Dainyl redoubled his concentration on Blackstear. He felt the locator approach—it was never that he approached it—and the silvered-black barrier dissolved before him.
He held full shields, and his hands went to the lightcutters at his belt.
Five Myrmidons in the gray and green uniforms of Ifryn lifted lightcutters. Dainyl sensed their shields, and fired at the two with the weakest shields, using Talent to break an opening in each shield. Both Myrmidons fell, dying.
“…High Alector!”
“…get help!”
Lightcutter beams from the remaining three played across his shields, but Dainyl managed to hold them firm. He focused on the Myrmidon heading for the doorway, cutting him down—and exhausting the charge in one of his own lightcutters. He dropped the useless weapon and yanked the one from inside his tunic, even as he focused on the undercaptain who reached for a riflelike lightcutter.
Dainyl lashed out with Talent at the other remaining ranker, throwing him against the stone of the wall, then flared a bolt of Talent, not at the heavily shielded undercaptain, but at the weapon, which felt like a miniature lightcannon.
The weapon’s power crystals exploded, and the undercaptain staggered back.
In the alector’s moment of surprise Dainyl struck with both lightcutters and Talent. For the first onslaught, the junior officer’s shields held, but not for the second.
Dainyl did not even leave the Table, but probed with his Talent, weakened, for the tiny octagonal crystal within the Table that would put it into an inert state. He offered a small Talent pulse and could sense the Table reacting.
Even as the door to the chamber opened, and a blast of light and heat flared against his weakened shields, Dainyl was concentrating on the darkness beneath, and sliding through the mirrored surface of the Table…
…into the welcome chill of the translation tube.
For a timeless but apparently long moment, he did nothing, before forcing himself to focus on the brilliant white locator of Elcien. His thoughts and Talent felt sluggish.
Slowly…slowly…the locator vector neared him, and finally, the white-silver barrier shattered away from him in large fragments.
He stood on the Table, taking two staggering steps to keep from falling. Frost and cold mist wreathed him, something that had not happened since he had first learned to use the Tables. Deliberately, carefully, Dainyl stepped down. His legs were wobbly, and he had to lean against the Table. Blackness swam around him, and he put his head down to keep from losing consciousness.
“Are you all right?” asked Delari.
“…took a lot…of Talent…empty stomach…”
After several moments, Dainyl straightened. He didn’t see Zelyert, but Adya was standing in the corner of the chamber. He realized he was still holding the lightcutters. It took a deliberate effort to holster them.
“Sir? What should I tell the High Alector?”
That alone told Dainyl that Zelyert was still angry. Still, until he regained his Talent-strength, Dainyl had best not show his own anger at the self-centered arrogance of the High Alector. He forced a smile. “You can report to him that the Table at Blackstear is inactive—”
“We can confirm that,” added Chastyl. “It’s off the grid.”
“—and that there are five less Myrmidons from Ifryn at Blackstear. Where can I get something to eat, quickly?”
“You can sit down in my study, sir,” offered the assistant. “I’ll get you something.”
Neither Chastyl nor any of the guards said a word as Dainyl followed Adya out of the Table chamber, with Delari behind him. Dainyl looked to see if Lystrana’s case was still set against the wall and was reassured to see that it was. He winced as he saw the blue tunic folded on top of the neat pile of garments in the corner of the chamber. His stomach turned. Yet he had done exactly the same thing. He’d even sought out alectors whose only offense was that they had broken the rules in an attempt to survive. The fact that a whole world might die if entry from Ifryn were not restricted didn’t take away those deaths.
“This way, Marshal…” prompted Adya.
Dainyl followed, almost blindly, finally sinking onto the hard wooden chair set at the corner of the small writing desk in a truly tiny study.
Delari remained standing, her back against the stone of the wall. She did not speak until Adya was well away. “How did you manage that? It’s impossible to translate from an inactive Table.”
