Dainyl had to walk through the increasing drizzle back to the Hall of Justice. His uniform was thoroughly damp by the time he stepped into Zelyert’s private study on the lower level. He closed the door behind him quietly.
Zelyert stood and did not sit or motion Dainyl to do so. “You were rather arrogant in dismissing my request to remain, Marshal.”
“No, sir. I was under the direct orders of the Duarch to go to Ludar and then return immediately to him after completing the task he assigned me.”
“As an urgent envoy? What message were you were required to deliver to the Duarch Samist?”
“The message was that it was highly likely that the Master Scepter would be transferred to Efra and not to Acorus.”
“You…you told him.” Zelyert shook his head. “I would say that telling Khelaryt was one of the most foolish acts possible, but you knew I would say that. With his Talent diminished, what is to stop the other High Alectors from combining against him? Why…why did you do that?”
“He is still strong enough to stand against any two,” Dainyl pointed out. “If you stand by him, or Chembryt does…”
“How can you say that?”
“Because he said he might well have to remove one of his High Alectors, if only to prove he could.”
“With the shadowmatch lifted, he is thinking more clearly. Whether that is for the best remains to be seen.” Zelyert leaned forward.
“Besides,” Dainyl said calmly. “That is what you wished, except that you never wanted to say so.”
Zelyert looked hard at Dainyl. “That is rather presumptive on your part.”
“No more so than your sending me to deliver news you did not wish to impart.” Dainyl held his shields, even though he knew he was far from full strength.
“You see too much, Marshal, and someday, perhaps soon, that will be your undoing.” With scarcely a pause, Zelyert asked, “What will happen in the east?”
“At some point, Brekylt will attempt to establish himself as Duarch of the East.”
“What would you suggest we do about that?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? How can you watch Acorus fragment?”
More easily than watching alector fight alector, and pteridon fight pteridon. “I would rather not see that happen, but to send the Myrmidons against Brekylt at this time, or even as soon as he rejects the unity of Acorus, will only ensure greater fragmentation.”
“Don’t fight, in order to preserve the Myrmidons so that we can pull the pieces together later. Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“For the moment,” Dainyl admitted. “I may change my mind if Brekylt acts in a different fashion. We have no reason to act now, in any event.”
“That is true, unfortunately.” Zelyert gestured toward the door. “I think it best that you depart, and we reflect separately.”
“By your leave, sir.”
Zelyert’s nod was abrupt.
Dainyl nodded more politely in return and stepped back, then departed, taking the lower corridor to the stairs.
Once outside the Hall of Justice, he waited until a hacker appeared through the cold rain that had replaced the earlier drizzle. As he sat in the coach headed toward Myrmidon headquarters, he reflected.
Beneath his calm exterior, Zelyert had been furious, angrier than Dainyl had ever sensed, yet Dainyl was convinced the High Alector’s anger was not because Dainyl had revealed what was to happen with the Master Scepter. The other possibilities were far worse, because they suggested Zelyert had hoped Dainyl would not survive the events of the day—or that he was increasingly concerned that Dainyl was too accurate in his assessments of the High Alector. The other mystery was why neither Duarch had commented, even in passing, on the green tinge of the ancients that Dainyl still bore. Khelaryt knew about the initial cause, but had someone told Samist? Khelaryt remained a mystery. Even with the shadowmatch removed…something foreign was there…and Dainyl could not determine what it was, let alone what it might mean.
He made his way from the coach into headquarters quickly, although some rain got on his uniform. As he passed Alcyna’s study, he stopped and knocked on her door, then opened it.
She was alone, reading through a stack of reports.
“If you’d join me in my study in a moment?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl continued down the corridor and into his own study. Several reports had been carefully placed on the left side of his table desk. He ignored them for the moment. Instead, he glanced out his windows into the rain, now falling in sheets so heavy that the midafternoon appeared more like twilight, before settling into the chair behind the desk. He sighed, glancing once more at the reports, but not picking up either.
Alcyna appeared within moments. Her eyes went to Dainyl’s face, and she closed the door behind her.
“Submarshal…please sit down.”
Alcyna eased gracefully into the chair at the corner of the desk. “You have very bad news. You’re always quietest when matters are worst.”
“The Master Scepter is likely going to Efra.” Dainyl paused. “Both Duarches know it, as does the High Alector.”
“When did they discover this?”
“This morning. Most of the High Alectors have known for a time, but no one wanted to tell either Duarch. I would not be surprised if Brekylt has known as well.”
“He had hinted that he thought Efra was more likely well before I left Alustre. That was certainly what he was planning for.”
“How do you think this will affect the Myrmidons?” Dainyl watched her closely, with both eyes and Talent-senses.
“He will certainly try to place the companies in the east under his control. I don’t think Noryan would like that, but whether he would oppose Brekylt I don’t know.”
“When might he act?”
“As soon as he is certain that the Duarches cannot do anything to oppose him.”
Dainyl considered. He had now met both Duarches and Brekylt. With the loss of the Talent that had accompanied the shadowmatches, he would have judged Khelaryt to be the strongest of the three, then Samist, and then Brekylt, who appeared to have about as much Talent-strength as Zelyert.
