Slowly he forced himself off the too-short pallet bunk and into a sitting position. Then he stood and pulled on the rest of his uniform. After gathering himself together and taking care of various necessities, he returned to the way station proper, and to the corner where rations were laid out. At least there was some ale. He poured some from the pitcher into one of the tin mugs and took a long swallow. He didn’t see Fhentyl, but Galya was standing to one side.
“Galya?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you bury that…weapon?”
The Myrmidon nodded. “Yes, sir.” She shook her head. “Could tell that wasn’t something anyone needed to use.”
“Don’t tell me where. Don’t tell anyone else about it.”
“No, sir.”
“You’re to accompany me on a quick flight—after I have something more to eat. I need to convey some orders to the Cadmians before we leave.”
“I’ll get my gear and wait for you outside, sir.”
Dainyl nodded, his mouth full.
When he did leave the way station, heading for his own pteridon, he saw Fhentyl.
The captain was standing beside his pteridon, checking his gear. “We’ll be ready in less than a glass, sir.”
“That’s fine. I’m flying over to the Cadmians, with some last orders. I won’t be gone long. Galya will accompany me.”
“We’ll be waiting, sir.” Fhentyl’s tone remained very formal.
Dainyl could sense the underlying fear and concern, and a deeper puzzlement, possibly a questioning of why anyone would pit one company of Myrmidons against another. He offered a smile. “We won’t be long,” he repeated, turning toward his own pteridon.
Although he was stiff, in moments he was in the saddle and harness and airborne, with Galya flying wing to his left. Farther to the southwest, he could make out faint wisps of smoke still rising from the burned out building.
After he landed on the slight slope to the west of the old garrison—he didn’t feel like trying to squeeze the pteridon into the narrow space east of the walls—Dainyl dismounted, but he wasn’t about to seek out Captain Rhystan. He was far too sore, and he still had a day’s flying ahead of him. Fortunately, he did not have to send Galya for the captain, or even to wait long.
The senior captain walked briskly from the old garrison out to the pteridons and their fliers. He headed directly to Dainyl.
“Submarshal, sir?”
“Captain, the Myrmidons will be leaving shortly. You are to continue with your primary duties of completing the Cadmian compound and readying the two companies to take over once the compound is completed. In the meantime, you are to mount a patrol of the area around the regional alector’s compound. Your principal task is to keep all locals and foragers out of the burned-out building and tunnels. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Rhystan’s voice was pleasant, but formal.
“I cannot say when a regional alector will return, or when the complex will be rebuilt. You will doubtless be notified, if Third Battalion is still deployed here. Majer Mykel may be tied up in Tempre for a while longer, or he may return within the week. We’ll be heading there next. You’ll remain in command here until he returns.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any questions, Captain?”
Rhystan paused, then frowned. “Are there…were there any survivors who escaped? Third Battalion did not see any, but it would be good to know…”
“Not so far as we know. If there are any, they cannot number more than a handful, if that. I do not think they will bother you.”
“Yes, sir.” Rhystan stepped back, respectfully watching, as Dainyl mounted his pteridon.
Lift off…to the northeast… The pteridon burst into the air.
As he climbed, Dainyl surveyed the grasslands, now universally golden, and then the high road, with only a handful of wagons and riders, far fewer than would be the case to the north and west, especially on the high roads bordering the Bay of Ludel. From the air, the new Cadmian compound looked nearly finished, except for the piles of stone both within and outside the walls, and the dirt road that led down to the high road.
After landing the pteridon north of the way station, he immediately dismounted, concealing the wince he felt at the soreness in overstrained muscles.
Fhentyl appeared immediately. “We’re still headed to Tempre, sir?”
“Yes. We’ll overnight there. There is space for both companies.” Dainyl glanced past the captain to see Lyzetta standing back a distance, waiting to talk to him.
Fhentyl turned. “The undercaptain wanted a word with you.” With a nod, he stepped away. “We’re ready whenever you give the word, sir.”
“It won’t be long.” Dainyl gestured for Lyzetta to join him. “You wanted to speak to me, Undercaptain?”
“Yes, sir. Will you be assigning an officer to command Seventh Company?”
“Not at the moment. You will remain in command.”
“Captain Veluara had placed Asyrk as senior, junior only to Klynd.” Lyzetta’s voice was even, but there was tension behind it.
“I’d like to see him. I’ll talk to you both.”
“Yes, sir. Just a moment, sir.”
Dainyl had the feeling he knew what was coming. With Veluara having been appointed to command by Alcyna, how could it have been otherwise?
When, moments later, Lyzetta returned with an angular alector, Dainyl barely managed to refrain from nodding. He could sense the slightly darker purple of an Ifryt translated, not recently, but within the past few years, and shields stronger than those of any normal undercaptain.
“Submarshal, sir?” Asyrk inclined his head politely. “You wished to see me?”
“I wanted to see you both.”
Lyzetta looked intently at the other undercaptain, and Dainyl understood immediately why she had raised the question. It also confirmed his decision to have her hear Asyrk’s story. She already suspected his origin, and as Asyrk’s commander, which she would be, if Dainyl allowed Asyrk to live, she should know his background details.
