Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  Less than ten yards away, two Southern Guards stood at the top of the door to the lower levels of the palace. There was a hole in the wood where the lock had been. The lock and a semicircle of wood around it lay on the floor.

  “Lady, sir … they came up this way,” announced the shorter guard as Mykella neared.

  “Has anyone been down there?” asked Mykella.

  “Squad Leader Thanyr went down, but there’s no one in the corridors. He didn’t check any of the chambers.”

  “Thank you. You’d best stay behind me, Commander,” Mykella said, opening the door.

  “Lady…”

  “If you don’t want to get cut by a flame blade, that is.” Mykella didn’t actually know whether her shields would deflect such a weapon, but … if they didn’t, Areyst was the one who needed to survive. She didn’t know enough about strategies or combating strange weapons.

  The staircase and the corridor were empty, but as Mykella walked deliberately toward the door to the Table chamber, she could sense a remnant of something purplish and ugly, like the last traces of an unseen mist, one that reminded her all too clearly of the Ifrit she’d fought off weeks before. The heavy oak door to the Table chamber had been forced in the same way as the staircase door, with the iron lock and a hand’s worth of the wood that had surrounded it on the corridor floor.

  Mykella paused outside the door, half-ajar. She could sense more of the purple, and yet she had no feeling of anything living. She stepped forward, taking a quick look into the chamber.

  There, on the floor, sprawled a great misshapen form, the upper part with a massive male chest, swollen so much that the silver-gray tunic had no slack at all in it, and a bull-shaped head that had been charred into a shapeless mass, while the lower abdomen and legs were more manlike, and the trousers seemed overlarge.

  “What is that?” asked Areyst, his voice restrained.

  “I have no idea, Commander, except that it came through the Table with those who attacked the guards, and the attackers clearly killed it.” Mykella walked over to the Table, which shimmered a pinkish purple, although the intensity seemed to have faded somewhat, still holding full shields, and looked down in the mirrored surface. She concentrated, trying to get the Table to show her the Ifrits who had slaughtered the guards, but while the mists swirled, they did not part to show a scene. Is that because I’ve never seen them personally? Or for some other reason?

  She used the Table to check on her sisters, but both were upstairs in the family parlor, looking concerned but unharmed.

  Mykella turned to the commander. “We’ll need an armorer, or a smith. Someone who can forge steel plate across both sides of the door. Then we’ll need a stonemason to wall up the corridor side.”

  “You know more than you’re saying, Lady.”

  “The three who killed the Southern Guards are Alectors … or something like them. They’re called Ifrits. They come from another world. It’s named Efra. They use the Table, but they can only bring what they carry. This is the only Table in Corus—at least that I know of—that isn’t buried or blocked. If we armor the door on both sides and wall it up, they won’t be able to get back into the Table chamber, and anyone who tries to leave it won’t be able to get out.”

  “Ah … what will you do if you can’t use the Table?” he asked. “It’s a valuable tool.”

  “Can your armorer fashion two heavy iron doors with locks that can’t be smashed?”

  “He’s quite capable, Lady.”

  “You think I’m overreacting, Commander?” Mykella pointed at the figure on the stone floor, its tunic still shimmering, both with a silvery sheen that anyone could see and a purplish shade to her mind … and possibly to Areyst’s. “Thrust your saber at that tunic. I’d wager that it’s like armor to a hard blow. Then look closely at the burn cuts around the lock of the door.” What she had already noticed was that the iron of the lock and the hinge straps had not been cut, nor had the stone of the door frame.

  Areyst drew his saber and jabbed the inert form. The tunic gave slightly, but the blade did not cut through the fabric at all. He pressed more gently with the blade, then sheathed it. “The tunic gets harder the more force that’s applied.”

  “It’s like nightsilk in a way, except it’s different.” Mykella studied the body more closely, then frowned. Only the head and neck above the too-tight tunic collar were burned.

