“Noryan? Or Brekylt?”
“I think there’s a chance Noryan will follow the orders.”
“But you think Brekylt will stop him somehow?”
“I think Brekylt will try, if he finds out. I sent the orders by sandox. It’s worth the effort to reduce his power.” He looked down at the half-eaten omelet that he knew he would not finish. “Have you sensed anything like the ancients? Have there been any reports of anything odd?”
Lystrana cocked her head, then replied, “Some of the northern holders in Aelta reported greenish lights on the top of the Aerlal Plateau last week, but only for one evening.”
“Do you know if there’s been anything like that reported before?”
“No. There’s no record of that. I had Dyena check. Jonyst has no record, either, and his records go back farther than those of the RA. What do you think they plan?”
“I don’t know. I only know that they do. I can still feel the sadness and the finality of what the one ancient conveyed. And her words—that we would have to change or die.” Asulet had also mentioned that the ancients were Talent creatures, and that suggested that they could survive when alectors might not…so long as there was lifeforce.
“I’m sure that they would have acted before this, had they the ability to do something that drastic.”
“I’m sure you’re right, dearest.”
“Dainyl…don’t humor me. You don’t believe that for a moment. I know that. I won’t change your feelings, but I am asking you to consider the facts. They’ve been here for longer than we have. Dereka was one of their cities, perhaps their only great city, and it was abandoned. As individuals, they’re more powerful than pteridons, but we can build weapons that can destroy pteridons. Don’t you think that if they could destroy us—or force us to change—they would?”
“It would depend on the costs, I suspect,” he replied dryly, before finishing the ale. “I know that what you say makes more sense than what I feel, but you didn’t feel the absolute certainty behind her words.”
“You can’t do much until they act, if they do, or until you can discover what they plan.”
“No. But that’s another reason to bring Third and Fourth Companies here. If Noryan will.”
“If he can.”
Dainyl nodded. “I’ll be checking on Fifth Company before I head back to Elcien.”
“Will you be here tonight?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’m leaving what I wore yesterday.”
“I’ll have them cleaned.”
“Thank you. If nothing else happens, I should be here tonight, but Zelyert was in Ludar yesterday, and that could mean more complications.”
“When you’re ready to leave, I’ll have my driver take you around. I don’t have to go anywhere until this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Dainyl just looked at her, trying to push away all the concerns for a few moments, before he finished eating and dressing and began what might be a very long day.
62
Quinti morning, Mykel dressed himself completely, although getting on his boots one-handed was a time-consuming effort, and his forehead was damp by the time he finished. He sat on the edge of the narrow bed and blotted his forehead, waiting until he cooled off some before heading to the small officers’ mess for breakfast.
Rhystan, Culeyt, Hamylt, and Fabrytal were all there and eating when he stepped through the archway, offering a cheerful, “Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir.”
Since they had filled one table, and looked to be finishing, Mykel settled himself at the smaller adjoining table.
An orderly hurried up with two beakers, one of ale and one of warm cider, setting them before Mykel. “Here you are, sir. Breakfast will be right here.”
After the ranker had scurried off, Mykel said dryly, “Amazing how quick they are when they realize you’re going to be around for a while.” Even as he said it, he knew it was unfair. “They’ve been good all along.”
“They should be,” suggested Fabrytal.
“None of you have had any more trouble with the dusters, have you?”
“No, sir,” replied Culeyt. “We’ve been sending occasional patrols at night up the road a ways, and word must have gone out.”
“The men have been good about not going out alone,” added Hamylt. “That’s helped.”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir?” asked Fabrytal. “We’ve got an early patrol.”
Mykel nodded.
In what seemed like moments, the mess was empty, except for Mykel and Rhystan, who moved to the seat across the table from Mykel.
“You do look better,” Rhystan said quietly.
“You say that with surprise,” Mykel replied with a laugh.
“I would suggest you wait a few days before you undertake more strenuous efforts.”
“I’ll take your advice on that.” While Mykel had thought about accompanying one of the companies on patrol, he had already decided against it—for Quinti, at least. “I had thought to take a ride through Iron Stem itself. Just Iron Stem,” he added quickly, before Rhystan frowned. “I’ll need to ride some each day.”
“With escorts, I trust?”
“One or two should be sufficient in town.”
Rhystan nodded. “That might be for the best.”
“Trouble?”
“Not yet. But word about you is spreading, and if you ride out…it can’t hurt.”
“What sort of word?” Mykel tried to keep his voice even.
“Oh, the usual, whenever you’re around.” There was a slight edge to Rhystan’s words.
“Rhystan…you know who I am. I’m a junior majer who got lucky a few times and is trying to learn how to be a better commander without inflicting unnecessary casualties on his men and officers.”
“That’s one reason why you’re effective.” The edge had vanished from the captain’s speech. He laughed softly. “The only illusion you have is that you’re just another officer.”
Mykel wasn’t going to get into that. He stopped as the ranker returned with a platter.
“Here you are, sir.”
“Thank you.” Somehow, it reassured Mykel that the egg toast was slightly overdone. He took several bites before he spoke again. “What about the Reillies?”
