Madness in Solidar (45 page)

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.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar could see the unasked question on the faces of both Belsior and Neiryn. “I have some more possibly unpleasant duties to undertake. They may be dangerous, but it's unlikely you'll have to do more than hold your shields and wait.”

The liveried guard at the gate looked up, but before he could speak, Alastar said, “I'm here to see High Holder Guerdyn.”

“He's not expecting—”

“That doesn't matter. Open the gates.”

The guard looked at Alastar and the three other mounted imagers, then offered a resigned expression. “Yes, sir.”

Once the gates were open, as Alastar passed the guard, he said, “Thank you. Just leave the gates open. I'm sure we won't be very long.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard's voice was as resigned as his expression had been.

Within moments of Alastar's arrival at the front portico of the Council Chateau, the same footman who had greeted Alastar on every visit strode forth and announced, “High Holder Guerdyn is not receiving, Maitre.”

“Then he is here?” said Alastar.

“Sir, all I can say is that he is not receiving.”

Alastar dismounted and handed the gelding's reins to Neiryn, then walked up the steps to where the footman stood. “I will see him. You can attempt to stop me and regret it. Or you can stand aside.”

“Sir … I beg you. You can do no worse to me than he will—”

Alastar clamped shields around the footman, watching closely, then released them when the man turned blue and his eyes rolled. He caught the falling figure and lowered him to the stone tiles at the top of the steps, then turned to Shaelyt and the two thirds. “If he wakes before I return, suggest to him that interrupting my meeting would be most unwise.” With that, he raised a concealment, opened the right-hand door, and let himself in. He walked through the domed circular entry hall and through the archway on the right, making his way to the study door, which he opened, then closed after he entered. Only then did he drop the concealment.

“I told you I was not to be disturbed—” Guerdyn bolted from where he had been sitting at his desk and took a step toward Alastar before halting. “What are you doing here?”

“If I wish to see you, Guerdyn, I will. You should know that.”

“That may be, but I do not have to talk to you.” Guerdyn smiled.

“If you wish to test that, you may. I'd advise against it.”

“You are serious, Maitre, I see.”

“I'm very serious. Neither the High Council nor the rex appear willing to compromise on the matter of tariffs. Since neither of you will, I'll place a compromise on the table. Four coppers on a gold.”

“Ryen will never accept that. Neither will the High Council.”

“One way or another, the rex will accept it. One way or another, the High Council will.”

“That sounds like a threat. I do not appreciate threats. Neither does the High Council.”

“It's not a threat. It's a statement of fact, Guerdyn. You, or your successor as head of the High Council, will accept higher tariffs. Four coppers on the gold for the coming year. That will be adjusted, one way or another, next fall.”

“You wouldn't dare.” Guerdyn's smile was close to insolent. “You've already demonstrated that.”

“That was before Marshal Demykalon attacked the Collegium with cannon.” Alastar's smile in return was cold. “I don't threaten, and I don't make dares. Will you convince the High Council to accept four coppers?”

“No. They won't accept it, and I won't demean myself to insist on it. Nothing you can do will change my mind.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.” Alastar clamped shields around Guerdyn, then stood, waiting until the High Holder turned red, and then bluish. Only then did Alastar release the shields.

Guerdyn staggered, barely managing to put both hands on the desk to catch himself. His breath was ragged.

Alastar waited. “Four coppers or your death. And if you accept four coppers and back off, we will find you and kill you. That is not a threat, but a certain promise.”

“You can threaten all you want. You wouldn't dare.”

Alastar imaged stronger shields around Guerdyn. He held them for a long time. When he released them, the High Holder's body slumped over the desk, then slid to the floor. Holding shields, but nor raising a concealment, Alastar left the study, closing the door behind himself and walking to the main hall and then out to the portico.

The footman stood beside the doors, his eyes darting from the mounted imagers to Alastar, even as he shrank back against the wall without speaking.

Alastar nodded to him, without speaking, and walked to the gelding, taking back his mount's reins from Neiryn, and then mounting. Once in the saddle, he said, “We're heading south to the Nord Bridge, and then about a mille and a half north on the East River Road to High Holder Vaun's L'Excelsis chateau.”

At roughly two quints past ninth glass, Alastar spied the brick wall set back some ten yards from the East River Road that surrounded Vaun's lands. As before, he had to wait for a man in workman's brown to reach the iron gates. The man looked as if he would open them, then stopped and asked, “Ah, sir … is the master expecting you?”