Soarers Choice (26 page)

“Maybe
strange isn’t the right word.” Mykel managed a pleasant smile. “Did you see or
hear any dusters last night?”

“There
was one. He was louder than most. I told Shymal to watch the gates. I went out
and told him to be quietlike.”

Despite
Frejyl’s calm outward appearance, Mykel could sense the fear and guilt. “Had he
already stabbed Kersion? Or did you help with that, too?”

“Sir?”

“You
were involved, Frejyl. The only question is how much.”

“Sir,
that is not true.”

“Don’t
lie to me. You were gone a quarter glass, long enough to drag Kersion’s body
north and into the ditch where it wouldn’t be found immediately. The only
questions are whether you were the one who stabbed Kersion and the duster and
where you put the coins you took.”

“Sir,
I’d never stab another Cadmian. No, sir.”

That
particular sentence rang true, even to Mykel’s Talent.

“What
about the duster?”

Frejyl
shook his head. “No, sir.”

“So
what did you do? Let Kersion die and then take his coins?”

“No,
sir. He was almost gone when I got there. The duster, he tried to take the
knife to me. I used my rifle to knock it out of his hand, and he started
running ... well, he was stumbling. I let him go. Kersion was dead by then, and
his belt wallet had been cut away.”

Mykel
had noticed that. “Go on. What happened then?”

“I
went after the duster. He was lying on the side of the road. Figured I might as
well take his wallet. Suppose I shoulda said something, but it wouldn’t have
brought the boy back.”

“Why
did you drag Kersion out of sight?”

Frejyl
looked at the floor.

Mykel
waited.

Finally,
the ranker looked up. “No one was going to believe me. Not you. Not anyone.
Figured I might as well keep the coins and let the dusters take all the blame.”

Unfortunately,
it all made sense, especially after the low level of discipline in the Iron
Ste.
garrison, followed by Hersiod’s actions. Mykel
suppressed a sigh.

“You’ll
face a court-martial for theft, Frejyl.” Mykel stood. “Culeyt!”

The
captain opened the door. “Sir?”

“Cadmian
Frejyl is being charged with theft. We could also charge him with lying, but I
don’t see much point in that.”

“He
didn’t kill Kersion?”

“No.
The patroller was right. The duster did. Frejyl happened on the crime and made
off with the coins. Find somewhere to lock him up. We’ll convene the
court-martial first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Mykel
stood alone in the study after Culeyt marched Fre-jyl off.

He
supposed that such matters occurred at every post, now and again, but he was in
charge, and it bothered him. He’d still implement the pairing rule, because
what had happened to Kersion likely would have been prevented if there had been
at least two rankers together. Beer and spirits were bad enough, but from what
he’d heard and seen, the dreamdust from the dustcats was even worse, and now he
had to deal with dusters in addition to the local women, the ancients, the
sandwolves and other predators, and unhappy miners and workmen, not to mention
hotheaded Reillies and Squawts. Two or three silvers for a sniff of the dust?
That added up to a lot of golds, but for whom?

He
sat down at the desk, and with frequent references to the last set he had
written, in Hyalt, he began to write out the court-martial orders. The first
page was easy enough, and he set it aside to dry.

There
was a knock on the half-open door.

“Sir?”
offered Chyndylt, the senior squad leader for Fifteenth Company, who was the
duty squad leader for the day. “There’s a letter for you. Came with the sandox
coach. Driver said that you could pay later.” He extended the missive.

“Thank
you.” A letter? From whom? It certainly couldn’t be from Rachyla, much as he
would have liked that. He doubted he would ever get a letter from her, but
then, from the beginning, Rachyla had always confounded him, perhaps because he
had never been able to read her, or understand truly the culture from which she
had come. Yet... there was something there, something that he could not deny,
as well as something she could neither deny nor acknowledge except in ways that
no one else could see. She was held in a shimmersilk prison, and Mykel could
only hope that a dagger of the ancients could prove sharp enough to free her.

Mykel
rose and took the envelope, then smiled as he saw the careful script that was
his mother’s. He set it on the narrow desk, opening it only after Chyndylt had
left.

