Imager's challenge

22

When I awoke on Samedi, I again tried to raise shields, and found that I could, but with an immediate, if dull, headache. That was both a frustration and a relief, because I was improving, just not as quickly as I would have liked. I’d been thrown into a wall by an explosion outside the Chateau, and that hadn’t affected my ability at all, but a load of granite crashing down on me from above had destroyed my ability to create shields for days? The only thing I could figure was something Maitre Dyana had said months earlier-about the angling of shields. There had been no way to slide the impact of the stones because they had dropped directly down on me, whereas I’d been at an angle to the explosion. But . . . again, that suggested someone knew far too much about imager limits.

Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, I pulled myself from bed, donned exercise clothes and boots, and headed out to deal with Clovyl’s regimen. Under a sky graying with approaching dawn, the air was chill, almost cold enough for frost, and I thought that was unusual for so early in the year-until I realized it was fall. So much of the year had slipped by without my really knowing it.

Clovyl worked us so hard that the cool was more than welcome for the four-mille run that always ended the early-morning sessions. The cold shower that followed wasn’t nearly so welcome, and even after I donned the gray imager’s garb that had seemed so hot during summer and harvest I took a while to warm up as I crossed the quadrangle.

Dartazn and Martyl were standing outside the dining hall when I got there. I had missed their company at meals, and I walked over to them. “How are things going with the Council-besides your being overworked?”

Martyl grinned. “Overworked? How could you say that, sir?”

“No ‘sirs’ between us. I wouldn’t have the position if they hadn’t had to get me away from the Council.” I wouldn’t have been surprised if Dartazn and Baratyn both were Maitres D’Aspect, anyway, their rank concealed as was the case with many working for Master Dichartyn. “Is the Council doing anything?” That wasn’t an idle question. Outside of reading Veritum and Tableta, I hadn’t done much to keep up with events between Solidar and Ferrum. War hadn’t been declared, but there had been minor naval incidents off the coast of Jariola.

“Nothing that anyone can see.” Dartazn’s tone was dry. “There are lots of Navy couriers, and Councilor Rholyn has made at least two quick trips from the Chateau to the Collegium in the middle of the day.”

“Something’s about to happen, then.”

“That’d be our guess.” Martyl shrugged. “What about you? How do you like the Civic Patrol?”

“It’s more eventful. You know . . . burglaries, weeded-out elvers, toughs killing each other. And lots and lots of walking. Oh, I forgot, boredom in watching justice cases, and lots of excuses when people are charged.”

“Almost makes you want to come back to the Chateau, does it?” asked Dartazn.

“The company at the Chateau is much better. So is the food, and far cheaper.”

“You have to pay for your own lunches?”

“So far, anyway.” I paused. “Has Master Dichartyn found anyone to help you?”

“Not yet,” replied Martyl. “I don’t think he’s hurrying, either.”

“Any new kinds of attempts to attack councilors?”

The two exchanged the quickest of glances.

“Cannons?” I pressed. “Gunpowder devices?”

“Someone tried to drive another wagon through the gates,” Martyl admitted. “Like the one you exploded. It was filled with black powder and grapeshot. Dartazn, here, got it to explode outside the gates. Two guards were injured, and they had to put down a half-dozen dray horses. Good thing it was on a day when only the High Council was there.”

Did that mean that it had been a Jariolan plot? Or a Tiempran one? Would anyone ever know?

We talked a bit more and then went to our separate tables. I sat with Ferlyn, but he didn’t know as much as Dartazn and Martyl had. After breakfast, I hurried back to my studio, not because I had that much to do in preparation for the sitting with Master Rholyn but because I wanted to start on some design sketches for Seliora’s portrait. Her portrait wouldn’t be one where she was seated, although most were, but Seliora had too much energy for that. I wasn’t certain how to capture her standing, either.

By the time Master Rholyn arrived just after ninth glass, I’d gone through something like four different design sketches and found each of them lacking. I was ready to set them aside for the task of working on finishing Rholyn’s face, or as much of it as I could.

