Because he did not wish to arrive in Prosp any more tired than necessary, he immediately concentrated on the silver locator that marked that Table and linked to it with a thin line of purple Talent. As he felt himself ever closer to that Table, although there was no physical sense of motion, once again, briefly, if time even existed within the translation tubes, he thought he sensed a flash or a line of golden green. Then he was at the thin wall of silver, with insubstantial shards shattering away from him and vanishing.
He took only a single step on the silvery and polished surface of the Table, making sure that his shields were firmly in place even before taking in the Table chamber around him.
The space was empty, but, as in Alustre, black and silver-trimmed hangings of scenes in the east ornamented the walls. Directly before Dainyl was a vista of the Great Marsh, with the volcanoes of Cape Fiere rising above the sea of rushes.
He could sense immediately the special light-torch bracket, touched with Talent, that marked the entrance to the hidden chambers beyond. His hand on his sidearm, he stepped off the Table, still alert for any possible attack, either from the Table, a wild Talent, or an overenthusiastic Recorder of Deeds or assistant. No one appeared, nor did he sense anyone.
Stopping short of the door to the chamber’s entry foyer, he released the Talent-lock, and cast out his senses. There was no one in the foyer. Beyond the outer door in the corridor, however, there were two guards, Cadmians rather than Myrmidons. That made sense because there were no Myrmidons stationed anywhere near Prosp, and only two companies of local Cadmians. The rich and agricultural lands that stretched away from Prosp had never seen much unrest, doubtless because there were few places for rebels to hide and no reason to rebel.
Dainyl had chosen Prosp because he had hoped the setting and situation would favor less plotting and guile, and thus, more directness. He put his hand on the door and opened it, stepping out.
Both Cadmians had been leaning against the limestone wall. They scrambled erect.
“Sir! We didn’t know…we didn’t expect…”
“I would have hoped not,” replied Dainyl pleasantly. “I’m looking for your commander.”
“The overcaptain, sir?”
Dainyl nodded.
“He’ll be across the courtyard in the headquarters building.”
“Then I’ll find him.” Still leaving his shields up, Dainyl turned, walked down the corridor, and headed up the stone steps to the ground-floor level of the building.
“…hope that’s not trouble…”
“…Myrmidons…always trouble…those stars…that’s a marshal, I think, and that’s big trouble…”
Not for the two Cadmians, Dainyl thought, and probably not for the overcaptain, but he needed to find out more before deciding.
Someone saw him crossing the sun-flooded courtyard, almost warm enough to be pleasant without the flying jacket he wore, because the overcaptain was waiting for him just beyond the entry foyer to the small, single-story headquarters building.
“Overcaptain Morash, sir. At your service, whatever that might require.”
“Just a few questions, Overcaptain. If you’d lead the way to your study…”
“Yes, sir. This way.”
After he closed the study door, Dainyl remained standing, not wanting to cramp himself in the undersized chairs.
“What can I do for you, sir? We don’t see submarshals here.” The bulky and graying overcaptain chuckled. “Matter of fact, I haven’t seen Colonel Ubarak ever, or his predecessor, either. We just get dispatches, and not many of those.”
“You make it sound as though there’s little need for your companies here,” Dainyl suggested.
“Now, I wouldn’t be saying that, sir. No, sir. Folk here are just like folk everywhere. At times, if we weren’t here, they might do what they shouldn’t. Sometimes, they need protection, too. Last fall we had to take to the field against some hill folk that had come from northeast of Flyr. Must have been close to fifty of them, armed with good rifles, too. They burned Ceantor’s villa, and looted his strongroom. Took one of his daughters, too.” Morash shook his head. “Sad business, that.”
“What happened?”
“What could we do? They broke the Code. We surrounded them. None of them would surrender. We killed nearly all of them, except for the ones who were wounded and couldn’t fight. Some of them died anyway. The justicer sent the rest of them to the quarries south of Catyr for life. They killed the girl. Couldn’t believe we wouldn’t just let them walk in and take what they wanted.”
Even though the quarry laborers were well fed and not mistreated, the work was grueling, Dainyl knew, and few lasted more than five or ten years. “How often does something like that happen?”
“I’d have to check the records to be really accurate, Submarshal, but as I recall, it takes a couple of years for the hill folk to forget. Say every three-four years. If we weren’t here, though, they’d be long gone before one of the battalion outposts could send anyone. Our road patrols do a good job of keeping the brigandage down, too.”
Dainyl had his own ideas about why, but he asked, “Just by patrolling the roads?”
Morash smiled. “It’s simple enough. There are only a few places where goods and coins are concentrated, and that’s in the towns and in the strongrooms of the growers and the factors or when people travel the high roads. The growers and factors guard their golds well. We guard the marketplaces and the roads.” He shrugged. “We can’t do much about all of the petty theft, cutpurses, and that, but most of them get caught in time and sent to the labor camps or quarries.”
“I suppose you don’t get many dispatches directly from the Myrmidons or the High Alector of the East?”
“Not many. In fact, I can only recall one in the past year, and that was a reminder to keep the pteridon squares ready. That happened after the troubles out west in Coren.”
