Dainyl couldn’t help but look hard at the jellied spears.
“Those are jellied prickle—it’s a lander delicacy,” Khelaryt offered.
While Dainyl had always liked chiafra, he personally preferred it with a richer brown sauce. As for the prickle, it tasted like a combination of rancid oil and sawdust, delicacy or not.
“Tell me, Dainyl. What is your best judgment as to what will happen next?”
“I believe we’re getting very near to the time when the Archon will transfer the Master Scepter. Brekylt has begun to move forces westward, perhaps in support of Duarch Samist.”
Following Khelaryt’s example, Dainyl sipped the red wine.
“Why do you believe the transfer is imminent?”
“Because wild translations have dropped considerably and because the recorders have been reporting strange fluctuations of a type they’ve never known before from the Tables.” Dainyl took another bite of the chiafra. He wasn’t about to eat any more of the prickle.
“That could be coincidence.”
“That is always possible,” Dainyl conceded.
“Your actions suggest you believe the danger is here in the west, yet Brekylt’s power lies in the east.”
“His base of power lies in the east,” replied Dainyl. “Outside of Lysia, though, his support there is so strong that he has no fear of losing it. In addition, it is clear that Ruvryn and the engineers support him. Given that, it may even be that Samist supports him…or that he may be doing Samist’s bidding.”
“That is a serious charge. You are as much as saying that Samist will attack me.”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“Is that why your wife is in Dereka, Dainyl?” Khelaryt’s voice was smooth.
Dainyl was not deceived, sensing the anger behind it. “Not exactly, sir. Long before I became even marshal, I was worried about conflicts in the west. I also wished my wife’s abilities to be rewarded, and you may recall that I mentioned the extent of those abilities.”
“That you did,” grudged Khelaryt.
“I might also add that I am here, and I have never shied from danger.”
“There is that.”
“And she is carrying a child.”
“All that would be mere rationalization in other alectors, Dainyl, but even suspicious as a Duarch must be, I concede your loyalty, if only from the injuries and risks you have taken. Will you return to Dereka tonight?”
“Certainly not tonight. It is unlikely I will travel to Dereka often, if at all, until these matters are resolved.”
Khelaryt nodded, and Dainyl could sense a certain satisfaction behind the pleasant facade.
“You will definitely enjoy the dessert,” the Duarch said. “It is an old favorite of mine as well. Did I tell you that once I fancied that I could have been the best pastry chef in Illustra?”
“I can’t say that I’m surprised, sir.” Dainyl smiled politely.
Khelaryt had the information he wanted, whatever it had been, perhaps only a confirmation of Dainyl’s loyalty, and little more of import would be said or asked, for which Dainyl was grateful, although he would certainly remain on his guard.
89
Dainyl slept uneasily. On Octdi night, he’d debated returning to Dereka, but he’d decided against it because his Talent-strength was returning, and he had the feeling that traveling the Tables—or the ancients’ web—might not only reduce his strength but also provoke some sort of attack that would only weaken him and leave him less able for the inevitable attack on Elcien by Brekylt and Samist.
On Novdi morning, he woke before dawn, drenched in sweat. He’d had dreams of battles, with pteridons fighting pteridons and lightcannon turning the sky into a web of crisscrossing lines of blue flame, of ancients taking an oversized beaker and pouring green fluids down his throat until he burst…and of amber-green barriers walling off the sun itself and soarers hovering around him chanting, “Change or die…change or die.”
Still, after a shower and a breakfast of egg toast and ale, he felt better physically. In fact, for all of the disturbance of his dreams, he felt that he was close to full Talent-strength.
He did find a hacker and was at the Hall of Justice well before anyone, except for those on duty in the Table chamber. Once in his study, he went over the latest reports from Alcyna. Her Myrmidon scouts had reported seeing, from a distance, a number of pteridons in the air around Ludar. Two of the Duarches’ massive seagoing vessels had been at the piers in Ludar on Septi. Since those vessels were under the control of Alseryl, and since no one had seen Alseryl for several days, that suggested that the High Alector of Transport had allied himself with Samist.
