ALECTOR'S CHOICE
The Fourth Book of the Corean Chronicles
L E. Modesitt, Jn
TORŽ

fantasy
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that
this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the
publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment
for this "stripped book."
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this
book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

ALECTOR'S CHOICE: THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE COREAN CHRONICLES
Copyright Š 2005 by L.E. Modesitt, Jr. Teaser copyright Š 2006 by L.E.
Modesitt, Jr.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions
thereof, in any form.
Edited by David G. Hartwell
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
TorŽ is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 0-765-35257-5 EAN 978-0-765-35257-6
First edition: June 2005
First mass market edition: April 2006
Printed in the United States of America 0987654321

For Ree and Renn Zaphiropoulos


Proud towers rise to challenge sea and sky, Green needles that capture the
dullest eye, and palaces and halls with columns strong and true with glory,
song, and pleasures for the few.
So seemly are those soaring spires That few remember the fierce desires and
fewer still the price Acorus pays for each alector's unending days.
Yet towers unseen in the higher chill, hold ancients with a different will,
who also ask a price, more long delayed, but still upon your living spirits
laid.
Landers, which fate and bargain will you take? Which deadly compromise is left
to make?


1
Colonel Dainyl looked down at the stack of reports on his desk. He was almost
afraid to take his eyes off them. The moment he looked away, more reports
appeared. He knew that wasn't so, but it was the way things felt. Although he
was the number four Myrmidon officer on Acorus, when he studied all the
reports, he felt more like a glorified lander clerk.
He pushed the resentment aside. He'd had his years as a flying officer, more
than most Myrmidons, and he'd been rewarded for long and faithful service. He
could have easily been one of the rankers who spent decades or longer in
service, yet who never became more than a squad leader or an undercaptain--if
that.
He brushed back a lock of shimmering black hair, hair that needed to be
trimmed, he reminded himself, and glanced toward the window that looked out on
the headquarters courtyard. There, on the raised stage, a pteridon had just
landed, folding back its long blue leathery wings. The Myrmidon rider vaulted
from the saddle and handed the dispatch case to the headquarters duty squad
leader. So early in the morning, it had to be the incoming daily message run
from Ludar.
For a moment, Dainyl just watched the ranker and pteridon. Then he looked down
at the report he had been reading--the quintal operations report from the
Seventh Myrmidon Company at Dulka.
At the sound of boots on marble, he looked up once more, this time toward the
open study door that allowed him
a view, such as it was, of the main corridor of Myrmidon headquarters.
Submarshal Tyanylt walked quickly past Dainyl's open door toward the one
remaining study on the corridor--that of Marshal Shastylt.
Dainyl could sense ... something, and Tyanylt looked determined--or worried.
That was unusual for any alector, and especially for Tyanylt, who never showed
emotion other than a calm pleasantness--even when Dainyl used Talent-senses,
although Dainyl had always been careful only to use those senses to receive.
Not that there was anything that Dainyl could have done to alleviate Tyanylt's
worries. The submarshal was his direct superior and had always maintained a
certain reserve, more so than the usual for an alector. Tyanylt was well
respected, and well connected to both the Duarch of Elcien and the Duarch of
Ludar--and to the high alectors who surrounded both Duarchs.
The colonel forced his attention back to the report, noting that Majer Faerylt
had cited the loss of a skylance and the receipt of a replacement from
Lyterna. Dainyl paused, then reread the section. How could a Myrmidon have
lost a skylance without losing both rider and pteridon? That had not happened
in centuries. He jotted down a note to ask for a fuller explanation.
As he turned to the section summarizing Seventh Company's flights for the last
two-month quint, the slightest flash of purpleness--something sensed by his
Talent, not seen by his eyes--flared before Dainyl.
Almost without thought, he was on his feet and out of his study, nearly
running toward the marshal's closed doorway. He came to a halt outside the
door, but he could sense nothing through the heavy wood. Usually, he could
sense something.
"Sir?" he called. "Are you all right?"
There was no answer.
"Sir?"
With still no answer, Dainyl opened the study door, his hand ready to grab his
holstered sidearm as he stepped into the chamber, closing the door behind him.
Marshal Shastylt lay half-sprawled on the floor beside his wide desk. Several
papers lay strewn on the green marble floor, as if the marshal's hand had
knocked them from the desk as he had fallen.
Once inside the study, Dainyl could sense the marshal's lifeforce--weak, but
steady--and that he was breathing. Submarshal Tyanylt was not breathing. As
Dainyl watched, his lifeforce and aura finished fading, then vanished. Within
moments, all that remained on the smooth green marble floor of the study were
Tyanylt's uniform, sidearm, and boots.
Dainyl swallowed. While he'd seen more than a few Cad-mians, and other landers
and indigens, die over the years, he had only seen a handful of Myrmidons die,
their bodies vanishing into dust nearly instantly--in accidents and once after
a death sentence for gross negligence--but he'd never seen a high-ranking
Myrmidon or alector die. That just didn't happen, and certainly not in the
Myrmidon marshal's study.
The marshal groaned, faintly, and Dainyl immediately knelt. He could sense no
broken bones or severe internal injuries. So he gently turned the marshal onto
his back and waited.
Within several moments, the marshal's lifeforce had purpled into greater
strength, and his breathing was steadier. Shortly, his eyes opened.
Dainyl helped him to his feet. With his shimmering black hair, unaging
alabaster face, and violet eyes, the marshal looked no different from any of
the other most senior alec-tors, save that he was a span or so taller than
Dainyl's two and a half yards. Shastylt's eyes flickered to the clothing and
boots on the floor. His lips tightened slightly, but he said nothing as Dainyl
helped him into the chair.
Dainyl waited while the marshal caught his breath.
"Has anyone else been in here?" Shastylt finally asked.
"No, sir. I sensed something, and when no one answered, I came in and closed
the door behind me."
The marshal nodded slowly, his deep violet eyes fixing on Dainyl.
Neither alector spoke.
Dainyl waited, holding his Talent shields, not certain how the marshal might
react.
"You do understand, Dainyl?"
"Yes, sir." Dainyl understood all too well. In whatever had transpired before
he entered, Tyanylt had crossed the marshal--and paid the price.
"You have always been cautiously decisive. That is a good characteristic." He
swallowed, then coughed, straightening in the chair. "You may not know this,
but the submar-shal was several decades older than I."
There was no reason Dainyl would have known. Alectors never showed their age,
holding the same appearance from early adulthood until death, until that time
when they could -no longer hold their lifeforce.
"He was deeply concerned about some trends he was seeing all across Corus, and
he could see that his lifeforce was failing."
Dainyl knew that the marshal was lying, and that Shastylt knew that Dainyl
recognized that. The colonel nodded. "I just felt something and knew something
had happened."
Shastylt cleared his throat. "Tyanylt and I have both known that Acorus faces
a transition in the next few years, one that will change everything."
Every alector knew that. Ifryn was failing, as its lifeforce was drained away,
and in the next decade the Archon of Ifryn--based on the recommendation of the
Highest Fieldmaster--would have to choose where to transfer the master scepter,
either to Acorus or Efra. That choice would decide the fate of two worlds.
"That choice does not have to be made that soon, does it, sir?"
"Preparations must be made, one way or another, and how those preparations are
handled may also affect the choice." Shastylt reached out and lifted the
goblet of water on the corner of the desk, taking a small swallow.
"Submar-shal Tyanylt felt most strongly about the decisions made by our High
Alector of Justice. Tyanylt reported his concerns to the Highest, and was told
that, while he had identified some valid problems, plans would have to go
forth as outlined, especially since Submarshal Alcyna in Alustre had no such
concerns. Not many are allowed to question the Highest. None are allowed to
refuse the Highest."
Since the Myrmidons' prime function was to ensure and enforce justice, the
High Alector of Justice on Acorus was effectively the director of all Myrmidon
activities. For a submarshal to refuse his duties ... Dainyl shook his head.
He could understand a submarshal's resigning. It had not happened often, but
there were precedents. But to refuse without resigning?
"I see you understand."
"Enough, sir." It was all too clear that, in the contest of wills and
lifeforce between the marshal and the submarshal, the marshal had prevailed.
Dainyl also understood that it would be foolhardy to oppose both the Highest
and the marshal.
"A most cautious response. That is fitting for these times." Shastylt glanced
to the uniform on the floor. 'There will be a week of mourning for the death
of the submarshal. He served Ifryn, the Archon, and the Duarches long and
well, but life-force fails even the most powerful in time. I will have to meet
with the Highest to determine how he wishes to proceed."
"Yes, sir."
"For the moment, you will remain as director of operations and maintenance, as
before." Shastylt smiled, an expression not so much of triumph as one that
showed the relief of someone who had successfully passed a great trial. "That
will be all, Colonel."
Dainyl nodded respectfully.
"If you would summon the duty officer on your way out?"
"Yes, sir." Dainyl half bowed once more, then turned and departed, closing the
door most carefully behind him, as he headed back down the corridor to the
desk of the day's duty officer--Undercaptain Ghanyr. His steps were firm on the
green marble floor.


2
Mykel ambled over to the edge of the grape arbor that he could just touch
without stepping out from under the roof of the warm-weather dining porch. The
golden red grapes were perfect, ripe, but still firm, glowing in the
orange-tinged light before sunset. He eased one from the rear of a bunch,
shaded enough so that it was cooler, and taken from where its absence wouldn't
be noticed until his parents harvested that section of the vine.
"I saw that." His father laughed, stepping through the rear archway with a
bronze tray holding six heavy goblets. "A captain in the mounted rifles,
nearly twenty-six years old, and you're still snitching grapes."
Mykel turned and grinned. "Just one. They're best right off the vine." He
popped the grape in his mouth--slightly tart, but still sweet, and cool. He was
careful not to let any of the juice escape. The pale blue dress tunic was one
of the few he had that wasn't a uniform, and he'd inherited it from his
grandfather two years earlier.
"Don't let your mother catch you. She wants those as ripe as possible for the
holiday wine." Olent set the tray down in the center of the long table, then
straightened.
"Has he been pulling grapes off the vine again?" asked
Viencet, following his father through the archway, carrying a large pitcher of
wine drawn from the cask in the cellar.
"Some things don't change," replied Olent.
Viencet, who was barely seventeen, shook his head. His flowing blond
hair--darker than Mykel's--momentarily flipped away from his head. Mykel didn't
much care for his youngest brother's hairstyle, but had never said anything.
Once Viencet joined a guild, or became a Cadmian, the long locks would go. In
Faitel, only day laborers, small farm holders, peasants--all usually
indigens--or students-- generally landers from the skilled crafting or larger
land-holding families--had long hair.
"The fowl will be ready in just a bit." Aelya announced from the archway,
smiling at her husband, and their sons. "Try to leave the grapes alone,
Mykel."
"I'm trying."
"You always were." His mother smiled broadly before disappearing into the
house.
Mykel blotted his forehead with the back of his hand. Early harvest was hot in
Faitel and even warmer in Elcien, unless the westerlies blew hard off the
ocean for several days straight.
"You have to go back on Londi, don't you?" asked Olent.
"I have to be back before midnight on Decdi. I'll leave on the early coach."
That wasn't quite true, because Mykel really had until muster on Londi
morning, but he wasn't about to wait until the very last moment.
All the same, Mykel found it hard to believe that sixteen days of his two-week
leave were already over, and that he just had three more nights--and two full
days--before he had to head back on his return to duty. He was fortunate that
he was stationed outside Elcien, just seventy vingts from home.
"Will you get more leave when you become an overcap-tain?" asked Viencet.
"//" I ever make overcaptain. No. All officers get four
weeks leave in a year, and that's only when we're in quarters. There's no
leave when we're deployed."
"I can't see being a Cadmian, or even a city patroller," offered Viencet. "I
wasn't very good in the basic physical training. Not like you."
"It's not just physical." Mykel replied, trying to keep his voice even. Why
did so many people, even his brother, think that Cadmians were all muscle?
"No. You also have to believe in things, like why you can't cut too many
trees, or plant too many of the same crops, or use wood when stone or steel
will do--"
"Viencet..." Olent drew out his younger son's name. "There are good reasons
for those."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure--"
"Viencet!" barked Olent, turning his broad and muscular frame.
Viencet lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Father."
His voice wasn't that sorry, Mykel reflected, but, as the old saying went,
Viencet listened to the windsongs of the ancients. Not that anyone even knew
if the ancients had even sung. After an awkward silence, he asked, "What are
you thinking of doing when you finish your studies next Quintem?"
"I don't know. I don't want to work for any of the artisans' or engineers'
guilds. If you're a lander, you do the hard work that takes brains, and if
you're indigen, or if the alectors think you're stupid, you end up in the coal
mines or as a laborer and die young."
"You're anything but stupid." Viencet was bright--but lazy and stubborn, not
that Mykel was about to say that, although his grandfather had--often and
loudly--before his sudden death.
"Besides, in most of the respected guilds, you can't ever say a word about
what you do."
Mykel understood that. He'd never liked the guilds' si-
lence rules, either. "There are still the building crafts and trade, even
factoring."
Viencet shrugged. "I'll never be a master tiler like Grandfather or Father.
When I see the mosaics Father does ... The head of the Structural Engineers
had his last one turned into eternastone."
Mykel pursed his lips. His father had never mentioned that. Supposedly, the
transformation process--kept to the recorders of deeds and the highest of
alectors--cost hundreds of golds and was used for great works of art, or for
the most important buildings, and, of course, the high roads of the Duarchy.
He turned to his father. "You never told me that."
"It was good. It wasn't that good," replied Olent. "They wanted it eternal
because it's in the receiving hall of the artisans and displays their seal."
"Does that make it eternal?" asked Sesalia, Mykel's older sister, who had
stepped through the archway carrying a large covered casserole on an enameled
bronze tray.
"The Hall of Justice in Elcien has been standing for more than three
centuries, and it looks like it was finished yesterday. I won't be sticking
around long enough to find out if my poor mosaic will last that long." Olent
laughed. "Like my own da said, you have to take pleasure in what you do, not
in what people might think about it years from now."
Sesalia set the casserole in the middle of the table. "Everyone should sit
down. Mother and Bortal are bringing the fowl and the bread."
Olent took the chair at the head of the table. Mykel slipped onto the chair to
his father's right, across from Sesalia. Aelya appeared and set the serving
platter in front of her husband before taking her seat at the other end of the
table. The squarish Bortal hurried after her, setting a basket of bread on
each end of the table, then settling between his wife and Aelya. The last one
to the table was Viencet, who seated himself to Mykel's right.
Olent looked at Aelya, then cleared his throat. "In the name of the One Who
Was, Is, and Will Be, may our food be blessed, and our lives as well, in the
times of prosperity and peace, and those which are neither. Blessed be the
lives of both the deserving and the undeserving that both may strive to do
good in the world and beyond, and may we always recall that we do not judge
our worthiness, but leave that judgment to the One Who Is ..." After a moment
of silence, he lifted his head and looked to Aelya. "You prepared it, dear."
"Thank you, but it's in front of you."
Mykel's father took three slices of the fowl, then nodded to Mykel. Mykel took
two, before lifting the platter and handing it to Viencet, who, in turn, held
it while Aelya served herself. Next came the lace potatoes, the steamed
sprouts, and the bread. Aelya had cooked and served the fowl the way Mykel
liked it best--roasted and basted with sesame oil, then served with a sauce of
powdered groundnuts and mint. The lace potatoes were crisp on the outside, but
hot and moist inside.
"Excellent," he said, looking to his mother. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, dear." Aelya glanced at Sesalia. "I miss the children."
"We don't," replied Bortal, glancing sideways at his wife. "I might get to eat
my entire supper."
"Oh ... they're always sweet," replied Aelya.
"They are, indeed," suggested Olent, "but with four of them, I can see how
Sesalia and Bortal might enjoy a meal or two without them."
Aelya sniffed.
"I'll bring them by tomorrow," Sesalia promised. "You can feed them midday
dinner and see how sweet they are then."
Mykel grinned. He'd helped Sesalia the day before.
"Ah ... how are things going with you?" asked Bortal
quickly, looking at Mykel. "You won't have to go off and fight anytime soon,
will you, like with those raiders in the north?"
"The Reillies?" Mykel shook his head. "Not for a while. They've been pushed
back practically to Blackstear. The land's not bad there--it's the northern
part of the Vales of Prosperity--and the Duarches have granted them the rights
to use it, except for timbering. If they raid anyone, they lose that right."
"Raiding, that's in the blood," suggested Olent.
"That's why I said it would be a while," replied Mykel. 'They'll try to settle
down. Can't do that much anyway now. We killed half the men who could carry
weapons."
"I'd always thought you'd become an engineer," interjected Sesalia.
"Landers can only be apprentice engineers. The real engineers are alectors,"
volunteered Viencet. "Even the head mining engineers are alectors. The ones at
the mines just do whatever the alectors in Ludar say."
"Farlak is a real engineer," suggested Aelya.
"He's Father's age," countered Viencet. "He does twice the work of all the
alectors, and has for years. They made him an assistant engineer last year.
That's where they start the most junior alectors."
"It's always been that way," Mykel pointed out.
Olent cleared his throat, loudly.
"You think that Mykel should be a colonel?" Aelya arched her eyebrows at
Viencet. "Or a Myrmidon captain commanding pteridons? Or that you should start
as a master tiler?"
Viencet winced.
Mykel offered an easy smile. "I'm just a Cadmian captain of mounted rifles.
That's good enough for now."
"Not that many become officers," Sesalia said.
"All my brothers tried," added Bortal. "Corylt was the
only one they took. He's only a squad leader, and he's two years older than
Mykel." The blocky tile-setter frowned. "He's in Zalt. That's where they've
just finished the high road between Tempre and Southgate. His last letter said
that they might see some action, but he couldn't say where. You heard
anything?"
"Someone's always unhappy somewhere," Mykel said. "Could be the Reillies in
the north Westerhills, or the nomads in the hills east of the Dry Coast..."
"What about the ancient ones?" asked Viencet.
"There aren't any left. Just a few ruins here and there."
"How do they know? The Ancienteers say they're biding their time."
Mykel laughed dryly. "If the Myrmidons on their pteri-dons and the recorders
of deeds with their Tables can't find any trace of them, there aren't any."
"Do the Tables really exist?" asked Sesalia. "Have you seen one?"
"No," Mykel admitted, "but I've been ordered places where we've found exactly
what the recorders said we'd find, and there hadn't been any alectors or
pteridons anywhere near."
"Maybe the Tables don't really exist," suggested Sesalia. "Maybe the alectors
just claim that they do so that they don't have to explain how they know
things."
Mykel shrugged. "That could be; but however they know, they do know. I
wouldn't want to try to keep anything hidden from them."
"Who are the alectors?" asked Viencet. "I mean... where did they come from?"
"Where did we come from?" asked Olent. "We both came from the Great Beyond in
the time before time, and the alectors have been our guides and mentors."
"You really believe that?" Viencet gave a laugh that was almost a snort.
Olent gave an embarrassed smile. "That's what we're taught, and I don't have a
better answer. Do you?"
'They're not that much smarter."
"Even a little brains means a lot, Viencet," countered Olent. 'They're also
much, much stronger, and I've heard that arrows bounce off them. If you have a
better idea, what is it?"
"I don't know. I just don't think all that's true."
"Then where did we all come from?" asked Olent. "We've never found any ruins
used by people or alectors, and only a few things that were used by the
ancients."
Mykel tended to believe Viencet was right, but he'd already seen enough of
Corns to know that what his father had just said was also correct. But unless
or until he learned more, he wasn't about to step into the argument. Besides,
what good would it do? Viencet would just argue more, and his father would get
his back up. From what Mykel had seen, the Duarches ruled Coras, and they
didn't do it that badly. In dealing with the Reillies, Mykel had seen what a
mess both indigens and landers made of things.
After a moment of silence, Sesalia spoke. "Bortal laid the foundations for
another bedroom."
"Another bedroom?" Mykel blurted.
"Congratulations!" Olent beamed.
"Five mouths ..." Mykel bit off the words and forced a smile.
His older sister turned. "With the Duarches' stipend for a fifth child, we can
build the new room and still have silvers left over." She smiled.
"I'm glad it will work out," Mykel offered as gracefully as he could. Five
children? Even five well-behaved children? He reached for the fowl platter and
took another slice, followed by a healthy dollop of potatoes. He did like the
way his mother cooked.


