Viora halted at the first door, half-open to Asulet’s study. “He should be here in a moment, Highest.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough that I’ve lost count. It’s not as though it matters as much here.”
Dainyl couldn’t see living for decades in a place where one seldom saw the sun, and not unless one made a special effort.
Asulet appeared from a side corridor and walked toward them. He wore nondescript gray garments, and as he neared, Dainyl detected the faint hint of an odor not totally pleasant.
“Dainyl, while I am delighted to see you, you would have to arrive while I was working on the environmental systems, the less pleasant side of them, in fact.” He gestured for Dainyl to enter the study.
Dainyl followed, closing the door behind him after entering the windowless, oak-paneled study. Asulet walked to the wide table desk of ancient oak and sank into one of the two oak armchairs.
Dainyl took the other chair. For the first time since he had met Asulet, he could actually sense weariness. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”
“I am. After centuries, the years do add up, I have to admit.” Asulet took a slow breath.
“I apologize, but I had thought you should be apprised of several things, and I also thought I should pay my respects—as High Alector of Justice—before matters become even more complex.”
Asulet smiled. “I forgot to offer my felicitations. Congratulations on becoming High Alector. You’ve worked at keeping the green in check—but not hard enough.”
“With the ancients active everywhere…that’s been difficult.” He paused. “What would happen…” He stopped. “You’d said that the ancients weren’t that different from pteridons and other Talent creatures, but are they that different from us?”
“You’re worried about the green taking over and making you an ancient?” Asulet laughed.
Dainyl flushed. “Put that way, it sounds stupid.”
The older alector frowned. “The ancients, from what I’ve been able to determine, are close to pure Talent, but not totally. Pteridons are close to the ancients in the proportion of Talent composition, as opposed to lifeforce. We are far less so, even the most Talented of us.” He shrugged. “Probably someone like you has enough Talent that the Talent side of your being might be equivalent to the amount of Talent in an ancient, but you’d lose the more physical lifeforce side of what you are. That’s assuming anyone could even make such a transformation. It certainly couldn’t happen naturally. I’ve already told you what could happen if you get too green. Even so, the green Talent alone wouldn’t change you. It might make other alectors wary.”
“What I have made Zelyert more than a little wary.”
“I presume he attacked you?”
“He did. He said that I was presumptuous…” Dainyl paused. “Did you know that the Duarches are no longer shadowmatched?”
“Has the Archon announced where the Master Scepter is destined?”
“No, but enough evidence has appeared that it became clear to both of the Duarches that the decision has already been made to transfer it to Efra.”
“And the Duarches have not been replaced by wardens?” Asulet raised his eyebrows.
“I doubt the Archon knows that the Duarches know. Besides, with all the Tables guarded, exactly how would he enforce that?”
“You had a hand in it, didn’t you?”
“Zelyert pushed me into a situation where I had the choice of revealing it within weeks or telling Khelaryt immediately. I chose the time, rather than letting circumstances choose it.”
“I’m surprised you’re still with us.”
“I almost wasn’t. He shredded my shields and threw me into his bookshelves—and then sent me as an urgent envoy to Samist.”
“Who was relieved, I imagine.”
“Exactly.”
“Then Zelyert had to try to remove you himself, since the Duarches didn’t.” Asulet fingered his long chin. “Most interesting. What do you want from me?”
“I thought you should know. Any insight, any advice would be welcome.”
“You seem to have done well enough without it.” Asulet smiled.
“That was the easy part, I think,” replied Dainyl. “Will the Archon really attempt to send wardens or forces here?”
“It’s never been tried before. In the past, the transfer has gone from one world to another, without a third world being involved. The problem was that the Archon and those closest to him have been through three such transfers, and the lifeforce demands have gotten greater with each.”
“The Archon felt two worlds were necessary.” Dainyl paused. “It was all a farce, wasn’t it? Acorus was never intended to receive the Master Scepter.”
“Perhaps later, if a better world could not be found after Efra.”
Dainyl sat silently for a time. Finally, he spoke. “Did you know that?”
“I was never told. No one was, so far as I know. But those of us with more open minds, or those who were out of favor, we were the ones sent here, and we had a much harder time of it. There were years when no one translated from Ifryn here.”
Dainyl shook his head. “It all seems…not exactly pointless, but what difference does it make if Brekylt creates his own Duarchy in the east?”
“Would you want someone like Rhelyn using lifeforce weapons and squandering the future? Brekylt would have even fewer compunctions than he did.”
“So the best course is to support Khelaryt?”
“Have you ever doubted that?”
Dainyl had, especially after meeting Samist, who had seemed reasonable, but…the Duarch of Ludar clearly supported Ruvryn, who was anything but reasonable, and Dainyl had come to distrust those he had met who served Samist. “It seems like choosing the lesser of evils.”
“Much of life presents that choice.” A sadness permeated the elder alector’s voice. “We do what we can. I can’t offer you much more insight than that, and you seem to know more about what is happening than do I.”
“I’d better get back to Elcien.”
