Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “You just happened to see him?” Mykella raised her eyebrows.

  “I was looking,” the redhead admitted. “I wanted to see what he did.” She grinned. “He looked back toward your study several times, and he was smiling—the happy kind of smile, not the calculating kind.”

  “How could you tell that?”

  “I can tell.” Rachylana paused. “You can always tell, can’t you? I’m not that good, but I could feel it.”

  Mykella studied her sister—and her life-thread. Was Rachylana’s embedded green thread thicker—or brighter? “How did you manage to get a key to the Table-chamber lock?”

  Rachylana’s mouth dropped open. “How…?”

  “How?” Mykella’s voice was cold iron.

  “I just told the armorer that the palace was my responsibility and that I needed a key.”

  “Just?”

  “Well … I did say that I hated to bother you for a written authorization.”

  “I imagine you were very persuasive.”

  “It wasn’t that hard.”

  Mykella frowned. “You pressed Talent on him, didn’t you?”

  “Just a little…”

  Mykella offered an exasperated sigh.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t done it, Mykella. Don’t you dare.”

  Abruptly, Mykella laughed. “But only on Seltyrs, not poor armorers.”

  “I had to. I had to see if I had real Talent.”

  That, Mykella understood. “Can you see things in the Table?”

  “It’s like you said—only people I know. I’ve been very careful. Anytime I sense anything dangerous, even a hint of purple, I leave right away, and I won’t go in if I feel it. That only happened once.” Rachylana paused. “I can feel your shields, you know … or sense them. I can’t do anything like that. I don’t think I ever will be able to.”

  “You don’t know that…”

  “Mykella … you figured out shields in weeks. You had to have. I’ve had weeks, and I can sense things, and I can persuade people a little, but I’ll never have the power you do.”

  “We’ll have to see.”

  Rachylana shook her head. “I know what I know, and you know it, too. Don’t you?”

  “I know you can’t right now. That could change.”

  “The Vedra could flow back to the Aerlal Plateau, too.”

  Mykella wasn’t about to argue. “Don’t go to the Table chamber until I can go with you.”

  “When? Next week?” Rachylana didn’t disguise the edge in her voice.

  “Tomorrow, midmorning. That’s a better time to see what people are doing, and we’ll see if I can help you with more.”

  “You will? You really will?” Rachylana paused. “Why are you changing your mind?”

  “I’m not. If you can use the Table, you can help me … if you would. I can’t spend all my time looking. Neither can you. With two of us, at different times, though…”

  After a moment, Rachylana nodded. “That makes sense.” She slipped off the corner of the desk. “When are you going to ask Areyst?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rachylana shook her head again. “At least you’re admitting that you will.”

  “Not until after we deal with Cheleyza.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have to prove that I can rule through trouble without a man at my side.” Because no one will believe I can unless I do.

  The redhead nodded slowly. “You’re probably right about that.”

  Why does it have to be that way?

  That question lingered in Mykella’s mind long after Rachylana had left the study.

  41

  At midmorning on Quinti, rather than earlier in the day, as she often did, Mykella went to the Table chamber, this time with Rachylana and by foot. Rachylana wore heavy riding clothes, as Mykella had requested. She let Rachylana unlock the door but let her own Talent enter before her. There was no feeling of purpleness beyond that of the Table, and she stepped into the chamber, followed by Rachylana.

  Once they stood before the Table, Mykella said, “Try to find Cheleyza.”

  The mists appeared, then swirled away, revealing Cheleyza riding along an avenue, her brother besides her, with people lined up on each side, between the gutters lining the eternastone roadway and the shops fronting the sidewalks.

  “That has to be Arwyn,” observed Mykella. “They can’t have reached Salcer by now.”

  “How good is that?”

  “It gives Areyst more time to train the recruits and Salyna more time with the auxiliaries, and that will free more guards. Now … see if you can find someone you know that I don’t.”

  Rachylana looked down into the mirrored surface of the Table, and the mists appeared, then slowly cleared to show a Southern Guard undercaptain riding along a dusty road behind two guards, and beside a squad leader.

  “Who is that?” asked Mykella.

  “Undercaptain Muirgun. I met him once with Berenyt.” The image faded as Rachylana turned. “There aren’t that many people I’ve met that you don’t know.”

  Mykella nodded. “Let’s see what Commander Demyl is doing.”

  The commander was in the white uniform, standing beside two other officers. All three were looking down at a map table.

  “Where is he?” asked Rachylana.

  “Southgate, from the uniform.”

  “Traitor…” murmured Rachylana.

  After that, the two quickly scanned others, including Maxymt, who was walking a lane in a small hamlet, and Khanasyl, who was talking to two other Seltyrs Mykella did not recognize in his elaborate study. Mykella avoided looking for Areyst.

  When the Table returned to its mirror finish, Rachylana turned to Mykella. “You didn’t look for Areyst.”

  “With you at my shoulder?” That wasn’t the reason, but the fact that Areyst would be hard to see. Mykella didn’t want to explain that yet.

  Rachylana raised her eyebrows.