3
Dainyl stepped,out of the steaming shower, wishing that he didn't have to, but
there was only so much hot water, even for an alector, even for a Myrmidon
colonel, if one married to an assistant to the High Alector of Finance. He
quickly wrapped himself in a heavy towel and dried before he got too chilled.
After all the generations that had passed since the coming of the alectors to
Acorus, he would have thought that they would have adjusted to the chill of
the world, but it hadn't happened. Not yet, although the Duarches kept
assuring all the alectors that the place was markedly warmer than it had been
in the centuries after the first seedings.
Hurriedly, Dainyl finished drying and pulled on his undergarments.
Straightening, he glanced at the full-length mirror that showed a muscular
figure of average height for an alector, roughly two and a half yards, with
the shimmering black hair and alabaster complexion. His midsection remained
trim. While alectors might not age, they could certainly get fat if they
overindulged, and Dainyl had a fear of that, rare as it was. He slipped into
the dressing area off the bedchamber, where he donned trousers, undertunic,
and boots.
"The girls have your breakfast ready. We'll eat in the sun-room," called
Lystrana from the base of the stairs. "It's brighter there, but it's a cool
day for so early in harvest."
"Thank you. I'll be right there." With that warning from his wife, Dainyl
decided to put on an old tunic. He'd change to his uniform tunic after he ate.
On warm days, the hottest of mid- and late summer, he ate breakfast in his
undertunic.
He hurried down the stone steps to the main level and out
toward the sunroom, with the wide glass windows overlooking the courtyard
garden. As he passed the archway to the kitchen, Dainyl nodded to Sentya and
Zistele. "Good
morning-"
"Good morning, Colonel." The two serving girls-- blonde landers, of course--wore
sleeveless tunics. Dainyl could see a trace of perspiration at the hairline of
Zistele, the younger.
Lystrana was almost glowing as Dainyl stepped into the sunroom, and her smile
was dazzling as she rose from the circular table and stepped around it toward
him.
"You look happy," he said.
"I am. We've waited so long."
"Just ten years. Some of the lower alectors never receive permission, and I'm
not exactly the highest of the high. It's more because of you than me."
"It could be because you'll be the next submarshal."
"That's far from certain, and even a submarshal is less than a high
assistant." Dainyl and Lystrana had talked over Tyanylt's death--quietly and
when no one else was around--but neither could think of a reason for his death
except for what the marshal had suggested. Going against superiors was always
dangerous, regardless of whether one was correct.
"Why doesn't matter." Lystrana threw her arms around him and hugged him
tightly. She was almost as tall as he was, and her body melded with his. "You
don't care, do you?"
"Of course, I care. I've been as impatient as you've been. I may not show it--"
"Oh, no. That's not what I meant." She whispered in his ear. "A boy or a girl.
That's what I meant." She leaned back slightly in his arms, her violet eyes
intent on his face.
Dainyl grinned, ruffling her shimmering black hair with one hand. "Whatever
will be."
"You always know the right things to say, and you mean them."
He hoped that he did.
"You need to eat." She stepped out of his arms. "Your day starts earlier than
mine."
They seated themselves across the table from each other. The early-morning sun
was not yet above the courtyard walls, but at least there was no chill from
the full-length glass panels between the pillars that showed the fountain and
the garden beyond.
Zistele appeared with a pot of steaming cider, pouring it into the crystal mug
set on the table beside his place.
"Thank you." He liked the taste of ale better, but the heat of the cider was
also welcome.
Zistele nodded, refilled Lystrana's mug, and stepped away. Sentya slipped a
platter in front of him, one with egg toast perfectly golden and three slices
of lean ham. Beside the platter on the left, she placed a small bowl of
freshly sliced peaches. Then she withdrew to leave the couple alone.
Lystrana had finished but half of her breakfast while waiting for him, and she
took a sip of the hot cider.
Dainyl ate several bites, then sipped his own cider before asking, "What does
your day look like?"
"Long." Lystrana offered a rueful smile. "I was working on the accounts for
the new coal mines north of Faitel, but now the bursar in Tempre has misplaced
something like three thousand golds from the Lanachronan main administrative
account."
"Misplaced... or stolen?"
"Misplaced, most likely. He reported it long before anyone might have
suspected, and the regional Alector of Justice has already determined he isn't
lying."
"Landers." Dainyl snorted. "You're lucky he's not an in-digen. They're even
less perceptive."
"That's not always true, and we're not supposed to call them that," Lystrana
reminded him.
"It's better than calling them steers, the way some do, just because they feed
the lifeforce that we need."
"Careful, dearest. Even in the Views of the Highest, they're both called
steers. Kylana has pointed that out more than once."
"Even some alectors are steers in the way they think. The Views of the Highest
suggests that, too," Dainyl pointed out.
"Kylana--and your marshal--would rather avoid thinking about that. She says that
if it looks like a steer, acts like a steer, and talks like a steer, it is a
steer."
"Alectors look the same, but we have varying levels of Talent, and that's a
big difference. Landers and indigens even look different, most of the time.
Most landers are blond, and some even exhibit Talent. No indigen ever has."
"I think you've made your point. Again."
Dainyl laughed softly. "I should never forget that my wife is a brighter and
more important personage than is this poor colonel."
"Poor Dainyl," teased Lystrana. "You command hundreds, and you think yourself
less than a wife who has but a small study adjoining the High Alector of
Finance."
"A wife who knows where every gold in Coras lies," he retorted humorously,
"and probably every alector who collects interest on each. And I don't command
anyone directly."
"Most of the usury is by landers. You know that. They're far more interested
in golds than in power."
He did, but found it hard to believe, even if his eyes reminded him every day.
The dwellings in the merchants' quarters were far more opulent than those of
most alectors. Even the Duarch's Palace in Elcien and the various mansions of
the Highests were comparatively modest, and they comprised but a fraction of
the alectors' quarter. Dainyl and Lystrana's dwelling was modest, with but
four bedcham-
bers, one of which was a seldom-used guest chamber, plus, of course, the
lower-level servants' quarters. They only had the two girls, while most
successful merchanters had staffs of a half score or more.
"You'll have to go to Tempre, then? By Table?" he asked. "It's important
enough that you can miss the sentence of justice this afternoon?"
"I was at the last one, in the spring, and the one before that," Lystrana
replied. "I don't need to be reminded of what happens if we abuse power.
You'll be there for me."
"We provide the guard--and the pteridons. I'm not looking forward to it."
Dainyl had come to dread those times justice was laid down upon an alector,
infrequent as they were.
"I know."
"You're fortunate you can use the Table," he said, trying to change the
subject.
v"Nothing else is practical. By sandoxes, it's almost a week each way. Even if
there were a Myrmidon courier headed there, it's a day and a half each way by
pteridon." Lystrana smiled ruefully. "Besides, it's occasionally useful to
have an alector from Elcien appear immediately in response to a problem."
"You will be back tonight?"
"You had plans for end day?"
"I had thought we could hear the concert at the Palace on Novdi evening.
Colonels and above, and their spouses, were invited. I'd thought you would
have gotten your own--"
"I did." Lystrana smiled warmly. "I didn't know if you wanted to go ... and I
didn't want to say anything in case you didn't."
Dainyl again marveled at his wife. "You could stay in Tempre tonight and come
back midday tomorrow if you need more time. I didn't mean ..."
"I know. But if I can't find the missing golds in a day, it
will take all the records and a week." She sighed. "Even local translations
are tiring, but I am glad for the Tables."
"Will that be a problem ... later?"
Lystrana shook her head. "Not while I'm pregnant. Afterward ... I wouldn't
want to carry a child to most of the provincial centers--except Alustre ... or
Soupat, because it's actually warm enough."
"Your Highest needs you too much. No one else has a better feel for the
Duarchy's accounts."
Lystrana smiled. "You'd best be going."
Dainyl swallowed the last of the cider and rose. "You'll be late this
evening?"
"I wouldn't think so." Lystrana also stood. "Sentya! We're finished here."
"Yes, alectress." Sentya appeared with a tray before Dainyl and Lystrana had
left the sunroom.
"She's good, I have to say," said Dainyl, following his wife upstairs to their
chambers.
"We pay her to be good."
Unspoken was the thought that, without the alectors of Ifryn, Sentya and all
the landers and indigens would still be living in mud huts and scraping out a
bare existence from a cold and barren land.
Back upstairs in the dressing chamber, while Lystrana bathed, Dainyl hung the
old and warm black tunic on the rack on his side of the chamber and donned his
uniform trousers, dark gray, and his shimmercloth tunic, brilliant blue with
dark gray piping. He adjusted the collar and fastened the gray officer's belt
in place. Next, he checked the crystal charge level in his sidearm--the
standard light-cutter for a Myrmidon officer--then slipped it into the holster
on the left side of the belt.
Last came the gray gloves. Depending on how cool it was outside, he might
actually wear them. The ride to Myrmidon headquarters would warm him some,
especially if the hacker stayed on the sunnier streets.