  She looked to Areyst. “Only the head…”

  “I’ll make sure the Guards know that they can be killed with head shots.”

  “Or if they’re hit with enough shots to the body, they might be bruised enough to slow them down … that is, if their tunics are like nightsilk.”

  He jabbed the dead figure’s tunic harder. “I wouldn’t want to rely on that tactic. I’ll summon the armorer and have him set to work immediately.”

  “Dispose of the body, quickly, so that few see it.”

  “I had thought the same, Lady.”

  “Good.” Mykella nodded absently, her mind already elsewhere.

  Not only did she have to worry about a likely invasion by Skrelyn and Chalcaer, but now there were three Alectors, or Ifrits, loose somewhere in Lanachrona with weapons that could cut through anything but iron and solid stone … and for all her words about the Table’s being the only accessible one in Corus … that was as much hope as anything, because she had no idea if there were other Tables elsewhere that she hadn’t discovered. Three Alectors were a problem, but if there were more … with those weapons …

  14

  After leaving the Table chamber, Mykella made her way back to her formal study, where she spent the rest of the afternoon. She couldn’t help but worry about the Ifrits, but there was little enough she could do without knowing where they were. So she concentrated on what she could address. She had received no recommendations from either Lhanyr or Khanasyl, but Areyst’s suggested revision to the stipend rules was waiting for her, as were requests for decisions on spending from both Cerlyk and Duchael. Duchael’s request was for another thousand golds to pay for the sewer repairs she had requested.

  What are they doing with the golds they already received? With that thought, she went back to the Highways and Rivers master ledger, where, after almost two glasses, she could find no apparent reason why Duchael needed the funding. That meant another meeting with the weasel-like assistant minister … but not until Quinti, late as it was getting.

  Cerlyk’s request stated that maintenance expenses in the Vyanhills forests had been higher than anticipated, while revenues had been diverted, as he had discussed.

  Another problem created by Joramyl.

  When she finally walked down the corridor and into the family dining chamber, she was still fretting over the Ifrits and the sad state of finances.

  “What is going on on the lower level?” demanded Rachylana from where she and Salyna stood at one side of the table. “Why weren’t we allowed to leave the upper level earlier today?”

  For a moment, Mykella said nothing. “No one was. Three men with some sort of fire-blades attacked the Southern Guards. The other guards were protecting you.”

  “How did that happen?” asked Salyna.

  “They used an old hidden entrance to the palace on the lower level to bypass the guards.”

  “You didn’t know anything about the entrance?” demanded Rachylana.

  “How would she know?” countered Salyna. “I’d wager that no one else knew, either.”

  “I’m having it sealed,” replied Mykella. That’s certainly true enough even if it isn’t a conventional entrance.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the Table chamber.”

  Salyna frowned. “Won’t that…”

  “The chamber will have double iron doors, with double locks,” Mykella said easily.

  “I never liked that place. It always gave me chills.” Rachylana promptly shivered. “Why didn’t Father just seal it off years ago?”

  “He couldn’t have known,
or he would have sealed it,” Salyna pointed out.

  “What happened to the intruders?” pressed Rachylana.

  “They killed several Southern Guards and escaped.”

  “Why would they break into the palace just to escape?” asked Rachylana. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unless they thought the entrance led to a strong room or something.” Salyna frowned slightly. “Did they take anything?”

  “It doesn’t appear so.” replied Mykella. “Nothing is missing.”

  “Who were they?”

  “I didn’t see them,” Mykella said. “None of the guards saw them closely, but they were tall, dark-haired, and wore shimmering tunics.”

  “Who could they have been? Raiders from Midcoast?” speculated Rachylana.

  “They were big,” mused Salyna. “They could have been Reillies or Squawts from across the river.”

  “Most of the northerners are lighter-haired, and the biggest of the herders from the Iron Valleys have that funny gray hair,” said Mykella. “We won’t know for certain unless the Southern Guards catches them.” She seated herself at the table, glancing to the windows, where scattered droplets of rain intermittently struck the glass.

