Madness in Solidar (61 page)

“That is easy enough for you to say, Maitre, but I am not an imager.”

“No, you are not. But, provided you act sensibly, you have the Collegium behind you, and the Collegium would far rather have you ruling Solidar than either the army or the High Council.”

“I find it interesting that you profess no interest in ruling.”

“I also profess no interest in seeing all but a handful of imagers killed or fleeing and forced into hiding, and that, as I have told you, is what would come of any imager attempting to rule. Worse would occur, if somewhat later, should an imager actually come to rule.”

“You believe that?”

“It is what has happened in every land on Terahnar except Solidar.”

Lorien shook his head. “Enough! I must consider. We will discuss this further tomorrow.”

Alastar could tell that, for whatever reason, Lorien was not about to issue the tariff proclamation immediately, and that he felt Alastar could not force the issue.
And you can't, because if another rex dies in his study with you present, that will have the same effect as would the Collegium attacking directly.
He simply nodded. “Until tomorrow.”

“Good.” Lorien did not look at Alastar, but turned toward the window. “Until then.”

Alastar did not say more, but slipped out of the study.
Who's gotten to him … and with what?
Alastar's immediate reaction was that Petayn had offered a veiled threat … or perhaps one not even veiled.
That's what you've been trying to avoid.
Unfortunately, there were other possibilities as well, less likely but still possible.

Alastar had just reached the bottom of the grand staircase when Lady Asarya appeared. “We meet again.”

“You have certainly managed to meet me once more.” Alastar made his voice light.

“You had a rather pensive expression. Worry doesn't become you, Maitre.” Lady Asarya smiled, a pleasant expression that offered warmth and made Alastar again realize that she was still a quite attractive woman. She wore garments tailored in what Alastar perceived as her usual style—tunic, trousers, and boots—but the tunic and trousers were green trimmed in black—mourning colors. The boots were black. “Have you a moment?”

“For you … of course.”

“Then we should go to the salon—mine. This way…”

Alastar could think of several reasons for that, but merely nodded as he moved to walk beside her toward the south corridor. After a moment, he added, “I'm sorry for your loss.”

Asarya smiled politely. “The black and green are for propriety, not loss. There's little point in hypocrisy, is there? Ryen and I hadn't been remotely close for more than twenty years. Appearances are necessary. That is all. What's important is that my son has a better future, thanks to certain imagers from the Collegium, and that the High Holders are brought into line.”

“And your sons? How do they feel?”

“They have lost their father. How would you expect them to feel?”

“I have no expectations, Lady. Some sons are grief-struck at the loss of a parent. Some are relieved. Some are greatly saddened and carry on. I would not presume to guess. Just as I would not presume to guess at the reasons why you have managed to encounter me more than is likely to have happened by mere happenstance.”

“Never disregard happenstance, Maitre. Nor chance. Nor what appears to be chance and is not. You are right. Not all of our meetings have been happenstance. I did want to meet with the Maitre who has done so much to keep outright rebellion from happening.”

Alastar didn't believe a word. “You could have managed that earlier.”

“No. That would not have been possible. Ryen would have been furious. It was bad enough that my cousin is an imager.”

Alastar managed a frown. “I've been over the records of all the imagers here at Imagisle…”

“You obviously did not look far enough.” She smiled. “Smarthyl.”

“Smarthyl? The senior imager at Mont D'Image? He's a cousin of yours? I've looked at his record too, but there's no mention of that.”

“He is a friend of the archivist…”

“Of Maitre Obsolym?”

“I believe that's his name. I've never paid that much attention to the Collegium since Smarthyl left. It didn't seem…”

“Relevant?”

“I believe you said that, Maitre, not me.”

“Only after your hinting.”

“That's a woman's prerogative, I believe.”

“Among others.”

“What is new that I should know?”

“Lorien appears to be stalling over the wording of his tariff proclamation.” Alastar delivered the words evenly.

“He can be deliberate when there is no choice, or when nothing is at stake.”