“There’s the slightest delay between the Talent command and when it starts powering down. You just can’t hesitate. Not in the slightest.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to try that.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s not your line of work.”
“What are you, Marshal—Myrmidon, flier, officer, assassin, Table mechanic, recorder?”
At the moment, he felt more like an assassin. “I’m just trying to do what has to be done.” And not liking it in the slightest.
Adya returned with a mug of cider, a wedge of cheese, and half a loaf of dark bread. “It’s not fancy…”
“It looks wonderful.” Dainyl looked up. “Has my wife arrived yet?”
“Sir?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you? She’s the new RA for Dereka. She’s scheduled to translate there later this morning.”
“I’d heard that she…but…after all this?”
“It’s probably safer right now than it will be in a day or so, even with one Table off the grid,” Dainyl pointed out.
Adya looked to Delari.
“He’s right about that.”
“Let me check on your wife,” offered Adya.
“Tell her I’ll be with her as soon as I can,” replied Dainyl with a mouthful of bread and cheese.
In moments, or so it seemed, Dainyl had gone through all the bread and cheese, as well as drained the large mug of cider. He could feel his light-headedness begin to recede.
“Zelyert is afraid of you,” Delari said. “That’s why he’s avoiding you. You may have as much Talent as he does, and he’s the most Talented of the High Alectors.”
Dainyl didn’t feel all that Talented. He just felt tired. He also wondered how many more alectors would die at his hand or through his orders.
Less than a tenth of a glass later, as Dainyl was beginning to feel he had regained some of his strength and Talent, Adya returned.
“Your wife is down the corridor, outside the Table chamber. She’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you very much.” Dainyl rose.
This time Delari did not follow him as he walked back to the Table chamber. She headed in the direction of Zelyert’s private study.
Lystrana stood outside the outer door to the Table chamber. “I’m glad to see you.”
“I’m glad to be here to see you,” he replied. “I can translate to Dereka with you, but I’ll have to return immediately. I’ll have to take First Company to Blackstear.”
She glanced at the weapons at his belt, then raised her left eyebrow, as if to ask what had been going on.
“Trouble in Blackstear. We need to get you to Dereka.” He really didn’t want to explain more, given where they were. He opened the doors for Lystrana, and she carried the smaller case through the foyer and into the Table chamber.
Chastyl looked up. “Do you think this is wise?”
“She has to get to Dereka. It’s calmer now,” Dainyl replied. “It won’t stay that way.” He walked over to the wall and picked up the case he had left there, then joined Lystrana on the Table. “If the High Alector asks, I’ll be back very shortly.”
The recorder looked as though he wanted to protest, but he refrained.
Dainyl nodded to Lystrana, then waited a moment, until she began to fade and drop into the Table. Only then did he concentrate on the dark tube beneath.
In the purpled shadowy chill, he thought he could sense a warmer purpleness, but he did not dwell on it, concentrating instead on the crimson-gold locator of Dereka.
&nbs
p; While the flashes of purple were fewer than when he had translated to Blackstear, there were far more than there had been even a few months before, and the amber-green links reverberated in the immeasurable distance.
He was surprised to find the locator flashing toward him, the silvered crimson-gold barrier dissolving away from him.
Belatedly, he strengthened what shields he had left as he emerged practically on top of Lystrana. He had to step sideways to avoid crashing into her.
Four alector guards, tired-eyed but alert, watched the Table, but their eyes flickered toward Jonyst.
The recorder nodded. “Marshal of Myrmidons and the chief assistant to the High Alector of Finance.”
Dainyl stepped off the table with the heavier case and set it down, taking the second case from Lystrana.
Once they were off the Table, Lystrana murmured, “You never told me why you’re headed north, besides trouble.”
Dainyl set the smaller case down. “Myrmidons from Ifryn stormed the Table at Blackstear.”
Jonyst looked up from where he stood at the end of the Table. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Marshal. The Table at Blackstear has gone inactive.”
