Imager

36

On Mardi night at dinner, I was sitting with Kahlasa and Menyard, exhausted in both body and mind, because Clovyl had continued to increase the severity and intensity of my physical training, both in terms of exercise and running and in learning greater physical self-defense skills. In order to gain weaponless combat skills, I was now sparring with several other thirds, all of them older and more experienced. Not only was I exhausted and bruised, but that had come on top of another long morning with Master Jhulian.

“You look a little dazed, Rhenn,” Kahlasa said. “You haven’t said much this evening.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I had my first session with Master Jhulian yesterday, and he gave me two essays and more than fifty pages of reading in the Jurisprudence book. Today, he criticized those essays and told me to rewrite them, and added another longer one, and forty pages more.” I wanted to take a long swallow of wine, but I only sipped. I had to work with Maitre Dyana later, and I didn’t want my senses or abilities wine-dimmed.

Menyard looked as blank as my mind felt, but Kahlasa nodded knowingly.

“And Clovyl has me doing a half glass of exercises and running six milles before we even get into everything he’s trying to teach me.”

That surprised Kahlasa. “They’re pushing you hard. That’s not good.”

“You’re telling me it doesn’t feel good? I hurt most of the time.” I finished my last bite of the crumb pudding.

She shook her head. “You’re not the only one. They’re stepping up training on several levels, and they’re cutting short return leaves for field imagers. That suggests troubles ahead.”

“The newsheets reported that emissaries from the High Priest of Caenen and from the Oligarch of Jariola were meeting in Caena last week,” Menyard interjected. “The Abiertans have been refitting some of their merchanters with heavy weapons, and bought several old cruisers from Ferrum that they’re also refitting.”

“Tiempre and Stakanar have signed a pact for mutual defense,” added Kahlasa.

“Do any of them really think they’ll end up gaining anything?” I’d read about all the pacts and the arming and rearming. Tiempre and Stakanar bordered Caenen, and both worried about the High Priest and his efforts to spread the gospel of Duality. My thought was that the gospel was merely a front to get his people to support a war of expansion, but maybe I’d been too steeped in the more practical religious approach of the Nameless. Then the Otelyrnan League, composed of the smaller nations on the continent of Otelyrn, had agreed to allow the Tiempran forces rights of passage on major highways and waterways. That had incensed the High Priest of Caenen, and one thing was leading to another. But I still didn’t understand why; wars almost always cost the winner more than the winner gained, and the loser-and its leaders-could lose everything, including their lives. But most leaders clearly didn’t believe they’d be the losers.

“The High Priest wants to save the world from the damnation of the Nameless and any other faith in conflict with Duodeus, and make a profit while doing so,” suggested Kahlasa.

“And Ferrum wants to make a higher profit by selling arms to both sides, and the edgy neutrals,” said Menyard.

“And our factors want to sell to everyone, I suppose?” I added.

“Of course, but these things can get out of hand,” replied Kahlasa. “That’s why the Collegium is preparing.”

“For what?”

She just smiled. “For whatever may be necessary. Right now, I don’t know, but Master Dichartyn will tell you, and Master Schorzat will tell me.”

“And neither of you will be pleased,” added Menyard. “I’m just glad I don’t have to do what you two do.”

“What do you do,” I said, “if I might ask?”

“I’m an equipment designer and imager. Very special equipment. At some point, Master Dichartyn may send you to me. I’ve worked with most of his imagers.”

“Do you two know what I’m being trained for?”

“No,” replied Kahlasa. “Except in general. You’re being trained by Master Dichartyn. He’s in charge of Collegium and Council security, but he never tells imagers in training what their final assignments will be until they’re through training, or until he’s sure that they will get through training. He’s in charge of the Council guard force, the Collegium security section, the covert/overt section, and imager reception.”

I couldn’t help but frown at the last. “Reception?”

“What better way to find out what we do than send an imager spy into the Collegium?”

Put that way, it made sense. I decided against asking about the covert/overt section, not because I didn’t wish to know, but because I knew I wouldn’t learn any more.

As I left dinner, I thought about a term Kahlasa had used-“field imagers.” The fact that she came and went from the Collegium suggested that she was one of them. The handbook on the Collegium didn’t mention specifics. It just said that imagers had a wide range of duties, both at the four Collegia and elsewhere. But Kahlasa didn’t report to Master Dichartyn, and that meant field imagers weren’t directly connected to Master Dichartyn.

I almost started out the dining hall doors to my quarters, out of force of habit, then stopped. It was still before seven, and I was supposed to wait for Maitre Dyana.

Everyone had left the corridor, and the first bell was striking when I saw her step through the rear door and walk toward me. I just watched, politely, as she approached, taking in her iron-gray hair and bright blue eyes. She wore imager grays, but in addition, she had draped herself with a brilliant blue scarf that matched her eyes. The skin on her face was pale and smooth, younger than her hair would have suggested, and she offered a pleasant smile.

“Rhennthyl . . . you’re Dichartyn’s protege.” She nodded. “I can see why. You look like a well-mannered young fellow, could be a junior son of a High Holder or a merchant heir or, with a beard, a struggling artist. That’s not so surprising, since you’ve already been two of those.”

Except I’d never had a beard. I’d tried, once, but it came in curly and itchy, even though my hair only had a slight wave in it.

“There’s a small conference room off the entrance. That will do.”

She turned, and I followed her. She walked briskly, for all the gray hair and her almost fragile frame. When I entered the room with the oval table and six chairs, she was standing by the window, looking out into the twilight. She said nothing.

I closed the door and moved closer to the conference table. Finally, she looked at me. Those blue eyes were as cold as lapis, yet seemingly without judgment.

I waited.

“Good. I detest unnecessary chatter. Conversation is useful only in certain settings, and for certain purposes. Master Dichartyn has requested that I attempt to teach you how to improve your shields. I do not know how you developed your shields. So . . . I will make several brief attacks, and we will proceed from there.”

“Yes, maitre.” I inclined my head slightly.

The first attack was more like a jab, so light that my heavier secondary shields did not spring into play. The second was harder, but easy enough to repulse. The third was strong enough that I was forced backward a step. The fourth and last was aimed more at my shields, but was powerful enough-even though off-center-that I had to move back once more.

Maitre Dyana looked at me sadly, as though I were a truant grammaire student. “Finesse, dear boy . . . finesse. You’ll exhaust yourself in a fraction of a glass defending yourself like that. The last attack was at an angle. You used your entire shield to stop it. Almost all attacks come from an angle, if a small one. When you can, let your shields collapse a little. Let the attacks slide off. The object is to protect yourself with the least effort possible. Imagers are too few in number as it is. We don’t need to lose more because you spent too much energy defending yourself unnecessarily vigorously.” She waited for a response.

“Yes, maitre.”

“We’ll start over again. This time I’ll stand over here and image force at you. It will be direct. Please make an effort to slide it past you . . .”

I wouldn’t have said my efforts were a total failure, but my successes were few and far from complete.

As the outside bells struck eight, Maitre Dyana raised her hand. “That will be all for this evening. Now that I’ve gotten your attention and you understand your deficiencies, dear boy, tomorrow evening I will expect a better performance from you.”

She offered a brief and perfunctory smile, then nodded and walked past me, leaving me standing in the conference room, sweating and exhausted once more. So far as I could tell, the seemingly frail maitre had not even raised a drop of perspiration while wearing me out.