Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Seltyr Khanasyl, with the advice of Porofyr, has suggested that I appoint one of several Seltyrs to the post of Minister of Highways and Rivers. Has he consulted with you on such matters?”

  “Lady … I would not wish to reveal confidences…”

  “I am not asking you to reveal the subject of any talks you may have had on the matter with either Porofyr or Khanasyl. I merely would like to know if either sought your counsel. Did he?”

  Almardyn smiled sadly. “That is a confidence as well…”

  Mykella could read the answer even without using her Talent. “At this time, would any Seltyr of capability be interested in such a position?”

  “I would think it unlikely. If I might speak freely, Lady, those of ability would not wish to have to act against the interests of their houses, and to accomplish what is necessary for Lanachrona might well require such.”

  “They would prefer not to support higher tariffs, although tariffs have been too low for too long, you mean?”

  “That would be one example.”

  “What might be another?” Mykella asked, hoping her words were guileless.

  Almardyn’s eyes twinkled for a moment. “I am certain you can think of a few, Lady Mykella.”

  “And some might not prefer greater oversight of the justicing system?”

  Almardyn did not reply, only smiling politely, but Mykella had sensed his internal wince, and she said, “It is somewhat unusual that, upon occasion, those who might testify against a Seltyr fail to live, even in the gaol, to make it before the justicer.”

  “There have always been those with great power and position—and their confidants—who make their own rules, Lady. I can only say that I am not one of them. That way is too dangerous for a Seltyr with but a single son and four daughters, none of whom has the attributes of a child of the Ancients.”

  Mykella decided not to refute or acknowledge his description of her. “I appreciate greatly your conduct, and my door will always be open to you, as yours has been to me.”

  Almardyn inclined his head.

  Mykella nodded in return, then straightened. “As always, thank you very much, Seltyr and High Factor.”

  “I could do no less for a Lady-Protector of such diligence,” replied Almardyn.

  “Nonetheless, I do thank you,” Mykella said, before turning to depart.

  The ride back to the palace was without event, as Mykella considered what she had learned from Almardyn … and what she had not. He had as much as told her that her problems did indeed lie with Khanasyl and Porofyr and not to accept any of their recommendations, but he had not offered any alternatives … except perhaps, by lack of reference, to accept Lhanyr’s recommendation.

  Once Mykella was back in the palace, as she walked up the staircase to the upper level, she saw Salyna standing at the top of the steps.

  “Mykella … do you have a moment?”

  “Of course.” Mykella stopped next to the topmost stone balustrade post.

  “Could we go to your study?” Salyna glanced down the corridor, then back to Mykella.

  Mykella nodded but said nothing until the two were inside the formal study. “What is it?”

  “It’s not much. It’s nothing compared to everything.” Salyna paused, then went on. “The auxiliaries need uniforms … I’ve already arranged for the cloth, and the thread and needles. I’ve paid for it. There’s more we need. I hate to ask. I know how few golds are left in the Treasury, but they’ll also need boots. I’ve talked it over with Areyst. They won’t get boots until they complete their training and agree to serve for three years…”

  “You paid for all the fabric?” asked Mykella.

  “It was my idea.”

  “How much? Everything you had?”

  Salyna nodded. “Twenty-one golds.”

  Mykella shook her head. “It must run in daughters.”

  “What?”

  “Pride. Unwillingness to ask for things. Of course I can spare golds for that. How many? When do you need them?”

  “I need twenty for a deposit … and if all sixty make it through, I’ll need another thirty.”

  “Sixty? You have sixty women who will do this? Every time I ask, there are more.”

  “Well…” Salyna flushed slightly. “Seventy wanted to, but some of them couldn’t do the tests that the squad leaders and I worked out.”

