“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alastar did not close the study door, trusting that Desyrk would not be long, and settled himself, looking at the three volumes of Chorister Gauswn’s journals still sitting on the corner of the desk. You have a few moments. You could read several pages.
Alastar yielded to temptation and reached for the first volume, beginning to read where he had left off.
… should have known that he was more than an imager, that he was blessed by the Nameless to do what no one else could do … and bear the burden …
At the sound of a rap on the doorframe, Alastar looked up to see Desyrk standing there.
“Maitre? You summoned me?”
“I did. Please come in and shut the door.” Alastar closed the journal and studied the other maitre closely as he crossed the room. Desyrk was a handsome fellow in the dark and languid way that some women seemed to favor and had a youthful, almost careless air about him, although he was several years older than Alastar. His brown hair was wavy and slightly longer than Alastar would have preferred, but looked brushed and clean. His grays were also clean and unwrinkled, and his boots polished, almost to a military shine. Alastar gestured to the chairs and waited until Desyrk seated himself, not on the front edge of the chair, but comfortably. “I was talking to Maitre Obsolym the other day, and he mentioned that you were likely the only maitre who might know something about the rex and his family.”
“Sir?”
Although Desyrk showed a puzzled expression, Alastar felt the expression was less than fully honest. “Through your brother … Something about him accompanying Marshal Ghalyn…?”
“Oh … that. Yes, he often helped the marshal … Marshal Ghalyn.”
Alastar definitely had the feeling that Desyrk was relieved. Why?
“I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what you know about the rex and his family. I’ve only met his sons once, quite briefly. From what I saw, the elder, Lorien, is in his late twenties…”
“I believe so, sir.”
“What about the younger?”
“Ryentar is five years younger, or so it’s said.”
“No daughters?”
“I heard somewhere that Lady Asarya had a child after Ryentar, but that the child lived only a few days. I don’t know if it was a son or daughter.”
“No one says much about her.”
“It’s said that she is a very private person, unlike Rex Ryen.”
“Was your brother often at the chateau?”
“Not often. Perhaps a handful of times.”
“Did he tell you his impressions of Rex Ryen?”
“Not in detail. He did say that Marshal Ghalyn was most careful in how he spoke. You would understand that, I think, from what you have said to us.”
“What about social affairs? Does the rex host balls or the like? Who attends them? Does he entertain High Holders?”
“I do not know who among High Holders he might entertain, sir. He does have a year-end ball … or he has had one in the past. Maitre Fhaen always went, but he did not enjoy it much, he said. His wife might have, but she died before he became Maitre. The rex has a spring ball, it’s also said, but that is more for his sons and their friends.”
“What about the Lady Asarya?”
“I cannot say, sir. My brother never mentioned her.”
“I take it your brother no longer goes to the Chateau D’Rex?”
“No, sir. Marshal Demykalon takes no other officers with him.”
“Has your brother said anything about that?”
“He has only said that Marshal Demykalon has changed procedures.”
Alastar doubted strongly that was all Desyrk’s brother had said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the rex or how things have changed … or stayed the same?”
“I think I’ve told you everything I can remember, sir.” Desyrk tilted his head as if he were trying to remember, a gesture not totally convincing.
There’s something … Alastar didn’t feel comfortable pressing Desyrk, although it was likely that the Maitre D’Structure wasn’t telling everything he knew. He smiled. “That’s all. It’s just that I’ve had so little time here in L’Excelsis that I need to rely on what you and Obsolym and other maitres know.” He stood. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure to be helpful, sir.”
Alastar kept his smile in place until he was again alone in the study. As he reseated himself behind the desk, he couldn’t help but wonder about the way in which Desyrk had answered some questions. Alastar was struck by how many times the other maitre had used the phrase “it is said,” or something like it. Yet Desyrk had never used that phrase before. He’s hiding something … but what?
Yet another thing to worry about. As if you don’t have enough already.
12
Under a grayish haze, with a steady but cool light wind out of the northeast, Alastar and his two escorts, this time Belsior and Coermyd, rode toward the army headquarters, located three milles north of the Chateau D’Rex. Alastar had heard that it had once been a high holding, but the original chateau itself was now only one of more than a score of brick buildings. Outside the old gatehouse stood troopers in undress greens, heavy rifles at their sides. They barely moved as Alastar and the two imagers reined up.
“Maitre Alastar, to see Marshal Demykalon, at his request.”
“Yes, sir. There’s a squad leader waiting to escort you to meet the marshal.” The guard gestured, and a trooper rode forward from under the partial shade of an ancient oak that was beginning to shed its leaves.
“Maitre Alastar? Marshal Demykalon will be meeting you at headquarters.” The trooper looked at Alastar, but did not quite meet his eyes.
“Lead the way,” said Alastar.
When the four rode into the paved courtyard at the rear of the chateau, Alastar was surprised to see an officer in a marshal’s uniform riding toward them, followed by another officer, a captain.