4
Many worlds have life, but on most, life remains little more than pond scum,
lichens upon the side of a rock facing a cold sun, or tiny animalcules darting
through stagnant waters, too unaware to comprehend danger, however dimly, and
too limited for their offspring or their offspring's offspring ever to rise
from those waters to awareness and thence to aspirations and dreams to place a
stamp upon an uncaring and indifferent universe.
Upon that mere handful of worlds hosting life-forms that rise above a thin
grasp of rock and water, two kinds of life exist--that which is aimless and
that which is directed, either self-directed or directed from without. Long
have there been those who claim that higher life is always directed from
without, and that such guidance proceeds from a supreme being, a deity who
shapes a world until intelligence emerges, then reveals the divine will to
selected individuals.
This is a most comforting belief, yet, like most unthinking beliefs that offer
comfort, there is little in the universe to support it. The multiplicity of
barren worlds, as well as the demonstrated failures of such "divine guidance"
in our own long history, should disabuse all but the most misguided of the
illusion of the involvement of a supreme being in the affairs of life and
living beings.
In fact, as the chronicles of hundreds of centuries demonstrate, life arises
by chance and as it will. All too often higher life upon a world will arise,
then vanish, at times leaving no record of its passing, at others, leaving
ruins that suggest either poverty of spirit and aspiration or little of ei-
ther, save procreation. Is then life a game of chance, a set of bone-dice
rolling itself against the odds?
Views of the Highest
Illustra
W.T. 1513


5
At a quarter past the second glass of the afternoon, Dainyl began his
preparations for the administration of justice scheduled to begin at the third
glass, preparations he had expected to make, but not oversee completely. When
he had arrived that morning, he had learned that the marshal had left for Iron
Stem, leaving Dainyl fully in command of a proceeding that was exceedingly
distasteful. All Dainyl knew was that the Cadmian officer in charge there had
sent an urgent dispatch. The marshal had left no instructions.
First, the colonel took out the crimson armband that signified alector
misconduct or blood wrongly shed, or both, and fastened it into place on his
upper left sleeve below the shoulder. Then he checked his sidearm and
straightened his tunic.
After leaving his study, he went to find Undercaptain Zernylta, third squad
leader and acting commander of First Myrmidon Company in the absence of
Captain Ghasylt, who had left with the marshal early that morning to fly to
Iron Stem.
Zernylta was standing by the duty desk, talking with the duty officer,
Undercaptain Yuasylt.
"Zernylta?"
"Yes, Colonel?" Zemylta was a slender alectress, but tall and wiry. Like
Dainyl, she had blue eyes, rather than the violet usual for most alectors. Her
crimson armband was already in place.
"Third squad will be escorting the prisoner. Are they prepared?"
"I just checked. They all have their armbands and sidearms, and the crystals
are fully charged. The prisoner was brought in a glass ago, and he is in the
holding cell. The duty coach is already standing by at the Hall of Justice."
She paused. "What was he actually convicted of, Colonel?"
"According to the briefing sheet," Dainyl replied, "he abused his house
servants, physically and sexually, and he used Talent contrary to the Code of
the Duarches."
"Stupid," murmured the black-haired woman. "Abusing steers is bad enough, but
to force sex, and then use Talent to cover it up--he deserves more than he'll
get."
While that wasn't possible--the sentence was death-- Dainyl understood what she
meant. Being an alector granted one power, but also entailed great
responsibility, and the Archon and the Duarches punished abuse of that power
severely. There wasn't any option, not with so few alectors compared to the
millions of indigens and landers.
He nodded and walked down toward the north end of the building to check the
holding cell and third squad. After inspecting and checking all that was
necessary, finally, at a quarter before the third glass, Dainyl stepped out
into the courtyard behind the headquarters building. The two remaining squads
of First Company--first and second squads--and their pteridons were forming up
to the south of the flight stage. Third squad would be escorting the prisoner,
and half of fourth squad had gone with the marshal, while the other half was
out flying dispatch runs.
Dainyl turned and surveyed the circular graystone platform that stood in the
center of the courtyard behind the Myrmidon headquarters--the flight stage for
the pteridons.
The stone stage stood a yard and a half above the paved courtyard and also
doubled, if infrequently, as it did now, as the site for the administration of
justice to alectors. The raised stones were empty, with only the justice
stand--a crossbar affixed atop a single post--set in place for what was to come.
After several moments, Dainyl turned back to the south and walked toward
Undercaptain Ghanyr. Behind the un-dercaptain were four Myrmidon rankers and,
set as closely as they could be, which still took a square a good thirty yards
on a side, five pteridons, blue wings folded back, blue crystalline eyes
looking forward.
Did the pteridons anticipate what would come? Dainyl had never known, even
with his own, back when he'd been a ranker, then a junior officer.
"We're ready, sir." Ghanyr glanced down at his arm and the crimson armband.
"Hate wearing it."
"We all do. That's why it's required."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl moved toward Undercaptain Yuasylt, who had left the headquarters
building just before the colonel, and second squad and its pteridons. The
pteridons of third squad were ranked just behind those of first and second
squad, but without their riders, since third squad was providing prisoner
escort.
"Almost ready, Colonel," announced Yuasylt.
"Good." Dainyl wasn't certain he was ready, necessary as what was about to
happen might be. As he had surveyed the courtyard and the squads of First
Company, alectors from all around Elcien had begun to arrive, coming in by
themselves, in groups of two or three, and standing on the north side of the
landing stage. He could see several assistants of the Duarch, quietly noting
who had appeared.
Finally, Dainyl turned. "Myrmidons, ready!"
"First squad, present and ready!"
"Second squad, present and ready!"
With that, Dainyl turned and waited, standing at attention.
As Dainyl and the Myrmidons continued to wait, more alectors slipped into the
courtyard. With just a few moments before the third glass of the afternoon,
more than a hundred alectors--besides the Myrmidons--stood waiting. Although the
day was not that hot, Dainyl could feel perspiration oozing down the inside of
his uniform, more a result of his own discomfort than of any real heat,
pleasant as the cloudless harvest afternoon was.
From the headquarters building came three deep chimes. All conversation and
whispers died away.
The High Alector of Justice stepped from the headquarters building. He wore a
tunic and trousers of purple, trimmed with black. Upon his upper left sleeve
was a crimson armband identical to the ones worn by all the Myrmidons. Across
his chest was a black sash. Behind him were his two assistants, attired in a
similar fashion, except without the sash. One carried the lash, with its black
tendrils, tipped with razor-sharp barbs. The other carried the mace of
justice.
The High Alector climbed the steps to the landing stage and walked to the
center, placing himself three yards back of the empty justice stand.
"Bring forth the malefactor!" The High Alector's deep voice boomed across the
courtyard.
The doors of the headquarters building opened, and Un-dercaptain Zernylta
stepped out, followed by two rankers. Behind them stumbled an alector in
nearly shapeless dark red trousers and shirt, barefooted, with his hands
manacled behind his back. Two more Myrmidons walked behind the malefactor.
The courtyard remained quiet as the Myrmidons escorted the alector in red to
the steps onto the stage, then to the justice form.
The High Alector stiffened slightly as the Myrmidons unshackled the prisoner.
Dainyl could sense the immense well
of Talent marshaled to strike, if necessary, but the malefactor did not move
as his wrists were clamped to the frame and a red hood was slipped over his
head. The Myrmidons stepped back, re-forming behind the alector and his two
assistants, one male and one female.
In the silence, the High Alector stepped forward. "We are here to do justice.
You are here to see justice done. So be it." He turned toward the alector
strapped to the frame "You, Bealtyr of Elcien, have abused those who trusted
you. You have betrayed the trust placed in you by the Archon and the Duarches.
You have deceived, and you have cheated all who live upon Acorus by your acts.
For your crimes, you have been sentenced to die."
The High Alector paused, then turned to accept the lash from the taller
assistant, who then stepped back. The otiier assistant stepped forward,
holding the Mace of Justice in her hands.
"Justice will be done." The High Alector of Justice raised the lash, and
struck.
The barbs on the lash were sharp enough to shred normal cloth and flesh with
but a single blow, but the lash was as much symbolic as physical because, as
the lash struck, the High Alector used his Talent and the crystals concealed
within the Mace to rip chunks of the very lifeforce from the malefactor.
Rather than waste that energy, it was funneled to the pteridons formed up
behind first and second squads, who drew it and stored it for when they would
next fly.
The High Alector needed but five strikes from the lash barbs before the figure
in the tee-frame slumped forward, unconscious, blood splattered across his
back and oozing over the red garments.
Brief as those five strokes had been, even so, Dainyl had to brace himself
against the agony radiated from the malefactor and Talent-spread across the
watching alectors. He watched as several alectors swayed. One young man
pitched
forward, and those beside him barely caught him before he would have struck
the paving stones of the courtyard.
Two more strikes of the lash followed before Dainyl could sense the emptiness
that signified death. He managed to keep his lips tight together.
"Justice has been done." The High Alector nodded to the assistant with the
Mace.
She turned the Mace on the figure in the frame. A pinkish purple haze flared
over the dead alector, then vanished. Only the empty frame remained.
Actually, the Mace was attuned only to the specially treated red clothing.
With death, the alector's body would have turned to dust and less in moments,
but the use of the Mace provided absolute visual closure.
Had justice been done? Dainyl wasn't sure of that. He was more than certain
that, without the visual and emotional reminders provided by the spectacle--and
the required regular attendance by all alectors--that far more abuse of
position and Talent would have occurred. Great power required even greater
checks, as pointed out so clearly in the Views of the Highest, and by there
being two Duarches sharing the administrative powers delegated by the Archon
on Ifryn.
But did such checks provide true justice? That was another question, one that
Dainyl could not answer, not honestly.


6
On Novdi afternoon, two glasses before sunset, Dainyl and Lystrana stepped
through the center archway and into the concert hall of the Palace of the
Duarch of Elcien. Dainyl wore the blue-trimmed gray formal uniform of a
Myrmidon colonel while Lystrana wore
brilliant blue trousers and a matching shimmersilk shirt, with a short vest of
paler blue. The vest was short enough that the wider, silver-gray belt that
matched her boots was fully visible.
Dainyl surveyed those already seated, without seeming to do so.
"Seventy-five," murmured Lystrana so softly that only he could have heard her,
even with Talent-boosted hearing. "We're late."
He repressed a faint smile, as they moved forward. "Not too late. The Duarch
isn't here."
Twenty-five tables were arrayed in an arc on the polished marble floor. Five
chairs were set around one side of each circular table, positioned so that all
five could view the dais on which four empty chairs awaited the performers.
The center two tables--reserved for the Duarch and his wife and guests--provided
an unobstructed view of the dais.
The octagonal floor tiles of green marble were linked by smaller diamond tiles
of gold marble, and each tile was outlined in brilliant bronze. The center of
the floor just below the performing dais was inset with an eight-pointed star
of golden marble a yard across, also outlined in ? thin line of a brilliant
bronze. The hangings on the side walls were green velvet, trimmed in gold, and
set at precise intervals to damp echoes without muting the quality of the
sound.
"We can sit with Kylana and Zestafyn," suggested Lystrana.
"Of course." Dainyl understood that his wife's mild words were anything but a
suggestion. Kylana was the assistant to the High Alector of Transport, and her
husband was officially the Duarch's liaison to the regional alectors.
Effectively, he was the head of intelligence for the Duarch of Elcien.
"Your mother is at the next tab'e," murmured Lystrana.
"I wouldn't have expected her. She usually avoids chamber concerts."
"Exactly."
Dainyl continued to the table ahead, then stopped and bent, smiling at the
black-haired woman--not that any alec-tor had hair other than shimmering
black--who looked no older than her son. "I hadn't expected you here."
Alyra returned her son's smile. "Every so often I do come to a concert." Her
smile widened slightly as her eyes moved to Lystrana. "Congratulations, dear."
"Thank you. Might I call upon you in the future?"
"Always ... you've done so much for Dainyl."
Dainyl kept smiling. Lystrana had done much for him. She'd advised him and
guided him for nearly thirty years, long before they were married, from when
he'd been an un-dercaptain with few prospects--and he'd listened and
learned,.especially about enhancing his Talent. He'd never been able to learn
much from his mother, not with her arrogance.
"He's done it all himself, Alyra. I'm just good at listening." Lystrana smiled
warmly, projecting warmth in a way that Dainyl had great difficulty emulating.
"We must talk later. I see Kylana beckoning."
Dainyl kept his smile in place until they were well away.
Lystrana squeezed his hand gently, then spoke to the woman at the table they
approached. "Kylana... if we could join you?"
"We'd be delighted." Kylana gestured to the seats to her husband's right. She
was extremely short and slender for an alector, not even quite two yards tall,
with a narrow face and deep-set golden eyes--a throwback to a bad translation
by her grandmother, she'd claimed. Dainyl suspected it was the result of her
own translation from Ifryn to Acorus, not that he would ever have said so.
Lystrana eased into the chair beside Zestafyn, and Dainyl took the one to
Lystrana's right.
"The word is that you had an interesting day in Tempre on Octdi," offered
Zestafyn, turning to Lystrana.
"The missing golds, you mean? They weren't missing at all, it turned out. Just
misrecorded." Lystrana paused as a lander serving girl appeared. "The Vyan
Amber Crown."
"The same," added Dainyl.
The server girl nodded politely and slipped away.
"Victyn was most relieved," continued Zestafyn. "He is a good sort, especially
for a lander, and he does try very hard."
"Sometimes, those are the worst," observed Kylana. "They wish to follow every
rule and procedure. They forget who gave them those procedures. I wish that we
were allowed to tell them of Ifryn and the power that resides there. Then,
they wouldn't forget."
Dainyl had his doubts about that. Even alectors tended to forget about powers
that were distant and not exercised. That had been one of the points of the
public execution-- public only to alectors.
"Dearest," replied Zestafyn, "that may be, but it's a waste of time to blame a
tool for operating the way it was designed."
"Zestafyn is so philosophical," said Kylana.
"Just practical." The liaison's deep voice was matter-of-fact.
Dainyl nodded as politely as he could, hoping that it wouldn't be too long
before the Duarch appeared and the concert could begin. Unlike many, he'd
actually come for the music. At times, he had to wonder what a concert might
be like in Illustra, with a full orchestra and thousands of compositions from
which to select. Then, if Acorus were to be chosen to host the master scepter,
there would be more music, and plays, and a greater flowering of art and
innovation.
A single high chime interrupted his thoughts--and the conversations around him.
All the alectors stood as the Duarch entered the concert hall. At three yards
in height, he was an impressive figure even among alectors, with his bril-
liant white face, flashing purple eyes, and hair so deep and black that,
paradoxically, it seemed to radiate light. His smile and the Talent behind it
warmed the room.
"Please. I apologize for being late. Let us enjoy the music."
Beside the Duarch was his wife, who also functioned as a regional auditor, and
her smile was almost as warm. One hundred and seven alectors now sat at the
tables in the concert hall. Roughly two thirds of the alectors assigned to
El-cien, reflected Dainyl, a trifle low for a concert, but then all had heard
the quartet before. The novelty was not in the players, but in the latest
compositions sent through the great translation tube from Ifryn with the
infrequent translations of Myrmidon rankers or other lower-level alectors.
Dainyl was in fact a rarity, a senior Myrmidon officer born on Acorus who had
worked his way up from being a ranker into the officer corps. That he had not
tested well as a youth so many years before had always put off his mother and
doubtless had retarded his progress. Then, too, it had not helped that he had
been thought to have limited Talent and had no ties to the Duarches and no
close personal links to any of the high alectors, and had not had any until he
had met Lystrana--and those were but indirect. Under the circumstances, he'd
done extraordinary well. Myrmidon officers with limited Talent and no
connections seldom rose above majer, and never above colonel.
He glanced up as the four performers, all in the black and green of music,
walked onto the dais and bowed to the Duarch before seating themselves, the
hand-harpist on the far left, beside the five-string violist, and both across
from the side-flautist and knee-bassist.
"They've been practicing this recital for a month," Lystrana said mildly.
That such practice took place after the musicians' normal duties was
understood.
Three notes from the hand-harp, slow and deliberately
struck, filled the hall. Then, the slow deep tones of the bass followed,
joined by the viola.
Dainyl let the music wash over him, pushing aside the worries of the week.