  “You’ll have your golds.” Mykella turned and walked to the bookcase on the left and pressed the inlaid goldenwood, then pivoted the bookcase out from the wall, revealing a locked iron door. After unlocking the door and sliding it into the stone recess, she stepped into the chamber and opened the smallest chest of those set in the recesses in the stone. She counted out a hundred golds into one of the leather pouches with the Lord-Protector’s seal on it, then walked out of the strong room, closing and locking the door and replacing the bookcase.

  She handed the pouch to Salyna. “There are a hundred golds, for whatever else you need, too.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “A hundred golds are nothing compared to the good of releasing a company to fight.”

  “In time, it will mean more than that,” Salyna promised.

  It will … if I can find a way to stop the Ifrits and their devices and weapons and defeat the coastal princes … and keep the Seltyrs in line …

  But Mykella smiled.

  24

  By Tridi morning, Mykella still had no good ideas as to which Seltyrs or High Factors she could talk to on the matter of possible ministers—not without making matters worse.

  As she walked toward her study, she almost stopped.

  You’re doing what Father did. Why does it have to be Seltyrs or High Factors? With a rueful smile, she turned and headed the other way—toward the study of the Finance Minister.

  Chief Clerk Haelyt looked up from a ledger as Mykella stepped into the Finance study and brushed a wispy strand of gray hair back off his forehead. “Yes, Lady?”

  “I need your observations about some of the factors and Seltyrs.”

  “My Lady … you must know that I seldom encounter any exalted persons.”

  “I do.” Mykella smiled. “I also know you encounter their golds and their functionaries, and you know who pays on time and who does not, and I am certain that there is much that you have heard. I’m not asking you to guess or gossip. I’m just trying to learn about certain Seltyrs.”

  “I can only tell what I know and what I’ve heard, and some of that may not be true. Not everything one hears is as it should be.”

  “I understand. I’ve met with Seltyr Klevytr, and his daughter seems quite thoughtful. What have you heard?”

  “I wouldn’t know the daughter, Lady, nor the Seltyr himself. His account clerk was always the first here to present the Seltyr’s rendering of what was due. Twitchy, nervous fellow, name of Bastulyt, the kind that’s always looking over his shoulder.” Haelyt shrugged. “Might be the way he is. Might be who he serves. Couldn’t rightly say.”

  Mykella nodded. “What about First Seltyr Khanasyl?”

  “Him? When I was first clerking, he used to present billings for his sire. Spoke very well…” Haelyt chuckled. “Spoke so well that he once got Kiedryn to agree to a change in a billing. Kiedryn told me to deal with him after that. Didn’t speak so well to me. That was after I didn’t agree with him and told the Finance Minister—that was Lord Felkyn—not to change the disbursement. Never saw Seltyr Khanasyl after that, but his fellows never argued, either.”

  “High Factor Lhanyr?”

  “Friendly quiet fellow. Very prompt in settling, not pushy in receiving…”

  “Seltyr Thaen…?”

  “Younger Seltyr. Only seen him once. Full of himself and snapped at his clerk…”

  “Seltyr Pualavyn…?”

  “Can’t say as I know anything at all, Lady.”

  “What about High Factor Pytroven?”

  “Never seen him. His men are most polite, well dressed, and dir
ect. Not full of themselves, though.”

  “Zylander?”

  “Seen the most of him. He handles more himself than most factors do. Careful, but sharp. Never raises his voice.”

  “Seltyr Thaen?”

  Mykella caught the hidden wince.

  “Not the most retiring sort, that one. Yelled at old Kiedryn more than once. Yells louder when he’s wrong. Doesn’t think he ever is. Your uncle had to dress him down more than once…”

  When Mykella had finished with Haelyt, she made her way down to the lower Finance study, where she posed similar questions to Vyahm. The only Seltyrs or factors with whom Vyahm was acquainted—of those in whom Mykella was interested—happened to be Lhanyr and Hasenyt, and he knew little except both were honest in their billings and prompt in paying their tariffs.

  When she had finished talking to Vyahm, Mykella looked to the newest Finance clerk, at the table in the corner. Jainara was close to what Mykella had anticipated in most respects. She was short and boyishly slender, with hair barely longer than that of a youth. What Mykella hadn’t expected was the carrot red hair and the spray of freckles across her face.

