“She had to. I don’t dance well at all.” Mykel managed a smile.
The orchestra began to play again.
“I suppose I should find another young woman,” Mykel said.
“They’ll love you for it.”
“Sturyk!”
“We should dance, dear.”
Mykel turned and surveyed those standing beyond the dancers, but his thoughts kept going back to Rachyla. Without looking in her direction, he tried to see if he could sense the darkness of her aura, but there were so many auras that his head began to ache. He had to close his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, he resigned himself to following Sturyk’s—and Rachyla’s—suggestions. After several moments, he picked out a thin-faced and brown-haired young woman who stood disconsolately, almost alone, clearly accompanied by a younger brother or cousin. She was neither beautiful nor unattractive.
He eased up to the pair, then smiled, looking to the youth. “Might I have a dance with the young woman?”
She smiled, but her eyes warned her escort against declining.
“You might, Captain,” replied the youth, not quite sneering.
“Majer,” corrected Mykel. “Thank you.” He turned to the young woman. “You will excuse me if I am not an accomplished dancer.”
“I can manage that, Majer. I’m Quesalya.”
They stepped out onto the dance floor.
“Where are you from?” she asked after several moments.
“I was raised in Faitel, but I’m currently stationed in Elcien, permanently, that is. Is your escort your brother?”
“Yes. Carlosyn wishes he didn’t have to be here.”
“He seemed less than pleased,” suggested Mykel. “Do you live in Southgate itself?”
“We live to the northwest. Father’s warehouses are in Southgate. Have you been a Cadmian for a long time?”
“Close to eleven years, all told.”
“That’s a long time…”
Quesalya was not quite the dancer that Rachyla was, but she was skilled enough that Mykel could read her movements and keep from stepping on her toes or careering into other dancers. When he escorted her back to her brother, she gave him a wide smile. “Thank you, Majer.”
“It was my pleasure.” He bowed. As he slipped away, Mykel felt that he had made someone happy, or less unhappy.
After that, he asked close to a score of young women to dance, choosing those who seemed to have been forgotten or who looked neglected. All the time, he felt as though he were being watched, and by more than a few people. He kept his eyes open for Rachyla, but without letting his gaze linger on her. He never saw her on the dance floor.
After a time, he slipped away, sampled the refreshments, but contented himself with a glass of a pale white wine before returning to the ballroom, where he danced with several more unmarried women.
He could see that people were beginning to slip away, decided to approach Rachyla once more. She stood well away from Madame Elbaryk.
“A last dance?” He bowed.
“If you insist, Majer.”
Was there the faintest hint of a smile in her eyes? Mykel wasn’t sure, but he found that, as on Dramur, he wasn’t that certain about anything concerning Rachyla.
Neither said anything for several moments.
“I watched you,” Rachyla said.
“A few people did,” he replied dryly.
“People will say that you chose your partners to make yourself and the Cadmians look good.”
“I imagine they will.”
“You did not dance with them for those reasons, I think.”
“What do you think?”
“You ask a mere woman?”
“I asked you.” Mykel put only the slightest emphasis on the “you.”
“You are a dagger of the ancients. You are honest. You would be kind. Your blade has three sharp edges, and you will cut yourself more deeply than anyone else. Yet they will die, and you will suffer every death.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising.” He offered a low chuckle, one he didn’t feel.
“You were the one who asked.”
“I did. That’s true. Did Madame Elbaryk say anything about my asking you to dance?”
“She said you were handsome and dangerous.”
Mykel decided to gamble. “And she also said that you were like your mother, too?”
Rachyla stiffened, almost stumbling. “How did…you were never…” Then she smiled and shook her head. “You are truly the dagger…”
“Was I right?”
“You know you were.”
Mykel had the feeling that, while he might not have liked Rachyla’s mother, he would have respected her, and that was very unlike the feelings he had for the male seltyrs of either Dramur or Southgate.
“You do not care much for my cousin.”
“How can you say that? Before tonight, I never met him, and we exchanged only a few words.” Mykel was all too conscious of how close she was…and still…as Dohark had once said, how dangerous.
“To me, it is as obvious as the uniform you wear, Majer.”
“How about to your cousin?”
“Were you not a dagger of the ancients, you would be beneath notice.”
“That’s good to know. I suppose that means that I should not come calling upon you.”
“That would not be wise. It also would not be possible.”
“Oh?”
Rachyla did not reply. Several long moments passed before she said, “Sometimes, late on Novdi afternoons, just before sunset, I’m allowed to walk in the memorial park to meditate.”
“I’ve been studying the stelae there. If we happened to meet, would that be taken amiss?”
“Not if it did not happen often.” Her eyes did not meet his.
Yet, Mykel could sense she was neither lying nor leading him on.
“Then, it will not happen often.”
“That would be for the best.”
Shortly, the music died away, and once more Mykel had to escort Rachyla back to Madame Elbaryk. This time, the seltyr’s wife’s smile was less than perfunctory.