“Good morning, sir,” I offered.

He only nodded as he took off his heavy cloak and walked over to the low crate. “The same position?”

“If you would, for a moment.”

I decided not to ask any questions while I worked on the part of the portrait dealing with his neck and chin. After perhaps two quints, when I’d done what I could and he was getting stiff and tired, I said, “If you’d like to sit down, sir.”

After several moments, while still painting, I said, “I heard that someone tried to send a wagon filled with explosives into the Chateau.”

“It was rather hard to miss . . . the explosion, that is.”

“Do you think it was the Jariolans or the Ferrans?”

“The Jariolans are most secretive, and it’s rather hard to find out things when the Solidaran embassy in Ferrial is closed, even temporarily,” replied Rholyn. “The Ferran parliament, if you can term it such, was not exactly pleased at the demise of their previous envoy, accidental as it may have appeared.”

“That sounds to me like the death of envoys, however accidental, is unacceptable, but the death of tens of imagers is . . . from the Ferran point of view, at least.”

“The deaths of imagers are always acceptable, anywhere in Terahnar.” Rholyn raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t you learned that yet?”

“I’ve learned it, sir, but I’d hoped such deaths wouldn’t be that acceptable within the Collegium.” I was baiting Rholyn a bit. That was probably unwise, but I’d gotten more than a little tired of a leadership attitude in the Collegium which seemed to regard junior imagers as expendable targets and lures.

“That is an assumption that you lack the facts to support, Rhennthyl.”

“That’s quite possible, sir. Would you be willing to affirm that my personal experience or the killing of more than ten junior imagers by assassins so far this year are completely at odds with the Collegium’s actual practices?”

Rholyn actually sighed. “Master Dichartyn did mention that your inquiries could prove difficult.” After a lengthy interval, he finally spoke. “Let me reply in this fashion. It is not widely known, nor do we wish it known, that some two hundred years ago, the chief maitre of the Collegium protested, both in word and action, the practice of local patrollers and others who engaged in killing young imagers. More than two-thirds of the imagers in Solidar were seriously injured or killed. Close to two hundred High Holders died as well, and more than a thousand factors and artisans. The fleet was less than united or effective, and the Ferran autocracy was overthrown and replaced by the commercial barons who now rule Ferrum. You will find little mention of anything like this in the histories, only the mention of the Navy’s inability to affect events in Ferrum. At that time, there were close to four hundred imagers in the Collegium-before the pogroms. Less than two hundred survived. You can check the figures by going through the old rosters of the Collegium. I’m sure that Master Poincaryt would open them to you. With the widespread use of firearms now, we are possibly even more vulnerable. You would doubtless survive, but what of those who cannot raise the shields that you can?”

I didn’t have a quick answer to that. In fact, I didn’t have any good answer.

“Difficult as the present situation is, Rhennthyl, any action the Collegium takes independently and as an institution that suggests it would or could arrogate itself over the Council, the guilds, the factors associations, or any government anywhere on Terahnar would result in extreme danger to every imager, especially those you would protect. The Collegium as a whole must always be seen to support the Council and never to oppose any of the three groups it comprises.”

“As a whole . . .” I mused half aloud.

Rholyn smiled. It was a cold expression. “Personal difficulties must be handled personally and in a fashion that can never involve the Collegium as an institution, nor be seen to involve it. That is how it has been for the past two centuries and how it must be, for the sake of all imagers, not just those who have the imaging strength to stand against armed force.”

“I see, sir. Thank you.” Both Maitre Dichartyn and Maitre Dyana had been more than clear on that policy, but not the full reasons behind it. I almost asked why, but after a moment I understood. The issue arose only for the handful of imagers with abilities such as mine, and we could be handled as discrete individuals, while raising the point that Rholyn and Maitre Dyana had for all imagers would only emphasize the Collegium’s vulnerability. I also realized another reason why the Collegium guarded the Council members-to remind them that there was power in the Collegium and that such power served them.

