“Thank you.” Dainyl had no doubts that he would have an escort no matter how familiar he became with the residence and its private quarters. He followed the alectress along the colonnade, through a vaulted archway and past two lander guards in black and silver, one of whom opened the right half of the double doors. Once inside, she headed straight back through a high-ceilinged entry hall, black marble columns spaced at four-yard intervals along the white walls. The floor of the entry hall was composed of black octagons set in white granite.
Beyond the entry, the corridor narrowed to a width of a mere six yards, and the stone floor was white granite. At the end of the corridor was another set of golden oak double doors, guarded by a young alector in the black and silver. He nodded to Dainyl’s escort, then said, as he opened the right-hand door, “Welcome, Submarshal. The High Alector is expecting you.”
Dainyl’s escort stepped back, and he walked through the door alone, Talent-senses alert. The foyer beyond was empty, and Dainyl faced archways to the left and right.
“To the right,” called a voice.
Dainyl stepped through the archway, and followed another corridor to the first open doorway on the left. Beyond was a study, the inner wall lined with shelves of books. The outer wall held shelves as well, but between them were floor-to-ceiling windows, and in the center of the outer wall was a set of open double doors.
Alcyna and Brekylt rose from the pair of armchairs set before the table desk.
Brekylt was but a shade shorter than Dainyl, and slender. His wide expressive mouth offered a smile, and he Talent-projected warmth and friendliness. “Submarshal Dainyl, I’ve heard only good things about you. It’s good to see you here in Alustre.”
Behind that projection, well shielded, but not from Dainyl, was a sense of coolness and calculation. Dainyl smiled in response, inclining his head. “I’m pleased to have the chance to visit Alustre again, and to see you. I’m also grateful for the dinner invitation.”
“I’m the one who is pleased,” replied the High Alector. “It has been some time since the submarshal of the west has dined with us. Tyanylt never did, you know. Neither did Weylt.”
“I hadn’t known,” said Dainyl with a soft laugh, “but I’m more than happy to break that precedent.”
“So are we.” Brekylt smiled again. “There are only the three of us. I had thought it would be more pleasant—and more intimate—to enjoy the balcony overlooking the conservatory gardens.”
“Brekylt has plants from all over Acorus in the garden—only the most beautiful and the most fragrant, of course,” added Alcyna.
“The gardens must be very special, then,” Dainyl replied.
“Nothing like them anywhere on Corus, not even in Lyterna.” Brekylt turned and walked through the open doors of the study and out onto a balcony within the glass-roofed conservatory and overlooking the gardens below. The light of the almost-setting sun turned the white-granite walls and pillars orangish red, and the scent of flowers filled the warm moist air.
Dainyl followed Alcyna, stopping well short of the stone half wall at the edge of the balcony. To his right, five yards away, was a table, set with three places, in full formality. The silver gleamed, as did the crystal goblets. Dainyl concentrated on Brekylt. “It’s pleasant here.”
“One of the great privileges of being the High Alector of the East.” Brekylt lifted an amber long-necked bottle and filled three of the four wine glasses set on a side table. The vintage was so clear that the glass would have appeared empty, except for the slight silver sheen to the wine. “You must try the Argentium Grande.” He gestured for Dainyl and Alcyna each to take a glass.
Dainyl inclined his head to Alcyna.
“Thank you, Dainyl. You are so aware of the proprieties.” She took the middle glass.
Dainyl took the leftmost one. He lifted it, then inhaled, using the gesture and his Talent sense to check the wine, but he sensed nothing untoward. “It has a wonderful aroma.”
“It’s from Elcadya,” replied Brekylt, holding his glass. “Every bit as good as anything out of the Vyan Hills, and better at times.” He sipped the wine.
“Elcadya?”
“The vineyard region some fifty vingts to the north of Flyr.” Brekylt set down his wine on the side table and picked up the empty glass, tapping the rim with his forefinger. A clear tone filled the balcony. “The crystal goblets come from just north of Vysta…”
Dainyl laughed and added, “And they’re every bit as good as those from Krost, if not better at times.”
