Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Have I impressed you too much?” Mykella asked quietly.

  Areyst froze for an instant. Then he let an embarrassed smile appear. “It would be useless to protest that. You can sense all that I feel.” He paused. “I can only say that—”

  “Commander,” she interrupted him quickly, “your conduct has been exemplary, and your devotion to Lanachrona and your duties has been equally outstanding. You have my greatest admiration.” She paused but momentarily. “Unhappily, as Arms-Commander, the situation you face is also the greatest challenge encountered by any Arms-Commander in generations, and that must concern us both before anything else is considered or decided.”

  She wanted to smile wildly at the hope that flared behind his eyes even as he replied in an even tone, “I understand that fully, Lady.”

  “Earlier this afternoon, I used the Table to discover that Lady Cheleyza and the Northcoast forces were riding through Salcer.”

  Areyst frowned. “Our scouts have solid reports that a good ten companies of Skrelyn’s forces have stationed themselves at Areyka. They have been there for several days.”

  “That’s the last sizable town in Midcoast, is it not?”

  The commander nodded. “Skrelyn cannot be trusting enough to have all his forces ready on the border.”

  “So a larger force will likely accompany Chalcaer and Cheleyza?”

  “I would judge so.” He fingered his chin. “Can you determine that through the Table?”

  “I can try. Sometimes. They won’t leave Salcer today, though, I wouldn’t think.”

  “That is unlikely.”

  “I’ll look later, and in the morning. What have you done about Thesma? It’s less than ten vingts from the border.”

  “We have warned the villagers. I would like to tell them more, but…”

  “You think I should offer recompense for lost goods?”

  “If it is possible. It is a very small village.”

  Mykella shook her head. “If we are successful, I will offer recompense afterwards. Should any mention of that occur before, the claims will mount to three times what they should be.” She sighed. “I will have to…” Then she smiled. “That is a task for a certain undercaptain in the auxiliaries.”

  Areyst returned the smile. “You are already finding tasks for them.”

  “I cannot do everything. That has become most apparent.” She cleared her throat. “Did Captain Maeltor inform you about the difficulties with the gaol?”

  “He did. The arrangement you suggested will work for a time, possibly a season, but…”

  For the next glass, Mykella was most careful to keep the conversation on the needs of Lanachrona and the Southern Guards.

  Finally, Areyst said, “I have nothing else to report, Lady. Do you have other questions?”

  “When Lord Gharyk was attacked, even before I reached his study, there was a Southern Guard healer present and attending to his wound. You never mentioned that.”

  Areyst smiled, but there was a certain embarrassment behind his expression. “I knew that the palace healer had betrayed his trust and that you had not replaced him. I thought it … prudent … to place a healer nearby.”

  “What else have you arranged … in the nature of prudence?”

  “A few extra guards in and around the palace. They are not so much for your protection as for the protection of those who serve you loyally. They appear to be more … vulnerable than are you, and your sisters are amid Southern Guards much of the time.”

  “Your thoughtfulness is much appreciated. It is also welcome … and necessary.” Mykella rose. “I do appreciate your reports and your presence, and I look forward to observing the season-turn parade and seeing you afterwards at the ball. As the heir, you will escort me personally.”

  Areyst sprang to his feet. “Lady … you know how I feel about that…”

  “Yes, Commander, I believe I do.” And I hope you continue to feel the other ways that you do after we make our way through all that lies before us. She pushed away the other, more disturbing, possibilities that faced them and offered a pleasant smile. “Until later.”

  He bowed again.

  When he lifted his eyes to hers, for a moment, neither moved nor spoke.

  Mykella felt as though she did not take a breath until the door closed behind him.

  52

  Late on Novdi morning, a glass before noon, Mykella had finished studying the Table. For the past two days, she had been trying to manipulate the images displayed in an effort to determine what Areyst and she needed to know—the size of the Midcoast force accompanying Cheleyza and Chalcaer—but, finally, that morning, after almost a glass of working with the Table, she had finally mastered a better way of focusing the images. That hadn’t given her all the information she wanted, but the images had revealed a long column of riders, the first half wearing the maroon of Midcoast and the last half the dark green of Northcoast.

