Madness in Solidar

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’d tell you to wish me luck, but we can’t depend on fortune. Wait over there under the chateau wall.” Alastar turned and climbed the gate, comparatively low, at little more than two yards. He was glad for the heavy riding gloves. As he suspected, the rear courtyard held no guards, but a kitchen scull carried out something to one of the refuse barrels.

  After she dumped it and headed back toward the kitchen door, another guard, standing outside the side door used by guards and servitors, called out, “You never stop to throw me a kiss, Cethana.”

  “Like you deserve one,” snapped the woman.

  “Every man deserves one now and again.” The guard moved several paces from the door.

  “Not at this Namer-early glass of the morning.”

  Taking advantage of the guard’s distraction, Alastar slipped behind him, eased the door open and stepped inside, then flattened himself against the wall as another guard hurried down the narrow back hall and grabbed the door, opening it wider.

  “Poelo! Don’t leave the frigging door open! You want us both gutted!” The words were almost hissed.

  The outer guard turned back. “I didn’t open it.”

  “It was open…”

  While the two argued in low voices, Alastar made his way to the grand staircase. He’d thought about taking the private back staircase, but it was so narrow that there was no way to avoid someone if he went that way. After he climbed the steps, he had to dodge a serving maid, carrying a tray back toward the kitchen, once he reached the upper hall, but the only person in the north corridor was the guard who was always posted outside Ryen’s study. Again, he used shields to immobilize the guard.

  When the study guard crumpled, Alastar trussed him quickly, gagged and blindfolded him with the strips of cloth he’d brought, and then opened the door and stepped into the study, dropping the concealment after closing the door and walking toward Ryen, seated at his desk and reading a sheet of something.

  The rex’s mouth opened, if only for an instant. Then he smiled. “I thought you might be here. I didn’t expect you quite so early. Or so quietly.”

  “Imagisle is a mass of rubble.” Alastar offered the exaggeration blandly. “I take it that was what you meant by bringing your wrath down on the Collegium.”

  “What else did you expect? You disobeyed my orders.”

  “Now … you’re ordering the Collegium?”

  “If I pay you, you’ll take my orders.”

  “Even if they’re unreasonable?”

  “I’m the rex. I’m the one who decides what’s reasonable and what’s not.”

  Alastar nodded. “I see. Then I have one last question. Did you order Demykalon to fire on the Collegium with his cannon?”

  “Of course. I don’t make idle threats.”

  “And after that becomes known, to start destroying High Holder chateaux until they agree to your tariff terms?”

  “What else? None of you seem willing to act unless forced.”

  “I’m glad to hear you confirm that.”

  “So you can make some threat you won’t carry out, just like your predecessor.”

  “No. I don’t make threats at all.” With that, Alastar clamped full shields around the startled rex. “Neither you nor the High Council would see reason. The Collegium suffered, and there are too many dead imagers and staff. Enough is enough. One way or another, your successor will be more reasonable.”

  Alastar did not remove the shields until it was more than clear that Ryen would not take another breath.

  On the way out, he used another concealment, and again clamped shields around the guard lying in the corridor until the man passed out once more. Then he untied him and removed the gag before making his way, still under concealment, to the grand staircase and then down and back to the rear entrance, waiting until the guard patrolling the lower hall moved out of sight, just so the man would not see the doors open. He still had to deal with the door guard, but that was easier. He just imaged a pair of coppers into the air several yards from the door and let them fall to the stones.

  The outside guard looked around, then up, and quickly darted toward the coins. Alastar opened the door, stepped out, and closed it, then sidled away and along the walls until he reached the gate. He stopped, not seeing either Shaelyt or the thirds, then shook his head. He wouldn’t, not with Shaelyt’s concealment.

  Even knowing where he’d told Shaelyt to be, he almost ran into the maitre’s mount before he was inside the other’s concealment.

  To his credit, Shaelyt did not speak, but raised his eyebrows.

  Alastar moved closer and explained. Then they shield-stunned the two gate guards and untied them, but left the gags and blindfolds in place before mounting and riding down the lane to the ring road. Alastar did not speak until they were well north of the chateau.

  “We’re still under a concealment, and we’re headed northwest” was all he said.

  “The army High Command?” murmured Shaelyt.

  Alastar nodded.

  By the time they turned off the ring road onto the north pike, the predawn gray had given way to the pale yellowish light that immediately preceded sunrise. When they neared the low walls that surrounded the army headquarters, the old gates were closed, and Alastar could see at least a squad of troopers mustered in the area behind them. The wall itself was brick, and clearly dated back to when the headquarters had been a private estate, most likely of a High Holder, since it was barely two yards high, if that.

  He smiled. “I think we need a diversion, Maitre Shaelyt. I’d like you and the thirds to ride about a quarter mille west along the wall there. Under a concealment, of course. Then I’d like you to remove part of the wall and set fire to something just inside the wall. Make it flamboyant. Then head back down the pike and wait by the old warehouse just north of the ring road. Use a blurring shield if you can still manage it once you get there, or have the thirds alternate. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Sir?”

  “If I’m not there in two glasses, head back to Imagisle and inform Maitre Cyran and Maitre Alyna.”

