Whatever was happening had to be the doing of the ancients…somehow and in some fashion.
For a long moment, Dainyl did not even seek out the brilliant white locator of Elcien. Then, he reached out with Talent, but found the seemingly shifting nature of the tube made concentrating on the locator difficult. His Talent probe vanished as if he had never extended it.
He tried again, conscious of the chill seeping into him, but just as his probe seemed to touch the locator, the tube twisted.
Dainyl jabbed quickly a third time and linked with the Elcien locator.
Even so, he felt as though he tumbled through the rapids of an unseen river before he flew through the silver-white barrier.
He avoided stumbling over his boots as he emerged on the Table at Elcien, but staggered in trying to regain his balance. Both guards had their weapons aimed, and Dainyl strengthened his shields before even completely recovering his balance.
“No! It’s the marshal!” Chastyl looked up at him from the end of the Table.
Dainyl jumped off the Table and stood beside the Recorder of Deeds. “What’s happening with the Tables?”
“I don’t know, sir. Everything…it’s strange. We’ve had three wild translations in the last glass, and the whole grid…it was pulsing.” The recorder extended a Talent pulse into the Table. “It peaked a little while ago, and it’s beginning to subside.”
“Do you know what caused it?” While Dainyl certainly had his own ideas, he wanted to know what Chastyl thought. Dainyl had the feeling that Retyl had known there was some sort of difficulty and had refrained from warning him.
“No, sir. It just…happened.”
“Has anything like this happened before?”
“I don’t know of anything like that. It might be because the Tables in Tempre and Hyalt haven’t been repaired yet.”
Dainyl didn’t know what else to say about the translation tube. “Thank you for warning the guards not to shoot me.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
Dainyl nodded and turned toward the door. He noted that there were now no Talent locks in place, and that made sense, given the guards inside the Table chamber.
He was halfway down the corridor to the steps up to the open section of the Hall of Justice when Zelyert stepped out of his private study.
“Dainyl…a moment of your time, if you would.”
“Yes, sir.” Dainyl turned and headed into the High Alector’s study, one of the more spartan he had ever seen, with little more than an ebony table, two chairs, and two bookcases, all lit by light-torches on the windowless stone walls. He closed the door.
Zelyert seated himself and motioned to the other chair.
Dainyl took it and waited.
“I heard from Khelaryt that you were impressive in your briefings, and successful in conveying a veiled message to High Alector Ruvryn.”
“I doubt it was that veiled.”
“That is not of the matter. He will report what happened to Samist. How did your visit to the submarshal in Alustre go?”
“I offered her the position as submarshal here in Elcien. She had several questions, but after I answered them she accepted.”
“What did you promise her?”
“Nothing. I did mention that Shastylt had told me that she and I were planning a coup.”
“So she is aware that Brekylt intended to betray her to save himself, if necessary?”
“She was doubtless aware of that all along. Brekylt was her only way to power. I have offered her a way that seems less fraught with danger.”
“You phrase that in an interesting manner, Dainyl.”
Dainyl shook his head slightly. “Any way to power is dangerous.”
Zelyert smiled faintly. “Now that you have dealt with the…difficulties in Alustre, I would trust you will not be away from Elcien so much.”
Dainyl smiled politely. “That will depend, sir, on what future difficulties arise.”
“You will have a submarshal.”
“That is true, and Alcyna is a superb administrator.”
Zelyert offered a smile even more faint than the last. “You intend to continue to travel?”
“Only as necessary, sir. I have little love of travel for the sake of travel. Nor do I like spending time away from my wife.”
“How did Brekylt take your visit?”
“He intimated that I would have great difficulties in controlling Alcyna. He said he would not do me the favor of attempting to attack me, and that I would learn which battles to fight and which to avoid.”
“He has always operated in such a fashion,” replied Zelyert. “How did you respond?”
“I told him that was something I had begun to discover.”
“What do you think he believes about Alcyna?”
“That she will cause us great difficulty, and that will make his efforts to gain control of the east of Corus that much easier.”
“You are assuming a great deal, Dainyl, and not wisely.”
“I do not believe it is unwise to assume that Brekylt seeks power. He has attempted to control or suborn the recorders and regional alectors in the east—as well as a few in the west. His actions indicate that he is clearly of the opinion that the Master Scepter will go to Efra, and not come to Acorus, and that the Duarches will be unable to rule as they have. I am not assuming he will be successful in his efforts, but to disregard what he has done and the implications behind those actions would also be unwise.”
“You suggest an unlikely set of probabilities.”
Dainyl did not think so, but he smiled. “Brekylt’s motivations come from seeking power. I defer to you in his likelihood of success, but that probable lack of success does not mean he will not create great difficulties in the near future, and I would prefer to be prepared for whatever efforts he may undertake…or cause others to undertake.”
“Being prepared for such efforts is wise, so long as it does not take excessive resources.”
“I believe I understand that as well, sir.”
“So long as you do.” Zelyert stood. “I wish you the best, Marshal.”
