Soarers Choice (13 page)

He
stood, shaking his head.

Three-quarters
of a glass later, he stepped out of the duty coach outside the Hall of Justice.
“Wyalt, today, you’d best wait for me.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Dainyl
made his way through the Hall of Justice, avoiding the larger than usual crowd
of petitioners lined up before the dais, where one of Zelyert’s assistants was
sitting to receive them. Few would receive what they wanted, Dainyl knew,
because neither alectors nor landers nor indigens really wanted justice. They
just wanted matters to favor them.

Cloaking
himself in a Talent shield, he vanished to their sight and opened the hidden
entrance to the chambers below.

Zelyert
was waiting in his small and spare study. He did not stand when Dainyl entered
and closed the door.

“Marshal...
always punctual. I trust you will keep that habit. A number of your
predecessors became less than responsive once they became marshal.”

Dainyl
inclined his head before taking one of the two chairs before the table.

“First,
Chastyl asked me to convey his apologies for the inadvertent firing at you in
the Table chamber yesterday.”

“No
apology was necessary. I was fortunate to have been holding full shields. I can
understand the confusion with all the wild translations from Ifryn occurring
across Corus.”

“That
is unfortunately quite true.” Zelyert leaned forward slightly. “I would be
interested to know where you had been to return tinged with a Talent-green that
has not yet faded.”

“That
is no secret. I had received a report last week about yet another ancient
lifeform that had appeared in the Iron Valleys, a large horned and dangerous
variant on a sheep. I sent an inquiry to Asulet. His response was that he
couldn’t provide such information by message.” Dainyl shrugged helplessly. “So
I went to Lyterna and was returning. The entire translation tube held streaks
of green. Chastyl told me that everything coming onto the Table was tinged
green.”

Zelyert
nodded. “He had mentioned that, as I now recall. What did you discover from
Asulet?”

“He
said that the new creature was not all that new, that it was a nightsheep, and
that while they were dangerous to landers if provoked, they were amenable to
Talent control. He was more worried about what that signified. As I discovered
just before I received your message, he was correct. Half of the Cadmian Fourth
Battalion has been killed by a combination of rebellious miners, sandwolves,
and another ancient predator, presumably the most dangerous and elusive
creature of the ancients. In addition to that, three out of five companies of
the Cadmian Fifth Battalion were wiped out when they cornered armed Reillies
beneath the Aerial Plateau, and a section of the cliff and the ice above fell
on them.”

“Such
occurrences are unlikely to be coincidences.” Zelyert’s deep voice was mild.

“That
was my thought,” Dainyl replied.

“The
ancients have begun to act. What do you plan to counter them?”

“For
the moment, I am sending the Third Cadmian Battalion to Iron Stem. That battalion
is the only one with experience in dealing with Talent creatures.”

“No
Myrmidons?”

“No.
Not at this time.”

Zelyert
nodded. “You think these are diversions?”

“That
I do not know, but it is unlikely that any ancient activity near Eastice can
harm us, and the main problems in Iron
Ste.
lie with
indigens, not ancients.” Dainyl paused momentarily before going on. “Shastylt
once mentioned ‘special weapons’ being ordered from Faitel. If matters worsen,
with greater ancient activity near Iron Stem, could those be used there?”

“That
would be overkill, Marshal.”

From
what he had seen and sensed of the ancients, Dainyl had his doubts about that.
“I watched them destroy two pteridons, sir. We have weapons that are that
powerful as well. I am assuming those were developed by the Engineers’ Guild.”

“It
is true that the engineers have certain... capabilities ... and those have been
employed, shall we say, unwisely, in the recent past. The lightcannon are an
adaptation version of roadcutting equipment, and I understand that there is a
weapon that creates and fires hundreds of crystalline spears every instant. The
problem with them is that prodigal as pteridons are of lifeforce, the most
terrible of the engineers’ weapons are even more so. They are best kept in reserve
for eventualities we hope never to see.”

Considering
how wasteful of lifeforce pteridons and skylances could be in battle, in
principle, Dainyl had to agree with the High Alector. At the same time, he
wondered if the eventualities Zelyert alluded to were the same as those Dainyl
feared.