Dainyl had not mentioned the possible alliance, but on Octdi morning he had sent a message to Khelaryt noting the ships’ location and Alseryl’s absence. There had been no response throughout Octdi, and none was waiting at the Hall of Justice. In fact, Dainyl had received no communication of any sort from the Duarch since their private lunch meeting.
Just because Dainyl thought Samist, Brekylt, Ruvryn, and Alseryl were planning an attack on Elcien—or on Khelaryt himself—Dainyl couldn’t very well order an attack on Ludar. He had no real proof of anything except that Ruvryn’s engineers had built lightcannon and that Brekylt and the RAs in his area of administrative oversight had used them.
He was still wrestling with what he could order besides patrols and observations when he sensed Chastyl outside his study door. “You can come in, Chastyl.”
The recorder opened the door and stepped into the study, closing the door behind him. “Sir…I’ve been noting something. It might mean something, and it might not.”
Dainyl nodded for him to continue.
“Since about midnight, we have seen absolutely no wild translations. I checked with some of the other recorders. They haven’t seen any, either.”
A chill ran through Dainyl. “You’re certain of that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me, Chastyl…have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary? Or the absence of something normal?”
The recorder pursed his lips, then tilted his head. His forehead furrowed. After a moment, he replied, “Outside of that, I cannot say that I have, Highest.”
“If you do, please tell me immediately—and thank you for telling me about the wild translations…or rather, about their absence.”
After the recorder left, Dainyl sat in silence. There were only three possible reasons for their sudden elimination of wild translations, and all of them suggested that the transfer of the Master Scepter was imminent, possibly within the next day, if not already under way. Yet there was little more he could do, beyond what he had already put in motion.
He felt as though both his hands and legs were tied, or that he’d been chained in an underground cavern with unbreakable Talent chains. No matter what he felt, he couldn’t offer more evidence than he had, and couldn’t prove anything, and he didn’t have the authority to order further action without effectively becoming a rebel himself.
Finally, he got up and walked to his chief assistant’s study.
“Adya…make sure that the coach is standing by for me. I may need it at any time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.” Dainyl returned to his study and looked at the ancient stone wall opposite him. How had it all come to this?
Less than a quarter glass later, Chastyl appeared at his door once more, this time with a young and wide-eyed alector. “This is Balyt. He says he was sent from Lyterna.”
Dainyl gestured them both into the study.
Chastyl closed the door carefully, but stood back as Balyt stepped forward.
“I’m Balyt, Highest,” stammered the young alector.
“Yes?”
“I’m the most junior of Myenfel’s assistants, and that’s why he sent me. They’re fighting, sir. It’s awful. It’s all over Lyterna.”
“Who’s fighting, and why are you here?”
The young ale
ctor straightened. “Paeylt and the engineers tried to storm the upper levels. Asulet blocked them and sent me to Myenfel through the hidden ways. Paeylt’s killing all the old alectors and anyone who won’t pick up a lightcutter for him. Myenfel’s got the Table chamber blocked, but he doesn’t know how long he can hold it.”
Dainyl rose. Maybe he could at least do something in Lyterna.
“Ah…sir…”
“What?”
“Asulet and Myenfel sent a message.” Balyt fumbled and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pale green shimmersilk tunic, extending it to Dainyl.
Dainyl unfolded the sheet and read it. Then, short as it was, he read it again, his eyes running over the words and letters.
Dainyl,
The time is upon us, and Paeylt will attempt to take Lyterna. Whatever you may do, leave the Hall of Justice and do not attempt the Tables or come to Lyterna until it is all over.
The signature was that of Asulet, and Dainyl could even gain a Talent-sense of the ancient alector tied to the words and paper.
“Did either Myenfel or Asulet say anything?” pressed Dainyl.
