Madness in Solidar

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You did it for your mother, too, I think.”

  Those words stopped Alastar cold. For several moments, he was speechless.

  “She never got what she deserved, either, did she?”

  “No,” he finally admitted.

  Her smile was gentle and warm. “You’re not at all like Fhaen. I don’t think you could be.” The smile faded. “How did you feel after she died?”

  “Numb. I couldn’t believe it. Not then. Later … I understood. Isn’t life often like that, understanding too late?” He gave a soft laugh. “Perhaps that happens more often for young men.” At that, Alastar glanced around the now almost dark salon, then imaged flame into the wick of the nearest lamp. He stood and walked to the wall sconce, where he adjusted the flame, then turned back to face Alyna. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I’m glad you did. I don’t believe in secrets, not if I want to trust someone.” After a pause, she said, “You haven’t told many people, have you?”

  “Not since it happened. You’re the only one, really.”

  “Thank you.”

  For what? For telling you about thoughtless love, stupidity, and blindness?

  Almost as if he had uttered his thoughts, Alyna stood and moved toward Alastar, stopping a yard away before she went on. “In a High Hold, nothing is quite what it seems. Words have two meanings. At times, they can have more. For a girl, or a woman, it is dangerous to reveal who you are. It is more dangerous to share confidences or dreams.”

  “That can be true anywhere.”

  “It can. I’m glad you trust me.” She took his hand and squeezed it. Then she let go, not abruptly, but almost as if she did not wish to.

  “You trusted me first,” he pointed out, “for which I’m glad.”

  “So am I.” She smiled, this time, almost sadly. “We need to talk like this more often … if you’re willing.”

  Alastar understood all too well. “I would like that.”

  “So would I.” After another pause, she said, “I think I’d better go now.”

  Without saying more, Alastar walked to the front door with her, then out onto the porch. They stopped at the top of the steps.

  “In the morning,” he said.

  “I’ll be here.” She smiled, an expression both warm and worried, Alastar thought, before turning and heading down the steps and south toward her cottage.

  He stood on the porch and watched as she disappeared into the deepening twilight.

  27

  On Vendrei morning, even before sunrise, a chattering against the windows roused Alastar. He was half glad to be roused, given that the rattling dragged him from a dream in which he was riding through a darkness so deep that he could see nothing, searching for something absolutely essential—and he had no idea what that might be. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood and walked to the window, where he saw small white pellets bouncing off the glass. Large sleet … or small hail. That was all the Collegium needed—bad weather even before they could begin to organize the rebuilding.

  By the time he had decided he’d had more than enough exercise in the past few days, didn’t need a run, especially over sleet or icy walks, and washed, shaved, and dressed, the hail-like sleet had stopped, leaving a thin blanket of white on the ground and grass, and the stone roads and walks wet, but not icy. He walked down the staircase to the main floor, where already Akoryt stood in the entry hall foyer, although it was barely sixth glass.

  “The first students should be here in a few moments. Some are already nearing the walk. You could eat in the study…”

  “I can eat with the students.” Alastar grinned. “It might keep them quieter than usual.”

  “It might. For some.”

  “It will be fine.”

  Akoryt nodded, if dubiously.

  Alastar smiled in return and made his way to the dining room, where he sat down at the head of the table and was immediately served by a second whose face he recognized, but whose name he could not recall. On his platter were cheesed scrambled eggs and ham strips, plus a small loaf of bread. A large mug of tea followed.

  As he began to eat, two seconds entered the dining room. Recognizing one of the seconds as he took a place near the end of the table, Alastar asked, “How is your arm, Dylert?”

  Dylert looked up, clearly surprised, then replied, “It’s much better, sir. There’s only a light dressing. That’s just because the new skin is tender, Maitre Gaellen says.”

  Alastar smiled. “And you haven’t been doing any more imaging in the bushes?”

  “No, sir.”

