“And by the hard work and labor of the crafters and the tillers and many others,” Mykella added. “If too great a share of those golds is gathered up by too few, the land suffers.”
“If too great a share is spread to the many,” countered Khanasyl, “there is no way to collect enough in tariffs to maintain order or to pay the Southern Guards.”
“You are absolutely right,” agreed Mykella. “But a proper share of those golds gathered by those with the skills you praise must be used by the Protector to keep Lanachrona strong. We have men being killed while awaiting justicing, and when I became Lady-Protector, the Southern Guards was smaller than in generations. As I said, the errors were not those of the factors or the Seltyrs, but of my predecessors. But they were errors, and I have begun to remedy them. Surely you would not wish to see Lanachrona continue to be weakened by a failure to return to the wise customs and rules established by Mykel the Great, would you?”
“Lady-Protector, I cannot refute your words. Yet I must point out that no man would willingly see his patrimony diminished to rectify the errors of the past.”
“I can appreciate that, First Seltyr, even when such patrimonies were increased in the past by the unwillingness of Protectors to tariff as much as necessary. At the same time, failure to change matters might well leave many with no patrimony at all—if the coastal princes have their way. That is why matters must return to the wiser ways of the past. With such threats facing Lanachrona, how can I not insist that we do so?” Mykella looked directly at Khanasyl, using her Talent to project a sense of honest inquiry.
“What might you mean by a return to the wiser ways of the past?” Although his words were seemingly open, there was concern and apprehension behind them.
“A justicing system where offenders survive to testify might help. So would tariffs high enough to maintain a Southern Guards large enough to discourage other lands from threatening Lanachrona. More solid repairs of towpaths and bridges damaged by bad weather. An understanding that treachery by Seltyrs or High Factors could result in not only execution but confiscation and sale of property and other goods…”
“Treachery is often a matter of words, Lady-Protector.” Again, Khanasyl’s voice was mild.
“Speaking against my decisions is not treachery, First Seltyr, but stealing thousands of golds from the Treasury is. Voicing concern about increasing the size of the Southern Guards is not treachery; but offering aid, advice, and comfort to the rulers of other lands is.” Mykella smiled. “You and I know the difference between words of concern and treachery. I will listen to words of concern, as I have listened to yours. I will not countenance treachery.”
“You make that obvious, Lady-Protector, but some might not see matters so clearly.”
“Then I would hope that you could see your way to making them clear to those who have difficulty seeing that opposing the good of all Lanachrona for the sake of a few extra golds, even a few thousand extra golds, is not good trading but treachery.”
“Your words are harsh, Lady-Protector.”
“The times are harsh, First Seltyr, and I will do what I must to keep Lanachrona strong. I will be no harsher than necessary because that serves no one well, but I will do what I must.”
Khanasyl inclined his head slightly. “I do not know that we agree on all matters, but I also would see a strong Lanachrona.”
You just don’t care much who rules so long as you can trade and hold on to what you have. Mykella did not voice that thought. Instead, she stood. “I appreciate your directness and your coming to see me about Porofyr. You asked me why I acted, and I told you. So long as you ask, I will answer.”
Khanasyl stood, gracefully, especially for so large a man, and offered a bow slightly more than perfunctory. “I will ask, as necessary, and look for your answers.”
After Khanasyl had left, Mykella couldn’t help but note to herself that the First Seltyr had never mentioned the position of Minister of Highways and Rivers. That tended to confirm her suspicion that his written recommendation had only given the names of unsuitable candidates, possibly to see if she would take those recommendations and reveal herself as having poor judgment.
31
When Mykella reached the family quarters for the evening meal, only Rachylana was waiting.
“Salyna said she’d be late because of what she had to do with her sculls and loose women.”
“If she can make something greater of them, and if anyone can, she can, so much the better. I thought she’d be late. That’s why I asked you to have Muergya ready everything a glass later.”
“She’s still not here.” Rachylana shook her head. “She thinks she has to do everything.”
“She does,” Mykella said, settling herself across from her sister. “That way, no one can complain when she gives an order. No one can think they don’t have to do what they do because she’s the Lady-Protector’s sister. She also proves that a woman can do whatever it is. That’s important. No one’s trained women in arms since the time of the Alectors, and the only women trained then were Alectors.”
“They were more like men.”
“Who was?” Salyna hurried through the archway into the family dining room.
“Alector women,” said Mykella.
“No … the Alectors were smarter about using women … or we’re stupider.” Salyna slipped into her chair. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’ll have to eat in a hurry. I need to get back and make sure that they’re all doing their studies.”
“Why did you even bother to come to dinner, then?” asked Rachylana.
“I needed to talk to you both.”
“You mean you needed to talk to Mykella.”
“No. I need your help, too.”
“My help?” Rachylana raised her eyebrows.
“Yours,” repeated Salyna. “I’ve got the auxiliaries in working grays. They’ll do for now, but once they’re trained, they’ll need real uniforms. The guards have what they call undress and dress uniforms. We can wait on dress uniforms, but they’ll need something that looks official and like the regular Guard uniforms—except they have to be alike and not too different, and they can’t look like they were stuffed into a man’s uniform. People will just laugh at them, and we can’t have that. They need something that works for women and looks good … and doesn’t cost too much to have sewn. You’re better at that, and I just don’t have enough time. I was hoping…”
“You want me…?”
