… have to … have to …
As often before, suddenly Mykella was in the midst of the narrow green, flashing … somewhere … until she found herself standing in a strange room, an empty chamber with a single wide window before her. She looked down, to find she was standing on what seemed to be a silvery mirror. Shards of ice shattered off her nightsilk jacket, and she was wreathed in fog, so much so that for several moments she could only discern the outlines of the chamber around her.
As the icy fog faded away, and as her shivering subsided, she could see that the walls were of an amberlike stone, holding depths of light beneath their surface—and a shade similar to the yellow golden thread embedded in the green path she had traced through the darkness. On the wall to her left was a row of amber pegs seamlessly attached to the walls.
Slowly, she walked to the window, seeing beyond it the silver-green sky of Corus. The glass of that window was flawless and set in a silverlike metal, and she could sense the chill beyond the glass. After stepping up to the window, which had no hangings at all, a strange thing, she thought, she looked out, realizing she was in a round tower. Below were other buildings, all of them curved in some fashion or another, and so many that they extended a good vingt or so from the tower to a circular wall of the same amber stone that composed both the tower and the other buildings. Beyond the wall, the ground was white, but she could not tell whether that whiteness was sand or ice or snow.
A greenish radiance rose behind Mykella, and she turned toward the door, solid golden wood without windows, or peepholes, and a single-lever handle, of the same metal as the window casements. The radiance flared, then vanished to reveal a soarer—the soarer. Mykella found herself, for the first time, looking into brilliant green eyes that were clear, and deep—and very old. She shivered at the chill of ages she sensed behind the soarer’s eyes. “Where am I?”
The hidden city. It is not for you or your people.
“The hidden city of the Ancients? On Corus?”
Where else?
Mykella detected a hint of humor—she thought—behind the words.
Why did you seek us out?
For your help. The Ifrits are coming. I fear they bring weapons greater than what I can do.
It is possible that they will bring in a … device … that will activate the scepters …
What the soarer said made no sense to Mykella, none at all. How did one activate a scepter? “I don’t understand. What is a scepter?”
It is a device that allows them to remain as they are and not as they should be. Once they reactivate the scepters … they create more … strength in the Tables … and even you will be hard-pressed to resist them.
“But most of the Tables are blocked … except the one in Tempre.”
Those that are inaccessible can still lend strength to the others, and you cannot be everywhere at once. They will wear you down … and they could once again build the weapons that destroyed cities.
Sore and aching as she was, Mykella already felt worn down. “Elcien and Ludar?”
Worse than that … Do you know of the Great Black Lake? It was once a city, and nothing remains.
The bottomless black lake that was more than four vingts across … there had been a city there? Mykella shivered, even as something else the soarer had said struck her. “There are other Tables they can use?”
There are Tables in Alustre and Blackstear, and it would not take much to use the power of those in Dulka and Lysia. Dulka is blue and maroon to you, and Lysia is yellow and orange.
“None of those are close to Lanchrona,” Mykella pointed out.
Once more than a few Ifrits appear in Corus, more and more will come, and they will be able to bring weapons that will destroy even iron doors.
“What can I do?”
You must link yourself fully to the deepest of the green, that depth you barely touched to find the hidden city. Only that will give you power to stop them. You must not let it touch your being when you confront them, but only channel it against them and their devices.
“Only channel it?”
Go! The soarer vanished.
Mykella stood there for a moment. That’s all you’re going to get. Then she concentrated on finding the darkness.
Returning from the hidden city was far easier than finding it, and Mykella made her way back directly to her private study, where she removed the nightsilk riding jacket, stiff and ice-cold, and wrapped herself in a quilt to warm herself up enough to stop shivering.
Weapons that turned cities into bottomless lakes? and she was supposed to stop them? How? Link to the deepest green … channel it? How? When? As if she had the time to sit and wait and monitor the Table every moment of every day until something happened. She sat on the edge of her bed and shivered … and thought … and shivered.
In time, the shivering subsided, and she made her way to her official study, carrying the riding jacket, the strange weapon still inside it.
“Good morning, Lady,” offered Chalmyr.
The messenger boy nodded but said nothing. But then, messenger boys seldom did unless spoken to or instructed to speak.
“Good morning. Is there anything I need to address?”
“Assistant Minister Duchael left a missive. I put it on your desk. Chief Clerk Haelyt would like a few moments at your convenience.”
“Is there anything from High Factor Lhanyr?”
“No, Lady.”
Mykella went into the study and closed the door behind her. She took the weapon from the jacket and eased it into the second drawer, dragging out a sheet of writing paper and easing it over the weapon. Then she folded the jacket and set it on an empty space in the bookcase. Only then did she pick up the document from the desk, and, still standing, begin to read what Duchael had written on the maintenance accomplished with his ministry’s funds.
