Treachery's Tools (28 page)

“Gaellen thinks he might make it.”

“What do you need from me?”

“For now, I think it's best that anyone on Imagisle avoid open spaces where they can be seen from across the river—unless they have very strong shields or they're posted in one of the sentry boxes.”

“That's making everyone a prisoner of sorts,” replied Akoryt.

“It's better than losing more imagers. We also need to have concealed maitres watching the west bank during daylight hours to see if they can spot and capture—or wound—the shooters.” At Akoryt's expression, Alastar asked, “Do you have a better idea? We still have no idea who the shooters are or who is behind the shootings.” He had some strong general suspicions, centered on the thought that most likely to be involved were High Holders, possibly a group of them.

“Except that they are very good shots,” Akoryt pointed out. “That means that they've been well trained, and they're likely not from the army, because that would be too easy to discover.”

“Unless they're former army sharpshooters. There are likely scores of them around. The question is not only who they are, but just how many shooters there are and what is their ultimate goal, if there is one, besides destroying the Collegium.”

“Isn't that enough, so far as we're concerned?” asked Akoryt.

“More than enough for us, but not enough to get Lorien to act willingly, or to get others to back that action … and if we act against anyone but the shooters…”

“Too many will turn against us. That means we have to catch some of the shooters.”

“Which is why we need maitres posted in places where they can catch or kill a shooter in the act—and recover a rifle with poisoned bullets in it … or a dead shooter carrying such ammunition.” Alastar offered a wintry smile. “See what you can do. If any maitre questions your assignments, send them to me.”

Akoryt chuckled. “If I say that they can come to you … not a one will.”

“One or two
might
.”

Akoryt shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“I won't keep you, but I want maitres watching from where they can't be seen beginning within a glass. Oh … I almost forgot. There have to be poisoned bullets up where Glaesyn was hit, because most of them bounced off his shields. They need to be collected. If someone picks one up and isn't careful…”

“Yes, sir.”

Once Akoryt was on his way, Alastar headed back to the infirmary where he found Gaellen.

“How is Glaesyn?”

“His shoulder hurts like the Namer hammered it with a sledge he says. I gave him some willow powder with water. That's about all I dare give him with bleufleur in him.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“For a little while. He's in the first room beyond the surgery. Don't upset him, if you can help it.”

“I'll try not to.”

When Alastar entered the small room, Glaesyn was in the bed, but propped up in a sitting position.

“How are you feeling—besides having a very painful shoulder?”

Glaesyn looked over. “Maitre … thank you. Maitre Gaellen says I wouldn't be here if you hadn't imaged out that bullet.”

“I don't know about that. I do know…” He almost said that when he hadn't with Harl, it had been a mistake. “I did know that your chances were better if I got it out. I wanted to ask you a few questions about anything you noticed about the shooters. You said they were on the knoll?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many were there?”

“I didn't see any at first. That was why I left the box. I thought they might have been more to the north. They were in brown. They kind of blended into the brush on the knoll. I didn't see anyone at first, until one of them shot. It hit my shields, but I saw a puff of smoke. The next shot hit my shields, and then there was another one. I only saw two of them.”

“You think there were more?”

“Yes, sir. They fired more than ten shots without stopping. I only saw the two. They had on brown hoods. Except the hood fell back when one of them was running back toward the road. I didn't really see him until it did.”

All in brown and hooded—along with three shooters, all with poisoned bullets, that definitely suggested some thorough advance thought and planning. “Could you tell if they had mounts or a coach waiting?”

“No, sir.”

“Was there anyone on the river?”

“I didn't see any barges or boats, sir.”

Although Alastar took his time with additional inquiries, Glaesyn could add nothing to what he had already revealed.

Alastar left the infirmary with more questions than answers and headed back to the administration building to write out a few more instructions for Akoryt, such as removing the brush from the knoll and a few other places along the west bank of the river. He also wondered where Cyran was and when he might show up.

 

15

The remainder of Samedi passed without incident, and Cyran did appear, if a glass later, because he'd been working in the forge with Arthos, trying to replicate the construction of the poisoned bullets, and hadn't even heard all the commotion. He'd only found out when he'd gone home and Meiryl had told him. He did inform Alastar that making the bullets required a good deal of skill.

Most of Solayi passed without incident, although Akoryt did come to the Maitre's house briefly in midafternoon to go over the schedule of maitres who would be watching and monitoring the east and west banks of the River Aluse for the next week.

Almost before Alastar realized it, it was after dinner—since dinner was always in the late afternoon on Solayi—and time to set out for the anomen. Alastar wasn't looking forward to going, since the service on Solayi evening would also serve as the memorial for Harl, who had no relatives near L'Excelsis, and for Lyam, who had been a foundling raised from the age of seven at the Collegium.

“Don't forget your mourning scarves, girls,” Alyna called up the steps, adjusting her own black and green scarf.

“Aunt Alyna … I don't have one,” Malyna called down from the top of the stairs.

“I thought you might not. There's one on your dresser.”

“Oh … I didn't see it.”

“I doubt that,” murmured Alyna to Alastar. “She never misses anything. She said something about dark colors…”

“What about them?”

“I didn't hear the rest. She thinks her skin is too dark.”

“She has the same wonderful skin you have. She's already very pretty. Before long, we'll have to worry about the young men.”

“Your judgment is suspect, dear. Her skin is darker than that of most young women from a High Holder background. She's aware of that.”

“It doesn't matter here.”

“She wasn't raised here…” Alyna turned as Lystara came hurtling down the steps and raised her voice. “It's about time. Malyna?”

“I can't get the scarf right.”

“Bring it down. I'll fix it.”

“Yes, Aunt Alyna.”

