Authors: L. E. Modesitt
Lyzetta frowned.
Dainyl almost nodded.
Another confirmation of his suspicions about Noryan.
“... and he put me in
his company, where he could watch me. I was an assistant armorer for a while,
until he lost someone to the ancients. Then I started flying again.”
“Why did he send you
to Seventh Company?”
“He told me to obey
Captain Veluara, and I’d do fine. I didn’t, and he said he’d make sure that the
submarshal in Elcien would find out who I was, and I’d end up like Majer
Faerylt. So ... now you know anyway, sir.”
Despite the
undercaptain’s shields, Dainyl could tell every word, or close to every word,
had been the truth. He had the feeling that getting to the Table had not been
quite so easy or clean as Asyrk had indicated, but the feelings about his wife,
and particularly about the state of affairs on Ifyn, rang all too true. So did
the part about obeying Veluara. By threatening to reveal the identity of
unauthorized translations, Alcyna and Noryan could build personal allegiance
without revealing any of their plans.
Dainyl let the
silence continue for a moment before clearing his throat gently. “Seventh
Company has been through enough change, undercaptains.” He smiled grimly. “Here
is my decision. Captain Lyzetta will command Seventh Company. Asyrk, you will
be the senior undercaptain, but only so long as Lyzetta remains hale and
healthy. Should anything happen to her, you will no longer be a Myrmidon. If I’m
terribly displeased, you may not be anything at all. Is that clear?”
Asyrk inclined his
head, then raised it. His eyes contained relief. “Yes, sir. Anything the
captain needs, all she need do is ask.”
Dainyl looked to
Lyzetta. “Captain, prepare Seventh Company for departure.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl turned and
walked back toward his pteridon.
He thought he had
read the situation correctly. He hoped so. With all the deaths over the past
week, he didn’t want to add more. He also wanted to convey absolutely that he
judged on an individual basis. What Asyrk had said about the Archon’s entourage
suggested that the Archon had already planned to transfer the Master Scepter to
Efra. Did Zelyert and Shastylt already know that? If so, why were they going on
with the charade? Did that mean that both the Duarches were doomed to be
replaced?
Dainyl had felt
matters were less than good, but hearing what Asyrk had said had chilled him to
his core.
He checked his gear,
and then climbed into the saddle and harness deliberately. On the flight north,
he needed to reconsider his plans.
The white sun was
less than a glass from setting, hanging over the River Vedra and the hills to
the northwest of Tempre, when Dainyl brought his pteridon down in a gentle
circle around the complex of the regional alector. As he descended, he could
see a Cadmian patrol stationed in the now-shadowed plaza before the building.
After another pass, he could make out the telltale marks of lightcutter
sidearms on the pavement. Yet the Cadmians were guarding the plaza. That meant
the majer had repulsed armed alectors. If he had tried and failed, the Cadmians
would have withdrawn.
Back to the east. ..
down in front of the compound. . . on the flat. The pteridon complied, as
always, flaring and setting down with scarcely a jolt. Stiff and sore as he
was, Dainyl dismounted quickly.
The other pteridons
landed, then moved into formation to conserve space, before a Cadmian
undercaptain hurried from the compound toward the submarshal.
He halted several
yards short of Dainyl. “Submarshal, Undercaptain Fabrytal, sir.”
“Undercaptain? Where
is Majer Mykel?”
“He was wounded,
Submarshal, sir. It looks like he’ll recover.” Before Dainyl could ask more,
the undercaptain plunged on. “Some of the rebels came back. I don’t know where
they came from. We were patrolling as you ordered, sir. All of a sudden,
someone was claiming he was in charge. When the majer asked if he was appointed
by the Duarches, they started using those weapons—like the one you have. The
majer organized an attack, and we finished them off. They killed two squads of
our men. The majer got us behind the stone walls and kept us shooting. Took
most of the day, but we finally pushed them inside the building, and the majer
led second squad in after them.”
“When did all this
happen?”
“Yesterday, sir. It
started early in the morning.”
That was better than
it could have been. At least, he could use the Table and get back to Elcien
before too many rumors circulated.