Needless to say, I asked no more questions, but just worked on the portrait, then partly cleaned up after Master Rholyn left. I didn’t have to put everything away because Seliora would be sitting for me in the afternoon.

At lunch, I listened to Ferlyn and Quaelyn as they discussed the patterns of where imagers had been born. I hadn’t even realized that the Collegium kept such records.

After I ate, I hurried off to wait for Seliora. On the previous Solayi, she had agreed to meet me at the end of the Bridge of Hopes at the first glass of the afternoon-but only if I agreed to spend a glass on horseback in the courtyard at NordEste Design before we could have dinner. I pondered just how well I might do as I stood on the middle of the bridge a good quint before the bells rang out from the Imagisle Anomen.

A coach for hire pulled up at the east side of the bridge, and three people emerged-Odelia, Kolasyn, and Seliora. I immediately hurried toward them. The bells began to peal the glass, their sound both more mellow and yet sharper in the cool fall afternoon. As we neared each other, I could see that Seliora wore black split skirts, a simple red blouse, and a black jacket also trimmed in red.

We hugged each other briefly, then separated, and I turned toward Odelia and Kolasyn. “Thank you for accompanying Seliora.”

“It was our pleasure,” replied Kolasyn. His voice suggested that he definitely meant that.

“But we do want to be among the first to see the portrait,” Odelia added.

“You will be,” I promised.

“Until later, then,” Odelia replied.

Seliora and I watched from the middle of the bridge as the two walked back toward the Boulevard D’Imagers.

“They look good together,” I offered.

“He’s good for her,” Seliora said.

I understood all too well what she didn’t say-that nice as he was, Kolasyn didn’t have the strength to replace Shelim. Nor did Shomyr. I turned to her again. “You look good.”

“Simple, you mean.” The mischievous smile appeared. “I don’t want a portrait that shows me in something I’d never wear.”

“I could still paint it that way,” I said teasingly.

She raised her eyebrows.

“But I’d better not.” I laughed. “I thought we’d take the scenic walk to my studio, around Imagisle, so that you could see more of it.”

“I’d like that.”

I took her arm, and we turned northward and began to follow the stone-paved path on the east side of the isle that paralleled the river, if some five yards back from the granite river wall.

“That’s the administration building, and those are the quarters for primes and seconds. I had a room on the second level there.” I pointed.

“It looks rather severe,” Seliora replied, “although it’s pleasant enough with the oaks beginning to turn. I imagine it’s more austere in full winter.” She paused. “There aren’t that many trees this old left in L’Excelsis.”

“Some date back to the founding of the Collegium.”

We walked farther north, past the small docks that held two modest training steamboats, on one of which I’d done my first public imaging, although I couldn’t distinguish which of the two it might have been.

To our left was an expanse of grass, surrounded by the ancient oaks, and farther west were the armory and the building holding the various workshops. Before long, we reached the houses for the married imagers. The larger dwellings fronted the river on both the east and west sides of the isle, but all were of two stories, and of solid granite with tile roofs, and with garden courtyards behind them and stone lanes flanked with grass and hedges between. While the exteriors were similar, from the window hangings, flower boxes, and various small touches, the sizes varied somewhat, and it was clear that those who lived there had very differing tastes. I wondered which might belong to Master Dichartyn.

“That’s where the imagers with families live. The larger dwellings are mostly for the senior masters, but they’re not nearly so grand as NordEste Design,” I said with a smile.

“They have a great deal more privacy, Rhenn.”

“I can see that, and there are a few that are spacious.”

Seliora stopped. So did I. She looked at me. “They’re built so that imagers can live safely with their families, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Could an imager . . .” She didn’t finish the thought.

“It’s rare, but I once lit a lamp in my sleep. I was dreaming, but thought I was awake.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

North of the houses was the park with the open grassy spaces for play and walking and, of course, the hedge maze. I would have liked to have played in one of those as a boy. Most of the time I’d walked there, I hadn’t seen many people, but perhaps because it was a Samedi afternoon, there were at least half a dozen families there. Four or five children were running through the head-high boxwood maze, occasionally shrieking and having a wonderful time.

