Imager (45 page)

Perfection can lead to great imperfection.

While I tried to run down Master Dichartyn on Lundi, he didn’t show up at the Collegium before I had to leave for the Council Chateau. Then, as it often seemed at the beginning of the week, little happened, and we were back at the Collegium well before fifth glass. I actually found Master Dichartyn in his study and able to see me.

“What do you have to report?”

“On Samedi night, someone followed me and took another set of shots . . .” I explained the details of what had happened, as well as my failures with the oil and the strange shield.

“The oil was a good idea,” he said with a nod, “but the way you tried to apply it shows a lack of experience. Think of it this way. A shield will deflect things thrown at it, but what about those things already there or placed before it?”

I could have hit my head with my palm. So obvious! All I’d had to do would have been to image the oil on the stones beyond the shield so that it was in place when he ran over it.

“That’s how you learn. By making and surviving mistakes.”

“What about the other imager’s shield?”

“That just confirms that he’s a foreign imager. He’s more than likely the one who hired the Ferran. That’s almost a certainty.”

“But why are they still after me?”

“They think you know something. Do you?” The corners of his mouth turned up, but his eyes weren’t smiling.

“I don’t think so, but I thought of something else. You’ve probably already figured this out. This year the number of young or junior imagers who’ve been killed is much higher than ever, and almost all have been shot. But why would anyone kill young imagers? The only answer I could come up with was because they can’t kill older ones, but that means someone has decided to keep killing the younger ones so that in time there won’t be any older ones.”

“You’re right. That’s the most likely conclusion. We don’t have any proof, but the same thing was happening to young imagers in Liantigo and Nacliano. Unlike here, there they did kill several assassins and the killings have stopped for now. One assassin was caught, and he confessed that he’d been paid five golds for every killing, but he couldn’t identify who paid him.

“It has to be someone from someplace like Caenen or Jariola or Ferrum, or maybe even Tiempre,” I said.

“Possibly, but those aren’t the only lands that don’t like imagers, and assassinations, even five golds—or ten—a head are far cheaper than war.”

What surprised me was that Master Dichartyn didn’t seem all that upset. Was that because such attacks had been more common over the years than I knew? And why hadn’t they caught the assassins in L’Excelsis when they had in Westisle and Estisle?

“It seems odd—”

“That we still have assassins at large?” He shook his head. “You killed one. I’ve killed one. So has another imager. Three were killed in Westisle and two in Estisle, and there have been no more killings there for over two months. What that proves is that whoever is in charge of the operation is here, and that there is probably only one person from whatever land is involved, certainly no more than two. Is there anything else?”

Not about that, because he wasn’t about to say. “The ranks of the Collegium don’t show a Maitre D’Image, sir. Have there been many?”

“The Collegium—and Solidar—is fortunate to have one every few generations. More often would not necessarily be good for either. After the great imager of Rex Regis razed the walls of L’Excelsis and destroyed a third of the Bovarian population, and then created, or re-created, the Council Chateau, there was a certain amount of fear of imagers. Supposedly, that was why the first Hall of Imagers was created, as much to identify where imagers were as anything. That hall was actually right about where we are now . . .”

I’d known that the first Hall had been the start of the Collegium, but it was strange, in a way, to be sitting where it had been.

“. . . the fear died down over time, but never abated, although it was helped when Cyran destroyed Rex Defou and put his son on the throne. Knowing there are so few great imagers—those whom we would term Maitres D’Image today—the Council will defer to one, knowing that they are infrequent, not that they have much choice, but it is another form of balance. Other lands know that one could rise, and they do not wish to provoke Solidar. In times when the Collegium does not have one, Solidar will not press other lands too hard. Nor will the Council even when one does head the Collegium at the height of his powers, because to do so would invite retaliation after his death . . .”

“Is that why there are four Collegia?”

“We use the term as if there were four. There is really only one, split into four different locations, but such a separation renders the Collegium less vulnerable, especially in times when its powers are less, or less apparent.”

“What about the regionals? Do they report to you or to Master Poincaryt?”

“You are assuming that I have some sort of position, Rhennthyl.”

“No, sir. From observation, I know you have some sort of position, even though it appears nowhere. I also suspect that Master Poincaryt was your predecessor in that position.”

He chuckled. “And you, Rhennthyl with your brashness, will either be dead in ten years, or my successor. The odds, unfortunately, heavily favor the former unless you can learn greater skills in forbearance and dissembling.” He paused, then added, “Dissembling is not inherently dishonest. It is the skill of disguising what you feel and know until you can act with the highest chance of success. Live dissemblers are far more useful than dead heroes. How are your latest studies with Maitre Dyana going?”

“As you would expect, sir. I’m learning, but not so well or with as much finesse as she would prefer.”

He did laugh at that, heartily. Then he said, “You must realize that Maitre Dyana comes from a background where the slightest misstep can cause great pain, if not death. Demand for perfection of skills in all areas comes naturally to her.”

“Sir . . . you’ve suggested that many High Holders are not among the brightest . . .”

“That does not mean they are not highly skilled, and the harnessing of a wide range of finely honed skills to a lack of intelligence can be deadly to those nearby.”

I hadn’t thought of it in that way.