“Oh, yes, sir. Asulet did, sir.”
“What did he say?” Dainyl was trying to control his exasperation.
“Ah…sir…”
“What?” snapped Dainyl.
“Asulet…he said that you’d better know what he meant…and that if you didn’t…” Balyt’s voice trailed off.
“And if I didn’t…”
“Then…then…you deserved whatever happened…”
Whatever happened? Dainyl disliked those words. He looked at Chastyl. “Is there any change in the Tables?”
“There are more…Talent waves. At least, there were right after Balyt arrived.”
“Once the Archon starts to transfer the Scepter…how long will it take?”
“I cannot say. The translation would seem immediate, but time passes to others…outside the tube. It could be several glasses, or it might be longer. Days, conceivably. I know of no records, Highest.”
“Go check the Table right now and report back immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Chastyl scurried out, leaving the study door ajar.
Dainyl turned back to Balyt. “Does Paeylt have any other weapons besides lightcutters?”
“They’re not like the ones the Myrmidons sometimes carry, sir. They’re bigger, like rifles, and the light-flame is blue-green. It’s much stronger.”
Had Paeylt been the one who developed them? He could have gotten or brought the designs from Ifryn.
“Who was winning?”
“I don’t know, sir. Asulet had done something that blocked Paeylt from the upper levels, and that was why Paeylt was killing anyone who wouldn’t tell him what Asulet had done. That’s what Myenfel said. But no one knew what he’d done. Even Myenfel didn’t.”
That gave Dainyl some hope.
Chastyl burst back into the study. “Highest…I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Like what?” Couldn’t anyone describe what was happening?
“The whole Table is flashing, between brilliant purple and black-purple.”
Dainyl jumped to his feet. “It’s time to clear the Hall of Justice…” Before he could say more, a wave of blackish purple washed over him, and the entire Hall of Justice strobed between purple and green, and then between black and purple.
Diordyn pounded on the door to the study, then burst inside without waiting for an acknowledgment.
“Highest! They’re moving the Master Scepter! No one should use the Tables! The flashes from the Table killed the guards.”
Dainyl rushed into the corridor. “Clear the Hall! Get everyone out of the Hall. Right now! Leave everything!”
Adya appeared instantly.
“Adya. Get everyone out of here and out of the Hall of Justice above. Don’t tell anyone up there why. They’re moving the Master Scepter, and the Table’s giving off killing Talent. Send a message to the Duarch. You take it personally to Bharyt, not the Duarch. Tell him that the Archon has started to transfer the Master Scepter.”
“Me, sir?”
“You. I’ve got to get to Myrmidon headquarters!”
After those words, Dainyl bolted for the stairs, sprinting up and out of the Hall and down the stone steps to the coach, barely noting that the sky was a cold but clear silver-green.
“Myrmidon headquarters! As fast as you can!” He jumped into the coach and closed the door behind himself, all in one motion.
As the coach clattered down the boulevard toward Myrmidon headquarters, Dainyl found himself worrying more about Lystrana than what was happening in Elcien—although she was certainly far safer in the RA’s complex in Dereka than she would have been in the Duarch’s Palace. He also found himself looking out the coach window into the clear silver-green sky to the south, seeking the pteridons that would surely be headed toward the Duarch’s Palace.
As soon as the coach came to a stop outside Myrmidon headquarters, Dainyl was out the door. “Stand by here!” he called to the driver over his shoulder as he ran up the steps of the building.
He burst through the doors and into the front foyer before the duty desk.
“Highest?” asked Undercaptain Yuasylt.
“The marshal?” Dainyl didn’t finish the question. He could sense Alcyna hurrying down the hallway toward him.
Alcyna stopped in midstride as she saw Dainyl.
“The Archon is moving the Master Scepter,” he said. “The Tables are throwing off killing energy. We’d best expect an attack anytime.”
