Cadmians Choice (9 page)

“There are still more
at Lysia,” offered Dainyl.

“Seems strange to me,”
said Kaparyk. “Do you know why there are more forces there?”

“It was ordered long
before I became submarshal.” Earlier, Dainyl had checked the records to see if
he could discover why there were two full battalions of Cadmians in Lysia, as
well as a Myrmidon company, when Lysia was a relatively isolated seaport,
serving an area with little history of unrest and no particularly remarkable
resources. He had found nothing, except spare directives ordering various unit
transfers. In that light, the continued buildup in Lysia worried at him, but Kaparyk
had effectively admitted he didn’t know why. Was it because it was isolated
enough that Brekylt could build a power base there?

Dainyl asked a
handful of other questions, all answered easily by the eastern regional alector
of finance.

“Oh,” interjected
Kaparyk, “I almost forgot. You might mention to Lystrana that chief engineer
Rensyl in Fordall has adopted the same accounting systems as Azerdyl once used,
in dealing with the transport and road maintenance accounts of the eastern
region.”

Noting the slightest
emphasis on the words “accounting systems,” Dainyl replied, “I’ll be sure to
pass that along. Is this something likely to be of interest to the marshal?”

“It’s rather complex,
and I’m certain that your talented wife will be able to explain it far better
than I ever could.”

Dainyl feared that
Lystrana could indeed, and that Kaparyk had doubtless survived by such
indirection. “Then I will let her.” He smiled.

Kaparyk had little
else to offer, and after leaving the finance alector’s ample study, Dainyl
walked to the nearest archway and then created his Talent-based sightshield,
the ability he was not supposed to have, before making his way to the staircase
that led down to the Table chamber. While he kept the sightshield around him,
he also walked along the side of the corridor.

The staircase and the
lower hallway leading to the Table were so deserted he scarcely needed the
sightshield—not until he reached the pair of guards stationed outside. Neither
of the two young alectors looked in his direction. Nor did either say anything
for a time.

“Quiet morning.”

“Always quiet here.”

Dainyl waited,
listening, but neither spoke. Finally, he dropped the sightshield and cleared
his throat.

Both alectors
stiffened.

“Sir! We didn’t see
you.”

“That was obvious,”
Dainyl replied dryly.

“Ah ... sir?”

Dainyl stepped
forward and released the Talent-lock on the outer doorway, then opened the door
and stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind him.

He remained in the
foyer, extending his Talent-senses back into the corridor in order to listen.

“That’s the other
submarshal?”

“He’s the one.”

“Swear he wasn’t
here, and then he was.”

“They’re like that.
You don’t want to cross them.”

“What do you do if
one’s after the other?”

There was a low
laugh. “Do as little as you can, and stay out of the way.”

“Josaryk’s wagering
on this one.” “Majer Noryan is backing the other one.”

“That’s because—”

“Enough. Shouldn’t be
talking about it. Not really.”

The guards were
silent, and Dainyl released the second Talent-lock and stepped into the Table
chamber. For a time, he stood there, just letting his senses range over the
Table, trying to get a feeling of how the Table felt. Lystrana had told him
that the Tables could also be used for communications, and Asulet had suggested
that they had other purposes as well.

Dainyl could sense a
node of something within the Table, and he probed slightly with his Talent.
Abruptly, a purple glow appeared above the black surface of the Table.

Dainyl leaned
forward. Was someone about to arrive? From Elcien?

A vague and
indistinct image appeared, seemingly within the Table, of gray walls. He
squinted—and found himself viewing the outer walls of the Myrmidon headquarters
in Elcien. But, while he could see a carriage pass by the front gates, he did
not see any Myrmidons, not a one, nor any pteridons.

The glow above the
Table intensified, and a rush of chill air cascaded over Dainyl as an ugly
pink-purple mist expanded above the middle of the Table. He stepped back, his
hand dropping to the lightcutter at his side. Absently, he noted that the image
of headquarters had vanished.

