Dainyl turned and walked back toward Galya. “I’ve seen what I needed to see.”
The petite Myrmidon nodded, but said nothing, taking her skylance and following him back through the building and out to the pteridons.
Undercaptain Fabrytal was waiting, as ordered, although a Cadmian squad leader hurried off as Dainyl dismounted.
“I was just making sure that your Myrmidons have quarters and food, sir.”
“They’ll appreciate that, Undercaptain, and so do I. I do have a few more questions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did all the rebels have sidearms?”
“So far as we could tell. We’re two short of matching with the uniforms, but we couldn’t find any more.”
“I appreciate your efforts, Undercaptain. I’ll take those off your hands, once we’re ready to depart.” Not only had the rebels used unauthorized weapons, but there was a chance some might even get into the hands of landers and indigens. Hadn’t Fahylt and his people thought at all? Or had he really thought he’d be able to set up some sort of independent state? Was that so infeasible if the Master Scepter was headed to Efra? “I need to see the majer. Is he at the compound?”
“No, sir. We didn’t have anyone who could help.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s being cared for by a chatelaine of one of the factors, sir.”
Dainyl could sense both fear and nervousness in the undercaptain, but not deception. There was also concern. Dainyl wanted to shake his head. He doubted many of his officers would risk themselves that much to protect him. “I’m not about to hurt him, Undercaptain.” Not now, not the way matters are going. “You and he have accomplished more than anyone could possibly have expected.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you would escort me, Undercaptain.”
“I’ll bring down a squad and some mounts, sir. How many do you need?”
“Just one.” Dainyl supposed he would have to ride, after all.
After the Cadmian hurried off, Dainyl turned and sought out the two Myrmidon captains, who had just finished organizing the pteridons by squad for the night.
“Fhentyl, Lyzetta. Make what arrangements you need for spaces and food with the Cadmians in the compound. I’ll be back in a while. The Cadmian majer was wounded, and I need to talk to him to find out some things.”
“We’ll be fine, sir. Do you want an escort?”
“The Cadmians have proved to be quite adequate,” Dainyl replied dryly.
Less than a half glass later, Dainyl was riding through a set of plain iron gates in the southwest of Tempre, accompanied by a full squad of armed Cadmians.
By the time he and Fabrytal had dismounted, two people stood under the small rotunda portico, and a functionary in gray stood to one side, radiating both fear and disapproval.
Of the two directly before the open doorway, one was a young man radiating the arrogance of privileged landers, dressed in the white of a seltyr factor. He appeared like a child in comparison to the woman, who, although young, carried herself with a certain maturity that reminded him of Lystrana.
The woman looked at Dainyl, ignoring Fabrytal. The submarshal recognized her—the Talent-resistant seltyr’s daughter. Her aura still showed resistance, but no actual Talent. What in the world was she doing in Tempre?
“What do you wish?” asked the young man. While his voice was polite, he reeked of self-centeredness.
“We’re here to speak to Majer Mykel.”
The man inclined his head to the woman. “That is the chatelaine’s affair. You are welcome as you please.” He stepped back and vanished into the small villa, as if glad to avoid dealing with Dainyl.
Another time, another place, Dainyl might have made an issue of it, but the lander was the type who would destroy himself soon enough, and Dainyl had greater concerns.
“Chatelaine?”
“He’s weak. No thanks to you.”
“I’d like to speak to him.”
“This way.” She turned.
Dainyl followed her through the modest-sized white-plastered entry hall and up a wide curved stairway to the second level. Fabrytal brought up the rear. The first door on the right was open, and she stepped through it.
“Someone to see you, Majer.” She stepped to one side, but did not leave the chamber.
Once more, Dainyl decided not to make an issue of her presence. He doubted anything that might be said would be new to her. He studied the majer, who was pale, but alert, sitting in a wide bed, bare-chested, with a sheet drawn partly over him. A light dressing covered his upper left arm.
