The Lord-Protector's Daughter

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Once everyone had eaten and the hunters had departed, Mykella made her way to the library adjoining her father’s official study—as opposed to the small private study off his quarters. She wasn’t in the mood to read, but she knew that Rachylana wouldn’t follow her there. She did spend a little time looking through the shelves, until she found an old leather-bound volume entitled History of Lanachrona.

  Although she had not seen the book before and leafed through it eagerly, she found very little on Mykel the Great, just a short chapter at the beginning. The opening words clearly foreshadowed what followed:

  The history of Lanachrona as an independent land began immediately after the Great Cataclysm with the arrival in Tempre of a Cadmian Majer who commanded a battalion of Mounted Rifles. Through some means unknown and unrecorded he persuaded the Seltyrs and High Factors to accept him as Lord-Protector of Tempre. Shortly thereafter, he married Rachyla, the aunt of one Seltyr and the cousin of another. No direct records of the time before his arrival remain, and few enough of that time except the words of the oath that Mykel himself wrote and spoke in becoming Lord-Protector.

  I swear and affirm that I will protect and preserve the lives and liberties of all citizens of Tempre and Lanachrona, and that I will employ all Talent and skills necessary to do so, at all times, and in all places, so that peace and prosperity may govern this land and her people.

  Mykella read the oath three times before she realized what was different. The oath she had heard her father take was the same, word for word—except two words had been missing. They were “Talent and.”

  Why had the original oath been changed to eliminate those words? Because Mykel had in fact possessed Talent and expected subsequent Lords-Protector to have it? But if she had such Talent, how much value lay in the ability to move undetected and to sense at times what others felt? Or was there more to her Talent? How much more?

  She closed the book and slipped it back into its place on the shelf, then moved to the library door that opened out onto the main corridor. She concentrated on creating the impression of a closed door, even while she opened it and stepped out into the corridor. The guard near the top of the main staircase did not even look in her direction.

  While she dreaded descending to the Table chamber, it was more than clear that she needed to learn more. It was already nearly three days after her last and nearly deadly encounter with the Alector—or Ifrit—and she dared not postpone that learning any longer. Continuing her critical review of the ledgers holding the Lord-Protector’s accounts had been slow, and less than encouraging, because she saw the same patterns everywhere. There were revenues missing from almost all the accounts, she thought, but any given amount was comparatively small, although the totals were probably not. Again, she had no real proof, only calculations and estimates and comparisons. That lack of real evidence was yet another reason why she had to revisit the Table, although she was dreading doing so. But the Ancient had been quite definite, and Mykella had the feeling that matters were not about to improve by themselves. Greater control of the Table seemed to be the only possible way she could help her father against what appeared to be her uncle’s machinations.

  Because it was light, the only guards on the main level were posted in the rotunda of the main entrance, although, since it was an end-day, they took turns walking the halls. With her sight-shield, that arrangement was much easier to avoid, and she managed to reach and unlock the door to the lower staircase undetected, as well as lock it behind her. The staircase and the lower corridor were empty, but as quiet as she tried to be, her boots still echoed faintly in the silence as she walked toward the Table chamber.

  Mykella pressed the door lever, then entered the Table chamber with trepidation. The Table itself continued to hold a diminished purplish glow, and she released a long sigh as she approached it. Once there, she tried to sense more than the vague impression of what the Ancient had called the darkness beneath. For a time, all she could feel was the slime-like purpleness, faint as it was.

  Then, she gained a stronger feeling of the blackness below, deeper and darker and far more extensive than she had sensed before, yet carrying a shade of green much like that of the soarer herself. From somewhere, she recalled that to use some properties of the Table, one had to stand on it. Did she dare?

  She laughed softly. How could anything more happen if she stood on the block of solid stone? Still…

  After a time, she climbed onto the Table and looked down at the mirrored surface beneath her. It reflected everything, and she was more than glad, absently, that she was wearing her usual nightsilk trousers. From where she stood, she tried once more to feel, to connect to the dark greenish black well beneath the Table itself. She pushed away the thought that there couldn’t be anything but more rock beneath the stone of the Table, immersing herself in the feeling of that darkness, a darkness that somehow seemed warmer than the purple, though both were chill.

  She began to feel pathways—greenish black—extending into the distance in all directions. Was that how Mykel had traveled? She reached for the pathways, feeling herself sinking through the Table, even below it, with chill purpleness and golden-greenish-black all around her.

  Surrounded by solid stone! Cold solid stone…

  She had to get out. She had to! Mykella forced calm upon herself and concentrated on feeling herself rise upward until she was certain her boots were clear of the Table. Only then did she look down—to discover that her boots were a good third of a yard above the surface of the Table.

  That couldn’t be!

  The sudden drop onto the hard mirrored surface of the Table convinced her that it could be—and had been. She tottered there for a moment, then straightened. Had that been how Mykel had walked on air and water? By reaching out to the darkness beneath the ground?

  She almost wanted to scream. She kept learning things, but what she learned—except for being able to conceal herself—didn’t seem to provide the sort of skills she needed.

