Madness in Solidar (31 page)

“If there's no entry to the contrary, it's usually only for reasons of law. That's especially true in the case of the eldest son,” replied Obsolym. “Gherard was the eldest son.”

“Thank you.”

“It would have been even uglier,” said Obsolym, “if he'd tried that in his quarters. I've always said that the lead was a bad idea.”

Why is he bringing that up?
Alastar caught himself and replied quietly, but firmly, “The lead lining of their rooms remains a good idea. It is there to protect them from each other. It won't protect them from themselves. Gherard's problem wasn't lead; it was that he didn't listen, and he paid the price for not listening. All of you need to use this as an illustration of why it is important for student imagers to follow your instructions and those of other maitres in regard to imaging.” He paused, then added, “One thing we have to remember is that almost all young people believe that somehow they are different from us and from their parents, and that the cautions and restrictions we apply are stupid and willful, and that they really know better.”

“You're not giving them much credit, Maitre,” said Desyrk.

“And after what happened right before you, Desyrk, you're giving them far too much.” After just a moment, Alastar added, “That is all for this morning. There will be a work party doing some sewer repairs, and I will be paying a call on Factor Wylum.”

From the conference room, Alastar returned to his study, from where he retrieved his imager gray riding jacket and gloves, and then made his way to the stables. All those maitres picked for the sewer repairs were already there, as was Belsior, since Alastar wanted one escort for his visit to Wylum. All the imagers began to mount up as he walked toward the gray gelding.

Once Alastar was in the saddle, Cyran immediately eased his mount toward Alastar. “If you wouldn't mind…”

“Not at all. I already thought that we could use the time to go over a few things.” Once the group had crossed the east bridge and headed north on the East River Road, Alastar turned in the saddle. “You had a few concerns about the meeting?”

“You didn't have to tell everyone what happened in the meeting you had with Gherard,” said Cyran quietly.

“Yes, I did. This is the second time in a week we've had a problem because student imagers have had an exalted opinion of themselves and their position and abilities—and a lack of understanding of the dangers of imaging. If I'd not mentioned it, what happened with Bettaur and Taurek would just be regarded as an unfortunate incident, not a Collegium-wide problem.”

“Neither Desyrk nor Obsolym see it the way you do.”

“Do you?”

“I think it's a problem. I'm not sure it's as widespread as you fear.”

“It doesn't have to be widespread to be a serious problem,” Alastar replied. “Not when we're talking about what an imager, even a student imager, can do to others … or himself.”

“There's another problem. That's Desyrk. He was almost sneering the entire time you were speaking.”

“I can't exclude him from meetings of senior imagers without removing him from duty or reducing him to a Maitre D'Aspect.”

“And those require a meeting of all senior maitres,” finished Cyran.

“Precisely.”

“That comment about your paying a call on Factor Wylum means you're going to leave Alyna in charge of repairs and me in charge of security, doesn't it?”

“It does. I also don't want to be away from the Collegium for too long, not with the problems over the tariffs.”
And a few other matters.
“I need a few words with Alyna, if you wouldn't mind.”

“I thought you might.” Cyran grinned, then eased his mount to the side of the road and motioned for Alyna to ride up beside Alastar.

“Yes, Maitre?” asked Alyna once she joined Alastar.

“Once I point out where the sewers need repair, I'll be leaving you in charge of directing those repairs, as well as doing your share of that imaging. Cyran will watch for any possible difficulty. I'd like you to push everyone to do a bit more, so that they're all tired by the time you finish.”
That also might press them toward increasing their strength as imagers.

“I can only suggest for Taryn.”

“Suggest cheerfully,” replied Alastar dryly. “On another matter … do you know if your brother will withhold his tariffs if the High Council declares that all High Holders should do so?”

“I've heard nothing from him. He would be loath to go against the High Council unless he had a good reason.”

Alastar nodded. “I'd appreciate it if you would continue to practice shielding whenever you can, and to carry shields against both imaging and weapons, especially when you are away from the Collegium.”

“I've been doing that for the past week.”

