Cadmians Choice (14 page)

“Majer ... what do
you think about Hyalt?” Rhystan’s words were cautious.

“There’s more that we
haven’t been told,” Mykel replied.

“You said that they
sent the Myrmidons there first?”

“According to the
colonel, the Myrmidons used their skylances and smashed the heart of the
irregulars. Now we’re supposed to run down the rest and build a stronger local
garrison.”

“There isn’t any
more?”

“I’m sure there is. I
asked, but never got any more information. So I even dug up histories of the
place, and I’ve got a stash of maps with my gear.”

“Sounds like another
mess, sir, Dramur all over again.”

There was the
slightest lurch, and then a dull thrumming vibrated through the Duarches’Honor
as the vessel eased away from the pier.

“Let’s hope that’s
enough, sir.”

“You’ve been through
it once before,” Mykel pointed out. “That will help. And if you see anything I
should know, don’t wait to tell me.”

“I won’t.” Rhystan
paused. “That’s all I had for now, sir.”

“I’m here if you need
me.”

Rhystan nodded, then
stepped away.

Once Rhystan had
left, Mykel glanced aft, back toward Elcien. Even after two voyages, he was
still amazed at how quickly the huge vessel had built up speed. Less than a
quarter of a glass had passed, and they were several vingts west of the western
tip of the isle that held Elcien.

Rhystan’s remarks—and
what he sensed about the ship itself with his new talent—bothered him. Perhaps
his younger brother Viencet had been right after all, that there was far more
behind the alectors, and that they had made a concerted effort to hide it.

He glanced aft, in
the direction of the unknown force mat he was convinced propelled the ship, a
force that Mykel had just recently learned to sense. That suggested that the
alectors—or some of them—could also sense it. Yet they kept it hidden, and, the
Cadmians, even the officers, were limited to where they could go on board the
ship, and the engine spaces were sealed.

That suggested to
Mykel that his “talent” was something that possibly many alectors had, and that
few landers or others did. Should he conceal what he could see? How?

He looked out across
the dark green waters of the Bay of Ludel.

On Octdi, Dainyl had
slept later than he should have and had not arrived at headquarters until
nearly a glass after morning muster. That had been the first time he’d ever
been so tardy. Even so, he had been exhausted, and not really fit for more than
catching up on reports, and getting briefed by Colonel Dhenyr. After Dhenyr
left, Dainyl found himself wondering how Alcyna had suborned the colonel—if she
had—since Dhenyr hadn’t been stationed in the east for close to ten years.

For all that, Dainyl
paid close attention to the colonel. Fortunately, little of major consequence
had occurred in Dainyl’s absence. The marshal had been nowhere to be seen, not
during all of Octdi, for which Dainyl was more than grateful.

After another night’s
decent sleep, Dainyl had spent the half-day of duty on Novdi at headquarters,
checking Cadmian deployment schedules and Myrmidon duty rotations against the
accounting ledgers. As always, the maintenance requirements for Lysia seemed
high, and he mentally reaffirmed his decision to visit Lysia after Prosp and
Dulka. He’d decided to visit Prosp and Dulka first, because not much of import
seemed to have happened there, although the resupply levels seemed higher than
they should have been in Dulka. He wanted his unannounced inspections to seem
as innocuous as possible in the beginning. Also, he’d have more background
information before tackling Lysia.

The remainder of
Novdi and all of Decdi, he spent with Lystrana—happily, trying to avoid
thinking about the political currents that swirled through Elcien, Ludar, and
Alustre, with ripples that might affect all of Corus.

Londi morning found
Dainyl at the Hall of Justice, less than half a glass after dawn. As he walked
along the stone-walled and subterranean corridor toward the Table chair, a door
opened ahead of him on his left.

“Dainyl... there you
are.” High Alector Zelyert’s voice was deep, rumbling, with an overtone of
warmth that was not matched by the emotions behind his shields. “Shastylt said
you would be here early. I would like a few words with you before you depart.”

Dainyl inclined his
head, leaving his personal shields firmly in place. “As you desire, sir.” He
followed Zelyert into the small and spare chamber that was the High Alector’s
private study.

