“I couldn’t see leaving them in the disciplinary cells, and there was no way to confine them effectively except chaining and blindfolding them. So I said that they were out on sufferance, and that if they behaved themselves they could remain out … and if they didn’t, they’d face your judgment. So far, they’ve been very helpful—although they aren’t talking to each other.”
“That’s the best you could have done. I certainly don’t blame Taurek for not speaking to Bettaur. You’re looking strained. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Shabrena and some of the cooks and helpers left and then sneaked back. They told the others to remain, but that it was all foolishness, and they wanted to have dinner ready when everyone came back. I wasn’t about to send people after them.”
“How many? Do you know?”
“Four, I think. There were eleven in the kitchens. Seven are accounted for. Obsolym thinks one of the assistant gardeners didn’t get the word, either. He was at the boathouse and went from there to do some work near the foot of the old east bridge. One of the shells hit the stonework too close to him. The others destroyed the bridge.”
“Any other casualties?”
“I don’t know of any others,” replied Akoryt cautiously. “Obsolym might know of more. I haven’t seen him in several quints.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“He had the staff gathered more to the east side of the north park.”
“I’ll need to talk to him next,” said Alastar. “You’ll need to see about quarters. Everyone who has quarters that are intact can return to them. We’ll have to make other arrangements for those whose quarters have been destroyed.” He paused. “The student imagers without rooms can spend the night in Desyrk’s cottage. There’s no one there, and the cottage might as well serve some purpose. Make whatever accommodations you can. If necessary, some can sleep in the Maitre’s dwelling.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you have any better ideas or something I’ve overlooked, let me know.”
Akoryt nodded.
“I mean it.”
“I know, sir.”
Once Akoryt turned his borrowed mount back toward the park to the north, Alastar motioned for Cyran and Alyna to ride closer and join him. “In a moment, I’m going to find Obsolym and see how he fared with the staff. I’ll need Shaelyt and two solid thirds a glass before dawn tomorrow. Cyran, you’ll be in charge of Imagisle while I’m otherwise occupied. Alyna will be in charge of rebuilding, starting tomorrow. Not tonight.” Alastar turned to her. “First, use imaging to repair what can be safely restored. Don’t worry about rebuilding the administration building or the dining hall—” He stopped as he saw the expression on her face.
“Unlike you, Maitre, the students do need to eat,” Alyna said firmly.
“After they have shelter, then, but the administration building can definitely wait.”
Both Cyran and Alyna nodded.
“Now, I need to see what Obsolym is doing. After that, I’ll be back at the Maitre’s dwelling. It’s going to have to serve as the administration building for a while.”
Obsolym, carrying a lantern, was right where Akoryt had said he would be. Beyond him, clustered around the benches by the walkway, were close to a hundred men, women, and children. Alastar could almost feel their scrutiny as he reined up short of the oldest maitre.
“Maitre Obsolym … how many staff people did we lose? How many were wounded or injured? Do you know?”
Obsolym did not immediately respond, but just looked up at the Maitre of the Collegium.
“Akoryt told me about the cooks and the gardener,” prompted Alastar. “Were there any others?”
“None of this would have happened if you’d just done what the rex wanted,” Obsolym said quietly.
“And then what?” replied Alastar. “After we assassinated the High Council and another score of High Holders, and that was what Ryen demanded, what other command would Ryen have made? And if we didn’t comply with that, how long before this”—he gestured toward the south end of Imagisle—“happened anyway?”
Obsolym looked directly at Alastar … and then dropped his eyes. After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry, Maitre. I just never thought…”
“No one did.” Including you. “That’s been the problem.”
“What will happen next?”
“It becomes our turn to straighten out the mess. You didn’t think I let this happen just to make everyone feel sorry for the poor imagers?”
“No, sir.”
Alastar could tell that the older maitre had his doubts. “Were there any other casualties?”
