Madness in Solidar (18 page)

“I'm only here on Mardi and Vendrei afternoons, more than enough for the council.”

“And the remainder of your time is spent at your own factorage well south of Imagisle on the East River Road?”

“I wouldn't say well south. A mille or so. Close enough to the Sud Bridge. That makes getting wagons to and from the barge piers not that hard.”

Barge piers?
Then Alastar recalled that Elthyrd was a timber factor, among other things. “You ship timber to Solis by barge?”

“As necessary and what I don't sell here. And the canvas, too. That's a smaller venture. Most ships port now and again there, and that's the cheapest way to get the canvas there.”

Alastar didn't pretend to know that much about timber, but he did know at least something about rope and canvas. So he asked, “Is there that much difference between hemp grown in the south and near L'Excelsis?”

“Best hemp comes from old Bovaria. That's here. You didn't come here to talk hemp, Maitre.”

“No, I didn't. I came to discuss sewers. The Collegium obviously can't provide golds to the factors' council for sewer repairs. Nor is the rex likely to do so at this time … as you well know. He doesn't even have the golds to build the warships many factors would like to have in order to reduce piracy in the Southern Gulf.”

“That's what he says.”

“It's unfortunately true.”

“We're all squeezed, what with the late rains and poor harvests.”

From that, Alastar got the impression that possibly the late rains had damaged the hemp harvest … or some other endeavor of Elthyrd's. “He's cut the size of the army. He hasn't built any palaces or retreats. No one is complaining about his entertaining at the chateau, except perhaps that he isn't doing enough.” The last was an educated guess on Alastar's part, but he did know that the fall and winter social season usually began in early Feuillyt, and he'd seen no signs of decorations or anything of the like at the Chateau D'Rex, and it was approaching midmonth. He'd also received no invitations, and before his death Fhaen had advised him of the role of the Maitre at such events, noting that the Maitre was often invited, and always to the first and last balls of the season.

“He could still spare some golds.”

That was as much an admission that Alastar was right as he was likely to get.

“Given that, I had thought that, over the weeks ahead, with the agreement of the factors' council, my imagers could undertake a few more sewer repairs—”

“I'd have thought you'd be all tied up with that new avenue His Mightiness wants.”

“That is a larger project and will require some considerable preparation.” That was certainly what Alastar planned, especially after seeing the maps and documents sent by Ryen.
And that will create even more impatience and anger at the Chateau D'Rex.

“I suppose it couldn't hurt,” grudged Elthyrd. “No more repairs on Solayi, though.”

“We wouldn't dream of that.”
Not after the last outburst.

“I'll have to talk to the others.”

“I understand. If you would let me know…”

“We'll see. No promises.”

“I understand. All of you have a great deal to consider.”

“I wondered when you'd get to that. Sneaky way of asking what we're going to do.”

“I wouldn't have asked, if you hadn't brought it up. The High Council believes that the factors will go along with whatever the High Council decides.”

“Who told you that?” Elthyrd's face flushed.

“I've had to meet with all the Council members. The Collegium is not on the best of terms with anyone, and I've been trying to assure them of our concerns and goodwill.”

“I hope you do better with the High Council.” Elthyrd snorted.

“Our intent with fixing the sewer on East River Road was good. So is our present offer.”

Elthyrd frowned. “We need more protection against the southern pirates. You really think the rex will put any new golds toward ships?”

“He says he will.”

“We'd need more than his word on that.”

Unfortunately, Alastar could understand that. “If I hear anything, I will let you know.”

Elthyrd stood abruptly. “I'll let you know about the sewers. It won't be before Lundi.”

“Thank you.” Alastar rose and inclined his head.

“You're welcome, Maitre.”

While the factor was not smiling as Alastar left, at least Elthyrd was not frowning.

You'll just have to bring him around … as you can.

Once Alastar had returned to the administration building, even before entering his study, he said to Dareyn, “Would you have someone see if they can find Maitre Desyrk?”

“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.