“Did
Asulet mention anything else of interest?”

“No,
sir. Nothing else. I wasn’t there long before he sent me off again.”

“Does
he have guards at the Table there? Have they had difficulties?”

“Yes,
sir. Just before I arrived, they lost a guard to a wild translation of some
sort. I asked if all the Tables had guards, and his recorder indicated that
they did.”

“That
will get worse in the season ahead.”

“You
anticipate that, the actual transfer of the Master’ Scepter is near at hand?”

“One
never knows what the Archon will do — or when he will do it. I doubt that Ifryn
will be inhabitable for Ifrits for more than two seasons, certainly not more
than three, but we are making that judgment on the basis of those who survive
the long translation — and the majority of those who arrive here in these times
are not placed so well as to have the most accurate of information. That being
said, matters will get worse until the transfer occurs. After a period of
quiet, there will be more disruption.” Zelyert stood. “Please keep me informed
about the progress of restoring order in Iron Stem. High Alector Ruvryn is
likely to become more unsettled if the supply of coke and iron does not remain
steady and eventually increase.”

Dainyl
rose. Zelyert had said what he would say. “I certainly will, sir.” He inclined
his head. “Good day.”

On
his way back up the stairs to the upper and public level of the Hall of
Justice, Dainyl considered the implications of Zelyert’s inquiry and words. He
also couldn’t help but worry about the Highest’s observations about the green
cast to his aura.

Under
a hot midafternoon harvest sun, Mykel slowly rode back along the track of the
road that was to be paved from the high road to the new Hyalt compound. The shoulders
of his tunic were sticky and damp, and on hot dusty days such as this Quinti,
he almost was ready for fall and the cooler winds. Almost.

The
planned road had been marked roughly with stones, redstone chunks that
sometimes were hard to pick out against the reddish soil between the clumps of
tan grass. Captain Cismyr rode beside Mykel.

“They’ll
need to angle this section to the west a little higher on the hill,” Mykel said
to the captain, gesturing to the southeast. “If you get heavy rains, the way this
is laid out now, that little stream there will rise to cover the road. I’ll
tell Poeldyn, but you may have to follow up on it, if we get sent orders before
they finish paving the compound courtyard.”

“Yes,
sir. Do you know when you’ll be getting orders?”

Mykel
laughed. “Tomorrow, next week, next season ...”

Cismyr
chuckled politely.

“Don’t
be in too much of a hurry to get rid of us, Captain,” Mykel pointed out. “My
letter of credit is far more ample than yours, and I’m trying to build up your
equipment and supplies. Also, yours doesn’t take effect until I leave.”

“What
about the paving? We can’t...”

“I’ve
made arrangements for that. It’s a separate agreement. You’ll get extra golds
until the end of fall.” Mykel eased the roan up and around the sand, gravel,
and crushed rock road base below the recently paved causeway outside the main
south gates. The completed portion of causeway extended a good twenty yards on
a gentle slope down from the gates, and the next section had a base in place,
but no more would be done until the interior courtyard paving was finished.

Once
past the road base, Mykel turned his mount onto the paved section of the
causeway and rode through the gate. Ahead, he could see the last roof tiles of
the small headquarters building roof had been put in place.

He’d
finished stabling and grooming the roan and was heading to inspect the interior
progress of the headquarters building when Undercaptain Matorak walked swiftly
toward him.

“Undercaptain,
how is Second Company?”

“We’re
doing well, sir.” Matorak stopped, paused, then cleared his throat. Finally, he
spoke. “Majer, I’ve had two squads on quarry duty today, and we’ve had quarry
duty for a time, and we will for a while, I understand. Until there’s enough
stone to pave the road from the compound, anyway.” He paused again. “Well, sir,
I’ve noticed something.”

Mykel
was afraid of what might be coming next. When undercaptains noticed things, it
usually meant trouble. “Yes?”

“Sir,
we haven’t spied one of those strange cats in weeks. I checked with Captain
Cismyr and the other undercaptains from Third Battalion, and none of them have
seen any, not since the Myrmidons came down and destroyed the buildings of the
alectors’ place.”

