Madness in Solidar (66 page)

When the guard captain had mentioned the rope stands, Alastar had imagined slender brass posts with wide circular bases. The supposed stands were more like cylinders a good hand in diameter and slightly taller than waist high. There were four, two against the anomen wall, and two set out slightly more than two yards. The space reserved for Alastar as Maitre was the foremost on the left side, as Lorien had earlier indicated. Beside his space was another space, set off with the same heavy stands, connected by green velvet rope, in which stood Petayn, a commander Alastar had never seen before, and a captain he also did not know.

Across the anomen from them was a larger—and still empty—space enclosed by stands linked by a green and gold rope. Another set of stands, linked by a black rope, ran from the edge of the army's “enclosure” on the side farthest from the sacristy across the nave to the back edge of the regial enclosure. The space behind the black rope was largely filled all the way to the back of the anomen.

For a moment, given Ryen's definite lack of popularity, Alastar wondered why there were so many people there—until he recalled that coins would be scattered and thrown after the service was concluded, and those coins would not be just coppers, but also included some golds and quite a few silvers. Then, there were also the merchants and crafters who serviced the Chateau D'Rex, who likely did not ever wish to let it be known that they had not been present.

As he entered the area roped off in gray, Alastar turned to Petayn. “Good afternoon, Marshal. Your troopers offer an imposing presence.”

“I would hope so, Maitre. Any rex deserves that last gesture of respect.” Petayn's smile was pleasant, but little more, and his voice barely cordial.

Gesture of respect?
“It's too bad that it's come to gestures, but that's often what happens when one insists on having it all his way … or not at all.”

“You do seem to understand that, Maitre.” Petayn half-turned, indicating he preferred to not continue the conversation.

Alastar did not press, but studied the sacristy. As in all anomens, it was bare except for the sole pulpit, and there were no decorations on the walls. Presumably there were some benches along the side walls of the nave for the elderly and infirm, but the numbers of those in the nave kept Alastar from seeing whether that was so.

The brass rope stands bothered Alastar. While he understood the necessity of reserving some places, they seemed unduly clunky.
But they have to be heavy to anchor the velvet ropes.

He reached out and lifted the rope separating him from the open space that stretched across the nave to the empty rope-enclosed area where Lorien and Chelia were supposed to stand.
If they even show up.
Yet Alastar couldn't imagine that the rex wouldn't appear, not when he had been so directly involved in planning the service. He lifted the rope again. It wasn't that heavy.

Then he heard a horn fanfare. It took him only an instant to realize that it announced Lorien's arrival. A fraction of a quint later, Lorien and Chelia emerged from side hall opposite where Alastar stood, at the front of the nave, accompanied by a pair of chateau guards in the dress uniforms. Lorien wore a dark green tunic and trousers trimmed in black, as did Chelia, although the severity of the colors tended to wash her out.
Or is that because she's also been fighting a flux?
Looking at Chelia across the anomen, Alastar once more had the feeling that she reminded him of someone else besides Bettaur, but who it was he still couldn't place.

Just as the bell of the anomen chimed the first glass, Chorister Dumont stepped out onto the dais and positioned himself in the middle. Although Alastar had never seen or met the chorister, a tall and slender man with shimmering black hair, Lorien had informed him who would be conducting the service. Dumont's voice was deep and resonant as he offered the invocation. “We are gathered here together this afternoon in the spirit of the Nameless, in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do, and in celebration of the life of Ryen D'Rex, and in memory of his service to the land of Solidar.”

The opening hymn was traditional—“The Glory of the Nameless.” Alastar did not sing, but merely mouthed the words, even as he continued to study the anomen, as discreetly as he could. Neither Shaelyt nor Taryn sang all that loudly, either, he noticed. Then came the confession.

“We do not name You, for naming is presumptuous…” As Dumont's voice carried to every corner of the anomen, Alastar barely murmured the words, still trying to catch sight of anything that might give him a clue to what might happen. He
knew
something would, but how could Petayn possibly control anything powerful enough to deal with Lorien and Alastar and still survive?