The maintenance commenced after year-turn was that of ongoing upkeep and repair on existing structures and facilities in order to assure continued flow of sewage through the entire system serving Tempre …
All well and good, but taking half a page to say that you spent the golds on required maintenance doesn’t tell me how you spent them.
Finally, halfway down the second sheet, she found the actual listing.
… repointing mortar on facing of exposed sewer conduit in southeast sector, adjoining estate of Seltyr Thaen …
… repairs made on eastern conduit, east of First Seltyr’s villa …
… replanting over repairs made on eastern conduit …
… oiling of woodwork and casements of sewer inspection building …
… excavation and repair of sewer conduit adjoining warehouse of Seltyr Thaen …
The listing of repairs—all comparatively minor—went on for almost two pages, and all except the work next to Thaen’s warehouse had been in the eastern part of the city. Were all the references to Seltyrs Duchael’s way of trying to show that Porofyr had been the one making the choices, or had Duchael just been copying the former minister’s words?
Over the remainder of the morning, she spent more than a glass with Haelyt, and most of that time was devoted to detecting, as best they could, additional questionable entries, all made at the direction of Joramyl, and questionable payments. After taking a quick midday meal in the breakfast room, with Rachylana, since Salyna was over at Southern Guard headquarters obtaining measurements and information for her training project, Mykella returned to her study.
She was still pondering the advice from the soarer, wondering if she should immediately attempt to undertake such a linkage, when Chalmyr knocked softly on the door.
“Yes?”
“Seltyr Klevetyr would like to see you. He says it is most important.”
“I’ll see him.” Mykella stood. She didn’t want to be sitting when Klevetyr barged in.
The door opened, held by Chalmyr, and a short and stocky dark-haired figure with slightly olive skin strode through it. Chalmyr quickly and gently closed
the door.
“Seltyr Klevytr.” Mykella smiled politely and gestured toward the chairs.
“No, thank you. I will not be long.”
Mykella merely nodded.
“Lady-Protector … I have just discovered that your failure to secure the palace has resulted in grievous harm to my villa. Your negligence has cost me ten valuable servitors and endangered my daughter, and you did not even have the courtesy to inform me.”
How does he know that? Mykella could sense the fury infusing the Seltyr and realized that words alone would do nothing. Instead, she used her Talent to bend light, so that her entire being became luminous. Then she infused each word with Talent.
“You will not come in here and attack me. Sit down, calm down … and listen.” With the last word, she extended her Talent, as she had done in fighting the Ifrit, and half threw, half pressed Klevytr into the chair, holding him there.
Fear and rage warred within the Seltyr, but fear—and a growing realization of the power he faced—won out. He swallowed. “Lady-Protector … perhaps I was too hasty…”
“You were.” Mykella released the Talent pressure and let the light die away. She remained standing. “I understand your concerns, especially about your daughter, but you acted without knowing what really happened. The three bravos who attacked the palace managed to obtain ancient weapons that cut men apart with flame. No one has seen such weapons in hundreds of years, and the three attacked here when I was not in the palace. They stole the mounts of the Southern Guards they killed, and they rode off down the avenue. Once they left Tempre, no one knew where they had gone until Commander Areyst received word from one of his men. I immediately dispatched him with a force to deal with them. At that time, we did not know that your daughter was at the villa.”
She paused for a moment to let her words sink in.
“As soon as I found that out, I left and rode there personally. I dealt with the bravos, despite their weapons, and I made sure that your daughter was safe. I returned here late last night. Exactly what else would you have had me do?” That was a dangerous question, she realized once she had asked it, but she couldn’t take back the words.
“Bring the malefactors back and rip them to pieces on the Great Piers.” Klevetyr’s voice was low and intense.
“That is not possible. I killed them in rescuing your daughter before she was harmed.”
“You…”
“You doubt me … even now?”
After the briefest hesitation, Klevytr asked, “Lady-Protector … why did no one know about such weapons?”
“People find relics of the old days now and again. Some are useless. Some are like the highways and the towers—or the light-torches that still look as when they were created. I cannot say where they found such weapons, only that we killed them and recovered the weapons.”
“I must ask if this could have happened if most of the Southern Guards assigned in Tempre had not been moved to Viencet.”
“It would have. Most of the Guards are always at their compound, and that is a vingt away. The brigand-bravos attacked and left before word even reached the commander.”
“And now … who will protect us with those few away from Tempre?”
“There are Southern Guards in Tempre, and the remainder of those engaged in reclaiming your villa from the brigands will be returning late this afternoon. Commander Areyst will be bringing your daughter.”
“Why did you—”
“I returned nearly alone through the darkness. That would not have been suitable for her, especially after what she had been through.” Mykella smiled politely. “Now that you know what occurred in greater detail … you might wish to return to your villa and inform everyone that your daughter is safe … and that we held her safety most dearly.”
For a moment, Klevytr looked as though he might question his dismissal, but then rose and bowed. “I appreciate all your clarifications, Lady-Protector, and I thank you.”
