Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “I should have thought of that,” she said with a rueful laugh.

  “Let me have my small victories, Lady.” He smiled. “I insist on one other matter. You need to sit and rest for a while. Were you my sister, I would demand that you not return tonight. Since you are my Lady-Protector, I can only beseech you to rest for a time. A short nap would be better. I will post guards outside so that no one will disturb you.”

  Mykella opened her mouth, then closed it. After another pause, she said, “I have their weapons. Their bodies should be buried quickly. You might wish to save their clothing.”

  “I had thought that.”

  Mykella glanced to her left. There was a large couch, and she was yawning. “You may be right, Commander, but do not let me sleep more than a glass, or we both may regret it.” She stood and walked to the couch, where she sat in the middle. It’s not too soft.

  For a moment, Areyst’s face stiffened. Then he shook his head. “There are times I still see you … as you were, not as you are.”

  Mykella almost wished he could have seen her as she had been … for a few moments longer. “Thank you, Commander. No more than a glass, please.”

  “One glass only.” Areyst turned and left the chamber, closing it behind him.

  Mykella eased the four weapons from her jacket and placed them on the side table before she stretched out. She wasn’t even certain she heard the click of the latch plate before she was asleep.

  19

  Mykella woke with a start, and needles of pain ran through her back. Her face felt sore as well, but she struggled into a sitting position on the couch. Outside, it was pitch-dark, especially in the walled garden beyond the window and the pair of glass doors. Slowly, she sat up.

  Do you really want to do this? After a moment, she answered herself. What will happen if you aren’t in the palace, and more Ifrits arrive? With more weapons like those? Or ones even worse? She straightened and slowly stretched.

  At that moment, a soft knock echoed from the closed door.

  “Lady?” The voice was Areyst’s.

  “I’m awake.” She struggled toward the side table and replaced the weapons inside her riding jacket, then straightened. “You can come in.”

  The door opened. The commander stepped inside, carrying a lantern. “Did you sleep?”

  “I did. You were right.”

  “Is it wise for you to travel tonight … even in whatever way you must?”

  Mykella found a crooked smile on her face as she stood, trying not to wince. “Wise? No. But it is even less wise to remain here.”

  “Your spare mount is saddled and ready, and a half squad of those I brought will accompany us, then proceed to Tempre … at a measured pace.”

  “I hope we do not need them, but I cannot say what else may emerge from the Table.”

  “Lady … there is one thing. About the bodies.”

  “They should be buried. Quickly.”

  “We cannot. Their bodies turned to dust, Only their garments and tools remained.”

  Mykella frowned. “Did that happen with the body in Tempre?”

  “No.”

  She had no answer. “Keep the garments and tools. They might be useful. Tell the guards they’re to say that the bodies were removed.”

  “I already did so.”

  “Thank you.” She paused. “I need to take care of a few matters before we leave.”

  “There is a … just two doors down.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once she had dealt with the necessities, and even washed her face and hands, she rejoined Areyst. They walked to the west end of the villa and out into the courtyard. Mykella forced herself into the saddle without help, and it took more effort, even with a mounting block, given the stiffness in her back and calves.

  They rode down the lane to the eternastone highway, with two guards before them, and the remainder following, the only sounds those of hooves on gravel, the occasional whuff of a horse, and low murmurs. The sole moon in the sky was Asterta—a half disc of green overhead.

  Does that mean anything?

  Again, the troopers gave Areyst and Mykella space to themselves once the party was on the highway and headed northeast toward Tempre.

  “Do you think these … Ifrits are allies of Chalcaer or Skrelyn?” asked the commander.

  “No. They think we are little better than cattle.” Even as she finished speaking, Mykella realized her words had shocked Areyst. “That is the way they have talked of us in the few times I have overheard their words,” she said quietly, easing her mount over closer to his so that they were almost stirrup to stirrup.

  “You understand their words?”

  “Not all of them, but enough to hear that they wish to return and rule.”

  “Yet … we could not build the highways or the Great Piers or the green stone towers, or the bridges that last forever. People talk of how wonderful times were before the Cataclysm.”

  “I have no doubt that times were wonderful for the Alectors.” Her voice held only the slightest trace of irony. “We cannot build what they did. Nor can we make the weapons they use. Yet those three Ifrits killed four of your troopers and ten of Klevytr’s retainers without a thought. They would have killed me if they could have. Acts speak louder than words or legends.”

  “You do not trust words, Lady?” he said lightly.

  “After all those I have heard that turned out to be false? When I hear a man say one thing…” She broke off her words quickly. She’d almost said and knew he thought another. She was tired, and not thinking so well as she should have been.

  “And?” he asked.

  “And found that he was lying all the time. When it is your uncle, it makes one … less trusting.”

  The commander nodded.

  They rode on for a time before he spoke again. “I made a few changes in your plan. There are four troopers waiting ahead. They will wait there, and we will ride with those returning until we are out of easy sight of the four. The squad has been told that they are needed in Tempre, but that you have insisted on riding partway to see them off. Then we will turn as if to ride back before heading north on one of the lanes. How far must we ride?”

