Treachery's Tools (74 page)

“Yes, sir.” Remaylt's voice was flat.

“Squad leader,” Alastar said gently and firmly, “this is the second time Ryentar has caused the needless deaths of imagers and thousands of troopers innocent of anything except following orders. I had no intention of allowing the possibility of a third time. And, since we are within a hundred milles of L'Excelsis, his life was already forfeit by regial edict.”

“I didn't know that, sir.”

“I didn't expect that you would. I'm also thankful for all the support you and your men have provided. Without it, matters could have gone otherwise.” Alastar inclined his head.

“We'll take care of the body, sir.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Alastar turned the gray so that he could face the surviving imagers, nodding to Seliora and then to Arion. “We need to head back, just in case we missed something.”

Once the imagers were re-formed, Alastar started back along the dirt road, flanked immediately by Arion and Seliora. Akoryt brought up the rear of the imagers, riding beside Remaylt at the head of the three squads the squad leader had gathered in the effort to catch Ryentar.

“It doesn't look like there's much left to have missed.” Arion gestured toward the river, where the only moving figures appeared to be the regular army troopers.

“Perhaps not, but I also need to meet with Wilkorn, just in case.”

Arion nodded, then said in a lower voice. “All that you said to the High Holder … that was true, wasn't it?”

“I wasn't entirely convinced that he killed his mother. I said that to get his reaction. The fact that he didn't protest…”

“… means that he did,” finished Seliora firmly.

“You were wondering why we had to pursue Ryentar immediately, weren't you?” Alastar asked Arion.

“I did wonder, I have to admit.”

“If he had escaped, he would have claimed that he wasn't there, and that the High Holders took his colors without his permission … and he could easily have gotten off without paying for all this. Could you imagine the outcry if Lorien had executed him without proof?”

“But you killed him…”

“It's not the same. He died in the battle, after killing an imager.”

Arion nodded, then asked, “Do you believe what Bettaur said?”

“It must be true, mustn't it?” asked Alastar, his voice gentle. “Even Ryentar admitted it. And Bettaur killed the leader of the rebel imagers when it would have been difficult, if not impossible for us to do it without losing more imagers and troopers.”

Arion looked to Alastar. “Then that's the way it was. He died … just like Taryn … and the others.”

“That's the way it always was,” said Seliora firmly, “and every imager who was here
will
insist on it.”

Alastar smiled inside, if faintly, knowing what Seliora hadn't added—
especially for the sake of Linzya and her unborn child.
Then he looked toward the river road, where the command tent still stood, seemingly alone in light of the afternoon sun. He wasn't looking forward to learning just how great the toll on Wilkorn's troopers had been. The toll on the imagers had been far too high—six out of fifteen, counting Bettaur and presumably Ashkyr, not to mention how many rebel imagers there had been from Westisle.
All because you wouldn't name Voltyrn Maitre there.

He kept riding and reached for his water bottle, hoping there was at least some lager remaining in it.

 

47

The ride back along the dirt road to the river road took almost three quints, what with avoiding bodies and scavengers. Alastar left Akoryt in charge of the imagers and rode to the command tent, simply because he was too tired to walk. Once there, he handed the gelding's reins to one of the troopers standing guard and walked inside. Maurek was talking to Luerryn.

Alastar just stood quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

Suddenly, Maurek looked past Luerryn. “Maitre, what can you report?”

“High Holder Regial died in the last part of the battle after he killed an imager. The rest of his personal guard surrendered. So far as we know, there are no renegade imagers remaining.”

Maurek nodded to Luerryn. “You can go.” He didn't speak again until the major had left the command tent. “What did you do up there on the south road?”

“We did our best to reinforce the foot there when the mounted infantry had to stop the attack from the west.” Alastar didn't feel like explaining in detail.

“We wouldn't have won without what you did to Hehnsyn's battalion,” said Maurek. “That allowed us to concentrate all our forces on Aestyn and Marryt. Some of them lost heart when they saw half a regiment had been wiped out all at once.” He paused. “How did you do that?”