  The student imagers who next seated themselves at the table were Arion and Taurek. Alastar definitely hadn’t expected to see the two together.

  Nor had either expected to see Alastar, because both were silent for an instant before Arion said, “Good morning, Maitre. Thank you for hosting us.”

  “Yes, sir,” added Taurek.

  “You’re both welcome.”

  Alastar continued eating, but tried to listen to the low conversation between Arion and Taurek, even though he could only catch fragments.

  “… manners … good as golds … better sometimes…”

  “… don’t deserve the respect…”

  “… not just … respect … makes life more pleasant…”

  Alastar almost nodded, but caught himself.

  Another secondus—Borlan—hurried in, nodding immediately to Alastar. “Maitre.”

  After Alastar finished eating and downing the last drops of tea from the mug, he slipped from the table and returned to the front hall, hoping that Akoryt was still somewhere near, and saw the younger maitre standing on the porch talking to two girls. One was Linzya, but Alastar did not recognize the other, a slender sandy blonde who looked very composed. There was something about her … but he couldn’t quite place it, and he was still musing when the two entered the hall foyer.

  “Good morning,” he offered, “the dining room is to your left.”

  “Good morning, Maitre,” replied the blonde, politely and clearly, inclining her head respectfully. “Thank you. We appreciate your sharing your house with us.”

  “We really do, sir,” added Linzya.

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  Once the two passed him, Alastar went out to the porch.

  “Sir?” asked Akoryt.

  “I didn’t recall the blond student…”

  “That was Thelia.”

  At that moment, Alastar realized why the student he’d somehow never met seemed familiar, and the similarity of names chilled him. Thank the Nameless she’s not any more like her … “The very competent daughter of Factoria Kathila?”

  Akoryt nodded.

  “I also noticed that Taurek came with Arion. Your doing?”

  “I did ask Arion—he’s a good and thoughtful sort—if he’d mind taking Taurek under his wing, so to speak, in terms of teaching him how to recognize what people aren’t saying. It seems to be working, but we’ll see.”

  What Alastar saw was that Akoryt was far better at dealing with students than Desyrk could ever have hoped to be. “From what little I’ve seen, it’s already helping.” And it will certainly keep Taurek out of trouble for now, especially if Bettaur sees Taurek with Arion.

  “We can all meet in the study. That way we won’t force out the last students to eat.”

  Akoryt nodded.

  “I’ll see you then.” Alastar reentered the house and walked to the study. There he settled behind the desk, thinking. He still worried about Petayn and the army, and he didn’t like the idea of Desyrk running loose, especially when his brother Chesyrk had commanded the cannon firing on Imagisle. Desyrk clearly possessed an outsized sense of self-worth and an equally outproportioned feeling of being unjustly wronged. All that meant trouble. Then there’s Lorien, his wife … and his mother, and who knows what she’ll tell him. Alastar wondered if Lorien was even that close to her, but he couldn’t count on the two of them not being close.r />
  He was still pondering when Dareyn knocked on the study door. “Sir … the other maitres are all here. I’ve taken the liberty of borrowing a chair from the dining room.”

  Alastar stood as Alyna, Cyran, Akoryt, and Petros entered and as Dareyn slipped in behind them, added the chair he carried to the three before the desk, then left.

  “Are there any more problems?” asked Alastar once everyone was seated. “Besides the ones we’ve already discussed?”

  “What if Desyrk tries to sneak back here and cause trouble?” asked Petros. “How would we even know he was here?”

  “We could image a fine layer of dust across part of the Bridge of Desires and have seconds and thirds just watch,” said Alyna. “He’ll leave footprints or stir up the dust.”

  “That will work … if we don’t have a wind,” said Cyran.

  “Farther beyond the dust, image a fine layer of heavy dark sand. A light wind or a brisk breeze won’t move that,” added Akoryt.

  “A goose might help,” suggested Petros, “or a hound that can smell.”