Asulet rose from his armchair. “Give my best to Lystrana. It’s about time her abilities were recognized. How is she finding Dereka?”
“Cold…but she’s…reluctantly glad to be there.” Dainyl stood as well. How had Asulet known of Lystrana’s appointment, but not about how she had received it? Of course, the Duarches announced appointments, but not what was behind them.
“It’s a good place for her to be now, and she’ll make a good regional alector.”
“I thought so.”
“You were right. You’d best be returning, though.”
“I suppose so.” Dainyl nodded and turned.
In the end, as he walked back to the Table chamber, he had to wonder where the certainty in his life had gone. Little more than a year earlier, he’d been a Myrmidon colonel with a clear view of the world and the future. Now…
78
Mykel stood on the porch of the inn in Sudon, waiting for one of the rankers to bring his mount. He’d always preferred to saddle and groom his horse, but trying to do so now would have been difficult—and foolhardy. He still was uncomfortable in relying on others, perhaps because he wasn’t certain he had a good feel for the balance between what was wise and necessary and what was arrogance and an abuse of position. For a battalion commander to insist on doing too much personally was stupid, but so was flaunting power, and easy as it was to say those words, Mykel had seen too many officers slide into arrogance.
He glanced at the sky. The clouds were lower, but seemed thinner, and the wind had shifted so that it blew more strongly and warmly from the southwest. If the warmth continued, some of the side lanes and less-traveled back roads would turn into quagmires, and that could prove a problem.
Murthyt—the senior squad leader from Sixteenth Company—and a ranker Mykel didn’t immediately recognize rode up to the front of the Red Pony, with Mykel’s mount between them.
�
�Here you are, Majer.”
“Thank you, Murthyt.”
“Vakyn did the hard work, sir.”
Mykel smiled. “Thank you, Vakyn.” He mounted, one-handed and awkwardly, then settled himself in the saddle before riding out into the square and reining up. “Officers front!”
Rhystan was the first to ride up, followed by Dyarth. Shortly, the other three joined them.
“We’ll ride out to the east side of the valley and form on the ridge, immediately behind the trees on each side,” Mykel announced. “Sixteenth Company will take the low hill at the north end, just over the crest and out of sight. Fourteenth Company will take the high ground on the southeast end. No one is to begin firing until Sixteenth Company does. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s ride out.”
The officers rode back to their companies, all but Rhystan, since Sixteenth Company led the column.
Mykel and Rhystan rode side by side on the narrow road westward out of Sudon. The provisions and ammunition wagons were next to last, but with Fifteenth Company bringing up the rear behind them. Mykel thought that the Reillies could arrive in the valley by a glass before midday if they pressed, but it was more likely to be early afternoon. Still, he didn’t want to be caught off guard, and he didn’t want to press the mounts.
A good half glass passed before Rhystan spoke. “You’re quiet this morning, sir. Do you think they’ll follow the road?”
“With Reillies, who knows? If they do stay with the road, we’ll be positioned on higher ground and set so that they can’t flank us. If they don’t, either they’ll go more west, and we won’t see them, or they’ll be in the woods and in the deeper snow on lower ground.” That was the best plan that Mykel had been able to develop.
“You’re thinking that position will matter with them?”
“There’s close to sixty vingts between the valley and Borlan. If we can crush them early, that’s for the best. I’m trying to set it up so that even if we don’t get a decisive battle, they’ll take heavy casualties trying to come to grips with us.”
“Won’t they back off?”
“They might.” Mykel grinned sardonically. “But they won’t be able to get my head and blood unless they close with us.”
“You think the Squawts have joined up yet?”
“No.” Mykel had the feeling that the Squawts would let the Reillies take casualties for a while before joining battle. “But I could be wrong.”
“About that, I’d agree, sir.”
“What don’t you agree with, Rhystan?” Mykel kept his tone light.
“I have trouble with the idea that they’re all so upset at your killing their leader that they’ll ride out in early winter just to try to kill you in return. We’ve got better arms and better training and more ammunition, and they’ve almost never won a big battle against us.”
“They think they did. They believe that they destroyed half of Fourth Battalion. Why should another battalion be any different? Besides, they seem to like to fight.”
Rhystan shook his head. “My head tells me that, but my feelings have a hard time understanding.”
“It was that way in Dramur, too. I never could understand why the seltyrs risked everything when they already had almost everything.” Because of Rachyla, he could understand, even feel, that people did feel and act that way. He still had trouble understanding why they did.
More than a glass went by before Mykel called a halt at the top of the gentle downgrade into the valley—more like a vale little more than a vingt wide at the bottom with a narrow stream, its edges frosted in ice, meandering through the bottomland.
He turned to Rhystan. “Make sure that you don’t leave any obvious tracks.”
“We can manage that, Majer.” Rhystan turned. “Sixteenth Company! Forward!”
Mykel eased the roan to the south side of the road, angling behind the copse of trees that overlooked the valley.
“Fourteenth Company! Forward!” Culeyt nodded to Mykel as he rode past, leading his company toward the rise at the southeastern end of the valley—overlooking the road to Borlan.