7
Standing easy in his maroon-and-gray
uniform, Mykel waited on the platform to the west of the river towers for the
coach from Faitel to Elcien. South of the platform was the River Vedra itself,
channeled between eternastone walls. Each river-wall held a causeway wide
enough for four transport coaches abreast.
"Think it'll be late?" asked a Cadmian ranker several paces away.
"Never seen one late yet," replied his companion. "Alec-tors want the coaches
to run when they're supposed to."
With an amused smile, Mykel shifted his weight from one boot to the other,
then glanced to the western end of the platform, where a handful of alectors
waited beyond the stone railing separating the two sections. While the
alectors never showed age, not any that he had seen, Mykel knew that the ones
waiting were younger. Senior alectors traveled by pteridon, or through the
mysteries of the Halls.
The captain snorted. Mysteries, indeed. For all their greater height and
strength, the alectors were still mortals, although they had their secrets and
guarded them zealously.
Low in the western sky, he could barely make out the half disc of the larger
moon, Selena, more golden near the horizon. The green moon--Asterta, the one
some called the warrior moon or the moon of misery--had set glasses earlier,
well before dawn.
He turned, his eyes taking in the nearer of the two green towers, a cylinder
with a pointed tip that soared more than a hundred yards into the silver-green
sky. Between the two towers were the major piers for the boats and barges that
traveled the river carrying everything--the steel pigs and dreamdust from Iron
Stem, the wines from the Vyan Hills, and the grains and livestock from the
fertile rolling plains between Krost and Borlan. All of it came down the Vedra
to Faitel, where the iron was off-loaded for the artisans and engineers, and
what was not off-loaded went first to Elcien, then south through the Bay of
Ludel to Ludar.
Downstream and to the west of Faitel were the shipyards, and upstream and east
of the center of the city were the ironworks and the golden-walled compounds
of the engineers' and artisans' guilds. If Ludar could be called the artistic
heart of Corus, and Elcien the spirit and intelligence, then Faitel was where
art and spirit were forged and almost everything of great value was
fabricated--from the bronzed coaches pulled by the sandoxes to the great ships
that had conquered the oceans.
Mykel's reveries were brought to a halt by the double chime of the bell that
announced that the coach to Elcien was coming. He looked eastward as the
sandoxes turned into the concourse on the north side of the platform. There
were two--each more than four times the size of a draft horse--with even more
massive shoulders, and scales that shimmered purplish blue. The deep-set eyes
were golden brown ovals, with pupils blacker than a starless night. In the
middle of the broad forehead was a single triangular scale a good ten times
the size of the less distinct purplish scales that covered every span of the
sandox. The sandoxes were harnessed to a modified cross-rig with wide black
straps and leather-sheathed chains.
Behind the pair were the bronze-sheathed transport coaches, each nine yards
long. The forward coach was split
into two sections, the front compartment for alectors, with wider and
well-cushioned seats, and a rear section with far less luxurious seating. The
second coach contained a single compartment, all standard seating. The
drivers' seat high on the front of the first coach had ample space for the two
alectors who controlled the sandoxes and the coach, and was provided cover
from sunlight and weather by curved bronzelike metallic roof sheet.
Just as the sandoxes and coaches slowed to a halt, there was a shout from the
river side of the concourse platform. Mykel turned, as did the two women to
his left, and the pair of Cadmian rankers to his right.
A man jumped onto the top of the stone railing of the western platform and
leveled a weapon--an ancient crossbow--at the nearest alector. Before Mykel had
taken more than a single step, the bearded figure had fired, and the quarrel
slammed into the shoulder of the alector, spinning him half around. Before
Mykel took a third step, the alector on the forward coach had lifted his
light-knife. A bluish beam struck the bearded man, and his entire figure
flared into blue-yellow flame. Within instants, a blackened body pitched off
the railing.
Mykel's mouth opened as he realized the crossbow quarrel had bounced off the
alector's shoulder. He had the feeling that the alector was in a fair amount
of pain, but he couldn't have said why. Still, from such close range, the bolt
should have gone through the alector. Absently, he recalled what his father
had said. Arrows bouncing off alectors didn't seem so far-fetched, after what
he had just seen. But how did they do that? Was their skin that tough? Or were
those shiny clothes special? Or both?
His lips quirked. He wasn't likely to find out. Not anytime soon.
The concourse bell rang rapidly, and Cadmians in the uniforms of the road
patrols appeared from the station west
of the concourse. Within moments, the charred figure had been lifted into a
handcart and pushed away. The injured alector had vanished.
"Never seen anything like that," muttered one of the rankers beside Mykel.
"Maybe one of those Ancienteers," replied the other.
"Thought they just hid away in the peaks and stuff."
"Crazy folk, never know what they'll do."
Mykel agreed with that, especially about some of the strange cults that had
appeared in the outlying lands of some regions, like the Iron Valleys, North
Lustrea, Deforya, aad the higher mountains in the southern part of the Coast
Range. He'd hadn't heard much about the Ancienteers, except as a group that
worshipped the vanished ancients. His grandfather had once said that the true
ancients were beautiful women with wings who were colder than ice. They didn't
sound like anything Mykel wanted to worship.
The boarding bell rang, a quick triplet, and Mykel eased a silver from one of
the slots on the inside of his belt before moving toward the steps down to the
embarking area.
The two Cadmian road patrollers on the mounting steps scarcely looked at Mykel
as he handed his silver to the attendant and stepped through the open door and
into the coach. He settled into a window seat three rows back. As in all of
the coach compartments, save the forward section for alectors, there were four
narrow oak seats, two on each side of a center aisle. With the thin seat
cushion, they were almost comfortable on a long journey. Almost.
Mykel noted an attractive woman in dark blue, hoping she would take the seat
beside him. Before he could offer, a squarish man wearing a brown tunic and
matching boots eased into the seat. "Sorry, Captain, but there's not that much
room."
"There never is," replied Mykel politely, guessing that the man was some sort
of factor.
A single long chime sounded, and the attendant closed
the coach door. Mykel glanced around the coach. Most of the thirty-two seats
were taken, although the attractive brunette was sitting alone. With the
slightest jolt, the coach began to move. Before long, the sandoxes had the
coach up to speed and coolish air flowed through the louvers forward and
overhead.
With nearly three hours ahead of him for the seventy-odd-vingt journey, Mykel
surveyed the river, taking in the barges being towed upstream by the steam
tugs on the inner causeway. An ocean freighter--he could tell that because it
did not have the sails of a coaster nor the narrower beam and shallower draft
of a river craft--forged downstream. Above the bridge flew the pennant of the
Duarchy, two crossed scepters, both metallic blue, not quite identical, set in
a sharp eight-pointed, brilliant green star.
"Strange business there on the platform," offered the man seated beside Mykel.
"You ever see anything like that before?"
The captain turned from the window. "No. I suppose there's a first time for
everything."
"I meant the arrow bouncing off the alector. I've seen crazies before." He
paused. "Makes you think. Maybe there are reasons we don't know why they're
alectors ... besides they're being big and tall." After another pause, he
smiled. "I'm Floriset, crop factor."
"Mykel, captain, Fifteenth Cadmian."
"Wouldn't want your job these days. Everywhere you look, there's another bunch
that thinks they can do things better than the Duarchs." Floriset shook his
head. "You seen much action against them?"
"In the north Westerhills against the Reillies last year."
"Tough, they said."
"Not that tough. We didn't need to call in the Myrmidons, the way they did in
Soupat." Mykel laughed, quickly asking, "How is your business?"
"Some days are good. Some aren't. Had a mild spring,
with rain in most places, and a bit more rain through the summer. Good hot
late summer and a dry early harvest Makes it hard."
"That sounds good," offered Mykel, "not bad."
'Too good. Bumper crops all over the place, especially in wheat corn. That'll
drive the prices down. Be hard on the farmers way to the east Might speculate
in some land there." The factor laughed. "Just have to buy as much as I can
and hope next year's weather's worse."
"Did the Reillies make things hard last year?"
"Hard on folks to the north, but I'd laid in more stocks, and when the prices
went up after they burned the granaries in Harmony, I made a few extra
silvers."
"More like a few hundred, I'd wager," suggested Mykel.
"A few." The factor grinned, but for a moment. "Works the other way at times,
too. Couple years back, I'd figured that the short drought would last another
year. Was wrong about that, and had to unload stocks as I could. Storage
charges woulda eaten me alive, otherwise. Took a loss of more than a half
copper a bushel." He shook his head. "Like to have done that one over again."
"Life's like that," Mykel replied.
'It is indeed, but you can't help wishing."
Mykel nodded, then leaned back and closed his eyes. It would be a long ride,
and he could use the rest.


8
When Mykel finished the two-vingt walk from concourse platform at the river
station to the gates of Cadmian headquarters, he was perspiring, and glad he'd
taken no gear home with him. He could have taken a carriage for hire from the
station, but he'd seen no point in
' spending a silver, not on a pleasant day when he did not have to report
until muster on the next morning.
The last quarter vingt--five hundred yards--before the open stone gates at the
end of the stone-paved avenue was clear of dwellings, just an open hillside
between the northern edge of the less than attractive town of Northa and the
walls of the Cadmian headquarters. The compound was set at the base of the
hills that rose northeast of the river and footed the Coast Range itself, with
walls that ran almost a vingt on each side.
In contrast, the Myrmidon headquarters compound was far smaller than the
Cadmian headquarters and was situated on the west end of the isle of Elcien
itself, facing into the generally prevailing winds. That made it easier for
the pteridons to lift off, or so Mykel had been told, although he'd never seen
one of the blue-winged fliers up close, but only from below as they soared in
and out of Elcien, often casting shadows across those below.
The two rankers on guard duty stiffened as Mykel walked toward them.
"Captain Mykel..."
"Always back early ..."
"Good day," he said warmly. "Anything unusual, Cheant?"
"No, sir."
"Good." Mykel smiled, a cheerful expression that also indicated that he knew
none of the rankers would have told him anything--not out in the open. Cheant's
guilty look suggested that more than a few things had occurred during Mykel's
furlough, none likely to be good.
As he crossed the paved courtyard on the west side of the compound, striding
toward the junior officers' quarters, he caught sight of another captain
hurrying toward him. "Kuertyl!"
"Back early, I see." The younger captain's eyes did not quite meet Mykel's
level gaze.
"Always."
"You never carry anything, either."
"Not when I visit my parents. No point in it. I wear the uniform traveling,
and old clothes while I'm there." His eyes fixed on the younger officer.
"Cheant was on gate duty. He had that look. What's in the wind?"
"No one's said anything."
Mykel cleared his throat and waited.
"Word is that something happened in Dramur. No one's saying anything, but a
Myrmidon officer came in on Novdi, landed his pteridon right beside the
headquarters. Swerkyl had to go find the colonel and Majer Vaclyn. The alector
spent a good glass with the two of them, then another glass or more with the
majer. Then he flew off. Swerkyl says he heard the words 'Dramur' and
'Dramuria,' and "Third Battalion.' Then the majer went to his target range and
practiced with those throwing knives of his."
"That means he wants to kill someone," reflected Mykel. "You sure it's Third
Battalion?"
"Swerkyl wasn't sure, but it's got to be us. We're next on the deployment
schedule. Our companies are the only ones at full strength and ready to
deploy."
"Figures ... Anything else about Dramur?"
"No. Not yet" Kuertyl added quickly, "Did you hear about Scien? They're
closing the post No one knows why. The companies there are being reassigned."
"Should have been closed years ago. It's at the end of nowhere. Colder there
than at Blackstear in full winter." Mykel grinned at the younger captain. "You
should be glad. They can't send you there when you foul up your next
assignment"
"Or you," riposted Kuertyl.
"I never foul up." Mykel laughed.
"I have to meet with Majer Vaclyn in half a glass--"
"On end day? Is this about Dramur?"
"Wish it were. We didn't do so well in squad-on-squad
training last week. You'd better watch out when he comes to you." Kuertyl
turned and hurried toward the headquarters building.
Mykel frowned. He wasn't surprised that Kuertyl hadn't done that well, but it
worried him that Vaclyn was meeting svith officers on end day, especially
after practicing with the throwing knives. That was never a good sign, and it
suggested that the colonel was not only pushing to get the companies ready to
leave, but less than happy with readiness. Dramur? That was all too hot,
almost as bad as places like Sinjin and Soupat.
Mykel walked more deliberately toward the officers' quarters.


9
One of Dainyl's few luxuries was taking a carriage from the house to the
Myrmidon headquarters on the west end of Elcien. Lystrana had calculated it,
and paying the three coppers each way was far cheaper than having a personal
carriage. A hacker named Barodyn had taken advantage of Dainyl's modest
self-indulgence and waited outside every working morning.
When Dainyl stepped out of through the gates of the front courtyard, Barodyn
leaned back in his seat and swung the coach door open. "Good morning, Colonel,
sir."
"Good morning." Dainyl offered a smile as he climbed into the coach and closed
the door. He didn't say another word as the hacker eased the coach away from
the mounting block.
Nor did Barodyn.
After two turns, and an arc around the public gardens of the Duarch, the coach
was headed west on the Boulevard.
There was only one, down the middle of the isle from the bridge in the east to
the gates at the Myrmidon compound at the west end of the isle.
Dainyl looked back at the gardens, with their precisely trimmed hedges and
stone paths, with the fountains, and the topiary of all manner of creatures,
including a lifelike pteri-don and a long hedge sculpted into the likeness of
two san-doxes and a set of transport coaches.
A woman--an alector--and a child walked through the gates of the garden. Dainyl
frowned. He should know them. There weren't that many children allowed, only a
handful every year, depending on the reports from Lyterna. Still, the woman
didn't look familiar.
His eyes moved to the Palace of the Duarch ahead to his left, south of the
boulevard, opposite the Hall of Justice. The golden eternastone glowed in the
morning light, and the two towers were green-pointed cylinders that almost
melded with the silver-green sky to the west.
Dainyl smiled. Built on an island of solid stone, Elcien was indeed a
marvel--from the perfectly paved boulevard and streets, the stone dwellings and
their tile roofs, the shops and market squares that held everything produced
on Acorus, the docks and warehouses where vessels from across the world
disgorged their goods, and, of course, the Palace of the Duarch. Even the air
smelled fresh, coming from the south, and pleasantly moist.
Past the center of Elcien, to the west of the palace, were the trade
quarter--on the southwest--and the residence quarter for those merchants who
could afford it. Beyond them was Dainyl's destination. The low bluff on the
west end of the isle of Elcien that held the Myrmidon compound was separated
from the rest of the city by a graystone wall four yards high, with but a
single set of gates. The gates were open and unguarded, as were those at all
Myrmidon compounds. Because all alectors had some degree of Talent--if minimal
in the case of many rankers, couriers,
and low staff--anyone not belonging would be sensed instantly, and few indigens
or landers wished to take twenty lashes for being in the wrong place.
The hacker reined up outside the gates. "Colonel Alector, sir?"
As he stepped out, Dainyl handed over the two coppers, plus an extra copper.
"Thank you, sir."
As Barodyn turned the coach for hire back toward the trade quarter, Dainyl
walked quickly through the gates and toward the headquarters building, a
square structure no more than twenty yards on a side and but a single story in
height. The sole Myrmidon in the receiving area was the staff senior squad
leader, Zorcylt.
"Good morning, Colonel."
"Good morning, Zorcylt. Is the marshal in yet?"
"No, sir. He and Captain Ghasylt are on their way back to Iron Stem."
"Iron Stem? Again?"
"Yes, sir. He left two messages on your desk. There's been more trouble there,
but he didn't say what."
Dainyl wasn't looking forward to the messages. He offered a grin. "You have
any ideas?"
"Well, sir... I did hear something about the coal mines there. That was all."
"What squad has the duty?"
"Second, sir. Undercaptain Yuasylt. All five have reported and stand ready,
sir."
"Are we expecting any dispatches from the palace for the morning flight?"
"No, sir. The message banner is white."
"Do we have a report on inbound shipping?"
"No, sir. Vorosylt lifted off almost half a glass ago, but it's a quartering
wind, and maybe a headwind beyond the straits."
Dainyl nodded. That left three fliers--Yuasylt and two
others--from the duty squad for any other dispatches or surveillance work. In
many ways, he missed flying, but he didn't miss the glass upon glass that he
would have been away from Lystrana. "I'll be in my study."
The colonel walked down the corridor to the doorway just short of the one to
the marshal's spaces. Once inside his own study, he closed the door. Rather
than settle behind his desk, he picked up the top envelope. The light dusting
of Talent across the seal had not been tampered with. A faint smile crossed
his thin lips as he released the Talent-seal and opened the envelope. He began
to read.
After a time, he set the short document on the top of the desk and walked to
the window. The flight stage was empty, but the dispatch rider and pteridon
would be there shortly.
He'd expected to read about Iron Stem and coal mines, but the first message
was brief, warning him that the Duarch's intelligence sources had reported
unrest in Dra-mur, and the possibility of an actual insurgency. Because the
terrain was not optimal for the Myrmidons and with the unsettled situation in
Iron Stem, the marshal had ordered a Cadmian battalion to begin preparations
for deployment to Dramuria.
Dainyl didn't care for that--not when the marshal had stated that the unsettled
situation in Iron Stem might be worse. Worse than ans insurgency? Worse than
the loss of higher-level lifeforce that could entail, directly and indirectly?
What was missing from the message worried him. Did it have to do with the
concerns that had cost Tyanylt his life?
He turned back to the desk, opened the second envelope, and began to read.
The engineers in Faitel had gone to Iron Stem in early spring and opened a
second coal mine. The High Alector of Trade in Ludar had arranged for
additional malcontents to be trained as miners and transported to Iron Stem.
Somehow--and the marshal did not explain how it had happened--the local trade
director, a lander, of course, had failed to make adequate preparations for
housing the additional miners. Rather than admit his failure in obtaining the
necessary cut stones or brick required for the barracks, in late summer he had
decided to overcut the oaks in the area. The local garrison commander, a
Cadmian overcaptain, had been forced to use two companies of mounted rifle to
stop the timber harvesting. Then, someone had placed explosives in the main
shaft of the coal mine and detonated them, shutting down the mine completely,
and killing nineteen miners. The device used showed some considerable
knowledge, the kind that could result in crude cannon.
Dainyl winced. Cannon and artillery were on the banned lists, not to be
mentioned, and an immediate death sentence for any lander or indigen caught
attempting to fabricate them. The recorders who used the Tables for
surveillance continually scanned for evidence of such efforts, and so far
there had been none in years, so far as Dainyl knew.
The existing stocks of coal for coking the ironworks at Iron Stem were
sufficient only for a month--one of the reasons why the additional mine was
being developed. An engineering team was being sent from Faitel with the
equipment to reopen the mine, but it was likely to be at least another month
before production could resume.
The overcaptain had rounded up the miners and requested an Alector of Justice.
The High Alector of Justice had said that a marshal was all they deserved and
had dispatched the marshal, with a guard of four pteridons.
Four pteridons? Dainyl frowned. Why would anyone do that? Every day the
malcontents who were sentenced to the mines didn't work added a day to their
term. Stone-and-brick housing was warmer and more comfortable than timber--and
the winters in Iron Stem were cold, if not so cold as those in places like
Blackstear and Scien. Then, ma-
ture oaks provided better lumber, especially when they were harvested
according to plan, and not just hacked down for a momentary need. Mature
forests provided far more additional lifeforce than cutting and replanting
with young trees and seedlings.
Didn't the landers and indigens understand? Every tree, every additional stock
animal, each one added to the life-force and supplied the strength to improve
life all across Corus. He snorted. Perhaps some landers did, but most didn't,
and even fewer truly cared.
A marshal was probably more than whoever had blown the shaft deserved.
Still... that a lander or an indigen had used explosives in such a fashion was
disturbing. Equally disturbing was the marshal's judgment that Iron Stem was
potentially worse than an insurrection in Dramur.
After several moments, Dainyl turned back toward the door. He had to check the
dispatches before the duty flier could depart.

