Cadmians Choice (15 page)

Dainyl had his own
ideas about why, but he asked, “Just by patrolling the roads?”

Morash smiled. “It’s
simple enough. There are only a few places where goods and coins are
concentrated, and that’s in the towns and in the strongrooms of the growers and
the factors or when people travel the high roads. The growers and factors guard
their golds well. We guard the marketplaces and the roads.” He shrugged. “We
can’t do much about all of the petty theft, cutpurses, and that, but most of
them get caught in time and sent to the labor camps or quarries.”

“I suppose you don’t
get many dispatches directly from the Myrmidons or the High Alector of the
East?”

Not many, in fact, l
can only recall one in the past year, and that was a reminder to keep the
pteridon squares ready. That happened after the troubles out west in Coren.”

“You don’t seem to
have problems like that.”

“No. But it’s a
different place. Here, every grower and every holder has his own lands. If he
doesn’t work them right, he suffers. If he has a problem that’s not his making,
and he works hard, others will help him. Out there, folks see lands and trees
that look empty, and for just a little extra effort, they can pick up quite a
few more golds.”

“If they overlog the
slopes, the rains wash off more soil, and the rivers flood, and everyone
suffers,” Dainyl pointed out.

“You know that,
Submarshal, and I can figure it out, but the ones that suffer are downstream
and out of sight, and people have trouble giving up coins for people they don’t
know and might never see.”

Dainyl nodded. He
knew what the overcaptain said was true, but it was a facet of lander thought
that had always given him difficulty. How could they not see, especially when
it was something taught in every school?

In the end, Dainyl
only spent three glasses in Prosp, inspecting the one company in the compound
and making a brief scrutiny of equipment and dispatch orders.

After eating a hearty
if plain meal at the small mess serving the handful of Cadmian officers, he
made his way back to the Table chamber, pondering the general order from
Brekylt about the pteridon squares. It might have just been a reminder, but it
also might have been a step in making sure Myrmidon companies could be moved
quickly.

This time, the
Recorder of Deeds for Prosp was waiting in the Table chamber. He was a
comparatively young alector, Dainyl sensed, but he reeked of raw Talent. He
bowed to Dainyl. “Submarshal, we had no word that you would be traveling to
Prosp. For this reason, we regret that we were not here when you arrived.”

“Even a Recorder of
Deeds cannot be everywhere.”

“We would wish to be
of service, Submarshal, but we cannot do so if we do not know when you will
arrive.”

“You are forgiven,”
Dainyl said with a smile, managing to keep the expression in place, even as he
wished he had not delivered the gentle rebuke. He couldn’t very well say that
he didn’t want the Table guardians knowing when he would be arriving or where
he was headed.

“Sir?” The recorder
radiated displeasure.

Dainyl wanted to
crush him for his youthful arrogance. Instead, he said, “I act at the request
of the High Alector of Justice and under the command of the Duarch, and cannot
offer explanations or schedules. If you wish, seek an explanation from them.”

This time, the
recorder paled.

Dainyl stepped onto
the Table, maintaining his shields even as he dropped through the silver-dark
surface into the chill blackness below.

The spring sun that
beat down on Mykel as he rode away from the harbor was as hot as it was in
midsummer in Elcien, if not even hotter. Beside Mykel rode Captain Muerwyn,
their guide and escort, as well as a company commander stationed at the Cadmian
compound just northeast of Southgate itself.

“It’s only about half
a vingt to the inner ring,” repeated Muerwyn. “We’ll take it until it
intersects the northeast road out to the compound.”

Mykel turned in the
saddle and looked back. So far as he could tell, Third Battalion continued to
ride in good order. He turned his attention to the buildings on each side of
the harbor boulevard. None were more than two stories in height, and the
exterior walls were finished with white stucco. All followed the same plan he
had seen in Dramuria, with few exterior windows and a central courtyard,
although some of those courtyards were less man five yards on a side. From the
depth of the few barred windows, Mykel judged that the thick walls themselves
were either of brick or stone. The roofs, like those in Dramuria, were tiled,
but the tile was a pale sandy red. The difference that stood out was that the
walls of the houses and buildings in Dramuria had been of dressed gray stone,
while every structure in Southgate was white, and the walls clearly had been
continually washed in white over the years, so much so that Mykel found himself
blinking from the intensity of the reflected light.

