L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

“But why would anyone poison just some of the weed? No one important smokes it, and no one with any factoring or holder connections makes golds from it.”

“Not that we know.”

“Do you really think…?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know enough. It might not mean anything at all, but I’d still like to find out.”

“What about the Ferrans?”

“They’ll attack, sooner or later. They think that the Jariolans are weak and corrupt.”

“Are they?” Seliora yawned again.

“They’re corrupt. That doesn’t mean they’re weak.” I took her hands and stood. “You’ve had a long day, and you’re about to fall asleep.”

“I know…but I like the quiet times, talking to you. We don’t have that many of them these days.”

That was all too true, between my schedule and Diestrya.

Even so, we climbed the stairs hand-in-hand, and then got ready for bed. Once we were in Seliora’s bed, holding each other-and more-helped alleviate my feeling that the relative stability and comfort we’d enjoyed for the past few years was about to vanish…and not because of anything that either of us had done.

In the end, of course, we kissed and parted, and I returned to my small sleeping room and cold sheets…with the hope that my sleep would be pleasant, or at least dreamless.

Fog had settled around Imagisle, and I was walking southward through the dank and thick gray mist from the house toward the quadrangle to meet with Maitre Poincaryt and Master Dichartyn. I could barely see a yard or two in front of me, and I didn’t know what they wanted.

Somewhere overhead in the distance, thunder rumbled, then died away.

Ahead, I saw a figure in a cloak. The cloak could have been either dark gray or black, but whoever stood there on the stone walkway did not move as I neared.

“Hello, there,” I offered.

There was no response, nor did the figure still move.

I was close enough to make out the hood, but for some reason I couldn’t make out the face within it.

A blinding flash dazzled me, leaving glittering flashes in my eyes. Then, a deafening crash numbed and shook me. The figure in the cloak still did not speak, and instead of a face under the hood, I could only see darkness. Suddenly, as I watched, the cloak collapsed into a heap on the stone walk…and huge gray stones began falling out of the misty sky, all around me.

I sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring from my forehead. I could smell something, but, after I lit the bedside lamp, a quick check of my sleeping chamber reassured me that what ever I’d imaged in my nightmare hadn’t set anything on fire.

Rather than wake Seliora, because she’d looked so tired, and we’d stayed up far longer than we should have, I eased out of my bed and walked to the window. When I looked out, I could see that there was no fog. The stars were shining in a clear sky, and Artiema was half full and casting her pearly light on the lawn and walls below.

Fog? Figures that weren’t? Stones falling out of the sky?

Why had I dreamed something like that?

I was afraid I knew. Even if I couldn’t logically explain it all, I had a definite sense that troubles lay ahead for both me and the Collegium.

Eventually, I did cool down and go back to sleep.

I wasn’t totally surprised when I woke on Vendrei to see a dark line etched in the stone of the wall beyond the foot of my bed. It didn’t look like much, just a jagged black line. After opening the bedchamber door, I concentrated on imaging the gray stone to its unmarked appearance, and the line vanished. That small bit of imaging did give me a trace of a headache, which I ignored as I dressed in my exercise clothes, and then slipped out of the house to make my way to join Clovyl, who had added some time spent on refresher training in hand-to-hand combat.

When I finally returned to the house, between the effects of exercise, running, and a cool shower, I felt the future might be less foreboding. I was glad to see that Seliora looked more rested when I joined them at the table, but the headache didn’t totally disappear until after I ate.

I just concentrated on being cheerful during breakfast and on the trip to NordEste Design. There certainly wasn’t anything Seliora could do about worries I couldn’t even explain, nor was there anything more I could say or do to address the problem she faced with Odelia. All I could do was to talk to her and Diestrya and make both of them feel special for the time we had together that morning.

Once I had left them safely at NordEste Design, I read through the newsheets quickly. While the stories speculated on what might happen between Ferrum and Jariola, nothing had yet occurred. Nor had there been any more burned or damaged grain warehouses-not reported in the newsheets, anyway. The most interesting story was about the drowning death of a rising young Caenenan priest who had been trying to build a theo-political movement against the High Priest of Duodeus-effectively the ruler of tropical Caenen. Because Solidar had reached a practical and trade accommodation with Caenen, after having removed the previous High Priest, the drowning suggested the fine hand of one of Schorzat’s field operatives. The shortest story in Veritum nagged at me. Little more than three sentences long, it stated that the Council would be considering revising the Solidaran sales tax structure and imposing a one percent value-added tax on both the bulk sale of agricultural produce and of manufactured goods, on the grounds that the sellers of those goods were effectively exempted from the end-use sales taxes.

After reading the newsheets, I considered the implications of the invitations Seliora and I had received. Certainly, the combination of Iryela’s note and the invitation to the Council’s Autumn Ball strongly suggested that High Councilor Suyrien had a definite agenda in mind. But what? In addition to being the Chief Councilor of the Executive Council of Solidar, Suyrien was one of the economically most prosperous and powerful High Holders, with extensive lands around L’Excelsis, one of the largest and most modern iron works at Ferravyl, not to mention the shipworks at Solis, which built most of Solidar’s warships. That had been an issue for a time, because, with its location on the shallow Southern Gulf, Solis was barely a deepwater port.

None of that had much to do with me, either as an imager or as a Patrol Captain. Yet it had to, because neither Suyrien nor Master Dichartyn was going to involve me unless they wanted or needed something. I just had to figure out what it might be before I ended up in a position where I didn’t want to be.

After I left the coach at Third District station and stepped inside, Lyonyt beckoned to me when I was barely through the doors. His forehead was furrowed. “Sir.”

“What is it, Lyonyt?”

“Last night, there were four more elver deaths. They all had that twisted look…”

“Bad elveweed?”

“It looks like that, sir.”

After I hurried through various details and reports, I went looking for what ever taudischef I could find. Horazt wasn’t in any of his safe houses, and I even tried Shault’s mother’s place, although I was fairly sure Horazt hadn’t spent any time with her in years, probably because her son was an imager, and he wasn’t certain that she might not tell Shault something that might upset her son. No one had seen him, or they didn’t know where he was, or wouldn’t tell me. All I could do was leave word that more of the bad elveweed was being run into the taudis.

I finally ran down Deyalt in mid-afternoon. Except I didn’t. He found me as I was walking down South Middle just short of Mando and the woodworks.

“Captain…word is that you’ve been saying there’s a lot of bad weed out.”