Cadmians Choice (28 page)

“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.

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 submafshal, 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 reform 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 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 life-forces 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’ve 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.

Delari stood. “Let’s
go up above. You at least need to take a quick look at Blackstear, such as it
is.” She pulled a heavy jacket off a wall peg, so bulky that it made Dainyl’s
flying jacket look thin.

Dainyl followed her
up a long set of wide stone steps and then back along a stone-walled corridor.
Light flooded in from high clerestory windows, but the air remained chill.

“Here’s the north
portico. You can get the best view from here.” Delari opened the heavy oak
door.

As soon as he stepped
out onto the portico, despite the sunlight, Dainyl understood why Blackstear
wasn’t a popular destination. The Table building stood on a low hill, with the
portico facing north. A narrow stone road wound down from the building toward
the river to the northwest. Only two piers and a single warehouse stood in the
small harbor where river and ocean met. Less than a score of dwellings and
shops clustered behind the pier warehouse. To the east of the Table building a
forest of evergreens stretched into the distance. The ground under the
evergreens was covered with snow that looked to be waist-deep. Directly north
of the portico stretched a vingt or so of open tundra, showing heaps of snow in
places. Beyond that, Dainyl could see the iron gray waters of the ocean, and
farther to the north, a line of white he supposed was ice. A bitter but light
wind blew out of the northeast.

Despite the heavy
flying jacket, he shivered. “How long have you been here?”

‘Twenty years.” She
grinned. “I do use the Table a lot to visit Sulerya. The warmth in Lysia helps,
and the translation tubes aren’t any colder than Blackstear in the winter.”

“There really isn’t
much here.”

“There wouldn’t be
anything if the grid stability didn’t require a Table here.”

Dainyl could see
that.

After a few moments
more, he turned. “I’ve seen enough.”

“You don’t want to
visit the harbor?”

He didn’t miss the
glint in her eyes. “No, thank you. Blackstear is worth a short visit, if only
to remind one of how much we take for granted ... but I don’t need to see the
harbor to gain that appreciation.”

After Delari closed
and sealed the door, Dainyl followed her back down to the Table chamber.

He was back in
Myrmidon headquarters in Elcien by the first glass of the afternoon. Once more,
he looked for Zelyert, but the High Alector of Justice was not in, and Dainyl
hurried back to headquarters.

He had only just
settled behind his desk and picked up the first of yet another stack of reports
when the marshal stood in his doorway.

“Sir?”

“You were gone this
morning.” Shastylt glared.