“How close are Brekylt and Samist?”
“Brekylt has occasionally met with Samist. They could have met more often than that. Brekylt does not care for Khelaryt. So far as I know, they have not met in years.”
“What do you recommend we do?”
“Wait.” Alcyna shrugged. “Brekylt will do nothing overt, but there may be signs of what he intends. Your wife or the other assistants may see signs well before anything affects the Myrmidons.”
“The signs may already be there, and we may not understand what they portend.”
“That is always possible, but without some clear evidence, what can we do?”
“Nothing…yet. I’d like you to draft up a promotion for Captain Sevasya to majer. Then draft orders deploying Fourth Company to Lysia and placing Captain Josaryk under Majer Sevasya. Then deploy Third Company back to Norda to deal with the difficulties raised by the ancients. I’d like to see those sometime in the morning. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the specifics to anyone.”
“Yes, sir.” Alcyna smiled. “You think…?”
“I think Majer Noryan is a good Myrmidon, whatever his background, and I know Majer Sevasya is.”
“It might work.”
Dainyl hoped so.
32
Dainyl did not arrive home on Duadi evening until almost a glass later than usual because Alcyna had wanted to review the orders he had asked her to draft.
Lystrana hurried toward him even before he stepped through the doorway out of the continuing chill rain and into the foyer. “Are you all right?” Her eyes and Talent scanned him. “You’ve been hurt…”
“Call it Talent-diminished,” he said. “Things have gone from bad to worse, and then back to only bad.” He closed the door.
She put her arms around h
im, and Dainyl could feel the gentle swell of her against him and could sense the strengthening lifeforce that was their daughter.
“I heard that Khelaryt sent you as a privileged envoy to Samist. I’ve been so worried.” She stepped back, but took his hand. “After the girls fixed supper, I sent them off for the evening. We can eat, and you can tell me about it.”
“There are a few things you should know,” he said, following her out of the foyer and to the dining area.
“Only a few?”
“More than a few,” he admitted.
“Just sit down.” Lystrana pointed to the chair at the end of the dining table, then half filled a goblet from the carafe. “I’ll bring out supper.”
“You should be the one sitting down.”
“I didn’t have the day you clearly did,” she called back over her shoulder on her way to the kitchen. “Besides, when I’m active near the end of the day, Kytrana sleeps more at night, and that means I sleep better.”
Dainyl took a sip of the wine, a white from the Vyan Hills, he thought. Within moments, Lystrana was back, carrying a covered dish and a basket of bread, still faintly warm.
“It’s only a fowl and noodle casserole, but I thought it would be warm and filling on a chilly damp day like this.” She ladled a healthy helping onto his plate and another onto hers before seating herself.
“It smells wonderful.” Dainyl took a mouthful, then another.
“I was worried when I heard that you’d had to go back to report to Zelyert after returning from Ludar.”
“Do you know everything?” he asked with a grin after swallowing.
“Only everything that happens in the Palace,” she replied, trying to hide a smile. “What did you have to tell Samist?”
“That it was most likely that the Master Scepter would go to Efra. You were right. Khelaryt and Samist both were Talent-magnified by their shadowmatches.”
“Were?” Lystrana raised one eyebrow in the gesture that Dainyl had often wanted to emulate, but had never mastered.
“Once they learned where the Master Scepter was headed, they lost shadowmatches and the extra Talent. As you thought, their native Talent was artificially enhanced somehow through the shadowmatches.”
“No wonder Khelaryt dispatched you to Ludar immediately. Did you have to tell him?”
“No. He couldn’t ask about it, but when Zelyert dispatched me there to tell him that Seventh Company had been transferred to Tempre and—by the way—that the number of refugees flooding the Tables, not to mention the wild translations, were growing all over Corus…it was clear he’d be sending me time and time again until I revealed it inadvertently. So I told Khelaryt. When I told Zelyert that, he reprimanded me. I suggested that he shouldn’t be disturbed because I did what he’d wanted. He tried to hide it, but he was as cold and as full of suppressed rage as I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s because he was setting you up to reveal the Master Scepter’s fate later, and your acting too soon spoiled some scheme of his.”
“He doesn’t like my seeing through him and telling him.”
“No one likes that, Dainyl.”
“Even wives?”
“Especially wives. What was Khelaryt’s reaction?”
“Absolute rage. Even somewhat restrained, he almost shredded my shields, and he threw me into the wall. Then he recovered and sent me off to tell Samist, with my weakened shields and all. When I got there Samist was playing the violin, and playing it well. That surprised me. I’ve never met him personally, and I’d never thought of him as a musician. Then, when I told him, he wasn’t nearly so upset as Khelaryt had been. It was as though he had expected it all along.”
“That’s the way he has been acting—or letting those who serve him act.”
Dainyl took yet another mouthful of the casserole, some bread, and then another sip of the wine. “Good wine.”
“I’m glad you like it. I wish I could have more than a sip or two.” She broke off some of the bread. “Samist thanked you and sent you back? That was it?”
“Ah…actually, he even asked what favor he could grant me. I asked about the RA of Tempre. He demurred, but offered Dereka.”