  “Jainara … if you’d come with me?”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  Mykella detected no apprehension and only minimal curiosity as she led Jainara out of the study. For all Jainara’s apparent youth, Mykella had no doubts that the clerk was at least several years older than Mykella herself.

  The two walked to the end of the corridor, where Mykella stopped. For the next quarter glass, the hallway would be empty—and then the palace doors would be open to all those who had business with the various ministries.

  “Jainara … you’ve been a clerk for the Southern Guards and now for the Finance Ministry, You’ve posted accounts for factors, crafters, and Seltyrs for years, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, Lady-Protector.”

  “I’d like your opinion on several of them.”

  “Might I ask why, Lady-Protector? I am but a clerk.”

  “That’s exactly why. I have opinions from those, as Haelyt puts it, of exalted rank. Several of them have been recommended for a ministerial position. I’ve discovered the way men handle people and golds, especially when their peers are not looking, can tell a different story.”

  Jainara smiled, faintly. “Did you ask for me to be promoted to the Finance Ministry, Lady?”

  “Only after Haelyt recommended you.”

  Jainara offered a puzzled look. “I scarcely ever saw him.”

  “He saw your work. He sees more than most realize. Now … about the Seltyrs and factors. What do you know about Seltyr Klevytr?”

  “Personally, I know nothing. Of those who I know who have encountered him, none would wish to again.”

  “First Seltyr Khanasyl?”

  “Nothing, Lady.”

  In the end, Jainara had favorable impressions of both Pytroven and Zylander although she thought Zylander cool. Of Thaen, she said, “He’s loud and rude. He’s a bully, and he doesn’t even know what’s in his own accounts.” She had no impressions of the others about whom Mykella asked her.

  Mykella barely made it back to her study before the palace opened to outsiders. There she spent a glass going over correspondence and missives—as well as Rachylana’s suggested invitation list for the season-turn ball. By the time she had finished signing, changing, or approving all the documents, she was having trouble keeping her mind on them since her thoughts kept going back to the Ifrits and the coastal princes, but especially to the Ifrits.

  Could she really afford to ignore what might be happening at the other Tables, especially after what the ancient soarer had told her might happen? How could she discover what might be happening if she did not travel to those Tables? Where should she travel first?

  Blackstear—that had to be the black-marked Table that had seemed to be the “brightest” the last time she’d checked. She almost shivered when she recalled just how cold it had been when she had emerged there weeks earlier. Although it had been winter, she doubted that it would be that much warmer in midspring, not as far north as Blackstear was.

  After leaving the study and walking back to her apartments, she donned a heavy winter coat over the riding jacket, which caught momentarily on the haft of her small belt knife, as well as nightsilk gloves and felt-lined winter boots. She also retrieved two of the pistol-like Ifrit weapons from where she had concealed them in the armoire, slipping one into each side pocket of the coat.

  Then she reached out to the darkness and dropped into the depths, directing herself toward the shimmering black marker, far “brighter” than she had realized, possibly because the blackness understated the brightness. That worried her.

  Mykella emerged in a dark chamber—one with no light at all except for the pink-purple glow of the Table. Her breath steamed, but she could only see that as she looked/perceived the Table. The Table appeared to be a dimmer purple-pink than the one in Tempre, but there was something about it, almost as if some sort of unseen cable threaded away from it, a cable perceived only by her senses. Did that mean Ifrits had already used the Table?

  She nodded slowly as she studied the chamber, but, other than the Table, it was empty of all furnishings.

  Through a doorway to her left she could make out a ramp heading upward. She walked toward it, stopping when she stepped through the doorless archway to the foot of the ramp because, in the dim light filtering down the ramp, she made out bootprints in the frost that covered the green stone—large prints that were fresh. They had to be from Ifrits. Immediately, she raised both shields and concealment. She also eased one of the ancient flame pistols from her coat before slowly easing her way up the ramp, careful to keep her steps amid the welter of bootprints. From somewhere above, she heard murmurs, but then she realized that the voices were coming from a distance.