  Alastar turned and rode eastward close to a third of mille, until he found a spot where several trees just inside the wall blocked the view of the wall from a good many of the buildings, especially the old chateau where Alastar suspected Demykalon had his study. The odds were that the marshal would be there. Even from Alastar’s limited interaction with the marshal, he doubted that Demykalon would be the type to handle unpleasant duties in person, especially when he would be likely planning to lay the blame on someone else.

  He looked back, then saw a column of fire. Shaelyt did make it impressive. With that, Alastar imaged away a part of the wall, a section just wide enough for him to ride through. Holding shields and a concealment, he did just that, then angled the gray across the grounds toward the old chateau. Since there was an empty hitching rail outside the chateau’s main entrance, Alastar rode right up to it, dismounted, and then waited until the guard standing in the open entry portico looked the other way before moving away from the gelding and leaving it unconcealed. He moved up the stone steps quietly, then waited as the trooper saw the mount and moved forward to look more closely. Then he slipped behind the man and through the double doors. Once inside he continued into the main hall, where he paused to one side of the table desk where a squad leader sat, looking bored. He eased himself against the wall and watched for several moments, as first several rankers passed, and then an undercaptain, but no one spoke.

  After a bit, he waited until a ranker hurried toward a side hall and followed the man, saying, “Pardon me,” firmly but quietly, easing forward enough that the ranker was inside the concealment. He hoped to take advantage of the fact that imager grays and his visor cap were cut in the same style as the uniforms of army officers.

  The man half-turned, looking surprised, but before he could utter a word, Alastar said, “I have an urgent message for the marshal, but I can’
t find his study. Is it in this wing?”

  “No, sir. It’s just off the small circular foyer on the other end.” The ranker started to say more.

  “Thank you,” Alastar said quickly, preempting the ranker’s words, and then stepped back quickly and to the man’s blind side so that the ranker could not see him appear to vanish. The ranker looked from one side to the other, but Alastar kept moving back toward the main hall and then, as quietly as he could, circled behind the squad leader and into the west wing of the former chateau.

  Less than thirty yards farther on, a fresh-faced undercaptain sat at another table desk outside a set of double doors.

  Alastar paused, debating his next move. Then, as he heard footsteps, he saw the ranker he’d accosted a few moments before hurrying down the hallway. With a smile, Alastar eased along the wall until he was beside the study door … and waited.

  The ranker stopped before the desk. “Sir, there was a courier with a message looking for the marshal, but I can’t find him.”

  “There’s been no one here. Did you check with the duty squad leader?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s seen no one.”

  Alastar stepped to the study door, easing it ajar and sliding inside, but leaving the door ajar. Then he flattened himself against the paneled wall as Demykalon looked up, then snapped, “Undercaptain! I said—”

  Several moments passed before the undercaptain appeared in the partly open doorway.

  “I’m sorry, sir. It must not have been latched.”

  “Make sure it is this time.”

  “Yes, sir.” The junior officer took a quick look around the study as he closed the door.

  The marshal shook his head, looked to the window, and then back at the map spread on the desk in front of him.

  Alastar waited until Demykalon was absorbed in the map before slowly making his way to a point less than two yards from the desk, where he saw that the map was one of L’Excelsis and the surrounding area.

  The marshal looked up and frowned, his head going from side to side.

  When Demykalon glanced toward the window, Alastar dropped the concealment. “Good morning, Marshal.”

  After the slightest of starts, Demykalon said, “No one announced you.” His words were matter-of-fact. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve heard that imagers can conceal themselves.”

  “At the concealment, probably not. Nor should you be surprised at my being here. Not after you cannon-bombarded Imagisle last evening.”

  “Bombarded? They were only supposed to fire warning shots. Obviously Commander Chesyrk exceeded his orders.” Demykalon shrugged. “That does happen when a man feels strongly that his brother has been wronged.”

  Chesyrk? A commander? Did Demykalon promote him to put him in charge of the attack on Imagisle? “That isn’t what Ryen said. He said he ordered you to bombard Imagisle, then to be ready to bombard High Holder Guerdyn’s own chateau.”

  “Bombard … fire upon … there is a difference. Chesyrk chose to interpret his orders with excessive enthusiasm.”

  “By the way, where is Chesyrk?”

  Demykalon shrugged. “I thought you might know. He was with the northern cannon emplacement. But then, not everyone has returned … or will.” The marshal smiled. “The damages you caused will have to come from the golds you or your successor receives for the Collegium. That doesn’t include charges of murder, of course.”

  “Murder? Come now, your troopers opened fire on a civilian installation. Acting to stop an unprovoked attack is self-defense.”

  “Rather excessive self-defense.”

  “A number of troopers survived that clash,” Alastar said evenly. “Possibly even the subcommander … commander.” Alastar had his doubts about that, but he wanted to hear Demykalon’s response. “Did you promote him to get him to handle that mission?”

  “He was due for promotion.” The marshal stood and moved to one side of the desk. “He’s been due for a long time.” The last words held a sardonic twist.