Mykel watched and said little as Seventeenth Company wound its way to the south and downhill to the lowest section of trees overlooking the road. Thirteenth and Fifteenth Companies set up slightly behind him, shielded from the road below by the trees.
It was close to a glass before midday when Bhoral rode up to Mykel, who had long since dismounted and tied the roan to a low and thick limb of a fir.
“Sir! We’ve got the scout reports from Captain Rhystan. Sixteenth Company is in position. They’ve seen Reillie outriders, but not the main force.”
“Thank you, Bhoral.” Mykel took a swallow from his water bottle, then walked forward toward the edge of the woods overlooking the southwest-facing snow-dotted meadow. Across the valley, more like a vale, was another meadow between the trees, but since it faced north and was shaded largely by the towering pines, the snow was drifted and knee deep in places.
Mykel walked back to the roan. He hated waiting, but an officer who couldn’t wait as needed was borrowing trouble, if not worse.
A quarter glass passed before Bhoral returned. “Captain Culeyt reports that Fourteenth Company stands ready in position.”
One glass passed, then another.
Shielded by the trees, Mykel stood and watched the road to the north. Several riders appeared, riding slowly. Then, a larger group followed, several hundred yards behind. Mykel kept waiting, hoping that Rhystan would wait until the last possible moment before opening fire.
Abruptly, the Reillies turned eastward, off the road, moving toward the trees that held Sixteenth Company.
Finally, a puff of smoke rose from the front of the hillside trees sheltering Sixteenth Company. A second followed. Two of the leading Reillie riders were cut down immediately. The volleys continued, and despite the scattered bodies falling from mounts, the Reillies poured into the valley.
A mass of riders—close to company size—charged the hillock and the woods. The shots from Rhystan’s men ripped through the Reillies, and more and more of them fell. Yet they pressed toward Sixteenth Company, coming within thirty yards before breaking.
Rather than continue to face the withering fire from the trees on the knoll, they turned and galloped south, to the narrow snow-covered meadow, where the remaining riders—less than thirty—turned and rode up the slope.
“Sir…they’re riding straight up through the snow on the west.”
Mykel had already seen that. He turned to Khaerst, the messenger mounted beside him. “Ride to Undercaptain Loryalt. He’s to have his best marksmen ride forward to pick off those that they can, but he’s not to pursue under any circumstances.” Not through the knee-deep snow-drifts on a north-facing slope.
“Yes, sir. Pick off those they can, but don’t pursue.” Khaerst spurred his mount out along the tree line and then onto the road downhill, before cutting back to the south and the lower hill where Seventeenth Company was drawn up.
Mykel glanced back to the northern end of the vale, but the road there was empty, except for fallen mounts and men. The bulk of the Reillie force had turned back.
Then he watched as a half squad of Seventeenth Company rode downhill and formed up into a rough firing line. With the wind blowing away from him, he could not hear the shots, but he did see the results as a number of Reillie mounts went down in the snow. At least ten Reillies fell as well, presumably from the shots.
Less than a half glass later, the valley was empty of Reillies, except for the scattered handfuls of dead and wounded.
Mykel and his officers remained mounted, in a tough circle on the section of the road above the valley, as he received the casualty reports—eleven Cadmian casualties against more than seventy deaths for the Reillies. That was acceptable, but not decisive, reflected Mykel. Still, gradual attrition of the enemy with minimal Cadmian losses wouldn’t defeat the insurgents, and with the coming snows and
cold of late winter, a war of attrition would become less and less practical.
79
On Duadi morning, accompanied by Dalyrt and Patrylon, Dainyl once more made his way up to the Hall of Justice to hear the petitions of the disaffected and aggrieved. The first petitioner was one Rexana, an older indigen woman. She claimed she had been robbed at the Eastern Market Square in Elcien. While a patroller was citing her for having a cart that did not meet standards of cleanliness, a common thief had run off with her cash box, and the patroller had just watched, and then added to her fine because she had left him to chase the thief.
“Do you know who the patroller is?” Dainyl asked.
“How would I be knowing that?” claimed Rexana. “He was one of the new ones, not like old Gievat, who knew what was important.”
“I cannot remedy a wrong if I cannot ascertain if it took place and who committed it,” Dainyl pointed out. “You bring me his name, and justice will be done.”
“I’ll be back, Highest, that I will.”
Dainyl couldn’t help but remember the painting by Jeluyne—in the art exhibit in the Duarch’s Palace months before—that had depicted a scene all too much like Rexana’s testimony. Were the patrollers really that inflexible? He had the disturbing feeling that they were, but he couldn’t do that much to help the woman without more information. Still…
He leaned forward and murmured to Patrylon, “Make a note of patroller inflexibility.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl also noted the mixed feelings of puzzlement and condescension from Dalyrt, but decided that the dais was not the place from which to explore them—or that, even if he did, Dalyrt would understand.
“Next!” declaimed Patrylon.
The second petitioner was also a woman, a much younger one, named Erlyna. She had a bruise on one side of her face. Patrylon handed Dainyl the petition and several sheets from the justicer of Elcien.
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