Alyna just looked at Alastar, not quite rolling her eyes.

When Malyna reached the bottom of the stairs, she extended the black-trimmed dark green scarf. She did not look up as Alyna adjusted it.

“Remember. It covers your hair until the memorial part of the service is over. If you're not sure, just do as I do.”

“Yes, Aunt Alyna. I understand.” Malyna's tone was submissive, resigned, and close to quiet defiance.

“Rules are rules,” Alyna said firmly. “Your personal sense of taste in dress is secondary to the customs of the Collegium … and to the respect due to two young men who died too young and too cruelly. Now … we need to go.”

As they walked down the steps and then along the west side of the split avenue that led to the administration building and to the anomen south and west of it, Alastar and Alyna let the girls lead the way. Noticing that Malyna squared her shoulders, as if she faced some trial, he gestured to his wife.

She leaned toward him and murmured, “Ignore it.”

Alastar nodded, but wondered if he'd see the same sort of maneuvers with Lystara, then decided it was all too likely, and the only question was how soon.

Once inside the anomen, Alastar, Alyna, and the girls moved to the front and to the left side. Although the nave was already crowded, the students and imagers moved aside to allow Alastar to take the place where they always stood.

When the last chime of the glass died away, Chorister Iskhar took his place in the middle of the sacristy dais. “We are gathered here together this evening not only for worship, but also in the spirit of the Nameless, in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do, and in celebration of two lives ended too soon by senseless violence. We are here to remember Lyam and Harl, and to give thanks for their lives.”

The opening hymn was “The Glory of the Nameless.”

Then came the confession, followed by the charge from Iskhar. “Life is a gift from the Nameless, for from the glory of the Nameless do we come; through the glory of the Nameless do we live, and to that glory do we return. Our lives can only reflect and enhance that glory, as did that of Lyam and of Harl, whom we honor, whom we remember, and who will live forever in our hearts and in the glory of the Nameless.”

Another hymn followed—“In the Footsteps of the Nameless.”

When we walk the narrow way of what is always right,

when we follow all the precepts that foil the Namer's blight …

Then Iskhar said, “Two imagers died this week, one on Vendrei, another on Samedi. Tertius Harl was a solid and dedicated young imager who was shot in the back as he escorted the Maitre back to the Collegium.…” The chorister went on to talk of Harl's honesty and dedication, before turning his words to Lyam. “Secondus Lyam was a promising student. He worked hard, and he was noted for his cheer and warmth. There were few indeed who did not respond to that warmth and openness.…”

When he finished telling about Lyam, Chorister Iskhar paused, then said, “At this time, we wear black and green, black for the dark uncertainties of life, and green for its triumph, manifested every year in the coming of spring. So is it that, like nature, we come from the dark of winter and uncertainty into life which unfolds in uncertainty, alternating between black and green, and in the end return to the life and glory of the Nameless. In that spirit, let us offer thanks for the spirits and the lives of those two fine young men who died for us,” intoned Iskhar, “and let us remember them as each was, not merely as a name, but as a living breathing individual whose spirit touched many and in ways only the Nameless can fully fathom. Let us set aside the gloom of mourning, and from this day forth, recall the glory of their lives and the warmth and joy they have left with us…”

When he heard the words “warmth and joy,” words he had heard too often since he had become Maitre, Alastar asked himself how he was supposed to set aside the gloom he felt with each imager who died, merely because each was an imager. At the same time, he could sense that most of the women had let the mourning scarves slip from their hair, and Malyna was among the first.

From there, Iskhar began his homily with a question that had certainly occurred to many at the service.

“Why does the Nameless permit the wicked to kill innocents like Harl … or like Lyam? Harl was a good man, with no personal enemies. Lyam was a good person and a good student, who worked and studied diligently. Why? Why these two? Bad things do happen to good people. We all know that. Why don't bad things happen to bad people? They do, but we do not notice those, or if we do, we tend to say that such evil people deserved what they got. But Lyam did not get what he deserved. Neither did Harl. How do we answer that question?”

Iskhar paused. “To those who love and grieve, there is no good answer. Rholan the Unnamer claimed that there could only be greatness and virtue if evil existed, for greatness and virtue can only exist in the choices to do good and struggle against evil…”

Alastar managed not to frown. That wasn't exactly what Rholan had said, not as he recalled … or not all of what the Unnamer had reputedly said. Rholan had suggested, if not said directly, that “evil” was a value judgment placed on an event by those who witnessed it or suffered through it, and that even the events judged most vile and evil by some might have value when viewed in a larger context … or over time, when even a “good” event might turn out to have enabled a far greater evil—and that most judgments were premature.

Alastar had more than a few doubts about that, if indeed, he recalled what he had read accurately. He doubted there was any great good coming from the killing of young imagers.

After the homily came the closing hymn, traditional for a service containing a memorial—“For the Glory.”

For the glory, for the life,

for the beauty and the strife,

for all that is and ever shall be,

all together, through forever,

in eternal Nameless glory …

Once the last words had died away, and Alastar and Alyna left the anomen and walked back toward the Maitre's house, some ten yards behind Malyna and Lystara, Alyna said quietly, “You looked preoccupied during the homily.”

“I was, but not as preoccupied as you were when you looked at Linzya. She doesn't look that far along. She doesn't even look like she's with child.”

“She's one of those who doesn't show … but that wasn't what I'm worrying about. She came alone, but Tiranya and Shaelyt joined her.”

“That's right. I didn't see Bettaur.” Alastar frowned. “He wasn't duty maitre today. That was Celiena … no … sorry, today was Dylert.”

Alyna smiled, widely enough that Alastar could see her expression even in the darkness. “You don't have to remember who is duty maitre for every day of the year.”