“You don’t seem to have problems like that.”
“No. But it’s a different place. Here, every grower and every holder has his own lands. If he doesn’t work them right, he suffers. If he has a problem that’s not his making, and he works hard, others will help him. Out there, folks see lands and trees that look empty, and for just a little extra effort, they can pick up quite a few more golds.”
“If they overlog the slopes, the rains wash off more soil, and the rivers flood, and everyone suffers,” Dainyl pointed out.
“You know that, Submarshal, and I can figure it out, but the ones that suffer are downstream and out of sight, and people have trouble giving up coins for people they don’t know and might never see.”
Dainyl nodded. He knew what the overcaptain said was true, but it was a facet of lander thought that had always given him difficulty. How could they not see, especially when it was something taught in every school?
In the end, Dainyl only spent three glasses in Prosp, inspecting the one company in the compound and making a brief scrutiny of equipment and dispatch orders.
After eating a hearty if plain meal at the small mess serving the handful of Cadmian officers, he made his way back to the Table chamber, pondering the general order from Brekylt about the pteridon squares. It might have just been a reminder, but it also might have been a step in making sure Myrmidon companies could be moved quickly.
This time, the Recorder of Deeds for Prosp was waiting in the Table chamber. He was a comparatively young alector, Dainyl sensed, but he reeked of raw Talent. He bowed to Dainyl. “Submarshal, we had no word that you would be traveling to Prosp. For this reason, we regret that we were not here when you arrived.”
Dainyl kept his Talent-shields in place as he replied. “Even a Recorder of Deeds cannot be everywhere.”
“We would wish to be of service, Submarshal, but we cannot do so if we do not know when you will arrive.”
“You are forgiven,” Dainyl said with a smile, managing to keep the expression in place, even as he wished he had not delivered the gentle rebuke. He couldn’
t very well say that he didn’t want the Table guardians knowing when he would be arriving or where he was headed.
“Sir?” The recorder radiated displeasure.
Dainyl wanted to crush him for his youthful arrogance. Instead, he said, “I act at the request of the High Alector of Justice and under the command of the Duarch, and cannot offer explanations or schedules. If you wish, seek an explanation from them.”
This time, the recorder paled.
Dainyl stepped onto the Table, maintaining his shields even as he dropped through the silver-dark surface into the chill blackness below.
17
The spring sun that beat down on Mykel as he rode away from the harbor was as hot as it was in midsummer in Elcien, if not even hotter. Beside Mykel rode Captain Muerwyn, their guide and escort, as well as a company commander stationed at the Cadmian compound just northeast of Southgate itself.
“It’s only about half a vingt to the inner ring,” repeated Muerwyn. “We’ll take it until it intersects the northeast road out to the compound.”
Mykel turned in the saddle and looked back. So far as he could tell, Third Battalion continued to ride in good order. He turned his attention to the buildings on each side of the harbor boulevard. None were more than two stories in height, and the exterior walls were finished with white stucco. All followed the same plan he had seen in Dramuria, with few exterior windows and a central courtyard, although some of those courtyards were less than five yards on a side. From the depth of the few barred windows, Mykel judged that the thick walls themselves were either of brick or stone. The roofs, like those in Dramuria, were tiled, but the tile was a pale sandy red. The difference that stood out was that the walls of the houses and buildings in Dramuria had been of dressed gray stone, while every structure in Southgate was white, and the walls clearly had been continually washed in white over the years, so much so that Mykel found himself blinking from the intensity of the reflected light.
“This is the trade quarter?” he asked.
“Mostly, sir. There are some artisans and crafters. Mainly potters and stoneworkers.”
That also figured. There were no metals or coal nearby, and the area was too hot for sheep and too dry for cotton, and the nearest large forests were more than a hundred vingts to the north or east.
Mykel looked at the boulevard ahead, flanked by somewhat larger structures, although none were any taller than those he had already passed. A sign caught his eye—STYLEN AND SONS, FACTORS IN CLOTH. Rachyla had come from Stylan Estate in Dramur. Was the similarity a coincidence? He snorted softly. Although he’d been told that some wealthy seltyr families from Dramur had close ties to Southgate—and often interests in businesses there—Mykel doubted that Rachyla would have admitted being related to a mere cloth factor, even if it were so. An ironic smile crossed his lips at the thought.
He couldn’t help but wonder how she was doing, since her father’s estate had gone to a male cousin. Seltyr women could not inherit, a custom that bothered Mykel. His own sister Sesalia would certainly inherit from their parents—although it was unlikely that there would be that much for any of the three of them. Viencet would be the neediest, unless matters changed dramatically.
Mykel forced his attention back to the boulevard ahead. According to the maps he had studied, the center of Southgate was bounded by a ring road, and within the ring lived the more powerful and wealthy of the lander factors who controlled the trade and commerce of the city. Southgate was far more independent than any city except Dramuria, without any regional alector or Myrmidons. The closest administrative centers were in Ludar and Tempre.
