“Majer… what do you intend to do with your senior squad leader?”
“Make him the battalion senior squad leader, with particular emphasis on training and retraining.”
“You would not recommend him as an undercaptain?”
“No, sir.”
“Are there others who might be considered in the future?”
“Chyndylt, the third squad leader, would make a solid senior squad leader for Fifteenth Company. He might make a good undercaptain, but I’d want to see him with greater responsibility first.”
A faint smile appeared on the colonel’s face. He extended a small cloth pouch. “Here are your insignia, Majer. For all of our sakes, I wish you well. You will have to continue in command of Fifteenth Company, as well, for several weeks, until we determine your captains or undercaptains.”
“Yes, sir.” Mykel took the pouch.
“Majer… I am curious about one thing.”
“Sir?”
“Does a guano mine smell as bad as everyone says?”
Mykel laughed.
After a moment, so did the colonel.
110
For all the towering halls of the Duarch’s palace in Elcien, Dainyl was escorted into a comparatively small library, six yards wide and twelve in length. Oak shelves filled with volumes lined all the inside walls, while the outside wall held smaller sections of shelves set between the narrow floor to ceiling windows overlooking the southern sunken garden.
The Duarch sat behind a desk piled high with books. Even seated, he was a towering presence, with shimmering black hair and deep violet eyes. Talent radiated from him. As he caught sight of Dainyl, he smiled, but did not stand. When Dainyl bowed, he could feel a warmth issue from the older alector.
“Submarshal, I am pleased that you could come to brief me on what has happened in Dramur. Please sit down. Both the High Alector of Justice and Marshal Shastylt have spoken in glowing terms about your success there.”
“We did what was necessary, Most High.” Dainyl took the chair toward which the Duarch had gestured.
“I trust that there was not too great a loss of lifeforce?”
“More than I would have liked,” Dainyl admitted. “Over a thousand rebels, and half of the Third Cadmian Battalion.”
“That is not good.” The Duarch frowned. “Not good at all. We must be making all possible efforts to expand lifeforce so that we will be ready to host the Master Scepter. The Archon must choose Acorus. We have accomplished so very much under the most adverse of conditions, and for that, he must find us the worthy ones, as we are.” A broad smile appeared, then vanished. “All is judged on lifeforce mass, yet today’s measurement does not always reflect what it will be tomorrow or next year. Nor what a world will be or could be.”
Dainyl kept his own expression pleasant and waited.
“The marshal tried to explain why there was a revolt, but I must confess that his explanation lacked a certain… cohesiveness. There is enough food; there is enough shelter; and there seemed to be enough golds to satisfy the greedier of the landers. We had neither increased levies on the seltyrs nor imposed greater controls on them. Ingratitude, while universal, does not provoke rebellion.” Another warm smile followed his words. “Could you make it clearer?”
“I will try.” Sensing the more pointed feelings concealed by the smile, and the danger of being caught between the Duarch and the High Alector of Justice, Dainyl composed himself. “The landers and indigens are split into two areas, those east of the mountains and those to the west. The guano mine is on the east side of the mountains, and the golds that come from it go to those in the town and some of the eastern seltyrs. For reasons that remain unclear, all the seltyrs decided that they needed weapons—”
“Unclear to whom?”
“To me, Most High. I talked to a number of those close to the seltyrs, and all suggested that they believed that an unarmed seltyr is without honor. This is a belief that has existed for some time, but has never been reported. Why, I have not been able to discover.”
“Go on.”
The seltyrs used golds to persuade smugglers to bring them Cadmian rifles…“
“Who permitted that?” The Duarch’s voice turned cold, and a perceptible chill filled the library.
Dainyl could sense a strong Talent force, as strong as that of the High Alector of Justice, if not stronger. “No one, as I understand it. They paid the smugglers to bribe an assistant engineer to divert weapons reported as flawed and scrapped. He was punished and executed, but not before the rifles and ammunition had been shipped to the seltyrs.”
“Always the golds. The landers and indigens, they think of nothing but golds, nothing at all. The steers are worse than spoiled children. Acorus would have long since died without us, and they cannot see that. Pardon me, Submarshal. Please continue.” The sense of chill dispersed, although the Duarch did not smile.
Dainyl went on to describe what had happened, in plain terms, with the first attack by Seltyr Ubarjyr, then the sniping at the Cadmians and the uprising by the Jyohans.
“You did not impose discipline?”
“I was ordered to observe only, unless the Cadmians failed…” Dainyl went on to explain the increasingly erratic behavior of Majer Vaclyn as well as the lack of understanding by Majer Herryf. “… Once I assumed command, under the conditions laid down by the marshal, immediate discipline had to wait until the military situation was resolved, because the Cadmians were under attack by more than twenty companies of the seltyrs. Despite being vastly outnumbered, and with only two pteridons, we crushed the revolt. Once that was accomplished, we restructured the Cadmian command in Dramur so that the local commander will be able to control matters in a fashion that will not destroy any more lifeforce.”