“… celebration of You who cannot be named or known, only respected and worshipped,” concluded Dumont.

“In peace and harmony,” responded the audience. Alastar didn't think of most of them as mourners or worshippers.

Next came the charge from Dumont. “Life is a gift from the Nameless, for from the glory of the Nameless do we come…” Another hymn followed, one not traditional, but used at Lorien's insistence—“In Vain A Crown of Gold.”

“All words of praise will die as spoken

As night precedes the dawn unwoken …

To claim in vain a crown of gold,

Belies the truth the Nameless told…”

Only a fraction of the congregation, if it could be termed such, Alastar thought wryly, knew the words, much less the melody, and he still wondered why Lorien had insisted on the song. While it was true that Ryen had never paraded his riches, he had certainly exercised his power and been more than a little angered—to say the least—when he had been thwarted.

Then Dumont announced, “Now we will hear from Rex Lorien…”

Alastar felt/sensed something, almost like imager shields pressing on him.

The instant the pressure ended, yellow-green flames exploded around the army officers and metal fragments or shrapnel impacted his shields …

Metal?
The only metal inside the anomen was that in the heavy brass rope stands!

“Shields! Follow me…” Even before he uttered the words, Alastar raised a second set of shields around Lorien and Chelia, barely instants before Alastar felt the quick and light pressure and the regial couple was also surrounded by the yellow-green flames.

By that time, Alastar was already halfway across the nave, but even with his shields, he was rocked back by the force of the explosion, and then pushed forward by explosions behind him, most like from those brass rope holders. As he caught his balance, Alastar glanced back toward the east side of the nave … and swallowed hard. Already three officers were half-blackened masses of yellow-green flames, and the would-be mourners were screaming, yelling, and scrambling toward the main doors at the north end of the anomen.

When he neared Lorien and Chelia, both unable to move much because of the shield around them, Alastar melded his personal shields with the one he'd thrown around them. “We need to get you two out of here safely.” With that, he raised a larger concealment, just large enough so that Taryn and Shaelyt could see him and the regial couple, and then said, “Stay right beside me.”

Lorien looked blankly at Alastar, who immediately took the rex's arm. “This way! Now!” Keeping a concealment around a clearly stunned Lorien and Chelia, who appeared far more angry than dazed, Alastar led the group into the west hall off the nave, then out through the side door, and around the south end of the anomen.

Behind them the screaming seemed to fade slightly as the five crossed the modest street that would have been a grander avenue had the imagers finished the work on the Avenue D'Rex Ryen.

“Chervyt!” snapped Alastar as he neared the narrow lane where the three other imagers were supposed to be.

“Over here, sir!” The concealment around the more junior imagers vanished.

“Glaesyn, you and Maercyl need to double up so that the rex and his lady can share a mount.” Alastar turned toward the rex, not quite so dazed-looking as he had been initially. “Lorien, you and your lady will have to ride double.”

“Share?” Lorien sounded aghast.

“If the past quint hasn't convinced you that you need every imager I have with me, what will?” Alastar belatedly expanded the concealment so the entire group was within its scope.

“Our coach is just over there.”

“So is Desyrk, the renegade imager who almost succeeded in getting you killed, and so is a battalion of troopers whose loyalties are very much in doubt at this moment.”

“Dear…” murmured Chelia, so softly that Alastar could not hear the remainder of what she said.

“I suppose that's for the best,” conceded the irritated rex. “Where are you taking us?”

“Back to Imagisle.”

“Imagisle?” demanded Lorien.

“You and Lady Chelia were targeted with explosives and Antiagon Fire. So were we, and so was Marshal Petayn. Petayn and the other commander are dead. So is the captain who was with them. There are other army companies around. Your guards are certainly loyal to you, but if the army attacks the chateau, they won't stand a chance. The imagers are the only ones likely to be able to protect you.” The way matters had developed, Alastar wasn't even sure of that, but it wasn't the moment to suggest that.
Not yet.

“But … my mother, my brother?”