  Once she reached the open archway at the top of the ramp, she gazed out and down a long wide corridor, flanked by columns of amber gold stone, seemingly the same as that comprising the Great Piers or the ancient buildings of Dereka. The hallway—empty of decorations or furnishings—was brightly illuminated by light flooding through translucent clerestory panels in the high roof.

  The voices seemed to come from the far end of the corridor, and Mykella moved slowly along the columns on the right side. While she hoped that whoever was speaking would not see her, her shields had not proved to be totally effective against Ifrit weapons, and she wanted to be able to duck behind a column if necessary.

  As she neared a set of archways to side chambers, she slowed, then looked into the one on her right. It was empty, and dim, because the ceiling was solid stone of some sort, and where there had been windows were oblong sections of the wall covered by rough-cut gray stones fitted and mortared in place. The polished stone of the floor was lightly covered in frost and dust and showed bootprints.

  Mykella moved onward, noting that she had to be nearing the voices because they were louder. The next pair of chambers she passed were also empty, but the voices were far louder, and she eased up to the next archway. She could sense purplish figures—Ifrits—inside the chamber to her left, and she walked quietly across the corridor and stood behind the golden stone column flanking the side of the archway, listening and trying to better use her Talent to discern more about the Ifrits.

  Four Ifrits stood in a semicircle, facing toward the outside wall, doubtless toward what had once been a window, and the voices stopped for several moments. Since the Ifrits were looking the other way, Mykella peered around the edge of the column, wanting to see them with her eyes and not just her senses. With her eyes on the Ifrits, she eased one of the Ifrit pistols out of her jacket and thumbed the safety lever to the firing position.

  The four all wore the silvery garments, uniforms of some sort, but the colors were different, as if they belonged to armsmen of four different lands. The colors also appeared almost washed-out, unlike the uniforms worn by the Ifrits who had attacked the palace. Their life-
threads also were dark and twisted purplish cords that ran from each to an oblong box that rested on the floor in the middle of the semicircle. From that box, a single larger cable snaked downward through the stone in the direction of the Table chamber.

  What struck Mykella the most was that despite their size, all four carried an impression of gauntness and tiredness.

  With a string of words Mykella did not understand, the tallest Ifrit turned and leveled what looked like a rifle—except that it had the same crystal barrel as did the flame pistol Mykella carried. The rifle spewed firebolts directly at Mykella.

  Even as the grayish blue flames smashed into her shields, she could sense an outpouring of what she could only have called intense hatred. She staggered back for a step, then straightened against the hail of fire that both reflected from her shields—and also burned, but not nearly so much as had the fires from the Ifrits at the villa.

  She could understand a few of the words from one of the Ifrits who carried no weapon.

  … Green!… the green … vileness …

  Mykella almost fired the pistol, before realizing her own shields would like send its bolts back at her and stuffing it into her coat. She Talent-reached for the life-thread of the Ifrit with the rifle and twisted his life-thread apart.

  He stumbled and crashed to the stone, and the rifle bounced from his lifeless hands and skittered away.

  The second Ifrit leveled a wide-barreled pistol of some sort at Mykella and fired, yelling,… green … ancient bitch!… halt …

  Something crashed into her shields, rocking Mykella back, but she took a step forward and concentrated on his life-thread. As it frayed and exploded apart, another assault impacted her shields. She turned to see the third Ifrit wielding a saw-edged blade that glowed yellow beginning somehow to cut his way through her shields.

  Each stroke of that blade, shorter than a saber, but longer than a dagger, created lines of pain radiating down her neck. She mentally fumbled but forced herself to concentrate through the pain, locating his node and finally tearing apart the threads.

  A last, vicious swath of yellow raked through her mind and skull.