  The other matter that concerned her was that she could sense clearly the growing pulsations and brilliance of the Table in Lysia—all the way from Tempre. She’d made a quick transit there but sensed that the pinkish purpleness around that Table had barely increased—so far. She had no doubts that would soon change.

  Then she’d had to return to Tempre to hurry and dress for the season-turn parade. In the end, at a half glass before noon, she dismounted at the foot of the small reviewing stand placed for the season-turn parade at the base of the Great Piers, equidistant from the ancient green towers at either end of the piers. Accompanied by Squad Leader Casaryk and two Southern Guards, she climbed to the topmost level, where the three remained as escorts. Lord Zylander and his wife were already there, standing on the second level, and before long, they were joined by Lord and Lady Gharyk, followed by Forester Loryalt, who was unaccompanied.

  Waiting in the stand in the damp and too-warm weather, Mykella was glad that she only wore a nightsilk shirt and a light silver shimmersilk vest. She would have boiled in even a light jacket. Her eyes surveyed those in the reviewing stand below her, catching sight of Cerlyk, as well as High Factor Hasenyt. She could also sense more than a few pair of eyes covertly scanning her, and she maintained a pleasant smile.

  Farther to the south, along both sides of the avenue, were a number of women, many of them in worn and frayed holiday finery. Mykella did not recall such a group at previous parades, but had that been because she had not been looking at the bystanders all that closely?

  Before long, the mounted guards would ride northward toward the piers along the great eternastone highway that had become the avenue inside Tempre. Once they passed the reviewing stand, they would follow the turn in the avenue and head due east past the palace itself, then to the Southern Guard compound. Areyst had brought Fourth Company from Viencet rather than returning either First, Second, or Third Company—those usually stationed in Tempre—doubtless because the troopers in the first three companies could use more training.

  A wistful smile crossed Mykella’s lips as she thought of her mother’s words about the need for the tradition of the parade. Given how many traditions her own presence as Lady-Protector had upset, she certainly hadn’t wanted to destroy another one by canceling the first season-turn parade since she had become Lady-Protector.

  To the south, she saw the four Southern Guards bearing trumpets riding toward the stand. Others did, too, and most eyes turned. At that moment, Mykella began to gather light to herself, not a blinding glare, but what she thought was just enough to highlight her presence in the reviewing stand—not enough to cause people to turn but enough for them to notice if they looked in her direction.

  When the trumpeters reached a point even with the southern edge of the reviewing stand, they raised their instruments. A crisp but lengthy fanfare filled the avenue, and when the trumpeters passed Mykella, they lifted the trumpets in salute. Behind them some fifty yards or so rode the standard-bearers of Fourth Company, followed by the company officer and his squad leaders, then the compan
y rankers.

  As she had seen so many times before, when the company standard bearer passed her, he lowered the company ensign in a salute, holding it at a forty-five-degree angle all the way past the stand before snapping it back erect.

  After Fourth Company, another fifty yards back, came the headquarters contingent, led by a standard bearer—and followed by Salyna in the riding undress uniform of the auxiliaries. At first glance she looked no different from any other young junior officer, and Mykella noted that she had swept her blond hair, never that long, up under the officer’s cap. Rachylana rode behind Salyna by several yards, and her red hair was also up, as was that of every auxiliary.

  Muted cheers rose from the workingwomen south of the reviewing stand as the auxiliaries passed. Mykella smiled slightly more broadly.

  Given all her worries about Salyna’s project, Mykella was relieved. The women looked as though they belonged in their new uniforms, and she saw no obvious lapses in formation or in bearing. Part of her feeling was confirmed by the fact that the murmurs from those in the reviewing stand and along the avenue did not even begin until the auxiliaries were almost in front of the stand, and the standard-bearer dipped the headquarters ensign.

