Mykel merely nodded as they opened the gates. He rode down the narrow drive to the courtyard off the small rotunda. There the doorman with the double daggers at his waist immediately tugged on the bellpull before Mykel announced himself and dismounted, walking up the steps to the small covered rotunda, but stopping well short of the doorman.
Shortly, the door opened, but only a fraction, although Mykel caught enough of a glimpse to know that Rachyla was behind the heavy oak door.
“Majer Mykel, Chatelaine,” murmured the doorman.
After another moment, Rachyla stepped out, just beyond the archway. She wore dark gray trousers and vest, and a deep green shimmersilk shirt whose color matched that of her eyes.
“I had thought not to see you again, Majer. You did declare me your enemy…as I recall from our last meeting.”
Mykel bowed and smiled politely. “Lady Rachyla, I never said you were my enemy. I recognized that you held me as your enemy. That was an accession to your views, a reluctant one, not a statement of mine.”
“For a Cadmian officer, you are eloquent.” For the briefest of moments, Rachyla hesitated before she continued. “There is little more to say, then. I’m sorry you traveled all the way from Hyalt for nothing.”
“I was sent to Tempre en route elsewhere. Third Battalion is being dispatched to the Iron Valleys.”
“By the great and glorious submarshal or by your own colonel?”
“Submarshal Dainyl has now become Marshal of Myrmidons. How that occurred, I have no idea, but the orders came from him.”
“That is not all that surprising. I would suggest that he has yet another task for you. An unpleasant and difficult one. You are a useful tool, Majer. It is too bad that you cannot be more than that.”
“We all do what we can with what we have, Lady—”
“I have told you that salutation is incorrect and improper.”
“Since you hold me as your enemy, Lady, I believe I can address you as I see fit, so long as the salutation is one of respect, and I do believe that ‘Lady’ conveys respect. I have always respected you, although that is not why I am here. I thought it might be of some minor interest to you to know that we will be taking barges to Dekhron, once the river flows finish subsiding.”
“Are you then off to slaughter more innocents, Majer?”
“If there is to be slaughter, it will not be of innocents. More than half of Fourth Battalion has already been destroyed.”
“How fortunate for you that the marshal needs your services, Majer.” Rachyla’s voice remained cool.
“As you once observed to me, Lady, while one lives, there is always hope of improvement.”
“Hope is a slender reed, Majer. It is best employed with children, who do not know that the faults, the status, and the reputation of their parents can often blight an otherwise bright future.”
“Children have the right to their own future, and that does not always rest on their parents.” Mykel wondered why he bothered…except there was an undercurrent behind Rachyla’s words, one he had not identified.
“Perhaps in the north, Majer, but not in Dramur or Southgate, or even in Tempre. There, and here, position counts for more than ability or ambition. Or hope.”
“But hope bends with winds that will destroy more rigid trees.”
“Even you will not rely upon hope alone, Majer. Do not declare bootless hope and empty words.”
“Neither my words nor my hope are empty.” Mykel inclined his head politely. “Nor are yours, for all your deference to the past.” He had to break through that coolness.
“You would speak to my hopes, now, Majer?”
“How could I not?”
“Do you not think that I might find that presumptuous?” She raised her eyebrows.
“You might indeed, but my presumptions are out of concern and respect. They always have been, despite your words and denials.”
“I will admit that even with the restrictions placed on you in your position as a comparatively junior Cadmian officer, you have behaved with honor and respect, Majer. I might wish that circumstances were different, but as a landless daughter of a dead seltyr, I can only grant you respect.”
That was a major concession, Mykel realized. He inclined his head in reply. “For now, Lady, I can ask no more. Again, I would thank you for your past kindness in restoring me to health.”
“That was the least I could do for one who was an honorable enemy of my father.” The faintest smile crossed Rachyla’s lips. “You had best return to your duties, Majer. Perhaps I will see you again. Say, when you become a colonel.”
