Treachery's Tools (75 page)

Weidyn rode beside Alastar, behind the squad riding vanguard, with Akoryt and Tiranya riding directly behind Alastar, and the remaining imagers in pairs behind them and ahead of the sixty-odd troopers who had survived the carnage.

Beyond commands to the troopers and pleasantries, Weidyn did not speak until they had been riding close to three quints, when he finally said, “Always wondered how the first rex regis did it. Not anymore.”

“His imagers were stronger than we are,” Alastar said quietly. “At least, he and Elsior were. Much stronger.”

“Makes sense. Even your lady imagers … Remaylt told me how one just froze the bastard pretender with his saber still in his hand.”

“For her, that was the easy part.” Alastar chuckled. “Will you stay with the army?” He didn't want to talk about the imagers or the battle, not when he could still recall those terrible flashes of light that had consumed first Chervyt and then Cyran and Taryn.

“After this, sir … what else could I do? I'd like to go back to training recruits at some time.” He barked a short laugh. “Could tell 'em all, honestlike, that I'd seen an outfit that made the toughest of them look soft, and one where the women were just as tough and deadly. One where everyone fought to the death. Most wouldn't believe me. A year ago, if someone had told me, I wouldn't have believed either.” The captain paused. “Not a trooper who was here is ever going to forget the sight of the nine of you riding back up the road. Remaylt told me that every ranker stopped and watched when you rode past.”

“I was too tired to notice,” Alastar admitted.

“I figured as much. That's why I told you. Thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you.”
Maybe, just maybe, that might keep all of the army loyal … for a few years, anyway.

Two quints before noon, Alastar reined up outside the Chateau D'Rex, accompanied just by Taurek and Dylert, and a squad from Fifth Company, the squad commanded by Remaylt, since Alastar had had Captain Weidyn escort Akoryt and the other imagers directly to Imagisle. He had just dismounted and turned to the two imagers when Guard Captain Churwyl hurried down the alabaster-white steps at almost a run, stopping just short of Alastar.

“Maitre Alastar!”

“He wants more details on what happened, I take it?” More likely, Lorien was furious that he hadn't heard more.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that's an understatement?”

“Ah … yes, sir.”

“Lead on, Guard Captain.”

Churwyl winced, but turned and headed up the white stone steps.

Alastar followed.

At the top of the grand staircase Alastar caught a glimpse of blond hair from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Chelia standing outside the door to her salon. She froze where she stood. Alastar turned and walked to the north corridor and to Lorien's study door. He didn't bother to knock.

“Maitre Alastar,” announced Churwyl from behind Alastar, immediately closing the door.

Lorien stood before the open north window closest to his desk. He turned and glared. “Well … it's nice that someone finally decided to inform me—”

“Lorien, shut the frig up.” Alastar's voice was flat and cold.

The rex's mouth opened.

“Don't say a frigging word. I'm liable to image anything you say down your throat. Sit down, and I'll tell you what happened … all of it. Don't say a word until I'm done.” Alastar dropped into the chair in front of the goldenwood desk.

Lorien actually swallowed, then sat down behind his desk, moistening his lips.

“I'm not in the best of moods, right now,” began Alastar. “That's because this stupid revolt killed six imagers from Imagisle and most likely ten or so from Westisle. There are close to five thousand dead or injured army troopers, on both sides, and Wilkorn is dead. So are all the rebel officers. Maurek executed those who survived. Ryentar killed one of my imagers, and he died for it.” Alastar cleared his throat. “That's the short version. Now, you're going to listen to the long version, every frigging word of it, and if you don't pay attention, you're going to be very uncomfortable…”

Giving Lorien the longer summary still took more than a quint.

When he finished, Alastar looked at Lorien. “Now … if you have any questions, I'll answer them.”

“Why didn't you bring that bastard brother of mine back here?”

“Because neither he nor you deserved it. He deserved to die Namer-near anonymously in a bloody battle and not be given even the recognition of a regial execution.”
Even if he was only treachery's tool.
“And after the mess you've made of things, you certainly don't deserve whatever you might get out of such a spectacle.”