  “Let me have some illusion of privacy,” added Mykella.

  “For now.”

  “Longer than that, please.”

  Rachylana smiled, then asked, “How do you use the Tables to travel?”

  “I started by standing on the Table and thinking about the darkness beneath. I found myself dropping through the Table into the darkness. I was scared, but I focused on one of the faint markers—they’re colors in the distance. I tried several of the markers. The first was Blackstear, and it was winter. I almost froze to death before I got back. I don’t know where all of the others are, but one is where the building collapsed over the Table. I got a lump on my head there. Another one might be under a hill or mountain because there are empty tunnels but no way out, not that I could find—”

  “You explored these all alone?”

  “What was I supposed to do? The soarer said I had to master my Talent, or the Ifrits would come through the Tables and take over Corus again.” Mykella didn’t want to talk about the foolish things she’d done. “Have you tried anything except looking through the Table?”

  Rachylana looked down.

  Mykella waited.

  “I tried standing on it and thinking about going somewhere. Nothing happened.”

  Should you really try to teach her more? Mykella had asked Rachylana to wear riding clothes for that reason, but she still wondered if it were wise to try. After a moment, she put out a hand and vaulted onto the Table, then gestured for Rachylana to join her.

  The redhead clambered onto the Table, less gracefully than Mykella. “Now what?”

  “Hold my hand. I’m going to try to take you to Blackstear. It’s cold, but it should be safe. Think of the darkness and of a black triangle marker.”

  Mykella grasped her sister’s hand and concentrated on the darkness and upon the dark marker that was Blackstear … and she was in the depths … with no sense of Rachylana. At the same time, she could sense that the yellow and orange marker that was Lysia was “flashing,” enough to catch he
r attention when she hadn’t even been seeking it.

  Immediately, she focused on the blueness of the Tempre Table and found herself standing beside her sister on top of the Table.

  “You … you just slipped away,” Rachylana finally said.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to get you to sense what it was like.”

  “I just felt a wave of green and black … and you were gone.”

  “That green and black is what carries you.”

  Rachylana shivered. “Salyna was right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes, you scare me, Mykella. You step onto the Table, then turn into a mist and slide into the stone … and you take it like it was nothing at all.”

  “It takes getting used to. The first time it happened, I felt smothered by stone, and I wouldn’t try it again for days.”

  “But you did.”

  “I felt like I had no choice. I had to do something.”

  Rachylana shook her head. “I don’t think … I don’t know.”

  Mykella eased off the Table. “I’m not about to push you. I hope that gives you a better feel. Just don’t try it if there’s any hint of purpleness around.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “I have to go. Something’s happening in Lysia.”

  “Why do you have to go? That’s on the other side of Corus.”

  “Because if the Ifrits get a foothold, they can spread across the land using the Tables. They’re weaker when they first arrive.” That was a guess on Mykella’s part, but so far it had seemed to be true.

  Mykella pulled her gloves out of the pocket of her riding jacket and slipped them on. She hadn’t wanted to wear them when she’d been trying to see if Rachylana could use the Table because she’d thought that holding her sister’s hand, flesh to flesh, might help. Then she vaulted back onto the Table, not that she had to, and sought the deeper darkness.

  As she emerged in the Table chamber in Lysia, she felt as though she had to break through a wall of purple—without her shields, because she had never been able to carry them and use the darkness—or the Tables—to travel. She took two unsteady steps on the stone flooring before she caught her balance. She immediately began to re-create her shields, even before she caught sight of the massive black-haired and white-faced Ifrit standing on the Table, as if he had just emerged from the depths—or from Efra.

  The Ifrit turned, still standing on the Table, and leveled a massive pistol-like weapon at Mykella. The bluish flame-bolt slammed into her incomplete shields and threw her—and her shield—against the wall of the Table chamber. Her feet went out from under her, and her head cracked against something.

  Another weapon-bolt struck her shields, and fire burned through her shoulder.

  … die … vilenesss … Talent bitch …

  Mykella didn’t move, but concentrated on strengthening her shields and trying to draw power from the green beneath. A second bolt from the pistol flared away from her shields, and the fire that penetrated was more like a brief flash of pain.

  As the green rose around Mykella, the Ifrit’s face contorted, and a pair of purplish arms began to rise from the Table.

  Mykella stood but did not move forward, instead concentrating on sending a green Talent probe toward the nodes of the advancing massive purple arms. She had trouble finding the nodes, and the arms were pressing against her shields when she managed to use the Talent probe to twist apart one node … and then the other. The arms sagged, then collapsed into purple dust that vanished.

  Two more blue flame-bolts slammed into Mykella’s shields, but she scarcely felt them as she Talent-reached for the Ifrit’s life-thread node. He began to fade, as if he were trying to use the Table, but he wasn’t quick enough. Mykella ripped his node apart, and another cloud of purple dust flared and vanished.

  Mykella could sense that the Table was still pulsing, more brightly than ever.

  Is that a sign that another Ifrit is about to arrive? She wondered, because she’d never sensed that sort of pulsing when she’d used the Tables. Or is it only when an Ifrit is coming from another world? But why would that be?