  “… women … in uniform?”

  “… uniforms a little different…”

  “Some of the riders in uniform are women…”

  “… expect that from a Lady-Protector … a bit much … don’t you think…”

  “… needs all the men to fight…”

  At least someone sees a reason behind it.

  Following the auxiliaries came the male guards of the headquarters group, only about a score in all. Then came a rider bearing the banner of the Arms-Commander, another touch Mykella did not recall.

  Mykella used her Talent to project an aura of light around Areyst as he neared the stand, and the faintest link of light between them. Riding beside Areyst was Captain Maeltor, and behind them four Southern Guards with drums, keeping a low beat and signifying the end of the column.

  The standard-bearer for the Arms-Commander lowered that ensign early, and as Areyst neared the point where he was almost abreast of Mykella, he removed his visored cap, held it across his chest, and bowed in the saddle in her direction. As he straightened, his eyes met hers, if but for an instant. Then he replaced the cap. Only then did the Arms-Commander’s banner rise again.

  A series of low murmurs rippled through the crowd, and more eyes focused on Mykella.

  “… is the heir, you know…”

  “… handsome enough…”

  “… just for show … be a match to the Landarch’s son … what else can she do?”

  “… women in the Guards … Arms-Commander as heir … not the way things used to be…”

  As the various functionaries and their spouses or guests who had been invited to be on the reviewing stand began to step down and disperse, Lady Gharyk—Jylara—turned, looked up at Mykella, and offered a nod and a knowing smile.

  Mykella kept smiling as she prepared to leave the reviewing stand just after the others.

  Once she returned to the palace, she’d have to ready herself for the evening ahead … and the ball, where every word and gesture would be scrutinized for some meaning.

  53

  “It’s … like the other, Lady.” Wyandra, the dressing maid Mykella utilized mainly for seeing that she had clean nightsilks, stepped back after fastening the last button of Mykella’s new ball gown.

  Mykella surveyed herself in the bedchamber mirror. The gown ordered by Rachylana almost matched the darkly bright green of the depths, and Mykella wondered if, in using the Table, Rachylana had ever seen that shade. The gown’s cut was both conservative and daring, with a high neck and sleeves that tapered almost skintight at Mykella’s wrists. Above the low waist, the green shimmersilk fitted her figure tightly, but not enough to hamper her movement. The quarter-full skirt, a touch longer than ankle length, allowed her easy movement as well as to wear her formal boots rather than dancing shoes.

  “I like it.” Mykella picked up the green gloves from the dressing table, a pair that matched the dress perfectly.

  “It looks wonderful on you,” replied Uleana, standing behind Wyandra.

  Wonderful? I doubt that. “Thank you both,” said Mykella, nodding to the pair, then turned and walked toward the family parlor to meet her sisters.

  She also needed to tell Areyst what she’d discovered that morning about the coastal forces, not that a few glasses made that much difference, but, when she’d tried to reach him after the parade, according to Maeltor, he’d been inspecting the Southern Guard compound and conducting an additional review of the auxiliaries, and in neither duty had she wished to intrude.

  Before she even reached the door of the parlor, Rachylana stepped out into the outer corridor, wearing a scoop-necked gown of a pale but intense blue that highlighted her mahogany-red hair, with a shawl of the same shade. Salyna followed, wearing the same gown she’d worn at the last ball, one with a square-cut neck in a rich but muted blue that brought out the color in her face. She did not wear a shawl, but a new matching jacket with three-quarter sleeves.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Mykella” observed Rachylana. “It shouldn’t look that good on you, but it does.” She offered a knowing grin to her older sister.

  “It’s that shade of green,” Salyna said. “It makes her look more alive.”

  “That was the idea,” replied Rachylana. “I had a hard time getting the dyers to come up with exactly the right shade. The rest was easy, because Wyandra and the seamstresses just followed the pattern of the other green dress.”

  Mykella looked to Salyna, about to ask her about Areyst’s review, when she heard the sound of boots behind her. She turned.