10
Londi morning had come all too early, Mykel decided, as he stepped into the
officers' mess, yawning. Although the mess held just a half score of small
wooden tables, he was the only officer there.
"The same as always, Captain?" asked the steward.
"Yes, please, but water the hot cider just a touch." That was so he didn't
burn his throat.
"Yes, sir."
Mykel took a corner table, and, shortly, the steward brought him a mug of
cider and a platter with three slices of egg toast, drizzled with molasses
syrup, along with two
slices of ham, and an overripe golden apple. On the side was a quarter of a
lime. "Apple's best I can do, sir."
"That's fine. Thank you." Mykel cradled the mug in his
hands under his chin and let the warm cidery air rising from
tthe mug wreath his face for a moment. After several sips, he
[picked up the apple and took a bite. It was mushy. It
[shouldn't have been. Apples were in season.
With a grimace, he picked up the lime section, squeezed what he could over a
section of the apple where he had taken a bite, then ate apple and lime juice.
Then he forced himself to eat the lime. He took another sip of the cider, and,
with relief, a bite of the egg toast
Dohark had entered the mess and was headed in his direction, platter in hand.
The blocky older captain slid into the chair across the table from Mykel.
"Kuertyl tell you about Dramur?" He took a bite of egg toast.
"He said something about it. You think he's right?"
Dohark, his mouth full, shrugged, then swallowed before speaking. "He's not so
good in the field, but he always knows what's going on in headquarters."
"What do you know about Dramur?" asked Mykel.
"Big island, maybe five hundred vingts long, Got sharp-assed mountains smack
down the middle, and it's hot and dry, except for a wet part on the west side.
Hotter than Soupat. Only place with lots of people is Dramuria, and it's a
port. Oh ... and it's got bats, some of 'em bigger than kids. That's why
there's a port. They send mals there to mine the bat shit and ship it to
Southgate. Put it on a field, thin-like, and it'll make anything grow."
"So why do the Myrmidons want us there?"
"Because they don't want to go and deal with a bunch of unhappy mal miners.
That's why." Dohark took a long swallow of ale.
Much as Mykel liked ale, he couldn't stand the taste of it in the morning.
"What is it about Dramur? Bat shit isn't that valuable, is it?"
"Maybe the alectors think it is. They get pretty tight when folks cut down
trees they shouldn't, things like that. My cousin, he had a swamp on the comer
of his place, outside of Salcer. Decided that he could grow gladbeans there,
make a bunch more silvers. He started to drain and fill, and before you knew
it, there was an alector on his doorstep, telling him to put the swamp back
the way it was. He was lucky--only got five lashes in the square."
"Five lashes for draining a swamp? And he had to put cropland back to a
swamp?"
"Don't you remember your school lessons, Mykel? Swamps and forests are good
for the land. Make it more productive. Don't see how, but who's going to argue
with an alector?"
Mykel fingered his chin. What sort of sense did it make to leave a swamp, a
place where there were bugs and snakes, and stagnant water, when you could
turn it into a productive field? Still, Dohark was right. You didn't argue
with an alector.
"First glass after noon, we're doing drills against Fifteenth," Dohark said.
"Your boys best do better than last time."
"We'll show you a thing or two." Mykel grinned.
"Like your backsides clearing the drill field?" Dohark rose from the mess
table.
Mykel laughed, letting the older captain depart. Then he finished the last of
the ham and made his way from the mess to his study in the headquarters
building.
Once there, he looked at the stack of paper waiting on one side of the wall
desk. He could only hope that it would hold routine seasonal reports. Mykel
riffled through the papers, suppressing a groan. He'd forgotten about the
training reports, and with the afternoon drills, he'd be writing late into the
night for the days ahead.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. A squad
leader, wearing the white braid of the headquarters' staff, stood in the
doorway.
"Captain Mykel, sir, Majer Vaclyn requests your presence in his study. At your
soonest convenience, sir."
"I'll be right there."
Mykel only waited until the squad leader was away from his door before
following him back to the south end of the building. The majer's study door
was open.
"Have a seat, Captain." Majer Vaclyn gestured to the chairs in front of the
desk. "Please close the door behind you." He was a typical Cadmian officer
from pure lander stock, tall and muscular, blond, with fair skin and light
green eyes. From appearances, except for the too-ruddy cheeks, he could have
been Mykel's cousin. He wasn't.
"What have you heard?" Vaclyn leaned back in his chair. On the corner of the
desk were an oily rag and a sharpening stone--recently used on one of the
majer's throwing knives.
"Sir?"
"There are rumors all over the compound. I'd like to know which ones you've
heard so that I can set you straight."
"The whole battalion's being sent to Dramur." Mykel offered an easygoing
smile. "No one seems to know why."
"That's because no one has been told why, except the colonel. Your story has
the basic parts right. Then, you always do get that right." Vaclyn gave Mykel
a broad smile that the captain trusted not at all. The majer cleared his
throat. "On Septi, Third Battalion will embark on the Duarches' Valor. Full
field kit, just like any deployment. The Myrmidons expect that our mission
will take from two seasons to a full year."
Mykel waited to see if Vaclyn would actually tell him the mission.
"A significant number of malcontents who have been
serving terms as bat-dung miners have managed to escape. There are only two
companies of Cadmian foot stationed at the garrison there, and they provide
security for the mine..."
Prison guards, in effect, reflected Mykel.
"... Our task is twofold. First, we are to provide protection against the
raids, both for the dutiful miners and for the local inhabitants. Second, we
are to bring the fugitives to justice." Vaclyn paused, then asked, "Do you
have any questions, Captain?"
While Vaclyn's tone was perfunctory, as if he didn't want questions, Mykel
replied. "Yes, sir. What sort of weapons do these fugitives have? Do they have
mounts? Are any of the locals supplying them?"
"We have not been given such details. Doubtless, we will be briefed in the
next few days. Any shortages in your company's supplies, mounts, or authorized
gear should be authenticated and reported by noon tomorrow."
"Yes, sir." Mykel offered a curious and open smile. "Sir... if I might ask,
what is it like, talking to a Myrmidon colonel?"
"He was very direct, and very brief. They always have been when they've talked
to me. And, Captain," added Vaclyn, rising as he spoke, "this afternoon's
drills will be the last before we embark. I trust I'll see some improvement."
After the briefest pause, he added, "Did you have a good furlough?"
"Yes, sir. It was good to see my family." Rising from the chair, Mykel offered
a pleasant smile. Vaclyn's question had been little more than perfunctory, but
he had asked.
Mykel nodded in respect, then left the majer's study, closing the door behind
him. The majer's response to his question about the alector puzzled him.
Kuertyl had suggested several long meetings, and the majer had said the
meeting was short. Vaclyn had lied to Mykel before, but this time he had felt
like he was telling the truth--and so had
Kuertyl. Mykel had to wonder whom he was misreading. He hurried toward his
study.
He kept walking, quickly, thinking. He and the squad leaders would have to
audit all the equipment again, just to make sure nothing had disappeared in
his absence. And then he'd have to finish all the reports after that.

