Madness in Solidar (10 page)

As Cyran imaged the stones off the ditch, Alastar could definitely see the problem, because the ditch was filled with a mixture of putrescence and bones, and at least one set of those bones was human. The sewage ditch wasn't small, but Alastar had trouble imagining how anyone had managed to stuff a dead body into it through any of the drains he'd seen.

The beefy Narryn eased forward to peer down into the ditch, then swallowed and staggered to the river wall, where he promptly retched.

“So much for that,” came a murmur.

Alastar thought the comment had come from Tiranya, but when he glanced in her direction, she was listening to Alyna. Even after he looked back to the progress on the removal of the stones, Alastar had the feeling he had missed something. That bothered him. He hated missing anything.

Removing all the paving stones took nearly another glass, and revealed that forty of the fifty yards of uncovered sewer ditch were filled with refuse of all sorts. Alastar didn't even want to consider all that lay entangled in the mess. He just set the imagers to imaging out the refuse into the river.

After inspecting the comparatively clean exposed section of sewer, Alastar could see that the water in the sewer had broken through in several places where the bricks had crumbled and cracked about thirty yards north of the makeshift catchment. He imaged replacements in the areas where he could see obvious breaks, then imaged a coating of glaze along the entire interior walls and floor of the ditch. With that effort, he found himself shaking, and flickers of light crossing his vision.

“Maitre…”

He looked to see Alyna at his side, offering a water bottle.

“It's lager. It should help.”

“Thank you,” he managed, taking the bottle. He shouldn't have tried so much at once, he knew, and he certainly should have brought a bottle of lager for himself.
But you've gotten out of practice at heavy imaging lately.

Several swallows helped, and he turned to Cyran. “If you could glaze the outside, or part of it.”

“I don't think I'll try to do it all at once.” Cyran grinned.

After Cyran, Taryn, and Desyrk finished image-glazing the outside of the bricks, Alastar inspected the sewer again, which had filled to a depth of perhaps half a yard with sewage that seemed to be flowing smoothly. He thought about removing the rough exterior catchment and secondary drain, but decided against that and ordered the junior maitres to replace the stones and seal them in place. Once the sewage ditch was completely repaired, with the walls sealed and the stone covering the top back in place, the imagers still needed to return the overburden, as well as add additional fill to replace the dirt that the leakage had carried away. All in all, it was close to fourth glass when the exhausted imagers rode back across the east bridge.

Once back at the Maitre's dwelling at the Collegium, Alastar bathed and changed into a fresh set of grays. He thought the ones he had worn for the repairs smelled of sewage, but wasn't certain, since, even once he'd washed up, everything still smelled of sewage. He also wondered how Alyna had been so quick to see his weakness, and why she had immediately offered her own lager.
Out of concern … or for some other reason?
He didn't know enough to judge. That bothered him as well, especially since she did come from a High Holder background.

With almost a full glass before services at the anomen, he decided to spend that time reading more of the Collegium records he had brought from the archives. Part of that effort was based on curiosity, and part on the concern that he didn't know enough about the past of the Collegium. As a younger maitre, he'd never considered that he might become the head of the entire Collegium in L'Excelsis. Consequently, he hadn't studied the background of the Collegium, and even if he had tried, much of that material was not available in Westisle.

Sitting at the desk in his personal study. Alastar turned to the point in the bound sheaf of papers where he had left off reading.

… precedent set by the service of Calkoran D'Alte (the younger) as a Vice-Marshal prior to his time as a member of the High Council in the time of Rex Clayar, Rex Indryen appointed Elloryt D'Tacquel as Marshal of the Northern Army, with the proviso that, should he become Tacquel D'Alte, that appointment would be immediately withdrawn …

Alastar fingered his chin, thinking that the infiltration of the High Command by the High Holders had begun soon after Rex Regis—if not before. Hadn't there been a High Holder from Eshtora who had been a marshal for Rex Regis? He continued to read until he came to another interesting entry.

Rex Indryen did not inform the High Council of the reason for the change in tariff levels, but it appears that the income he received from the silver mine in Tilbor has dwindled to a mere fraction of its former glory … requiring an increase in tariffs to offset that loss in income … High Holder Vyncet, as a member of the High Council, objected to the increase, but the Council overruled him on the basis that the government of Solidar could not disallow the replacement of private sources of income with public sources, so long as those funds were employed properly …

Rex Regis and his successors had a profitable silver mine?

At that thought, Alastar checked the glass on the corner of the desk. He needed to leave for the anomen if he wanted to talk to Chorister Iskhar before the service. He stood and made his way from the study and then through the main hall to the front door and out onto the wide covered porch. Outside, the wind was brisk and slightly cool, but not chill, and he decided not to go back inside for a heavier jacket.

In less than a tenth of a glass, Alastar was walking through the side door of the ancient anomen and toward Iskhar's study.

The chorister stood from behind his desk. “Maitre. Good evening.”

“What will your homily be about?” Alastar grinned.

The sandy-haired chorister of the Nameless smiled back. “If I tell you, you won't stay to hear it. Even if you do, you'll be bored.”

Despite Iskhar's youth—he was barely past thirty—Alastar was generally pleased, both with his help in teaching more advanced history and rhetoric to the older students and the insight and practicality of his homilies. Iskhar was also good at counseling student imagers without being condescending or excessively sympathetic. Students sometimes needed that, given that imagers remained mistrusted by most in Solidar, although there had not been a young imager killed, except in the line of study or duty, in more than a generation, but that might have also been due to the two-gold bonus received by the parents of an imager.

“I'm never bored by your homilies.”

“That's because I don't tell you what they'll be.”

“Your point is well taken. I did have a question for you.”

“I thought you might. You're not given to pleasantries for the sake of pleasantry.”