“I didn't,” Alastar admitted. “Cyran and Taryn did. They imaged a massive blast of Antiagon fire back at the imagers who were supporting the High Holders. I can't explain what happened, except that there was apparently a massive interaction of imaging forces, and Cyran managed to channel it against the attackers. I've never seen anything like it. We lost a third of our imagers there. We lost the other two in dealing with the Ryentar's personal guard and the last of the renegade imagers from Westisle.” That wasn't precisely true, but it was better stated and left that way.

“Renegade imagers?”

“It turned out that there were more than we thought, and that they came from Westisle. The two imagers missing from the Collegium were actually helping us, but they died destroying the last three renegade imagers.”

“How did that kind of treachery happen? I thought you had tighter control over your imagers.”

“So did I.” Making his words sound wry was an effort for Alastar. “How does any treachery occur, either in the army or the Collegium?” he went on tiredly. “Usually because someone who has an excessively high opinion of himself feels slighted and is flattered and persuaded to betray those he feels slighted him. I doubt we'll ever know all the details, just as you probably won't about Aestyn, Hehnsyn, or Marryt. How heavy were your casualties?”

“Dead and wounded, close to eight hundred of ours. Over three thousand of theirs, maybe four thousand if you count what you and the imagers did earlier.”

Alastar paused, then asked, “Where's the marshal?”

“He rallied two companies and led them against Aestyn … from the front. They shot him five times, Luerryn said, but he still broke their formation.”

“He told me he had to be here,” said Alastar.

“He did. He felt it was his fault that the army was corrupted.”

Alastar understood too well.
All too well.
Wilkorn had felt responsible for allowing the army revolt to happen.

“He never wanted to be put out to pasture like a warhorse who outlived his purpose.”

Not as a warhorse who felt enormous guilt that would have gnawed him into a slow and agonizing death.
“He wanted to act, not be acted upon.” That was also true enough.

“I suspect you are much the same, Maitre.”

Alastar wasn't about to comment on that. “What do you intend to do with the rebel troops?”

“With the rankers and squad leaders—let them go. The rankers, even the squad leaders, don't have that much of a choice. They've suffered enough. If any want to rejoin the army a year from now, we'll look at them one by one. The officers? They swore an oath to support the rex and Solidar.” Maurek shook his head. “They had a choice, and they chose disloyalty and treason. I've had everyone who survived shot. Not that there were all that many. Aestyn was killed in the marshal's attack, and Marryt probably wouldn't have survived his wounds. Hehnsyn … your imagers took care of him and his officers.” Maurek's smile was grim. “What about your renegades?”

“So far as we can determine, they're all dead. We'll have to change all the leadership in Westisle and move some imagers from there to the Collegium in L'Excelsis … and go from there. Since there appears to be no immediate need for the imagers, we will return to L'Excelsis in the morning.” After a brief hesitation, Alastar asked, “Have you dispatched a messenger to Rex Lorien?”

“I have. I kept the dispatch brief. I just wrote that we had destroyed the rebel force, and that all the officers involved had died in the course of the engagement. I did not mention anything about High Holder Regial. At the time, I did not know, and I wanted Rex Lorien to know that we had prevailed.”

“I'll let him know about his dear brother.”

“That might be for the best,” said Maurek.

“If there's nothing else?”

The commander shook his head. “If there's anything else you should know, I'll inform you.”

Alastar inclined his head, then turned and left the command tent. He mounted the gray and headed back north along the river road. He took his time covering the hundred or so yards back to where the imagers had tied their mounts, thinking about what he might say to them.

Even before he dismounted, Dylert was standing there. “I'll take care of your horse, sir.”

“Thank you.” Alastar dismounted carefully, then turned to wait as Akoryt walked toward him. Alastar couldn't help but note that Akoryt's formerly red hair was now mostly gray.
Did that just happen … or is it another thing you failed to notice?