  Mykella waited … and waited.

  The flashed purple-pink pulses grew shorter and more intense, as well as so frequent that the “light” was almost continuous.

  She had no idea how long she waited although she had to flex her knees so they wouldn’t stiffen.

  Then another shadowy and massive figure appeared, beginning to solidify upon the Table. Mykella could see what looked to be a weapon in the Ifrit’s still-indistinct hand and immediately began to extend a Talent probe.

  Just as the violet and green of tunic and trousers came into sharp focus, Mykella finally sensed the life-thread and node—and struck.

  The Ifrit barely had time to look surprised before she staggered forward and flared into purplish dust.

  Mykella frowned as she stood alone in the Table chamber, knowing something was different but not what. Then she realized what it was—the Table had stopped pulsing, and had reverted to a dullish purple-pink.

  There aren’t any more coming. After a moment, she amended that thought. Not yet.

  She waited a bit longer before reaching out to the darkness and sending herself back to Tempre.

  She’d barely appeared in the Table chamber in the depths of the palace when Rachylana blurted, “Are you all right? You were gone almost half a glass. I tried to see what you were doing in Lysia.”

  “Did you see anything?” Mykella’s voice was ragged.

  “Nothing. Well, there were flashes of green and purple and blue intersecting, then there was only green.”

  “There were two Ifrits, and they appeared on the Table with weapons ready. I was late, and the first one was already there. That took longer.”

  “They’re dead?”

  Mykella nodded.

  “Just like that.”

  Just like that? Mykella said nothing.

  Rachylana stepped forward and looked at Mykella, closely. “I’m sorry. You’ve got more welts, but they’re not as bad as before.”

  “I’ll also have a bump on my head. A weapon pushed me into a stone wall.”

  “Are you all right?” Rachylana asked again.

  “I’ll be sore in a few places, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you know why I couldn’t see you?”

  “The stronger the Talent, from what I can tell, the less the Table shows.”

  “The … Ifrit … it had Talent? I couldn’t see anything.”

  “I don’t know if they have Talent themselves or it’s part of the weapons and tools they carry. Maybe it’s both, but they can use Talent as a weapon.”

  “And you stopped it?

  Mykella nodded. “Both of them.”

  “Will there be more?”

  “Not for a while, I think.” Mykella tried to moisten dry lips. “We can leave the Table. I need something to eat and to drink before I go back to the study.”

  Rachylana was very quiet on the walk back up to the top level of the palace, for which Mykella was thankful. She had the feeling that the next time the Ifrits tried, they’d bring more and better weapons if they could. She also had the feeling that they’d be coming back to the Table at Lysia.

  The rest of Quinti was a long day, one filled with details, and included two meetings with the clerks in the Ministry of Highways and Rivers and with reading and studying Areyst’s report and general plan for dealing with the forces of the coastal princes. In addition, Mykella approved more golds for sewer and towpath repairs, gratefully received the news that some hundred golds in assorted barge tariffs had trickled into the Treasury … and read more petitions and requests. When she checked the Table later, it showed nothing new or interesting although the Northcoast forces were riding through mist or fog.

  42

  As was happening all too often, Mykella awoke on Sexdi bruised in places she didn’t remember bruising, and with a throbbing headache, one that she hoped
a large mug of tea would soothe to some extent. She made her way to the breakfast room, where, from the crumbs on one side of the table, Salyna had left earlier, and asked Muergya for a pot of strong tea. She was sipping the last of the first mug, waiting for her breakfast, when Rachylana appeared.

  “You look purple and purple,” offered the redhead cheerfully.

  “Thank you,” replied Mykella dryly.

  “Do you have any other—” Rachylana broke off as Muergya appeared with a platter that she set before Mykella.

  “Tea and whatever you fixed for her, please,” requested Rachylana.

  The serving girl nodded and slipped toward the stairs down to the lower-level kitchens.

  “You were saying?” prompted Mykella.

  “Whether you have any other Ifrit problems and whether you can recover before something else happens.”

  “The Ifrits will be back. They’ll bring stronger weapons. Much stronger, the soarer told me. I don’t know when, but it will likely be at the worst possible time.”

  “Can I do anything else to help?”

  Mykella had thought about that. “Yes, you can. Would you be willing to check the Table several times a day? And let me know if you see anything of note … or danger?”

  Rachylana smiled. “I’d be happy to.”

  “But don’t go in there if there’s any hint of strong purple. Just let me know.”

  “Do you want me to keep some sort of notes?”

  “If you would … about Cheleyza and any of the Seltyrs here.”

  “I can do that.”

  “How are the undress uniforms coming?”

  Rachylana grimaced. “We … we have some things to work out. Salyna thinks all women should look boyish.”

  “And she thinks that you want to make them all look too … womanly?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Split the difference. They shouldn’t be mistaken for boys, and they shouldn’t turn the Guards’ thoughts to their sex.”

  “We agreed on that, already,” said Rachylana. “The problem is that we have different ideas on what’s boyish and what’s … womanly.”