“Every transition of the Master Scepter has been brutal and bloody. How could it not be? Half of the alectors on Ifryn don’t have enough Talent to survive a long translation, and most of those who do won’t be terribly useful and will be a drain on whatever world where they arrive. No one wants to leave the comforts of Ifryn until it becomes obvious the world is guttering out. Then everyone who sees it wants to leave, and the Myrmidons become guards of the Tables and executioners of those who try to invade them, and that use of skylances and pteridons draws down lifeforce even more quickly, hastening the end.” Zelyert’s lips curled. “Acorus is poor and rough, and cold and miserable, and we have made certain everyone knows that. Did you know that on Efra there are three Myrmidons stationed at every Table, and anyone translating from Ifryn who cannot demonstrate a skill or a pass from the Archon or a High Alector is killed on the spot? Last year three hundred were killed. This year the number will be double that.”
“Acorus has received what…five hundred over the past three or four years?” Dainyl was fishing, but he wanted to know.
“Six hundred. You have kindly removed close to half of them. The more arrogant and aggressive ones. It was planned that way. More important, you removed the lightcutters. In that, Samist and Brekylt went too far.”
“And most of the others who fled to Acorus are in Dulka.”
“About half. We may need them. I would appreciate your not reducing Dulka to rubble without first consulting me.”
“I will certainly do so.” That was an easy enough promise to make. Dainyl could certainly consult.
“Now that you have everything figured out, Marshal Dainyl, what do you plan?”
“In a day or so, how about a translation to Alustre to offer Alcyna the position of Submarshal in Elcien, and another courtesy call upon the eastern regional alector?”
“That is rather…chancy, is it not?”
“I think not. I’ve undertaken no great actions east of the Spine.” Dainyl smiled. “I do plan to relocate Seventh Company to Tempre, though. Also, I’d rather have Alcyna in the west.”
“Those are good political moves, but you’re still a Myrmidon field commander at heart, Dainyl.”
“Not totally. I haven’t seen my wife in weeks, and I’m headed home to see her.”
“Give her my best.”
“She deserves that, and more.”
Zelyert stiffened, momentarily, then laughed. “I’m surprised Shastylt didn’t see that.”
Dainyl knew exactly what the High Alector meant. “He didn’t want to. The Duarches would be far better served by some alectresses than by many of their male RAs.”
“Such as your wife?”
“She’s certainly one, but there are others.”
“You don’t want to mention their names?”
“There’s little point, and in these times, it could only endanger them.”
“You have gotten cynical, Dainyl. Perhaps not cynical enough, but it’s a start. We’ll talk more after I brief Khelaryt. Say, on Tridi. In the meantime, you can make whatever changes you need at headquarters.”
“I intend to.” Dainyl inclined his head, then turned. He held his full shields until he was out of the Hall of Justice and in the duty coach, headed back to Myrmidon headquarters. He wished he were headed home, but Lystrana wouldn’t be there, not until evening, and he had more than a few loose ends to resolve.
Marshal of Myrmidons. Lystrana would be both pleased and appalled at how matters had turned out, and his mother would be delighted. He’d let Alyra find out from others. She’d always valued their reaction more than her son’s.
Who could fill Dhenyr’s billet? And what of Majer Mykel? Those were just the first of his problems….
96
By Londi midafternoon, Mykel had managed to get himself shaved, bathed, and dressed in a uniform Fabrytal had sent, except for his outer tunic. He sat in a shaded corner of the small inner courtyard by himself, watching the finches and the lazulis in the dwarf pear trees that flanked the small herb garden. The blistered and dying skin was peeling off his burned arm, and at times, the combination of pain and itching made him want to claw it. He did not, not when even brushing the area hurt.
The cushioned rattan chair was comfortable, and the silent serving girl Ruela kept the mug of ale filled. In his lap was a geography book that he had found on the bedside table, presumably placed there by Rachyla, or at her direction. He had read close to fifty pages, although he had been forced to close his eyes at times to rest. He had found the section about the ancient aqueducts to Dereka fascinating, as well as the description of the sheer six-thousand-yard-high cliffs that bordered the Aerlal Plateau on all sides.
