do that if you hadn’t spent years training them.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Alastar D’Imagisle! You made mistakes. We all make mistakes. The mistakes you say you made were mistakes no one else even thought about or even recognized. You still saw things that no one else saw, and you managed to save Solidar when no one else could. Is there anyone else who could have done what you did?”

  “You could have. You’ve been part of it for years.”

  “A part, yes, but only a part. Even if it were true, Solidar wouldn’t have accepted a woman maitre.” Her voice softened. “The Collegium and Solidar need you. Not for massive imaging ability, although you’re far stronger than you think you are, but for the wisdom to keep more trouble from happening.”

  “The way I did here?” he asked sarcastically.

  “The way you did here,” she said quietly but firmly. “The way no one else could.”

  “I see I’m not going to convince you.”

  “You won’t until you train someone able to step into your boots. Now … what about the Westisle imagers?”

  “Ryel or one of the other High Holders must have contacted Voltyrn years ago … and kept in touch”—likely far more oft
en than you did—“and that’s something else we can’t let happen.”

  “That wasn’t quite what I meant. Who will you appoint as the Maitre there?”

  Alastar smiled. “Who would you suggest?”

  “You’re Maitre. That’s your choice.”

  He smiled at her. “We can talk about that later. I’ve talked enough this evening.”

  “You would say that.” But she smiled, rose, and took his hands.

  50

  Well before seventh glass on Lundi morning, Alastar and Alyna set out for the administration building, walking through the rain wearing oilskins, as were Malyna and Lystara, who had left not quite half a quint earlier. Alastar didn’t say much for a time, going over in his mind just how to present matters to the senior maitres, wondering how much he should say about certain things.

  “I know what you said last night,” began Alastar, as they neared the administration building, “but I worry. I did make mistakes, and imagers died. Am I losing—”

  “Dear. Even the best make mistakes. There’s no one here at the Collegium who would make fewer.”

  “Except you.”

  “We’ve been through that. Like it or not, you’re the Maitre. Like it or not, there’s no one else quite ready to take your place.”

  And like it or not, you’re going to have to live with those mistakes, he thought. Alyna hadn’t said that, but she might as well have done so. “Akoryt’s close.”

  “Not close enough, and he’s told me that himself.”

  “What about his being senior imager?”

  “That’s your decision. You’re Maitre. You’re meeting with him first. Ask him.”

  “You agree about Arion, Seliora, and Taurek?”

  “Absolutely, but it’s up to Arion. If he doesn’t feel—”

  “I know. Then we’ll have to consider another way.”

  Another thought struck Alastar, and he sighed.

  “Now what?”