“Yes, sir.” Asyrk’s eyes met Dainyl’s.
Behind the level gaze, Dainyl could sense apprehension, if not outright fear. “Asyrk. How is Illustra these days? Or recently, should I ask?”
“You knew about Veluara, didn’t you, sir?” When Dainyl did not reply, the undercaptain went on, “Will you destroy me, too, Submarshal?”
“I might. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
Asyrk squared his broad shoulders. “Illustra will not last long, sir. It might not be another year. When I departed two years ago, there had been three attempts to overthrow the Archon. In the last one, he destroyed more than a score of pteridons. Each effort and the Archon’s reactions to each have destroyed lifeforce more swiftly. Alectresses who gave birth without permission were being secretly executed, along with their husbands and children. Their relatives were told that they had been translated to Acorus or Efra….”
Lyzetta’s eyes widened at the last. Dainyl could not honestly admit he was surprised. Shocked at the coldness of the Archon’s actions, but not surprised. He continued to listen.
“…my company was ordered west to Elunin. When we returned, my wife had vanished. No one would say—or could say—where she had gone or why, except that she had been there on a Tridi and the house was empty on Quattri. She would not have left like that. When I could, I searched for her, for over a year. All I found out was from an old indigen who swept the floors of the Hall of Justice. He said that all the relatives of Majer Ilusyrn had disappeared. She was the daughter of his cousin. A daughter of a distant cousin!”
“I take it Ilusyrn displeased someone?” asked Dainyl.
“He led the second Myrmidon revolt. He claimed that the marshal and the Archon had been removing all the officials who opposed their plans for the diaspora to Acorus and Efra. He offered proof that many of the families of those around the Archon were already on Efra—those who survived the tran
slation, I suppose.”
“How did you manage to get to Acorus?”
“My cousin was a recorder. He told me a few things, but he was afraid to help me. I bided my time, and brought him some of the best Laeso red wine—twenty golds a bottle, but what did I care? I drugged it, of course, but with fheln. It’s not toxic, so that you can’t sense it. It just combines with alcohol to put people to sleep. The fheln cost three times what the wine did, and it took me months to obtain. When he and his assistant went to sleep, I got onto the Table.” Asyrk shrugged. “If Caela had been translated, I had one chance in two to end up on the right world. If she’d been killed, what did it matter which world I ended up on?”
“Didn’t you know the risks? Only one in three or four survive a long translation.”
“Remaining on Ifryn was certain death, and no one was going to let a mere Myrmidon undercaptain make a translation to a better world.” Asyrk stopped, waiting.
“Where did you end up here, and how did anyone let you become a Myrmidon?”
“I got to Norda—I suppose it could have been anywhere—and I told the recorder there that I was a Myrmidon undercaptain who’d been forced to make the long translation.” A half smile crossed Asyrk’s lips. “That was mostly true.. He didn’t know whether to believe me or not. So he turned me over to Majer Noryan. He didn’t know me, but he’d heard of me…”
Lyzetta frowned.
Dainyl almost nodded. Another confirmation of his suspicions about Noryan.
“…and he put me in his company, where he could watch me. I was an assistant armorer for a while, until he lost someone to the ancients. Then I started flying again.”
“Why did he send you to Seventh Company?”
“He told me to obey Captain Veluara, and I’d do fine. I didn’t, and he said he’d make sure that the submarshal in Elcien would find out who I was, and I’d end up like Majer Faerylt. So…now you know anyway, sir.”
Despite the undercaptain’s shields, Dainyl could tell every word, or close to every word, had been the truth. He had the feeling that getting to the Table had not been quite so easy or clean as Asyrk had indicated, but the feelings about his wife, and particularly about the state of affairs on Ifyn, rang all too true. So did the part about obeying Veluara. By threatening to reveal the identity of unauthorized translations, Alcyna and Noryan could build personal allegiance without revealing any of their plans.
Dainyl let the silence continue for a moment before clearing his throat gently. “Seventh Company has been through enough change, undercaptains.” He smiled grimly. “Here is my decision. Captain Lyzetta will command Seventh Company. Asyrk, you will be the senior undercaptain, but only so long as Lyzetta remains hale and healthy. Should anything happen to her, you will no longer be a Myrmidon. If I’m terribly displeased, you may not be anything at all. Is that clear?”
Asyrk inclined his head, then raised it. His eyes contained relief. “Yes, sir. Anything the captain needs, all she need do is ask.”
Dainyl looked to Lyzetta. “Captain, prepare Seventh Company for departure.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl turned and walked back toward his pteridon.
He thought he had read the situation correctly. He hoped so. With all the deaths over the past week, he didn’t want to add more. He also wanted to convey absolutely that he judged on an individual basis. What Asyrk had said about the Archon’s entourage suggested that the Archon had already planned to transfer the Master Scepter to Efra. Did Zelyert and Shastylt already know that? If so, why were they going on with the charade? Did that mean that both the Duarches were doomed to be replaced?
Dainyl had felt matters were less than good, but hearing what Asyrk had said had chilled him to his core.
