Cadmians Choice (76 page)

“Do the Duarches know
this?”

“I’m certain that
they do. What would you have them do? Send your Myrmidons out to kill them?
Station Myrmidons at every Table and carry every one off to a locked chamber in
Lyterna?”

“Matters must be
terrible in Ifryn.” Dainyl already knew they were bad, but he wanted Jonyst’s
reaction.

“Far worse than you
can believe from what I have learned in the last week or so. The Archon’s
guards and the remaining Myrmidons guard the Tables. Illustra has become a
fortress. All of influence and position who can have translated to Efra.”

“Then it’s been
decided that the Master Scepter will go there?”

“That was decided
some years ago. No one told me or announced it, but that is the only conclusion
to be drawn.”

“Why didn’t you
mention this to me earlier?”

“About the Master
Scepter? Would you have believed me?” countered Jonyst. “I have no proof, only
suppositions, and until Ilerya and Wasen translated here ...” He shrugged.

“They’re from Ifryn?”

“My new assistants.”
The recorder’s smile was weary. “She was an assistant to the recorder in
Ruveen. Her husband was a transport clerk. I didn’t ask how they managed access
to the Table. What point would there be to it?”

“None.” Dainyl had
known that problems were mounting, but even in his most pessimistic moments, he
hadn’t realized that the situation had gotten so bad so quickly.

“Now that you know,
Submarshal, what are you going to do?”

Dainyl returned the
smile of the recorder with one that was doubtless equally weary. “Whatever I
can, however I can.” He glanced toward the steps down to the Table. “I’d better
start.”

“Just remember. Trust
those closest to you least, except, in your case, for your wife.” Jonyst
gestured toward the staircase, then started down the steps.

Dainyl followed.

Once in the Table
chamber, he noted that the hidden door was closed. “I take it that Yadaryst
doesn’t know?”

“He barely has enough
Talent to know where the Table is. He hates translating. He doesn’t often. How
he makes it between Tables has mystified people for years.”

Dainyl had to wonder
if the RA were merely adept at concealing his Talent. He’d have to keep that in
mind. With a nod, he stepped up onto the Table. He concentrated, focusing on
the brilliant white locator that was El-cien almost before he was through the
Table ...

... and into the
translation tube. Although he thought he sensed another flash of deeper purple,
before he could even try to perceive more, he was flashing through the
silver-white mist. ..

... and standing on
the Table in Elcien.

Chastyl looked up
from the end of the Table. “Submarshal.”

“Recorder. Is the
Highest in?”

“I do not believe so.
The Duarch summoned him ... something about the Myrmidons overreaching their
authority in Hyalt and Tempre, I believe. I don’t believe the marshal was
asked. Not yet.” Chastyl offered a guileless smile

Dainyl returned the
smile as he stepped off the Table. “I appreciate the information. If you would
inform the High Alector that I am back, and that matters may not be what they
seem? I will be in touch with him shortly.”

“I will be happy to
do that, Submarshal. Do you happen to know, by the way, what happened to the
Tables in Tempre and Hyalt?”

“I’m under the
impression that rebel alectors supporting RA Fahylt had something to do with
the partial destruction of the Table in Tempre, and that matters got out of
hand with Recorder Rhelyn in Hyalt. That can happen when you have two hundred
unauthorized translations from Ifryn armed with lightcutter sidearms.”

Chastyl’s eyes
widened.

“There was more going
on in Hyalt than met the eye. Rhelyn was thinking bigger than his abilities.”
Dainyl opened the door to the anteroom. “Until later.”

He hurried up the
hidden steps and out through the south door from the Hall of Justice. He was
sweating slightly, despite the late summer fog off the bay, by the time he had
hailed a hacker and was on his way to Myrmidon headquarters. He opened the
flying jacket, but did not remove it.

When the carriage
stopped outside the Myrmidon gates, Dainyl quickly handed the driver half a
silver and walked swiftly through the gates toward the headquarters building.

“Submarshal, sir! We
didn’t expect you,” offered Undercaptain Chelysta, clearly the day’s duty
officer.

“Is the marshal in?
Alone?”

“Yes, sir. He came in
very early.”

“Good.” Dainyl turned
and headed for Shastylt’s study. He opened the door, stepped in, and closed it
behind him.