“Why not?” asked Mykella. “You have good taste, and you know what looks good. Salyna knows how it has to work. Between the two of you, I’m sure you could design an undress uniform that’s comfortable, workable, and looks decent. I’m going to need the auxiliaries more than I thought because there are going to be more duties for the Southern Guards. Commander Areyst will need every fighting man he can muster.”
“If you put it that way…” ventured Rachylana.
“You’d really be helping us both out,” Mykella said.
“Things are that bad?” asked Rachylana
“I’m effectively Finance Minister, Minister of Highways and Rivers, and Lady-Protector. Three of the candidates for Minister of Highways and Rivers are totally unsuitable, and I have to meet with two others to see if they’re even interested. At the moment, anyone who has the status, ability, and the integrity to become Finance Minister isn’t going to be interested.”
“Do you need all three qualities?” asked Salyna.
“Without status, I’ll end up having to spend more time supporting the minister. Without ability, we’ll lose more golds we don’t have, and without integrity, things will get even worse.” Mykella poured hot tea into her mug almost to the point of overflowing, then had to lean forward and sip it before daring to lift the mug. She took a mutton chop off the serving platter, then poured hot apple gravy over it and over the mashed potatoes she’d served herself first.
“Maybe that was why Father settled on Joramyl,” said Salyna. “He thought he could tru
st him, and anyone else was worse.”
“I still say that Uncle Joramyl wasn’t all that bad until he married that bitch Cheleyza,” interjected Rachylana.
“She didn’t help matters. She’s working to train cavalry troopers in Northcoast now,” said Mykella. “Her steward here—did I tell you that he’s a cavalry officer?”
Salyna nodded. Rachylana shook her head.
“At least they haven’t started riding toward Lanachrona yet.”
“They won’t until the crops are in,” suggested Salyna.
None of the three spoke for a time.
“The First Seltyr saw you today. Did he mention the ball?” asked Rachylana.
“The ball?” Salyna almost choked on the mouthful of mutton chop she was chewing.
“I thought he might, just to be polite,” said Rachylana. “Or was he playing at being upset over what you did to that worthless Porofyr?”
“He couldn’t believe that Porofyr was that stupid. He didn’t exactly say that, but that was behind his words. He did suggest that Tempre wasn’t a very good place for trade, and he was hinting at the idea that some of the Seltyrs might pack up and leave the way Porofyr tried to do. He also left the hint that some of them weren’t too pleased with me.”
“That’s hardly a surprise,” said Rachylana ironically.
“They won’t dare to oppose you,” Salyna said.
“Not directly.” Mykella took a mouthful of mashed potato that tasted slightly bitter, despite the gravy, possibly from having been stored in the cellars for too long. “What if they just pack up their more valuable goods and golds in wagons and leave for Southgate?”
“The Southern Guards could stop them,” Rachylana pointed out.
“Not if I don’t know that they’re leaving. I can’t post sentries on all the roads leading to the southwest highway.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Salyna said.
Mykella could use any help her sister might be able to provide. “I would appreciate that.”
The three ate and talked briefly before Salyna hurried off. Then Mykella retreated to her chambers, where she donned her nightsilk jacket and slipped a pair of gloves into the jacket before sliding through the stone down to the Table chamber. The Table remained relatively muted in color, but … something about it bothered her. Yet she couldn’t even put a finger on what that might be.
She started to reach out to the dark green, knowing she had to gain better control of the green at the heart of the depths, when she sensed a line of amber and green …
… and the ancient soarer hovered before her.
“What is it? I’ve been trying to master the deepest green.”
You cannot master it without first guiding it. Your time is growing short. You must find the scepters before the Ifrits arrive and keep them from using them.
“Can’t I destroy them? Or hide them?”
The sense of the negative flowed from the Ancient. If you move them, they will be easier to find. They cannot be destroyed unless you would travel between worlds. The scepters cannot be destroyed on our world.
“Why do you always suggest I do the impossible?” Mykella didn’t bother to keep the anger out of her voice.
No one else can. Holding a scepter would destroy one of us. For … other reasons … it will not destroy you. It would not destroy any of your people, but you are the only one with the Talent to travel to find them.
“I’m the only one with Talent … in the whole world?” That seemed improbable.
No. The nightsheep herders have the Talent, and so do others, but none have mastered what you have.
There was something left unsaid, and Mykella ventured, “They can’t sense you?”
They flee and will not listen.
“Why?”
They will not hear the truth.
“What truth?”
That the Ifrits were not all destroyed and that all who have Talent are either part Ifrit or part soarer … or both.
Was that an insurmountable problem? She almost laughed at the question when she realized she just hadn’t had any other choices but to listen to the soarer.
You have not seen the others. They are dangerous to those without Talent, and they frighten the northerners. Lanachrona is too warm for them. You must find and guard the scepters. You must …
“How do I find them?”
