Cadmians Choice (62 page)

He walked back to his
own pteridon, forcing himself to wait, occasionally looking up into the
cloudless silver-green sky to make sure that Brytra was continuing her
surveillance of Tempre. The day was hot and still, and finally, he took off his
flying jacket, folded it, and slipped it into the gear bag.

A glass passed before
the first Cadmian returned, trotting up, then stiffening and reporting. “Submarshal,
sir. The first two floors of the building are empty, sir. There’s no one there,
and none of the doors were even locked. There was one locked door leading to a
lower level. The majer and the squad are checking that out now.”

“How did they unlock
it? Did they force the door?” Dainyl was more than idly curious.

“The majer shot the
lock with his rifle. It... it sort of exploded.”

“That will be all.
You can remain with the other Cadmians.” In the event that something else did
befall the majer, Dainyl wanted the Cadmian ranker as a witness. He hoped Majer
Mykel would hurry in his investigations, because he suspected that Fahylt was
already in either Alustre or Ludar claiming that Dainyl had overreached himself
and his authority as a Myrmidon submarshal. If he didn’t deal quickly with
Hyalt, he well might not be a submarshal—or anything—for much longer.

“Yes, sir.” The
ranker turned and headed back to the squad patrolling the front of the
building.

As he waited, Dainyl
considered the implications. The tactical retreat made sense, especially since
it was clear that Fahylt had not yet developed his local troopers into a truly
effective fighting force. The complete and orderly withdrawal indicated that
the regional alector believed he would be back in Tempre rather quickly. He
couldn’t have withdrawn all the landers and indigens—or even the lesser
alectors who could not use a Table. They had just been ordered to stay at home
until the RA returned. All that, in turn, suggested fairly strong backing from
Duarch Samist, since Brekylt was not yet in a position to make such a
commitment. Or was he?

Or had all of them
worked out something with Shastylt, instead of Brekylt? Dainyl had been ordered
to keep his operation secret. If it failed, Shastylt could deny everything and
insist that Dainyl had been attempting something unauthorized—or even a coup of
some sort. Dainyl was running out of time—and he felt that he’d hardly begun.

Less than a quarter
of a glass passed before the second Cadmian appeared, hurrying across the
paving stones to Dainyl.

“Submarshal, sir. The
majer wanted you to know that there’s a locked and sealed door on the
underground level. He thinks there might be alectors behind it, and he awaits
your orders, sir.”

“Thank you. Where is
the staircase down to that level?”

“On the back side, in
the corner, sir.” The Cadmian pointed toward the northwest.

“Remain with your
company here.” Dainyl turned and crossed the graystone pavement separating him
from Hyksant, who stood beside his pteridon. “I’ll need Galya—with her lance.”

“The lances ...”

“I know. They’re only
good for one discharge away from the pteridons. Two at best. But I still might
need that.” He doubted he would. He needed Galya—or some Myrmidon—for an
entirely different purpose, because he didn’t want Majer Mykel anywhere near
that door and what had to lie behind it.

“Galya! Take your
lance and accompany the submarshal.”

The two Myrmidons crossed
the space between the pteridons and the patrolling Cadmians, who moved aside as
Dainyl and Galya neared the stone steps up to the stone columns at the top and
the arched entry beyond. Once inside the empty foyer hall, Dainyl lengthened
his stride and hurried toward the far corner of the building.

Two Cadmians stood
guarding the top of the staircase.

Even before he
reached the door, Dainyl could sense that the door had been Talent-locked. He
nodded. At least, the majer hadn’t discovered about Talent-locks and how to
undo them. He’d just applied brute force—and that wouldn’t work in places like
the doors to Tables.

“They’re down here,
sir,” offered the shorter Cadmian.

“Thank you.” Dainyl
made his way past them and down the circular staircase.

Galya followed, more
slowly and farther behind, in order to maneuver her skylance without hitting
Dainyl.

The Cadmians had
formed a semicircle—all with their weapons aimed at the door. The majer stepped
away from his men to meet Dainyl.