“I received a report from Undercaptain Fabrytal.” Dainyl inclined his head to the junior officer. “About your handling of the rebels who tried to take over the regional administrative building.”
Mykel nodded, but did not speak.
“How did you know the…they were rebels?”
“That wasn’t hard. The one who talked to me called me a steer and said we had no authority to ask anything of him. He was also wearing the blue and gold, and they all had the same kind of sidearm you carry.” The majer closed his eyes for a moment.
Dainyl sensed he was as much exhausted as wounded, so exhausted Dainyl could barely detect any Talent at all.
“How did…hostilities start?”
“I asked if he was designated by the Duarch to take over the duties of the regional alector. He didn’t answer and threatened me with his sidearm. I asked where he had gotten it, since it was a Myrmidon weapon. He tried to shoot me. Things went from bad to worse, then.”
Dainyl could well imagine, and he didn’t need the detailed description. He knew more than enough. He smiled. “Once you recover, Majer, you are to withdraw to Hyalt and consolidate Third Battalion and complete your duties there. Until you depart Tempre, your forces are to withdraw from the administrative complex, but hold the compound. The Seventh Myrmidon company will be sharing the compound with you until you depart. They will take over guarding the administrative building. Both you and the Myrmidons are not to seek out any rebels, but should they appear, they should be destroyed.” Dainyl offered a smile. “I doubt that anyone will attack.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wish you a speedy recovery, Majer. You have done more than anyone would believe possible.”
Dainyl stepped back and let Loryalt lead the way down to the entry hall. The chatelaine followed. When he reached the front entry, Dainyl turned to her. “Thank you for your care of the majer, and for your courtesy in allowing us to see him.”
“It wasn’t courtesy. It was common sense. You have power. I do not.”
Although the words were far different from Lystrana’s, both in tone and style, there was still something about her that reminded Dainyl of his wife. “Good day, Chatelaine, and thank you.”
As he rode back to the compound, Dainyl considered the situation. The majer and his Cadmians had killed more than thirty-five alectors, perhaps as many as fifty, all armed with lightcutters. The details of the deaths would have to be kept quiet for many reasons. Dainyl would just report that more than thirty rebel alectors had been disposed of by forces under his command, and that in the conflict, the rebels had sabotaged the Table. That would need repair and replacement as soon as possible, as would the Table in Hyalt.
Dainyl had hoped to use the Tempre Table to return to Elcien, but now he would need to return to Dereka with Fifth Company and take the Table from there.
He’d also hoped to leave Cadmians to guard the complex, but that was out of the question now. They’d either get massacred, or they’d kill more alectors. The first alternative didn’t set well with Dainyl, and the second wouldn’t set well with either the High Alector of Justice or the Duarches. Dainyl doubted it would matter to Shastylt. As for Hyksant and Fhentyl knowing that the majer had Talent, he’d just tell them that the majer’s wounds had reduced his Talent, that he might not even recover, but that if it became a problem, he’d take care of it.
; Leaving Seventh Company wasn’t all disadvantageous. It would provide a logical reason for keeping the company in the west and out from any direct control by Alcyna. In fact, it would probably be days before she even discovered where the company was. Tables didn’t show pteridons and alectors.
Dainyl smiled at that—briefly. He had little enough to smile at these days.
94
Mykel had dreamed. That he knew when he struggled awake on Decdi. He also knew that the dreams had been anything but pleasant. He just didn’t recall exactly what they had been and was just as glad he didn’t. His back did not hurt him so much, but he felt far stiffer overall, and while he could move his left arm, any motion sent sharp pains from shoulder to fingertips.
The shutters to the wide window had been cracked, enough for him to tell that it was still early, not much after dawn, but not for him to see what he thought might be a small interior courtyard. The bronze wall lamp had been snuffed, and the room was dim.