“The big meeting is tomorrow. Then, there will be another feast and celebration.”
“And then we’ll start to have trouble?”
“They could decide to wait.”
“You don’t think they will.”
“If they know you’re riding around, it might slow them down.”
Mykel didn’t even pretend to understand that. He was a junior battalion commander who’d already made too many mistakes. Yes, he had Talent, just enough to keep getting himself in trouble. Why would his presence slow any Reillie or Squawt down? “Sympathizers or spies in town?”
“Relatives, most likely.”
“You’re not patrolling today, right?”
“Tomorrow. You want to ride out after muster?”
“I’d thought so.”
“I’ll have your mount saddled and two rankers standing by.” Rhystan rose from the table.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
Mykel finished his breakfast, then had to struggle into his riding jacket, fastening it over his splinted hand, right arm, and shoulder. He took his time making his way to the stable. If there were any dispatches, they wouldn’t come in until later.
Scoryt and Gamail stood in the courtyard with their mounts and Mykel’s roan.
“Morning, sir.”
“Good morning.” Mykel took the reins, but managed to mount one-armed, and not too awkwardly. The effort sent a spurt of pain through his injured arm and shoulder, but it subsided once he was in the saddle.
He eased the roan forward and then out through the gates, such as they were, before turning south on the high road, heading toward the center of Iron Stem, with the green tower behind him. The wind was icy,
coming out of the north. With each gust came miniature snowflakes, carried with enough force that Mykel could feel each one that struck the unprotected section of the back of his neck.
The windows of the small school were shuttered, but a thin line of gray smoke angled from the single chimney. Intermittent tiny drifts of snow had piled against the low walls of the park south of the school. The narrow windows of the dwellings beyond were mostly shuttered, but Mykel did not see any smoke from their chimneys.
Only a few women and small children were about on the streets around the dingier buildings nearer to the ironworks. A single small boy looked at Mykel, his eyes widening as he looked at the loose sleeve of the riding jacket that should have held a healthy arm.
The one benefit of the chill north wind was that the air, cold as it was, held none of the acrid bitterness he had so often breathed in nearing the ironworks. He slowed the roan slightly to allow one of the black iron wagons onto the high road in front of the three of them. As always, despite the wind and snow, mals were working in the loading yard to his left, lifting the iron pigs onto the transport wagons. Beyond them, to the west, the blast furnaces were roaring, as if trying to hold the chill of the oncoming storm back with the heat of burning coke.
The inn was also shuttered, but smoke rose from both the main chimney and the kitchen chimney. The town square was close to empty, with only a small cart at one end, and a youth calling out, “Hearth coal! Copper a stone! Hearth coal!”
Mykel doubted whether the cart could have held more than four or five stones of coal, probably grubbed from the roadsides and leavings around Iron Stem. He rode on toward the cart.
The youth took in the uniform riding jackets of the three Cadmians. “I wasn’t doing nothing wrong, I wasn’t, sirs…”
“I never said you had, young fellow,” Mykel replied.
A figure rose from behind the cart, a woman in a patched woolen coat, narrow-faced and gray-haired. Mykel could sense the decay and the age enveloping her. She would not live long.
“He’s a good boy, sir, my grandson, he is.”
Mykel laughed, then fumbled under his jacket, coming up with a half-silver. He tossed it in a gentle arc toward the youth, who caught it, almost reflexively. “That’s for you, young fellow. Use some of that coal to keep yourself warm.” He turned the roan, noting the ice rimming the water in the trough below the public fountain.
Behind him, he couldn’t help but hear the words of the old woman.
“Keep that coin…boy! Luck, if you ever saw it. That there was the one they call the Dagger…Rose from the dead, they say, with a crossbow bolt through his heart. Broke the steel in half and pulled it out.”
Within himself, as he looked northward, into the wall of gray that promised even heavier snow, Mykel winced. Luck from a coin he’d tossed? Risen from the dead? With an injured arm and a wound less than a month old?
63
Dainyl arrived at the Myrmidon compound on the south side of Dereka less than a quarter glass past morning muster. Captain Fhentyl rushed out to meet him, almost before Dainyl had taken a handful of steps away from the coach and through the outer gates.
“Marshal! We’d thought you might be here more often, but we’d heard nothing.” Fhentyl offered a sheepish smile, followed by an apologetic shrug.
“Much as I would have liked to visit Dereka, I’ve been in Blackstear and Soupat.”
“We heard about those. I’d thought…if you needed us…”
Dainyl laughed heartily. “You don’t know how close you came to being needed this time, Captain. But after the losses you took at Hyalt, I didn’t want to call you in unless absolutely necessary. That’s because I may need you again before too long.”
“Yes, sir.” Fhentyl paused. “Word is that you had a rough go of it in Soupat.”
“We did. The insurgents brought a lightcannon powered by lifeforce. It cost us six pteridons and Myrmidons—and the RA’s complex in Soupat. None of the insurgents escaped, and there were close to two hundred.” Dainyl wasn’t about to mention the handful of women and children who had survived. The disruption and confusion might serve to protect them so long as everyone believed the attackers had all perished.