Dainyl rose easily, but not abruptly. “Thank you.”
“And, Dainyl, remember that even the most able of indigens and landers are only steers, to be used as necessary.”
“Yes, sir.” Dainyl could feel Zelyert’s eyes on his back as he left the High Alector’s study.
Outside, on the boulevard on the south side of the Hall of Justice, Dainyl managed to find a free hacker in less than a tenth of a glass.
When he returned to headquarters, he was pleasantly surprised to find a complete proposed schedule for both First and Seventh Companies for the next month, with a cover note from Undercaptain Zernylta, politely requesting his review and any suggestions for improvement, since she had not prepared a report for him before.
He read through the schedule, and made a note to tell her about the need for a designated standby on Decdi, in case the duty flier was sent on a long run, and the need to schedule transport for the Table engineers from Faitel to Hyalt.
She had also attached the latest report from Colonel Herolt on the First Cadmian Regiment, with a written question as to whether he wanted the reports forwarded to him with any comments she might have or without comment. Dainyl shook his head. Dhenyr had never even considered written comments. Dainyl would have to see how she handled other matters, but from what he was seeing, Zernylta was well suited to handling operations and scheduling.
He picked up Colonel Herolt’s report and began to read. For all the battalions—except Fourth Battalion—little had changed. All but Second Battalion were understrength, but no significant new casualties had been reported. On the other hand, with the reporting delays, Dainyl probably knew more about what had recently happened with Third Battalion than did the colonel.
He concentrated on the Fourth Battalion report:
Fourth Battalion, Majer Hersiod commanding, is currently deployed to Iron Stem, based out of
the Cadmian compound there. In the last few weeks of summer and early harvest, the battalion has encountered increasing attacks from irregulars believed to be Reillies and from packs of the large predators termed sandwolves by the locals. Limited injuries have also occurred from several horned creatures similar to sheep. Despite increasing casualties, the battalion continues to provide support to the local Cadmian forces in maintaining order at the iron and coal mines, and the ironworks…
Dainyl shook his head. What was it about Iron Stem and the Iron Valleys? For two years, the place had created problem after problem. Now…another new creature? Should he send a squad from First Company? Perhaps Undercaptain Chelysta and fourth squad—Ghasylt had certainly recommended her highly enough. If more support were needed, he might be able to detach a squad from Seventh Company in Tempre, although Captain Lyzetta was operating at close to twenty percent understrength.
He needed to send a message to Asulet in Lyterna. As the senior alector in charge of lifeform management, Asulet might be able to provide more information. And, in addition to the problems in Iron Stem, Dainyl still had no idea what was happening in Soupat.
8
In the darkness a good glass after sunset, Mykel walked slowly uphill away from the old garrison that Third Battalion and the two Hyaltan Cadmian companies had used for the past two seasons and would be leaving permanently in the morning. The night was dark, because Selena—the brighter moon—had already set in the west, and the smaller green moon—Asterta—was but a crescent in the east. Even so, Mykel had little trouble navigating through the darkness that seemed little more than early twilight with the night vision that had accompanied the development of his Talent.
Just short of the jumble of rocks where so much had happened over the last season, Mykel halted. There were no ancient soarers around, and he hadn’t expected any. He certainly hadn’t sensed them, but they had appeared to him a number of times, and only in particular places, always on hills. There had to be some reason why the soarers had appeared on this particular hill, and nowhere else around Hyalt, at least not that he knew.
When he had finally connected himself to the world where he was—and not from where he had been born—he had sensed a certain darkness that lay beneath. But did that lie beneath all the earth…or just beneath the hillside?
He stood in the night, looking westward, letting his senses extend from him, especially trying to feel what lay beneath.
In time, he began to sense the blackness he sought, almost like a river, or a high road, well beneath the surface of the ground, arrowing westward from where he stood, toward the battered and half-destroyed compound of the regional alector. He could also sense his own lifethread extending downward through the very soil and rocks into that blackness.
There might have been a few streaks of purple as well…he concentrated—and the blackness vanished. After forcing himself to relax, to experience everything around him, he once more began to gather in the blackness beneath, as well as something else—a line of purplish mist that lay right above the darkness.
Slowly, he turned, until he faced the garrison, looking eastward. To the east, the blackness angled more deeply into the earth, until his senses could trace it no farther. He turned back to the west until he looked into the night, once more in the direction of the regional alector’s compound. The purple mist had something to do with the alectors—perhaps their Tables?
He shook his head. If he had studied the Table in Tempre more closely, he might well have a better idea…but he had not.
After another quarter glass or so, he began to walk down the gentle slope, back toward the garrison.
Rhystan was waiting outside the west gate.
“Majer?”
“It’s me, Rhystan.”
“Who else would it be at this time of night?”
“You worried that I might get hit by alectors’ lightning again?” Mykel chuckled.
“When you go off in the night, it’s not always good.” Rhystan shook his head.
“I needed to get away to think.”
The captain laughed softly. “I can barely see, and you’re walking around as if it were broad daylight.”
