“Majer…is your squad ready?” asked the submarshal.
“Yes, sir.” Mykel paused. “Most of the city is shuttered. We didn’t see anyone anywhere near the boulevards or the main roads. There is a new compound to the east. It appears to be where the forces we fought yesterday were based. I have it under observation.”
“A wise precaution.” The submarshal’s tone was dry. “If they are…unavailable, it may prove a suitable basing point for you and your forces. We’ll discuss that later, if necessary. For now, we need to take the alector’s headquarters here. You may not find anyone inside, but we need to make sure. Check the lower levels carefully. Once you’ve secured each level, send one of your men to report. If you see any alectors, unless they surrender immediately, withdraw and inform me. I’ll await your reports here.”
“Yes, sir.” Mykel rode back to the front of the column. “Third squad forward!” He had picked third squad because the majority of rankers were settled veterans, and he was familiar with them.
He dismounted at the foot of the steps, and handed the roan’s reins to one of the Cadmians who would maintain a close watch on the front entry. After the others dismounted, he ordered. “Squad forward.”
Mykel held his rifle at the ready, although he let the third squad scout go up the wide stone steps to the arched entry first behind the stone pillars. He and Ryket—the squad leader—followed, flanked by two other rankers.
The circular entry hall, beyond the plain granite arches and the four-yard-high double golden oak doors, bound in brass, soared a full two stories. The edge of the hall was ringed with goldenstone columns, set in pairs, roughly four yards apart. Octagonal green and gold marble tiles comprised the floor, with black diamonds filling the spaces between the larger octagonal tiles. In the middle of the hall was a statue of the Duarches. It might have been a duplicate of the one in the square in Hyalt.
The echo of boots on stone heightened the feeling of emptiness.
From the entry hall, two wide corridors branched. Mykel took half the squad and took the left corridor, sending Ryket and the other ten men down the right side. All the studies and spaces along the corridor that paralleled the front of the structure were empty.
“Spooky, sir,” murmured Mergeyt, the ranker following Mykel. “No one here, and it’s not even an end-day.”
“They didn’t have the ability to stand up to us.” And the pteridons, and they knew we were both coming. The decision to abandon the building and Tempre made sense to Mykel. He just wondered where they’d all gone and how they’d known the Cadmians and Myrmidons were on the way.
There was not a single person in the upper two stories of the structure, and yet it was as if everyone had walked away from their studies and desks and left everything in place, as if they knew they would be back—after an inconvenience.
The other matter was that every door had been left unlocked and unbolted—except one, a slightly larger door set in a stone frame in the northwest corner of the building. It might have been a storage closet, but Mykel didn’t think so. He could sense the residue of the purple energies of alectors.
“What do you think, sir?” asked Ryket.
“There might be a staircase behind that. If anyone’s left, they’ll be down there. Let’s see.” Mykel studied the lock, protected with some form of energy. “Stand back. Rifles ready.”
“Rifles ready.”
Mykel decided to try his shields, struggling with the unseen grayness, before he raised his own weapon, concentrating, squeezing the trigger, and willing the bullet to the lock.
The lock exploded, and one of the fragments slammed into Mykel. He rocked back, glad he had thought about the shields. Several chunks of bronze lay on the green marble tiles at his feet.
“…see that?”
“Open it,” Mykel ordered quickly, as much to cut off murmurs and rumors as to see what lay behind the door.
Ryket stepped forward, rifle in one hand, then pulled the door lever, stepping back quickly and bringing up his rifle as the door swung open. No one stood behind the door. There was a narrow landing at the top of a narrow circular stone staircase leading downward. So far as Mykel and third squad had been able to determine, the staircase was the first access to the underground sections of the building that they had seen.
Mykel almost nodded. He could sense more strongly the pinkish purpleness that suggested alectors had been here recently. “Ryket, dispatch someone to the submarshal. Have him report that the upper levels are clear and that we’re proceeding down to the lower level. Make sure he reports to the submarshal that none of the studies or chambers were locked, except the one to this staircase.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mykel gestured to the scout. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He followed the scout down the circular stone staircase, a staircase that extended far more than one level, it seemed to Mykel. At the bottom was another corridor running back eastward, apparently underneath those above. It was lit dimly by a series of lights in brackets affixed to the stone walls. The lights were unfamiliar to Mykel, providing a steady glow, but he saw no oil reservoir beneath them.
The sense of alectors was stronger, but not strong enough to suggest any that close. Mykel took several steps to the first door on the right. Opening it revealed a small storeroom, one in which linens and towels were stacked, presumably for use in the wash chambers on the top level, off the large study presumably used by the regional alector.
Mykel studied the corridor. There were no doors on the left side, at least not for the next twenty yards. The next door revealed a carpentry and cabinetry shop, where the tools were neatly racked. The door after that showed an empty chamber.
Ahead on the left was the only doorway on that side of the corridor, and it was set in stone. The sense of purple was stronger behind that door, and the entire door was encased in the kind of energy that had bound the lock that had exploded.
The scout reached for the handle. “It’s locked. The handle…it feels funny.”