Mykel wasn’t about to accept that limitation. “The future will bring what it will, Lady, to both of us.”
“That may be, Majer, but mastering the future is difficult and requires more than hope. Great power and substance are required. As of the present, you have neither.” Her deep green eyes fixed on him, almost challenging.
“As of the present,” Mykel acknowledged. “As of the present.”
She nodded. “Then, there is little more to be said.” She extended her hand, as if in dismissal. “I will wish you safe travels.”
Mykel’s fingers touched hers, lightly. He could sense…something. Fire? Hope? His fingers squeezed hers, ever so gently.
Hers tightened around his, almost imperceptibly, trembling, before she withdrew her hand. “Good day, Majer.”
“I will not keep you. Good day, Lady Rachyla.” He bowed again, then turned and walked back down the steps, where he untied his horse, and mounted.
Rachyla still stood outside the archway, but said nothing. Her eyes were bright.
Mykel inclined his head to her a last time, then eased the roan around and rode back up the narrow drive. He could feel her eyes on him, as well as another pair—those of Amaryk? With the factor watching, he dared not glance back. Even the hand touching could have endangered her.
He had conveyed his feelings. That he knew, but could he ever do more? What would it take to free her from her family in a way acceptable to her…and them? She had made it clear that she would not trade the prison of privilege for the prison of poverty—or what would be poverty to her.
Once outside the gates, he turned the roan back toward the stone compound.
21
As Mykel rode out of the undersized Cadmian compound on the eastern edge of Dekhron on Septi morning, he reflected on the previous three days. Proceeding from Tempre to Iron Stem had been anything but pleasant, what with further delays with the barges and the tugs, the lack of stalls or containment for the mounts, the rough water of the river, the heavy coal smoke, and the continual drizzle that had soaked everything.
After two and a half long days on the river, they had arrived in Dekhron, only to find that the piers had been washed away, and that the horses had to be walked down ramps into the water and led through frigid waist-deep water, and in places around blocks of rose-colored stones that were all that remained of the river piers.
Uniforms and mounts were wet and smeared with coal dust, and they were a sorry sight as they entered the Cadmian compound in Dekhron at midnight on Quinti. It had taken all of Sexdi to get dried out and reorganized—thankfully with a welcome sun. Mykel wasn’t so certain that he wouldn’t have preferred to ride the high roads from Tempre to Dekhron—except that more than eleven days on the road would have been even harder on the mounts.
On Septi morning, the battalion was cleaner, fed, and more rested. They rode out of the compound and followed the eternastone road westward through the center of Dekhron and then north, through what looked to be the less affluent areas. For all that Tempre was larger than Dekhron, the river town looked and felt far older than did Tempre. The larger streets leading off the eternastone main boulevard had been paved many years before, and now held grooves and chips in the stone, as well as off-colored replacement stones, and in some places, packed clay. The side lanes were dirt.
Mykel noted more than an occasional set of deserted stone w
alls and vacant lots filled with rubble between buildings. A large number of dwellings, at least those bordering the main boulevard that was the high road, were roofed with old and faded slates or cracked tiles. Early as it was, less than a glass past dawn, few people were on the streets, but even had it been later, Mykel had the feeling that there would not have been that many about.
For the first glass, Sixteenth Company led the Third Battalion, and Rhystan rode beside Mykel. Neither officer said much until they were several vingts north of Dekhron and the early sun fell full upon them.
“Good thing it’s sunny,” observed the captain. “Cold and damp on the river.”
“I’m glad to be away from Hyalt—and Dekhron,” Mykel said. “If it weren’t for the mounts, I’d rather not have traveled by barge, though.”
“It’ll give the men something to talk about, and no one got hurt.”
Mykel managed a smile. He had no desire to travel by barge again.
“That Myrmidon captain…she spent a lot of time looking at you, sir.”
Mykel had spent more than a little time in Tempre avoiding Lyzetta. “Why do you think she was?”