Mykel made a point of dancing with several more young women, including a second dance with three others, including Quesalya.
It was late when he rejoined the overcaptain and his wife and they made their way out of the ballroom and down to the portico—and the waiting hired carriage, far plainer than those others lined up outside.
Mykel glanced heavenward. Asterta was now in the western sky. Selena, a mere crescent, hung just above the eastern horizon. He’d danced with Rachyla under the warrior moon goddess, but did that mean anything? He doubted it.
Neither Sturyk nor Sheranyne said much until the carriage was well away from the villa of Seltyr Elbaryk and headed around the inner ring road to the northeast.
“I thought you said that you couldn’t dance, Majer?” Sheranyne’s words were a mischievous accusation.
“I can’t. I just followed what everyone seemed to be doing, and tried not to step on anyone’s toes.”
“That’s dancing,” said Sturyk.
“You made several of those girls very happy.”
“I did?”
“At least one will receive an offer of marriage because you asked her to dance.”
That did surprise Mykel.
“You are a handsome man,” she went on, “and there are worse fates than to be married to a Cadmian. Far worse. Some of the reluctant suitors know that as well.” She grinned. “Of course, it didn’t hurt to mention that you are unmarried.”
Mykel laughed. “She must have been a friend of yours.”
“She is, but we won’t tell.”
Mykel was certain he didn’t want to know.
He also knew that, on the next Novdi, he would be at the memorial park.
33
On Quinti, Dainyl was in the Hall of Justice immediately after morning muster. When he had left Myrmidon headquarters, Shastylt had been closeted in
his study, preparing for a meeting with the High Alector of Justice later in the day. Even after three seasons as acting submarshal and submarshal, Dainyl found that the marshal seldom if ever revealed the subject of the meetings, and never the substance.
None of Zelyert’s assistants more than nodded, after ascertaining his identity, and Dainyl stepped onto the Table, shields in place, with some trepidation. He concentrated, then dropped…
…into the chill darkness, although it did not seem as dark as it once had.
He immediately concentrated on finding the purple-rimmed black locator that was Blackstear. It was more difficult to discern, but Dainyl still took what seemed but a moment to fix upon it.
Even as he Talent-linked to the locator, he was searching for signs of the purple arms and traces of the golden green translation tubes—if they were indeed such.
Blackstear flashed toward him.
For a moment he sensed several instances of the golden greenness, but they seemed more like indistinct globes set in an amorphous black mist. Was there some of that mist surrounding the purple chill of the translation tube?
He was still trying to determine that when he burst though the silvered-black barrier.
He’d been so intent on what he’d tried to sense in translation that he had to take two quick steps to catch his balance and re-form his shields. Only a hint of fog and mist rose from his uniform and flying jacket, but part of that had to be because the Table chamber was far cooler than most, close to uncomfortably chill.
A tall and angular woman in the green usually worn by the recorders stood beside a black wooden chest, shoulder-high. She smiled, an expression of amusement and warmth. “Greetings, Submarshal. I wondered how long it would be before I saw you.”
Dainyl stepped off the Table, keeping his shields in place, although he doubted the recorder had any unfriendly intent. “You’re Delari?”
“The very same. You’re Dainyl. By the way, give my best to Lystrana. I haven’t seen her in years. That’s not surprising. There’s little of interest to her Highest here. In fact, there’s little of interest to anyone here.”
“Yet there’s a Table here.” He paused, recalling some of what he had gathered from Asulet and others. “Only because it must be for grid stability?”
“That’s the sole reason.” Delari motioned toward the hidden doorway that opened with her gesture. “Would you care to join me for some cider or ale? The cider’s hot.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude…”
Delari laughed. “Submarshal…you can’t be here for any other reason than to see me. There are no Myrmidons here, and the nearest Cadmians are more than two hundred vingts south. Sulerya said you’d be here sooner or later.”
Dainyl shook his head. “What can I say?”
“How about that you’d be delighted to join me?”
“I would indeed.” Dainyl found himself warming to her cheerful, but no-nonsense warmth, especially since his Talent-senses detected nothing but what she presented. In the cool chamber, the warm cider sounded like a good idea.
“That’s better. After we talk, I’ll show you what there is to see of Blackstear, mostly snow and evergreens.”
Dainyl followed her back to a small chamber with a circular table and three chairs.
“Take any chair. They’re all the same.”
As he seated himself, she poured him a mug of steaming cider from a heavy covered pitcher. Then she sat down across the table from him. “How can I help you?”
“Unofficially, I’m trying to find out what you know about Brekylt and Alcyna, and to what degree some recorders are backing them…and why?”
“Sulerya told you all that.”
“Has anything changed?”
“Not much.” She gave a crooked smile. “Did you know that Choranyt suffered a Table mishap?”
Dainyl had to think for a moment. “Myenfel’s assistant? What happened?”
“Myenfel doesn’t think recorders should get involved with much besides the proper use of the Tables. He informed the other recorders that Choranyt was attempting to manipulate energies within the translation tubes, and that resulted in his unfortunate death.”
