Cadmians Choice (43 page)

“That’s right.”

“Would you mind if I
try?”

“Gently please.”

Dainyl concentrated,
thinking about the arms he had seen in Norda. Immediately a pair rose from the
center of the Table. He’d pictured an alector’s arms, but those rising would
have fit on a figure twice the size of the Duarch. Quickly, he imagined a child’s
arms, and those before him shrank to the size of a full-grown alector. He
smiled wryly and disengaged his Talent probe from the paired crystals.
Something about the crystals ... he felt unclean. He shook himself.

“Very effective,
Submarshal.”

“The crystals feel...
slimy.”

“I’ve felt that, at
times, especially if I’ve used them for more than a few moments. I don’t know
why, though. Neither does Father.”

“What about using the
Table to view events?”

“Try the red
diamondlike crystal and visualize a place. Not an alector, because we don’t
register unless we’re near a Table. It was designed not to pick up Talented
individuals.”

Dainyl had considered
trying to locate Majer Mykel, but thought again. Sulerya might catch that.
Instead, he focused on Hyalt, the town square, trying to recall what it had
looked like in years past when he had overflown it.

The mirror surface of
the Table clouded, then filled with a swirled crimson purple mist, before
looking down on a golden marble platform set in the middle of low walls, less
than a yard high, running a hundred yards on a side, Dainyl judged. Beyond the
walls on one side ran an enternastone road, sparkling in the mirror with
silver....

“The silver means
there’s some Talent there, the high road in this case,” explained Sulerya.

On the other sides
were simple redstone-paved streets. The platform held the usual statue of the
two Duarches, side by side on a pedestal. The space between the low red-stone
wall surrounding the pedestal and the outer wall flanking the streets was paved
as well, but with bricks, rather than stone, and even from the height displayed
by the Table, Dainyl could tell that more than a few of those bricks were
missing.

He released the
image, then decided to try for a view of the outside of Rhelyn’s headquarters.

This time, the image
showed just buildings, the separate headquarters building of redstone, standing
on the flat before a sheer redstone cliff face, from which had been carved an
ornate entryway. A single cart of a small and square design stood alone just
outside a second doorway carved out of the cliff. On the cart was a tripod and
a device that looked somehow incomplete, ending in a silver haze. No alectors
were visible, except in two places, where other faint hazes of silver appeared.

“They can’t be very
Talented,” Sulerya observed. “The Table doesn’t show anything if they really
are. That device on the cart—it’s showing Talent... or lifeforce.”

The equipment looked
familiar. Dainyl swallowed. From what he recalled, it was a miniature version
of the road-building equipment he had viewed in Alustre.

He eased his Talent
from the crystal, and the image vanished, the Table surface returning to its
mirror finish.

“You may need to act
sooner than you thought, Submarshal.”

“It could be,” he
admitted. “But we don’t know for certain what that was, and I don’t think
that...” He shrugged.

Sulerya’s brows knit
in puzzlement. Then she nodded slowly. “You’re going beyond, aren’t you?”

“Looking beyond, I’d
say. I’ve been given orders to develop a plan, but not to implement it without
the orders of the Marshal.”

“You’re standing on
the edge of the long translation, Submarshal.”

Dainyl was well aware
of that.

“By the way, you did
that well, for a first time.”

“I just followed your
directions.”

“You realize one
other thing, don’t you?”

Dainyl had no idea
what she meant.

“You know as much as
most new recorders.” She laughed ironically. “My father might coopt you to
become recorder in Lyterna, should anything happen to Myenfel.”

In spite of himself,
Dainyl winced. The thought of spending his life behind and under all that stone
was appalling.

Sulerya laughed. “I
was afraid you had no fears at all.”

Dainyl didn’t want to
think about it. “Why were you so willing to teach me?”

“Because you have
enough Talent to destroy a Table if you went at it wrong, and you’re stubborn
enough to do whatever you have to. This way ... there might be a Table left
when you’re done dealing with Rhelyn.”

‘That’s if we have
to, and if I’m successful.”