“They weren't the targets. You were. Besides,” Alastar said coldly, “if the army intended to attack the chateau, it already has.” He wasn't about to offer other possibilities.

“But—”

“No ‘but's!” snapped Alastar. “I've done what you wanted, and this is the mess you've created. We're doing it my way this time.”
And the only way I can be even halfway certain of protecting Imagisle and you is to keep you close.
Except he wasn't about to utter those words.

Lorien started to open his mouth, when Chelia actually reached out and covered it, saying, “Don't make things worse. Mount up. Or should I mount first?”

As Alastar looked at her, he almost froze.
The Namer and sowshit!
Now he knew what had been nagging at him.
No wonder …
Alastar recalled what Lady Asarya had said … words that had a meaning different from the way Alastar had taken them …
What's important is that my son has a better future, thanks to certain imagers from the Collegium.
So many things made so much more sense. “Mount up, now.” Those were the only words he could manage for a moment. Shaking his head, he turned toward Shaelyt. “You lead the way. I'm carrying a concealment, but you may have to use shields to push people or riders aside.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We'll take the route that the avenue will take, as close as possible. That will be faster than going north to the Boulevard D'Ouest.”

No one said a thing.

Alastar looked to Lorien. “You and your lady ride beside me.”

Lorien glared at Alastar, but nodded, more than a little reluctantly.

“Head out, Shaelyt. South for a block before we move back to the avenue route.”

“Yes, sir.”

After urging the gelding forward, Alastar took out one of the water bottles and drank the dark lager, slowly, while they rode along the street to the east of the Anomen D'Rex, which held people, wagons, and riders, if not so many that the imagers had much difficulty in avoiding them. While he rode, Alastar continued to take small swallows of the lager and thought over what had happened, recalling that he had felt the imaging pressure in the anomen before each of the explosions. From his experience, that meant whoever had been imaging the Antiagon Fire into exploding had to have been very close.
But why?
He almost shook his head. Because Desyrk didn't see that well from a distance.
Can you use that to find him?
He'd just have to see. His lips quirked at the inadvertent pun.

As they neared the river Alastar could hear the sound of cannon, not the continuous booming of an entire battery, but distinct reports in close but not rapid succession. He took a last swallow of lager, corked the water bottle, and slipped it back into one of his saddlebags, looking at Lorien and Chelia. Neither returned his glance.

Shaelyt turned in the saddle. “Sir?”

“I hear. We'll have to see what we can do.”

“What is it?” demanded Lorien, lifting his head.

“Cannon. The army is apparently attacking Imagisle again.”

“I ordered them to avoid Imagisle,” Lorien declared.

“I'm certain you did,” Alastar said, although he wasn't all that sure he believed his own words. “Someone didn't follow those orders, it appears.”

Within half a quint, Alastar had reached a point on the modest street that led to the Bridge of Desires from where he could see that the middle section of the Bridge of Desires was missing, cleanly severed, suggesting that Cyran, Alyna, or one of the senior maitres had removed it. He could also make out troopers crouched behind hastily thrown up earthworks beside the causeway from the West River Road to the bridge proper. Every so often one of them would raise his head enough to fire a rifle toward Imagisle, presumably toward an imager.

For several moments, Alastar wondered why the troopers were firing so infrequently, until he watched one of them attempt to fire, then convulse and slump. He couldn't see the exact cause, but given that little more than the rifle barrel and the man's head had appeared above the earthworks, it was likely that the trooper had been killed by a small iron dart or the equivalent. A boat bobbed in the waters of the River Aluse, slowly moving downstream with the current, with two bodies slumped in the middle of the craft.

While the army troopers were being held at bay, the cannon continued to fire, each shell wreaking some sort of destruction on the Collegium. After riding another hundred yards, Alastar reined up some yards back of the small square created by where the West River Road, the street he had followed, and the approach road to the bridge causeway all converged. Concealment or no concealment, he didn't want to get too close to the troopers until he could get a better idea of what had happened and how he could see what he, Taryn, and Shaelyt could do.