L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

I didn’t have to say more, because Faeldyn was easing the boat up to the Collegium pier, and I took the mooring line and jumped to the pier and tied the boat fast. Faeldyn had the plank out, and Haugyl was the first off. His steps were shaky.

“Good day, sir,” offered Shault as he stepped onto the pier. He didn’t raise any more questions, but I knew the rumors would be flying across the quadrangle and the juniors’ quarters within moments after they were out of sight.

“Good evening, Shault.”

Once I thanked Faeldyn, I turned and walked southward and then through the gardens and past the hedge maze toward our house. I noted that the imager-builders had finished re-creating the exterior of the Maitre’s dwelling. Maitre Dyana’s previous house still remained a pile of gray stone and shattered roof tiles, as did what had been Maitre Dichartyn’s. I couldn’t help swallowing when I looked at that rubble.

Thankfully, after I reached our house, Seliora was preoccupied with both Diestrya and the loss of two commissions as a result of financial setbacks caused by the Ferran bombings in L’Excelsis, and she didn’t ask me any detailed questions on my day. I really wasn’t ready to explain, although I’d have to soon enough.

I was in my study before seventh glass on Mardi morning, to make sure that the duty primes had delivered the forms to every master of the Collegium at Imagisle by eighth glass. Then I read through the newsheets.

Veritum reported that the deaths from the abuse of the stronger elveweed had decreased, but that they were still occurring, especially among younger users, despite the burning of all the weed growing on former High Holder Ruelyr’s lands. Fresh elveweed continued to be sold, and in more cities across Solidar. That wasn’t about to change, I knew, now that the drug dealers had discovered that it could be grown in the south of Solidar, and provided more profit and less reliance on smuggled dried weed.

Both newsheets noted that the Ferran advances in Jariola had slowed because of winter storms. Tableta reported that desertions in the Jariolan army were rising, and that the Oligarch had authorized field executions of deserters. Both also had short follow-up reports on the explosions at Glendyl’s engine works, with the observations that neither the Naval Command nor the Council had issued any comments or statements.

I’d just finished considering the implications of the stories when, at a quint past eight, Heisbyl, who had been a Maitre D’Aspect when I’d first come to Imagisle and who still was only that, rapped on my half-open door.

“Come in.”

“Thank you.” He closed the door precisely and took the chair in front of the desk. Under his dull gray hair, carefully brushed and parted, was a high forehead and a pair of flat hazel eyes. He cleared his throat.

I smiled and waited.

He held up an envelope, one that looked precisely like one of those dispatched to every Maitre. “Maitre Rhennthyl…I must protest. This…this edict…may have Maitre Dyana’s name on it, but it bears your fingerprints.”

“Assuming that it does…what is the problem?”

“What is the problem? What is the problem? The problem is that you are trying to turn imagers into machines. You want every preceptor to assess each ability of every one of his charges, as if imaging could be measured with yardsticks or calipers or weighed with scales.”

I frowned. “Having the Collegium know what all junior imagers can do doesn’t make them machines.”

“Every imager has a different degree of skill. Machines are all alike.”

“I’m not asking you to treat them like machines. I’m certain there are great differences among the seconds and thirds you supervise in the armory workshops. All you need to do is to write out what each can do.”

“This is just the first step in turning them into machines, Maitre Rhennthyl. We won’t even have to fight the Ferrans because we’ll end up just like them.”

“Maitre Heisbyl, if we don’t change matters here, we won’t be able to fight them. You’re right. There won’t be a fight, because we’ll already have lost, and then the machines and those who use and build them will find us useless. Before long, there will be machines that make precision parts as well or better, and with far less effort, than our imagers. In Ferrum, there well may be such machines already. Once, a Maitre D’Esprit could stand against any weapon in all of Terahnar. A month ago, a set of bombards proved that is no longer true-and those were antiques, compared to the long guns on a dreadnought.”

My words, or something I did, must have affected him, because his defiance wilted, and he just looked old.

“You are destroying everything we stood for. You will regret it.” He stood. “I will return your form, under protest, to the Maitre. The Nameless save us all.” He stalked out without another word.

I almost didn’t have a chance to catch my breath and consider what Heisbyl had said before Ghaend slipped into my study.

“You’re not likely to be all that popular by noon.” He settled into the chair across from me.

“Then I’d best make an appearance at the dining hall.” I’d thought I would anyway, but it was a good line.

“You understand what you’ve done? Besides upsetting the older masters?”

“I have an idea, but I might well be wrong. Tell me, if you would.”

“Imagers have always been apart. Because of what we can do, we have to be. To compensate for that, the Collegium has created the sense that we’re special. There are not all that many of us, some five hundred in all Solidar. Each imager is somewhat different from any other. Unique, if you will. By requiring the newer imagers to be evaluated against a standard and categorized, you’re suggesting that we’re not unique. You’re going against a long tradition and very strong feelings.”

I nodded. “What else?”

“Does there have to be anything else?”

“No, I suppose not, but your tone suggests that there might be.”

“Well…what will happen if that information leaks out? Do we really want the Council or everyone in Solidar-or in Ferrum-to know what we can or can’t do?”

“I can understand the concern there. I really can, but there’s another problem. Maitre Poincaryt and Maitre Dichartyn probably did know most of what I’ve asked masters to supply. When they died, that information died with them. We need that information now, and I can’t learn it all in time without doing something like this. Also, can we afford to keep losing information because we’re afraid to have a record except in the minds of one or two senior imagers? As I told Heisbyl a little while ago, once the most powerful imagers could stand against any weapon. Now we can’t. That changes matters.”

“For most Maitres, that doesn’t matter. You’re changing their world.”

I nodded. “You’re right about that. But I don’t see any choice if the Collegium is to survive in a way that will still protect imagers.”

“The older Maitres don’t see it that way, Rhenn.”

“Maitre Dyana does, and, I’d be surprised if Maitre Jhulian doesn’t as well. How do you see it?”

Ghaend shook his head. “I agree with you, but I don’t like it.”

“So…if we’re going to be honest about it, then, that only leaves something like four or five older Maitres who are unhappy.”

“And probably a hundred older seconds and thirds, when they find out.”

“What difference will it make to them, unless an older Maitre stirs them up and misrepresents things? I would hope…” I broke off the words. “Someone will. You’re right. No matter how much sense it makes, no matter how much times have changed, people, even imagers, want to believe in their traditional and special place in the world.” I shrugged. “But I can’t see any other way around this.”