“If you have to, if
you’re not successful, it won’t matter,” she replied quietly.

There was definitely
more than one meaning to those words.

“I need to get back
to Elcien.” He stretched.

“You probably do.”

Dainyl stepped onto
the Table.

The purple-black mist
below was all around him, but he focused on the brilliant white of Elcien. He
sensed a long green flash, and felt as though he were being observed, somehow,
even though the translation felt near-instantaneous. The chill silver-white
veil vanished, and...

... he stood once
more in Elcien.

“That was quick,”
observed Chastyl. “I didn’t even sense you.”

“I’d guess some
translations take less time.” Dainyl shrugged and stepped off the Table.

“They do vary,”
replied the recorder.

Dainyl would have
liked to have investigated the Table in light of his newfound knowledge, but
was not about to with Chastyl standing there.

Instead, he nodded
politely and departed. Thankfully, Zelyertwas not in the lower chambers of the
Hall of Justice, or, if he happened to be, he did not seek out Dainyl. For
that, Dainyl was grateful. He had no intention of revealing what he had learned
from Sulerya. But then, except in a general sense, he had yet to determine how
he could best apply that knowledge, because, if he merely translated into Hyalt
and froze the Table, he would be trapped there amid scores, if not hundreds, of
alectors not exactly friendly to him.

Outside, the haze had
lifted, and the late midmorning sun beat down on Dainyl. He needed to get back
to headquarters and try to figure out some way to neutralize Rhelyn. From what
he’d seen, he didn’t have that much time.

Late on Tridi
afternoon, under a sky that had gotten progressively more hazy over the course
of the day, Mykel rode into Hyalt, south past the square and then to Troral’s
factorage, where he reined up, dismounted, and tied the roan to one of the
posts in front of the narrow porch.

The factor stepped
out of the doorway just as Mykel took the first step onto the porch, wiping his
hands on a clean canvas apron.

“What did you find,
Majer?”

“There were signs of
brigands,” Mykel replied, “but someone or something must have scared them off.
They left without taking anything, but some of the livestock wandered off.
Gerolt wasn’t happy about that, but it didn’t appear that whoever attacked them
went after the goats and sheep. There were also traces of some of the strange
creatures.”

“Aye. Gerolt said he
feared such.” Troral paused, then looked directly at the majer. “Can you do
aught about them?”

“We did. We destroyed
them, but that won’t bring back Gerolt’s sister. We stopped on the way back and
told him we’d killed them. I can’t say that there won’t be more, because I don’t
know where they’re coming from.”

“That’s something
none know.” The factor shrugged, tiredly. “Folks have decided you’re here for
the better. There are coins, and you keep your men under control.”

Mykel understood what
Troral wasn’t saying—that all of that could change. “We do what we can. How
long Third Battalion will be here isn’t up to me. The two Hyalt companies and
the compound will stay, and that will mean a few more coins for everyone, what
with food and forage.” He grinned. “And they will need blankets.”

“It will help.” The
factor’s voice was almost glum.

Mykel wondered if the
man ever sounded cheerful. But then, would anyone, living in Hyalt? “Were there
any of the creatures prowling around before last summer?”

The factor shook his
head. “None that anyone talked about. I couldn’t say that there might not have
been one or two. Every so often someone did disappear, but who could tell
whether it was brigands or if they just walked off or took a coach and didn’t
tell anyone? They weren’t the kind to be missed, if you understand what I mean.”

Mykel did.

“How long before the
compound is finished, do you think, Majer?”

Mykel almost smiled.
Troral was really asking how long the town would be getting the coins that
flowed in with the building. “I’d judge another three or four weeks to finish
the walls. Longer than that for the stables. The crafters are just starting on
the inside of the barracks, and nothing’s been done on the headquarters
building itself.” The order of building had been Mykel’s choice. “So ... it
could be harvest, or later.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to rush things so the
work’s not done right, but I don’t want it to drag on, either.”

“Till harvest or
later...” Troral nodded solemnly. “Not too bad.” He looked at Mykel with an
expression just short of a smile. “You sure that you don’t need more than
blankets, Majer?”