“That is right.” The Duarch nodded, then looked at Dainyl. “Do you think that they truly believed that they could prevail? Against the Myrmidons?” An expression of calculation dominated the Duarch’s face, especially the violet eyes that darkened. “You did not mention the lost pteridons.”
“Both pteridons were lost. That is true. Two of the ancients appeared just as the pteridons attacked the last of the rebels.”
“You did not wish to mention that?” The Duarch’s pleasant smile dropped away, and Dainyl could sense a chill coldness.
“I admit that I did not,” Dainyl admitted. “I had not realized that the ancients were present so far south, or that they were so powerful, and that was my oversight and failure.” At the word “failure,” Dainyl could sense the coldness projected by the Duarch vanish, and that mystified him.
The Duarch laughed, once, a sound that mixed rue and humor. “You are the first Submarshal—or Marshal—ever to enter this study and admit that he failed at something.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “Are there other failures you might admit?”
“I am certain that there are aspects of what happened in Dramur that I could have handled better, Most High. Unfortunately. I don’t have the range of knowledge that you and the High Alector of Justice have. So I doubt I could identify what those might be.”
“You’re sounding like Shastylt. Please don’t. As for the failure to tell you about the ancients and pteridons, that is something that I will take up with the marshal directly.”
Dainyl didn’t like that at all.
“Oh… I won’t mention you. We’ve lost too many suddenly, and you couldn’t have had anything to do with that. Please continue.”
Dainyl decided to risk more directness. “I still don’t really know what sparked this revolt. We stopped it, and we’ve taken steps that I think will preclude it from happening again, but I could be mistaken.”
“We all could. For all that, you have not told me everything, Submarshal.”
“No, Most High. We would be here for days were I to do that. I will be happy to answer any questions you may have, now or in the future, or to provide more details about anything.”
“At least you are more honest than many
. What else should I know?”
“I would say that the revolt shows that we face a delicate balance between the need to keep from spending lifeforce and in maintaining order among the landers and indigens. They will easily squander lifeforce as though it meant nothing, because to them it means nothing. They think only of either amassing golds or controlling other landers and indigens. If we do not step in, as we did in Dramur, they could easily destroy more lifeforce than we did. Yet to keep them from doing worse, we also spend more lifeforce than we would prefer, especially with the transfer of the master scepter not that many years away. Yet we cannot explain the importance of lifeforce in a fashion that would mean anything to the landers and indigens, not without revealing our own needs and vulnerabilities.”
The Duarch’s face twisted, and Dainyl could sense… something… a conflict… but that vanished within a fraction of an instant.
“Yes, that has always been a difficulty, and yet, we must prepare for the transfer, whatever the cost, because if we do not receive the Master Scepter, our future will be in the hands of those on Efra, and they calculate even more than those who claim to serve me. You have told me what I need to know.” There was a sense of sadness, followed by another smile and more warmth. “I understand that you and Lystrana are expecting a child.”
“Yes, Most High.” Dainyl wondered exactly what the Duarch had needed to know, but he wasn’t about to ask. He was relieved to have gotten through the briefing.
“A wonderful thing. Wonderful. She will be old enough to behold the transfer of the Master Scepter.” The sense of chill returned. “Do be careful in what you believe of Shastylt and Zelyert, Dainyl. They do not see everything, although they think they do. Be most careful.” Another smile appeared, with the same warmth as earlier. “You may go. Thank you.”
Dainyl stood and bowed. “I am at your command, Most High.”
“So you are.”
Dainyl stepped toward the library door, and it opened. Two alector guards appeared, walking beside him, escorting him back to the entry foyer, with its high-arched dome, as they had escorted him from it. He felt like running, but he kept walking, flanked by the silent guards. The palace, for the first time in all the years he had been in it, felt confining, as though the walls would fall in upon him.
111
Mykel stood at the edge of the warm weather dining porch, in the light breeze that reminded him that spring in Faitel was far cooler than winter in Dramur. For a time, he looked at the still-fragile grape leaves, barely unfolded. The lower trunk and the outer canes had yet to leaf out. He let his eyes take in the ancient vine, not really seeing it, just feeling that it was alive, in a way that he had not felt before, not exactly. He was so motionless that a redbird alighted on the far end of the arbor, cocking its head in a perky fashion.
A faint halo of something surrounded the redbird, golden brown. Mykel blinked, and the halo vanished. Yet it had been there, and too real to have been his imagination.
“The grapes aren’t out yet,” said Olent, crossing the porch toward his son. “It was a wet and cold winter. That usually means they’re late leafing out, but, if the summer’s warm, we’ll have a good crop come harvest.”
Mykel turned, studying his father, trying to recapture what he had felt when he had looked at the redbird. After a moment, he could sense a warm brownish gold around Olent.
“Supper’s almost ready.” Olent paused. “You’ve been more quiet since you got back. Are you all right?”
Mykel stopped to consider his father’s words and lost the sense of the aura he had felt, but he knew, now, that he could recall it. What exactly it meant or signified, other than life itself, trmt he would have to discover. “I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking.”