He was slow in getting out of bed and making it to the adjoining bath chamber and facilities, tiled, and with running water, if only lukewarm, but a definite luxury he particularly appreciated, stiff and sore as he was. By the time he relieved himself, washed up some, and returned to bed, he felt exhausted, but he did manage to adjust the pillows to prop himself up. For a time, he just rested against the pillows, his eyes closed.
Sometime later, at the click of the door lever, he opened his eyes.
A young woman, scarcely more than a girl, dressed in the light gray smock of a retainer, over darker gray trousers stepped through the half-open door of the bedchamber. She carried a tray, but did not speak as she approached the bed. Her eyes avoided Mykel’s as she placed the tray on the side table. A second, older woman in gray appeared with a wooden bedtable that she placed over Mykel’s legs. Then the younger woman placed her tray on the bedtable. Both departed without a word.
Mykel looked at the meal on the tray—egg toast, perfectly golden, with breakfast browned potato strips, a fresh peach, sliced into crescents in a light clear syrup, three strips of beef in a cream gravy, a pitcher of steaming hot cider, and another one of ale, with two mugs. At the side was a small pitcher of berry syrup for the egg toast.
He ate slowly, and discovered he could not quite finish the beef. Usually, he would have preferred the hot cider, but good as it was, he found the ale settled more easily.
He wondered where Rachyla was. He recalled talking to her on Decdi afternoon—he thought that was the right day—but he found he did not remember what he had said. Why couldn’t he remember? He let himself rest on the pillows, trying to recall.
He must have dozed off, because he jerked awake at the sound of boots on the tile floor. The bedtable and tray had been removed, and he had not even noticed.
Rachyla stepped into the chamber and seated herself in the side chair, an image of perfection in dark green shimmersilk shirt and trousers, with a light green vest.
Mykel found himself smiling. “This is far better fare than I was ever able to provide for you. Thank you.”
“I am glad you recognize that, Majer.” As always, it seemed, her voice was cool. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Better.”
“That is good.”
“We talked yesterday, did we not?”
“We did.”
“I find I cannot remember.”
“That happens with head injuries, Majer. You have quite a lump on the side of your skull. You are fortunate it is so hard.”
“What did we talk about?”
“I asked you about how you became a Cadmian. I learned a great deal about your family. Then you feel asleep.”
Mykel wished he could recall the conversation.
“Sleep helps heal. You do look better. You could not have looked much worse.”
“I do feel better. It might be best if I did not remain longer.”
“Majer. Ruela reported that it took all your effort to walk to the wash-room and back. Amaryk and I could not afford to have you leave in such weakened condition. Neither your officers nor the submarshal would look kindly upon that. You will be here at least two more days. Longer if you do not regain your strength.”
“I did not wish to impose any more than I have.”
“Any damage you have done has already been incurred. Do not compound it by leaving before you are strong enough to do what you must.”
There was, unhappily, all too much wisdom in what she said, Mykel realized. He was weak. “I defer to your wisdom, chatelaine.”
“Would that others did.” Rachyla closed her mouth, as if she had said too much.
Mykel wasn’t sure how to reply in a way that did not appear either condescending or naïve about her situation. Finally, he asked, “What did you think about Submarshal Dainyl? Besides the fact that he’s one of the evil ones?”
“You should not mock one who offers you hospitality, Majer.”
“I apologize.” He paused. “I’d like your thoughts, but all you’ve ever said is that he’s evil.”
“All the alectors are. Their presence on our world is evil.” Rachyla shifted her weight in the side chair slightly, turning to face Mykel directly. “Some are evil merely by their presence, and do not add to that evil. Others would be evil upon whatever world from which they come. Some few, although evil by their presence, strive to do their duties without creating more unfairness and unhappiness. The submarshal is more powerful now than he was in Dramur. He will create even more evil by attempting to do what he sees as good. Few of the other alectors will appreciate what he does, but will fear to oppose him directly. That makes matters exceedingly dangerous for those who must do his bidding or be near him—as you have twice discovered.”
Mykel nodded. “That is true.”
