“We all occasionally have to try to accomplish different things. It’s a matter of approach. The Collegium believes a graduated and cautious approach is the best one. We try to build on what you already know or have been taught. Some young imagers think they know better. Sometimes they do, but most of the time they don’t. If they keep trying things without enough knowledge and supervision, sooner or later something will go wrong, often very badly, in one of two ways. They either kill themselves doing what they’ve been told not to do, or they get killed when they go out in L’Excelsis and start boasting or carrying on.”
“Can’t you do something?”
“What else would you suggest? We caution you. We try to show you how to do things in the proper ways. Are you saying we should have a tertius or a master spend every moment of every day with those of you who are talented? Or accompany you every time you leave Imagisle? We don’t have enough masters or thirds for that. Besides, anyone who really wants to do something boldly stupid will find a way, and, frankly, we can’t afford to have imagers who are stupid or publicly arrogant. There’s too much at stake.”
Master Dichartyn felt that way about the Collegium, but that wasn’t much help to me personally.
“Now . . . tell me how the founding of the Collegium changed the history of Solidar.”
I pushed away my anger at his near-indifference and tried to think. According to the history book, because imagers could create certain chemical compounds and metals, the Collegium gained greater and greater power by supporting the emerging merchant class, until the last absolute ruler and rex of Solidar, Charyn, ceded power to the Council once he realized that the imagers no longer supported him and were prepared to back a violent change in government, if necessary. So, being wiser than most rulers, Charyn requested a position as head of the Council for life, as a “transition,” and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Now, the book didn’t put it quite like that, and I had the feeling it had been nowhere near that neat and sanitary. “The Collegium allowed a growth of collective power of the imagers . . .”
I just hoped that Master Dichartyn wouldn’t be too critical, but I was still worried about what happened to Mhykal. I’d lit a lamp through imaging in my sleep and killed two men while not really trying to do so. Could I do something stupid enough to kill myself . . . and not even know it?
21
Love is both a name and an act; too often the name
triumphs.
On Solayi, the twenty-ninth, I struggled to get out of bed in time for breakfast. There was no requirement to go to breakfast-or any other meal, for that matter. But for me, there weren’t any alternatives. Even if I had been permitted to leave Imagisle, I’d earned something like four silvers since I’d been at the Collegium. That might have paid for two cheap meals off the isle-and neither would have been as good as what I was getting fed. At the noon and evening meals, we even had wine, a grade that was a good plonk.
At breakfast and dinner, even during the week, I seldom saw more than a few masters, and they were those who had various duties on that particular day, nor were there that many of the older thirds or seconds. On weekends there were even fewer, but that made sense, because even the junior imagers could leave Imagisle-except for primes in my position.
I was one of the older imagers there, except for Maitre Dichartyn. He was seated at the masters’ table with Maitre Chassendri, and she was the maitre of the day. I sat down at the primes’ table, less than half full, and a rather sleepy-eyed and groggy Lieryns staggered in and sat across from me.
“Too early,” he mumbled.
“But it’s a long time to lunch on an empty stomach.”
“Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
I glanced around the dining hall. There were only twenty or so at the seconds and thirds’ table, and perhaps fifteen at the primes’ table. “You don’t go anywhere on weekends?”
“Nowhere to go. My people live out near Rivages. Ironway only goes partway, and it’s nearly a day trip each way. Besides, they’re all foresters.”
“You don’t have much to talk to them about?” I asked, before pouring tea into my mug.
“Never did. Less now, and everyone else in town, they all look the other way if they see me coming. Oh, they’ll talk if you greet ’em, and they’re nicer to me than they ever were when I was just Leam’s youngest, but they all look so uncomfortable.”
“They respect you, then.”
“More like fear. You’ll see.” Lieryns looked down into his mug of tea, inhaling slightly and letting the warm vapor caress his face.
“How did you discover you were an imager?”
“My da had too many pitchers of plonk one night, and he came storming in, tried to beat up Callia, and he ran into a door that wasn’t there. Our cot never had doors, just curtains. Didn’t take him long to figure it out, seeing as only Callia and I were there. Ma and the others were at Aunt Nuela’s-she’d just had her third. Anyway, drunk as he was, that stopped him.”
“It did?”
“Oh, he wanted to flog me into ribbons, but the masters don’t like it, and there’s a finders’ fee for letting the Collegium know about imagers. It’s a gold most places, maybe more if we’re not beaten. Master Ghaend said that it was cheaper than holding hearings or trials for people who killed young imagers. My da was more than happy to claim it, and I usually bring them a silver or two when I visit.” Lieryns shrugged. “It’s easier that way. Besides, I’ve got a feeling that Llysira just might have the talent. She’s nine now.” He took a mouthful of the rubber-like omelet and chewed slowly. “Anyone else in your family show up as an imager?”
I shook my head. “Not that I know, and the way my mother’s family keeps track of the bloodlines, I think they’d know.”
“Maybe they do know. Maybe they don’t say. Some folks don’t want it known. They say it’s a mark of the Namer.”
Was Lieryns right? How could I know if people never talked and I’d never known enough to ask? “You’re cheerful this morning.”
He yawned, then shook his head. “You ever have a girlfriend?”
“Once or twice. The first married . . . someone. The other . . . I don’t know.” That wasn’t totally true. I’d enjoyed the company of a few over the years, and, for some reason, the only two I’d thought of in response to his question were Remaya and, surprisingly, Seliora, yet I’d only danced with Seliora on two or three of the Samedi get-togethers. “What about you?”
Lieryns shook his head. “The first time I went home, her mother met me at the door and said that she was . . . indisposed. She’s been indisposed ever since. For me, anyway. You’ll be fortunate if your former girlfriend will even look at you.”
That hadn’t been one of my greater concerns. Even so, I had to wonder if I’d have that problem . . . or if I’d even have another woman friend. That was something else I’d find out.
After breakfast, I donned the heavy gray cloak and began to walk along the west side of the isle, on the gray stone walk just above the gray stone river walls. Council Hill was two and a half milles away, but the day was gray and hazy enough that I could barely make out the white walls of the Council Chateau, and they looked to be a lighter shade of gray in the distance. The gray everywhere was getting to me. I wondered how different it had looked in the days before Charyn, when L’Excelsis and Solidar had been ruled by a rex. Had any of the early rulers been imagers? None of the history books I’d read had said, only that the early imagers, especially those serving Rex Regis, had been a necessary adjunct to the power of the rex. But then, none of the books mentioned the Namer, either, or Rholan the Unnamer, or even the mark of the Namer.
I ambled north past the workrooms, the armory, and an area of dwellings, both large and small, seemingly placed with care in a park-like setting. North of the houses was a small park that covered the northern tip of the isle. Although it had benches and a small hedge maze, I saw only three people-a young woman with two small children, barely more than toddlers. I kept following the stone walk back down the east side of the isle. Just before I reached the Bridge of Hopes, I saw an imager, with broad shoulders and light brown hair, walking across the bridge. On the far side, waiting for him, was a magnificent black coach, trimmed in silver, with a matched pair of blacks. Standing beside the open door of the coach was a young woman, with long white-blond hair flowing out from a silver and black scarf. Even at that distance, I could tell that she was young and beautiful. I just stood and watched as the imager neared.