Dainyl smiled politely. “I know. That’s why we’ll be able to handle them with a company, but we’ll need to put the Table back on the grid before long.”
Lystrana’s eyes widened and dropped once more to the lightcutters at Dainyl’s belt.
He nodded, very slightly. “Later.” He raised his voice. “Jonyst, Lystrana is taking over as the new RA for Dereka.”
The recorder smiled broadly. “That is good news for those of us here in Dereka. I was wondering when the Duarch would replace Yadaryst.”
“Would it be possible for your driver to get her and these cases to her headquarters?”
“Guersa would be pleased to help with that. I’ll have her come to carry the other case.”
Dainyl turned to Lystrana and hugged her. He didn’t like doing it in public, but the way matters were turning out, he had no idea when he’d see her again. “You be careful.”
“You’re the one who needs to be careful. The green is stronger. Not much, but it is. Please be careful,” she whispered in his ear before they broke apart.
“I will.”
Dainyl stepped back onto the Table, concentrating.
The purple chill barely bothered him as he linked with the white locator of Elcien and then flowed through the mist of silver and white.
He was off the Table before Chastyl spoke.
“That was quick, Marshal. I haven’t even had time to pass the word to the High Alector.” His smile was quick, but held a hint of a grin.
“I’d guess you won’t have to,” replied Dainyl. “I can tell him what he needs to know.”
With a nod, he left the Table chamber, wondering if Zelyert had left the Hall or if he remained in his study. He also couldn’t help but worry about Lystrana’s words about the Talent-green of the ancients being stronger.
Delari stepped into the corridor from Zelyert’s study as Dainyl neared. “The Highest would like to speak to us.”
“I’m certain,” Dainyl replied dryly, moving into the private study behind Delari and closing the door.
“Where did you go, Marshal?” Zelyert remained standing.
“To Dereka and back. I chose to escort the new RA. I admit to a certain proprietary interest in her safety, but knowing she is safe in Dereka will allow me to concentrate without distractions on resolving the difficulties in Blackstear.”
“Since it took little time,” Zelyert replied, “that is acceptable.” His voice hardened, a touch. “We can’t leave the Table inactive. When the Archon shifts the Master Scepter, that will put too much stress on the grid. We don’t know when that will be, but it won’t be all that long.”
“I know. But without a Table, when I take First Company to Blackstear, it won’t take that long to flush them out.”
“You think you should leave Elcien? You personally?”
“It will be quicker if I go. If you don’t want me to, I’ll send Alcyna. If I go, though, I should be able to return by the Table. We’ll have to leave Myrmidons to guard the Table, and we’ll have to take most of those lightcutters you have under seal. I don’t imagine the Myrmidons from Ifryn will have left either guards or weapons.”
“When would you leave?” pressed Zelyert.
“This morning,” replied Dainyl. “We’d overnight in Klamat and attack tomorrow morning.”
“You don’t think any of them will escape?”
Delari laughed. “It’s already winter there. The harbor’s frozen in, and so is the river from Klamat. There’s nowhere to go and no way to get there.”
“I’ll have Seventh Company shift two squads from Tempre here to cover dispatches and emergency transport. It would help if one of your assistants could translate the orders to Tempre…” Dainyl went on to offer a brief outline of what he planned, trying not to be too specific, but also including the need for fully charged lightcutters for the Myrmidons to use inside the Table building.
He wasn’t looking forward to frigid cold-weather flying—or what waited at the end of the flight.
37
A wind that sounded far more like winter than fall whistled outside the headquarters building. Mykel stood as Rhystan walked into the study, carrying a rifle.
“I have this feeling…” offered Mykel.
“It’s worse than that. This is what third squad found with the dead Reillie.” Rhystan handed a Cadmian rifle to Mykel. “Take a close look.”