The marshal turned
from the window, his pleasant smile covering cold determination. “I’m surprised
that you even bothered to return, Dainyl.”

Dainyl couldn’t say
he was even faintly surprised at Shastylt’s attitude—or the full shields he
held.

“And it’s obvious you’ve
even been consorting with the ancients. Shameful...”

“Consorting?” For an
instant, Dainyl was puzzled.

Then he laughed. “That’s
the Talent residue of the weapon Rhelyn used to try to kill me. It was a sword
created by the ancients to kill alectors. Where he found it, I have no idea.”

Shastylt had been
about to speak, but paused, as if stunned by Dainyl’s words, the only time
Dainyl could recall the marshal being speechless, even momentarily.

“In any event, I
thought it might be easier this way.”

“Easier? You delude
yourself, just as Tyanylt did.”

“To find out what you
had in mind, I meant. I always knew you would only do what benefited you. The
only question was how my disposing of Rhelyn and Patronyl would further your
plans.”

“My plans? I am
supporting the Duarches. You’re the one who has been the rebel. Going off and
coopting innocent Myrmidons in an effort to wipe out or discredit a rival. You
really didn’t think you could get away with that, did you?”

“Zelyert won’t accept
that, you know.”

“He won’t have any
choice, not when Brekylt reports that you and Alcyna were planning a coup. If
she deposes him, of course, you will have been in league with Brekylt.”

“It doesn’t matter in
the slightest to you, does it? Whether Ifryn is falling apart, or alectors are
scheming to create their own lands here on Acorus, no matter what the costs?”

“They’ll all fail.
They don’t understand. It’s too bad that you’re one of the few that does.”

Dainyl nodded and
stepped toward Shastylt. “What about the ancients?”

“They’re not a
problem, not really. They were useful to encourage the production of the
special weapons.”

“I see. All hail the
Duarches Brekylt and Shastylt.”

“Why not? Khelaryt
and Samist won’t ever see that Acorus can’t take an influx of worthless Ifrits.
Besides, the Archon has already made his decision to transfer the Master
Scepter to Efra, and that means Khelaryt and Samist will have to be replaced,
sooner or later.”

“What do you propose
to do with all those who will be sent here before—and after—the Master Scepter
is transferred to Efra?”

“We will make it
clear that life here is difficult except for those with skills. Those who have
them will be willing to attempt the long translation.”

Dainyl could see the
logic behind the approach, as well as Shastylt’s unspoken willingness to do
away with those who offered little ... or those who might get in his way.

He took another step
forward, reinforcing his own shields.

“You think too highly
of yourself, Dainyl.” Pure Talent blasted from the marshal.

Dainyl let it sheet
around his shields, as he drew both lightcutters.

“You poor fool. All
shields and no offense. You could never be marshal or anything else, were I not
behind you.”

The next Talent-blast
was enough to rock Dainyl, but not breach his shields. “Besides, how would you
explain lightcutter burns on my tunic? That would suggest very foul play,
Dainyl.” Another Talent-flare slammed Dainyl’s shields.

Dainyl felt himself
smiling. “You wanted Myrmidon to fight Myrmidon, didn’t you? You wanted
factions within the Myrmidons. You even picked me, so that when you revealed I
had committed treachery, it would destroy the ideals and the spirit of the
Myrmidons.”

A third Talent-blast
showed no diminution of Shastylt’s abilities.

“You always saw more
than others ... but not... enough.”

Dainyl was more than
ready for the pulsed blasts of Talent, designed to vibrate shields enough that
the holder lost control. He merely angled his shields slightly and let the
vibrations reverberate back at the study walls and windows. The half-open
window behind the marshal rattled in its casement.

Shastylt changed
tactics, gathering a massive concentration of Talent-force.

In that instant,
Dainyl channeled most of his shield energy into a lance that jabbed a minute
aperture in the marshal’s shield. At that moment, he fired both sidearms and
funneled the energy into a needle, aimed straight through the aperture at
Shastylt’s forehead.

The marshal’s eyes
barely widened before he fell forward onto the circular blue and gray rug that
bore the Myrmidon colors.