“You’re
sure of that?” Mykel hadn’t seen any references to the giant cats in any of the
reports he’d received since he’d returned from Tempre, and his Talent-senses
told him that Matorak was telling the truth with great certainty. Still, he had
to ask.

“Yes,
sir.”

“That’s
interesting — and important. It could be that the cats were connected to
something those rebels were doing. I’ll pass that along. Thank you.” Mykel
smiled. “How are your men doing with the road patrols to the east?”

“There’s
not much traffic, sir, but we’ve scared off a few brigands. They were across a
gully, and we couldn’t reach them, but we haven’t seen them since.”

“That’s
one of the things you’ll have to keep doing.” No matter how many the Cadmians
caught or shot, there would always be some brigands. Someone always wanted to
take, rather than grow or build or create. That wouldn’t change soon — it
hadn’t in all the long centuries of the Duarchy.

After
Matorak turned and headed toward the stable, Mykel considered the disappearance
of the giant cats. Had they really been tied to something that the rebels had
been doing? He frowned. There had been reports of problems with the creatures
going back at least a year. Had the rebels held the compound for that long? Or
were the creatures linked to something else — like the alector’s Table? Or the
alectors themselves?

Mykel
fingered his chin. He’d have to consider how much to tell the two Cadmian
officers who would be in charge of the compound ... and he’d need to do it
carefully.

Like
everything else. He laughed softly.

Slightly
past midmorning on Septi, Undercaptain Yuasylt knocked on the door to Dainyl’s
study. “Marshal, sir... we got a message that the submarshal has arrived at the
Hall of Justice. I dispatched the duty coach, but I thought you’d like to
know.”

Dainyl
looked up from the ledgers he’d been studying, trying to get a better sense of
what resources were where. “Thank you, Yuasylt. The senior officer’s visiting
quarters are ready for her, but I’ll see her as soon as she arrives.”

After
the duty officer left, Dainyl glanced out the study window. The day was gray,
and the usually clear silver-green skies of harvest had been replaced by haze
and high clouds, a harbinger of the colder weather of fall that was only a week
away. It still gave him a start when people referred to “the submarshal,” and
he realized they weren’t talking about him.

His
eyes went to the ledger, but he closed it and picked up the draft flight
schedules Zernylta had left for him. About a quarter glass later, Dainyl heard
measured and quick steps on the stone of the corridor, and sensed a strong
Talent presence — Alcyna. He laid aside the draft flight schedules and waited.

“Good
morning, sir. I’m reporting for duty as requested,” Alcyna said brightly, stepping
into Dainyl’s study and closing the door behind her.

Beneath
her Talent shields, she seemed cheerful and amused, Dainyl sensed. He gestured
to the chairs. “Please sit down.”

Alcyna
slipped gracefully into the chair from which she could watch Dainyl and the
door.

“How
was the translation?” asked Dainyl.

“I
had Retyl monitor Table traffic, and then left when things looked empty.”
Alcyna shuddered, and her shimmering black hair, short as it was, rippled. “I’d
just as soon not do too much Table travel anytime soon. They’ve had to kill
more than a half-score of wild translations in the last two weeks, in Alustre
alone. We’ve accepted five unauthorized translations and had to execute ten
criminals trying to escape Ifryn.”

Dainyl
wondered how she knew they were criminals, since criminals would either have
been restrained or executed on Ifryn. Or were the recorders deciding anyone who
couldn’t prove usefulness was a criminal? If the twelve functioning Tables were
receiving similar translations — that was close to 150 alectors a week trying
to flee Ifryn.

“I
can’t say I like the
i.e.
of guards in the Table
chambers,, either,” Alcyna went on. “Some High Alector will be shot by mistake
before it’s all over.”

“It’s
already happened,” Dainyl said. “Fahylt was killed several weeks ago in Ludar.”

“He
wasn’t that good on the Tables, and he didn’t have strong shields. He wouldn’t
even have been an RA if his wife hadn’t been a cousin of Samist.”