  Mykella eased herself off the Table and studied it, just trying to sense everything around it. As she did, she gradually became aware that there were unseen webs or lines everywhere. Ugly pinkish purple lines ran from the Table to the south, to the southwest, and to the northeast, but those lines did not touch the far more prevalent blackish green lines that were deeper and broader—stronger, in a sense. When she looked down, she was surprised to sense a greenish black line running from herself into the depths and connecting to the stronger web.

  She shook her head. Somehow she was connected to the world, but everyone was, and she couldn’t see how that could help—except that she might be able to travel that web, if that had been how Mykel had traveled, if indeed the old tales about him were right. But she wasn’t ready to run away. Besides, what good would that do, except land her someplace else, where she’d be penniless and totally friendless? As a woman of position in Tempre, she was powerless enough, if comfortable, and anywhere else would likely be far worse…and far, far less hospitable. And, if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t certain she wanted to feel herself sinking through and surrounded by solid stone as chill as ice.

  She straightened and looked directly at the Table. At least, she ought to be able to see what Joramyl was doing.

  When the swirling mists cleared, she saw Joramyl with three other men in a paneled study. The four, seated around a conference table, were Joramyl, Berenyt, Arms-Commander Nephryt, and Commander Demyl. Whatever they were discussing was serious enough that there were frowns on most faces. Then Joramyl said something, and both Demyl and Nephryt laughed. After the briefest moment, so did Berenyt.

  Try as she might, and as long as she watched, Mykella could not hear their words nor discover more. After a time, as her head began to ache, she stepped back from the Table.

  She still felt like screaming in frustration, but she was too tired…and too worried. Instead, she rubbed her forehead and then slipped out of the Table chamber and, using her Talent for concealme
nt, made her way back to her chamber. There, for a time, she sat on the edge of her bed, closed her eyes, and thought.

  She was angry with herself. Why had she gotten so upset when all the stone had been around her? She’d seen the Ancient appear and travel through the stone. Why had she panicked? Because she hated being closed in?

  She couldn’t let her fears keep her from learning. She just couldn’t.

  Finally, she stood, steeling herself to head back down to the Table and try again.

  Thrap.

  Instantly, Mykella knew that it was Salyna. She could sense her sister, and she hurried to the door and opened it.

  Salyna stood there with a slightly bemused expression. Beneath the bemusement was irritation, if not anger.

  “Come in.” Mykella closed the door behind Salyna before she asked, “What happened?”

  “Father said I didn’t know enough about hunting etiquette to use a rifle. So I brought my bow. The horn bow I bought last year…you know the one?”

  Mykella did. It was the kind of bow that the grassland nomads used. Mykella had had trouble even drawing it, but Salyna had practiced for seasons until she could use it from the saddle. “What happened? You brought down a stag?”

  Salyna shook her head. “Just a young boar that charged Jeraxylt. He missed, even with the rifle. I managed two shafts. The second one was lucky, but it brought him down.”

  “He and Father insisted I dress out the boar. Jeraxylt tried to tell me what to do.” Salyna laughed. “Chatelaine Auralya already taught me how to butcher and clean—time after time. There’s not that much difference between a hog and a boar. None, really. That didn’t make him happy, either.”

  Mykella shook her head. “They won’t take you again.”

  Salyna drew herself up. “They can’t say I can’t take care of myself.”

  “They won’t say anything,” Mykella replied. “They just won’t tell you when they plan to go.”

  Salyna looked defiant for a moment before she frowned. “How…how can they do that?”

  “Because they can.”

  “That’s not what I meant. How can they…just…forget that I’m as good as Jeraxylt is?”

  “It’s easier to ignore than to accept,” Mykella replied, “especially for men.”

  Salyna looked hard at her sister. Then she laughed, if ruefully. “Oh…Mykella…”

  Mykella understood.

  14

  On Londi morning, Mykella was awake early and the first in the washroom before breakfast, but the water in the pitchers was still barely lukewarm. She washed up quickly and had just pulled her robe around her when Salyna appeared.

  “You didn’t use all the warm water, did you?” Salyna’s blond hair barely looked disarrayed, for all that she’d clearly just left her bed.

  Mykella knew that, had she not already dampened and smoothed her own heavy black hair, half would have been standing on end, and the other half twisted into unruly shapes that neither comb nor brush would have turned into anything presentable.

  “Just my pitcher. It’s not all that warm, though.” Mykella tried not to stare at Salyna as she realized that she could see the faintest of darkish brown lines running from Salyna slightly to the west and downward.

  “What is it?” asked Salyna.

  “Nothing.” Mykella shook her head. “I was thinking of something else.” She offered a crooked smile as she left and returned to her chamber to dress in her nightsilk garments.

  Once she was alone in her chamber, she tried to sense her own line…or thread, whatever it was. Salyna’s had been a dark brown, but it had held no black or green. Somehow, she could sense that the threads connected people to the world. But…how…and of what use was sensing such a link? Or did the colors mean something that could tell her about people?

  She took a deep breath. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about.