“Do you really want to be an RA?”
“I asked for you.”
“What! Are you…why would you even think that? Why did you think that we should leave Elcien for a Talent-impoverished place like Dereka?”
“Because, as I said, matters have gone from bad to worse…”
“But Dereka? Why? Why there?”
“As I told you, I tried to bargain for Tempre for you, but Samist said that wasn’t possible.”
“You still haven’t answered why you want to leave Elcien.”
“I don’t, and I’d still have to be Marshal of Myrmidons, but I can get to Dereka easily enough by Table. I’m worried about what’s likely to happen.”
“You want to shove me out into the high and cold hinterlands?”
“You don’t have to accept,” Dainyl said. “You have until Septi to decide.”
“Four days to decide whether to change everything?”
“You’d see less of my mother.”
“Dainyl…”
“There haven’t been any alectresses who have been RAs. You deserve it more than anyone.”
“And I won’t get it except through you?”
What could he say to that? “You might. I wanted to hurry things.”
“You don’t think so. Not really.” She set down the wine goblet that had held less than a finger of the white and looked at him. “I know. You’re trying to help. You want my abilities recognized.”
“And you want them recognized without my help,” he said quietly. “Then refuse. Blame me for being impulsive.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Nothing ever is. If you decline, people will say that you’re afraid you can’t handle it. If you accept, they’ll say that you got it because of me. Others will say that it’s about time your abilities were recognized, and some of them will say that it’s a shame that it didn’t happen sooner. I don’t think any of that is the question.”
“Oh?”
Dainyl ignored the anger beneath her calmness. “I’ve listened to you for more than thirty years. I’ve changed what I could and tried to modify what I could not. Most of Elcien knows I would not be where I am without you. I can’t provide that kind of help to you, not in the way you did. I did have the chance to provide this. Tell me what the difference is. In either case, neither of us would be where we are without the other.” He looked at her, evenly, directly.
“It doesn’t feel the same.”
“It’s not. You helped me in little bits for years. That’s harder, and it’s more work, and you’ll never get the credit you deserve.”
“Dainyl…why do you want me out of Elcien?”
He forced himself to look directly at Lystrana. “I’m worried. I don’t think it’s going to be safe, and I can’t give you reasons, or tell you why or how. I don’t know. All I do know is that we’re getting more and more refugees, and they’re shooting them, like rodents, or…Have you been in a Table chamber lately?”
“Not for nearly two weeks.”
“Every one has at least four and sometimes six guards. They have orders to execute anyone without a pass, or skills, or pregnant alectresses. In the last two days, they’ve killed close to fifteen refugees here in Elcien. That doesn’t count wild translations.”
“That’s hundreds across Corus. That’s terrible. It’s…” She shook her head.
“Khelaryt says there’s no choice. Without the killings, in something like three weeks we’d be at the optimum lifeforce-carrying capacity of the entire world.”
“I know…but it’s different when you think of real people dying.”
“When I talked to her months back, Sulerya pointed out something else. Every Ifrit translating from Ifryn takes four times the lifeforce of those born on Acorus. So every refugee means three fewer child
ren that can be born here, or that much less time before we exhaust this world. That means that the refugee situation is going to get worse. Then there are the ancients. I can’t forget the way the one told me that unless we changed we would perish. It wasn’t a threat, or a promise, but a wistful and sad certainty.”
Lystrana looked oddly at him.
“What?”
“I can’t help but feel that you’re tied in some way to them, and not just because of the wound you got from their ancient weapon and their healing of you. Except they wouldn’t have healed you without a reason.”
“I know that. They want me to change, to somehow become…”
“It’s more than that.”
It doubtless was, but Dainyl couldn’t do anything about it. “There’s another thing. It’s already getting dangerous to use a Table. That bothers me. You’d have to use a Table to get to Ludar to accept the position and then come back and then translate to Dereka.”
“I’m not escaping Tables one way or another. Chembryt wants me to go to Alustre at the end of next week. He’s still worried about the overages in the Engineering accounts.”
Dainyl winced. “Brekylt might not do anything by then.”
“Let me sleep on it, dearest.”
Dainyl couldn’t disagree with that, especially since he could sense that she was truly torn between Dereka and Elcien.
33
Dainyl picked up the slender volume from the corner of the desk, turning it in his hands. He’d made it a practice to read Views of the Highest regularly, if only so that he could quote from it when appropriate. Yet…the more he read, the more he felt that appropriate as much of what those views might be, the alectors he knew observed the wisdom more by ignoring it.
He flipped through several pages before stopping and taking in several lines.
Just as the laws of the universe are simplest in explaining the everyday functions of the worlds we administer, so are the motivations of steers and alectors. The most common motivations are desire, pride, and contempt. Desire can be praiseworthy when it serves honest ambition, as can pride when it fuels the need for worthy accomplishment, but both have their unworthy sides, as seen in political machinations among alectors and unbridled greed for goods and wealth among steers. Moreover, those who exhibit these deplorable perversions of motivation are often impelled to hide their unworthiness from themselves by burying it within a welter of complexity….
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