Mykel took the weapon, turning it and examining it closely. There was neither a maker’s mark nor a serial number on the rifle, yet it was almost brand-new, with few scratches on the stock or barrel, and clearly a Cadmian rifle, made in either Faitel or Fordall. “Another contraband weapon. How many do you think they have?”
“Who knows?” replied the older captain tiredly, letting himself slump slightly in the chair. “I’d say a lot. Maybe even enough to arm all of them. I wouldn’t wager against their also having enough ammunition as well. They’re already gathering to the west of Wesrigg. The scouts say that they’ve got more than a thousand men.”
“How could they come up with that many after all these years?” Mykel sat on the corner of the small writing desk.
“‘Men’ is a relative term. Their women ride and shoot as well as the men, and that’s with hand-forged, single-shot weapons. The boys—and the girls—can shoot before they’re grown. They do tend to use the girls more as long-range snipers. Our big advantage has been in weapons and tactics. Now they’ve got better weapons than they ever had, and a larger force.”
“They’re still angry with us, and with Majer Hersiod,” Mykel added. “Do we know where they’re headed?”
“After us.”
“I don’t think that they’ll attack directly. They never have. They’ll feint, then get us to follow them and set traps and ambushes all along the way.”
“That points to Borlan eventually. There’s a bridge there, and Iron Stem and Wesrigg are pretty poor. If they wipe us out, they can loot Borlan and retreat into the Westerhills for years.”
“But they’ll want to hit us first, or make us chase them?”
“Either way, we’ll end up chasing them,” Rhystan pointed out.
“How good is Nineteenth Company?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Ride in force out the high road to Wesrigg,” Mykel said. “The road’s open enough that they’d have trouble ambushing us. If they attack, then we’ll do whatever’s necessary. If not, we’ll start after them. They’ll ride like the storms. That’s when we’ll back off with Third Battalion, and set up along what looks to be their planned track southward. We’ll have Hamylt pursue—at a leisurely and careful pace.”
“And you’ll have Hamylt chase them toward us?”
“That’s the hope.”
“You don’t like playing others’ games, do you?”
Mykel never had. “I don’t know if it will work, but let’s see what else the scouts can find out.”
“The local inholders won’t like us pulling out the patrols against the predators.”
“They’d like it even less if the Reillies and the Squawts came in and took over Iron Stem,” Mykel replied.
Rhystan laughed ironically. “They won’t see it that way.”
He was doubtless right about that, Mykel thought. “Just get all the scouts together, along with the company commanders, say, in a glass, and we’ll go over things. Maybe some of them have already noticed small things that will make it clearer.”
“Could be.” Rhystan sounded less than convinced.
Mykel was the one to laugh, so dour had Rhystan sounded. “You may be right, but we can hope.”
“Just so long as we don’t rely on hope, Majer.”
After Rhystan left, Mykel stood and stretched, thinking.
Were the manufactories in Faitel producing rifles for the Reillies and the Squawts? Why? It almost seemed like the alectors were out to destroy both the hill peoples and the Cadmians. Rachyla had said that the alectors had their own purposes, and the soarers had indicated the same. What had the soarer “said” exactly on that night in Hyalt?
He concentrated, bringing back the words, more like thoughts planted in his own mind.
The invaders, the ones you call alectors, will kill you if they sense what you are. They wish no rivals to their ability…They will bleed the world dry long before its time.
Were the Cadmians rivals to their ability? Had Mykel and Third Battalion been too effective in dealing with the rebel alectors in Tempre? Or was something else happening, as had occurred with the rebel alectors in Hyalt and Tempre?
38
Alcyna looked up as Dainyl stepped into her study.
“We have a problem,” he announced, brushing unruly black hair back off his forehead. “Foot Myrmidons came through the Table from Ifryn and stormed Blackstear. They hold the Table building, but the recorder escaped, and the Table’s been temporarily inactivated. The High Alector wants us to take it back so that the recorders can reactivate the Table before the Master Scepter is transferred.”
Soarer's Choice Page 21