With another wave of
chill air, a ... creature—that was the only word for it—appeared on the Table,
a composite of alector and pteridon, alector from the mid-chest down, and
pteridon above that, with crooked and truncated wings that barely fit within
the chamber. Without warning, it lurched toward Dainyl, blue crystal beak
jabbing downward.

Dainyl yanked out the
lightcutter and fired, throwing up Talent-shields in front of himself. The lightcutter
beam shimmered and reflected off the pteridon-like head of the creature. It
slashed forward with its beak, striking his Talent-shields. The impact hurled
Dainyl back into the stone wall.

The creature whirled,
looking for others. In diat moment, Dainyl used the lightcutter beam to aim for
the middle of the chest—the human part of the monster.

A sharp hiss
followed, and the monster collapsed in a heap.

Holding the
lightcutter ready, Dainyl looked at the corpse, a twisted figure with the head
and winged shoulders and beak of a miniature pteridon. Beneath the head was an
alector’s body in die green trousers and purple tunic usually worn by senior
fieldmasters.

He waited several
moments, but the hideous form did not move, and Dainyl sensed no lifeforce. He
extended a Talent-probe. Nothing, and the dead creature was not disintegrating,
either, the way alectors usually did.

Now what? If he hadn’t
made his presence known to the guards, he could have raised Talent illusions
and just left. But then, if he hadn’t been trying to work with the Table, the
wild translation wouldn’t have focused on him. Could he use the Table to cart
the dead alector to a Table less frequently used?

He climbed up onto
the Table and grasped the shoulders of the repulsive form that had once been an
alector, then concentrated. The Table turned to black mist beneath him, and he
plummeted down ...

. . . into chill
darkness. The lifeless form of the wild translation was a leaden weight, not on
his arms, but his mind, and he searched for the purple-edged green locator that
was Norda. After endless instant moments, he could sense the purple and green.
He extended a Talent-probe. Instead of the rushing sense he had felt before,
the green locator crept toward him, slowly, ever more slowly, but the
silver-green barrier finally loomed closer and closer, and then shattered
around him.

Dainyl staggered
several steps, and dropped the wild translation onto the Table. Ice had coated
its form, although a misty fog immediately began to rise in the warmer air of
the Table chamber.

A figure in green by
the door to me chamber began to turn toward the Table.

Dainyl concentrated
and dropped back into the blackness.

He plunged downward
into and beneath the Table. His entire body shuddered, as though it had been coated
with ice that pressed in upon him. For an endless moment, he did nothing,
wondering what he was doing in the chill, trying to sort out the confusion,
even as his legs and hands lost their sensation.

The dark gray
locator, bordered in purple, that was what he sought, and his thoughts reached
for that locator wedge.

In time, seemingly
forever, gray-silver sprayed away from him, and. . .

... he stood back on
me Table in the chamber in Alustre, his lungs gasping for air, his entire frame
shivering as he climbed down from the Table and leaned against it, trying to
catch his breath and warm up. For a time, misty fog enshrouded his entire form
before dispersing. Slowly, he began to regain his strength, but decided to wait
before leaving the chamber.

He still did not
understand why the wild translation had not immediately turned to dust—or fire.
His eyes traveled across the stone walls of the windowless chamber, unmarred
except for the brackets for the light-torches and hangings. Abruptly, he looked
at one light-torch bracket, somehow different, although it appeared the same as
did the others to his eyes.

Straightening, Dainyl
slowly walked to the bracket, realizing, as he did, that it was a concealed
lock, its Talent so muted that it was not obvious until he stood next to it.
There was a concealed door within the Table chamber.

Should he try it?

He could feel a
ragged grin cross his face. If... if anyone were inside, after dealing with the
wild translation and two trips between Tables, he was scarcely in the best
condition to take on another challenge. Investigating the hidden door would
have to wait, but he would check all the Table chambers he used in the future
to see if they had such doors.

He squared his
shoulders and walked to the foyer door, opening it, and then re-setting the
Talent lock behind him. He opened the outer door.

Both guards
stiffened.

“That didn’t take
long, sir.”

Dainyl offered a
smile. “Sometimes, it doesn’t.” He closed the door and replaced the second
Talent-lock. “I hope the rest of your duty won’t be too long.”