  “Most convenient,” observed Alastar, easing back slightly. “You assigned him so that you can claim that my treatment of his brother led him to exceed his orders.”

  “I was apparently right in that,” replied the marshal. “I was also right in believing that the Collegium is a danger to the rex and all Solidar. Not even cannon apparently stopped you.”

  “Oh … you destroyed all too much of the Collegium,” admitted Alastar. “I just wanted to make sure that it was your responsibility and doing. Why did you do it? Was it to weaken the Collegium? Or to show that Ryen was truly mad … and perhaps to pave the way for a more … reasonable lineage as rex?”

  Demykalon smiled. “Wouldn’t a more reasonable lineage be a greater blessing to Solidar than a mad rex? That’s beside the point at the moment.”

  “Is it?” asked Alastar.

  “However the order was interpreted by Commander Chesyrk, it was not my order, but that of the rex.” Demykalon’s hand dropped toward the hilt of his sabre.

  Alastar didn’t bother with more words. He clamped shields around Demykalon.

  When the marshal was dead, Alastar released the shields, and eased the body to the floor. After that, he pulled the marshal’s sabre from its scabbard and set it on the desk. He concentrated once more. The sabre vanished from the desk and reappeared thrust through Demykalon’s chest … and more than a hand’s span depth into the carpet and solid wood floor beneath.

  Alastar did feel a flash of dizziness, but it passed almost immediately. Still … That suggested that he needed to be careful until his body had a chance to recover. He walked to the door of the study, raised a concealment, then quietly unlatched the door, slowly easing it open just a crack and peering through the crack at the undercaptain. The junior officer did not turn as Alastar opened the study door wider and slipped out, then closed and latched the door as quietly as he could. Even so, the latch clicked slightly.

  The undercaptain turned immediately, half-rising, then settled back into his chair as he saw that the study door was closed. He paused, then again stood. Alastar moved farther from the door, keeping his back to the wall, as the junior officer walked over to the door and studied it, then turned and made his way back to his desk, where he reseated himself.

  Alastar continued to move quietly and slowly away from the study, then back out of the old chateau. When he reached the steps outside and started down, he noticed that a ranker and an officer stood next to his gray gelding. He concentrated on making out their words as he made his way toward them, still holding his concealment.

  “Whose mount is it?” demanded the rotund older captain.

  “I don’t know, sir. It’s not—”

  “Then take it to the stables, and let me know when you find out whose it is.”

  “Sir, begging your pardon…”

  “Just do it, trooper! In the mood the marshal’s in, you don’t want to be explaining why some courier didn’t stable his mount.”

  “Yes, sir. As you ordered, sir.”

  The captain stalked away. Once he had walked past the corner of the small building some ten yards away, Alastar moved closer to the clearly distraught trooper, expanding the concealment.

  “You haven’t happened to see another man in gray, have you?”

  “No, sir.” The junior squad leader was clearly flustered at the sudden appearance of the Maitre.

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t mention this to the captain, except to say that the courier claimed his mount right after he left. I was delivering an urgent message to the marshal.” Alastar untied the gray gelding, mounted, and then rode away, glancing back at the bewildered ranker, who was looking from side to side, before continuing on his way back to the small gap he had earlier imaged in the low brick wall. As he’d suspected, it was so small that, so far, no one had even noticed it. At least, there were no troopers around.

  He kept looking back, but he saw no signs of alarm or disturbance, although he had no doubts that, sooner or later
, there would be anger and consternation in army headquarters. Then he reached back and took out one of the water bottles. He definitely needed some of the dark lager it held.

  After riding several hundred yards farther and drinking almost half the lager in the water bottle, Alastar felt much better, and the light-headedness he’d felt began to recede. He couldn’t help but think about why Demykalon had ordered Chesyrk to fire. Was it really to make Ryen seem madder and more unreasonable? Or to weaken the Collegium? Or both?

  He had only ridden another block when he abruptly recalled where he had heard Chesyrk’s name before—when Ryen had mentioned being briefed on the new cannon by Demykalon and Chesyrk. Yet Desyrk had insisted that his brother never accompanied the marshal to brief the rex.

  Alastar was still mulling that over when he reached the old warehouse and rode toward Shaelyt and the two thirds. By then, he felt almost normal. But you’re likely not back to full strength, not after all the shields, concealments, and imaging all at once. After a moment, a second thought came to him. How did Maitre Quaeryt and the other founders manage all that they did?

  “Sir?” asked Shaelyt as Alastar reined up beside him.

  “We have one more call to pay … or possibly two. We’re headed for the Council Chateau. I’ll need a few words with High Holder Guerdyn. Assuming he’s there.” Alastar turned the gelding toward the ring road, then added, “He won’t wish to speak to me. So there’s little point in sending a messenger to request a meeting.”

  Less than a glass passed on the ride from the warehouse around the top of the ring road, then east along the Boulevard D’Ouest, and north on the West River Road until they neared the walls around the Chateau D’Council.

  “What do you need from us?” asked Shaelyt.

  “For now, once we approach the grounds of the Council Chateau, you’re to hold shields until we leave and I tell you to release them. If you cannot hold them after a time, release them, and then resume when you can.”