“How did the majer
get wounded?”
“I don’t know, sir.
That is, he andthe squad with him pushed the few rebels left down to the lower
level, and then there was an explosion. One of the majer’s arms was burned, not
too badly, but he got thrown into the stones when part of the wall exploded.”
An explosion near the
Table? Dainyl didn’t like that at all. “What sort of explosion?”
“That room we couldn’t
enter. It was in there. We had to lift some stones off the majer. Not many, but
it blew out the door and the casement.”
Worse yet. Dainyl
forced himself to ask another question. “Have you seen any more of the rebels?”
“The scouts have seen
one or two in that blue uniform, from a vingt or so away, but they’re keeping
their distance. They might be stragglers from the Alector’s Guard. They’ve been
too far away to tell for sure.”
“Do you have men in
the regional administrative building?”
“Just two, to make
sure no one tries to sneak in and take anything. We stacked all the boots and
uniforms in that entry hall. I wasn’t sure where the majer wanted them. Those
sidearms, I’ve got those locked in the armory here.”
“I think I’d better
take a look at the building first. I’ll fly over there and be back shortly.
Wait for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl hated getting
on the pteridon again, but it was quicker than riding a horse, and certainly
wouldn’t get him any sorer. Galya accompanied him.
They left their
pteridons right in front of the steps up to the entrance.
One of the Cadmians
rankers ran ahead, calling out, “Submarshal’s coming in.”
Dainyl appreciated
that. He didn’t need Cadmians—or anyone—taking shots at him, although he did
hold his shields. Once inside the entry hall, he saw the rebel alectors’
uniforms—all shimmersilk blue and lifeforce-treated—and boots. The boots were
easier to count—thirty-seven, pair.
He shook his head.
So did Galya. “Sir...
? Did the Cadmians ... did they?”
“They did. The majer
can be quite resourceful.”
“Too bad he’s not a
Myrmidon.”
Dainyl chuckled. “That
would solve more than a few problems.” But then, it just might create even
more.
Dainyl sensed no one
else in the building as he made his way along the corridors and then walked
down to the lower level. Galya followed, carrying her skylance.
Once he left the
stairs to the lowest level and looked along the corridor, he could see and
sense the devastation.
“Looks like something
exploded, sir,” offered Galya.
Dainyl nodded. “Wait
right here.”
“Yes, sir.”
He made his way to
where the entry to the Table chamber had been, now an oblong opening in the
stone wall, and peered inside. The top of the Table looked the same as ever,
but one section of the base had blown away, with enough force that what
remained of the edges of the stone entryway had been pushed a yard into the
corridor, and the door lay broken in three sections, despite the heavy iron straps.
How the majer had even survived, Dainyl had no idea.
Picking his way among
the rubble, Dainyl surveyed the Table chamber. He found four sets of blue
shimmersilk uniforms and boots, as well as four lightcutters, all fully
discharged.
What had happened?
Had the majer trapped
them and somehow had someone fired a lightcutter into the Table? Or had they
had someone who’d been trained as a recorder and who had tried to do too much
with the Table?
For all of the majer’s
abilities, Dainyl doubted that the Cadmian could have done anything to cause a
Table to explode. Although ...
Dainyl frowned.
Perhaps he’d never know. Not for certain.
One thing was sure.
More than thirty alectors, all with lightcutters, had been in the building. Had
they all translated in? From where? Dulka was the most likely source, but
perhaps some had been local alectors. Even so, it was clear that there were far
more alectors on Acorus than the Duarches knew—or that they acknowledged. No
wonder lifeforce growth was slower than projected.
Dainyl turned and
walked back toward Galya. “I’ve seen what I needed to see.”
The petite Myrmidon
nodded, but said nothing, taking her skylance and following him back through
the building and out to the pteridons.
Undercaptain Fabrytal
was waiting, as ordered, although a Cadmian squad leader hurried off as Dainyl
dismounted.
“I was just making
sure that your Myrmidons have quarters and food, sir.”
“They’ll appreciate
that, Undercaptain, and so do I. I do have a few more questions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did all the rebels
have sidearms?”