  After dressing, she brushed her hair until it was smooth and at least presentable. She paused to study herself in the dressing mirror. Comparatively short as it was, her hair was getting longer than she liked. Sometime in the next few days…

  She shook her head. That could wait.

  She was looking forward to seeing Jeraxylt, if only to ask him about the hunting, but when she walked into the breakfast room, his place was empty. She seated herself and waited, while Muergya poured her tea.

  Salyna appeared, wearing her scuffed and scraped leather arms vest over her tunic and trousers, attired for working with weapons. Behind her came Rachylana, in a dress clearly thrown on for breakfast, because it was beige, older, and loose-fitting, and Rachylana never appeared in public in anything that did not show her at her best. Mykella noted that Rachylana’s thread was a light, almost golden brown.

  Jeraxylt did not follow his sisters, and Mykella wondered why he was so late in getting to the table, since he was usually ravenous in the morning.

  Feranyt appeared within moments, settling into his place at the head of the table. “Good morning, daughters.”

  “Good morning,” Mykella replied, studying her father’s thread, a darker brown, like Salyna’s. Did it have a hint of black? She wasn’t certain.

  Rachylana’s greeting was more mumbled and trailed Mykella’s. Salyna’s mouth was full, and she nodded.

  After Feranyt had taken several swallows of his spiced tea, Mykella looked at the empty place across from her. “Father…have you seen Jeraxylt?”

  “Oh…I sent him off on maneuvers with Second Company. They left well before dawn. I thought he needed to get away from Tempre for a time.”

  “And from his sisters?” Mykella kept her tone light.

  “Hardly. He can keep away from you through his own initiative,” her father bantered back. “No…Second Company will be working in Viencet, and Jeraxylt needs to see what life is like away from Tempre.”

  “Viencet?” asked Mykella.

  “It’s a lazy little town half a day’s ride southwest, where the high roads split, the one west toward Salcer and the one southwest to Zalt and Southgate.” Feranyt chuckled. “Do you know where its name came from?”

  Mykella had no idea.

  “The story is that it was named after Mykel the Great’s younger brother, because Mykel said the people there were even more indolent than Viencet.”

  “I didn’t know he had a brother.”

  “The legend is that Mykel threw him out because he wouldn’t work.”

  “That’s awful,” said Rachylana.

  “Was Mykel really that cruel?” asked Salyna.

  Feranyt shrugged. “It’s only a story. Most of them aren’t true, you know. Not the old ones or the humorous ones. People make them up to show things, and what really happened is usually changed or lost.” He paused for a moment. “There might be some truth in that one, though. Mykel actually exiled one of his sons. They didn’t call it that, but he sent him south to bring Soupat and the southlands into Lanachrona. After he did, Mykel then left him there as his personal representative. The son died there, even before Mykel did.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Rachylana.

  Mykella could easily see how that might happen. If Berenyt were a brother, rather than a cousin, the most sensible thing to do would be to send him far, far away.

  “It was a harder time,” Feranyt temporized, then took refuge in the omelet that appeared on his platter.

  “Do you know when Jeraxylt will be back?” Mykella finally asked.

  “Not for several days,” mumbled her father.

  Several days? Mykella wanted to shake her head. Her brother’s absence couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time, but there was no help for that.

  Her omelet appeared next, and she ate methodically. That was the best she could do, because the omelet was warm but had the texture of almost-congealed glue, if a better taste. The apricot preserves on the cool toast helped.

  She wasn’t happy about waiting, but how could a few days matter when the thefts had been going on for seasons,
if not longer?

  15

  The remainder of Londi didn’t bring any more surprises, but neither did anything occur to reassure Mykella. She had learned that everyone had one of the threads, even Eranya, whose thread was such a light brown that it was more like tan. That amused her, because to Mykella, that suggested that her father’s mistress was not exactly the most mentally gifted. Still, from what she had observed, she’d decided that the strands were some form of life-thread. That did not reassure her, either, and by the time she left the dinner table, her stomach was churning because she knew what she had to do, and she was not looking forward to it in the slightest.

  Especially since she didn’t know when Jeraxylt might return, Mykella knew she needed to follow the soarer’s advice about the darkness beneath the Table. Despite her fears, she did need to learn more. So, after it seemed quiet in the family quarters that night, she slipped out of her room once more, using her Talent to conceal herself.

  This time, she merely waited until the guard stationed near the staircase to the lower level moved before slipping behind him and quietly unlocking the door, then opening it and relocking it behind her.

  The emptiness of the staircase and the long lower corridor reminded her, if in a different way, just how alone she was in what she was attempting. She pushed that thought aside as she entered the ancient chamber. The Table remained as it had been before, nearly quiescent, but the darkness beneath seemed stronger and closer. Given her father’s lack of concern about Joramyl, she might indeed need to escape Tempre, but did she really want to do it by trying to travel those dark webs?

  For a time, she just looked at the Table, feeling the unseen purpleness. Finally, she stepped up and onto the Table, seeking the green blackness once more. Nothing happened. She concentrated on becoming one with the green, and, this time, she once more found herself sinking through and beneath the Table and into the depths beneath. She could not move, and a chill filled her from her bones outward.