  “I cannot say exactly. It might be as little as a vingt or as far as four.” I hope that’s close to correct, but it should be, this close to Tempre and the hills bordering the Vedra.

  “I heard you say you were not an Ancient, Lady, and I have seen you from a distance over nearly ten years.” He paused. “Yet there are tales about the Ancients returning, and those tales all mention strange appearances in the past two seasons.”

  Mykella laughed, softly. “I am not an Ancient, but one of the Ancients has appeared. I have seen a soarer several times. She warned me that the Ifrits might try to return. She could not tell me when, only that it would happen.” While that wasn’t quite the way it had transpired, it was close enough not to be a falsehood.

  “Seeing one is said to be a blessing and a curse.”

  “I could not argue with that, Commander.” Not at all. “Where are the four guards?”

  “Less than three hundred yards ahead, just past the pond on the north side.”

  To Mykella, riding the distance to the patrol seemed to take another glass, but before long, she could sense the mounted figures … and then see them.

  The lead riders exchanged passwords and kept riding.

  “Koammyd,” Areyst said loudly to the rightmost rider of those waiting, “I might be a while before I return. Just hold here.”

  “Yes, sir. Good evening, Lady.”

  “Good evening,” Mykella returned.

  Once they passed the four, Mykella began to use her Talent and her eyes to search for a likely lane that extended far enough to the north toward the deep greenish darkness to her left, still well to the north.

  “It would be best if we did not ride too much farther,” Areyst said calmly.

  Mykella understood. “There is a lane ahead. We could pull out
into it and let the others pass.”

  “That would be good.”

  Mykella could tell that the commander did not see the lane because he waited until they had ridden almost a hundred yards farther before he called out. “Squad leader! This is where you leave us.” He guided his mount into the lane.

  Mykella followed and reined up beside him.

  The two of them remained quiet as the rest of the troopers rode past. Then Areyst asked, “How far along the lane?”

  “I won’t know for a bit.” Mykella turned her mount.

  The lane was little more than a dirt track, but it stretched almost straight northward for at least a vingt. As they neared a rise, Mykella began to feel that the darkness beneath was much closer but not quite close enough to touch. Still, they rode over the rise and close to another vingt before she could actually sense and link to the darkness. At that point, she reined up and dismounted, awkwardly, because, if anything, she was even stiffer than she had been immediately after dealing with the Ifrits.

  Areyst reined in his mount, and asked, “Now what?”

  “You’ll tell the guards at the villa that I returned with the half squad.”

  “I think I will just say that you are on your way to Tempre.”

  “That’s better. You’d best return Kietyra to Tempre with you.”

  “I’d thought that.”

  Mykella led her mount closer to the commander, then extended the reins. “Take them. I will see you in Tempre.”

  With that, she drew the darkness around her and began to sink into the ground, toward the chill depths below. For a timeless moment, she searched for the blue marker that was Tempre, then focused on making her way there.

  The chill seeped through her nightsilk jacket and trousers, and she felt as though she were motionless, suspended in greenish darkness. The four weapons were like blocks of ice inside her jacket. Then, abruptly, she was almost beneath the blue angularity that radiated from the purple shroud above the dark ways. She concentrated on easing herself upward and finally emerged in a corner of the rear courtyard of the palace.

  Absently, she realized that she would likely be in her chambers long before Areyst returned to Klevtyr’s villa. She took a step toward the rear of the palace, raising her shields around her … and winced. The cold of the darkness had momentarily numbed some of her aches, but it had also stiffened her, creating yet other aches.

  Holding both a body shield and raising a concealment shield, Mykella walked toward the rear entrance to the palace, dropping the concealment shield as she neared the pair of sentries.

  One turned, his mouth opening. “Lady! We thought you had gone to join the commander.”

  “I did. I borrowed a Southern Guard mount to return quickly.”

  The two scrambled to open the iron night gate.

  “There you go, Lady.”

  “Good evening.” Mykella smiled as she stepped into the palace, still holding the body shield.

  She made her way past two more sets of guards, all surprised, then up to her apartments. Once there, she walked to the window of her bedchamber and touched the granite of the casement to slide down to the Table chamber.

  The Table was brighter, but not brilliant. She wished she knew what else she could do, besides watch, but her eyes were burning, and she was stifling yawns with practically every breath. More than anything, she needed sleep.

  You need to do something. You just can’t wait and watch.

  Yet, standing there in the darkness, sensing the lambent unseen pinkish purple, she could think of nothing. Nothing at all.

  You’re too tired to think.

  After using the darkness to return her to her chamber, she disrobed and collapsed into her bed.

  20

  Octdi morning, at the first hint of gray in the morning sky, Mykella bolted awake. Her eyes went to the window, where the hangings were still slightly parted. It had been dark when she’d gone to sleep, and she hadn’t even thought of pulling them all the way closed. She shivered, not from the cold but from the sense of menace that had pervaded dreams she could only recall vaguely, save that Ifrits had been everywhere, and with each one that she had somehow bested, two or more had appeared.

  You have to find a better way to deal with them … she told herself. You have to.