We reached the northern tip of the isle, where there were several shaded benches with a view of the gray waters of the River Aluse. Seated on one of those in the middle were Shannyr and his new bride. I couldn’t remember her name. Although I hadn’t seen her before, he’d told me about her. He’d also been more than friendly at the time of my difficulties with Johanyr, one of the few seconds who had been truly supportive.

“Shannyr?”

He turned, then rose. “Master Rhennthyl.”

His wife stood almost immediately as well. She was slender, but with a round face and pale green eyes washed out somewhat by the dark blue woolen coat. She grasped his hand.

“I haven’t ever had the honor of meeting your wife.” I smiled, looking at her. “I have heard him speak most flatteringly about you.”

She flushed ever so slightly as Shannyr said quickly, “Ciermya, this is Master Rhennthyl.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, sir.” She smiled, a trace apprehensively, I thought.

“And I you. This is Seliora,” I said.

Seliora offered a warm smile, then said, “I’m glad to meet you. All I’ve seen here are men.”

“This is the first time she’s really seen Imagisle,” I added. “How are you finding it, Ciermya?”

“I like it very much, sir. Our quarters are lovely, and it’s a short walk to work . . . so long as I keep working, leastwise.”

“You do . . . drafting, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s outstanding at it,” added Shannyr proudly.

“I’m sure she is.” I could tell Ciermya was not exactly at ease, so I smiled again. “We won’t keep you, but I did want to meet you after all Shannyr said. He won’t tell you, but I appreciate all that he did to help me.”

“I just did-”

“You did more than anyone else then, and I won’t forget it.” I could tell he was embarrassed, but I wasn’t about to let him minimize his actions.

As we began to walk along the west side of the isle, I looked to Seliora.

Her eyes met mine, and she nodded.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“He’s older than you, a good five years or more, but he respects you. She fears you.”

“Am I so fearsome? I didn’t do all that well at the Council, and now I’m pounding the stone pavement of L’Excelsis with patrollers.”

“You did very well at the Chateau. It could be that you did too well.”

I almost missed a step as the combination of her words and what Master Rholyn had said earlier struck me. Did Master Dichartyn-or Maitre Poincaryt-worry that my inability to conceal my imaging might unsettle the Council? Or had I been removed as a purported disciplinary action to show the Council that the Collegium did not approve of “accidents” occurring to foreign envoys, regardless of provocation?

“Frig . . .” I barely murmured the words. It made far too much sense.

Seliora stopped, still looking at me.

“I just realized something. I’m going to have to be far more circumspect than I’ve been before. Master Rholyn hinted at that earlier today, but what you said made me think about it in a different way.”

“How so?”

“What I did at the Chateau was too much a reminder to the Council of how powerful an imager can be, and the Collegium does not want that.”

“Wasn’t it acceptable, in protecting them?”

“I’m sure it was. Once, or very occasionally.”

She nodded again.

I pointed across the river to the west where the gleaming white walls of the Council Chateau, sitting on its hill, almost sparkled in the fall afternoon light. “We do have a good view of the Chateau.”

South of the park was the armory, set almost next to the gray stone river walls on the west side of the isle. The massive gray-walled building with the workrooms was next.

“What’s that?”

“That’s where we’re headed. My studio is a small converted workroom, on the northeast corner-right there.” I pointed.

“Do they all have outside doors?”

“Most of them, and they’re all lead-lined, with leaded glass windows, and leaden sheets in the center of the doors.”

“That’s not true of the houses, is it?” She frowned.

“Just one sleeping chamber, I’m told.” I led the way to the studio, where I opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

Once Seliora was inside, as I closed the door, she glanced around the studio, her eyes alighting on the sheets of paper that held the various design sketches that I’d worked on earlier. “Can I see?”

“Be my guest. I wasn’t happy with any of them, and I decided that I needed to have you here to do a decent design.”