  “I wondered when it would rain. It’s been clouding up all afternoon,” offered Salyna, clearly understanding that Mykella didn’t want to talk about the attackers any more. Her quick glance to her oldest sister did suggest she’d want more of an explanation later.

  Mykella gave the faintest of nods.

  Muergya immediately appeared with a platter holding three split and browned game hens and a basket of brown bread. She set the platter before Mykella and the basket in the middle of the table, hurrying out to the serving pantry and returning with a small casserole dish.

  Mykella could tell that the dish held a mixture of potatoes, cheese, and prickle. She just hoped the cheese was strong enough to submerge the bitter taste of the prickle even though she knew she had to eat it because there were few other vegetables and no fruits available until early summer. She served herself a game hen, then a moderate helping of the casserole.

  The wine was a Vyan white she didn’t recognize, drier than she preferred, and slightly off, although her Talent showed no poison in it.

  “Are you going to have a season-turn ball?” asked Rachylana after taking one small bite of her hen.

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but there’s no reason not to have one. It’s traditional.” And I shouldn’t be upsetting any more traditions than I have to at the moment. “Would you like to make the arrangements?”

  Rachylana brightened. Then she frowned. “There’s really no one special to invite.”

  “Sometimes it’s like that,” replied Mykella. “You’ll have to make do with whatever we have this time, except for the food.”

  “Your first ball should be special.”

  “We can’t afford special. There may be even more golds missing from the Highways and Rivers accounts, and that’s in addition to several thousand more golds that Joramyl diverted to his purse.”

  “To pay for Cheleyza’s gowns, no doubt,” said Salyna acidly.

  “I couldn’t say,” replied Mykella. “There’s enough missing to pay for ten times the gowns she left behind.”

  “I’ll bet it’s in jewelry,” Salyna said as she sliced through a game hen with a glittering knife that hadn’t been on the table.

  That just might be. Why hadn’t she thought of jewelry? Because you don’t have much use for it?

  “That might be,” said Rachylana slowly. “Some of her necklaces and bracelets were exquisite. I thought she’d brought them with her.”

  “Portable wealth Lanachrona paid for.” Salyna turned her attention to the game hen.

  Mykella took a bite of the fowl, still warm and with enough juice not to be dry. After a moment, she turned to Rachylana. “I really would appreciate it if you would arrange the ball. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing.”

  “You, at least, should have a new dress,” said Rachylana.

  “Green, trimmed in black, and the same style as the last one. After everything, it should be somber.”

  Salyna nodded.

  After that, Mykella managed to keep conversation limited to the ball and food.

  Later, Salyna followed Mykella back to her private study after announcing that she wanted to talk about how to add women to the Southern Guards.

  Once they were in the study, Salyna announced, “You weren’t telling everything.”

  “No. I wasn’t. The attackers were Ifrits—Alectors. They came through the Table from the world where those who survived the Cataclysm live.” Mykella thought that was right, from what the soarer had told her and what little she’d learned from the one Ifrit who had later attacked her from the Table.

  “Through the Table?” Salyna looked shocked.

  “That’s what the Tables were for, back then. I didn’t know they still worked that way.”

  “Will your iron doors…?”

  “Their flame blades don’t cut through iron or stone. Commander Areyst has more men with rifles down there until the doors are in place. Their tunics…” Mykella went on to explain.

  When she had finished, Salyna was silent for a time. Then she said, “What will you do?”

  “Whatever I can.”

  “Oh … Mykella … if anyone knew just how bad things are…”

  “They mustn’t. What people know already is bad enough.” And Salyna doesn’t even know it all.

  “If you survive all this…”

  “When we survive all this, we can be grateful it wasn’t worse.” Mykella offered a rueful smile. She wasn’t about to offer the all-too-trite saying that things could be worse, not when she knew that she’d find that they were even worse than she thought as soon as she discovered more.