  Alastar laughed. “See what you can work out. But don’t spend too much time on it. Desyrk may not even try to reach the Collegium. He might feel more comfortable attacking those of us who leave Imagisle.”

  “That’s more likely,” said Akoryt.

  “Do any of you know anything about either Lady Asarya or Lady Chelia?” Alastar found himself looking at Alyna, suspecting she might know something.

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve heard it said that Lady Asarya is a forceful personality and that she and Ryen did not share quarters after Lord Ryentar was born. Other than that…”

  “Lady Chelia?”

  “She is the youngest daughter of High Holder Ryel, the elder. She’s apparently unlike the rest of her family in that she is both retiring … and openly less forceful.”

  “Wasn’t Ryel head of the High Council?” Alastar recalled that Vaun had mentioned something about that.

  “Her father was indeed. He was the father of the present High Holder. Chelia is the youngest sister of Ryel the younger. There was a bit of a scandal about that because Ryel the elder wanted Lorien to marry Khanara, the older daughter. Lorien wisely insisted on Chelia. There was supposedly some talk about Chelia marrying Ryentar, but Lady Asarya was said to oppose that strongly.”

  Alastar nodded. He wanted to follow up on that later with Alyna, but he merely said, “Thank you. Is there anything else we all should know?” He thought he saw a twinkle in Alyna’s eyes at his wording.

  She merely said, “Lady Chelia is quiet and faultlessly polite when she’s in public … and likely so in private, but that I would not know.’

  “Can anyone else add anything?”

  The other three maitres shook their heads.

  “Petros … where can we store foodstuffs and supplies, once we purchase more?”

  “The small supply shed by the stables has some space, and we could use one of the tack rooms…”

  For the next glass, Alastar and the others went over the accommodations necessary at the Collegium as a result of the destruction of the dining hall and the administration building.

  When they finished, Alyna let the other three maitres precede her out of the study, then paused by the door and said in a low voice, “Chelia is sweet … or she was when we were young. She’s very sharp in a quiet way, and I’ve heard that she and Lady Asarya are on polite but not warm terms.”

  “Lorien listens to her?”

  “I don’t know. He should, but he needs to be careful. Lady Asarya has always wanted her way. She even went hunting alone, even before she took separate quarters in the Chateau D’Rex. That is, with just her personal guards at the hunting park that was hers.”

  “Hers?”

  “Her father—High Holder Delcoeur—insisted on it, although the lodge and grounds were part of her dowry. Ryen agreed.”

  “You mentioned that Lady Asarya opposed Chelia marrying Ryentar, but not Lorien. That seems odd. If Chelia wasn’t suited to the younger son…”

  “That was just a rumor. I don’t know more than that. It happened well after I became a maitre, and I actually…” Alyna offered a rueful face. “I overheard Smarthyl and Fhaen talking. They were arguing in whispers. I didn’t dare stay long.”

  “Why didn’t Ryen … do something?”

  “Asarya was a cousin to Smarthyl. He was almost senior imager.”

  Smarthyl? Where had he seen that name? Alastar knew he should know, but he’d really been at Imagisle for such a short time that he didn’t remember all the names instantly. To make matters worse, the more he learned, the more interrelated everything seemed to become. Except it always was. You just didn’t know it. “Fhaen didn’t like Smarthyl?”

  “No. That was another reason why he named Cyran senior imager.”

  Alastar had wondered about Cyran’s comparatively young age, but he’d assumed that Cyran had been named because he was the only Maitre D’Esprit. But maybe he was … “Smarthyl was only a Maitre D’Structure?”

  Alyna nodded. “That was how…”

  “And why he had to request that either Zhelan or I become Maitre here when he realized he was dying?”

  “He had no choice. No one would have listened to Cyran because of his age.”

  “And Fhaen even worried about me.”

  “You were already a Maitre D’Image. That was something that Ryen couldn’t argue with,” Alyna said.

  “Much as he would have liked.”