He looked up at the silver-green sky, catching sight of Asterta, washed out by the brilliance of the sun. The moon of the warrior goddess—yet it reminded him of Rachyla, a warrior goddess in her own way. He had not seen her all day, except very briefly when she had stepped into his bedchamber and noted that Fabrytal had dispatched some personal items to facilitate his recovery, including a new Cadmian belt buckle and a replacement sabre. She’d placed them on the side table and left before he could even ask her to stay.
He started to pick up the book once more when he glimpsed a figure across the herb garden—Rachyla. He set the book down and watched as she neared. Today, she wore trousers and a shirt of a pale tan, with a black vest, trimmed in a deep green that matched and brought out the intensity of her eyes.
“Majer, you are recovering.”
“Good food, good care, and good surroundings.” He smiled. “Would you sit, please, at least for a moment?”
“For a moment.” She settled into the chair set in the shade at an angle to the one where Mykel sat. “Herisha is at the market, now that matters are returning to a less uncertain state, and Amaryk is at Gheort’s. He is the heir-second to Seltyr Asadyl, and his sister is said to be quite beautiful.”
“I am perceived as unsuitable company for a chatelaine, then.”
“Most unsuitable.” Her voice remained cool, although Mykel still heard musicality within it. “A Cadmian majer, the son of a master tiler? Totally unsuitable.”
“Even for a chatelaine who is otherwise unmarriageable?”
“Majer…you presume.” She started to rise from the chair.
“I apologize. Please do not go.”
After a moment, her hands released their hold on the arms of the chair, and she let herself settle once more.
“I can see that I am most unsuitable for you in any permanent way,” Mykel said carefully. “I do not see why that precludes your talking to me.”
“Women may be swayed by the words of a handsome man, especially one who is as dashing and as unprincipled as, shall I say, a Cadmian officer.” A faint smile appeared and vanished. “Many of the young women in Southgate with whom you danced, Majer, would have wished more than a dance. This was not lost on Elbaryk. I was sent here because Amaryk requires two chatelaines, because Elbaryk judged you might be more likely to return to Southgate than come to Tempre, and because he could do no less and retain his honor.”
“And he would certainly do no more?”
“Majer.”
“I apologize.” Mykel had never apologized so often and so quickly. He took refuge in a sip from the mug of ale. “The geography book you left or had left for me is interesting.”
“How much have you read?”
“Fifty pages, a little more. I couldn’t help wondering about the ancient aqueducts in Dereka. They must be very old. I’d like to see them, I think.”
“Perhaps you will. They might send you there.”
“I doubt it. The regiment in Elcien—it’s in Northa, really, but it sounds better to say our headquarters is in Elcien—we’re deployed where there’s trouble. Then we come back to headquarters for replacements and retraining, and after that they send us out again. We might go to Dereka, but they’ve never had any trouble. There usually isn’t in places where Myrmidons are statione
d.”
“With their weapons, I imagine not. How long do you think the Myrmidon company will remain here?”
“Until the trouble is over. Have any alectors returned to the administration building?” Mykel felt isolated and out of touch.
“Some. Amaryk said that there is an acting regional administrator appointed by the Duarches. Your Cadmians do not guard the building now.”
“I’m not surprised.” How much should he say? How much had he said that he didn’t recall? “We ended up shooting a few of the alectors who rebelled.”
“You are fortunate they did not turn the pteridons upon you.”
“We had re-taken the building long before they returned, and no one knew what we had done except for those in the battalion. Since the alectors’ bodies turn to dust soon after they die, there was no evidence of how they died.”
“Does that not tell you they are not of this world?”
“It does, and you were right about that. I should have listened more closely when you suggested that in Dramur.”
Rachyla laughed, mirthlessly. “You should be wounded more often, Majer.”