  Salyna shook her head. “Mother said no one would ever stop you … but I don’t think she foresaw this.”

  Mykella wondered just how much their mother had foreseen, especially because it was unlikely her Talent came from her father … or not entirely, since none of the recent Lords-Protector had shown any. “She must have seen something.” She smiled again, if faintly. “I need to think.”

  “Of course.”

  Once Mykella was certain that Salyna had headed back to her chamber or the family sitting room, Mykella walked over to the outside wall and touched the stone of the window casement, reaching for the blackish green and letting it enfold her and carry her down to the Table chamber.

  As soon as she emerged, she raised full shields, but the Table had almost returned to the duller pink-purple that it had displayed when she had first learned to sense it. She turned to the door, but it was shut, and boarded up somehow on the corridor side.

  She approached the Table carefully, but the mirrored surface was blank, and she sensed nothing amiss. She concentrated on Porofyr.

  The image that appeared showed the Seltyr across a polished table from Khanasyl, in what looked to be a private library. Mykella watched as the two talked, trying to make out what they might be saying although she suspected that much of it had to do with her … possibly even who Khanasyl might recommend for Minister of Highways and Rivers. She had no doubts she would not like whomever they proposed, but she had to ask, if only to stall for time while she struggled to understand more of what she faced in trying to put things to rights in Tempre and Lanachrona.

  Next she sought an image of Cheleyza. Her aunt was seated at a long table in a large but dimly lit hall, between two men attired in a fashion similar to that of Vaerlon, the envoy from Midcoast. Mykella doubted that Cheleyza was in Midcoast. Since eight days on the river and road were unlikely to have taken her all the way to Harmony, even over the eternastone road from Hieron, she was most likely in a noble hall in Arwyn. Mykella watched for a time, but there was nothing she could see that indicated exactly where Cheleyza happened to be.

  She made quicker searches for Duchael and Lhanyr, but saw nothing of i
nterest, and—again—she had no fortune at all in finding an image of the Ifrits who had come through the Table. She did linger over a somehow indistinct image of Areyst, still at Southern Guard headquarters, studying maps, before she returned to her chambers.

  15

  On Quinti, Mykella was in the formal study early, so early she’d only seen Salyna at breakfast, and briefly at that. She was still irritated over Duchael’s and Cerlyk’s requests for golds. The fact that the day outside was gray and dreary didn’t help her mood, either, but she immediately sent word to the duty-squad leader that she would be needing a spare mount for her morning inspection ride.

  A half glass before midday, with Maeltor beside her and a squad of Southern Guards behind them, she reined up outside the narrow gray stone building beside the justicing building off the south-Tempre market square. Maeltor and one guard accompanied her inside to a small side chamber, where a slight figure dressed in a gray shimmersilk jacket over black trousers and an ivory shirt rose from behind a spotless table-desk. His dark hair was slicked back from his narrow and clean-shaven face. His small deep-set eyes widened slightly as he beheld Mykella.

  “Lady-Protector … I did not expect…”

  “You are Chief Inspector Byrnyt?”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “Then you should not be surprised to see me.” Mykella surveyed the inspector. “I see you have not been inspecting sewers recently.”

  “There has been no need, Lady-Protector.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The sewers are performing as they were designed, Lady.”

  “Yet … in riding through Tempre, I have smelled odors that suggest not all is as it should be.” She smiled. “I brought a mount for you to accompany me. We will see.”

  “Of course, Lady.”

  Behind his polite words, she could sense resignation and apprehension, but not fear or guilt. Why no fear or guilt? If he has not been doing his duty, he should be concerned, and he doesn’t seem to be a stupid man.

  In a few moments, they had all mounted and were riding toward the rendering area bordering the South River. As with the last time she had ridden along the South River, the array of clay pipes protruding from the walls on the west side of the river were still discharging thin streams of oily wastes. The smoke from the wide brick chimneys appeared darker, and the stench more pronounced.