“I see. How do you think the recorders in Norda and Alustre took that message?”
“Everyone said that they would instruct their assistants—once more—about the dangers.”
Dainyl nodded. “The effect of the warning might last a few weeks.”
“Unless you make more unannounced translations to the east. Otherwise, everything will remain quiet, except for the increasing number of translations from Ifryn—and the associated wild translations.”
“Do the majority of them go to Lyterna?”
“No…I’ve noticed more headed to Dulka and Hyalt, although they can show up at any Table, even here. Some have enough skill to arrive at Ludar or Elcien.”
“Is Blackstear’s lack of…strategic value is why you’re recorder?”
“You are direct.”
“Sometimes I can’t find the indirect way to ask the question.”
Delari sipped her cider before replying. “Lysia and Blackstear form the most distant points on the grid, and that’s true in terms of geography and energy lines, which are not always the same in terms of distance. Asulet felt that we would provide more stability, especially in the times approaching. There was little argument about my becoming recorder in Blackstear. People would prefer not to be here. I have but one assistant.”
“Why do you think some of the recorders support Brekylt?”
“Why does anyone do anything? Because they feel it will benefit them.”
“As a recorder, you must have some feel for the lifeforces of Acorus. How do you feel about the Master Scepter being relocated here, rather than on Efra?”
Delari took a long, deep breath. “From anyone but you or Asulet, I would not entertain that question.”
The opening to her answer chilled Dainyl. He didn’t know why, but it did.
“I fear that Acorus cannot sustain the Master Scepter long enough to rebuild what must be rebuilt. Yet…the Archon must know this. Certainly, the lifeforce masters on Ifryn should. I suspect that the professed indecision is to encourage Ifrits there to choose to translate without knowing the final decision. That would leave those who merely wish to drink the pleasures of the Archon’s court waiting until it is too late for safe translations.”
“Too late?”
“Oh, yes. There’s a usage factor, and it’s especially critical for the long translations between worlds. If there is too little use, the tubes cool and contract, and only the strongest can safely translate. If there is too much, then they expand and the walls become thinner, and wild translations are more likely. At the end of the translations from Inefra to Ifryn, when the Archon and scepter had left Inefra, and the Tables were open to any who would try, the tube actually spewed alectors into the darkness, into the deep of the voids between stars.”
Dainyl nodded slowly. He had no doubts that the Archon would do what he thought necessary to reduce those who could contribute little to building Acorus or Efra.
“You aren’t surprised. Did you know that?” asked Delari.
“No, I didn’t, but it doesn’t surprise me. From what I can tell, more lifeforce is required with each world.”
“Not exactly. You were born here, weren’t you?”
“Yes. So was Lystrana.”
“Those of us born here draw less lifeforce. Those born on Ifryn draw more. Those born on Inefra, not that there will be that many, will draw four times what those born on Ifryn do, and those born on Ifryn will draw four times more than you or I or Lystrana will.”
“You think that the Archon is trying to reduce the numbers translating here or to Efra?”
“I don’t know. It would be wise, for the sake of the world, but how does one tell his supporters that there is no room for those who are not productive, not if we are to have a future as a people?”
How productive
was he, mused Dainyl. Was keeping order all that productive? “Why are you telling me this?”
“You need to know, and you cannot afford to tell anyone besides Lystrana, and I trust her.”
Dainyl finished the cider. “That was good. It is chill here.”
“It is always chill here.” Delari laughed briefly.
“What else should I know?”
She shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
“There is one other thing…. Have you seen any signs of activities by the ancients?”
“You think that…” Delari broke off her sentence.
“As more alectors are translating, we’re had more sightings of ancients, and they’ve destroyed at least one pteridon.” Dainyl felt safe saying that. Word was out in enough places that Delari could have heard about one lost pteridon from anyone. “Also some skylances are missing, taken in the night right before a pteridon.”
Dainyl could feel her Talent reading him.
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“No, but what I’ve said is true, and you could have heard it anywhere.”
“I don’t know about that here in Blackstear.”
Dainyl waited.
“I’ve sensed flashes of what seemed to be amber-green Talent, to the east, possibly in the heights of the Black Cliffs. There are reports that more livestock is missing, and some of the Reillies have said hunters have disappeared just west of the Ice Sands. Whether the disappearances are the weather…or murders…or the ancients…how could you tell?”
“Their Talent is amber-green.”
“You really think something is about to happen?”
“Both the marshal and the Highest are worried. So are Brekylt and Alcyna. She even issued orders on how her Myrmidons should deal with any ancients they might encounter.”
“That…that would not be good.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t say. I mean…I don’t know, except that one of the first recorders in Dereka, before Jonyst, supposedly encountered an ancient, and all that was left of either was a crater in solid rock and a Talent-dead area around it.”
“No one ever mentioned that.”
“I’m not surprised.”
When he thought about it, neither was Dainyl.
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