“That's not the kindest thing to say about your son.”

“I lost my illusions long ago, Maitre. Even about my sons. Lorien cultivates the impression of deliberation because he is … less than decisive. Ryentar, on the other hand, will stick to a course once he starts upon it, even when it is proved to him that such a course is absolute folly … or worse. Lorien appears cold, but is too tender for his own good. Ryentar projects warmth, so much so that everyone likes him, yet deep within him is a cold emptiness and, if he feels wronged, an unquenchable anger.” Asarya shrugged.

Asarya's words called up what Obsolym had said about Ryentar—that he was more like his father. Yet …

Asarya stopped short of the open doorway ahead. “I'd prefer we not talk about either for a time.”

“As you wish.”

She gestured for him to enter.

Alastar smiled and said, “I could not precede you, Lady.”

Echoing his own words, she replied, “As you wish,” and entered the salon, where a young blond woman, also wearing the green and black of mourning, immediately rose from one of the cushioned armchairs.

“Have you met Lady Chelia, Maitre?”

“I've not had that honor, or that privilege.” Alastar inclined his head to the statuesque beauty—not only tall and well-proportioned, if fully figured, but slightly square-chinned with a slight dimple, a straight nose, a fair but not pale complexion, blond hair, and brilliant blue eyes. In an instant, Alastar
knew
he had seen those eyes, and someone very similar in appearance.
Bettaur!
He managed not to stiffen as the realization struck him.

“It is my pleasure, Maitre.” Chelia's voice was warm, yet reserved. She glanced to Asarya. “You didn't warn me that such a distinguished personage was coming.”

“I didn't know if he would. I asked, and he was kind enough to indulge me.”

More like wariness, rather than kindness.
“How could I refuse?”

“Rather easily, I think, if you wished,” replied Asarya pleasantly.

“Not easily, with all your charm, certainly not wisely.” Alastar turned toward Chelia, “And I would have lost the opportunity to meet this lovely young lady.”

“You sound like Ryentar,” offered Chelia.

“I doubt it. He offers warmth all the time. I only have words.”

“Both can deceive,” observed Chelia. “Words are more honest in their deception, because lies can be discovered through truth.”

“And false warmth cannot?” asked Alastar not quite playfully.

“Usually the damage is greater before discovery occurs,” returned Chelia.

Without saying a negative word, Chelia had suggested that she did not have the highest opinion of Ryentar … or so it seemed.
But why would she even hint at that in front of Asarya?

“I feel that words offer a wider range for deception and devastation,” said Asarya. “That is one of a number of areas where Chelia and I do not see matters in exactly the same light.”

Another charade?
Yet when Alastar looked at Chelia and caught what he thought was a quickly concealed expression of surprise, he had the feeling that the younger woman had been caught unaware as well. “I would have to agree with you, Lady Asarya, at least in part, in that the use of words can engender far greater damage and destruction in the world of the physical. But the use or misuse of feelings can blight a life forever, and perhaps continue beyond one generation, while the words that can create the circumstances to kill an individual often end their destruction with that death.”

“Often…” mused Asarya. “You are very careful with your words, Maitre. That suggests you are also quite skilled in their use.”

“Not so skilled as I would like. My words failed to convince many about the need to compromise on the issue of tariffs.” Mentioning the tariff issue was a dangerous gambit, but Alastar wanted to see Asarya's reaction.

“What happened subsequently suggests that it is wise to heed your words, Maitre.”

“Not because they were my words, Lady, but because there was truth in what I spoke.”

“Truth, Maitre … or power?”

Alastar laughed softly. “You give one pause, Lady.”

“I notice you did not answer.”

“Because you offered a choice between alternatives, neither of which applied fully or completely accurately.” Alastar could see and feel Chelia's eyes following the conversation, shifting from him to Asarya and back again, although she maintained an expression of vague amusement, much as one might in observing a fight between two beasts, with neither of which she was even faintly enamored. “The truth one finds in words lies more in one's own convictions than in the accuracy of what those words convey.”