“My words, Majer, are but those of a mere woman.”
“As I have told you, Rachyla, more than once, you never have been nor ever will be a ‘mere’ woman.”
“You waste words on flattery, Majer.”
“Truth is not flattery,” he replied. “My words may be unwelcome, but they are neither wasted nor untrue.”
“Such gallantry. So wasted.”
Not upon you, not that it will make any difference. “Gallantry is all that I can offer at the moment.”
He thought he caught the hint of a smile in Rachyla’s eyes, but if it had been there, it vanished immediately as she stood. “I am glad that you are improving. You need to rest, Majer.”
“I fear I have little choice.”
“You do not. I will check the dressing on your arm this afternoon.” With a quick nod, she turned.
Mykel listened to her boots on the tile, fading away.
He closed his eyes.
95
Although Fifth Company had lifted off from Tempre less than a glass past dawn, the last pteridon did not set down at the Myrmidon compound in Dereka until little more than a glass before sunset on Decdi. Dainyl was stiff, sore, and tired, and decided that making a Table translation to Elcien that evening, much as he wanted to see Lystrana, would be unwise. He needed to go into whatever awaited him relatively fresh and rested. Even on an end-day evening, there might be less than pleasant surprises awaiting him.
While he slept relatively well, he awoke just before dawn, and was at the recorder’s goldenstone building little more than a glass later. He wore his flying jacket, and under it, not obviously, two fully charged sidearms.
Unsurprisingly, Jonyst waited for Dainyl in the recorder’s library just above the steps that led down to the Table chamber.
The recorder rose from the armchair where he had been perusing a sheaf of papers. “Good morning, Submarshal.”
“Good morning, Recorder.”
“I’ve been watching events through the Table—as I could.” Jonyst paused. “Before I forget, you should know. Yadaryst came in and used the Table last evening. It was, I’d say, less than a glass after you and Fifth Company returned. He was in a hurry. He hasn’t return
ed.” Jonyst’s black eyes held a humorous glint.
“I don’t imagine he told you where he was translating?”
“No, but the only Table on the grid that showed activity after he left was the one at Ludar.” Jonyst grinned. “I did tell him that the Tables at Hyalt and Tempre weren’t functioning.”
“They both need substantial repairs.”
Jonyst’s grin vanished.
“From the mess they left, it looks like Fahylt’s personal forces did something they shouldn’t have in Tempre. A section of the Table exploded. The Table in Hyalt…the power crystal was shattered. Other than that…it looked to be fine.”
“I know you’re in a hurry, Submarshal, but would you mind explaining?”
Dainyl did, although his explanation dealt with the two regional alectors and their forces, and the actions of the Myrmidons and Cadmians—and, of course, the apparent support of Rhelyn and his rebels by Veluara and Quivaryt. Dainyl did not say more about the damage to the Tables, or the ancients. When he finished, he waited for Jonyst to speak.
“You’ve forced a number of people to act before they were ready, and others to decide whom they will support before the outcome is clear.” The elderly recorder cleared his throat. “You will not be popular with many of the High Alectors or with the Duarch Samist. Khelaryt will be pleased, but he can do little to support you directly.”
“How do you read the east?”
“Brekylt and Alcyna will disavow any support of Rhelyn, and they will claim Captain Veluara acted without orders. Quivaryt will continue to build forces for them in Dulka. Sulerya and Captain Sevasya will become more isolated, and Sevasya will have trouble getting certain supplies unless you ship them directly from the west. Shortly, Alcyna will request that Seventh Company be returned to Dulka.”
Dainyl nodded, thinking that it might be wisest simply to post Seventh Company to Tempre for a time, or even permanently. That would cause hardship for some of the Myrmidons, at least temporarily, but he could probably find ways to get the immediate families of those few who had them to Tempre. That would also put a check on Fahylt as well, particularly if Dainyl kept in close touch with Captain Lyzetta. “What else? You have seen far more over the years…”
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