Then she looked to the uncompleted portrait of Master Rholyn. “I saw your study at the Guild Hall, but this is the first portrait I’ve seen.”

“It needs more work.”

“It will be good, better than he deserves.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s a cruelty there. I can see it, even now. You paint what you see and feel, Rhenn. Isn’t that so?”

Cruelty? I studied what I’d portrayed so far. Perhaps there was a hint of that. Certainly, there was a hardness to the set of his eyes that combined with the strong jaw and the too-full lips to create an image of . . . what, I still wasn’t sure. When I finished the hair and forehead, and the one side of the neck, I’d know more.

“This afternoon is for your portrait, not his. I’d like to work on some more sketches. If you’d take off the scarf and drape it loosely over your left shoulder . . .”

“Like this?”

“That’s good.”

From there on, I began to sketch.

The third design had something, but it was too head-on; so I did a fourth . . . and the angle was perfect.

“Good. Just hold that.”

She didn’t say a word.

I called a halt when I realized that the bells had rung half past second glass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

“That’s fine.” She shook her head, then shrugged her shoulders, trying to loosen them. “Posing is hard work. How much did you get done?”

“The design, and I got that all on the canvas, just a light outline, as well as the lines of your face, the eyes, the cheeks. It’s a very good start, but it could take several months because I’ll need you to sit, and we can only do that on end-days.” I began to clean up, not that I had that much to do, because I hadn’t used any oils, just the fine-lined drawing pencil.

“How about tomorrow?”

“I can’t. I’m the duty master, and I really shouldn’t be this far from the administrative building.”

“Oh . . .”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“That’s all right.”

It wasn’t, but her tone was forgiving.

“I owe you a dinner for all your hard work.”

“First, you owe me some time on horseback,” she reminded me.

“Can we go to dinner afterward? Somewhere like Chaelya’s,” I suggested. “That would be family-approved, would it not?” I followed my words with a grin.

“Aunt Staelia would be pleased, and the food is good.”

“You have some reservations? Or were we supposed to meet Odelia and Kolasyn somewhere?”

“No . . . they’re having dinner with Shomyr and someone he’s interested in. Haelya is her name.”

“You’re more interested in torturing me on horseback, is that it? Or do you have a feeling it wouldn’t be good to have dinner there?” That was a guess, but with Seliora’s Pharsi farsight, that was always a possibility.

“Not farsight . . . but a feeling.”

“Azeyd’s, then? We went to Terraza last week.”

“That might be better. Next week we could go to Chaelya’s with either Odelia and Kolasyn or Shomyr and Haelya.”

“Besides, I’m growing very fond of Pharsi fare, all kinds of Pharsi fare.” I didn’t quite leer.

“Rhenn . . .” She laughed and shook her head.

For a number of reasons, including my inability to hold shields for long, we walked over the Bridge of Desires and hailed a hack on the west bank of the Aluse. The wind had turned chill during the course of the afternoon, and Seliora’s jacket wasn’t that heavy. She was shivering by the time we got into the coach. As the coach crossed the Nord Bridge, I looked out at the river, its dark gray water topped with whitecaps, thinking that we might be in for an early snowfall.

Back at NordEste Design, I got a lesson in saddling and putting a bridle on a very gentle mare, who snorted only once or twice at my incompetence. Then I managed to mount and ride around the courtyard until my thighs ached and my ears were numb, and my nose began to run.

Finally, my task-mistress relented and let me dismount, but I still had to stall and unsaddle and curry the mare. Then I had to wash up as well. We were both cold by that time.

It was well past sixth glass when we finally ended up at a cozy corner table at Azeyd, close enough to the hearth that Seliora stopped shivering, but not near enough to roast me.

“Do you want some hot mulled wine?” I asked.

“No, I’m already warm enough. A red Cambrisio, please,” she told the server, a black-haired Pharsi girl several years younger than Khethila, “and I’ll have the harvest greens, and the lamb pastry roll.”