11
On Duadi, Dainyl had made a point to be at Myrmidon headquarters for morning
muster, since he would be the only senior officer there. Just before the
glass, he stepped out of headquarters and strode into the courtyard.
"Company! Ready!"
The rankers and the undercaptains commanding each of the four squads
stiffened. The pteridons did not move, but they seldom did at muster. The
compound was more than a vingt square, not because of the number of Myrmidons
but because each pteridon required its own quarters--and each pteridon square
was thirty yards on a side with a massive perch across the roof. The muster of
a Myrmidon company was impressive, for all that there were only twenty-one
pteridons in a company, since a single company's pteridons in ground formation
took up an oblong a good hundred fifty yards by a hundred.
DainyFs eyes took in the nearest pteridon, the one behind Undercaptain Ghanyr.
The blue leathery wings, when folded back against their bodies, were more than
ten yards long. Extended, each wing was nearly twice that. The blue crystal
eyes glittered like gemstones, but gemstones the size of platters. Beneath
those eyes that held an inner darkness and seemed to take in everything and
nothing was the long
blue crystalline beak, hard enough to shatter iron. Dainyl's pteridon--when he
had been an undercaptain--had used its beak to shear an iron bar as thick as
his wrist with one quick snap.
The shimmering gray saddle was strapped in place at the thickest part of the
neck, above the shoulders that anchored the wings. In the holder attached to
each saddle was a blue metal skylance that, when fully charged with the
combination of light and lifeforce, could spew forth a line of blue fire
capable of incinerating a squad of men in an instant.
Each of the two comparatively short legs ended in three crystal claws--two
opposed by one, so that a pteridon ,     could grasp whatever it wanted, or
perch in the most unlikely of locales, since the claws were as hard as the
beak.
Three undercaptains reported their squads ready to fly, with most of third
squad absent and accompanying the marshal.
"Stand easy," Dainyl replied.
Only the slightest easing of posture followed his words.
"The marshal and the captain are still in Iron Stem. They're likely to be
there a while. I'll let you know more as soon as I do. Dismissed to duties."
As he turned, Dainyl thought he caught a sense of amusement from one of the
pteridons. He'd often wondered what--and how--they thought. When a rider was
injured or killed, the pteridon returned with the rider. It would not fly
again without another rider--and transferring allegiance to another rider was
an elaborate procedure unless the first rider was dead.
                                              I
Pteridons were Talent-created creatures that tapped the I forces of life and
nature, and for that reason, there were only eight Myrmidon companies in all
of Acorus. Still, eight companies had always been more than enough when a
single pteridon and rider could take out an entire company of mounted rifles
in a fraction of a glass. The number of pteridons was dictated more by the
size of Coras and by the
need for rapid communications that did not rely on the fourteen Tables than by
any armed opposition--since there had seldom been any arms raised against the
Duarchy except by infrequent and ill-organized lander and indigen uprisings
over trifles.
Dainyl was headed back to his study when Zorcylt called out, "Colonel? There's
a message here."
The senior squad leader held an envelope sealed in purple. The colonel
recognized the seal of the High Alector of Justice. "It must be for the
marshal."
"No, sir. It has your name on it."
Dainyl took the envelope. "When did this come in?"
"While you were inspecting the company, sir."
"Thank you." Dainyl headed back to his study. Anything from the Highest--or his
assistant--he intended to read in private. After closing the door, he checked
the Talent-seal-- unbroken--and then opened the envelope. The message inside was
brief: "Your presence is requested at the Hall of Justice at the eighth glass
today."
The seal was that of the Highest.
Dainyl left his study, heading back to the duty desk.
"I've already summoned the duty coach, sir," Zorcylt said.
Less than half a glass later, Dainyl was striding up the wide golden marble
steps of the Hall of Justice, the morning sun of harvest falling on his back.
Above the topmost step rose the goldenstone pillars of the receiving rotunda,
pillars rising thirty yards to the base of the frieze that extended exactly
eighty-one yards from corner to corner. Above the frieze that depicted the
aspects of justice conveyed by the Duarchy, the mansard roof of man-sized
tiles glittered a hard metallic green.
The colonel stepped into the receiving rotunda, where under a glass hence
petitioners would assemble. Overhead, twenty-seven yards above, arched a
ceiling of pink marble, so precisely fitted that even an alector with full
Talent could
have detected no sign of a joint, or of mortar. Octagonal sections of polished
gold and green marble, joined by the smaller diamond tiles, composed the floor
of the receiving rotunda, each octagonal section of green marble inset with an
eight-pointed star of golden marble.
Another set of goldenstone pillars separated the receiving rotunda from the
main Hall, where the empty dais on the south wall held the podium of judgment.
Dainyl's boots glided over the marble in the Hall empty except for him, as he
turned left and continued to a pillar on the south side, behind and to the
left of the dais. There, he paused, then vanished to the sight of those
without Talent before reaching up and turning the light-torch bracket. While
that very minimal use of Talent to conceal himself would not have misled any
of the higher alectors, it was most useful--and required-- to keep things hidden
in plain view from the landers and in-digens. As the seemingly solid stone
moved to reveal an entry three yards high and one wide, only a Talented
alector would have seen anything but a solid stone pillar. Beyond the entry
was a set of steps lit by light-torches.
He stepped through the entry into the warmer air, and the stone closed behind
him. For all his height and heavy muscle, his boots barely whispered on the
stone steps. At the bottom of the long staircase, he turned right along a
stonewalled corridor until he reached the next to last doorway on the north
side. There he stopped. He had only gone any farther a handful of times, and
only with the marshal.
"You may enter, Colonel." The alector who stood in the chamber was a tall
figure with flawless alabaster skin, even paler than that of the colonel, with
the same shimmering black hair, and deep violet eyes, unlike the deep blue of
the colonel's. The older alector did not wear a uniform, or the garb used for
administration of justice, but a tunic of brilliant green, trimmed in a deep
purple, with matching trousers.
Dainyl inclined his head, murmuring politely, "Highest, I am here to serve."
"As are we all." After a moment, the High Alector of Justice continued. "How
long has it been since the first translations to Acorus?"
"The very first? Slightly more than five hundred years." Dainyl contained his
puzzlement at the question, one he had certainly not expected.
The High Alector shook his head. "That is what we have said, although nowhere
is that written. The first fieldmaster struggled onto this soil more than
twice that long ago ..."
Dainyl kept a pleasant smile on his face, although he could sense that there
was something wrong with what the High Alector said.
"... Where we stand was covered with snow for half the year, and the Bay of
Ludel was frozen over for most of that time. He was a lifemaster as well, and
made changes to some of the animals who lived here." A wry smile crossed his
lips. "You do not need to know all the details now. Suffice it to say that we
have labored long and hard to bring warmth and prosperity and the benefits of
Ifryn to this chill world."
"As we are doing on Efra, are we not?"
"That is true, although the task is easier there, because it is naturally
warmer." The High Alector lifted his hand in a gesture that froze Dainyl's
words. "That is not for us to discuss now. Your Talents do not lie in
translation or life-forming, but in ensuring the peace here on Acorus."
'There is a particular problem, Highest?"
"All problems are particular, Dainyl. Those who talk of problems in general
either fail to understand or wish to avoid or obscure the issues at hand."
Dainyl tried not to stiffen. His words had been spoken as courtesy, not in
condescension or in arrogance. He waited for the High Alector to continue.
"Some of the steers have grown restless. With all the libraries and schools,
some of them have learned nothing. Left to themselves, they would squabble
like spoiled children. All around them are marvels, and yet they do not see."
Where? What do you wish of the Myrmidons or the Cad-mians? Those were the
questions Dainyl wanted to ask. Instead, he inclined his head politely. The
High Alector would say what he wanted in his own time and in great detail.
"A group of steers, and perhaps even some from the older lander lines, are
plotting a revolt in Dramuria. Marshal Shastylt has indicated such to you."
The older ifrit looked to the younger officer.
"He left a brief message, sir. I have not seen any reports."
"The report from Majer Herryf went to the marshal and the submarshal. This
majer would have two companies of Myrmidons patrolling the skies of Dramur.
The marshal and I decided that you should evaluate the situation without
reference to the report. That way you can confirm or modify the majer's views
independently. It seems unlikely that a few unhappy steers could suddenly
generate a revolt with any local support. What do you think of that
possibility?"
"I would share that feeling, but if there is to be an insurrection, Dramur
would seem a likely locale. The city garrison is small, and the harbor more
easily defended. They are isolated from the high roads and Tables and thus
cannot see all the benefits that accrue to them. There's been no recent
history of hardship there, and they do not know how well off they are. Also,
if the uprising fails, the rebels could flee to the Murian Mountains. The
cliffs there would be difficult for the Cadmians to attack without taking
significant casualties. The canyons are narrow enough that we could not use
the pteridons to the fullest advantage."
"You speak as though you knew about this."
Dainyl felt the lifeforce pressure of the High Alector, but his own shields
were more than adequate. "I have heard nothing. I'm not a liaison to the
recorders of deeds, High-
est, and neither the marshal nor Alector Zestafyn has passed any intelligence
to me. I merely speculate on the basis of what I know about Dramur." He'd
certainly flown over it enough in years past, and it could not have changed
that much in the five or so years since he had last been there.
The High Alector nodded brusquely, his deep-set purple eyes remaining cold.
"As you know, lifeforce conditions upon Ifryn will reach the point of
accelerated diminishing returns within the next thirty years." He snorted
once. "That may be too optimistic, but the High Fieldmaster would prefer not
to risk a full-body translation anytime soon. Any resistance by the local
steers must be quelled, and with as little knowledge passing among the steers
as possible, particularly among the more educated and trained landers."
"I understand." Dainyl comprehended all too well. Both worlds--Acorus and
Efra--were competing to see which would hold the Master Scepter of Life, and
thus succeed Ifryn as the Ifrit capital under the Archon who ruled all
alectors. Whichever did would receive the more Talented alectors from Ifryn
and would become the better world upon which to live. By their nature, the
more intelligent steers had always caused trouble. There was no help for it,
not when intelligence was linked to strength of lifeforce. The High
Fieldmasters would excuse minor uprisings and incidents as to be expected, but
a large organized revolt in Dramuria could easily prejudice him against making
Acorus the successor to Ifryn. "The High Fieldmasters ..."
The ifrit in green laughed, long, melodiously. "Drecorat wants matters as
uneventful as possible. All high fieldmasters have felt the same way. They
care little about what is right or just. He once told me that there is no such
thing as inherent 'right' or justice among all the worlds of the universe. The
universe does not care. Its rules reward survival--and power. If you would have
what you call justice, you must have the strength and the will to create it
and
to enforce it." The High Alector looked hard at Dainyl. "We must show that
strength and will."
"As always." Dainyl would have liked a hint of what the Highest wanted in more
concrete terms.
The older alector smiled, a hard and condescending expression. "We have
already established grandeur and beauty and grace here. We have created
peerless art, where there was none before. Out of mud and squalor we have
built such, and it must not be undermined."
Left unspoken was the understanding of the price a world paid for such
grandeur and beauty. "What would you have the Myrmidons do, Highest?"
"The Myrmidons? Nothing. I would have sent Submar-shal Tyanylt, but... he felt
otherwise. You are the acting submarshal, and the task falls to you. This
appears to be a matter involving steers, and it should be handled by
steers--except for you and two Myrmidons of your choice. They will take you to
Dramuria. You will be there as my representative and to observe how the
Cadmian battalion handles the situation."
"And the two pteridons at my disposal?"
"You may use them for dispatches and for reconnaissance. I would prefer that,
unless matters take an unforeseen turn, the Cadmians deal with the matter."
Dainyl was getting a very chill feeling about his assignment.
"You may well understand what is not said, Colonel. I would appreciate that
understanding remaining unspoken, even to your wife."
"Yes, Highest."
"Good. As Marshal Shastylt may have told you, the Cadmians will be traveling
on the Duarches' Valor. They will leave Elcien on Septi and arrive in Dramuria
no later than the following Tridi. You will leave on Septi. That should give
you enough time to meet with the local Cadmian majer
in Dramuria, the guild heads, and the council chief in Dramuria--and the
director of the mining operation."
Dainyl nodded.
"If there is anything else, you'll know. As always, you must behave and act as
if the highest of all alectors are the Duarches."
Why was the Highest mentioning that now? It was an unspoken code, and breaking
that code had led to more than a few alectors' deaths in the early years. Had
someone let the secret slip? Was that the source of the revolt?
"Enjoy your time away from Elcien." The Highest nodded to dismiss Dainyl.
The colonel half bowed, took a pace backward, and gave a last bow before
turning and making his way back to the stairs.
As he climbed the steps and crossed the halls, more than a few thoughts
swirled through Dainyl's mind. From what had been said, and not said,
conditions on Ifryn were becoming even less favorable far earlier than
anticipated. Dainyl suspected that the lifeforce mass there was declining
precipitously. That, in turn, meant that the Duarches of Acorus were being
pressed to build lifeforce more quickly. More coal would have helped, as would
more of the fertile bat dung from Dramur. Instead, there was less of each, and
using the pteridons would only draw more heavily on the world's reserves. The
Highest was planning to use Cadmian lives, if necessary, to reduce such a
drawdown.
Dainyl would have preferred to talk over his suspicions with Lystrana, but the
Highest might well learn if he did-- and that was not something Dainyl was
about to chance, not after all the tens of years it had taken him to become a
colonel of Myrmidons on Corus--and certainly not after what had befallen the
submarshal.
He was also aware that his assignment was a cross between a test and an
opportunity and that the Highest did not
wish him to have the advantage of Lystrana's knowledge and wisdom.
He walked down the stone steps from the Hall of Justice to the waiting duty
coach.

12
After muster on Duadi, Mykel conducted a gear inspection before returning to
his study in the headquarters building. There, he took out the folders he had
found earlier--those of the two rankers in his company from Dramur--Polynt from
third squad and Chelosyr from fifth squad. After taking a last look through
the folders, he wrote up three more of the individual training reports as he
waited for Bhoral and the two rankers.
Then there was a knock on the door. "Sir?"
"Come on in." Mykel stacked his papers, stood, and watched as the senior squad
leader ushered the two rankers into the study, closing the door after them.
Polynt was tall, angular, blond--and looked even younger than Mykel's brother
Viencet. Chelosyr wasn't that much shorter than Polynt, but he was
brown-haired, square-faced, stocky, and muscular, and seemed almost squat in
comparison.
"You both know that we're headed to Dramur." Mykel studied the two.
Polynt moistened his lips, while the slightest hint of a smile hid in
Chelosyr's eyes.
"Your records show that you're both from there. Is that right?"
"Yes, sir." The responses were almost simultaneous.
'Tell me about the mines there."
Polynt looked at Chelosyr.
The older and more muscular ranker shrugged, then looked at Mykel. "That's one
reason why I signed up with the Cadmians, sir. Maybe, it just mighta been me,
but always seemed to me that when they got short of miners, lots of fellows
all of a sudden got caught doing things they said they hadn't and ended up
serving terms in the mines. Fellows like me, younger sons of smallholders,
folks who don't have a craft or much coin. Figured that I'd get a better deal
in the Cadmians, and couldn't get much worse than staying in the shambles
outside Dramuria. 'Sides, don't care what they say, that bat dung really
stinks."
"How did they get short of miners?"
"Miners die. Knew of a couple got buried. Others got sick. Some couldn't take
it and ran for the high mountains and the jungles. Guards got most of
them---killed 'em--but some always got away. Not much of a life there, either,
always looking over your shoulder."
"The ones who got away--did any of them get hold of rifles or weapons?"
"Don't know, sir. Never knew any, just heard stories."
Chelosyr knew more than that, but Mykel looked to Polynt. "What can you add?"
Polynt glanced from Chelosyr to Bhoral, then to the captain. Finally, he
began, his voice low. "Heard tell... just heard, sir... could be that there's
someplace worse than the mines. Couldn't think what it'd be. Dust... there's
dust everywhere. Stinks, worse'n you can imagine. Takes years for the smell to
leave anyone lucky enough to live through a term there. Guards there, they got
whips with iron tips, leave a man's back wide open with one lash. Then the
nightwasps get in the wounds. Hurts and itches so bad men'11 throw themselves
downshaft..."
Mykel had suspected something of the sort, but suspecting and hearing were not
the same. He waited until Polynt finished before asking, "What's Dramuria
like?"
Again, Polynt deferred to Chelosyr.
"Sort of like a cleaner version of Northa, except it's got some big houses on
the hills, and it's a port... ships that carry out the bat dung, they bring
back iron stuff, and tin and stuff that won't hold the stink. Other ships,
they bring in cloth and regular cheese, wines ..."
"Cheese?" asked Mykel.
"No milk cows on Dramuria, sir. Nightwasps bite 'em, and they waste away.
That's what they say. Some half-tame aurochs for meat."
"... won't let folks burn out the nightwasps, either," added Polynt. "That's
'cause they got a real sweet honey the factors make into a special drink, some
kind of honey-brandy."
Mykel kept asking questions. In the end, he didn't learn that much more.
Once the two rankers had left, Mykel turned to the senior squad leader.
"Anything else I should know?"
"I'm having Fessyt keep a close eye on Kalosyr until we're embarked."
"Woman trouble?"
"The idiot married a former pleasure girl from Northa. He says she's a former
pleasure girl. I think she still is. She's betting he'll get it in Dramuria,
and she'll get his back pay."
"How many others has she married?" asked Mykel dryly.
"Who knows? If he comes back, she'll have the marriage canceled on some
pretext. If he doesn't..." Bhoral shook his head. "At least, he's not a squad
leader with more than ten years in. This way, if it comes to that, there's no
widow's settlement."
"What else?"
"We're short two mounts for replacements, but we should have them by
Quinti..."
After Bhoral left another half glass later, Mykel stood, then left his study.
He walked down the corridor, pausing outside the last doorway on the north
end. He pressed down on the lever, opened the door, and stepped inside. The
head-
quarters library wasn't that large, a room three yards by five with shelves
against all the walls and a set of back-to-back bookcases in the middle of the
room.
After searching through the shelves, he finally found a thin volume with a
lacquered cover, entitled Geography of Acorus.
It took him a quarter of a glass to find the section on Dramur, and less than
half that to read through it. There were no maps of the isle, and only a
paragraph or so describing it.
... the isle runs close to five hundred vingts from the northern tip to the
southern cape, but is no more than a hundred and fifty vingts at its widest.
The Murian Mountains run down the center of the isle, extending from the
northern headlands to Mount Dramanat, a volcano located some fifty vingts
north of the southern cape. The mountains are rugged, their rock unstable, and
have never been fully explored. The principal products of Dramur are guano and
dyestuffs from shellfish, which come from the eastern side of the isle.
Although the lands to the west of the mountains are fertile and suited to a
number of crops, the main product is shimmersilk, from the golden spinning
spider. The only sizable town or city is Dramuria, located on a natural harbor
on the southeast side of the isle some seventy vingts north of the southern
cape ... less than half a score of other towns and no more than a score of
villages and hamlets...
Mykel blinked. That was it. There was more about mere towns elsewhere, such as
Hyalt in Lanachrona, than about an entire isle.
He shook his head. As usual, the books hadn't been much help.