“It’s already under way. I sent a messenger to the Hall.”
“I was already on my way here. Go on.” Dainyl motioned for her to continue.
“The patrols have already reported a force of sandoxen and unmarked coaches moving toward us from Ludar. There are heavy wagons as well, and alectors in black and silver. They’re less than fifteen vingts away. There’s a formation of pteridons, circling to the south, east of the bay, and the two ships to the south-southwest are making full speed for Elcien.”
Dainyl forced himself to take a slow deep breath. From all that, it was clear that the attackers hadn’t known exactly when the Master Scepter would be moved, or they would have timed their assault to the exact moment.
After a pause, he asked, “What have you planned?”
“Once the ships get closer, Seventh Company will deal with them. Captain Lyzetta has developed something special. Fifth Company will deal with the ground forces, and First Company will lead the attack against the pteridons, possibly with two squads from Seventh Company, as well as the others once they’ve sunk the ships.”
Alcyna made it sound so simple, and so easy.
Dainyl almost laughed, realizing that when he’d been submarshal and marshal, he’d done the same. “How close are the ships?”
“A quarter glass in flight time.”
“Have Lyzetta take them out now.”
“Before they do anything?” Alcyna raised her eyebrows. “Do we know—”
“Can we risk waiting?”
The marshal gave a brisk nod. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
Dainyl nodded, then walked to the back of the foyer and through the door to the rear courtyard. From there, he surveyed the pteridons on their squares, and the Myrmidons standing by, waiting for orders.
Alcyna crossed the courtyard.
Dainyl watched as she spoke to Captain Lyzetta, then stepped away.
Shortly, two squads of pteridons lifted off, led by Lyzetta. Four of the Talent creatures carried slings. In those slings were large metal cylinders that radiated Talent energy. Dainyl felt limited and helpless, just watching, but what else could he do now, except watch?
Alcyna walked back across the courtyard to Dainyl. “I’d prefer to wait until their pteridons commit, and until we see how Lyzetta’s scheme works.”
“Do you know what’s in those cylinders?”
“I can’t claim I understand tota
lly. She said that it combines something like a lightcutter with lifeforce-coated crossbow quarrels and Talent-boosted blasting powder.” Alcyna smiled ironically. “She said she got the idea from you.”
From him? “It’s supposed to sink the ships?”
“She didn’t say. She just said that they should take care of the ships.”
Dainyl looked southward, but the pteridons were out of sight.
“You actually look worried, Highest,” offered Alcyna.
“I am.”
A single pteridon swept in over the southern wall, flared against the north wind, and settled onto the landing stage. As he accompanied Alcyna toward the raised stone stage, Dainyl recognized the flier—Vorosylt from First Company’s second squad.
Vorosylt had dismounted, but remained beside his pteridon. “Marshal…Highest…the pteridons are forming and heading northward toward Elcien. They’re about twenty vingts south right now.”
Less than a third of a glass away, thought Dainyl.
“How many?”
“More than a company. Might be two.”
“Stand by, Vorosylt,” ordered Alcyna, “Captain Ghasylt and all of First Company will be lifting off in a moment.” She turned, but the captain had clearly seen the incoming scout and was running across the courtyard.
“Marshal, do we lift off?” asked Ghasylt as he halted before Alcyna, looking down on her.
“This moment. Intercept and destroy the attackers.”
“Yes, sir!” Ghasylt turned, loping across the courtyard toward his own pteridon, waiting on the first row of stone squares. “First Company! Lift off by squads! First squad!”
Alcyna hurried toward the west side of the courtyard, directly toward Fifth Company. She had not covered ten yards when the pteridons of first squad rose, springing into the air and spreading their blue leathery wings, climbing out northward into the wind and then banking into an eastward turn over Elcien before heading southward. Once all of First Company was airborne, Fifth Company followed. In less than a tenth of a glass, only two squads of pteridons remained in the headquarters courtyard—both from Seventh Company.
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