Lorien's jaw tightened, but he only asked, “Is there any proof that Marryt, Aestyn, and Hehnsyn are dead?”

“Maurek's not exactly charitable. He saw Aestyn's body, and stood there and had Marryt executed, although Marryt probably would have died from his wounds. Hehnsyn was incinerated in the Antiagon fire flare that turned him and his entire battalion to ashes.”

“What about the other High Holders?”

“They were all smart enough to remain well away from the rebel army. Your brother was their figurehead, and if they'd defeated us, the rebel army would have removed and executed you and put him on the throne. The only High Holder you can really tie to this mess—with any sort of real proof—who isn't already dead is Caervyn. His son led the rebel army and his daughter married Ryentar. You probably ought to order his execution.”

“How generous of you to allow me that privilege. What about Ryel?”

“You're going to insist that he become High Councilor, and head of the High Council.”

“That scheming bastard? Never!”

“There's not one frigging shred of proof that he did anything, and not even the notes Chelia got will prove anything. Do you want him plotting from Rivages for the rest of your life? His heading the High Council will keep him where you—or the Collegium—can easily reach him. We can control him, and we will. It will also reassure the High Holders that their voices will be heard. Just have Chelia write him a pleasant letter telling him that he will be much happier and safer as a High Councilor and as head of the Council. I'm certain he'll understand.”

“That's what he wants.”

Alastar shook his head. “That's the last thing in all Terahnar he wants. Two of the last three heads of the council have died in office. He'd much rather plot from the shadows. There's an old saying about holding your friends close, and your enemies even closer.”

“But the High Holders have to make the choice. If I even…”

“You don't have to say a word. If Ryel makes it known that he would serve, he'll be chosen in a moment.”

Abruptly, Lorien laughed. “You're crueler even than people think I am.”

“Just practical,” demurred Alastar.

“Who's going to pay for it all?”

“Maurek's disbanding the rebel battalions. It will likely be a year before they're reconstituted. That will save you golds. You can also change the tariff laws so that tariffs are assessed equally on High Holders and factors—except phase the change in.” Those would cover all the costs of the short war, but Alastar wasn't ready to propose more at the moment, and definitely not off the top of his head.

“What else do you have in mind?”

“Appoint Vaelln as marshal of the armies and promote Maurek to vice marshal. Never have more than one son of a High Holder as a senior officer in L'Excelsis. Three were definitely too many.” Before Lorien could say more, Alastar went on. “That's enough for now. Have Chelia draft that letter. We'll go over it in a day or so.” He stood. “I need to get to the Collegium for other necessary tasks.” After a moment, he added, “And, Lorien, don't do anything or sign anything. Anything at all—until we meet and talk it over.”

Alastar turned, but heard Lorien murmuring under his breath.

“… more trials … always more trials…”

Alastar walked out of the study. He didn't bother to close the door.

 

49

Alastar did not make it back to Imagisle, riding through the light drizzling rain that begun to fall shortly after he had left the Chateau D'Rex, until well past second glass. He left Remaylt and his squad at the Bridge of Desires, then crossed the bridge with Taurek and Dylert. Rather than go to the stables or the administration building, he rode directly to the first of the maitres' cottages along the green. He reined up, more than reluctantly, dismounted, and handed the gelding's reins to Dylert, then walked up to the door. He was about to knock when the door opened.

Meiryl stood there. Her eyes were reddened. “I've been expecting you, Maitre.”

“I wish I weren't here.”

“So do I.” Her words were barely a murmur, and she made no attempt to invite him in.

“I came here as soon as I crossed the bridge.”

“You would.” More tears oozed from her eyes. “He … said…” She shook her head.

“He was the most noble imager I've ever known.” That was definitely true, and Alastar wanted his words to convey that. “All of us who returned owe our lives to Cyran. The Collegium owes its future to him. So does Solidar. None of that will ever make up for your loss, but I wanted you to know that.”