Third Battalion had ridden less than half a vingt along the boulevard from the harbor before they neared the inner ring, arcing away from the boulevard in both directions. The pavement was smooth gray granite, and it was, unlike the other streets, a good thirty yards in width. The outer edge was bordered by a granite wall two yards high, except where other boulevards or streets entered the ring road. Mykel looked both east and west, but he saw no riders on the inner ring and only a single carriage heading on to his right, roughly southward. There was no one on foot.
“There’s not much traffic on the inner ring,” he observed.
“It’s reserved for horses and carriages,” Muerwyn replied. “Those on foot must use the outer lane.” He pointed.
Mykel’s eyes followed the captain’s gesture. A narrower lane ran outside the low wall, one with scattered pedestrians and peddlers.
“We’ll go left and pick up the boulevard on the northeast side of the ring,” Muerwyn said, turning his mount.
Mykel looked to his right, across the expanse of the ring road at a villa, the walls surrounding it a good four yards high. At each corner where the walls joined was a stone tower. The walls did not form a square or a rectangle, but a trapezoid. The side of the wall nearest him was roughly a half-vingt long. He looked ahead, still to his right, but farther along the ring road. There was another walled and apparently palatial villa, one of a number set in a circle inside the inner ring. Those walls were also white, glaring white.
“There seem to be quite a number of those villas,” offered Mykel.
“Thirteen, in all. The wall lengths are identical, but the villas within differ. Or so I’ve heard. They’re not terribly interested in inviting Cadmians to dine with them.”
“Where did all such wealthy landers come from?”
“Where do they come from anywhere?” replied Captain Muerwyn.
That wasn’t exactly a helpful answer, reflected Mykel. “Are most factors, or do their coins come from other sources?”
“I’d guess that half are factors, and perhaps a third own estates to the northwest. The lands to the northeast are not that fertile and better suited to grazing.”
“And the others?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. I’m from Dimor, myself.”
Mykel studied the walls, some sort of white granite, but not eternastone, at least not any that he knew. He hadn’t realized at first just how large each villa was, but he had ridden close to half a vingt paralleling just one wall. A quick estimate suggested that each trapezoid was roughly a half-vingt across the outer and larger side, a vingt in depth, and something like two fifths of a vingt across the shorter base.
Once past the first villa, Mykel glanced down the avenue toward the center of the area bounded by the inner ring road.
“All the villas face the square,” explained the captain.
Mykel said nothing, continuing to study the ring road and the villas. At the next intersection, he turned in the saddle for a better look. From what he could glimpse, there were no gates in the side walls, or those closest to the ring road. That meant any gate had to be on the wall that faced whatever might be in the center of the area bounded by the ring road.
There was a central circular area with steles of white stone, but before he could see more, his mount carried him past the road, and the walls of the next villa blocked his view of whatever lay down the radial road to the center of Southgate. “What’s down there?”
“The city center. It’s just a circular square with some columns. No markets, no taverns, or inns. Certainly, no pleasure houses.” Muerwyn gave a barking laugh.
Mykel turned in the saddle once more to look back, but the battalion remained in good riding order. He said nothing while they covered more than two vingts along the inner ring, instead studying what he could of Southgate. The more he saw, the more uneasy he felt, and it was not just the glaring whiteness of all the structures, yet he could sense nothing he could put a finger on.
The buildings outside the inner ring continued to resemble those he had seen earlier, resembling those in Dramuria, except for the whiteness of the walls. He felt as though they were little older, or perhaps even newer than those on Dramur. “Is Southgate a newer city?”
“Newer?” Muerwyn looked puzzled. “It has been here for centuries. How could it be new?”
“From what I can see, Southgate h
as no eternastone. There are no green towers within sight.”
“Eternastone is for roads, not buildings.”
That alone told Mykel that Muerwyn had not traveled far, but he asked anyway. “You’ve spent all your time with the Cadmians in Southgate?”
“No, sir. I started in Dimor, and then was posted to Zalt, before I was transferred to the compound here.”
Muerwyn might as well have spent all his time in Southgate, Mykel thought.
“There’s the northeast road ahead, the one with the pillars on each side,” announced the captain. “The compound is a little less than two vingts from here.”
The vanguard escort troopers turned onto the northeast road, and Mykel and Third Battalion followed. The dwellings and shops bordering the road became progressively smaller as the Cadmians rode on, but their plastered outer walls remained a shimmering white.
Even when Mykel could see the walls of the Cadmian compound—also white—and the half-vingt of open ground that separated the meaner inns and taverns from the compound itself, the pavement of the road remained granite…and not eternastone.
Southgate was not at all what he had expected, not in the slightest, and far more disturbing than Dramuria had been, although Mykel could not have said exactly why. He hoped he was mistaken.
18
As he dropped into the darkness, Dainyl immediately began to search for the maroon and blue locator vector wedge that was Dulka. Just when he had located it and begun to extend a Talent line to link to the Dulkan Table, he felt himself wrenched, grasped by shoulder and leg.
How could that be?
Purpleness flooded over his left side, like the arms from the Table in Alustre.
Although he could not turn physically in the translation tube, he extended his Talent senses. From what he could tell, the arms flowed from the silver locator that was Prosp. What was the young recorder trying to do? Trap him in the chill? Keep him there until his thoughts congealed in the cold?
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