13
In the dim light of the sitting room on the main floor of the house, Dainyl
took a last sip of the brandy, then set the small goblet on the side table.
"It's not bad." He stretched, lifting his long legs just off the green carpet,
then let himself settle back into the armchair whose legs would have been too
long for all but the tallest landers. "The landers do make good brandy."
"In addition to boosting the lifeforce of Acorus, you mean?" asked Lystrana.
"Someone has to. Although we need it, we certainly can't generate enough to
sustain us."
"That's what the landers and indigens are for."
"And for making Acorus a better place for us." Dainyl picked up the goblet and
took another sip. "It is good."
"Better than good, actually," replied Lystrana, "although Kylana is always
claiming that everything here is second-rate compared to Ifryn."
"She might know. We were born here. She's one of the few recent translations
who supposedly held a position of import in Illustra."
"Supposedly?" Lystrana laughed. "You mean that you have your doubts about
Kylana?"
"No more than about her husband. He knows far more than he ever lets on. I
wish I dared ask him about Tyanylt, but that wouldn't be wise."
"No, dearest, it would not be. Unlike the Duarchs, he does not have a loyalty
imprint, but he would still report that."
Dainyl wouldn't have minded Zestafyn or the Duarch
knowing some of the details of what had happened, but not his involuntary
involvement. "Kylana bothers me. She's like all the others who've translated
here recently. If it's not from Ifryn or if it hasn't been praised as the best
in Illustra, then it must not be very good. Against that,, how can we
compare?"
"We can't, but there aren't more than a few translations every year."
"No. Ifryn's comfortable, and no one wants to take the risks--not until they
don't have any choices."
"Of course. That's why the fieldmasters developed shadow matches. So they
could imprint knowledge without the risks of leaving Ifryn and its comforts."
"They don't always take. Even when they do ... I don't think I'd want to be
either of the Duarchs," mused Dainyl. "Why would anyone want to have to have a
partial shadow match?"
"You don't want power enough, dearest. They are those with great Talent who
wish to be duarch, and who aspire to being Archon one day if the master
scepter comes to Acorus, and they must have some check imposed on them to
ensure their loyalty."
Dainyl snorted. "Shadow matches, loyalty imprints... all that misses the
point."
Lystrana laughed. "What point? I don't think you made it."
"My point was going to be"--Dainyl paused and raised his eyebrows
dramatically--"comparisons are dangerous. We know that translation changes
appearance. Does it affect taste? Smell? How would we know? If things smell
the same, is that because they do, or because a translated body senses smells
relative to the new world?"
Lystrana held her glass, sniffing the brandy. "There isn't a good answer to
that. It's subjective, and I'd subjectively say that this brandy is better
than any we've had before. That shows improvement. Besides, we're still Ifryn,
even if
we're here. Until we have the master scepter here, we're still linked to Ifryn
and the Tables."
Dainyl stretched again, stifling a yawn. "I suppose we'd better get some
sleep..."
Lystrana straightened in her chair, but made no move to rise. "You're leaving
tomorrow, and you haven't said much about your assignment. Are you fretting
about it? It's not like you to be so quiet." Her eyes did not leave Dainyl's.
"There isn't much to say. I've told you what I know." He shrugged. 'The
Cadmian Third Battalion is being posted to Dramur. I'm being assigned to
observe and report. That's one of the occasional assignments that fall to
colonels, especially those acting as submarshals."
Lystrana laughed. "And the marshal wants to see just what you can do without
him or me looking over your shoulder."
Dainyl grinned. "Marshal Shastylt never said anything like that." The Highest
had, but he didn't have to tell Lystrana that. "What I don't understand is
why, if they want to observe what I do, they're sending me to Dramur. The
Highest can use a Table to look anywhere, but the Tables don't show alectors
or anyone using Talent. So how can they observe what I'm doing, unless they
have another alec-tor there?"
"You're not known to have much Talent, not beyond strong shields and flying,"
Lystrana said. "Usually, when alectors are given observation assignments, they
choose those known to be Talented."
Dainyl had thought about that. "That suggests that they don't think I could
detect another observer? Or does the marshal wish to see if common sense can
replace Talent?"
Lystrana raised a single eyebrow, and Dainyl raised both. He couldn't do just
one, the way she could. They understood each other perfectly.
After a moment of silence, Lystrana asked, "Did you know that payments for the
guano have dropped off in the
last weeks, but those for the purple dyes haven't?"
"No, I didn't." He could have guessed about the guano, with what he did know,
but he hadn't thought about the comparison between guano and dyestuffs. "Who
pays for the guano?"
"Generally, the agricultural factors in Southgate, Tem-pre, and Borlan. They
resell it to the lander growers. By using mals to mine it, the Duarches are
effectively subsidizing the final prices." Lystrana did not quite look at her
husband. "That's another way of subsidizing the growth of lifeforce mass. The
more crops that are grown, the more they warm the world. It's not that simple,
but it does work that way."
Dainyl knew he had to be careful, but he didn't see that talking about
lifeforce mass would violate the Highest's orders. "Is there any relation
between the amount of guano used and the increase in higher lifeforce
generated?"
"There has to be, but I don't know what it is. Those at Lyterna would know.
That's what they study, or part of it. Everything ties together. That's why
we've pushed things like coal mining. Burning the coal helps warm the air, and
in time those vapors and particulates help stimulate plant growth. Using coal
also means that fewer trees are cut, and the older growth trees also boost
lifemass more than newer growth. The landers still don't understand that
replanting isn't the same, not for centuries. The same is true for iron and
steel, and stone and brick. The more structures that are built of those, the
less wood that is used, and that is more important over time, because stone
structures last longer." She laughed apologetically. "I wouldn't even try to
estimate how guano production and lifeforce mass growth might relate, except
that lifeforce is like a pyramid. It takes a broad base of lower lifeforce to
support a narrower base of a higher level, and that supports a narrower base
above that..."
"And we're at the top of the pyramid, siphoning off the lifeforce that helps
support us."
"So far as we know," Lystrana replied. "How would we recognize something
higher?"
That was a good question, one for which Dainyl didn't have an answer. "Would
we want to recognize something superior? Or would we be like Kylana, always
insisting that whatever it was that was labeled good in Illustra was the
best?"
"Be careful. Her husband does have the Duarch's ear."
"And I have yours, which is even better." Dainyl rose from the chair, smiling
and moving toward his wife, then extending a hand.
Lystrana took it, although she did not need it.

14
The greatest struggle that faces any people, especially a people who would be
great and leave an imprint upon a universe that offers neither reward nor
punishment, is to see the universe as it is, not as they would have it be.
Because all life begins with the irrational and evolves away from it, all
beings capable of even the most basic of thoughts begin with an attachment to
the irrational. Feelings precede thought, and all who have borne and loved an
offspring understand the strength of such emotion. Yet that strength of
feeling should serve a true perception of what is, and that perception must be
grounded in what is observed, what can be proved, and what can be replicated,
without fault, without deviation, time after time.
In any society, even in a higher civilization such as ours, only a comparative
handful of individuals ever escape from the tyranny of the irrational. Nor
should it be expected that any greater number should so advance themselves in
that manner of thought and outlook. That is so because true per-
. I ception requires one to turn his or her back upon the comfortable and the
familiar and to question not only what others see as the acceptable and proper
way of life, but one's own predilections and observations. Few have the
strength and insight to do so; fewer still the will.
Of the insects, there are millions upon millions upon millions. Of the rodents
and lizards and the fish in the streams and the oceans, there are millions
upon millions. Of the cattle in the fields and the sheep in the meadows, there
are many millions. Of those of our shape who toil in the fields and in the
manufactories, there are millions. Yet, of those who lead and guide them, who
see each world as it is, there are but scant thousands. That is the way of
life and the universe. To see it otherwise is but an illusion of the
irrational.
Views of the Highest
Illustra
W.T. 1513

15
As Dainyl had known from his own past experience, the flight to Dramur was
long. While Quelyt and Falyna were more than courteous, Dainyl would rather
not have ridden a pteridon as a passenger, in the second silvery saddle behind
Quelyt, when he had once been a command flier. There was no help for that.
Still, once he was airborne, with the wind in his face, and the land--or
water--spread out below him, he felt much of the same marveling pleasure that
he had in years past.
Pteridons were too rare to be spared for officers who did not fly regularly,
not when the creatures were linked to one Myrmidon and could not be flown by
anyone else. For all
that, no pteridon had a name. None was necessary, because no pteridon answered
except to his rider--or one of the highests who used special crystals in the
rare cases when a rider could no longer ride--or was promoted out of that
status, as Dainyl had been. Neither event happened often. Dainyl had been a
rider for nearly eighty years, but then, so had many of the Myrmidons. Some
had been riding for close to a hundred, but the average was closer to sixty.
His time as a Myrmidon didn't count the more than ten years he'd toiled as a
sandoxes second driver on the transport run from Hafin to Krost. Most younger
alectors spent some time as drivers; it was both necessary and expected.
Dainyl's term as a driver had been longer than most.
The first night, Dainyl and his escorts stopped at the Cad-mian compound in
Southgate, the usual resting point for Myrmidon couriers headed to Dramuria.
While the tireless pteridons could have flown straight through, a full day of
flying was more than enough even for seasoned Myrmidons. Dainyl was slightly
sore on Octdi morning, although he would not have been stiff at all years
before.
They were airborne again just before dawn and followed the coastline
southeast, passing above the Dry Coast, so named because there were almost no
sources of water--not rain, not streams, and not even wells or springs. The Dry
Coast ran from twenty vingts below Southgate all the way around the southwest
coast of Coins to the Southern Cliffs--nearly eighteen hundred vingts in all,
with but a single town. The section to the west of the Southern Cliffs was the
Empty Quint, although where the Dry Coast ended and the Empty Quint began was
far from clear. Not that it mattered, since little lived there, and the high
alectors in Lyterna had determined early on that attempting to increase
lifeforce mass in that area would have been futile.
The one town along the Dry Coast was Ascar, some three hundred vingts from
Southgate and slightly more than that from the northern cape of Dramur. A
single small stream
ran from the southern part of the Coast Range to Ascar, and there was a small
natural harbor, used mainly because the fishing off the Dry Coast was among
the best in the west of Corns.
The second day's journey consisted of several brief stops, a quick early
midday meal at Ascar, a few more stops, then a longer leg over the channel and
on to Dramuria.
As they flew southward over the water, every so often Dainyl looked back, more
up and to his right, to find Fa-lyna and the other pteridon. Because of the
vortices created by the wings, all Myrmidon formations--or single trailing
fliers like Falyna--always flew higher than those in front, a V formation that
extended aft and upward as much as necessary.
When they reached Dramuria, late in the afternoon on Octdi, the two Myrmidon
riders circled their pteridons twice around the Cadmian compound on the bluff
on the northeast edge of Dramuria, directly above the harbor and the main
portion of the town--set north of the small river that drained out of the
Murian Mountains to the west and north. The town itself was built of local
graystone, and all the roofs appeared to be of a reddish tile. Dainyl could
not see any marked changes in either the town or its environs since he had
last been there. Slightly more ground might have been cleared in the lowlands
west of Dramuria, and the road that arrowed northwest to the mountains--and to
the mine--seemed to have little traffic upon it.
The Cadmian compound was the same as any other in layout, except smaller, a
stone-walled square half a vingt on a side, with the headquarters buildings
directly behind the west-facing gates, and the barracks and officers' quarters
on the north side, the stables and shops on the south, all separated by the
central courtyard.
Falyna swept in first, the pteridon coming to a graceful flaring halt, wings
wide, then settling onto the greenish gray stone of the central courtyard.
Quelyt followed.
After dismounting, Dainyl had to admit to himself that he was glad enough to
put his legs on the ground and stretch. Then he turned to Quelyt. "Thank you.
A very good flight. I know it's not the same with a passenger, but I
appreciate it."
"Thank you, sir." Quelyt nodded. "That last leg always seems so long." He
grinned ruefully. "That's because it is, and there's no place to take a
break."
They both turned at the approach of a Cadmian senior squad leader, who stepped
up to them, stiffened to attention, and half bowed.
"Sir?" The squad leader looked up at Dainyl.
The Myrmidon colonel could sense the concern that bordered on fear.
"Colonel Dainyl. I'm here to see Majer Herryf."
"Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I'll send word to him."
The squad leader's words told Dainyl that either Herryf had not been told of
his imminent arrival or he was not expected as soon as he had arrived. Dainyl
hoped it was the latter.
"He's not here, in the compound, at the moment?"
"No, sir."
"Then we'll just get settled. Officers' quarters for three Myrmidons,
and"--Dainyl gestured toward the square stone buildings with massive perches
above them--"the squares for the pteridons."
"Yes, sir. The squares are always ready, and the senior officers' quarters are
always ready, sir, and there are others...."
"Good. I think I can find my way to the quarters. If you would take care of
the fliers and their pteridons."
"Ah, yes, sir."
While Dainyl had been talking to the squad leader, Quelyt had unfastened the
colonel's duffel. He handed it to Dainyl.
"Thank you," Dainyl said. "I'll check with you both after
I talk to the major. We'll probably need to do some recon flights in the next
few days."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl turned, leaving the senior squad leader with the two Myrmidons and
moving quickly toward the quarters on the north side of the compound. It felt
good to stretch his legs. As he walked, he studied the almost-empty compound,
far more vacant than it should have on an Octdi evening, even after duty
hours. Did the Cadmians in Dramur take all of both end days off?
Another squad leader hurried toward Dainyl as he walked across the courtyard.
"Colonel, sir... if you would allow me to help you?"
Dainyl smiled. "I can carry my gear, but guidance to my quarters might help."
"Yes, sir. This way, sir."
The officers' quarters were in the most northwestern of the structures along
the north wall, directly north of the headquarters building. The visiting
senior officers' quarters--effectively only for majers and above--were on the
upper level of the two-story structure.
Dainyl found himself escorted to the quarters on the northwest corner.
There, the squad leader opened the door and gestured. "Sir, these are the
best. Even the Myrmidon marshal found them most comfortable."
"Thank you. If someone would let me know when the majer arrives?"
"Yes, sir, Colonel."
Dainyl closed the door and stepped farther into the quarters, effectively a
large room with an attached second chamber holding a bath and facilities. The
bed was long enough, a full three yards. The writing desk was wide enough and
set before one of the windows, with a light-torch in a wall bracket directly
above.
He sniffed. The room smelled relatively clean, and he
didn't sense any obvious vermin. He decided against bathing, but used the
facilities and washed up before unpacking his duffel and hanging up his second
uniform. It didn't need it, not when it never wrinkled. He left the
light-cutter in its holster.
After walking around the room for a time, stretching his legs more, Dainyl
seated himself at the desk. The desk chair and desk were almost too low to
use, but he angled his legs to the side, considering what he'd seen on the
flight in, and jotted down his thoughts.
He'd have to ask the council director about the mine and the dyeworks.
Lystrana wouldn't have mentioned them without a reason beyond the comparative
note that the decline in guano receipts had not been accompanied by a
corresponding decrease in other trade revenues.
He wrote down ideas as they came to him, for more than half a glass.
Thrap--the knock on the quarters' door was almost tentative.
Dainyl could sense that it was a Cadmian. "Yes?"
"Colonel, sir, the majer is here, and awaits your instructions and orders. He
would like to know if you would you like him to come to your quarters, or to
meet in the headquarters?"
"I'll meet him in the headquarters immediately." Dainyl stood.
"Yes, sir." The Cadmian turned and left.
Even though he had not met the majer, the man's attitude already bothered
Dainyl. Dainyl was his superior officer, in more ways than one, and the man
was sending a subordinate to inquire. When his own superiors wanted something,
Dainyl didn't send undercaptains or squad leaders to find out. He just went.
Sending subordinates was the mark of someone officious and all too willing to
spend others' time.
The Cadmian trooper was waiting in the courtyard below the steps from the
upper level, and Dainyl followed him
across a courtyard darkened by the long shadows of the compound's western
wall.
They entered headquarters through the front arched entrance, past a duty squad
leader, who straightened, and stated, "Colonel, sir, welcome to Dramuria,
sir."
"Carry on."
Dainyl continued toward the end of the corridor, but he could sense that,
outside of his guide and the duty squad leader, and the majer, the
headquarters building was deserted.
"That's the majer's study, there, sir," offered the guide.
"Thank you." Dainyl walked to the open doorway.
Majer Herryf stood just inside. "Colonel, welcome to Dramur." Herryf was short
and dark, with short-cut stringy black hair and eyes that protruded
slightly--clearly a Cad-mian who'd worked his way up from an indigen
background--or whose parents or grandparents had.
Dainyl nodded. "Thank you." He waited to see what the majer had to say.
"Colonel... I hadn't been informed that we would be receiving a senior
Myrmidon officer, or I would have been here to greet you personally."
"Sometimes, messages don't always arrive in a timely fashion." Dainyl studied
the chairs set before the majer's desk and decided to remain standing. "Since
you haven't been notified, I'll make it very simple. Next week, probably on
Duadi, a battalion of Cadmian mounted rifles will arrive here on the Duarchs'
Valor. They are being deployed here to deal with the mining situation." He
paused for but a moment. "Tomorrow, I'll need to meet with the director of the
mines and the head of the governing council of Dramuria. I expect that you can
set those meetings up after we finish here."
"Colonel... it is getting late in the day."
"I know, but you notified the marshal of a problem you felt required Myrmidon
attention. I've flown two straight days to get here. This appears to be a
matter of some con-
cern. If it is, we should not worry about such... customs ... as end-day
relaxation. Should we?"
"Ah ... not when you put it that way, Colonel. I'll do what I can."
"I expect to meet with them both tomorrow." Dainyl smiled coolly. "Now ...
what has happened here in the last week? Will we need to put the Cadmians into
the field immediately?"
"Cadmians, sir? I had thought that perhaps a company of Myrmidons ..." offered
Herryf.
"When it does not appear urgent enough to discuss immediately? For a handful
of disgruntled miners hiding in the hills?" Dainyl lifted his eyebrows.
"They are most resourceful, Colonel."
Dainyl could sense the impatience restrained behind the cultivated politeness.
The majer was definitely a man who expected that people see things his way and
no other. "Resourceful or not, a battalion of Cadmian mounted rifles should be
more than enough." Dainyl paused. "That is, unless there is something that you
did not convey in your reports."
"No, sir. I wrote out everything in my report to the marshal."
"Your report suggested the possibility of an insurrection, but I do not recall
any detailed information on the weapons available to these would-be rebels."
"There's blasting powder missing. That's what the director of the mine
reported. As I told the marshal."
"That is not terribly useful," Dainyl pointed out, "unless they have some way
to turn it into munitions. Do you know if they do?"
"If I'd waited until they did, the marshal would not have been pleased."
"He is not displeased with you. He took your report seriously. That is why a
full battalion of mounted rifles is arriving. You'll need to arrange to billet
and feed them."
"Five companies of a hundred, sir?"
Dainyl nodded. "Now ... what didn't you put in the report? The things you
couldn't prove that worried you?"
Herryf smiled politely, but, again, Dainyl could sense the arrogance and
calculation.
"The volume of guano shipments is down, and at this time of year, it generally
starts to rise with the cooler weather. The mine director has been talking
with the local justicer, and it appears that more young men are being
sentenced to the mines."
"If they're troublemakers ... ?" suggested Dainyl, trying to draw the majer
out.
"Some are, but most are just careless. That's not good because their families
are supporting the rebels. I can't prove that, but..."
"What else?"
"We had almost twenty rifles stolen," admitted Herryf. "They were listed as
being in the armory. I know they were there in the spring, but they're not
there now. Until this past year, we've lost less than one rifle per year."
"How did that happen?"
"I don't know, sir. That's one of the reasons ..."
After a moment, Dainyl spoke. "You have two companies here, and they keep the
compound, and serve as guards at the mine. Are all their rifles accounted
for?"
"Yes, sir."
"By number?"
"Sir?"
"I suggest you check the maker numbers against the inventory. Or have you?"
Herryf looked down, his arrogance vanishing.
"Let me know the next time a rifle vanishes. Immediately."
"Yes, sir." With Herryf's ready assent came a sense of puzzlement.
Dainyl didn't bother to explain. He was beginning to see why the Highest had
not wanted to send a company of Myrmidons. He also needed to find out a great
deal more from
Herryf, and some of that would have to wait until he knew what questions to
ask.
Still... he could learn some things now. "How many men are assigned to the
guard detail each day?"
"How many prisoners have been shot trying to escape..."
"How many of your Cadmians are from Dramur..."
Dainyl had more than a few questions. He also knew that he didn't know enough
to ask some of the more important ones because he didn't know what they were.

