Treachery's Tools (76 page)

Alastar bent slightly, not that he really needed to, and gave his daughter a heartfelt embrace, then looked to Malyna and smiled. “I'm very glad to see you, too.” Malyna's smile was so much like Alyna's that he just froze for a moment. “You definitely are family.”

“I'm glad.”

“So are we,” said Alyna. “Now … that bag. I need to get your father cleaned up and made presentable. We're going to have an early dinner.” She looked to Alastar. “And we are
not
going to services tonight.”

Almost two glasses later, later than Alyna had planned, Alastar suspected—although she had not protested the reasons for the delay—the two of them joined the girls at the entrance to the dining room.

“You two took too long,” declared Lystara.

“Or not long enough,” murmured Malyna, so low that Alastar almost didn't catch the words.

Lystara looked puzzled.

“That will do, Malyna.” But Alyna's voice was amused, rather than cross. “We're here and it's time for dinner. We'll also break another rule and let your father tell us everything that happened.” Her eyes met Alastar's.

He nodded, understanding what he was to offer in detail and what would be deferred until Lystara was older. Alyna would fill Malyna in over the next day or so.

Once they were seated, Alyna looked to Malyna.

“For the grace and warmth from above, for the bounty of the earth below, and for all the wonders of this world, and especially for the safe return of the one we all love, we offer our thanks and gratitude, both now and ever more, in the spirit of that which cannot be named or imaged.”

Alastar found he could not speak for a moment. So he reached for the pitcher of dark lager and half filled Malyna's beaker, then Lystara's, before he filled his own. He set down the pitcher and said to Malyna, “That was beautiful. Thank you.”

“It was beautiful, indeed,” added Alyna.

Jienna appeared and set a platter before Alastar, and another before Alyna.

Alastar found his mouth watering as he saw the platter of game hens, a half hen for each of them, with lace potatoes and fried apples, and, of course, two baskets of freshly baked bread. “This looks wonderful.”
Especially after all that dried mutton, porridge, and too-bitter dark lager.

“You said you'd tell us everything,” said Lystara.

“I will,” promised Alastar, “but let me drink a little good lager and have a mouthful of the best food I've seen in weeks first.”

“It was just nine days, Father.”

Alyna rolled her eyes, then looked hard at her daughter.

“I'm sorry, Father.”

Given Lystara's contrite tone, Alastar smiled. “I accept the apology.” He took a slow swallow from the beaker, enjoying the full but not bitter taste before he set the beaker down. Then he served himself a game hen and passed the platter to Alyna.

When everyone's plate was full, Alastar cut a morsel of the game hen, ate it slowly, and then began, “A week ago Vendrei morning, thirteen of us rode out across the south bridge and south on the West River Road…”

In between bites, he told the essential elements of what had happened, but without speculation, and without dealing with the politics that lay behind many of the actions. A good two quints later, he finished, cleared his throat and refilled his beaker.

“Why did the Westisle imagers join the rebels?” asked Lystara.

“We don't know yet,” replied Alastar. “Since they're dead, we may never know. I can only guess that those who did felt that they should have had greater recognition and praise than they received or that Voltyrn even wanted to become Maitre of the Collegium here.”

“Did Bettaur really save your life?” pressed Lystara.

“Yes. Whatever else he may have done or not done, he saved my life and made victory possible.”

“Then that makes him a hero, like Maitre Cyran.”

“All of the imagers from Imagisle who died were heroes,” said Alyna gently. “Now … the time for breaking the rules is over … and we'll have dessert.”

Lystara nodded. Malyna glanced at her cousin and smiled.

Alastar could smell the apple pie long before it arrived.

Later that evening, well after the girls were in bed, Alastar and Alyna sat in their sitting room.

“I still have to wonder,” she said. “How did they think they could possibly succeed?”

“Because they were far better prepared than we had any idea of. Just one example was the fact that Ryel, or someone, subverted close to ten imagers from Westisle.”

“But Voltyrn wrote you…” Alyna paused. “He
knew
you wouldn't make him Maitre of Westisle. The letters were just to keep you from thinking about the fact that he'd already decided to back the rebels.”

“That's my guess. Ryel or Caervyn, most likely Caervyn, persuaded Ryentar to join the cause. Ryel found some way to blackmail Bettaur…”

Alyna frowned. “I thought you said he saved your life.”

“He did.” Alastar gave the complete story of the encounter with Ryentar, Voltyrn, and Bettaur. “I doubt if my shields could have stopped a wooden wand at that point. As it was, breaking three imagers' shields left Bettaur defenseless, and that allowed Ryentar to run him through.”

“That makes Ryentar one of the most despicable characters in the history of Solidar. He conspired with his mother to kill his own brother and half sister … well, half brother and half sister. Next he killed his mother so that no one could prove the first conspiracy. Then he rebelled against his brother, and ended up stabbing his other half brother in the back.”

“And that's just what we know,” replied Alastar sardonically. “And the worst of it was that he and Bettaur were really only Ryel's tools.” He paused. “Even Laevoryn, despicable as he was, was only a tool.”

“Just tools…” She shook her head. “I still wonder how they thought … or how Ryel thought…”

“How did the first rex regis think he could possibly unite Solidar?” asked Alastar, almost rhetorically. “He was outnumbered, and his enemies had better weapons. He didn't even have rifles or cannon. He only had a handful of imagers. Today, no one even thinks about how improbable his success was. If Ryel's scheme had succeeded, a generation from now, it would merely be regarded as a coup, the overthrow and replacement of one rex by his younger brother.” Alastar shook his head. “This was so much closer than anyone will know.”

“Or should know.”