  She made her way to her private wash chamber. The pitchers of water were cool. She really wanted hot water, but she also didn’t want to wait for it. So she did her best and dressed in clean undergarments and nightsilk blacks. She then concealed three of the Ifrits’ weapons in the armoire that held most of her garments, slipping the fourth into a side drawer of the desk in the study. After breakfast, she intended to study it.

  When Mykella approached the breakfast room, Salyna stepped out into the doorway. “When did you get back? From the look of you, you rode all night.”

  “I didn’t, but it feels as though I did,” Mykella admitted.

  “There are bruises on your face.”

  “I had a little trouble with the Ifrits. They’re dead … and Seltyr Klevytr’s daughter is all right. They killed some of his retainers before I got there.”

  “Who killed what?” demanded Rachylana from behind them.

  “The men who broke into and out of the palace tried to take over Seltyr Klevytr’s summer villa and took his daughter hostage. That’s where I was yesterday.” Mykella was glad her sister hadn’t heard the word “Ifrits.” Mykella needed to be careful about what she said although she suspected she couldn’t keep the Ifrits hidden from Rachylana much longer.

  “Why did you have to go? The Southern Guards should have taken care of that,” Rachylana pointed out.

  “The First Seltyr recommended Klevytr for the post of Ministry of Highways and Rivers. I’m unlikely to appoint him. Exactly how would it look if I let those … bravos kill her or demand a ransom from Klevytr or me? And then refuse to appoint him?”

  Rachylana winced. “How did you manage it?”

  “I pretended to be an unarmed servant girl bringing them food. They were big, and I’m not. When I got close enough, I did to them what I did to Commander Nephryt.”

  Rachylana looked at Mykella. “You look terrible. You can’t keep doing things like that.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to, but…”

  “You need to eat,” insisted Salyna. “No more talking until you have tea and a hot breakfast.”

  Mykella took her place at the table, and Muergya immediately brought out a mug of still-steaming tea, followed by fried ham slices that were warm but not hot, and warm eggs scrambled with cheese—and dark bread. Mykella ate, thinking as she did about the Ifrits and the Table.

  What can I do? What did the soarers do before? She stopped for a moment, took a swallow of tea, then nodded. Why not ask?

  After that, she finished off two large helpings of eggs and ham without saying a word.

  “When exactly did you last eat?” Salyna finally asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon when I got to the villa. Then I had to come right back, and no one was up when I returned.”

  “You are the Lady-Protector. You could have asked someone to get you food,” Rachylana pointed out.

  “I was so tired, I didn’t even think about it.” Mykella stood. “I need to finish getting ready for the day. Sooner or later, Klevytr will show up, and he’ll be upset.”

  “For saving his daughter?” Rachylana frowned.

  “No … for failing to stop the attackers that I didn’t know were going to break into the palace, then go to his villa. I still have to figure out where to get more golds for the Southern Guards and see if I can find what Joramyl or Cheleyza did with the rest of the missing golds.”

  “Where are you going today?” asked Salyna dryly. “To Viencet? Or Krost? Perhaps Dereka?”

  “I have no travel plans.” Not on horseback. Mykella forced a grin. “I’m too stiff to ride anywhere today.”

  She walked back to her own apartments, where she removed the weapon from th
e desk drawer. It appeared almost like a caricature of a pistol, with a black oblong grip large enough that her hand could barely fit around it and still be able to squeeze what seemed to be a trigger, although it looked like a smaller plate that would recess into the grip. There was nothing that looked like a firing chamber, and the barrel appeared to be a solid cylinder of a material similar to that used in the ancient light-torches. The barrel and the grip flowed together seamlessly.

  Mykella concentrated on studying the weapon with her Talent—and almost recoiled—so angry did the purpleness within the weapon seem.

  From where does it draw power? There isn’t anyplace to insert cartridges …

  She did have one idea. She donned her riding jacket, sliding the weapon into the side pocket, then used the darkness to drop herself through the stone and to the Table chamber. The Table was slightly brighter than on Septi, but it had not started to pulse.

  She took the weapon from her jacket and laid it on the Table, trying to link Table and weapon. The mists swirled, and the weapon glowed more purplish for a moment. A line of script appeared in the middle of the mist. Mykella could not decipher the characters, and shortly they vanished.

  While she could not be certain, she had the sense that the weapon had been repowered in some fashion. She replaced it in her jacket..

  Now …

  She concentrated on reaching the soarer through the greenish darkness. After a time, she stopped.

  The soarer did not appear.

  What next?

  She thought. The soarer always left a brief trail of green. Could she seek out traces of green amid the deeper darknesses that ran beneath all the lands of Corus? She took a slow deep breath and reached out to the greenish darkness, then let herself sink through the stone and into the depths, her senses reaching out, trying to find traces of green … somewhere—ignoring the sense of stone around her, smothering her.

  For a time, she sensed nothing. She willed herself farther from the Table and its comparatively glaring purpleness. Then, in the distance, an icy distance, she caught a glimmer of a greenish thread, one with a tiny line of amber or gold within it, and she willed herself toward it, even as she felt oh-so-cold, and so sluggish.