Alcyna laughed as well. “I think he understands your point, Brekylt.”
“I’m certain he does.” The High Alector of the East set down the empty goblet and lifted his wine, not drinking any. “But does he know why matters have turned as they have?”
“No…I don’t,” Dainyl admitted. “I have the feeling I’m about to learn, though.” He took a sip of the Argentium—as good as Brekylt had suggested. “You’re right about the wine.”
“He’s right about many things.” Alcyna’s tone was dry.
“I imagine so. One doesn’t become and remain the Highest of the East without great knowledge.”
Brekylt moved to the balcony wall, where he gestured at the gardens below.
“They’re beautiful,” Dainyl said.
“They are indeed. Like Acorus itself, they require much care, much planning, and careful pruning—but not too much. Do you see the jaelithum there, with the silver blossoms?”
“It’s especially pleasing.”
“It is. It wasn’t supposed to be there. The original jaelithum was planted in the far corner. No matter what the gardeners did, it failed to thrive. It finally died. The one there planted itself, and I told them to let it grow. Everyone has remarked on its beauty and fragrance.”
“Some plants are suited for some locales, and some are not,” Dainyl observed, as he knew he had been led to conclude.
“Exactly. All worlds are like that, and Acorus is no exception. There are sand and lime near Vysta and the sloping hills with right exposure to sun in Elcadya.”
“But those exist in Krost and the Vyan Hills as well,” pointed out Dainyl.
“They do indeed, but does either Duarch remark upon the vintages of Elcadya or the crystal of Vysta?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Dainyl laughed ruefully. “I’ve not dined at their tables. You would know better than I.”
“They do not,” murmured Alcyna, who had moved to the balcony wall, at Dainyl’s right, so that he stood between the two, “especially not Khelaryt.”
“Life is like the gardens here,” Brekylt said genially. “Some plants and trees you can place anywhere, and others will grow only in certain places. One cannot decree that the jaelithum must only grow in the corner. One must work with what is, not insist that it all follow a plan laid down years before. After all, to build lifeforce, we must be gardeners as well as administrators.”
“And, according to the Views of the Highest,” Dainyl couldn’t resist adding, “we must not see choices where there are none.”
“Exactly.” Brekylt swallowed the last of his wine. “Enough of gardens and lifeforce. We should eat before what we have planned spoils, and you must tell us all about our acquaintances…and how they fare…”
Dainyl understood that message as well. No matter what he tried, Brekylt and Alcyna weren’t about to tell him more than they already had. For all their overt courtesy, they both had made what they had conveyed to Dainyl very clear, so obvious that it could not have been missed. Whether that meant that they felt he was naïve about matters, not that bright, or whether it was all designed to mislead him—he didn’t know. Not yet.
He might as well enjoy the dinner…and listen not just to what was said, but how it was said.
10
A light rain fell outside the mess, turning the predawn grayness of Quinti into a misty gloom. Inside, Mykel sat at a table along the wall, slowly eating his egg toast.
Fabrytal sat across from him,
finishing his own breakfast. “Chyndylt’s a good senior squad leader. After another deployment, he might make a good undercaptain.”
“I’d thought he might,” replied Mykel, refraining from pointing out that he’d made the observation to Fabrytal several weeks earlier. “But it’s better not to say anything to him at all. When you think he’s ready, make the recommendation to me. That way, if the colonel doesn’t want to accept it—or wants to delay it because there aren’t any officer slots available—Chyndylt doesn’t get angry or resentful. There’s no sense in creating a problem when you don’t have to.”
“I can see that, sir.” Fabrytal paused. “What’s it like in Dramur? Majer Dohark must have liked it to accept the post there.”
“It’s like every place else, Fabrytal. It has good points and bad. Majer Dohark said he was tired of the cold, and liked the idea of being in charge of a post.”
“How many companies?”