Alastar let himself wince. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Iskhar laughed.

“Have you heard anything from the other choristers in L'Excelsis about feelings toward either the Collegium or the rex?”

“I don't see the others often. What I have heard is that they're not especially pleased with either Ryen or the High Council. They wouldn't speak to me about the Collegium.”

“I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know if you do hear anything.”

“I will.”

“Thank you. Now, I'll go wait to see how you surprise me with your homily.”

There were a handful of primes already in the nave of the anomen when Alastar entered and took a position standing at the side near the front, but several yards back from the simple dais that only held a single pulpit. He continued to observe as each imager and student entered. Interestingly enough, Tiranya arrived with Shaelyt, rather than with Alyna, who accompanied several of the female students. Cyran and his wife Maliendra came, along with Desyrk and his wife, whose name Alastar could not recall.

Almost a hundred were gathered when Iskhar began the service by stepping forward onto the low dais and offering the invocation, “We gather together in the spirit of the Nameless and to affirm the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do.”

Then came the opening hymn, “All Praise the Nameless,” followed by the confession.

“We name not You, for naming presumes, and we presume not upon the Creator of all that was, is, and will be. We pray not to You for ourselves, nor ask from You favor or recognition, for such asks You to favor us over others who are also Yours. We confess that we risk in all times the sins of presumptuous pride. We acknowledge that the very names we bear symbolize those sins, for we strive too often to raise our names and ourselves above others, to insist that our small achievements have meaning…”

Alastar had always been amused about a confession to a deity who was supposedly without a name, but in fact named as the Nameless.

In the silence that followed the response of “In peace and harmony,” Iskhar moved behind the pulpit and looked out at the imagers gathered in the anomen. Finally, he said, “Good evening, and it is a good evening.”

“Good evening,” came the muted reply.

“All evenings are good evenings under the Nameless, although it is said that Rholan the Unnamer begged to differ, and many of us would agree in our hearts with that sentiment…”

Alastar certainly did, although he listened as the chorister stated the point of his homily.

“… but sentiment should not be the basis of our acts or our judgments. Good feelings can come from either the Nameless or the Namer, and some feelings, such as unselfish love or compassion, spring from the best motive…”

Does it matter if the best of intentions spur the worst of actions? Or the worst of intent leads to a better world … or Solidar?
Iskhar's words led Alastar to consider Ryen. Thwarting Ryen's desire to raise tariffs would only increase the already nearly unchecked power of the High Holders and weaken Solidar as a whole. Alastar was still pondering those implications as Iskhar brought the short homily to a close.

“… for while an imager without compassion is an imager without understanding, an imager whose compassion and sympathy override judgment is an imager who cannot be trusted to do what is right and just, for when the currents of feeling are unchecked, so is the power of imaging. Unchecked power used in service of the dictates of feeling can unleash the worst evils, such as righteous revenge, or striking out at those who we feel have somehow dishonored us, or have rejected us in one way or another, yet who have not actually injured anything but our self-respect. Feelings should inform us, even inspire us, but letting them drive us farther only makes us tools of the Namer, who always uses self-pride to turn us from the pursuit of true goodness toward the chimera of self-praise and empty honor.” Iskhar paused, then said quietly, “Listen to your feelings, but do not let them become your master, for that way lies the worst of Naming.”

Does it, really?
wondered Alastar.

Iskhar stood there silently for a moment, then began the closing hymn—“For the Glory.”

“For the glory, through all strife,

for the beauty of all life,

for all that is and will ever be,

all together, through forever,

in eternal Nameless glory…”

Once the last notes of the hymn died away, the chorister offered his benediction, “As we have come together in the sight of the Nameless, may we go forth renewed in understanding and in harmony with that which was, is, and ever shall be.”

When the imagers began to leave, Alastar saw that Khaelis and Narryn joined Shaelyt and Tiranya, while Alyna departed with the four girls.

Instead of going back to the Maitre's house immediately, Alastar took the stone walk north along the west side of Imagisle, into the park-like area comprising the northern quarter of the isle. Although Erion was low in the west, with Artiema almost full there was enough light that he didn't worry about tripping over something … or possibly surprising young imagers who might be about. Frowned on as that was, they did have the freedom of Imagisle until eighth glass. At the north end of the isle, the stone river wall rose a good two yards above the ground behind it. Alastar left the walk and stood behind a head-high boxwood hedge. Then he bent over and concentrated, imaging hot ceramic around water.

Shards of pottery splattered against the gray stone wall.

What if you tried that with a bit more water and some iron fragments?

He did, but the explosion was not that much greater. A third attempt, with less water, was even less successful. After almost half a glass of experimentation, Alastar shook his head. Most likely the damage from “faulty” pot imaging would be a few cuts and bruises … if that … except where those faulty pots were imaged very close to people. At times, that might be useful.

As he walked back toward the overlarge Maitre's house, he thought over the questions of both imager self-protection and channeling imaging into more lucrative pursuits so that the Collegium would not be so dependent on the whims of the rex. Years of quiet experimentation had convinced him that cannon and rifles were far more efficient in killing large numbers of people than was imaging, at least any imaging that he had tried. He still wondered just how great an imager the legendary Quaeryt had really been. Most legends weren't nearly as great and powerful as their legends.
But if he hadn't been …
Alastar smiled faintly. He'd never know, not really, and speculating on that wasn't about to help with his very immediate problems.

Under the pearly light of Artiema, he kept walking … and thinking.

 

P
ROLOGUE
(2)

The once-stocky man staggered and nearly fell as he struggled up from the old bench, balancing on his good leg and foot and using the crutch made from the limb of a tree to help himself move toward the front door of the small cot. He looked back. “You watch your brother and sister, now. Keep them away from the hearth.”