“Can you tell any difference?”

“I'm already stronger. It does make a difference.”

“Can you suggest that to Tiranya?”

“I already have. She thinks I'm being too cautious, but she's doing it. Mostly, anyway.”

“Thank you.'

“You're very worried, aren't you?” Alyna's voice was low.

“More than I'll say openly,” he admitted.

“I won't say a word.”

“I didn't think you would.” He paused. “Did you ride a great deal as a child?”

“All the time. It was the only way I could keep up with my brothers.”

“What about your sister?”

“She rides well enough, but she never enjoyed it the way I did.”

“I envy you,” Alastar said with a soft laugh. “The first long rides I took were on the way from Westisle to L'Excelsis. I was sore for days.”

“You ride well now.”

“I look like I know what I'm doing in the saddle now. You ride well.”

“Thank you.”

Alastar thought he detected a slight hint of a blush, but he wasn't certain. “I'm just observing what I see. Were you also tutored in the womanly arts?”

“Singing and playing the clavecin?” Alyna laughed. “I cannot carry a tune, and my skills at playing are similar to the way you describe your riding. I worked hard enough that I would not disgrace myself if I had to play…”

Three quints after leaving Imagisle, Alastar was almost sorry when he reined up a half block short of Hagahl Lane on Nordroad. “This is one of the places where we need to make repairs. This will be the only repair for the day…”

“Not nearly so bad as the last,” murmured Cyran, almost under his breath.

“… and you can see where the sewage backs up from that drain and flows along the gutter to the next drain. Maitre Alyna will be in charge of who does what, while Cyran will make certain that those actually working on the repairs are undisturbed.” Alastar nodded to Alyna and then to Cyran. “I will see you all later back at the Collegium.” He gestured to Belsior.

The two of them rode south on Nordroad, past the center of L'Excelsis, where it became Sudroad, and then to Fedre, following it east to East River Road, where they turned south and continued for slightly more than three blocks, until they reached Wylum's factorage. The brass letters set against the black background of the sign over the entry read
WOOLENS AND CLOTH.

Alastar dismounted and handed the gelding's reins to Belsior. “This might not be brief, but I doubt it will take that long.” He walked to the black-painted door, and opened it, stepping into an open space filled with large racks holding bolts of what appeared to be various types of woolens. An empty cart stood before one of the racks.

A thin young man, vaguely resembling Gherard, turned and saw Alastar. He froze in place for a moment, then stuttered, “Just a moment, sir.” With that, he turned and hurried toward the back of the factorage.

Alastar could hear words being exchanged, but could not make out exactly what was said.

Several moments later, a tall square-faced man with thinning brown hair and broad shoulders, but with a solid midriff as well, walked from between a set of racks and stopped some two yards from Alastar. “I know why you are here, Maitre. You don't have to explain. My son is dead. He died because the Collegium failed him. Why didn't you inform me last night?”

“By the time I was informed it was late, and, frankly, since the Collegium does not keep records of the domiciles of factors, I came first thing this morning.”

“Oh? Then how did I learn?”

“How did you learn?”

“I was informed by someone at the Collegium who obviously knows more than you. That, too, I find disturbing. Not nearly so disturbing as losing my son to the carelessness of the Collegium. I was under the impression that sending my son to the Collegium was in his best interest and that he would be safe there. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

“No, you were not mistaken,” Alastar replied quietly. “Before there was a Collegium, less than one in ten imagers lived to adulthood. Imaging is incredibly dangerous, and it is easy to make fatal mistakes. Your son attempted a kind of imaging he had been told repeatedly not to do until he was more skilled. We cannot watch every student every moment of every day. Even a student who was with Gherard told him not to do what he was trying. Because your son was bigger and stronger and a better imager than his peer, the other student could not stop him. So the student ran for the duty maitre. The maitre hurried, but arrived too late. Your son died for the reason many young people die—because he did not listen to those older and more experienced. This is worse for imagers, because there are more ways for the young to do stupid things that are fatal, especially if they ignore warnings and instructions.”