“She’s worried about you. She kept watching you the way my little brother used to look at snakes. Da said that he couldn’t try to kill them, and to keep away. Williet would have tried anyway, if he hadn’t been afraid of the whipping more than the snakes. That Captain Lyzetta had that same look.”
“Who’d whip a Myrmidon captain?” Mykel knew, but he wanted Rhystan’s reaction. “And why?”
“Marshal Dainyl, Majer. To me, that says that what we faced in Dramur and Hyalt will seem easy compared to what’s up the road in Iron Stem.”
“That could be. Or it could be that Hersiod was influenced by the former marshal, the way Vaclyn was, and now the new marshal needs us to clean up the mess.”
“That’s not much better, sir.”
“I know.” Mykel chuckled. “But we can always hope.” Just so long as we don’t get deluded by that hope.
22
Dainyl had already been restless before Zernylta brought in the report from Captain Lyzetta. It was already Septi—a week after Alcyna had arrived—and he’d heard nothing about any of the problems he’d faced then being resolved…or even showing signs of improvement. About the only positive event had been the return of the River Vedra to near-normal flows.
After Zernylta handed him the report and left, Dainyl slowly began to read what the junior captain had written.
…repairs to the Table in Tempre have been completed, and the Table engineers report that the Table is fully functional…The Table in Hyalt was easier to repair, according to the engineers. It will take several weeks’ more work before the cliff-tunneled section is again fully habitable. The engineers have recommended to their High Alector that the freestanding structure not be rebuilt at this time, unless the High Alector of Justice can fund the rebuilding….
In short, thought Dainyl, the Myrmidons were being blamed for the destruction, as if there had been any other way to defeat Rhelyn’s forces. Whether Zelyert knew or not, Dainyl needed to tell the High Alector before he was summoned before the Duarches to explain.
Dainyl forced himself to finish reading the rest of what Lyzetta had written.
The Cadmian Third Battalion arrived safely in Dekhron and is proceeding to Iron Stem. There was some delay because of the river flooding and the slowness in unloading mounts in Dekhron without piers…Tempre remains with limited alector supervision…
That meant Duarch Samist had not named a regional alector to replace Fahylt, or that if he had, it had been recent enough that no one knew.
Dainyl folded the report and tucked it into his uniform tunic, then stood and hurried out of his study and down the corridor. Alcyna was out, supposedly dealing with Alseryl’s assistants over the matter of younger sandox drivers being transferred as Myrmidon trainees, as well as discovering why the South Pass bridge could not be repaired more quickly.
Captain Zernylta was the headquarters duty officer—that was one responsibility that continued over from her previous position as squad leader. Saddling the other junior officers with extra watches would not have been a good idea.
“Zernylta, is the duty coach back?”
“Yes, sir. Sharua was about to pick up the submarshal at the Palace.”
“She can take me to the Hall of Justice, and then pick up the submarshal and swing back to the Hall and wait for me. I need to see the Highest.” If Zelyert weren’t there, Dainyl would leave word with one of his assistants, but he needed to make the effort.
On the coach ride to the Hall, he couldn’t help but worry that he wasn’t making much progress as marshal. That feeling continued, even as he made his way into the Hall and down to the lower levels, where he rapped on the closed door.
“Come in, Dainyl.”
Dainyl stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“You’re obviously seeking me out, Marshal, and you look less than pleased. What is it that you feel I should know? Before you do, however, thank you for the information about the piers in Dekhron. It was useful to be able to point out to Ruvryn that some problems are not caused by Cadmians and Myrmidons.”
“You sound as if you may already know what I wanted to tell you. The tables in Hyalt and Tempre are both functioning again, but it took more than two weeks’ support by most of Seventh Company. That meant a great amount of lifeforce usage, and High Alector Ruvryn will attempt, if he has not already, to have Justice pay for rebuilding the freestanding structure destroyed in the conflict with the rebels in Hyalt.”
“He has not said anything yet.” Zelyert looked directly at Dainyl. “Why was destroying the structure necessary?”