“I’ve always had good night vision. You know that.”
“You have lots of talents, sir. Could be that you have too many.”
Mykel understood what Rhystan meant. “What am I supposed to do? Let my men die because captains—or majers—shouldn’t do certain things?”
“In some ways, Majer, I’m glad that I don’t have to make those choices.”
There was a silence.
“Fabrytal said that seltyr’s daughter helped nurse you back. How did she get to Tempre?”
“Women in Dramur can’t inherit. Her brothers died, and Vaclyn killed her father. Her cousin got the lands. She was sent to Southgate to her mother’s brother or cousin, and he sent her to run his nephew’s household in Tempre—at least until he finds a wife. I’d asked her for some information, and Fabrytal pressured her into taking care of me. He worried about me being unconscious too close to the regional alector’s headquarters.”
“That was smart of him, but how did he get her to agree?”
“I don’t know.” Mykel laughed. “I wasn’t awake enough to listen.”
“Seems sort of strange, the way she keeps turning up.”
“More than a little, but sometimes things happen that way.” Mykel didn’t believe that for a moment. All he knew was that, in some fashion, he and Rachyla were linked, but he couldn’t have explained why or how.
“Which way do you think the colonel will send us?” asked Rhystan. “Back to Northa, I mean?”
“I’m not sure he will,” replied Mykel. “Sixth Battalion was sent to Soupat. Fourth Battalion is still in Iron Stem, and Fifth is up north dealing with Reillies. Troubles seem to be happening faster than they can be put down.”
“That’s true, but it doesn’t make sense.”
“It might, if we knew more,” Mykel admitted, “but no one tells Cadmian majers and captains that much.”
“Not until they’ve fouled up and want us to fix things.”
Mykel agreed with that, too. He only wondered what else was likely to go wrong—or already had.
9
Quattri had been a very long day for Dainyl, and he was more than glad to retire with Lystrana to their bedchamber almost immediately after the evening meal. He’d undressed and pulled on a robe. Lystrana stretched out on the smooth white cotton spread that covered the deep blue wool blankets, propped up against the headboard by three pillows.
Even sitting on the high stool away from the foot of the bed, Dainyl could sense the separate essences of both Lystrana and Kytrana.
“You still have some of that greenish force around your shoulder,” Lystrana mused. “It’s as if it’s diluting itself through you, rather than fading away.”
“I’m turning green?”
“Just a faint tinge. Most people won’t sense it. Do you think that it’s just the result of your wound or something the ancients did?”
“Both, I think.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have survived without their aid.”
“Why would they want to help you? Do you think it’s some sort of subterfuge?”
Dainyl frowned. “Some sort of Talent-spread illness that will infect others? Do I feel ill or unhealthy? To you, I mean? I certainly don’t feel that way.”
Her forehead furrowed. After a moment, she replied, “You seem strong and healthy, but I don’t understand why they would help you.”
“They said that they owed us a debt for saving the world, but that if we did not change, we would destroy it. The old one also said that the sword with which Rhelyn wounded me was their responsibility and that I would have died had I not reached them.”
“They do not use Tables, either, do they?”
“They have the mirrors, but they seem to be able to translate to other places where there are no mirrors.”
Lystrana tilted he
r head. “Do you think we could?”
“The only times I’ve managed anything like that, I had to use…counterfeit, in a sense, their greenish Talent.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I didn’t either.”
“No,” she said slowly. “I meant that it suggests there is something more powerful about their Talent.”
“There is. Shastylt and Asulet both noted that the ancients were the only force able to destroy pteridons.” Dainyl chuckled wryly. “Lightcannon will as well.”
“You’re tired.”
“The translation back from Alustre was hard. I think it was because the ancients were doing something. The entire translation tube was undulating, like you might do to a heavy rope or a cable, if you whipped it up from one end. Chastyl said that they’d received three wild translations, and one of the guards in the Table chamber in the Hall of Justice was ready to cut me down….”
“Guards in the Table chambers? Here on Acorus?” Lystrana frowned.
“It’s something that the recorders are doing now, over the past few days. All sorts of translations are arriving from Ifryn.”
“That sounds like Ifryn is collapsing—or close to it—and that the ancients know it and are preparing to attack in some way. If they keep doing that to the tubes, not many will translate successfully from Ifryn here. Guards in the Table chambers.” Her frown was far more expressive than any headshake could have been.
“I couldn’t prove it.” Dainyl stretched, stifling a yawn, “but I think the ancients’ power is limited. Their technique with the green Talent is better, but there can’t be that many of them.”
“There aren’t that many of us,” she pointed out. “And there won’t be many more if the ancients keep the successful translations low. Do you think you should tell Asulet, or the Duarches?”
“How can I tell them much? I can mention the sense of greenness in the last translation to Asulet. I’ve already sent him a message about another new creature around Iron Stem. So I may have a reason to go to Lyterna before long. But if I say much more, then I risk being destroyed because I haven’t been truthful. I couldn’t tell Shastylt everything. He would have used it against me.”
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