“Leave it.” Mykel turned to Ryket. “Send another messenger to the submarshal. Tell him that everything’s clear except one room that may have some alectors in it.”
“You think so, sir?”
“If they’re anywhere, they’re here.” Mykel smiled faintly. “I don’t think I want to try to shoot open another lock.”
“Ah…no, sir.”
“We’ll just wait here for the submarshal.” Mykel stepped back.
While the door suggested something of power lay behind it, Mykel wasn’t about to investigate, not after what had happened with the lock on the door to the lower level.
79
As he flew leading the Myrmidons of first squad in observing the majer’s advance into the city, Dainyl realized that he had not seen a single rider anywhere on the main roads. The wide boulevards were empty, something he had never seen in any city in all his years of flying. Even the great river piers were empty.
When the Cadmian forces were at last drawn up before the gray granite structure that held the regional alector and the functionaries who normally administered the area around Tempre, Dainyl circled the area, barely above the gray slate tiles of the roof, glancing down at the open and empty courtyard in the center of the gray granite building. Then he brought his pteridon down onto the stones of the paved area before the building.
After giving the majer his orders on entering and checking the building, he dismounted, then stretched his legs and walked around. Finally, he settled back to wait, although he kept his eyes and senses checking the area.
A quarter of a glass later or so, he walked toward Hyksant. “Send someone up, not Galya, to fly recon around us.”
“Yes, sir.” Hyksant gestured. “Brytra, for the next glass, you get to do recon around the city. If you see anything we should know about, get back to us.”
Brytra nodded, and in moments, she and her pteridon were airborne.
Several moments passed before the undercap
tain spoke again. “The RA didn’t want to stay around, sir.”
“It doesn’t look like anyone did.”
“He has to have thrown in with the rebels in Hyalt, then. Why else would he leave?”
Dainyl nodded. Why indeed? Also, the recorder had to have been involved. How else would Fahylt have known when and where to send out his Alector’s Guard?
More important from a personal standpoint, Hyksant’s observations illustrated that all too much of what Dainyl had felt and assumed for some time was anything but obvious to all but a handful of people. That meant that, if matters did not go well, his position would soon be untenable. The two letter dispatches in his tunic would help—but only if he succeeded in his plan. If not, worst of all, his failure could reflect adversely on Lystrana and Kytrana. Dainyl hadn’t forgotten what had happened to Kylana after Zestafyn had gotten involved in matters where the senior alectors around Samist hadn’t wanted him.
He walked back to his own pteridon, forcing himself to wait, occasionally looking up into the cloudless silver-green sky to make sure that Brytra was continuing her surveillance of Tempre. The day was hot and still, and finally, he took off his flying jacket, folded it, and slipped it into the gear bag.
A glass passed before the first Cadmian returned, trotting up, then stiffening and reporting. “Submarshal, sir. The first two floors of the building are empty, sir. There’s no one there, and none of the doors were even locked. There was one locked door leading to a lower level. The majer and the squad are checking that out now.”
“How did they unlock it? Did they force the door?” Dainyl was more than idly curious.
“The majer shot the lock with his rifle. It…it sort of exploded.”
“That will be all. You can remain with the other Cadmians.” In the event that something else did befall the majer, Dainyl wanted the Cadmian ranker as a witness. He hoped Majer Mykel would hurry in his investigations, because he suspected that Fahylt was already in either Alustre or Ludar claiming that Dainyl had overreached himself and his authority as a Myrmidon submarshal. If he didn’t deal quickly with Hyalt, he well might not be a submarshal—or anything—for much longer.
“Yes, sir.” The ranker turned and headed back to the squad patrolling the front of the building.
As he waited, Dainyl considered the implications. The tactical retreat made sense, especially since it was clear that Fahylt had not yet developed his local troopers into a truly effective fighting force. The complete and orderly withdrawal indicated that the regional alector believed he would be back in Tempre rather quickly. He couldn’t have withdrawn all the landers and indigens—or even the lesser alectors who could not use a Table. They had just been ordered to stay at home until the RA returned. All that, in turn, suggested fairly strong backing from Duarch Samist, since Brekylt was not yet in a position to make such a commitment. Or was he?
Or had all of them worked out something with Shastylt, instead of Brekylt? Dainyl had been ordered to keep his operation secret. If it failed, Shastylt could deny everything and insist that Dainyl had been attempting something unauthorized—or even a coup of some sort. Dainyl was running out of time—and he felt that he’d hardly begun.
Less than a quarter of a glass passed before the second Cadmian appeared, hurrying across the paving stones to Dainyl.
“Submarshal, sir. The majer wanted you to know that there’s a locked and sealed door on the underground level. He thinks there might be alectors behind it, and he awaits your orders, sir.”
“Thank you. Where is the staircase down to that level.”
“On the back side, in the corner, sir.” The Cadmian pointed toward the northwest.
“Remain with your company here.” Dainyl turned and crossed the graystone pavement separating him from Hyksant, who stood beside his pteridon. “I’ll need Galya—with her lance.”
“The lances…”
“I know. They’re only good for one discharge away from the pteridons. Two at best. But I still might need that.” He doubted he would. He needed Galya—or some Myrmidon—for an entirely different purpose, because he didn’t want Majer Mykel anywhere near that door and what had to lie behind it.