Dear
Mykel, We were all so pleased to get your letter. You write so seldom. We had
hoped you would be coming back to Elcien. That way you could visit sometime
over the end-days. Sesalia had hoped you would be able to see little Mykela.
She and Bortal hoped you would be pleased they named her after you.

Things
are getting harder here. The alectors are requiring longer hours in the mills
and manufactories. They removed all landers from one place. No one knows why.

There
was enough work that no one was put out. They went to work in the steel mill.

Viencet
spent the summer working as a gardener’s assistant for Cymeryl. He’s a spice
factor. His house is like a palace. It is in the hills to the northeast off the
old mill road. Viencet could work in the steel mill, but he is looking for
something else. Your father says he should work there until he can find another
place, but Viencet says he won’t ever find another place. He’s not working now,
and he avoids your father as much as he can.

We
got a good crop from the grapes and from the garden. We all look forward to
seeing you before too long ...

Mykel
folded the letter carefully and slipped it into his tunic. He couldn’t help but
worry about Viencet. His younger brother had always wanted a “good” place
without too much study, without too much work, and without too much risk. From
what Mykel had seen, unless a man came from wealth, such positions didn’t
exist.

Outside
the small headquarters building, the fall wind moaned.

Mykel
looked at the unfinished court-martial orders. Finally, he picked up the pen.

On
Quinti morning, Dainyl stood on the stairs leading down to the main floor of
the house. Someone was pounding on the front door — practically at sunrise, no
less.

“Dearest!
Would you ... I’m not exactly ...” called Lystrana from the breakfast room.

In
his undertunic and trousers, Dainyl made his way to the door and opened it.
Standing there in the fog and chill was Adya — one of Zelyert’s older
assistants. Behind her waited Zelyert’s personal coach.

“Marshal...
the Highest regrets the intrusion, but he requests your immediate presence at
the Hall of Justice. He said to tell you that it’s of the greatest importance.”

“Come
in out of the chill. Let me grab my tunic and gear, and I’ll be with you in a
moment.” Dainyl closed the door behind Adya, then hurried to the breakfast
room.

“Whatis
it?” Lystrana’s eyes narrowed.

“The
Highest wants me at the Hall of Justice as soon as I can get there. His
carriage is waiting outside.” Dainyl shook his head. “I don’t like it. Not when
you’re leaving for Dereka this morning. I’ll take one of your cases with me. If
I can’t meet you at the Table, I’ll just take it to Dereka. Jonyst and his
driver can get it to you.”

“Maybe
I can get to the Table while you’re still there.” Lystrana smiled nervously.
“I’ll try. I might wait a bit.”

“I’ll
do what I can.” He embraced her, tightly, for a long moment, then stepped away
and walked swiftly back to the foyer and up the steps to their bedchamber,
where he finished dressing. When he came back down, wearing his flying jacket
and carrying the heavier of Lystrana’s cases, Lystrana was standing in the
foyer, talking to Adya.

“...
leaving for Dereka this morning ...”

“...
so sorry ...”

Lystrana
handed a large chunk of bread to Dainyl. “At least eat this on the way.”

“I
don’t know if the Highest...” Dainyl grinned.

“He’ll
have to deal with the crumbs,” suggested Adya.

After
giving Lystrana a last kiss, with the bread in one hand, the case in the other,
Dainyl followed Adya out to the carriage. With the case and two alectors, the
carriage was cramped, but better than most hacks.

“Do
you know what this is all about?”

“No,
sir. All I know is that he had a recorder with him, a woman. I don’t know her.”

Either
Sulerya or Delari, then. If either were in Elcien, matters in Blackstear or
Lysia were not good. Dainyl frowned. The odds were that the recorder was
Delari, since Sulerya had support from Eighth Company and close to a battalion
of Cadmians. Had the ancients or the Reillies overrun Blackstear? Zelyert
wanted to use Myrmidons, and quickly, or he wouldn’t have roused Dainyl out so
early.

Once
the carriage pulled up to the Hall of Justice, Dainyl got out and lugged the
case up the stone steps, across the receiving hall, and back down the inside
staircase to the lower level. Adya stayed with him.