Was he fine? He’d killed scores of rebels, and that didn’t include the poor and hapless debtors of Jyoha. Many of the so-called battles had been little more than massacres, and he’d succeeded by being more ruthless than the seltyrs. He’d been placed in a situation where he’d had little choice if he wanted to survive—and if the men under him were to have had any chance. And he still didn’t really understand why, other than the seltyrs and the alectors both wanted power. Was that life? The struggle for power? Did it have to be that way? Could he change things as a majer? Or would he be pressed to create more destruction?
“You’ve been thinking a lot.”
“I suppose that’s true. Dramur changed things.” He offered a smile. “I’m probably hungry, too. It’s been a long day.” He turned and walked back across the empty dining porch and into the cramped inside dining room.
Following him, Olent closed the door to the porch behind them. “Let’s eat before it all gets cold,” he announced, taking the chair at the head of the table.
Mykel settled into the place at his father’s right, across from his sister. As he sat down, Sesalia offered a smile. Olent looked to the other end of the table at Aelya, and his wife nodded back at him.
“I think that means I’m saying the blessing,” commented Olent. “I don’t know why I even asked. With everyone here, it’s always the same.” He cleared his throat. “In the name of the One Who Was, Is, and Will Be, may our food be blessed, and our lives as well, in the times of prosperity and peace, and those which are neither. Blessed be the lives of both the deserving and the undeserving that both may strive to do good in the world and beyond, and may we always re-call that we do not judge our worthiness, but leave that judgment to the One Who Is.” After a moment of silence, he looked up. “Everyone take whatever’s closest.”
Mykel lifted the basket of hard dark bread to Sesalia first, who served herself, then Bortal, before handing it back to Mykel. The main course was a mutton pie, heavy on early carrots and onions, that Olent passed to Sesalia.
Aelya glanced at her daughter, “I still miss the children, dear.”
Olent guffawed. “Every time she doesn’t bring them, you remind her. You’ll make her feel guilty for being able to eat a meal in peace.”
“I don’t see them that often now,” replied Aelya.
“You see them more often than Sesalia and Bortal get to see Mykel. Now that he’s a majer, we’ll all probably see him even less.”
While the others talked, Mykel took several bites of the mutton pie, enjoying it and the sweet and heavy black bread, so much better fare than he had eaten in seasons.
“Mykel… you’re a majer, now? A real majer?” asked Viencet.
“Where have you been, Viencet?” asked Bortal. “Hiding in the cellar?”
“Ah… studying…”
“With that young Dalya?” probed Sesalia.
Viencet flushed. “She’s smart…” His words trailed off.
“Well, he is a majer,” announced Olent. “My son, the commander of a battalion, and only twenty seven years old.”
“They’re saying that the Myrmidons lost some pteridons out east,” offered Viencet quickly. “Did you hear about that?”
“People are always saying things,” replied Mykel with a smile. “Who’s been telling you those stories?”
“It was Trebyl, and he got it from his uncle. What he says has always been right before.”
“It doesn’t mean it is now.”
“He claims that it proves the ancients are still around, some of ‘em, anyway, because the ancients are the only thing that can kill pteridons.”
“It’s a good story,” Mykel said. “Maybe you should become an Ancienteer.”
“Nah…” Viencet shook his head. “They’ll believe anything. We know the ancients existed, but soaring through the sky without a pteridon… I can’t swallow that.”
Mykel just nodded.
“Some people,” added Aelya. “They’ll say anything.”
Mykel took a swallow of the wine, then another bite of the mutton pie.
“You haven’t said much about Dramur, and how come you got promoted to majer,” Viencet pressed.
“I suppose I haven’t,” demurred Mykel. “There’s
not much to say. I managed to survive and keep most of my company alive.”
“I’d wager you were a hero,” said Viencet.
“No. I wasn’t a hero. I was a moderately effective company commander when most others weren’t. I looked good by comparison.”
“Did you kill lots and lots of rebels?”
Mykel lifted the heavy goblet, only brought out for special dinners, and took another sip of the red wine. “People always get killed when they shoot at each other long enough.”
“I can’t believe—”
“Viencet,” said Olent quietly, but forcefully, “I don’t think your brother really wants to talk about it. Maybe later, when he comes home another time.”
Mykel silently thanked his father. He didn’t want to talk about it, but didn’t want to announce that publicly, either.
“And none of the Dramuran women took a liking to you?” teased Sesalia, after a moment of silence.
“I saw very few, almost none,” Mykel said with a laugh,
“Except from a distance. Most of those were trying to stay out of our sight.” He wasn’t about to mention Rachyla, especially since he would never see her again, and since she’d hardly been the friendliest toward him. But then, had their situations been reversed, he doubted that he would have been all that friendly, either.
“You must have been busy,” offered Bortal. “Corylt says that his captain never has a free moment.”
“We’re always busy.” Nodding absently in agreement, Mykel looked at Sesalia, heavy with the child to come, seeing not one aura, but two, the second almost a ghost of hers, but growing stronger, he knew. That had to be a part of his talent, the talent that had started with his being able to aim and fire a rifle more accurately than almost anyone, and now seemed to be growing. What else could he expect? Was that the talent that the ancient soarer had told him to find? Or was there something else?
“Mykel? Mykel?”
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