“You do have certain strengths, Rhenn. I don’t mean as an imager, but beyond that. I’d like you to think about what they are, and what they imply for the way you should act. Unless something comes up that is urgent, I will meet you here after you leave the Chateau on Jeudi, and we will discuss what you think those strengths might be.” He stood.

So did I. “Yes, sir.”

With half a glass remaining before dinner, and rain once more threatening, I hurried back to my quarters and thought about what Master Dichartyn had said. Besides strong shields, and the ability to paint, what were my strengths? In the end, I could come up with only one, and that was my ability to combine what I knew with what I felt to come to a conclusion that was usually right—often long before I could have proved the correctness of that conclusion.

The other thing I realized, again, was that I was being used as a target and a lure for whoever was trying to attack the Collegium. I was not being given any advanced training in attacking, or ways to attack, but only in defense, and after a time, if one cannot attack, one usually loses.

After dinner, and then after my exercises with Maitre Dyana, I felt totally exhausted. She was instructing me in the use of imaging to detect poisons in food, and that reinforced my sense of being trained as a lure. Tired as I felt, I still forced myself to write a letter to Seliora thanking her for a wonderful Samedi and telling her that my visit with my parents had gone as expected and that they looked forward very much to meeting her.

The only problem was that, once I dropped into sleep, I had nightmares about having dinners with High Holders and trying to determine what was poisoned and how, especially after I discovered a tiny silver knot set by my cutlery at a formal dinner in an ornate dining hall I did not recognize.

Observing an observer is often boring, but vital.

On Mardi, the only thing that happened of note was that a petitioner tried to get to Councilor Suyrien. Dartazn had to kill him, and Baratyn and the civic patrollers discovered that the assassin had killed the factor who had the appointment and taken his place.

That evening, Maitre Dyana, in the midst of attempting to instill more finesse in my poison diagnostics, suggested that half of diagnostics was observation before the fact, and that I still tended to rush before I had all the information.

“Patience, dear boy. Observation in detail with patience.”

If she were still alive twenty years from now, I thought, she’d still be calling me “dear boy,” which I suspected was a more pleasant way of saying, “Think before you act, idiot.”

On Meredi, I received from the Collegium tailor a formal white and gray uniform jacket to be worn to the Council’s Harvest Ball the following week. I tried it on, and, unsurprisingly, it fit perfectly. I had to admit that it looked far better than the standard gray waistcoat.

Of course, right after arriving back at the Collegium on Jeudi afternoon, I marched myself to Master Dichartyn’s studio.

As soon as I sat down, he asked, “Why do you think an assassin tried to kill Councilor Suyrien?”

That certainly wasn’t the first question I expected. “Because he’s the head of the executive committee, and effectively runs the Council.”

“That is a statement of fact that is meaningless. What has he done to cause someone to want to kill him?”

“I don’t know, sir. From what I have heard, he is opposed to changing anything.”

“That is true. What does that tell you about the assassin—or whoever paid him, if it turns out he was hired?”

“He feels he has been hurt by the present system or strongly wants change or both.”

“Many people feel that way. They don’t try to kill a councilor.”

“Either blood or golds or both are involved.”

“Better. Think about this. You’ve read the newsheets, have you not, with the stories about more hostilities between Ferrum and Jariola—and the skirmish between one of our flotillas that was positioned to keep Ferran warships from attacking Jariolan merchanters?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is the possibility of war between Ferrum and Jariola. Which land is less popular in Solidar?”

“Jariola, I’d say. The Oligarch makes people think of an overbearing rex.”

“What about among the factors and merchanters?”

I thought about my father’s reactions. “They’re probably even more in favor of Ferrum, and they’re not happy that the Council’s attempt at evenhandedness is costing them.”

“Now, while it has not been made that public,” Master Dichartyn went on, “Councilor Suyrien has suggested that Solidar may have to support Jariola, given the belligerent stance of Ferrum. He has also stated that he fears the dangers of a nation whose policy is ruled only by profits. Can you see a possible link to the assassin, at least in terms of views?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now . . . have you considered what I asked of you on Lundi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then summarize your conclusions.” He sat back and waited.

“Well, sir . . . I’ve thought about this for a long time, but the only significant strengths I seem to have are very strong shields for someone of my level and the ability to combine what I know with what I feel to come to a conclusion that usually seems to be right—often long before I could have actually proved the correctness of that conclusion. The implication behind that is probably what Maitre Dyana keeps saying, and that’s that I need to be more patient. At least, in most cases.” I couldn’t help adding, “I don’t think I’m the single-handed hero type who can charge into the taudis and capture scores.”

“What about your portraiture ability?”

“That’s a strength, and it probably added to my imaging ability, but, outside of providing portraits for the Collegium . . .”

He nodded. “Those probably are among your strongest points, and the implications are correct so far as you have carried them. We also don’t train, as you put it, single-handed heroes. We often act alone, but it’s far more effective, and far safer, to act from the shadows . . . or in direct sunlight with everyone watching in a fashion where no one realizes what you’ve done, and even when they do, where no one connects it to you or the Collegium.” He smiled. “Next week, at the Council’s Harvest Ball, above all, observe. Observe and try to correlate what you see with what you know and what you feel. It may surprise you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“Taking the young lady who saved my life to meet my parents.”

He fingered his chin, then nodded. “For all of our sakes, use your shields and be careful . . . and observant.”

After I left, I had, more than ever, the feeling that I was the lure for a much larger predator than I’d first imagined.