“I don’t think so. Petros has the horses tethered or tied over by the boathouse. He said all the stableboys and the ostlers weren’t hurt.” Obsolym stopped, then ventured, “We saw all the flames…”
“The administration building was totally destroyed. So was the dining hall. There’s damage to at least one of the cottages and a little to the Maitre’s dwelling. The east bridge and the south bridge are gone. The Bridge of Desires lost much of the middle span, but we repaired it enough to return to Imagisle. We destroyed three army cannon emplacements. They had fourteen cannon firing on the Collegium. Oh … and we’re fairly certain Desyrk used a concealment to help them place two of them, the ones that likely did most of the damage to the administration building and the dining hall.”
“How can you be certain it was Desyrk?”
“When Maitre Alyna and I tried to deal with the last cannon emplacement, we ran into imager shields. That was either Desyrk or an imager we don’t know about working for Marshal Demykalon. Given that Desyrk’s brother is a subcommander or commander…”
“Subcommander,” supplied Obsolym, his voice flat. “Chesyrk’s a subcommander. Or he was.”
Chesyrk? Where had he heard that name? Alastar knew someone had mentioned it, but he couldn’t recall who … or when. But he didn’t have time to try to recall it, not now. “You can have people return to their cottages or rooms. We were able to stop the shelling before the army got to dealing with most dwellings. One part of the student quarters, one imager cottage—Claeynd’s, I think—and part of the Maitre’s dwelling were damaged. There might be some damage we didn’t see in the dark, but likely not much.”
“Is that all, sir?”
“For now. There’s not much else you or anyone else can do tonight except get people settled.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As Alastar rode back toward the stables, he thought over Obsolym’s reaction, disbelief at what had happened, followed by despair and resignation. Had Obsolym believed that Alastar was unfair to Desyrk … or just that he could not believe that either Ryen or Demykalon would attack Imagisle? He wondered if he would ever understand the older imager or if their experiences were just too different. The other thing that had struck him was that Desyrk had referred to his brother as a commander. Exaggeration … another aspect of his character.
When Alastar returned to the stables and dismounted, he saw Chervyt standing in the shadows cast by one of the outside stable lanterns. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, sir. It’s just … well … Nuasyn…”
“You were friends?”
“You might … Yes, we were friends.”
Just from Chervyt’s words, Alastar got the impression that the two had been more than friends, but he wasn’t about to press. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. Nuasyn, you know, persuaded Maitre Cyan to include him.”
“Yes, sir. It’s not his fault, or yours…” The third shook his head. “It’s just…”
“Why did it have to be Nuasyn?” asked Alastar gently. It’s always someone.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s only a question the Nameless could answer.” And I’ve never heard answers from the Nameless.
After a long silence, Chervyt spoke again. “Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Ah … why didn’t you and the other maitres use co
ncealments to hide the bridges or the Collegium?”
“That would have only delayed what happened. The army gunners would still have been able to range most of the buildings using maps. They wouldn’t have been quite so accurate, but that would have meant more imagers and others might well have been killed or injured.” All that was largely true enough, but certainly not the only reason Alastar had not used a concealment. “I thought we’d need all the strength we could muster to deal with the gunners and the troopers protecting them, and it turned out largely that way.”
“Why were they attacking us? We didn’t do anything to hurt them.”
“The rex ordered them to attack us if we didn’t attack the High Holders. We tried to work out something, but neither the rex nor the High Holders wanted to compromise.”
“They killed imagers because we wouldn’t kill High Holders?” Chervyt’s voice rose in disbelief.
“It’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s what was at the bottom of it all.”
“The rex really told you to kill High Holders?”
“He said that he wanted the High Council and the High Holders to accept larger tariffs, and that if it meant killing High Holders, then it was necessary, and that if I didn’t succeed by this evening, then we would feel his wrath. I tried everything short of injuring or killing them. It wasn’t enough.”
“Nuasyn … the others … they died because you wouldn’t kill people so he could have more golds?”