“That’s as many as all the Myrmidons on Acorus, sir. Some said that they were Myrmidons from Ifryn.”
“Some were. The Archon had four full companies of foot Myrmidons on Ifryn, each with sixty rankers. Because a number didn’t survive the long translation, we don’t know exactly how many Myrmidons were involved. In Blackstear they killed everyone but the recorder. In Soupat, they did the same. But that’s over now.”
“Do you have any duties for us now?”
“I’d like you to run occasional patrols of the high road to the west, and the sections of the aqueducts in the lower section of the Upper Spine Mountains. If your scouts see anything unusual, they are not to approach too closely.” Dainyl offered a crooked smile. “There have been reports of actions by the ancients that could lead to hostile efforts, and I’d rather have the information about what they might be doing, rather than lose any more pteridons or Myrmidons.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Since I’m here, I’ll also make a quick inspection.”
By the time Dainyl had completed his inspection of the compound and was in the coach headed back to the recorder’s building, a cold drizzle had begun to fall, and the wind was colder. He had the feeling that the rain would be turning to snow before long.
Jonyst was actually in the library, rather than in the Table chamber, when Dainyl arrived there. “Marshal.”
“Recorder. Is there anything I should know? Or that you think I should?”
“The number of attempted translations from Ifryn has dropped off considerably,” Jonyst said. “We’ve only received two since last night. Both were wild, and very weak.”
“It could be that those with sufficient Talent and desperation have already tried.”
“Or that the Archon is taking tighter control of the Tables prior to transferring the Master Scepter.”
Or both, thought Dainyl. “You will watch for Talent efforts by the ancients?”
“That we can do.”
Dainyl walked down the staircase from the library to the Table chamber. Jonyst followed.
Once there, Dainyl stepped onto the Table, concentrating on what lay beneath.
The purpleness of the translation tube seemed more like a faint haze, and the Table locator vectors appeared dimmer, if still distinct. The amber-green presence of whatever the ancients had created was far stronger, a deeper green, yet seemingly no closer.
Dainyl focused on the white locator of Elcien.
As the locator neared him, two things became more obvious. The translation tube felt smaller and its “walls” more porous, and the purple flashes of unsuccessful long translations had increased, but each was less powerful than those of days and weeks previous.
He stood on the Table at Elcien, shields firm, but the guards were far less nervous than they had been in recent weeks. More telling, Dainyl did not see Chastyl.
With a pleasant smile, Dainyl left the Table and the chamber, but did not go far, since Zelyert stood in the entrance to his private study.
“Marshal, a moment of your most valuable time, if you would.” The High Alector of Justice retreated into the study, leaving the door open.
“Of course, sir.” Dainyl closed the study door after he entered, if warily. Zelyert seemed to become more and more angry and hostile each time he met with Dainyl. Dainyl remained standing since Zelyert had not seated himself.
“What did you discover, if anything, in Dereka, Marshal?”
“Fifth Company has recovered from the Hyalt effort and is ready to support us in whatever may be necessary. The ancients massed a great amount of Talent a week or so ago on the heights of the Aerlal Plateau, so much that it was noted from Aelta. Recorder of Deeds Jonyst confirmed that a number of the insurgent Myrmidons attempted to use the Tables to flee and were u
nsuccessful.”
“While you have been…traveling, Marshal, the High Alector of Engineering has lodged a number of complaints with both Duarches that your efforts disrupted copper and tin production at a critical time. The Duarches are not pleased.”
Dainyl suspected that Samist was the one not pleased, rather than Khelaryt.
“If the High Alector of Engineering had been more careful in overseeing his engineers so that they had not produced thousands of rifles and other pieces of equipment that ended up in the hands of all sorts of indigen rebels, he would not have to be so worried. Even the mountain brigands southwest of Soupat have new unmarked Cadmian rifles. If the RA of Soupat had been more diligent in guarding his Table, there also would have been less disruption. I did not cause the disruption, yet I am being faulted for taking less than a week to resolve it? Oh…and I fail to see how I could have disrupted tin production, since those mines were closed well before the Myrmidons arrived.”
“More is expected of a Marshal of Myrmidons than a submarshal or a colonel.”
Dainyl was seething, so much that he knew Zelyert had no trouble discerning it. “How did you find Ludar, Highest?”
“Marshal, Ludar was most informative, particularly since I did not have to deal with the presumption of subordinates.”
“I can understand that, Highest,” Dainyl replied, his tone polite. “Presumptions and questions by those who must bear the burdens and resolve the difficulties can be particularly annoying.” He shouldn’t have pressed that point, but Zelyert was beginning to behave just as Shastylt had, and Dainyl had the feeling that superiors who became excessively secretive were engaged in matters that were not necessarily in anyone’s interest but their own, and certainly not in the interest of their subordinates.
“You are most presumptive, Dainyl.”
“I suppose that is because, Zelyert,” Dainyl replied, emphasizing the personal name, “I’m getting exceedingly tired of resolving problems that no one else could at less cost than anyone else could and then being condemned or condescended to because matters did not go as you would have wished. The more I do, the less happy you are, as if you wished I would fail and have been disappointed when I did not.”
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