  Elwayt was leading Areyst toward them. The Arms-Commander wore the full-dress dark blue and cream uniform of a Southern Guard officer.

  By the Ancients … he is handsome. Mykella managed not to stare or gape.

  At almost the same moment, Areyst’s eyes fixed on Mykella, and his purposeful stride faltered—if but for an instant.

  From behind Mykella’s shoulder, Rachylana whispered, “The way he looked at you any woman would die for.”

  “I’d rather live for it,” murmured Mykella, barely moving her lips, before returning Areyst’s warm smile.

  The Arms-Commander bowed, then extended an arm to Mykella. “Lady-Protector?”

  Mykella took it. “My pleasure, Commander.”

  Mykella and Areyst led the way down the main staircase of the palace and along the back corridors—cordoned off by the Southern Guards in dress uniforms—to the north entry to the ballroom. Slightly behind them followed Rachylana and Salyna.

  The ballroom itself was just north of the southeast corner of the main level of the palace. Created centuries before by merging a series of chambers, it was narrow, with windows only on the eastern and southern walls. An ancient parquet floor had been laid over the stone floor tiles, and the wall hangings were the traditional dark blue and cream.

  The receiving line was far shorter, of necessity, than at past balls, with Salyna at the front, Rachylana next, followed by Areyst, then Mykella as Lady-Protector—the first time ever that the position of power at the end had been claimed by a woman. Elwayt stood before the receiving line, announcing the names.

  Because invitations to the ball were limited to those of import in Tempre, such as her ministers and the High Factors and Seltyrs—or envoys—Mykella had expected the number of attendees to be smaller; but Rachylana had earlier informed her that, in the end, the number attending was likely to be higher.

  Out of curiosity, and nothing less.

  The very first person in the line was Assistant Forester Cerlyk, accompanied by a younger black-haired woman. “Lady-Protector … my wife Shalyana.”

  Mykella could sense the young woman was expecting, although the cut of her gown did not reveal it. “It’s good to meet you, Shalyana. Your husband has bee
n of great service.”

  “Thank you, Lady.”

  “You’re welcome. Do you have any other children?”

  “Ah … we have none,” said Cerlyk. “We have hoped…”

  Mykella smiled. “It may be that your hopes have been answered.”

  Shalyana beamed and squeezed Cerlyk’s arm. As they left, Mykella heard her murmur, “… told you so … is an Ancient.”

  Areyst glanced at Mykella but said nothing.

  After Cerlyk came Lord Gharyk and Jylara.

  “Lady-Protector,” offered Gharyk, smiling slightly nervously.

  “Lord Gharyk, Lady Jylara, you are always welcome here. I trust your shoulder is better,” she said to the Finance Minister. “If it should trouble you…”

  “It’s no trouble at all, Lady.”

  From the feelings of Jylara, that was not precisely true, and Mykella looked to her. “Do take care of him.”

  That did bring a smile to Jylara’s face. “I’ll do my best, Lady.”

  Then came High Factor Rhavyl and his daughter, Xyena, followed by Seltyr Almardyn and his wife, a graceful and slender gray-haired woman, who smiled warmly at Mykella. Then came Forester Loryalt and his wife.

  Before long, Zylander appeared, with a woman who could almost have been his sister. “Lady-Protector, my wife Lexyla.”

  “Lord Zylander, I’m pleased to see you both.” Mykella smiled warmly.

  Zylander’s return smile was shy, and he eased past Mykella.

  “You have asked much of him, Lady. Do not cast him aside on a whim,” Lexyla murmured.

  “Your husband will be a good minister, and whims are bad ruling, Lady Lexyla,” replied Mykella softly, impressed by the woman’s quiet directness.

  Lexyla offered a nod in response.

  After a procession of Seltyrs and High Factors whom Mykella knew by name and little else, Khanasyl and his wife appeared.

  The First Seltyr looked to Areyst and smiled. “It’s good to see you here, Commander.”