“I made a mess out of all this,” he said slowly. “I'm not as strong an imager as I once was. I didn't see how well the rebel High Holders had planned, even to how the legal petitions played into it. I certainly didn't see what Vaschet's ironworks represented, or the treachery brewing at Westisle. My failures led to the deaths of Cyran and Taryn and all the others, even Bettaur's death. I think he really did want to go to Westisle, where no one knew him…”

“Do you think Voltyrn was the one who blackmailed him?”

Alastar didn't say anything for several moments. “I didn't even think of it that way.” He shook his head. “I suppose there's really no way to know.” He paused again. “But it doesn't matter. I made too many mistakes. I failed the Collegium, and Cyran redeemed my failure. So did Taryn, Julyan, Chervyt, and Bettaur.”

“Dearest, none of them would have been able to do that if you hadn't spent years training them.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Alastar D'Imagisle! You made mistakes. We all make mistakes. The mistakes you say you made were mistakes no one else even thought about or even recognized. You still saw things that no one else saw, and you managed to save Solidar when no one else could. Is there anyone else who could have done what you did?”

“You could have. You've been part of it for years.”

“A part, yes, but only a part. Even if it were true, Solidar wouldn't have accepted a woman maitre.” Her voice softened. “The Collegium and Solidar need you. Not for massive imaging ability, although you're far stronger than you think you are, but for the wisdom to keep more trouble from happening.”

“The way I did here?” he asked sarcastically.

“The way you did here,” she said quietly but firmly. “The way no one else could.”

“I see I'm not going to convince you.”

“You won't until you train someone able to step into your boots. Now … what about the Westisle imagers?”

“Ryel or one of the other High Holders must have contacted Voltyrn years ago … and kept in touch”—
likely far more often than you did
—“and that's something else we can't let happen.”

“That wasn't quite what I meant. Who will you appoint as the Maitre there?”

Alastar smiled. “Who would you suggest?”

“You're Maitre. That's your choice.”

He smiled at her. “We can talk about that later. I've talked enough this evening.”

“You would say that.” But she smiled, rose, and took his hands.

 

50

Well before seventh glass on Lundi morning, Alastar and Alyna set out for the administration building, walking through the rain wearing oilskins, as were Malyna and Lystara, who had left not quite half a quint earlier. Alastar didn't say much for a time, going over in his mind just how to present matters to the senior maitres, wondering how much he should say about certain things.

“I know what you said last night,” began Alastar, as they neared the administration building, “but I worry. I did make mistakes, and imagers died. Am I losing—”

“Dear. Even the best make mistakes. There's no one here at the Collegium who would make fewer.”

“Except you.”

“We've been through that. Like it or not, you're the Maitre. Like it or not, there's no one else quite ready to take your place.”

And like it or not, you're going to have to live with those mistakes,
he thought. Alyna hadn't said that, but she might as well have done so. “Akoryt's close.”

“Not close enough, and he's told me that himself.”

“What about his being senior imager?”

“That's your decision. You're Maitre. You're meeting with him first. Ask him.”

“You agree about Arion, Seliora, and Taurek?”

“Absolutely, but it's up to Arion. If he doesn't feel—”

“I know. Then we'll have to consider another way.”

Another thought struck Alastar, and he sighed.

“Now what?”

“I never did anything about Vaschet … or that bastard Murranyt.”

“Vaschet won't be a problem. There's a story about him in
Veritum
. I left a copy on the desk in your study. I thought you'd want to see it. As for the Civic Patrol … you have time. After all that's happened, Murranyt may decide to take his stipend quite soon.”

“You speak as though you know. And what about Vaschet—”

“You can't do anything about what's happened … and we're almost there.” She opened the door to the administration building for him.

“You do put matters in perspective.” He managed a smile. “Likely another result of your training in geometry.”
But more likely the result of growing up in a High Hold.

“No more than you, dear.”

Alastar doubted that, but he wasn't about to say so at that moment.

As they approached the anteroom, Alyna reached out and took Alastar's hand, then squeezed it as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I'll see you at the meeting. There are some things I need to do, and you should read about Vaschet and meet with the others alone.”

Then she was gone.

Both Dareyn and Maercyl stood outside the door to the Maitre's study.

“Welcome back, Maitre,” said Dareyn cheerfully.

Maercyl nodded in agreement and smiled.

“Thank you both. Have Akoryt come in as soon as he arrives.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar took off the oilskin and handed it to Maercyl. “If you would … somewhere out of the way. The aroma…”

Maercyl smiled broadly. “Yes, sir.”

Alastar left the door open as he made his way to the desk, polished and without a speck of dust anywhere. The only item on the desk was the single copy of
Veritum.

How did they find another printing press so soon?
Then he picked up the newssheet. The date was Vendrei, 27 Erntyn, and the lead story was about the rebel army marching on L'Excelsis … and how it was being led by commanders loyal to dissident High Holders. The headline of the second story caught his eye—
IRON FACTOR MURDERED
.

That must have been what she meant.

Vaschet D'Factorius was shot leaving a Factors' Council meeting on Meredi morning. He died on the spot from a single bullet that went through his eye and into his brain. Civic Patrollers found an almost new R-2 rifle of the type manufactured by Vaschet's own ironworks less than a block away. No one saw the killer.

Vaschet had been meeting with the council about his petition that the council press for legal charges dealing with damages to his ironworks incurred as part of events connected with the ongoing High Holders' rebellion. Council members declared that the matter would not be pursued, given the circumstances surrounding Vaschet's death and the fact that it was clear Vaschet had provided aid to the rebels.

A single bullet? Through the eye?
Alastar nodded slowly, and a wry smile crossed his lips.

He barely had set down the newssheet and hadn't even seated himself when Akoryt appeared. Alastar motioned for Akoryt to close the door and then sat down. Once the grayed redhead seated himself, Alastar began. “You did a remarkable job over the past month.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you thought about being senior imager?”