“This is the trade
quarter?” he asked.

“Mostly, sir. There
are some artisans and crafters. Mainly potters and stoneworkers.”

That also figured.
There were no metals or coal nearby, and the area was too hot for sheep and too
dry for cotton, and the nearest large forests were more than a hundred vingts
to the north or east.

Mykel looked at the
boulevard ahead, flanked by somewhat larger structures, although none were any
taller than those he had already passed. A sign caught his eye— STYLEN and
sons, factors in cloth. Rachyla had come from Stylan Estate in Dramur. Was the
similarity a coincidence? He snorted softly. Although he’d been told that some
wealthy seltyr families from Dramur had close ties to Southgate—and often
interests in businesses there— Mykel doubted that Rachyla would have admitted
being related to a mere cloth factor, even if it were so. An ironic smile
crossed his lips at the thought.

He couldn’t help but
wonder how she was doing, since her father’s estate had gone to a male cousin.
Seltyr women could not inherit, a custom that bothered Mykel. His own sister
Sesalia would certainly inherit from their parents—although it was unlikely
that there would be that much for any of the three of them. Viencet would be
the neediest, unless matters changed dramatically.

Mykel forced his
attention back to the boulevard ahead. According to the maps he had studied,
the center of Southgate was bounded by a ring road, and within the ring lived
the more powerful and wealthy of the lander factors who controlled the trade
and commerce of the city. Southgate was far more independent than any city
except Dramuria, without any regional alector or Myrmidons. The closest
administrative centers were in Ludar and Tempre.

Third Battalion had
ridden less than half a vingt along the boulevard from the harbor before they
neared the inner ring, arcing away from the boulevard in both directions. The
pavement was smooth gray granite, and it was, unlike the other streets, a good
thirty yards in width. The outer edge was bordered by a granite wall two yards
high, except where other boulevards or streets entered the ring road. Mykel
looked both east and west, but he saw no riders on the inner ring and only a
single carriage heading on to his right, roughly southward. There was no one on
foot.

“There’s not much
traffic on the inner ring,” he observed.

“It’s reserved for
horses and carriages,” Muerwyn replied. “Those on foot must use the outer lane.”
He pointed.

Mykel’s eyes followed
the captain’s gesture. A narrower lane ran outside the low wall, one with
scattered pedestrians and peddlers.

“We’ll go left and
pick up the boulevard on the northeast side of the ring,” Muerwyn said, turning
his mount.

Mykel looked to his
right, across the expanse of the ring road at a villa, the walls surrounding it
a good four yards high. At each corner where the walls joined was a stone
tower. The walls did not form a square or a rectangle, but a trapezoid. The
side of the wall nearest him was roughly a half-vingt long. He looked ahead,
still to his right, but farther along the ring road. There was another walled
and apparently palatial villa, one of a number set in a circle inside the inner
ring. Those walls were also white, glaring white.

‘There seem to be
quite a number of those villas,” offered Mykel.

“Thirteen, in all.
The wall lengths are identical, but the villas within differ. Or so I’ve heard.
They’re not terribly interested in inviting Cadmians to dine with them.”

“Where did all such
wealthy landers come from?”

“Where do they come
from anywhere?” replied Captain Muerwyn.

That wasn’t exactly a
helpful answer, reflected Mykel. “Are most factors, or do their coins come from
omer sources?”

“I’d guess that half
are factors, and perhaps a third own estates to the northwest. The lands to the
northeast are not that fertile and better suited to grazing.”

“And the others?”

“I couldn’t say, sir.
I’m from Dimor, myself.”