“Majer, you and your
men have done well. I’d like you and all your men to clear this area. We may
need to use the skylance to break through the door. Station two guards at the
top of the steps. From now on, until you have further orders, no one—absolutely
no one but me and any Myrmidons with me—is to come down here on this level. Is
that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The
Cadmian officer stiffened.

“What I am doing may
take several glasses. It might even take longer. During that time, I’d like you
to return to direct command of the Cadmians outside the building. In my
absence, Undercaptain Hyksant is in command of the Myrmidons.”

“Yes, sir. By your
leave, sir?”

“By my leave.”

“Third squad, back up
the stairs,” ordered the majer. “Ryket, lead the way.”

Dainyl waited until
all the Cadmians had left and were up the staircase.

“Do you want the
lance now, sir?” asked Galya.

“l hope you won’t
need it, yet. I’m going to try a sidearm first. Stand back.”

Dainyl triggered just
the slightest burst from the weapon, barely a trickle, then released the
Talent-locks on the door. He stepped forward and tried the door lever, then
turned to Galya. “I’m going in. If anyone but me steps out through this door,
whether they’re an alector or not, flame them. Don’t hesitate. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl held one
lightcutter ready, checked the other at his belt, and hoped he wouldn’t need
the one tucked inside his tunic. He opened the door. A quick glance and scan with
his Talent indicated that the Table chamber was empty. He stepped inside and
closed the door behind him. As with the last time he had visited Tempre, there
was nothing in the chamber except for the light-torches mounted on the walls
and the Table itself.

The lack of energy
around the Table was clear. The Table had been shut down.

Dainyl smiled. He
would have been surprised if Patronyl had not inactivated it. Dainyl looked
toward the hidden rooms, concealed behind both Talent-illusions and
Talent-locks.

He didn’t bother with
the illusions, but simply unlocked the hidden door and watched, shields at
full, sidearm in hand, as the stone slid away to reveal—behind the illusion—the
narrow passageway. Patronyl’s aura was obvious, but the recorder did not
appear.

Dainyl stepped
forward, waiting.

A thin alector
appeared, standing in the opening, letting the illusion dissolve. His eyes were
a pale violet, and he held a lightcutter in his hand. “Ah ... the formidable
Submarshal Dainyl. I should have known you were more than you seemed.” He fired
the lightcutter even before he finished speaking.

The bluish beam
flared around Dainyl and his shields.

Dainyl took three
long steps forward, drawing the second lightcutter. He fired both sidearms at
Patronyl. At the same time, he forced a Talent-bolt at the recorder.

The lightbeams
fragmented, splashing onto the stone, but Patronyl retreated a step.

Dainyl moved forward,
two more steps.

The recorder
triggered his weapon again, this time following it with a Talent-thrust, but the
lightbeam and Talent-blast flared around Dainyl, who took several more steps
forward.

Patronyl stepped back
once more, and extended a Talent-probe, trying to close the stone entrance on
Dainyl. The submarshal deflected the Talent-probe and extended his shields,
trapping the recorder against the stone.

Dainyl’s forehead was
hot, and sweat began to pour down his face as he forced his shields tighter and
tighter around the recorder. Patronyl started to lift the lightcutter again,
but did not trigger it. Instead, his brows furrowed, and he attempted to create
a tunnel through Dainyl’s shields.

Dainyl contracted his
shields once more, crumpling the half-formed Talent-tunnel designed to funnel
the force of the lightcutter at him.

Patronyl’s face began
to redden as the shields tightened, his own efforts being contracted around him
as well.

Abruptly his shields
collapsed.

Rather than spend
more of his own Talent energy, Dainyl fired the lightcutter in his right hand,
retracting his shields from the recorder only in the instant before he fired.
The recorder’s face turned black, and then ashes filtered to the floor,
vanishing as they did, leaving only an empty green tunic and trousers
fluttering to the floor.

Keeping his shields
in place around him, Dainyl stepped into the passageway and over the heap of
shimmersilk garments and boots, trying to sense if any of Patronyl’s assistants
remained. The first chamber on the right—clearly the recorder’s study—held a
small desk, a narrow bed, and a black chest. The sole hanging on the wall was a
painting of Tempre, showing the twin green towers.