They should make the Tables glow more brightly … for you.
“Not for you?”
The purple blinds us to certain … kinds of light …
With that the soarer shrank into a greenish mist … and then vanished into the depths.
Mykella did have the feeling that the brief conversation, if it could have been called that, had exhausted the Ancient. After a moment, she fastened the black nightsilk jacket all the way up, pulled on the nightsilk gloves, and reached out to the darkness below the Table chamber, seeking as she did the somehow muted and yet brighter crimson and gold marker that was located in Dereka. As had often seemed to happen before, even as she sought out the crimson and gold, for an endless instant, nothing seemed to happen. Then the faded but strangely bright marker rushed toward her and surrounded her.
Recalling the soft sand in the pit that had once held a Table, Mykella bent her knees as she emerged from greenish blackness, catching her balance before stepping toward the edges of the stone depression. Using both eyes and senses in the near darkness lit by only the faint glimmer of the sole light-torch, she discerned no one near. The antique door was still closed, a door that led to a staircase and the upper levels of a building now little more than a warehouse.
Mykella used her Talent to lift herself out of the pit until she stood on the ancient floor. The chamber was as deserted as it had been before, with no furnishings, just bare stone walls, but walls that held the faintest illumination of a gold that she sensed, not saw, walls bearing not a single gouge or scratch—gold eternastone, similar to but not exactly like the golden stone of the city of the soarers. Had they had something to do with building Dereka?
If she remembered, if she ever saw the soarer again, she should ask.
For a moment, she entertained the idea of appearing before the Landarch, then shook her head, for all the irony of the fact that she hadn’t wanted to be matched and married to the Landarch’s heir and live in Dereka … and yet she kept coming back to Dereka. At the moment, doing something like that would only complicate matters, and she needed to see if she could discover the scepters that the ancients so feared.
She could sense a faint purpleness … somewhere near, yet it was not in the chamber where she stood. She concentrated. It did not lie behind the door with the ancient lever handle, but it was more on the north side of the chamber. She moved around the sand-filled pit to study the wall there. At first, it appeared unbroken and solid stone, but to the left of the light-torch bracket was the faintest line. She eased farther left, where there was another line—some sort of stone door?
How could she open a door with no handles? She smiled, ironically. She didn’t have to. She concentrated on the blackness below, letting herself flow through the stone and into the room or passageway beyond. The narrow passage had seemingly been cut from the stone itself, and only the faintest light oozed from an open doorway little more than five yards away. Mykella walked carefully to the doorway and stopped, peering into a square chamber—one that looked to be precisely five yards square. Unlike the Table chamber, the room looked untouched since it had been abandoned.
A table-desk stood in one corner, and a chair with longer legs than most. Beside the desk was an oddly proportioned settee. Against the wall to the left was a wide chest of drawers, unlike any Mykella had ever seen, somehow both broader and taller. The light-torches above the table-desk shed an even glow across the chamber. Mykella looked down to see clothes lying on the floor, just inside the doorway—a green tunic trimmed in brilliant purple, with matching trousers, and black boots. The fabric held a silvery sheen. The garments were laid ou
t as if someone had been lying down and vanished, leaving the clothing behind. Mykella frowned. There was something about the garments, similar as they were to those worn by the Ifrits who had attacked the palace. She extended a Talent probe toward them, then recoiled. They felt like the eternastone of the roads and the remaining Ifrit buildings. Why? She shook her head. Like the Tables, and like the green towers, the garments bore an infusion of lifeforce. Was that why the one world had died, because the Ifrits had squandered lifeforce to preserve everything, including mere clothing … just so it would endure for eons?
Her eyes went to the light-torch bracket in the far left corner, twisted or wrenched downward. On the polished gray stone floor below lay the remaining pieces of the light-torch and beside them lay a silvery jacket, a pistol-like device, and a pair of boots on their sides. The pistol-like device was like the one the Ifrits had used, but Mykella could tell that its power had long since dissipated.
She stepped over the clothing in the doorway, not touching it, and moved toward the source of purplish power—a chest or casket in a niche carved more than head high from the wall behind the table-desk. The casket was over a yard in length and of black and a metallic silver that held a purplish sheen. A key with a triangular head remained in the lock of the casket although the lid was closed.
Mykella pulled the chair over to the wall and stepped onto it to get a better look at the casket, since she could see that it was not placed on the ledge, but actually embedded several spans into the stone so that it could not have been moved without breaking the slab into which it was set. She tried the lid. It lifted, showing that the key had been left in the open position. As she raised it, her mouth opened. A wave of deep purple too brilliant to look at swept over her, and she had to squint, barely making out that within a set of heavy metal brackets lay what could only be one of the scepters the ancient soarer feared—a thick rod of silver and black, two metals exuding light and intertwined, topped with a massive blue crystal. The crystal glimmered with energy, the source of that deep and brilliant purple that was almost too intense to view or sense directly. A smaller purple crystal was set at each end of the casket, and the metallic base of the scepter rested against one crystal and the larger blue crystal against the other. A silvery bar ran from the base of each crystal down through the bottom of the casket and into the stone.
Lady-Protector Page 28