“Maitre Alastar, Marshal Demykalon here. This is Captain Weirt. We’ll need to ride another mille to the range. We’ll be putting on a demonstration. I think you and your imagers will find it most interesting.” Demykalon’s face was lightly tanned. Under the visor cap, his hair was dark brown with a few streaks of gray. He looked to be ten years older than Alastar.
“A demonstration of what, if I might ask?”
“Some improved weaponry. Let me leave it at that until you can see for yourself. After you do, I’ll be happy to answer any questions. By the way, I’m pleased to meet you. I never did meet your predecessor. I understand he preferred to leave the Collegium as little as possible.” Demykalon turned his mount and gestured. “Toward the rear gates.”
The captain fell in with Belsior and Coermyd, while Alastar and Demykalon rode side by side across the courtyard and through the north gateposts that held no gates onto a paved lane, lined with two long buildings on the right, and three slightly shorter ones on the left.
“The large buildings are the main supply warehouses for this part of Solidar,” explained Demykalon cheerfully. “We also have warehouses in Tilbora, Nacliano, Moryn, Solis, and Liantiago. The middle building on the other side is the reserve armory.”
“Impressive,” said Alastar. “How long have you been marshal? I must confess that, since I came from Westisle, there are simple facts I don’t know.”
“Just under three seasons. I was army vice-marshal until Marshal Ghalyn took his stipend.”
“How many regiments under arms?”
“Eight at the moment. That doesn’t include two regiments of naval marines. Three regiments are posted here. The others are in various places, Solis, of course, and Liantiago.”
More than seven thousand troopers within three milles of the Chateau D’Rex and five milles of Imagisle? And two more regiments in all than was widely known? No wonder Ryen was having problems with finances!
Alastar glanced at Demykalon’s saddle, noting the empty rifle scabbard
. “Have you considered using pistols for close-in fighting?”
The marshal laughed. “The only reliable pistols are single-shot. That’s not useful in a fight, and the others could get you killed. Give me a sabre any day.”
“But you use rifles for longer range?”
“Call their use for midrange. You’ll see.”
Less than a hundred yards beyond the last supply warehouse the lane veered eastward around a low long ridge, and then back north again. After riding almost another mille, Demykalon gestured to a lane heading westward through a gap in the ridge, a gap with a gatehouse. Neither of the troopers posted there said a word as the five rode through, but they did present their rifles in salute when they saw the marshal.
Some two hundred yards farther on, where the gap between the sides of the ridge narrowed, a stone wall and a heavy timber gate blocked further mounted progress. Demykalon reined up beside a hitching rail on the north side of the gate and then dismounted. “We’ll have to walk up the steps over here.”
As he dismounted, Alastar glanced to where the marshal pointed and saw a set of stone steps leading up the side of the ridge to a landing some fifteen yards uphill. After tying his mount, the marshal moved up the steps quickly, with the ease of a man who kept himself in good physical trim. Alastar patted the gelding on the shoulder, then tied him to the rail and followed, keeping pace, but noted, when he reached the landing, that the two young imagers were breathing heavily as they trudged the last few steps. The captain who followed them was not.
“You’re in better shape than your escorts,” murmured Demykalon.
“We’re working on that,” replied Alastar in an equally muted voice.
“This way.” Demykalon walked along the stone pavement cut into the hillside for another hundred yards, then down three steps and through an archway into a stone-walled chamber.
Captain Weirt remained just outside the archway.
The chamber was small, no more than four yards in length, three in width, and slightly more than two from the stone floor to the heavy roof timbers. There were no windows, just a series of slits at eye height in the west wall. The slits were roughly three digits high and a third of a yard in length.
“Take one of the viewing ports, Maitre, and tell me what you see at the base of the hill.”
Alastar took one of the slits near the middle. At first glance, he saw that the ground to the west of the ridge was lower than he had realized, at least twenty yards down from where he stood. He took a moment before finding what he initially thought was a two-wheeled cart, then realized that he was seeing a cannon, but one with a far smaller barrel and bore than the antique bombards that still graced the harbor at Westisle. “Is that a new type of cannon?”
“It is. It’s much more accurate, and the rate of fire is faster. We’ve developed a coarser powder that burns more evenly.” Demykalon smiled. “I thought you’d like to see one in action. We’re in the process of ranging and testing them. That’s why we’ll be watching from the redoubt here. That’s also why the gunner has a pit and a stone wall there. You can see some sections of stone walls to the west. They’re about two-thirds of a mille from here. The proving ground extends almost two milles, but the cannon are less accurate at ranges over a mille. You’ll also notice an earthen berm a hundred yards east of the wall sections. It’s high enough that the gunners cannot actually see their targets.” The marshal turned toward the archway. “Captain, give them the signal to begin.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alastar watched as one of the gunners took a device, consisting of iron forged into a right angle with another strip of iron, essentially a quarter of a circle, running from a point halfway along the top section of iron to a point roughly halfway down the vertical strip of iron. A plumb bob hung from the upper iron strip. It took Alastar a moment to realize that the device was a gun quadrant, used to determine the elevation of the cannon needed to aim at a particular distance. He also noticed that the gun crew had a choice of bags of powder of various sizes.