“I didn’t say we did
or we didn’t.” Mykel grinned in response. “I have to see what we can afford on
the draw I’ve been assigned. Building comes first.”

“I can see that.
Poeldyn says you’re a careful man.”

“As careful as I can
be.” Being careful did tilt the odds, but sometimes it wasn’t enough, as Mykel
well knew.

“All any of us can
do.” Troral glanced westward along the short street that led to the high road,
then back at Mykel.

“There’s truth to
that. Have you heard anything else? Any other reports of brigands, insurgents
or strange creatures?”

“You’re asking me?
Thought that was your job.”

‘The more eyes that
are looking, the better we can do that job,” Mykel pointed out.

“Suppose that’s so.”
Troral shook his head. “No one’s told me anything except Gerolt.”

“If you do hear
anything, I’d appreciate it if you’d let us know.”

“Guess I can do that.”

Mykel smiled
politely. “Thank you. I need to be getting back to the garrison. I just wanted
to let you know what we found.”

Troral nodded.

After a moment of
silence, Mykel stepped down from the porch, untied the roan and remounted. He
turned the gelding back norm, toward the old garrison.

He still had to write
his report about the day’s events, and that meant two reports—one to Colonel
Herolt and one mat would go directly to Submarshal Dainyl. The second report
wasn’t being careful at all, but Mykel had a definite feeling that being
careful wasn’t going to be enough, and he’d learned long before not to ignore
feelings that strong.

The more he learned,
the more worried he was getting. Supposedly, insurgents had killed the local
garrison, but the regional alector and his staff had cleaned up the garrison—or
covered up what had happened long before Mykel had arrived—and no one had
mentioned that one squad leader with talents similar to Mykel’s had not been
shot, but burned. Had the unfortunate Boreal discovered the alector troops and
been able to escape without their being able to identify who he was so that the
entire garrison had to be eliminated? Or had he discovered something else?

But if that were the
case, why had the marshal of Myrmidons sent the Cadmians back to build a new
garrison? And if the alector troops near the regional alector’s compound weren’t
known to the Myrmidons, to whom did they belong?

Mykel could only hope
to avoid the local alectors and trust his messages reached Submarshal Dainyl...
and more important, that the submarshal was not involved with what was
happening in Hyalt.

For the moment, what
else could he do, except be very careful?

Dainyl walked down
the corridor in Myrmidon headquarters, glad that he wasn’t outside in the early
summer downpour that drenched Elcien. Since it was only just past mid-morning,
there was a good chance it would pass before he was off duty and could head
home to Lystrana. After several days of fretting and plotting, he had a plan
for Hyalt. Whether it would work was another question. Whether he would survive
it was even more problematical, but even Lystrana had not been able to help him
come up with something better.

Ahead of him at the
end of the corridor, Shastylt stepped out of the doorway to his study. “Submarshal?”

“Yes, sir?”

“A moment, if you
will.”

Dainyl followed the
marshal into his superior’s study, closing the door behind him. He stood and
waited, sensing Shastylt’s concern, but knowing that it was not directed at
him.

The senior Myrmidon
remained standing. He tilted his head, then frowned, before clearing his throat
and speaking. “The Highest has just received a report that a wild lander Talent
has appeared—or reappeared—north of Hyalt. This Talent appears strong enough to
have killed one of the junior members of the Table staff there. The alectors
there feel that the presence of the Cadmians and their own abilities will
suffice, but they did wish to inform us.”

Dainyl nodded slowly.
Clearly, the recorder did not want Myrmidons in Hyalt. After his view of Hyalt
from Sulerya’s Table, incomplete as it had been, he had no doubts as to why. “How
do they know that it is a lander wild Talent, as opposed to a wild translation?”

“Rhelyn did not
bother to convey that information.” Shastylt’s voice was dry. “Doubtless, he
felt we did not need to know that.”

“He doesn’t want
Myrmidons down there. But if he doesn’t, why report that at all?”