Cadmians Choice (23 page)

“That makes sense,
except for one thing. If they worried about the skylances as weapons, why would
they take a handful and leave the others?”

“Maybe to make a
point, sir?”

Dainyl frowned. “Then
... why did they do so secretly?”

Fhentyl shrugged
helplessly. “I couldn’t say, sir. It couldn’t be to copy them, because they don’t
work except with a pteridon.”

Dainyl stiffened
inside. He’d need to check the dates, but Fhentyl’s suggestion had triggered
another possibility. Maybe the ancients had another motive. “No one’s lost any
since the last one turned up missing here.”

“No, sir.” Fhentyl
flushed. “I mean, you’d know more than I would, sir.”

“We’ll have to think
about it. Now ... you can show me the armory.”

“Yes, sir.”

Even as quickly as
they were moving, Dainyl could see that Guersa would have plenty of time for a
meal—and still a long wait.

Because Dainyl had a
little time, after he finished his inspection of the Myrmidon compound, he had
Guersa give him a brief tour around Dereka.

As they drove up the
boulevard, the driver pointed to her left—due west. “That’s the engineers’
complex. Everyone else under the RA is in the main building. Well... except for
the transport people in our building.”

Dainyl studied the
walled enclosure surrounding a paved courtyard and several two-story structures
within. “Why do the engineers have a separate place?”

“It was always that
way, they say. It could be because they had to widen the roads. It was a real
effort to put the road through the Upper Spine Mountains. All the land around
it is dead. Almost nothing grows there. Then, they had to repair the aqueduct...
well... reassemble the section the cliff fell on, and build the extension down
to the Myrmidon compound. There’s no water—even from wells—anywhere near
Dereka.”

That didn’t seem to
justify a separate establishment— especially since the High Alector of Engineering
served Samist, and the RA was appointed by the Duarch of Ludar. But then,
reflected Dainyl, half of the other regional administrative heads were not.

Farther northward,
the driver pointed to her right at a massive structure surrounded by goldenstone
walls. “That’s the building where the RA and the other administrators work.”

To Dainyl’s eye, the
building looked more like a palace, except for the modest extension to the
rear, barely visible.

The rest of Dereka
was laid out in much the same fashion as any other Duarchial city, with wide
streets coming off the two main boulevards, and dwellings and shops all
constructed of stone. The roofs were of split dark slate, rather than tile.
From what Dainyl could see on his brief tour, the most visible remnants of the
ancients were the three golden eternastone buildings, the aqueduct, and several
walls, and those had clearly been modified and rebuilt.

He paused. The
ancients’ structures were their form of eternastone. What had been strong
enough to adapt and modify them? Or were they far, far older than they
appeared, and their strength had waned?

Guersa eased the
carriage to a halt outside the building that held the Table. “Here you are,
sir.”

“Thank you. I
appreciated the tour—and your waiting for me.”

“That’s what drivers
are for, sir.”

“Thank you, anyway.”
Dainyl offered a parting smile before heading inside.

Jonyst met Dainyl in
the low-ceilinged foyer, barely a glass before sunset. “How did your day go,
Submarshal?” The recorder’s eyes and mouth held the hint of a smile.

“Generally as
expected. I thank you for the loan of your driver and carriage. Guersa made
matters much easier.”

“I’m glad that we
could help.” Jonyst started up the ramp.

“I do appreciate it.”
Dainyl followed, not saying more until they were back in the library room that
overlooked the boulevard.

“Fhentyl told me that
Majer Dhenyr had you interview all the Myrmidons after the last skylance
vanished—and that none of them could have been involved.”

“I’d doubt it. There’s
always the possibility of Talent-tampering, but that leaves signs as well. I
didn’t detect anything like that.” The recorder cleared his throat. “An
extremely Talented alector might have been able to do it.”

Dainyl laughed,
softly. “I’d wager that you’ve never run across any that Talented.”

“There’s always a
first time for anything, Submarshal. That’s a good thought to keep in mind.
There are more than a few alectors who died because they saw something and didn’t
believe it could happen.”