“Two—but he has orders to expand to a full battalion. The two companies weren’t enough to cover much more than Dramuria and the guano mine. That was one reason why the growers on the west side of the island thought they could do what they wanted….” Mykel laughed. “I can fill you in on that on the ship to Southgate. I imagine you have a few things to do right now.”
“I do need to check with Chyndylt before muster. By your leave, sir.”
Mykel nodded, and after the undercaptain had left, took another bite of egg toast that was cooler than he liked and firm, just short of being rubbery.
“So…they’ve decided that you have a talent for butchery, Mykel.”
Mykel looked up to see Hersiod sitting down at the end of the adjoining table. While Mykel hadn’t avoided the older majer over the past weeks, he hadn’t gone out of his way to seek him out, either. “Butchery? That’s not a good idea, as you’ve pointed out.”
“I understand you do it so well, though. How many nearly defenseless companies did you destroy in Dramur? Something like ten? Was that it?” Hersiod’s voice was light.
Mykel could sense the other’s anger, not from the tone of voice, but rather as though it were a color, or a smell. It wasn’t either, but related in some fashion to his growing ability to see people’s auras. “Well…” He drew out the word, trying to reply with a bantering tone himself. “They had very new rifles and a lot of ammunition, and they were trying to kill us. They kept attacking, and they wanted a fight. So I figured I’d oblige them, but I didn’t see much point in losing men I didn’t have to.” He shrugged. “You’re headed to Iron Stem, I heard. Did the colonel tell you how long you’ll be there?” Mykel took a swallow of the slightly watered hot cider, concentrating on Hersiod.
“It might be better if you concentrated on your own battalion, Mykel. What we’re doing won’t help you.” Hersiod’s smile was anything but warm. “But then, you’re being sent to do what you do so well. Butchering…I beg your pardon…disciplining those who have not seen the error of their ways.”
Mykel smiled in return. “Discipline is important. You’ve often made that point.” Mykel could sense a certain hardness…an intransigence within Hersiod…something, like the anger concealed by Hersiod, that carried a color Mykel could sense with his growing talent, could almost see—the faintest pinkish purple.
At the same time, the older majer’s words and attitude reminded Mykel of Majer Vaclyn just before Vaclyn had snapped and attacked Mykel. Did being in command of a battalion do that to some men after a time? Or were they always that way?
“I’m so glad my words have made an impact upon you, Mykel.” Hersiod lifted his mug, as if in a toast, and sipped the steaming cider.
Mykel lifted his mug, empty as it was, in response. “I can’t imagine them not making an impact, coming as they do from a senior majer.” His words, even and polite, were true enough, in more than one way. He knew he should just have nodded and agreed, but he’d always had trouble in making himself agree to what he perceived as outright falsehoods and blatant inaccuracies, even when agreement would have made his own way far smoother.
The sense of anger in Hersiod darkened. “We are only Cadmians, Mykel. We are not alectors. We serve at their pleasure. You are a majer at their pleasure. You could be nothing as quickly. You might keep that in mind.”
“That has been made extremely clear to me.” Mykel didn’t have to evade or equivocate to say that.
An expression of surprise flashed across Hersiod’s features, then vanished as if it had never been. “That is very good to know.”
Mykel rose from his table. “I hope your day and your training go well.” He nodded and turned.
Hersiod did not offer a reply.
Mykel left the mess and started across the courtyard through the mist that had replaced the rain, heading to meet his captains and undercaptains. Something…something about Hersiod, about Fourth Battalion, about their being assigned to Iron Stem, reminded Mykel of Majer Vaclyn, something more than stubbornness and intransigence. But what?
As he neared the Third Battalion barracks, the certainty that there was a connection nagged at Mykel, but he could not identify what it was, no matter how he struggled to remember and recall.