“Excuses are all very well, but he was in your care, and he is dead.”

If you hadn't instilled all that pride and arrogance in him, he would still be alive.
“He is dead. I cannot change that. He has been at the Collegium two years. I also cannot change what he learned or did not learn before that.”

“I cannot believe you're blaming him.”

“He was told repeatedly not to try what he tried. He was told what would most likely happen if he did—”

“Mostly likely? Then if it does not happen to all young imagers, why did it happen to him?”

“Some few young imagers who image foolishly only injure themselves. Most who ignore the rules do end up killing themselves. I personally told him that he was not ready to accomplish greater imaging only a few days before he did just that.”

“Why would he have done that? Why?”

“He told another student imager he was going to show the maitres how wrong they were. That was when that student ran for help.”

“Who saw all this? I have only your word.”

“The student who was with Gherard saw it. He was in tears because he could not stop Gherard. The duty maitre saw the results.”

“Just what was this … imaging he tried?”

“He tried to image an intricate figure out of gold, silver, brass, and black onyx. Even imaging a single gold is dangerous for most maitres. Not a single junior maitre would have attempted what Gherard did. There is a very good reason why the Collegium needs golds from the rex.”

For a moment, Wylum looked puzzled. Then he shook his head. “Excuses … excuses.”

“Factorius Wylum, the Collegium needs every imager it can train. There is no way I would
ever
countenance anything that increased the threats to a young imager. Learning how to image properly is dangerous enough. Every Maitre of the Collegium has felt this way. The Collegium has been able to reduce the threats so that most young imagers do in fact survive and prosper. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that your son was not one of them. But do not ever discount the dangers facing an imager as a mere excuse.” As he spoke, Alastar tried to image the impression of both sadness and absolutely certainty.

The taller factor almost seemed to wilt in front of Alastar, but then straightened. “That is all well and good, but you have not lost a son.”

“No, I have not. I lost both my wife and my son. She died because she was with child and did more imaging than she should have, and that imaging inadvertently killed them both.”

Wylum looked to speak, then shook his head. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “You can understand my grief.”

“I understand your grief. Perhaps you can also understand why I would never have allowed your son to endanger himself and why not only I, but his maitres, tried every way of cautioning him against trying to do too much.”

“He … was strong-willed…”

Alastar nodded again.
Will alone is not enough, not for an imager.
Perhaps not for anyone.

In time, Wylum looked at Alastar. “Despite what I said, you were kind to come. I thank you for that.”

“I wish most deeply I had not met you this way, Factorius Wylum.”

“That makes us a pair, Maitre. I will send a wagon immediately.”

Alastar was glad not to have to ask whether the family wanted to handle the memorial services or leave it to the Collegium.

“He will be ready.”

Wylum nodded.

“I would not impose more.” Alastar inclined his head, then seeing Wylum's nod in return, turned and left the factorage.

By the time he reached the Collegium, it was two quints before noon. After arranging for the transport of Gherard's body, by a quint past the glass, he was immersed in a pile of maps, looking to see what they might indicate about the area around Imagisle. After another half glass, carrying several rolled maps, he left the administration building and walked to the stables, where he commandeered Tertius Neiryn as an escort, saddled his gelding, and then mounted.

First, he and Neiryn rode to the north end of Imagisle. There Alastar dismounted and tied the gelding to the hitching rail at the end of the lane. From there he made his way up the stone steps on the east side to the upper walk that ran immediately behind the stone river wall. He studied the back side of the stone ramparts that looked like the prow of a vessel facing into the River Aluse. The grassy ground behind the gray stone walkway was slightly more than a yard lower than the stones of the wall itself, each massive stone close to a yard in thickness, and extended back at the same level for about three yards before sloping down to a point a yard and a half lower. The lower ground was park-like, with old oaks, winding walks, and a pavilion surrounded by a waist-high hedge. There were stone benches along the walks, but not placed in any pattern Alastar could discern. He walked the entire north end of the isle, studying everything, with Neiryn following, and then back to the gelding.