The High Alector of
Justice stood a quarter of a head taller than Dainyl, and his flawless
alabaster skin was even paler than that of the submarshal, especially in
contrast to his shimmering black hair and deep violet eyes. As usual, at least
when Dainyl had seen him, Zelyert wore a tunic of brilliant green, trimmed in a
deep purple, with matching purple trousers.

Dainyl closed the
door and stood waiting.

Zelyert did not seat
himself. “I will be brief. Marshal

Shastylt relayed your
concerns about the fashion in which the lesser submarshal has handled the
ancients and about the recruiting practices of the High Alector of the East.
You were right to be circumspect... and cautious. There may be reasons for
these actions that are in fact perfectly acceptable and in accord with the Code
and the greater purposes of the Archon. Or they may be as you suspect.”

“Highest... sir... I
do not assume to know enough to claim a suspicion, only that what I perceived
appeared to merit your attention and that of the marshal.”

Zelyert laughed, a
sound at variance with the earlier warmth in his words. “I can see why Shastylt
holds you in such esteem, Dainyl. You prefer to let the facts speak as they
will.”

“I have observed that
what one sees often is a reflection of where one stands, sir, and that more
than one pair of eyes are often necessary to see what is.”

“You sound like the
mystic Dulachamyt, now, and a fighting commander cannot afford to rely on
mysticism.”

“I stand corrected.”
Dainyl maintained a pleasant smile and an equally pleasant tone of voice.

“You do indeed, and I
am pleased that you remain wise enough to understand that. What do you hope to
discover on these journeys?”

“Whatever may be at
variance with what I was told in Alustre. If nothing appears at variance, then
I will report that.”

“Whatever you
discover, you and the marshal will report officially that nothing is at
variance. Leave it to us to report any discrepancies to the Duarches
personally. If there are significant discrepancies, others besides the High
Alector of the East may well be involved, and it would not be wise to provide
advance warning to them.”

“Yes, sir. I can see
that.”

“Good. I thought you
would. Have a productive journey. We look forward to hearing what you discover.”

“It may take trips to
a number of Tables, sir, and as long as a week, if not longer.”

‘Take the time
necessary, Dainyl. What you discover, one way or another, is of great import.”
Zelyert smiled, then gestured toward the door. “I will not keep you ionger.”

“Highest...” murmured
Dainyl, inclining his head before turning and departing.

Dainyl made his way
to the Table chamber, making certain that he replaced each Talent-lock that he
passed. Before he stepped onto the Table, he slowly studied the entire chamber,
seeking out, with Talent and all other senses, any possible hint of another
hidden chamber. So far as he could tell, there was none. Was that because there
were so many other adjoining chambers within the Hall of Justice, and all were
hidden? Or was the use of Talent and architecture merely more clever?

His conversation with
Zelyert had been disturbing, for all its superficial pleasantness, particularly
the points about Shastylt and Zelyert reporting privately anything Dainyl might
find out. Dainyl had strong doubts that, if facts came to light suggesting less
than honorable behavior by those he served, they would ever reach the ear of
the Duarch. Nor would other information. And if Dainyl even revealed such to
the marshal, Shastylt would certainly attempt to handle him as he had Tyanylt.
Yet, at the moment, all Dainyl had were suspicions, without a single fact to
support them—and he might well be wrong.

Finally, he stepped
up onto the Table, concentrating, falling through the stone and into the depths
beneath....

The darkness beneath
the Table was slightly less dark than he recalled, but more chill. In the
distance that could have been yards, or vingts, or hundreds or thousands of
vingts from him, he could sense the directional wedges of the fourteen Tables,
although the bright blue of Tempre and the brilliant yellow of Ludar were the
clearest and strongest.

Because he did not
wish to arrive in Prosp any more tired than necessary, he immediately
concentrated on the silver locator that marked that Table and linked to it with
a thin line of purple Talent. As he felt himself ever closer to that Table,
although there was no physical sense of motion, once again, briefly, if time
even existed within the translation tubes, he thought he sensed a flash or a
line of golden green. Then he was at the thin wall of silver, with
insubstantial shards shattering away from him and vanishing.