“I can see that.”

“I imagine you can.
That’s one reason why you’re a submarshal and still alive.”

Dainyl mentally noted
the order in which Jonyst had mentioned the two items.

“How is your wife
these days?”

“We’re expecting a
daughter,” Dainyl said. “So far they’re both doing well. Lystrana has to watch
what she eats, though.”

“Good to hear.
Daughter will need the best from both of you. Good shields, especially.”

“They said we’ll be
getting more translations from Ifryn.”

“We already are. Not
all of them approved. More wild translations than I’ve seen in years.”

“How are they getting
access to Tables on Ifryn?”

Jonyst shrugged. “How
does anyone?”

“Corrupt recorders or
High Alectors,” suggested Dainyl. “Or stealth and Talent?”

“All three, but
generally the second. When life is at stake...”

“You expect to see
more wild translations, then?”

Jonyst nodded slowly.
“I’d be certain of it.” Then he offered a smile. “Shouldn’t trouble you or
Lystrana. We need to get you back to Elcien.” He turned toward the foyer
outside the top of the staircase down to the Table chamber, releasing the
Talent-lock on the door as he did. Without looking back, he headed down the
stairs.

Dainyl glanced around
the library a last time, sensing the serenity of the chamber, then started
downward, after closing the door and replacing the Talent-lock.

Jonyst had left the
door open at the base of the steps and stood beside the Table.

Dainyl joined him. “I
just realized that I haven’t seen any of your assistants.”

“You won’t. I keep
them busy. Whelyne is the only one who could take my place, and one of us is
always here. You might see her, but not me. The other way around, also.”

Dainyl concentrated
on recalling the assistant’s name—Whelyne. He noted that the concealed doorway
to the hidden chambers was closed—and that without his Talent, he would have
had absolutely no chance of discovering that those chambers even existed. “The
hid den chambers for recorders were planned from the beginning, I take it?”

“Old as I am,
Submarshal, I wasn’t around then. The first Tables were placed in a hurry, with
crude enclosures over pits in the ground. They were as cold as the tubes
themselves. Paeylt claimed that some of the chill came because the Tables
absorbed the ambient cold. Dereka was among the last because they had to cut
into the stone. But you’re partly right. Dereka was also the first besides
Lyterna that was provided a more finished area. That was also before my time.
We’ve done what we could since then.”

“Thank you.” Dainyl
moved toward the Table.

“Give my greetings
and best wishes to Lystrana.”

“I will.”

Dainyl stepped up
onto the Table, then concentrated on the darkness beneath. For just a moment,
he could sense an aura of purpled pink all around him, but that vanished as he
dropped ...

. .. into the chill
darkness of the translation tube.

While the purpled
pink had vanished, Dainyl felt, as if from the corners of his eyes, although he
could properly see nothing, only sense through his Talent, vague lines of
amber-green.

Knowing he couldn’t
afford to linger in the darkness, he focused on the white locator that was
Elcien, linking. It flashed toward him.

The silvered white of
the barrier sprayed away from him.

He stood in the Table
chamber in Elcien.

By the doorway was a
figure in the green garb of a recorder. The recorder did not speak, but watched
as Dainyl stepped off the Table.

Dainyl searched his
memory for the recorder’s name, finally saying, “You must be Chastyl.”

“At your service,
Submarshal.”

At his service? An
odd response, given that the recorders officially answered to no one except the
Duarches or the Archon. “I’m glad to meet you. In all the times I’ve used the
Table, I haven’t seen you.” Dainyl smiled. “I suspect you’ve been well aware of
my uses, though.”

Chastyl stiffened,
ever so slightly, before replying. “We recorders do our best to keep the Tables
functioning, and that includes monitoring their use.”

“I’m glad you do. I’d
hate to make these trips by pteridon.” Dainyl inclined his head to the
recorder. “Thank you, and a good day to you.” The Talent-lock on the inner door
had not been replaced, and he eased past the recorder, still keeping his
shields in place, and into the foyer.

