“Which is?” I asked because I didn’t know and because the question was clearly expected.
“Should the one who issues the notice die, every male heir, in turn, is obligated to continue the effort.”
For a moment I said nothing. Finally, I spoke, trying to hold in anger. “I asked you about this earlier, and you told me we would talk if Ryel proceeded beyond the card.”
“Has he?”
What could I say? The last thing I wanted to do was admit to Maitre Dyana that while I knew Ryel had been behind the arson, I could prove nothing. “There’s no proof of anything yet. Not that I know of.”
“Then you have time, don’t you?”
There might have been a hint of irony there, but I couldn’t tell. So I swallowed my anger and ignored the thrust of her words and went back to what she’d said earlier. “So the one being attacked must either ruin the attacker or kill every male heir? Or both?”
“Exactly.” Her smile was cool.
I hadn’t exactly planned on that in dealing with Ryel, and how could I possibly ruin him commercially? I had no idea even what all his holdings were. I definitely didn’t have any economic power.
“The Council and the Collegium support this?” I found that hard to believe.
“It provides a certain, shall we say, balance of power. While you may not notice this, you can take it as a granted that seldom do High Holders declare factors or tradespeople as enemies. There are several reasons for this. First, they consider those exclusively in commerce beneath them. Second, the factoring associations will unite to refuse to trade or buy from any High Holder who attacks a member. That is one reason why few factors refuse to join the associations or pay their annual fees. Third, the gain obtained from attacking any single factor is seldom worth the cost, and there is little satisfaction from the result. Fourth, it provides a way for pruning out truly incompetent High Holders.”
I could understand all that, but what I really wanted to know was why the Collegium didn’t stand up to the High Holders the way the factors did. Maitre Dyana was assuming I knew, and I didn’t. For a moment I took refuge in my food. The skirt steak was tender and flavorful, but the onions and leeks were overcooked. I finally asked, “Why doesn’t the Collegium react the way the factors do?”
“I have a question for you, Rhennthyl. How many imagers do you think have an ability with shields similar to yours?”
I’d actually thought about that when I’d considered the numbers of young imagers that had been killed by the assassins hired by the late Ferran envoy, Vhillar. I also had been wondering if the newest Ferran envoy had been trying to continue those policies, although it had been something like two weeks since someone had fired at me. “I have the impression, maitre, that very few have that ability outside of those reporting to Master Dichartyn, either directly or indirectly. There may be some others, such as you.” That was safe enough.
“How many do you think that might be?”
I knew there were only about five hundred imagers in all of Solidar, and there were only ten to fifteen in the counterspy area, and perhaps as many field operatives reporting to Master Schorzat. “I’d say there might be forty with strong shields, and another forty who could muster some sort of shield.”
“That is close enough. How many High Holdings are there?”
“Over a thousand.”
She smiled politely. “You should find those numbers interesting, I would think. You know, the Collegium as an institution has never had to confront a High Holder . . . or all the High Holders. I have no doubt you understand why that is so.”
A cold chill went down my back. I understood exactly what message I’d been given-that the Collegium would not risk itself for a single individual unfortunate enough to cross a High Holder-but I did reply. “I assume that it is for the same reason that only a single imager represents the Collegium in the Council.”
“In a manner of speaking.” She smiled. “How are you finding being a liaison to the Civic Patrol?”
“I’m still being rotated through various duties in order to gain a better understanding of how the Patrol works.” And how it didn’t, but I was more than certain she knew that as well.
“Understanding is a two-edged blade.”
“I’m discovering that.” I managed a laugh, even as I wondered how long it would be before I regained my imaging abilities, and even as I managed to damp the anger that her words about the Collegium and High Holders had raised. Mama Diestra definitely had been right about the Collegium not being my friend, especially in dealing with Ryel.
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?”