In short, you’ve suddenly realized that it might not be wise to defy me in person, no matter what Porofyr and Khanasyl tell you. “You’re most welcome, Seltyr Klevytr. I have been forthright with you, and I appreciate those who are equally forthright. As you may recall, I care little for deception and plotting, for they undermine a land, and I care too deeply for Lanachrona to allow such any longer. I would that you would convey my best wishes to your daughter.”
“I will do that, Lady.” Klevytr eased himself from the study, not quite backing out, but not turning fully away from Mykella.
Little more than a glass later, Maeltor arrived, and Chalmyr ushered him in to see Mykella.
“Lady-Protector.” Although the captain’s face was pleasant, she could sense a certain unease and curiosity.
“Captain.” Mykella did not rise from behind the desk.
“Lady, the remainder of third squad has returned to Tempre, with your gray. You obviously outpaced them. Squad Leader Shaert reported that you had remained at the villa, but the duty-squad leader reported you arrived late last night, alone.”
“Sometimes, it is faster to travel alone, Captain. What else?”
“Commander Areyst will be returning with fourth squad early this evening. He is escorting Mistress Kietyra and her … maids.”
“Thank you. Did Shaert say how the ride back went?”
“An easy ride, Lady, as easy as any fifteen vingts.”
“Good. He didn’t run into any more brigands?”
“No, Lady.”
“I’m glad he did not, and I appreciate all that you and the Southern Guards have done.”
“They appreciate all you have done, Lady.”
Once Maeltor had departed, Mykella returned to her own quarters, with her jacket and the Ifrit weapon. From there she slipped through the darkness to the lowest level of the palace, noting that the inner iron door had yet to be installed and that the Table did not seem brighter than earlier. Most important, it was not flashing.
Then, standing well away from the Table, she extended Talent tendrils toward the blackness below, concentrating on trying to reach with her Talent the “deeper” green that the soarer had claimed would allow her to best the Ifrits. Yet with each extension, she could sense that the green retreated. That was how it felt.
She redoubled her efforts, and the tendrils brushed the brighter and deeper green, and, for a long moment, she felt as though she had almost linked with that deeper green … before the links she had extended frayed away and she stood, breathing rapidly, as though she had run hundreds of yards, shuddering and shivering within the chill stone walls of the Table chamber.
For a time, she just stood there, recovering from her first effort. Then she tried once more, extending herself toward the depths. That attempt was even less successful and left her even more exhausted.
Yet she suggested that such an effort should not have been that difficult.
How else could she link herself to that green?
After a moment, she shook her head, accepting reluctantly that she was too tired to make another effort immediately. But what if the Ifrits arrive before you can learn how to do that?
She had no answer for that question.
Using her Talent and the darkness, she returned unseen to her apartment, donned the riding jacket, made sure that the Ifrit weapon was well hidden, and made her way down to the main level, empty except for guards, since the palace was cleared of those with business after fourth glass, and then out and into the walled private garden. With all of her other concerns, she had yet to study firsthand the weapon the Ifrits had brought through the Table from Efra.
When she reached the corner of the garden farthest from the palace, where she had first seen the soarer so many weeks before, she eased the weapon from her jacket and, using both hands, lifted and aimed it at the corner of the wall to the left of the broken statue, a distance of some ten yards. She squeezed the plate that she’d thought was a trigger.
The plate did not move, and nothing happened.
A line of bluish fire flared from the end of the weapon and kept flaring … until she released the firing plate.
“Oh…” she murmured, realizing that there was a spring or something behind the plate and that it would keep discharging energy so long as pressure was applied, at least until that energy was exhausted.
She quickly moved the safety lever, for that was what it had to be, to the nonfiring position and stepped forward. The blue fire had scoured the lichen away from the stone of the wall in a space about the size of her palm, and heat radiated from the impact point. The surface of the surrounding stone was blackened, and she could smell an acrid odor, most likely burned lichen and moss. As she’d surmised, the weapon had not had much effect on the stone itself although it looked to her as though the stone in the center of the area that had been scoured had lost perhaps a fingernail’s thickness compared to the surrounding surface.
With enough time and energy, they could cut through stone.
That thought scarcely cheered her.
She turned and paced off what might have been fifty yards, then tried the weapon again, aiming at a tree branch overhanging the wall. The blue flame sliced through the limbs, and the branch sagged onto and over the wall. After several more attempts, she put the pistol on safe once more. From what she could tell, the weapon was extremely effective up to fifty yards, but the flame became less focused beyond that and was almost ineffective at a hundred yards.
Between her worries and the effort to link with the deeper green, by the time she headed back toward the palace for a quiet glass or so before the evening meal, she felt exhausted. Yet she knew she’d have to put on a cheerful front for dinner … somehow.
The only problem was that Salyna was waiting at the top of the palace’s main staircase. “Mykella … we need to talk.” The blonde looked toward the formal study.
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