“The red Cambrisio also,” I added, “and the harvest greens, but I’d like the cumin-cream lamb with the rice.”

“Yes, sir.” The server smiled and slipped away.

“She’s cheerful,” I offered.

“Her parents wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“She’s the daughter of the owners?”

“Martica and Chelaom are much stricter than Mama and Papa.”

I offered a wince.

Seliora laughed softly.

Once our wine and greens arrived, I began to explain, keeping my voice very low, what I’d learned over the week from Master Dichartyn, Maitre Dyana, and Master Rholyn, ending with, “. . . in short, I’ve been told that my problems with Ryel are mine and mine alone, and that I need to resolve them by myself and without any tracks leading back to the Collegium-or to you and your family.”

“My family? Oh, because too many people know we’re close, and that would lead back to you?”

“I don’t think we need both the Collegium and the High Holders after you and your family.” I tried to keep my tone dry. “Although I did hear from Lieutenant Mardoyt that you were more than capable of protecting yourself.”

“Grandmama said that would come up.” Her words were not quite defiant. “When did he tell you this?”

“This last week.” That was a bit of a stretch, but not that much.

“He’s an evil man and not to be trusted.” She offered a wry smile. “But it is true. Ricardio attempted to take some liberties with me. He ripped my blouse right off me. I shot him in the shoulder. Then I told him that if he said a word about it, he’d never say another. He said I was a bitch.” She sighed. “I didn’t want to shoot him. That’s why I had to.”

“What?” I didn’t understand that.

“I kept trying to discourage him gently. He wouldn’t discourage. I even warned him. He laughed and lunged for me. Some people only understand force. It’s best to avoid those altogether . . . if you can.”

“Because, in the end, you have to use force to stop them?” I asked.

She nodded.

By that token, if I’d had any sense, I should have avoided Johanyr totally-except he hadn’t given me that choice.

“Do you think I’m terrible for that?” Seliora asked quietly. “I suppose I should have told you, but . . .”

“You hoped I’d understand, and feared I wouldn’t?”

She nodded again.

“Dear one . . .” I smiled. “If anyone understands being pushed into doing something necessary and unpleasant, I’m certainly getting to that point. Sometimes, there aren’t any alternatives.”

“There are always alternatives,” she replied, “but if we accept them, we become less.”

I’d thought about that, if not in her case.

“What can I do to help you?” she asked after a moment, a question that also asked if we could leave the shooting behind.

“Could you find out what you can about Ryel’s commercial enterprises, especially in L’Excelsis? I’m fairly certain he has interests in or control of the Banque D’Rivages.” I paused. “But I’d rather have no information than have anything leading to you and your family.”

“I can see that. I can ask, and we’ll talk it over.” Seliora nodded slowly. “Can I ask what you have in mind?”

“In a general sense. I’m trying to figure out what might be called misdirection. I can’t wait too long, because the greatest pressure Ryel can put on me is through my family. If he presses your family right now, he offers an opportunity he doesn’t want to give.”

That was clear enough to me, because Seliora and I weren’t even betrothed, let alone married. If Ryel acted against them, now, they certainly could use their taudis contacts against him and his family, and it was unlikely that the High Holder-his heirs, especially-would get much support for attacking a crafting family not involved in his feud. That also meant that I had to deal with Ryel before I could even consider marrying Seliora.

“I see that. Still . . . I should tell Mama and Grandmama to be prepared if he does act against us.” Her smile was cold.

There wasn’t much more to say about that, not really, because I had only a vague idea of how I would actually attempt to carry out what I had in mind. So I looked at Seliora and smiled. “How are your greens?”

“Good. And yours?” The mischievous smile reappeared.

“Excellent, if not quite so good as those prepared by those in a certain kitchen off Hagahl Lane.”

We would enjoy the rest of the evening. About that, I was determined. I was also relieved to have heard Seliora’s words about the shooting. It did confirm what I already knew. She wasn’t about to be demeaned or abused, regardless of the cost. Her reaction also strengthened my own feelings about dealing with Ryel.