Imager’s Intrigue

“The Maitre would like to see you, sir.”

“I’ll be right there.” I left all the forms on my desk and followed Gherard back up to Maitre Dyana’s study.

She was standing by the window, looking out across the quadrangle, when I entered. For a time, she continued to stare out the window, even as I walked toward her, stopping short of her desk. Then she turned and walked to the side of the desk. She did not seat herself.

“I’ve just received a communique from Fleet Marshal Asarynt and a message from Dartazn. He’s been delayed a day because there wasn’t space for all of them on the first express. They’ll be arriving on Solayi morning.”

“Did he mention who’s coming back?”

“He wrote that he didn’t feel comfortable putting the names in writing when he couldn’t give them to another imager. He didn’t say much of anything except that they were all glad to be back in Solidar and that he would report to you and me as soon as he arrived.” She handed me the single sheet of heavy paper.

I read it, but she’d summarized it accurately.

“What about Asarynt?” I asked.

Before I could finish asking, the two page communique was in my hands. Several phrases and sentences stood out.

“…superb organization and discipline of imagers by Maitre Dartazn…”

“…extremely effective targeting, particularly in the strike force attacking Ferrial under Maitre Dartazn’s direct supervision, reduced the Ferran capital and entire cities to ruins and forced complete Ferran capitulation…”

“…professionalism on all levels by the Collegium a major contribution to the effectiveness of the operation…”

At the end, I looked up. “Dartazn did well. That’s more than clear.”

“Caellynd sent some other materials. The Assembly of Ferrum-what remains of it-has surrendered. They didn’t have much choice. Caellynd intends to take the best ships in their fleet and scuttle the rest.” Maitre Dyana looked at me. “I can see why Dichartyn spent so much time with you. He was afraid of what you might do, you know?”

There wasn’t much to say to that.

“You have this tendency to solve problems completely, regardless of the cost.”

“I’ve never been given much choice.”

She shook her head, clearly ignoring my reply. “Fifteen port cities in ashes…tens of thousands starving…”

“There wasn’t any other way, not at the end,” I pointed out. “They’re the ones who started the conflict by invading Jariola and by trying to cripple Solidar. We never had the resources to respond in kind. Not in a timely fashion, and after the destruction of Glendyl’s engine works, the longer the conflict dragged on, the worse our position would have become.”

“You can see that and act on it. Most people, even imagers, will try to cope within the world that they know.”

“I use what’s in the world,” I pointed out.

“You use it in ways no one else seems to have considered. You always have, from the moment you first realized you were an imager, Dichartyn said.”

“If I hadn’t, someone would have.”

“Who?” she asked.

I couldn’t think of anyone. Dartazn had obviously carried out my plan effectively, and Chassendri had been vital in coming up with the incendiaries, but I’d had to explain what I had in mind to them. That had been true with Dichartyn as well on several occasions.

“You see?” Dyana asked dryly.

I wanted to protest that others in my position might have done what I’d done…except it didn’t matter. I’d been where I’d been, and I’d done what I’d done. Asking whether an imager made the times, or the times made the imager was a fool’s question. In the end, what was…was. When you could play the plaques, you did, or you lost, and when you were the one who was played by the times and others, all you could do was survive as best you could.

“I also received a proposal from Caellynd that he intends to submit to the Council,” Maitre Dyana added. “He wants to shift fleet headquarters to Westisle. The water is deeper there, and the port is better.”

“That sounds like a good idea. It didn’t happen before because Suyrien would have opposed it?”

“I suspect so.”

I couldn’t help but think that there would be many, many changes in the months and years to come, some that none of us could foresee.

72

By Samedi morning, the news about Ferrum was everywhere, with stories in Veritum and Tableta, both hailing the daring strike operation that combined high-speed Naval vessels with brave imagers who risked their lives to bring Ferrum to its knees and to end the conflict. Tableta even had an entire paragraph on Dartazn, praising him as the tactical genius who was the key to the operation’s success. It also mentioned that he belonged to the little- known part of the Collegium that protected Solidar through various covert methods, and that section was reputedly headed by an imager who had long experience as a Civic Patrol District Captain. They didn’t mention my name. Even so, when Seliora read that part, she frowned.

Still, there was little I could do, and we spent the day together, with a family dinner at NordEste Design. On Solayi, I was up early, if not quite as early as on the rest of the week, so that I could go down to the ironway station and meet Dartazn and the returning imagers.

When we left Imagisle at a quint past eighth glass, I was in the lead coach of the seven that proceeded down West River Road to the ironway station. The station wasn’t that crowded, unsurprisingly for morning on Solayi, and there was plenty of space for the coaches across the entry plaza from the main entrance.

I made my way toward platform three, the one for the expresses, and received scarcely a look from the scattered handfuls of people coming and going. Then I ended up standing and waiting almost a quint in the still chill of the late morning, under the spread roof that covered the platform, but not the space above the tracks. The miasma of burning coal hung in the air, giving an edge to each breath I took, before the express slowly steamed into the station and came to rest at the platform with a last hissing and a dull clunk.

Once the doors opened, it took me but a moment to spot Dartazn’s tall figure and make my way toward him.

“Maitre Rhennthyl. I thought you might be the one to greet us.” He offered an open smile, one that carried a certain relief, as he lowered his duffel to the stone tiles of the platform.

“Welcome back…and congratulations,” I said warmly. “You did an outstanding job of leading and coordinating the attack on the Ferran ports. Fleet Marshal Asarynt sent a glowing dispatch praising your leadership, initiative, and tact. We’ll talk about that later. I have seven coaches waiting across from the station.”

“Thank you.” He turned. “Imagers! On me!” His voice dominated the platform, and people turned to watch as the gray-clad figures lined up with duffels at their feet.

I counted sixteen seconds and thirds, and I did see both Shault and Eamyn. I didn’t see Ralyea anywhere, and I wondered if I’d been wrong to agree to send him. Then Shault caught sight of me and smiled. I nodded in return. Still…we’d lost over a third of those I’d sent out. That was the side that people like Sebatyon never considered. Between covert duties and circumstances such as the incendiary operation against Ferrum, the Collegium suffered greater losses on a proportional basis than did either the Navy or the Civic Patrol. Yet revealing such figures was a double-edged blade, because they also demonstrated our comparatively small numbers and our vulnerability.