  “How did Maitre Zhelan feel about being Maitre in Westisle when it became clear you were a Maitre D’Image and he was only a Maitre D’Esprit?”

  “I deferred to his experience, and he deferred to my ability.” Alastar kept his tone dry. “What else could we do?”

  After Alyna left, Dareyn appeared at the study door. “There’s a message here for you. A courier in brown delivered it. Said there was no need for a response.” He extended the envelope.

  Alastar took it. He did not recognize the seal, or the yellow and brown sealing wax. After a moment he took his belt knife and slit the envelope, leaving the seal untouched, and extracted the single sheet within. He began to read.

  Maitre Alastar—

  I have just received word of the unsetting events in L’Excelsis. If what news I have received is correct, Rex Ryen died of a seizure. So did High Holder Guerdyn, while you dispatched Marshal Demykalon. Of most concern to me is the report that Demykalon turned cannon on Imagisle and killed and wounded a number of people, including students. Considering the efforts you have made to work out a compromise on the tariff issue, it is clear that the late rex, and his errant marshal, exceeded the bounds of law and the strictures of the Nameless.

  In this regard, I offer my condolences and my support in achieving the sort of compromise you have sought from the beginning.

  With kindest regards,

  The signature was simply “Moeryn.”

  Had the brief letter come from Vaun or the other members of the High Council, Alastar would have regarded its contents as entirely political. While Moeryn doubtless had some political interests, from the beginning he had seemed warmer and more open. Because he listens to his wife? Or because she is worth listening to and he does? Or just because he’s more practical?

  Alastar suspected it was the latter, with small touches of the others.

  “Sir?” prompted Dareyn, still standing just outside the study door.

  “It’s from High Holder Moeryn, offering his condolences and his support for a compromise over the tariff issue.”

  “Little late for that, if you ask me, sir.”

  “He wasn’t the problem. He was somewhat supportive from the beginning.” Alastar refolded the single sheet and slipped it back into the envelope. “Dareyn, I should know this, but it’s slipped my mind. Maitre Smarthyl?”

  The second nodded. “We don’t hear much from him now. He went to Mont D’Image to take over there, after Maitre Cythan died. Said he was gl
ad to go. He came from up there anyway, somewhere northwest of Asseroiles.”

  Alastar could have smacked the side of his own head. He’d seen the name on the seasonal report, but with all the papers and all the new names, he’d been unable to place where he’d seen it. “Thank you. I knew I’d read his name somewhere.”

  “Don’t hear much from him these days, just his reports.”

  “He and Maitre Fhaen were never close, were they?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. They were right polite to each other.”

  “Manners are always useful,” Alastar temporized.

  After a moment of silence, Dareyn spoke again. “Sir … if you have the key to the strong room here … Arhgen and I will be moving things from the old strong room.”

  “I’ll bring it out in a moment.”

  “I’ll be at the table here, sir.”

  Alastar waited until the door was closed, then went to the desk and slid open a small panel underneath, and from the small compartment extracted a single brass key before replacing the panel. Then he brought the key out to his assistant. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you, sir. Secondus Fherrat will be sitting out here while I’m gone.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alastar went back into the study, but did not sit down, instead walked over to the windows, where he looked south toward the ruins of the administrative building. While the sleet had begun to melt, the sky remained a hazy gray. He thought about walking around Imagisle, but nothing had changed since the day before, and a walk would do little. Your time would be better spent drafting recommendations for Lorien … and the rationale behind each. He also knew he needed to meet with Elthyrd before long, but such a meeting wouldn’t be that useful until he had a better feel for Lorien. Then there was the question of how to deal with Petayn and the army.

  “First things first,” he told himself as he walked back to the desk. Even as he seated himself, he wondered what else he was overlooking.

  28

  Alastar reined up at the base of the main entry steps to the Chateau D’Rex half a quint before fourth glass. He dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to Coermyd, accompanied by Akkard. “I have no idea how long this will take. Perhaps a glass, but it could be shorter.”