Because of the
difference in time, it was still late mid-afternoon in Elcien, and that meant
Dainyl needed to check in at headquarters. He could at least catch up on
dispatches and any occurrences and not be surprised on Septi morning.

After a long week of
dealing with training— both his own battalion and the two new companies—and two
late nights writing up the required reports to Colonel Herolt, Mykel decided
that he had to get away from the compound. Immediately after a late breakfast
on Decdi, late being a glass after sunrise, he saddled one of the spare mounts
and rode out, heading back down the northeast high road toward Southgate. He
felt slightly guilty because, while he had given his officers and rankers the
day off, they were limited to the area within two vingts of the compound—at the
discretion of their officers. That included a handful of taverns and shops, but
Mykel intended to explore somewhat farther—the center of Southgate, in fact.
Why he felt it necessary, he would have been hard-pressed to explain.

As he left the compound,
on the short stretch or stone paving that connected the Cadmian outpost to the
wider high road, he looked to the northeast. He could just make out the subtle
change in the road surface, a vingt or so farther out, where the granite paving
of the road leaving Southgate was replaced by eternastone stretching as far as
he could see to the northeast. Heat waves danced above the surface of the
stone.

In places like
Elcien, Ludar, and Faitel, the eternal paving ran without interruption through
the town. The same was true in smaller towns like Arwyn and Harmony, or small
cities like Klamat. Yet, from what he had seen, there were no roads or
buildings of eternastone in Southgate.

Why was Southgate
different?

He turned his mount
southwest on the high road, smiling wryly, because he doubted that anyone could
tell him. The fingers of his left hand swept by his belt, not actually touching
the leather, but close enough that he could feel, in a way he still had trouble
describing, the miniature dagger of the ancients concealed in its special slot.

From his actions,
Overcaptain Sturyk had clearly displayed both fear, respect, and pity for
Mykel—and all three emotions seemed linked to Mykel’s unasked-for appellation
as a dagger of the ancients. Yet Mykel had the feeling that the emotions
associated with the term were limited to Dramur and Southgate.

Mykel reached the
outskirts of Southgate, less than half a vingt from the compound. The first
structure was a tavern, as usual near Cadmian outposts, but the door to the Overflowing
Beaker was closed, and the windows were still shuttered. Beyond that was a
two-story narrow house, narrow in front, with a deep covered porch. The main
section of the house extended a good twenty yards back from the highway.

Two women wearing little
more than shifts lounged on battered wooden rocking chairs on the porch. Mykel
could feel their eyes on him, but neither spoke, either between themselves or
to Mykel, as he rode past the house—certainly a brothel in fact, if not in
name.

For another half
vingt, he rode past various establishments designed to separate Cadmians from
their coins. Those farther from the compound and closer to the main sections of
Southgate seemed less disreputable and merged with more traditional shops, such
as a coppersmith’s, a cooperage, and a fuller’s, although the fullering shop
appeared more dingy than the ones Mykel had known in Faitel, despite its
whitewashed stuccoed plaster outer walls. He saw but a handful of people,
mostly older women, out on the stone sidewalks that bordered the high road.

Farther from the
Cadmian compound, the shops gave way to small dwellings, all with few windows
looking out on the high road, and all built around central courtyards. The
courtyards looked so small that Mykel wondered how they could offer much
respite from the summer heat, but perhaps the brilliant white stucco reflected
enough of the sun to help. Still, early in the day as it was, he could feel
sweat beginning to ooze down his back, and it was still spring.

He rode slowly, letting
his eyes range across the houses and occasional shops. Neat and clean as they
were, there was something within Southgate that did not feel right to Mykel.
Try as he might, though, he couldn’t put a finger on why he felt that way or
what had created that feeling.

As on the ride from
the port, the closer he rode to the inner ring and the center of Southgate, the
fewer people he saw, and most of those he did see were on horseback or in
carriages and far better attired, generally in white. The few exceptions were
young women, uniformly dressed in light gray tunics and trousers, with matching
gray head scarves that covered their hair and the lower part of their faces.
They carried baskets, filled with all manner of items, from laundry to produce,
even small glazed tiles in string bags in one case.