“You mean to say,” said Chelia sweetly, “that we wish to hear the words that support our beliefs? How original.”

“No, it's rather a threadbare observation, for all its accuracy. I tried, and obviously failed, to convey the idea more elegantly.” Alastar offered a self-deprecating laugh. “Elegance, I should remember, is often complicit in deception.”

“You see,” observed Asarya, “the maitre is indeed most skilled with words … among other things.”

“As are you, Lady.”

Asarya smiled. “I do not believe that Lady Chelia and I should detain you longer, Maitre, Your exposition was, however, truly fascinating.”

“Only because of your inspiration, Lady.” Alastar smiled and inclined his head. “Good day, Ladies.”

“A pleasant evening to you, Maitre.”

Alastar continued to smile before turning and leaving the salon. He had hoped Asarya would let him have the last word. The fact that she had worried him even more than the fact that she had clearly used him as a counter of some sort in dealing with Chelia … and he had no idea why or what Asarya had in mind … only that he doubted it was anywhere close to being for his benefit or that of the Collegium.

When he started down the outside steps, he saw Maercyl and Dhonaet immediately mount and then ride forward, leading the gray gelding to meet him.

“We need to get moving,” Alastar said, after mounting and looking to the northwest and the wall of clouds that looked to be roughly over the grounds of the army headquarters.

“Yes, sir,” replied Maercyl.

Even in the short time it took the three to reach the Boulevard D'Ouest, scattered droplets began to fall. When they reached the West River Road and headed south, the droplets were a steady downpour, and when Alastar finally started across the Bridge of Desires, it was like riding through a wall of water. Needless to say, just as he dismounted outside the stables, after a last blast of water and wind, the rain ended.

Alastar, thoroughly soaked, let the stable boys groom the gelding and began to walk toward the Maitre's dwelling, his thoughts on the webs within webs that seemed to permeate everything in L'Excelsis.

 

35

The first thing Alastar did after breakfast on Jeudi morning was to summon Akoryt. While he waited, he kept trying to puzzle out his meeting with Asarya and Chelia. Clearly, Asarya had managed to use the conversation, if one could call it that, to position Alastar as a powerful man who well might be, or in fact was, a danger to Lorien. Why was another question, since Alastar had a vested interest in Lorien's success. Yet Asarya had seemed relatively evenhanded in discussing her sons' faults, but had that merely been to set up matters so that she could then portray Alastar as dangerous to Lorien? That seemed most likely, but that still left the question of why? So Lorien and Chelia would try some indirect way of removing Alastar? Then there was something about Lady Chelia … but it wasn't only her resemblance to Bettaur, which suggested, along with other hints, that their fathers might well be the same man—which definitely fit with what Alastar had discovered. There was something else beyond that tickling Alastar's mind … he just couldn't place it.

He still couldn't place it when Akoryt entered the study. Alastar pushed that puzzle aside and said, “If you'd close the door.”

“Yes, sir.” Akoryt did just that, then asked, “Have I—”

“Nothing like that. I didn't mean to be peremptory in sending a message for you to come here. For most matters, I would have sought you out. For this … I did not wish us to be overheard. I'm going to need you to have some more scouting done. I have more concerns about the army. Rex Lorien initially agreed to reduce the size of the army and to issue the new tariff schedule. Now, several days later, he's put off doing either, despite the fact that the High Holders have agreed to the proposed tariff schedule. Both Marshal Petayn and Sea Marshal Wilkorn oppose reductions in force, and another meeting has been scheduled for next Lundi to discuss the matter further.”

Akoryt frowned.

“After our last … encounter with the army, you can see why I might be somewhat concerned.”

“Sir … we did inflict considerable damage…”

“That was because we used their own powder against them. Even so, we lost two imagers out of something like fifteen. What if they attacked Imagisle with hundreds, if not thousands, of troopers? How many would we then lose?”