The
High Alector of Justice had obviously sensed Dainyl arriving and stood in the
doorway to his private study. “What’s the case for, Marshal? Weapons, by
chance?”

Dainyl
shook his head. “Gear for the Regional Alector of Dereka.”

“That
may have to wait.” Appearing as grim as Dainyl had ever seen him, Zelyert
stepped back to let Dainyl enter the study, then closed the door. Beside the
small conference table stood a tall and angular woman in the green of a
recorder. Deep circles ringed her eyes, and her entire being radiated
exhaustion.

“Delari.”
Dainyl inclined his head.

“I
see that you are now marshal. The High Alector did not tell me that.”

Zelyert
gestured to the chairs around the table. “We might as well sit. Delari has had
some exhausting times.” He waited until everyone was seated. “If you’d tell the
marshal what you told me.”

“We’ve
lost use of the Table at Blackstear. We’ve lost the entire building. Forces of Myrmidons
from Ifryn came through the long translation tubes, and they kept coming. They
had lightcutters, and they overwhelmed the guards.”

“They
can use the Table there as an entry to any Table,” Zelyert pointed out. “Every
Table chamber could be a battlefield.”

As
if most of the chambers weren’t already, reflected Dainyl. “When ... how?”

“Yesterday,”
replied Delari. “I managed to use my Talent to conceal the hidden chamber.
They’ve already started fortifying the Table building, using lightcutters to
cut stone to seal windows. Early this morning, while they were recovering, I
slipped out with Talent cover and got to the Table. I had to use the Table to
kill three of them before I could translate here.”

“How
many Myrmidons are there?” asked Dainyl.

“No
more than twenty, right now. From what I overheard, they “lost forty to take
Blackstear.”

“If
you act quickly, before they get reinforcements,” suggested Zelyert, “you can
stop them. I know you don’t want to move Myrmidons out of Elcien, Marshal, but
I don’t see that we have any choice.”

Dainyl
didn’t either. “What sort of weapons did they have besides lightcutters?”

“Sabres.
Not all of the lightcutters worked,” replied Delari. “Long translations are
hard on the crystals.”

Dainyl
turned to Zelyert. “How many Myrmidons are there, or were there, on Ifryn?”

“There
were twelve companies, eight with pteridons.”

“Were
the foot companies the same size as the flying companies?”

“They’re
larger — sixty rankers.”

“It
sounds like one entire foot company, no more than two. They knew which Table to
target and trained for it.” Dainyl turned back to Delari. “What was the weather
like?”

“It
was cloudy and cold, but I don’t think it was snowing.”

“Is
the Table still activated?”

“Yes.”

Zelyert
frowned.

“Do
you know if they had any Table engineers with them?”

“I
don’t think so. They didn’t seem to know anything about the Tables, except as
transport.”

Dainyl
turned to Zelyert. “Do you have any lightcutters here? I’d sent some under
seal.”

“They’re
in the storeroom.”

“Good.
I’ll need three.”

Delari’s
eyes widened.

So
did Zelyert’s. “I need a marshal, not a missing commander.”

“You
need to isolate the Ifryn Myrmidons in Blackstear before anything gets worse.
If I can do that, then you can handle them at leisure — or even let them all freeze.
Delari and Chastyl will be able to tell if I’m successful.”

“And
if you’re not?” asked Zelyert pointedly.

“Then
all the Myrmidons in the west won’t be enough to stop them,” replied Dainyl.

“Do
you know Table mechanics?” asked Delari.

“Enough
to inactivate the Table,” temporized Dainyl, standing to forestall more
questions. “The lightcutters?” He didn’t like revealing skills the High Alector
didn’t know he possessed, especially as neither Duarch remained
Talent-augmented, but stopping the consternation and disaster angry Myrmidons
from Ifryn could create was more important. The more authority he had, the more
he had to reveal about himself, and the less he could keep to himself.

“How
— ?” began Delari.

“We’ll
worry about that once we get them isolated.” Dainyl looked to Zelyert.
“Highest, if you could have someone bring the lightcutters to the Table
chamber, please?” He’d tacked on the “please” because he could sense Zelyert’s
growing irritation. The High Alector had no business being irritated, but there
was no point in not trying to mollify him.