“So far as we could
tell. We’re two short of matching with the uniforms, but we couldn’t find any
more.”
“I appreciate your
efforts, Undercaptain. I’ll take those off your hands, once we’re ready to
depart.” Not only had the rebels used unauthorized weapons, but there was a
chance some might even get into the hands of landers and indigens. Hadn’t
Fahylt and his people thought at all? Or had he really thought he’d be able to
set up some sort of independent state? Was that so infeasible if the Master
Scepter was headed to Efra? “I need to see the majer. Is he at the compound?”
“No, sir. We didn’t
have anyone who could help.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s being cared for
by a chatelaine of one of the factors, sir.”
Dainyl could sense
both fear and nervousness in the undercaptain, but not deception. There was
also concern. Dainyl wanted to shake his head. He doubted many of his officers
would risk themselves that much to protect him. “I’m not about to hurt him,
Undercaptain.” Not now, not the way matters are going. “You and he have
accomplished more than anyone could possibly have expected.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you would escort
me, Undercaptain.”
“I’ll bring down a
squad and some mounts, sir. How many do you need?”
“Just one.” Dainyl
supposed he would have to ride, after all. .
After the Cadmian
hurried off, Dainyl turned and sought out the two Myrmidon captains, who had
just finished organizing the pteridons by squad for the night.
“Fhentyl, Lyzetta.
Make what arrangements you need for spaces and food with the Cadmians in the
compound. I’ll be back in a while. The Cadmian majer was wounded, and I need to
talk to him to find out some things.”
“We’ll be fine, sir.
Do you want an escort?”
‘The Cadmians have
proved to be quite adequate,” Dainyl replied dryly.
Less than a half
glass later, Dainyl was riding through a set of plain iron gates in the
southwest of Tempre, accompanied by a full squad of armed Cadmians.
By the time he and
Fabrytal had dismounted, two people stood under the small rotunda portico, and
a functionary in gray stood to one side, radiating both fear and disapproval.
Of the two directly
before the open doorway, one was a young man radiating the arrogance of
privileged landers, dressed in the white of a seltyr factor. He appeared like a
child in comparison to the woman, who, although young, carried herself with a
certain maturity that reminded him of Lystrana.
The woman looked at
Dainyl, ignoring Fabrytal. The submarshal recognized her—the Talent-resistant
seltyr’s daughter. Her aura still showed resistance, but no actual Talent. What
in the world was she doing in Tempre?
“What do you wish?”
asked the young man. While his voice was polite, he reeked of
self-centeredness.
“We’re here to speak
to Majer Mykel.”
The man inclined his
head to the woman. ‘That is the chatelaine’s affair. You are welcome as you
please.” He stepped back and vanished into the small villa, as if glad to avoid
dealing with Dainyl.
Another time, another
place, Dainyl might have made an issue of it, but the lander was the type who
would destroy himself soon enough, and Dainyl had greater concerns.
“Chatelaine?”
“He’s weak. No thanks
to you.”
“I’d like to speak to
him.”
“This way.” She
turned.
Dainyl followed her
through the modest-sized white-plastered entry hall and up a wide curved
stairway to the second level. Fabrytal brought up the rear. The first door on
the right was open, and she stepped through it.
“Someone to see you,
Majer.” She stepped to one side, but did not leave the chamber.
Once more, Dainyl
decided not to make an issue of her presence. He doubted anything that might be
said would be new to her. He studied the majer, who was pale, but alert,
sitting in a wide bed, bare-chested, with a sheet drawn partly over him. A
light dressing covered his upper left arm.
“I received a report
from Undercaptain Fabrytal.” Dainyl inclined his head to the junior officer. “About
your handling of the rebels who tried to take over the regional administrative
building.”
Mykel nodded, but did
not speak.
“How did you know the
... they were rebels?”
“That wasn’t hard.
The one who talked to me called me a steer and said we had no authority to ask
anything of him. He was also wearing the blue and gold, and they all had the
same kind of sidearm you carry.” The majer closed his eyes for a moment.