“Sir … I've gathered the others…”

“Thank you.” Alastar already knew what Akoryt wasn't saying—that Alastar needed to talk to all the imagers. “Dylert offered to groom my horse.”

“I'll have one of the teamsters take care of that.” Akoryt motioned, and a teamster hurried to catch up to Dylert.

Alastar realized that Akoryt had already thought that out.
He'll make a good senior imager or maitre.

The two walked toward where the others waited.

Once there, while he waited for Dylert to join them, Alastar looked across the faces of the eight surviving imagers. All of them looked the way he felt—drained and anything but triumphant. After several more moments, Dylert hurried up and stood between Belsior and Taurek.

“It's been a long day,” Alastar began, prosaically, “a long week as well. In fact, it's been a long harvest season, but the worst is over. All the rebel commanders and their officers are dead. So, it appears, are the imagers from Westisle who turned on the Collegium, simply because I hesitated to appoint one of them as Maitre at Westisle.” He paused. “I didn't make a choice because I had concerns about either of the most senior imagers at Westisle, and I wanted to think over who might be most suitable from the Collegium here. Then I didn't make a choice because we got involved in a war, and I didn't want to distract any of you from the problems here.” He offered a wintry smile. “Obviously I was right and wrong. Right to be concerned and wrong to put off deciding.” He paused once more.

“Nothing is achieved without hard work. Often that hard work ends up requiring sacrifices—of time, of pleasure, and, as it did today, of lives. All too often, those with power use that power not only unwisely, but selfishly, as if they and those like them are the only ones in all Terahnar who matter. To stop such abuses and selfish power requires greater power, of some sort, and that power may take lives, as it did today. We would all like to think of success or victory as a triumph. That is our nature. But, as happened today, sometimes the greatest victories, the most important triumphs, feel anything but triumphant. But had we failed today, all of Solidar would slowly but inexorably have sunk back into the chaos and tyranny that preceded the founding of Solidar, where any High Holder could condemn someone to die for merely displeasing him, where young imagers could be enslaved or killed, where crafters and tradesmen would ply their trade only at the whim of the wealthiest, where there would be no women of property, where no one of Pharsi blood could be certain when he or she would be hounded or killed. We did not fail, but that success, a success which feels little like triumph, would not have been possible without each and every one of you—and without the sacrifices of Cyran, Taryn, Chervyt, and Julyan—and, strangely enough, of even Bettaur and Ashkyr.” Alastar paused for a long moment. “What we must do next is to assure that all the pain and sacrifice do not go in vain. We must rebuild the Collegium to be even stronger. We must assure that those imagers in Westisle never again feel that they are not part of the whole Collegium. And we must make certain that every High Holder is held to obey the Codex Legis as it was written, and not when or where they wish to obey. These things we can do. These things we must do … in the name and spirit of those who gave everything for this bitter triumph.”

Alastar didn't know what else he could say. He just lowered his head.

“I don't think there's more to be said,” offered Akoryt quietly, but firmly. “Except one thing. None of us would have survived or triumphed without good leadership. The greatest fortune we had was Maitre Alastar. None of us should forget that. He has always put the Collegium first, and he has never hesitated to take the greatest risks on behalf of all of us. Ever.”

Alastar looked up. He hadn't expected that.

Taurek and Arion were both nodding. In fact, all of them were.

Alastar swallowed. He couldn't speak for several moments. Finally, he said, “I did the best I could, but I wasn't perfect. I made mistakes, as I just told you. You will, too, when you lead. It's what you do after you make a mistake that counts.”

Since he couldn't think of anything else to say, he didn't.

 

48

With a cool wind blowing out of the northwest, and under an overcast sky, Alastar and his surviving imagers left the site of the battle just after dawn on Solayi. They were accompanied by what remained of Weidyn's Fifth Company. Behind them, the remaining troopers were collecting wood and timbers and building the pyres to burn the dead from both armies. All—except the rebel officers—would have a few words said on their behalf. The memorial services for Cyran and the other imagers would be offered at the Collegium anomen, sometime in the next week.