After checking the
second chamber—a library of sorts, containing three bookshelves and a small
circular table with two chairs drawn up—Dainyl returned to the main table
chamber to study the depowered Table. As almost an afterthought, he used his
Talent to close the stone slab that served as a door to the hidden chambers.

He holstered both
sidearms and sat down on the Table for several moments, resting.

Then he sent a fine
Talent-probe into the Table, seeking the main octagonal crystal and the smaller
one on the underside. He pulsed a quick Talent-touch to the smaller and still
brighter crystal, as Sulerya had taught him. He could feel the Table begin to
power up.

While he waited, he
walked to the door and opened it. “Galya?”

“Yes, sir?”

‘This is a Table
chamber. I’m going to use it. I should be back in several glasses. If I’m not,
report that to the undercaptain. He’s to stand by and maintain control over
Tempre and keep this area clear for up to three days. After that, everyone is
to return to Hyalt, including the Cad-mians. Is that clear?”

“Sir... ?”

“I don’t have time to
go out and explain to Hyksant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl closed the
door and placed a Talent-lock on it. He still had to wait before the Table was
ready to be used.

Should he go out and
talk to Hyksant? Retrieve his flying jacket? At that moment, the Table
completed its power-up.

Dainyl first made
sure he still had the two envelopes that contained the reports he had written earlier,
then checked his sidearms, switching the one he had used most with the unused
one in his tunic. After that he stepped onto the Table and concentrated on the
darkness beneath the Table.

He was in the chill
half-light of the translation tube, aware of how it rested upon a deeper
blackness, seeking the brilliant white locator wedge that was Elcien. As
quickly as he sought that wedge, he was there with the white silver melting
before him.

He stood on the Table
in Elcien.

Both Chastylt and one
of the assistants to the High Alector, who had been talking by the door to the
antechamber, turned, their mouths open.

Dainyl remained
standing on the Table, looking at the two, even as he extracted the two
envelopes.

“Submarshal?”

“I have something for
you,” Dainyl gestured for the assistant to approach, then handed her the pair
of envelopes he took out from his tunic. “One is for the marshal, the other is
for High Alector Zelyert. I suggest you not open them, for your own health.” He
smiled and straightened. “There are others coming from various sources. So I
wouldn’t delay handing them over.”

“Submarshal...”
stuttered Chastylt. “The grid ... it is somewhat unstable. The Table in Tempre
was off-grid and now is back. I don’t know why, but it might be wise not to
attempt a translation until it is certain to remain stable.”

“I understand. If
anything happens, it won’t be your fault.”

Dainyl unholstered
both lightcutters, holding one in each hand, then concentrated on the blackness
beneath the Table, ignoring the appalled looks of the two alectors as he
dropped into ...

. .. the chill
blackness, a chill that felt momentarily refreshing. This time he had to search
momentarily before locating the amber wedge that represented Hyalt. Beyond the
translation tube, he could also sense more of the green flashes, but those
would have to wait, as if he could do anything about them.

He flashed through
the amber mist. ..

... and took two
quick steps, aiming the lightcutters as he did.

Four alectors turned
as one. The tallest, dressed in green, had to be Rhelyn, from his strong aura.

Dainyl fired at the
two least Talented alectors. The bluish beams went through their shields and
chests. Then he launched a Talent blast and discharged both lightcutters at the
alector—alectress—who remained beside Rhelyn. She staggered but remained
standing—until Dainyl’s second tripartite assault smashed through her shields.

Dainyl took several
quick breaths. The Table chamber had no obvious exits, not even a single “formal”
entrance. That didn’t surprise him.

“You cannot possibly
win,” observed Rhelyn. “There are a score of alectors within the complex with
your level of Talent or better.” Rhelyn edged toward a light-torch bracket,
clearly not wanting to use Talent energy to open the hidden entrance.

“If you believed
that, you wouldn’t have crawled behind stone walls and mountains.” Dainyl fired
one of the light-cutters, but the bolt was only half-intensity and fizzled away
as the lightcutter used the last of its stored energy.