As he walked away, he
extended his Talent-senses, listening.

“... couldn’t have
traveled too far...”

“... some of them use
it for other things, they say ...”

“Best you keep that
to yourself...”

Dainyl kept walking
down the corridor toward the steps. He needed to eat, and get some rest before
his evening meal with Brekylt and Alcyna. The effort required by his brief
Table transits underscored why it was better not to use the Tables too
frequently—not until he was more adept, anyway.

As he climbed the
steps, trying not to breathe hard, he couldn’t help wondering about the wild
translation. Had he caused it by attempting to investigate the Table, or had he
just drawn it to him? What about the hidden chamber? Why did the recorders need
hidden chambers within largely hidden chambers?

Just before sunset,
Dainyl made his way from his quarters and across the paved courtyard. To his
right, a single pteridon angled in from the south, flared gracefully, and
settled onto the stone flight stage, where the Myrmidon flyer dismounted and
handed a dispatch case to the waiting duty messenger.

Dainyl followed the
messenger into the rear entrance to the headquarters building.

“The weekly report
from Fordall, sir,” the messenger announced, handing the dispatch case to the
undercaptain at the duty desk.

The junior officer
saw Dainyl behind the Myrmidon messenger and rose to his feet. “Submarshal,
sir. The duty coach is waiting for you. Submarshal Alcyna will meet you at the
residence. She is traveling from her house just outside Alustre.”

“Thank you.” Dainyl
nodded and made his way out to the front and the coach. The driver was not
Granyn, but a woman, a junior Myrmidon ranker.

“Submarshal, sir. The
residence?”

“That’s correct.”
Dainyl paused. “Did you come from Transport, driving sandoxen coaches?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What routes? I drove
the Hafin-to-Krost leg, and sometimes the Tempre-Syan square.” He laughed. “That
was a few years back.”

“The Northern Pass
run from Dereka to Passera. Seven years.” Her voice was pleasant, but Dainyl
could sense a faint anger and resentment behind the words.

“Sometimes, it takes
a while,” he replied. “For me, I drove for almost eleven years.”

“Sir ... eleven
years?”

“A little more than
ten and a half,” he admitted with a smile. “I never thought they’d take me for
the Myrmidons.”

The driver looked at
him for a long moment before her eyes shifted to his star insignia. Then she
laughed. “Guess I shouldn’t complain.”

“I didn’t get your
name,” Dainyl said.

“Olyssa, sir.”

“How long have you
been here at headquarters?”

“Just a year, sir.
Well.. . four quints, actually.”

“I’d judge it’ll be
another three quints before there will be an opening for a flyer here in
Alustre, but you never know what might come up. You’re next in line after
Granyn?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How do you like it
here?”

“Much better than
being a sandoxen driver, sir, and I’ve been helping Vresnyl in the armory.”

“With all the changes
in the handling of skylances, you mean?”

“Yes, sir, and
learning about crystal replacements and testing.”

“Did you help with
the testing of the lances used against the ancient?”

“Oh, no, sir. The
submarshal and Vresnyl did mat.”

“I suppose they had
to replace some of the crystals.”

“Yes, sir, but I don’t
know how many. Vresnyl keeps those under lock, and he said that I wasn’t
supposed to say much about it, except to my superiors.”

Dainyl suspected
that, at the time, no one had thought he might be visiting. “That’s wise of you
both.” He smiled. “I suppose we should be getting to the residence.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl stepped from
the mounting block into the coach, closing the door behind himself. As the
coach passed out through the compound gates, he nodded. His inquiry had been a
thrust in the dark, but Olyssa’s answers confirmed that more than a few details
were not being reported to the marshal. Alcyna had mentioned sending a report
to Lyterna about the ancients, and when Dainyl had been in Lyterna in late
winter, Asulet had told him that too many of the senior alectors were
interested in power rather man understanding and that High Alector Zelyert
played “little games.” Was Alcyna using the reports about the ancients to turn
Asulet against Zelyert and Shastylt? Or merely fomenting unrest?