To hear you laugh, even coolly, it would almost be worth that. “That is a high price to pay for a compliment from you. Still…”
“You can be so gallant when you are not killing people.” Her voice was not quite so hard as it might have been.
“I wouldn’t have thought you disapproved of my killing alectors.”
“I do not, but they are not people. They are arrogant beasts.”
“I think, Lady Rachyla, that arrogance comes with unbridled power. I have seen many who are not alectors who are arrogant. I have not seen enough alectors to know if any of them are not arrogant.”
“You reproach me…after we have cared for you.”
“I do not believe I ever said anything about your being arrogant,” Mykel replied.
For a time, Rachyla was silent. “You did not.”
“Perhaps I should go. I have intruded upon your hospitality more than I intended. I would not wish to impose more.”
“Majer. You need at least one more night of undisturbed sleep. I would not have you leave and suffer injury because you departed too soon.” Rachyla rose and stood beside the chair, her long and graceful fingers resting on the rattan of the back. “Besides, the carriage will not be available until the morning.”
Mykel inclined his head to her. “I defer to your judgment, Lady.”
“I am not a Lady. Nor will I ever be one, and I would suggest that you not refer to me in that fashion.”
“Then I will not, Chatelaine. Again, I must thank you for your kindness and care.” Mykel meant the words, and not with any sarcasm. He had his doubts about whether he would be recovering at all, particularly given the submarshal’s concerns and Mykel’s own growing Talent, had he not been under Rachyla’s protection.
Rachyla looked at him, then shook her head. “You grant me too much, Majer.” Abruptly, she turned and walked away.
Mykel watched her. He could not sense what she felt, but he had to wonder how much sadness she held within. But there was nothing he could do, for all too many reasons.
97
Dainyl had hoped to leave headquarters and return home relatively early to be there when Lystrana arrived, but drafting the dispatches and all the administrative details concerned with his becoming marshal took far longer than he expected. But then, he reminded himself, as he signed the last dispatch, he had neither a submarshal nor an operations chief to assist him.
He didn’t like making it a habit, but he had decided to take the duty coach home.
When he walked out of headquarters, into a light rain that had followed the earlier fog, he carried his flying jacket over his arm. Rain or no rain, the afternoon was too warm and muggy to wear it. Wyalt, the junior Myrmidon in First Company, and duty driver until a pteridon became available, jumped up from where he had been sitting on the sheltered stone entryway. “Marshal, sir?”
“You can take me home, if you would, Wyalt.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl climbed into the coach and settled onto the hard seat. It had been a long day, but he was looking forward to seeing Lystrana. He just hoped she wasn’t off somewhere.
As the coach traveled eastward on the boulevard, Dainyl looked to the south, at the Palace of the Duarch. How did Khelaryt feel, knowing that the decision to move the Master Scepter of Efra had in effect already been made? Was that part of the conflict Dainyl had sensed when he had met with the Duarch—that he was being required to carry out acts and policies that were unrealistic because decisions had already been made that invalidated those policies?
Questions swirled through his thoughts, so much so that he did not even move for several moments after Wyalt brought the coach to a halt outside his house. Then he scrambled out, turning to the driver. “I appreciate the ride, Wyalt.”
“My duty, sir, and my pleasure. It was an awful thing about Marshal Shastylt, sir, but it’s good to see that you’re marshal now, sir.”
“Thank you.” With a smile, Dainyl inclined his head to the driver, then turned and started up the steps to the front door. He had just put his hand out to the door lever when it opened.
Lystrana stood there, and a broad and relieved smile crossed her face. Immediately, she said, “You were hurt. I could sense it. You’re still—”
“I’m fine.”
“Not completely.”
“I will be.” He stepped forward.
Only then did her eyes go to Dainyl’s collar and the new green-edged gold stars there. Her mouth opened, but she said nothing for a long moment. Finally, she asked, “You’re Marshal of Myrmidons?”