Mykel studied the
walls, some sort of white granite, but not eternastone, at least not any that
he knew. He hadn’t realized at first just how large each villa was, but he had
ridden close to half a vingt paralleling just one wall. A quick estimate
suggested that each trapezoid was roughly a half-vingt across the outer and
larger side, a vingt in depth, and something like two fifths of a vingt across
the shorter base.

Once past the first
villa, Mykel glanced down the avenue toward the center of the area bounded by
the inner ring road.

“All the villas face
the square,” explained the captain.

Mykel said nothing,
continuing to study the ring road and the villas. At the next intersection, he
turned in the saddle for a better look. From what he could glimpse, there were
no gates in the side walls, or those closest to the ring road. That meant any
gate had to be on the wall that faced whatever might be in the center of the
area bounded by the ring road.

There was a central
circular area with steles of white stone, but before he could see more, his
mount carried him past the road, and the walls of the next villa blocked his
view of whatever lay down the radial road to the center of Southgate. “What’s
down there?”

“The city center. It’s
just a circular square with some columns. No markets, no taverns, or inns.
Certainly, no pleasure houses.” Muerwyn gave a barking laugh.

Mykel turned in the
saddle once more to look back, but the battalion remained in good riding order.
He said nothing while they covered more than two vingts along the inner ring,
instead studying what he could of Southgate. The more he saw, the more uneasy
he felt, and it was not just the glaring whiteness of all the structures, yet
he could sense nothing he could put a finger on.

The buildings outside
the inner ring continued to resemble those he had seen earlier, resembling
those in Dramuria, except for the whiteness of the walls. He felt as though
they were little older, or perhaps even newer than those on Dramur. “Is
Southgate a newer city?”

“Newer?” Muerwyn
looked puzzled. “It has been here for centuries. How could it be new?”

“From what I can see,
Southgate has no eternastone. There are no green towers within sight.”

“Eternastone is for
roads, not buildings.”

That alone told Mykel
that Muerwyn had not traveled far, but he asked anyway. “You’ve spent all your
time with the Cadmians in Southgate?”

“No, sir. I started
in Dimor, and then was posted to Zalt, before I was transferred to the compound
here.”

Muerwyn might as well
have spent all his time in Southgate, Mykel thought.

“There’s the
northeast road ahead, the one with the pillars on each side,” announced the
captain. “The compound is a little less than two vingts from here.”

The vanguard escort
troopers turned onto the northeast road, and Mykel and Third Battalion
followed. The dwellings and shops bordering the road became progressively
smaller as the Cadmians rode on, but their plastered outer walls remained a
shimmering white.

Even when Mykel could
see the walls of the Cadmian compound—also white—and the half-vingt of open
ground that separated the meaner inns and taverns from, the compound itself,
the pavement of the road remained granite .. . and not eternastone.

Southgate was not at
all what he had expected, not in the slightest, and far more disturbing than
Dramuria had been, although Mykel could not have said exactly why. He hoped he
was mistaken.

As he dropped into
the darkness, Dainyl immediately began to search for the maroon and blue
locator vector wedge that was Dulka. Just when he had located it and begun to
extend a Talent line to link to the Dulkan Table, he felt himself wrenched,
grasped by shoulder and leg.

How could that be?

Purpleness flooded
over his left side, like the arms from the Table in Alustre.

Although he could not
turn physically in the translation tube, he extended his Talent senses. From
what he could tell, the arms flowed from the silver locator that was Prosp.
What was the young recorder trying to do? Trap him in the chill? Keep him there
until his thoughts congealed in the cold?

What had he done to
break clear of the arms in Alustre? He’d suffocated the recorder there with his
shields. That wasn’t likely to work here.

Could he even form a
shield in the tube? Dainyl visualized his Talent coating his garments on his
left side, then expanding. Even in the chill of the blackness, he could feel
heat building inside his body, as if trapped by his own shields. He kept
pressing, expanding the shields against the grip of the purple arms he could
sense and feel but not see.