Dainyl holstered the
sidearms, then blotted his forehead. He stood waiting until the marshal’s body
vanished into fine ashes and dust, and, in turn, until they, too, vanished.
There were no lightcutter marks on tunic, trousers, or boots.

After several
moments, he heard bootsteps heading toward the door. He turned. “You can come
in, Colonel.”

Dhenyr stepped into
the study. His eyes flicked from the empty Myrmidon uniform on the carpet to
Dainyl and back to the carpet.

“The marshal’s heart
stopped. I think the surprise of my return was too much for him.” Dainyl looked
at the colonel. “I’m requesting your immediate resignation. I assume you’d
prefer that to a courtmartial for treason.”

“Treason?” Dhenyr
laughed.

Dainyl sensed the
hollowness of the laughter and waited.

“Treason? For what?”

“Altering reports.
Passing information to those who shouldn’t have it. I’m sure I’ll find more now
that I’ve been away for a month.”

The colonel’s
lightcutter was in his hand.

Dainyl barely broke a
sweat in crushing the breath out of Dhenyr with his shields.

Once more he waited
until the colonel’s physical body vanished. The process took longer because the
colonel was far younger than Shastylt had been. Then Dainyl went to the study
door and stepped into the corridor.

“Duty officer!”

Chelysta hurried down
the hallway.

Dainyl stepped back
and gestured to the study. “Undercaptain... we have a problem. I was discussing
the rebels with the marshal. I had discovered that Colonel Dhenyr had been
offering them information and that he had altered records. The marshal asked me
to summon the colonel. When he was confronted with the evidence, the colonel
went wild with his sidearm and tried to attack us both. When it was all over
...” Dainyl gestured to the uniforms on the floor.

“I’m sorry about the
marshal, sir. The colonel left us cold, but the marshal, he was a Myrmidon. I
am so sorry....”

“So am I.” And Dainyl
was, for many reasons.

After a time, he
looked at Chelysta. “You’re the duty officer. If you would draft a report on
this ... unfortunate ... deplorable ... situation, I’ll go over it and review
it with you when I return. I need to inform the High Alector of what happened
immediately and in person.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He should know.”
Dainyl shook his head slowly. “I don’t think this could have come at a worse
time.”

“No, sir. But at
least the colonel didn’t get you both.”

“I was fortunate. I
just wish we’d seen all this coming. I wish the marshal had.” That, too, Dainyl
did wish, but Shastylt had not seen that the results of his plotting could only
have had one end—even if he had been successful in removing Dainyl.

For all his desire to
report to Zelyert before matters got even worse, it was close to a half glass
later before Dainyl took the duty coach to the Hall of Justice.

As if he had been
expecting Dainyl, Zelyert stood outside his small study.

The High Alector of
Justice beckoned for Dainyl to enter. Dainyl did, closing the door behind him.

Zelyert did not seat
himself, but offered a cautious smile. “I wasn’t certain who I would see, you
or Shastylt. How is the marshal?”

“Colonel Dhenyr
attacked us. I was fortunate enough to survive. The marshal wasn’t, perhaps
because of the shock at my return.”

“I wouldn’t have
foreseen matters turning out so, but I can’t say that I’m surprised,” mused
Zelyert.

“How much do you
know?”

“My dear Dainyl—or
Marshal, now, I suppose— whatever do you mean?”

Dainyl snorted. “Shastylt
had this idea that he and Brekylt would claim that Alcyna and I were attempting
a coup. They are or were positioning themselves to be the next Duarches after
it became clear that the Master Scepter was destined for Efra.”

“I was aware that he
had some such in mind. So did Khelaryt. It was better to see how far he got.
And who might stop him.”

“What do you have in
mind now?”

“Nothing.” Zelyert
smiled. “Of course, you might be interested to know that Submarshal Alcyna and
Majer Noryan have sent a message expressing their concern about the instability
of Marshal Shastylt and requesting that I look into his dispatch of you to
discipline a regional alector and his staff.”

“Two regional
alectors. Fahylt fled to Ludar.”

“Yes, I heard that he
attempted a translation. Most unfortunate. He arrived as a wild translation and
was flamed down. The Tables can be quite unstable at times. Did you know that
both the Tables in Hyalt and Tempre are not functioning?”