“Stranger events have occurred.” Dainyl found himself grinning.
She smiled quizzically. “That was your urgent mission?”
“No, that just happened this morning. As a result of the urgent mission.” He stepped forward and put his arms around her, dropping the flying jacket as he did. He could feel the swell of her body against him, and sense the growing presence that was their daughter.
Their lips met.
MUCH LATER, THEY SETTLED ACROSS THE TABLE FROM EACH OTHER, WEARING dressing robes. Dainyl just looked into her perfect violet eyes, without speaking.
Zistele set the serving dish on the trivet, along with the basket of bread, while Sentya placed the goblets to one side, with a pitcher of cider and a bottle of wine. Both serving girls retired to the kitchen.
“It’s a simple fowl casserole. I hadn’t planned on your being here for supper,” Lystrana pointed out.
“This is fine. I’m just glad I’m here. I didn’t have a chance to let you know in advance, and…”
“It wouldn’t have been wise,” she concluded. “I still don’t know what you’ve been doing for the past month.” She smiled. “Except that it was urgent and secret enough that you couldn’t say and no one else would.”
“Where should I—”
“Wherever you think makes the most sense,” she replied. “I know some of what happened, but not all.” She offered a sardonic laugh. “I am certain that what has been reported in Elcien is far from all of what happened.” She took the serving spoon and ladled a healthy helping of the casserole and noodles onto his plate, and then an equally generous serving onto her own.
“Cider?” asked Dainyl.
“I’ll have that with the meal. I might have a sip of the wine later.”
Dainyl poured her cider and wine for himself, then lifted his goblet. “To us, and to Kytrana.”
Lystrana lifted hers as well. “I’m glad you’re home safely.”
“As am I.”
“I worry about that greenness around your shoulder.”
“I thought it would be gone by now, but it doesn’t hurt, and I feel as strong as ever.”
Lystrana flushed.
After a moment, so did he. “That’s not what I meant,” he finally protested.
“I love to see you blush.
You so seldom do.”
Dainyl shook his head. What else could he do?
“You haven’t told me what your urgent mission was,” she prompted. “There were Myrmidons in Hyalt and Tempre, and both Rhelyn and Fahylt have suffered fatal mishaps of one sort or another.”
“It all began when Majer Mykel sent a dispatch to me personally.”
“The lander who might have Talent? The same one?”
“The very same one. He noted that there were alectors in the black and silver of the east in Hyalt, using lightcannon…” Dainyl went on to tell Lystrana everything, even about his time with the ancients, concluding with “…and Zelyert said that no one else could be marshal, and that everyone would deny that what had happened was anything but a local problem with Rhelyn and Fahylt.”
“The Master Scepter…going to Efra.” Lystrana tilted her head, then looked at Dainyl. “That explains so much. I was going to tell you, but you doubtless have deduced much of this already. Samist and Khelaryt meet but infrequently. My Highest says that when they do, little is said, and they cannot agree on the distribution of resources between the east and the west.”
“The shadowmatches keep them from being overtly hostile to each other, or from acting directly against each other.”
“They do not keep those around them from being hostile—as you have discovered,” Lystrana pointed out. “What do you think will happen?”
“What do you think?” he countered.
“Things are just going to get worse here in Elcien and in Ludar. If the Duarches are not removed by the Archon, those like Zelyert and Brekylt will scheme to replace them, and they will rule without the constraints of the shadowmatches.”
“It’s too bad you can’t be a regional administrator. There are a few vacancies,” he said with a laugh.
“I’m not ruthless enough, dearest. That is what it will take to maintain order in the seasons and years immediately ahead.”
“And I am?” Dainyl had his doubts about Lystrana’s self-assessment. She would do what was necessary.
“You’re not ruthless to everyone. You can be hard to those who are cruel and oppressive to others, and to those who scheme and plot, but you exercise judgment, and you do look for solutions that are fair to everyone. You worried about the Cadmians, and you protected them and their majer.”
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