The gunner lit the fuse, then ducked behind the wall and knelt with the rest of the gun crew in the brick-walled pit. The first shot was long and high. The gunner looked to the northwest. A spotter used two flags to signal. After several adjustments, the gun crew retreated, and the gunner lit the cannon off. The cannon shell clipped off the top of a section of wall.
The process continued for almost a glass, with the gunner and gun crew aiming at various targets that they could not see, getting signals, and then adjusting the cannon. It seldom took more than three tries to hit the unseen target, success being confirmed by flag signals.
“Have them take a break,” Demykalon called to Weirt, who had moved just inside the archway while the cannon fired. “You can see that these new guns are smaller and lighter, but they fire almost as far, and they can be moved into position quickly. They’re all cast alike, so that the range tables are similar for each. That means we can be effective with indirect fire with only a few adjustments, especially if we can measure distances in advance.”
“Indirect fire?” That was a term Alastar had not heard, although he suspected that was when the gunner could not aim point-blank and had to fire at an unseen target.
“Direct fire is when you aim the cannon directly at something you can see. Indirect fire is where you want to fire over something and have your shell strike where you want it, such as over a hill, or a wall. Perhaps over a river and trees or walls beyond. These cannon are very good at that. If we used Antiagon Fire … well … the effect would be terrible.”
“Antiagon Fire?” The ancient flame weapon required an imager to make, and one with the skills of a maitre? “There’s no record of a request for an imager.”
“Explosive shells are almost as good, and far less dangerous to store and handle,” replied Demykalon. “We do have a description of the way to create it, though. One of the early marshals thought it might be useful at some time.”
Alastar couldn’t imagine using shells filled with Antiagon Fire. The fact that Demykalon even mentioned the impact … Except it was a way to get across the effectiveness of explosive shells. “From your description and the accuracy shown here, I can see that you could concentrate fire on the weakest point, even if you cannot see it. Most impressive.”
“They also allow one to inflict fire at one’s enemies accurately at over a mille, and from directions it would be hard to determine in a short period of time.” Before Alastar could say more, Demykalon went on. “You’ve seen the new cannon. I don’t wish to take that much more of your day. We can talk on the ride back.” He smiled and walked toward the archway.
Alastar followed, with Coermyd and Belsior behind him.
“Once we’re clear,” Demykalon told Weirt, “they can resume testing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Demykalon did not say more until he and Alastar were mounted and leading the way back toward headquarters. “What do you think of the cannon?”
“I have the impression that you have manufactured more than the one you were testing, and that the test was largely for my benefit.”
“Of course.”
“It’s obviously an improved weapon, but since there are no other armies in Solidar, why have you manufactured so many? It would appear to me that a naval version would be far more useful, particularly given the rise in piracy in or near the Southern Gulf.”
“We do have such a version. At present, we have no vessels designed to use such cannon, but Sea Marshal Wilkorn is hopeful we will soon be able to build warships capable of using it.”
“What use might you foresee for these guns?”
Demykalon shrugged. “One can never tell. If a High Holder refuses to do his duty or anyone else who owes allegiance to the rex … the cannon would be useful and spare troopers.”
“With a great deal more than a thousand High Holders, I doubt you have enough cannon to keep them all in line.”
“That may be, but we have enough for more than a f
ew … and who would wish to be the first to stand against them?”
Alastar laughed. “You make a very good point. That is often what keeps the peace. At least, previous Maitres have thought so.”
“The advantage that an army has, though, Maitre, is that its numbers preclude excessive concerns about those that might be called hostages to fortune.”
Alastar understood exactly what Demykalon meant, and while he had a counter, it was best not to offer it. “Very true.”
After they had ridden another fifty yards or so, Alastar said, “I understand that Rex Ryen believes that higher tariffs may be necessary if he is to have the funds to construct the ships necessary to deal with the pirates in the Southern Gulf.”
“You had mentioned them before. Sea Marshal Wilkorn has hopes for additional warships, and the new cannon would be very effective against both Jariolan and Ferran warships. And pirates, also.” The last three words were clearly an afterthought.
“But?”
“To raise tariffs might cause great unrest among the High Holders.”
“It might, but continued piracy would increase the unrest among the factors.”
“I am certain the rex will consider all matters, as will you if he asks your advice.”
“How many of your commanders come from High Holder backgrounds? Perhaps half?”
Alastar could see Demykalon stiffen, if almost imperceptibly.
“All senior officers are trained to act for the good of Solidar, Maitre.”
“I see.”
“I’m certain that you do.” Demykalon smiled. “Do you not think that our new cannon is a most impressive weapon?”
“Your demonstration and explanations have provided a most … commanding impression.”
“I thought they might.”
After those words, the words exchanged on the remainder of the ride back to the marshal’s headquarters consisted entirely of cheerful pleasantries.
“What did you think about the marshal and his cannon?” Alastar asked the two younger imagers once they were on the road south from the headquarters toward L’Excelsis.
“He wanted you to see it,” said Belsior.
Madness in Solidar Page 14