“Galya! Take your lance and accompany the submarshal.”
The two Myrmidons crossed the space between the pteridons and the patrolling Cadmians, who moved aside as Dainyl and Galya neared the stone steps up to the stone columns at the top and the arched entry beyond. Once inside the empty foyer hall, Dainyl lengthened his stride and hurried toward the far corner of the building.
Two Cadmians stood guarding the top of the staircase.
Even before he reached the door, Dainyl could sense that the door had been Talent-locked. He nodded. At least, the majer hadn’t discovered about Talent-locks and how to undo them. He’d just applied brute force—and that wouldn’t work in places like the doors to Tables.
“They’re down here, sir,” offered the shorter Cadmian.
“Thank you.” Dainyl made his way past them and down the circular staircase.
Galya followed, more slowly and farther behind, in order to maneuver her skylance without hitting Dainyl.
The Cadmians had formed a semicircle—all with their weapons aimed at the door. The majer stepped away from his men to meet Dainyl.
“Majer, you and your men have done well. I’d like you and all your men to clear this area. We may need to use the skylance to break through the door. Station two guards at the top of the steps. From now on, until you have further orders, no one—absolutely no one but me and any Myrmidons with me—is to come down here on this level. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” The Cadmian officer stiffened.
“What I am doing may take several glasses. It might even take longer. During that time, I’d like you to return to direct command of the Cadmians outside the building. In my absence, Undercaptain Hyksant is in command of the Myrmidons.”
“Yes, sir. By your leave, sir?”
“By my leave.”
“Third squad, back up the stairs,” ordered the majer. “Ryket, lead the way.”
Dainyl waited until all the Cadmians had left and were up the staircase.
“Do you want the lance now, sir?” asked Galya.
“I hope you won’t need it, yet. I’m going to try a sidearm first. Stand back.”
Dainyl triggered just the slightest burst from the weapon, barely a trickle, then released the Talent-locks on the door. He stepped forward and tried the door lever, then turned to Galya. “I’m going in. If anyone but me steps out through this door, whether they’re an alector or not, flame them. Don’t hesitate. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl held one lightcutter ready, checked the other at his belt, and hoped he wouldn’t need the one tucked inside his tunic. He opened the door. A quick glance and scan with his Talent indicated that the Table chamber was empty. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. As with the last time he had visited Tempre, there was nothing in the chamber except for the light-torches mounted on the walls and the Table itself.
The lack of energy around the Table was clear. The Table had been shut down.
Dainyl smiled. He would have been surprised if Patronyl had not inactivated it. Dainyl looked toward the hidden rooms, concealed behind both Talent-illusions and Talent-locks.
He didn’t bother with the illusions, but simply unlocked the hidden door and watched, shields at full, sidearm in hand, as the stone slid away to reveal—behind the illusion—the narrow passageway. Patronyl’s aura was obvious, but the recorder did not appear.
Dainyl stepped forward, waiting.
A thin alector appeared, standing in the opening, letting the illusion dissolve. His eyes were a pale violet, and he held a lightcutter in his hand. “Ah…the formidable Submarshal Dainyl. I should have known you were more than you seemed.” He fired the lightcutter even before he finished speaking.
The bluish beam flared around Dainyl and his shields.
&nbs
p; Dainyl took three long steps forward, drawing the second lightcutter. He fired both sidearms at Patronyl. At the same time, he forced a Talent-bolt at the recorder.
The lightbeams fragmented, splashing onto the stone, but Patronyl retreated a step.
Dainyl moved forward, two more steps.
The recorder triggered his weapon again, this time following it with a Talent-thrust, but the lightbeam and Talent-blast flared around Dainyl, who took several more steps forward.
Patronyl stepped back once more, and extended a Talent-probe, trying to close the stone entrance on Dainyl. The submarshal deflected the Talent-probe and extended his shields, trapping the recorder against the stone.
Dainyl’s forehead was hot, and sweat began to pour down his face as he forced his shields tighter and tighter around the recorder. Patronyl started to lift the lightcutter again, but did not trigger it. Instead, his brows furrowed, and he attempted to create a tunnel through Dainyl’s shields.
Dainyl contracted his shields once more, crumpling the half-formed Talent-tunnel designed to funnel the force of the lightcutter at him.
Patronyl’s face began to redden as the shields tightened, his own efforts being contracted around him as well.
Abruptly his shields collapsed.
Rather than spend more of his own Talent energy, Dainyl fired the lightcutter in his right hand, retracting his shields from the recorder only in the instant before he fired. The recorder’s face turned black, and then ashes filtered to the floor, vanishing as they did, leaving only an empty green tunic and trousers fluttering to the floor.
Keeping his shields in place around him, Dainyl stepped into the passageway and over the heap of shimmersilk garments and boots, trying to sense if any of Patronyl’s assistants remained. The first chamber on the right—clearly the recorder’s study—held a small desk, a narrow bed, and a black chest. The sole hanging on the wall was a painting of Tempre, showing the twin green towers.
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