Alastar couldn’t leave Chervyt with that impression, although it would have been easy enough to do so. “Not quite. The rex had already cut the golds he provided to the Collegium, and he doesn’t have enough ships to stop smugglers or repair the roads. For years, the High Holders have opposed higher tariffs. But if we killed members of the Council at Ryen’s behest, then all Solidar would be after the Collegium.”
“It’s … it’s all so frigged…”
“Yes, it is, and we’ll have to fix it if imagers are to be safe again.” Alastar waited.
Chervyt did not speak for a time. Finally, he said, “Thank you, sir. I hope…” He shook his head. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Chervyt.”
Alastar began to walk toward the ruined and still smoldering administration building and then beyond it to the Maitre’s house. The explanations he had offered over the day, he knew, would be only the first of many. He also knew that he and the other imagers had a long night ahead and more difficult days ahead. He just hoped that Akoryt and the others didn’t discover more casualties.
25
In the grayness before dawn, Alastar, Cyran, and Alyna sat in the dim light of a single lamp, gathered around the desk in the study of the Maitre’s dwelling.
“I don’t like it,” admitted Cyran, “but nothing else seems to have worked.” He paused. “You will offer Ryen a last chance … even if he gave the orders, and it wasn’t Demykalon’s doing on his own?”
“I will,” replied Alastar. If only for everyone’s peace of mind. Or your own, since you know he won’t take it.
“Do you think Guerdyn will be reasonable?”
“I doubt it, but I’ll do my best to convince him. If he isn’t, I’ll see if we can reach Vaun.” He eased back his chair and stood. “I need to meet Shaelyt and the thirds. You two keep everyone on Imagisle until this settles a bit. Have Akoryt see if he can determine what happened to those two imagers Seconda Thelia reported.” Trying to save—or steal—the founder’s sabre? He shook his head, then looked at Alyna. “Only work on those repairs that don’t overstrain you and others.”
She nodded as she and Cyran stood. The two followed Alastar to the front porch of the Maitre’s dwelling. In the gloom beyond, Shaelyt, Belsior, and Neiryn stood waiting, holding their mounts. Neiryn also held the reins to Alastar’s gelding.
“You will be careful?” murmured Alyna from where she stood almost at Alastar’s elbow.
“As careful as I can be.” Although the greatest risks have already struck … you hope. “I am taking two full water bottles of lager, along with everything else.” He paused, then added, “Cyran … you might keep an eye out for Desyrk. I can’t believe he’d show up, but I couldn’t believe he’d direct cannon fire at the Collegium, either.”
“He knew rifles might not work; that’s why he used cannon,” added Alyna.
“I’ve let it be known just what Desyrk did,” said Cyran, “but another word of warning to the others can’t hurt.”
“Good.” Alastar walked down the steps and took the gelding’s reins from Neiryn. As he turned his mount, he could see the vague outline of the ruins of the administration building. Can you ever justify the deaths and injuries? He smiled with a wry bitterness. Justification would be easy. Living with the memories would likely be anything but easy. He still remembered the horror of Dyel and Mahara’s deaths. And you didn’t cause them.
Less than a quint later, accompanied by Shaelyt, Belsior, and Neiryn, Alastar rode out over the repaired but not completely rebuilt Bridge of Desires, nodding as they passed the stolid Secondus Maercyl, who stood watch there—just in case. In one of Alastar’s saddlebags were several lengths of rope, which he hoped they would be able to use, as well as a considerable number of heavy cloth strips. In the other were the two water bottles filled with dark lager taken from the limited supply at the Maitre’s dwelling.
“Where are we headed?” asked Shaelyt, riding beside Alastar. “You didn’t say last night.”
“It’s better that no one heard. Our first stop will be the Chateau D’Rex. We’ll ride up to the rear entry under a concealment. There’s usually only one guard there. If there are more … we’ll deal with them.” Alastar hoped there weren’t, because dealing with more than two would likely require lethal force.
“Isn’t it a bit … early, sir?”