He took only a single
step on the silvery and polished surface of the Table, making sure that his
shields were firmly in place even before taking in the Table chamber around
him.

The space was empty,
but, as in Alustre, black and silver-trimmed hangings of scenes in the east ornamented
the walls. Directly before Dainyl was a vista of the Great Marsh, with the
volcanoes of Cape Fiere rising above the sea of rushes.

He could sense
immediately the special light-torch bracket, touched with Talent, that marked
the entrance to the hidden chambers beyond. His hand on his sidearm, he stepped
off the Table, still alert for any possible attack, either from the Table, a
wild Talent, or an overenthusiastic Recorder of Deeds or assistant. No one
appeared, nor did he sense anyone.

Stopping short of the
door to the chamber’s entry foyer, he released the Talent-lock, and cast out
his senses. There was no one in the foyer. Beyond the outer door in the
corridor, however, there were two guards, Cadmians rather than Myrmidons. That
made sense because there were no Myrmidons stationed anywhere near Prosp, and
only two companies of local Cadmians. The rich and agricultural lands that
stretched away from Prosp had never seen much unrest, doubtless because there
were few places for rebels to hide and no reason to rebel.

Dainyl had chosen
Prosp because he had hoped the setting and situation would favor less plotting
and guile, and thus, more directness. He put his hand on the door and opened
it, stepping out.

Both Cadmians had
been leaning against the limestone wall. They scrambled erect.

“Sir! We didn’t know
... we didn’t expect...”

“I would have hoped
not,” replied Dainyl pleasantly. “I’m looking for your commander.”

“The overcaptain,
sir?”

Dainyl nodded.

“He’ll be across the
courtyard in the headquarters building.”

“Then I’ll find him.”
Still leaving his shields up, Dainyl turned, walked down the corridor, and
headed up the stone steps to the ground-floor level of the building.

“... hope that’s not
trouble ...”

“... Myrmidons ...
always trouble ... those stars ... that’s a marshal, I think, and that’s big
trouble ...”

Not for the two
Cadmians, Dainyl drought, and probably not for the overcaptain, but he needed
to find out more before deciding.

Someone saw him
crossing the sun-flooded courtyard, almost warm enough to be pleasant without
the flying jacket he wore, because the overcaptain was waiting for him just
beyond the entry foyer to the small, single-story headquarters building.

“Overcaptain Morash,
sir. At your service, whatever that might require.”

“Just a few
questions, Overcaptain. If you’d lead the way to your study ...”

“Yes, sir. This way.”

After he closed the
study door, Dainyl remained standing, not wanting to cramp himself in the
undersized chairs.

“What can I do for
you, sir? We don’t see submarshals here.” The bulky and graying overcaptain
chuckled. “Matter of fact, I haven’t seen Colonel Ubarak ever, or his
predecessor, either. We just get dispatches, and not many of those.”

“You make it sound as
though there’s little need for your companies here,” Dainyl suggested.

“Now, I wouldn’t be
saying that, sir. No, sir. Folk here are just like folk everywhere. At times,
if we weren’t here, they might do what they shouldn’t. Sometimes, they need
protection, too. Last fall we had to take to the field against some hill folk
that had come from northeast of Flyr. Must have been close to fifty of them,
armed with good rifles, too. They burned Ceantor’s villa, and looted his
strongroom. Took one of his daughters, too.” Morash shook his head. “Sad
business, that.”

“What happened?”

“What could we do?
They broke the Code. We surrounded them. None of them would surrender. We
killed nearly all of them, except for the ones who were wounded and couldn’t
fight. Some of them died anyway. The justicer sent the rest of them to the
quarries south of Catyr for life. They killed the girl. Couldn’t believe we
wouldn’t just let them walk in and take what they wanted.”

Even though the
quarry laborers were well fed and not mistreated, the work was grueling, Dainyl
knew, and few lasted more than five or ten years. “How often does something
like that happen?”

“I’d have to check
the records to be really accurate, Submarshal, but as I recall, it takes a
couple of years for the hill folk to forget. Say every three-four years. If we
weren’t here, though, they’d be long gone before one of the battalion outposts
could send anyone. Our road patrols do a good job of keeping the brigandage
down, too.”