11
By Sexdi night, Dainyl had reviewed every record in the eastern Myrmidon headquarters even halfway pertinent to his concerns, observed the majority of pteridons and their squares, and had three more meals with Alcyna—two more than he had desired or needed, especially since he had learned little more than the fact that Alcyna was quite talented in revealing nothing that she had not already told Dainyl. He’d seen nothing that referred to engineering or to road building or maintenance, but had not expected that he would. He had discovered that, periodically, she transferred Myrmidons from company to company, far more often than Tyanylt or he had done in the west, and most of the transfers were not for reasons related to promotions. They couldn’t be. Promotions were infrequent.
His sleep was less than untroubled, despite the various precautions he had taken, including a Talent-alarm on the door to his bedchamber, and he awoke early on Septi morning. After a quick breakfast, he packed his gear, pulled on his flying jacket, slung the saddlebags over his shoulder, and walked down the steps to the courtyard, and through the wind that swirled warm and chill air together toward the headquarters building. He glanced to the south, where gray clouds were building, suggesting that the warm rains of mid-spring were indeed on their way.
Someone must have seen him carrying his gear, because, by the time he reached the duty desk inside headquarters to request the coach, Alcyna was walking toward him.
“You’re leaving, Dainyl?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? You are remarkably able. Your records and accounts are a marvel, and you maintain order and discipline without excessive force or overmanagement. I did note that you tend to transfer Myrmidons more than in the west.”
“That’s because squads can get too cliquish without regular rotations.”
There was more there, but Dainyl didn’t have any way to press. “I’ll report that as well. Those kinds of insights just show your attention to detail, and are the sorts of things that I’ll be pleased to report to the marshal.”
“I do hope that you found your tour instructive.” Her smile was polite.
“With your example, how could it not be?” His smile was warmer than hers, if not by much.
“Do give my warmest regards to Marshal Shastylt, and enjoy the spring in Elcien.”
“It’s cooler there, and it will be a while.”
“The coach is standing by.” Her words were the equivalent of a dismissal.
“Thank you. I hope I can be as hospitable to you when you come to Elcien.” Dainyl inclined his head, then turned and walked out to the coach, where Granyn waited.
“To the residence, sir?”
“The west portico, Granyn.” Dainyl swung up into the coach and closed the door behind himself.
As he rode toward the residence, Dainyl considered how little he
had learned—and how much less he trusted either Brekylt or Alcyna. Brekylt’s remarks about gardening might well have been an indirect invitation for Dainyl to join them in whatever they planned—or at least an opening to explore such—but Dainyl knew all too well that following that path would have been too dangerous. He could conceal what he felt well enough, but he had never been able to counterfeit interest in what he disliked, distrusted, or detested, and Alcyna and Brekylt were all too skilled at reading people. He had no doubts that his shortcomings along those lines were why he was indeed the submarshal and why the Highest and Marshal Shastylt had sent him to Alustre. His next stop would be Norda, unannounced, to see what else he could discover.
When he exited the coach at the west portico of the residence, he turned to the driver. “The best to you, Granyn. I hope it’s not too long before you’re flying.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dainyl smiled, nodded, turned, and walked briskly to the rear corridor and the steps down to the lower level and the Table chamber.
The two alector guards stiffened as Dainyl approached, but neither spoke as he released the Talent-locks and opened the outer door to the foyer leading to the Table chamber. After closing the outer door, he paused, using his Talent to listen, but neither guard said a word. Their silence suggested that they’d been alerted about something. With that in mind, he released the Talent-lock on the inner door, then eased it open and stepped inside.
The Table chamber was empty. At least, the part he saw was. He looked at the wall holding the light-torch bracket with the hidden Talent-lock, but whatever was behind the wall was shielded from him by the stone itself. After a moment, his saddlebags over one shoulder, he turned back toward the Table, over which seemed to hang a Talent-mist.
As he moved closer to the Table, a pair of long purplish arms formed from the mist, rising from the silver surface and reaching toward Dainyl. What they were, Dainyl had no idea, but they exuded menace.
He stepped back.
The arms thickened and lengthened, separating as if to encircle him.
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