“He … said … either you or he wouldn't be likely to return.”

That
surprised Alastar. “He never even hinted at that. But he wouldn't have.”

“No. He wouldn't.” Meiryl shook her head slightly. “I didn't want him to go. He said he had to, that the children … that…” She swallowed, unable to speak.

“He was right. Without any of those who went…” Alastar stopped and just stood there.

After a moment, she stepped back and closed the door.

When he climbed back into the saddle, Alastar felt exhausted, and he still had one more visit to make—at the last maitres' cottage on the green. Dismounting was an effort, but he forced himself to walk up to the door and knock.

Linzya's eyes widened, and she paled as she saw Alastar standing there. “No! No … it can't … it mustn't…”

Alastar glimpsed Charlina standing in the foyer behind Linzya. That Linzya wasn't alone offered him some small measure of relief. “I'm afraid it is, Linzya. He was one of the reasons we were able to defeat the rebels. He killed the last three renegade imagers from Westisle who had backed the pretender, but the effort left him without shields. High Holder Regial stabbed him in the back before we could get close enough to help him.”

Linzya just stood there, not speaking.

“You should also know … his last words. He said, ‘Tell Linzya I love her … that I'm no traitor and never was.'” Behind Linzya, Alastar saw a quick expression of disbelief cross Charlina's face, and he added, “I'm not making that up. If either of you don't believe me, you can ask Seliora or Arion. They were right beside me and heard what he said. And he was right. He wasn't a traitor.”
Unwise and almost mad with the belief no one would ever believe him, but not a traitor.
“And he did save me.”
Which is also likely.

“He … did?”

Alastar nodded. “I was almost without shields at that point. Maitre Cyran was already dead, and Seliora, Arion, and I were facing three fresh Westisle imagers. Bettaur put iron darts through their shields. It took all he had.”

“Then … he wasn't … he really wasn't…”

“No. And it's very clear that he truly loved you. He didn't want you and your child to live under a cloud … or under the rebels.”

Tears were streaming down Linzya's cheeks, and she sobbed uncontrollably.

Charlina moved forward and put an arm around Linzya, easing her back into the cottage, mouthing to Alastar as she did, “Thank you.”

Alastar waited until the door closed before he turned and walked back through the rain to the gray. As he mounted, he said to Taurek and Dylert, “The Maitre's house.”

“We'll take your mount to the stable, sir,” offered Taurek.

“Thank you. I appreciate it, and so will my family.”

“Our pleasure, sir,” added Dylert.

Alyna, Lystara, and Malyna were all standing on the front porch, waiting as he dismounted.

“If you'd take your kit, sir.” Taurek's reminder was gentle.

Alastar smiled wryly. “That's a good idea. Thank you.” He handed the gelding's reins to Dylert, then quickly unstrapped his gear and threw it over his shoulder before walking swiftly, or as swiftly as he could, along the walk and up the stone steps out of the rain and into Alyna's arms. The gear hit the porch floor with a dull clunk, just before Lystara wrapped both her arms around his waist.

“… so glad you're back,” Alyna murmured as she held him.

“… makes two of us…”

“Akoryt told me you were safe, but I still worried.”

“I had to stop to tell Meiryl. She might have already heard, but she needed to hear from me.”

Alyna eased back, but still held Alastar's hand. “I think she knew already. She came to see me last night. She wanted to know if I'd heard anything. She said she'd had the most terrible feeling.”

“And when she saw the others return…”

Alyna nodded.

“I needed to tell Lorien as soon as possible, so that he didn't do anything stupid. The Nameless knows, he's capable of it. But I went to see her first after that. Then I saw Linzya.”

“Bettaur?”

“He died saving my life. I'll tell you more later.” He offered a tired and ragged smile. “I'd like to wash up and change into something that doesn't smell…”

“I think we can manage that.”

“We?”

“You and me. Do you think I'm letting you out of my sight?” Alyna turned to Lystara. “If you and Malyna would take your father's bag to the washroom.”