“As I indicated when I first returned from Hyalt, the question was how many Myrmidons would be killed by the methods we chose. I chose the method that would produce the fewest Myrmidon casualties. Had I chosen a method that spared the structure, Fifth Company would possibly be at as little as half-strength. I suspect that was in fact what Brekylt had in mind, and that we would use First Company. We have barely been able to replace the seven Myrmidons lost from Seventh and Fifth Companies. It is unlikely that we could replace any significant number more for at least several months. The High Alector of Transport is less than pleased at our request for more trainees. The submarshal has been spending much of her time on placating Transport and seeking more trainees.”
“Myrmidons are not supposed to be killed by rebels.” Zelyert’s tone was mocking. “That is exactly how Duarch Samist stated his objections last week.”
“We have not lost a single Myrmidon to landers or indigens. We lost every single one to other alectors, a number to lightcannon that should never have been built.” Dainyl did not mention that he had been forced to kill three of the rebel-suborned officers of Seventh Company. “That suggests that the High Alector of Engineering has been rather lax in his oversight, if not tacitly in support of the rebels.”
Zelyert laughed, a low rumbling sound. “I can only suggest laxity in oversight at the moment. That should be sufficient.” He paused, then asked, “Has anything new happened in the Iron Valleys?”
“Third Battalion should be there tomorrow. They were delayed by the floods and the loss of the piers at Dekhron. There is no sign of adverse action by the ancients.”
“Not that you know about.”
“That is true, sir.”
“You may be requested to brief the Duarch on that—and to explain again the reason for your tactics in Hyalt.”
“I will be happy to do so, sir.” Dainyl had very conflicted feelings about that, especially about explaining again what he had already explained.
“Is there anything else, Marshal?”
“No, sir.”
Zelyert rose. “Then I need to depart for the Palace. The Duarch is greatly concerned about the number of criminals fleeing Ifryn and translating to Acorus. Even if they are executed immediately, the translation tube linkag
e creates a lifeforce loss. For a handful, that is not a problem, but we’re seeing more than handfuls.”
Dainyl stood. “That suggests that order on Ifryn is breaking down and that it will not be long before the Master Scepter is transferred.” He paused. “Is it possible that some of those translating here have been tacitly encouraged and allowed to reach the Tables in order to reduce the pressure on Efra?”
“There’s no doubt about that,” returned Zelyert, his tone ironic, “but it would do little good to tell the Duarch so.”
“Because we can’t do anything about it but accept alectors or kill them?”
“I don’t see any of us trying to translate to Ifryn to complain to the Archon.” Zelyert gestured to the door.
“Until later, sir.” Dainyl took the hint, bowed, and departed.
As he headed back up the steps to the main level of the Hall, Dainyl could not help but shiver slightly at what he knew was occurring all across Acorus. The world was a refuge for alectors, but a refuge that could only hold so many. If too many flooded through the Tables…
He shook his head.
23
The sun hung low over the Westerhills, and a cool breeze threatening chill blew out of the northeast, seemingly straight from the towering cliffs that marked the Aerlal Plateau some forty vingts away. Third Battalion had ridden all Septi, with minimal breaks, and Mykel’s shoulder and back had begun to ache, reminding him that he was not quite healed from his injuries.
Not long after he saw the waystone announcing Iron Stem was but three vingts ahead, Mykel ordered the battalion off the road to allow another heavy black wagon, bearing iron pigs, drawn by eight dray horses, to rumble past them, heading south for Dekhron. Mykel had not told any of the drivers that the loading piers had been destroyed. Either the iron would wait there, or the piermasters would find some way to transfer it to the barges for the trip down the Vedra to the engineers and forges of Faitel.
While Mykel could not see the town ahead, only a scattering of cots and outbuildings amid the rectangular fields and oak forests whose leaves had begun to turn, he could make out a reddish glow coming from the north, somewhere to the west of the high road.
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