“It is, but that will make what needs to be done somewhat easier.” Ryen was an extremely early riser, but Alastar didn’t want to reveal any more than necessary. He ignored Shaelyt’s puzzled expression.
Once they crossed the bridge and turned north on the West River Road, Alastar studied the row of shops that had contained the one holding the cannon, but there was no trace of fire, although the two joining structures were definitely the worse for wear, with sagging walls and slanting roofs. Farther along, a few crafters and shopkeepers were up and out, sweeping or cleaning, as the four rode up the West River Road, but those out scarcely looked at the riders. Likely more out of fear than disinterest. When they neared the point, Alastar studied the area closely, but there were no signs of troopers. The blast had leveled enough of the trees and bushes that he could see that the disabled cannon had not yet been removed.
There were more shopkeepers out along the Boulevard D’Ouest by the time the four imagers reached the ring road north of the Chateau D’Rex. Alastar turned in the saddle. “Belsior, Neiryn, you’re to hold shields until I tell you to release them. If you cannot hold them after a time, let go, and then resume when you can. You are not to say one word, during this time. The only exception is if Maitre Shaelyt is in danger.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alastar could see the question. “We have some unpleasant duties to undertake. They may be dangerous. That’s all you have to know for now.”
When they turned onto the ring road, heading south, Alastar raised a blurring concealment, then after they had ridden perhaps a hundred yards, shifted to a full concealment. At that point, he said, “We’re under a concealment now. Make sure you don’t run anyone down, because they won’t see you.” That warning was likely unnecessary, since the road was almost deserted except for a few farm carts most likely headed to the market square south of the Chateau D’Rex, a square Alastar thought was almost squalid and definitely unbecoming. It really ought to be used for something more imposing. How can Ryen demand an imposing avenue, and then tolerate such a squalid square so close to his chateau? But then Ryen was a mass of anger and contradictions.
Alastar did not s
ee any army troopers near the chateau, nor were any guards stationed at the foot of the paved lane that led to the rear of the chateau. Two guards stood outside the closed iron-grille gates to the rear courtyard.
“A slow and quiet walk from here,” said Alastar, turning in the saddle to address Belsior and Neiryn, before adding, to Shaelyt, “Clamp shields around the guard on your left when I say shields. Make sure they cover his mouth. We don’t want him yelling. You’ll have to hold him until he passes out. Then we’ll tie them up, gag them, and blindfold them.”
“What next, sir?”
“I’ll see if I can get into the courtyard without being seen or heard. You keep anyone from seeing the three of you.”
Neither guard moved as the four imagers rode up the paved lane toward the gate, not until Alastar was about fifteen yards from the nearest guard.
“Sammel? You hear horses?” The guard looked from side to side.
“Hunh?” Sammel shook himself, as if he’d been half asleep.
“Horses … I said.”
“Shields,” Alastar said quietly, clamping his around the guard on the right, the one who had spoken. He immediately dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to Belsior, grabbed several lengths of rope from his saddlebags, as well as some cloth strips, handing some of each to Shaelyt before hurrying toward the unnamed guard. He stopped far enough back so that the concealment lay between him and the guard. He did not move until the man’s eyes rolled, then held the shield several moments longer while he readied the rope. He began trussing the man before he released the shield. Even so, the guard was beginning to rouse himself by the time Alastar gagged and blindfolded him, then dragged him away from the gate and next to the wall.
He looked to Shaelyt, but the younger maitre had finished with Sammel not much after Alastar had blindfolded the first guard. Alastar walked away and motioned for Shaelyt to join him next to the gelding, then said in a low voice that would not carry beyond the other maitre, “Shaelyt, you’ll need to conceal your presence once I enter the courtyard. I suspect a blurring concealment will suffice at this glass. But no one is to know we are here or have been—even if that means you have to kill someone. This is important for the safety of all imagers. Do you understand?” As he spoke, Alastar took two more two lengths of rope from his saddlebags and wound them around his midsection under his riding jacket and stuffed several lengths of cloth inside his tunic.
Madness in Solidar Page 33