He checked his gear, and then climbed into the saddle and harness deliberately. On the flight north, he needed to reconsider his plans.
93
The white sun was less than a glass from setting, hanging over the River Vedra and the hills to the northwest of Tempre, when Dainyl brought his pteridon down in a gentle circle around the complex of the regional alector. As he descended, he could see a Cadmian patrol stationed in the now-shadowed plaza before the building. After another pass, he could make out the telltale marks of lightcutter sidearms on the pavement. Yet the Cadmians were guarding the plaza. That meant the majer had repulsed armed alectors. If he had tried and failed, the Cadmians would have withdrawn.
Back to the east…down in front of the compound…on the flat. The pteridon complied, as always, flaring and setting down with scarcely a jolt. Stiff and sore as he was, Dainyl dismounted quickly.
The other pteridons landed, then moved into formation to conserve space, before a Cadmian undercaptain hurried from the compound toward the submarshal.
He halted several yards short of Dainyl. “Submarshal, Undercaptain Fabrytal, sir.”
“Undercaptain? Where is Majer Mykel?”
“He was wounded, Submarshal, sir. It looks like he’ll recover.” Before Dainyl could ask more, the undercaptain plunged on. “Some of the rebels came back. I don’t know where they came from. We were patrolling as you ordered, sir. All of a sudden, someone was claiming he was in charge. When the majer asked if he was appointed by the Duarches, they started using those weapons—like the one you have. The majer organized an attack, and we finished them off. They killed two squads of our men. The majer got us behind the stone walls and kept us shooting. Took most of the day, but we finally pushed them inside the building, and the majer led second squad in after them.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Yesterday, sir. It started early in the morning.”
That was better than it could have been. At least, he could use the Table and get back to Elcien before too many rumors circulated.
“How did the majer get wounded?”
“I don’t know, sir. That is, he and the squad with him pushed the few rebels left down to the lower level, and then there was an explosion. One of the majer’s arms was burned, not too badly, but he got thrown into the stones when part of the wall exploded.”
An explosion near the Table? Dainyl didn’t like that at all. “What sort of explosion?”
“That room we couldn’t enter. It was in there. We had to lift some stones off the majer. Not many, but it blew out the door and the casement.”
Worse yet. Dainyl forced himself to ask another question. “Have you seen any more of the rebels?”
“The scouts have seen one or two in that blue uniform, from a vingt or so away, but they’re keeping their distance. They might be stragglers from the Alector’s Guard. They’ve been too far away to tell for sure.”
“Do you have men in the regional administrative building?”
“Just two, to make sure no one tries to sneak in and take anything. We stacked all the boots and uniforms in that entry hall. I wasn’t sure where the majer wanted them. Those sidearms, I’ve got those locked in the armory here.”
“I think I’d better take a look at the building first. I’ll fly over there and be back shortly. Wait for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl hated getting on the pteridon again, but it was quicker than riding a horse, and certainly wouldn’t get him any sorer. Galya accompanied him.
They left their pteridons right in front of the steps up to the entrance.
One of the Cadmians rankers ran ahead, calling out, “Submarshal’s coming in.”
Dainyl appreciated that. He didn’t need Cadmians—or anyone—taking shots at him, although he did hold his shields. Once inside the entry hall, he saw the rebel alectors’ uniforms—all shimmersilk blue and lifeforce-treated—and boots. The boots were easier to count—thirty-seven pair.
He shook his head.
So did Galya. “Sir…? Did the Cadmians…did they?”
“They did. The majer can be quite resourceful.”
“Too bad he’s not a Myrmidon.”
Dainyl chuckled. “That would solve more t
han a few problems.” But then, it just might create even more.
Dainyl sensed no one else in the building as he made his way along the corridors and then walked down to the lower level. Galya followed, carrying her skylance.
Once he left the stairs to the lowest level and looked along the corridor, he could see and sense the devastation.
“Looks like something exploded, sir,” offered Galya.
Dainyl nodded. “Wait right here.”
“Yes, sir.”
He made his way to where the entry to the Table chamber had been, now an oblong opening in the stone wall, and peered inside. The top of the Table looked the same as ever, but one section of the base had blown away, with enough force that what remained of the edges of the stone entryway had been pushed a yard into the corridor, and the door lay broken in three sections, despite the heavy iron straps. How the majer had even survived, Dainyl had no idea.
Picking his way among the rubble, Dainyl surveyed the Table chamber. He found four sets of blue shimmersilk uniforms and boots, as well as four lightcutters, all fully discharged.
What had happened?
Had the majer trapped them and somehow had someone fired a lightcutter into the Table? Or had they had someone who’d been trained as a recorder and who had tried to do too much with the Table?
For all of the majer’s abilities, Dainyl doubted that the Cadmian could have done anything to cause a Table to explode. Although…
Dainyl frowned. Perhaps he’d never know. Not for certain.
One thing was sure. More than thirty alectors, all with lightcutters, had been in the building. Had they all translated in? From where? Dulka was the most likely source, but perhaps some had been local alectors. Even so, it was clear that there were far more alectors on Acorus than the Duarches knew—or that they acknowledged. No wonder lifeforce growth was slower than projected.
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