16
Despite two long and tiring days of flying, on Novdi, Dainyl woke early--with
the sky a dark greenish gray. He washed and dressed and made his way down to
the mess, barely after dawn, where a sleepy-eyed cook fixed him egg toast and
ham, with biscuits, and poured him a pitcher of ale. Like most alectors, he
found that the ale helped in digesting the Corean food.
Only as he was leaving did he see a captain walking toward the officers' mess.
"Captain?"
The young-faced Cadmian captain stopped and stiffened. "Yes, sir, Colonel?"
Like Herryf, he was dark-haired, and his skin was darker. Unlike the majer, he
projected neither arrogance nor fear, just a sense of concern and puzzlement.
"I take it you have some sort of duty today?"
"Yes, sir. Two of my squads have mine duty."
"Do you go with them?"
"Usually, I let the senior squad leader take the morning, sir, and I relieve
him at midday. The other squads are on standby here at the compound."
"Do the companies that aren't on duty have off all of Novdi and Decdi?"
"Yes, sir. The other company does. It's always been that way."
"Have you seen any signs of trouble with the miners?"
"There's always someone making trouble, sir. Complaining about the work-gang
bosses or the food or something. They do it when they're in a group, and you
can't see who's yelling."
"Anything besides complaining?"
The captain cocked his head, clearly wondering whether to say more. After a
moment, he replied. "Some... we've had more of the mals trying to escape in
the last season."
"Have any actually escaped?"
"I'd guess so, sir."
"You'd guess? You don't know?"
"It's like this, sir. The mine road crosses the Muralto River, and it's a good
ten-twelve yards wide and more than five deep where the bridge is. The bridge
crosses a gorge. Some of them have jumped from the bridge." The captain
shrugged. "It's a good twenty yards, and it's pretty steep. Some of them hit
the rocks and die right there. We've found bodies downstream, but the ones we
don't find, there's no way to tell whether they made it or the sleuers got
them."
"Where else do they try to escape?"
"Some try to climb the crags above the mine. The mals'll stage a fight, and
when things settle down, someone's missing."
"You don't use your weapons to break up these fights?"
"Sir, begging your pardon. We try not to. If we did, we'd have a lot fewer
miners."
"I'm sorry," Dainyl replied. "I should have seen that" He had seen it, but he
wanted to hear what the captain said. "How many have tried to escape in the
last season?"
"I'd have to check the records, sir. We keep track of that. I'd say ... maybe
ten, could be fifteen. Usually we find six
or seven bodies, one way or another, out of every ten who try."
The colonel nodded. "Thank you, Captain. I'm sorry to have kept you from
breakfast."
"I'll manage, sir." The young captain smiled.
Dainyl was ready to leave the man, but couldn't resist asking a last question.
"What do you see as the problem with the miners?"
"A lot of them are scared, sir. They claim funny things are going on in the
mine. We've never seen anything, but... the miners say there are things up
there, and deep in the mine."
"I see." Dainyl paused. 'Thank you."
"Yes, sir."
The captain headed toward the mess and Dainyl toward his quarters.
Once back in his room, the colonel considered what the captain had said,
especially compared to what Majer Herryf had said. The captain had been
telling the truth. So had Herryf. Yet one saw the mals doing the mining as
frightened, perhaps terrified, enough to jump into rivers in gorges, and the
other saw the mals as part of a reballion.
He hadn't been in his quarters more than a quarter glass when there was a
knock on the door. "Colonel Dainyl, sir?"
Dainyl moved to the door and opened it.
The Cadmian squad leader who stood outside his quarters door was short,
broad-shouldered, with black eyes and a swarthy cast to his face. Despite the
light brown hair, his antecedents were mainly indigen. "Squad leader Rhasyr,
Colonel. Majer Herryf has detailed me to escort you." He smiled. "Majer Herryf
arranged for an early meeting with Director Donasyr. The Council Director will
be available after that at your convenience. I had one of the larger mounts
saddled for you."
Dainyl could sense the general good nature of the squad leader, and that
helped lift his irritation at the majer. At the
very least, if Dainyl had been expecting a senior officer, he would have
escorted the officer, and if he'd been unable for other reasons, he would have
made sure the escort was an officer of appropriate rank. Then, there weren't
that many officers. The one captain had duty, and there was only one other.
"I'll be with you in just a moment."
"Yes, sir. I'll wait below for you."
After closing the door, Dainyl walked to the desk and folded the sheets of
paper with some of his questions, slipping them inside his tunic. He checked
his sidearm, then made his way outside and down the steps.
Rhasyr not only had two mounts, but two other Cadmian troopers as well. "An
officer such as you, sir, you must have at least a small honor guard." He
inclined his head.
"Thank you." Dainyl turned to the two rankers. "I appreciate your being here
so early."
The younger of the two looked almost frozen; the older inclined his head, and
said, "Thank you, sir."
Dainyl mounted, and the four rode across the courtyard to the open gates,
where a pair of guards watched them leave.
Beyond the compound walls, the graystone road was less than four yards wide,
and there was no shoulder, just reddish clay with scattered clumps of grass
that was half-tan and half-green. As with all Cadmian compounds, the first
half vingt away from the walls was level and clear, with the only vegetation
being grass. Beyond that were low trees that were scarcely taller than
Dainyl's head as he rode beside Rhasyr.
"What are the trees?"
"Casaran nuts. They are very bitter." Rhasyr grimaced. "They soak them in salt
water and dry them. Then they crush them. They make good fodder for horses and
livestock. We need it because there is not enough grass here for proper
grazing, and the good grass only grows on the plains south of the big
mountain."
"What other crops grow here?"
"Not much, sir. Everything except the wheat in the south comes from the west.
The biggest crops are maize and the apple bananas. They have plantations for
the bananas in the west, across the mountains. They're very tasty."
Dainyl hadn't heard of apple bananas. "Where are the dyeworks?"
"Those are at Santazl. That's on the bay south of Dra-muria. Most of the young
ones learn to dive early, and they bring up the purple clams. The black comes
from the squid-docs. They must use nets for those, and heavy gloves. Poisonous
things, and nasty. Some of the dyeworkers get killed every year. I don't know
that being a dyeworker is much better than being a miner, except the
dyeworkers can go home at night."
The road curved southward through a hillside cut, descending toward a stone
bridge over a stream. Beyond the bridge, the fields and nut orchards ended,
and the graystone houses began.
"How far?" asked Dainyl.
"The mining building is just across the bridge, and a couple hundred yards up
the road that turns into the mine road farther out."
As they crossed the bridge, Dainyl glanced at the water, then upstream. So far
as he could tell, no one was fouling the water. Clean rivers were important in
growing lifeforce mass.
About fifty yards beyond the bridge, the four turned right at a stone-paved
boulevard. They rode for but a fraction of a glass, before Rhasyr said,
"There. That is the mining building."
The building before which Rhasyr reined up was a square one-story stone
structure no more than twenty yards on a side. The red tile roof was highest
at the rear and sloped forward, with eaves overhanging the front wall by a
good three yards to form a covered porch.
As Dainyl dismounted and handed the reins of the bay to Rhasyr, a man stepped
onto the smoothed stones of the porch.
"You must be the colonel. I'm Director Donasyr. Do come in." Like Herryf,
Donasyr was short, squarish, and dark, but unlike the majer, his eyes did not
bulge. They were a dark gray and deep-set under bushy black eyebrows. He wore
a short-sleeved brown tunic and matching trousers, with dark brown boots.
"We will wait for you here, sir," Rhasyr said.
"Thank you." Dainyl stepped up onto the porch, then had to duck his head to go
through the doorway into the narrow foyer, following Donasyr into a conference
room holding a circular table and five chairs. The single window looked out on
the empty boulevard.
"My study's filled with reports and papers." The mine director smiled, but
only with his mouth. Behind Donasyr's pleasant and well-modulated voice,
Dainyl sensed irritation and anger. 'Take any seat, please."
Dainyl sat in the armless wooden chair that faced the window across the table.
Donasyr either had to sit close to the colonel, or with his back to the
window. The mine director sat down across from Dainyl.
'Tell me about what's happening at the mines that's different," Dainyl said.
"We're losing workers. Some are getting killed trying to escape, and some are
escaping. Worst of all, none of them are working as hard as they used to. I've
checked the food rations. I've even increased them some. That didn't help. For
a time, I got Majer Herryf to send more guards, but that didn't help either. I
switched the overseers around. That didn't help. I returned them to their
original duties. That didn't help."
"Do you have any ideas why this is happening?"
"If I knew, I could do something about it." Frustration spilled into Donasyr's
words.
"When did you notice this?"
"Midsummer. After the ... incident. Two miners died. Found 'em at the end of a
tunnel. Not a mark on them. None of the others could say how it happened. I
even had one or two flogged, but that didn't change anything." Donasyr
shrugged and gave the nervous headshake again. "After that, production dropped
off, and the number that tried to escape went up. We've got more bodies than
we did last summer, and production is down by almost two fifths."
Those were facts that no one had mentioned to Dainyl. "I'm a little surprised
that you direct the mines from here," offered the colonel.
"You couldn't get anything done up there," replied Donasyr. 'There's the
smell, and the bugs. Also, I need to be down here to take care of the shipping
and financial arrangements, and to keep track of the payments as they get
transferred to our account in the Duarches' Bank."
"Who gets the payments?"
"They're split. The crafters and the guilds put up some of the money. So did
the council, and a few of the eastern sel-tyrs. The return isn't that great
after expenses, but it's created jobs and kept Dramuria independent of the
seltyrs."
Dainyl talked to Donasyr for almost another full glass, but he wasn't certain
that he learned much more than he had in the first few moments. More details,
certainly, but nothing that shed any additional light on what was happening at
the mine.
In time, he thanked Donasyr and left the building. Outside, Rhasyr and the
other two Cadmians were waiting on the shaded front porch, although the
midmorning sun had turned the day pleasantly warm for Dainyl.
The colonel gestured toward the docks. 'The council building's still off the
square?"
"They have talked about building a new one for years," replied Rhasyr, "but no
one has."
The four mounted and began to ride into Dramuria. From
all the carts and peddlers, Novdi was a market day. As they rode slowly down
the middle of the main street, avoiding carts and wagons, Dainyl was aware
that more than a few eyes focused on him. He listened to those murmurs he
could pick up.
"Myrmidon officer..."
"... means trouble when you see one of 'em ..."
"Don't stare at him, Georgyt! They can kill you with a look..."
Dainyl was tempted to turn and smile at the woman and her small son, out of
perversity. He refrained.
Like the mining building, the council building was a small graystone building
with a red tile roof, but the tiles were far older, and many were cracked. The
building was oblong, rather than square, and the front eaves only overhung the
stone porch by little more than a yard.
Dainyl dismounted, again handing the bay's reins to Rhasyr, and walked toward
the main entrance, a door painted a bright blue. Before he got there, it
opened.
"Colonel Dainyl, do come in!" The voice out of the shadowed foyer behind the
door was hearty, and Dainyl half expected a burly man, but the speaker was
slight and rail-thin. "Might as well use my study. One place is as cluttered
as another. Oh ... I'm Sturwart, the current head of the council. For another
season, that is."
"I'm happy to meet you, Sturwart."
"I figured it would be better for you to talk to Donasyr first. He likes to
spend end days at his place out west in Cyalt. The later you talked to him,
the less he'd tell you." Sturwart scurried ahead of Dainyl down a corridor and
through another doorway. He gestured at the study, more spacious than the
conference room at the mining building, with a desk stacked with papers, a
small square table with three chairs, half-filled with papers, and two
bookcases overflowing with volumes. The two windows were high and narrow, and
open.
Dainyl settled into one of the chairs at the table, gingerly.
Sturwart dropped into the chair across from the alector. 'Anyway, you probably
know as much about the mine as            j
Donasyr does. He's never out there, just collects the coins, writes the
reports, and leaves the running to the overseers and the guards. Today, he'd
tell you less than he would most days because he'd already have been in Cyalt
if he hadn't had to talk to you."
"His family is there?"
"Hardly! His wife likes the big place on the hill here in Dramuria better.
He's got a girl in Cyalt, more like his daughter's age. Everyone knows it.
Then, with a wife like his--she's a beauty all right, but got a tongue like a
sabre-- I'm not sure I wouldn't be tempted that way."
"You say that the overseers run the mine?"
"Every way that counts, every way that counts ... and most of them are good
men. Do the best they can. Sad business when people get sent there."
"Some have said that justicer sentences to the mine are more frequent when
Donasyr needs more miners," suggested Dainyl.
"I've heard that for years. Heard it about Haldynt--he was the one the guilds
picked to run the mines before Donasyr. I can't say it might not happen now
and again, but mostly it's the other way around. When there are too many young
men without places to go--apprenticeships, or the Cadmians, or family
lands--they get in trouble, drink too          1
much, fight too much, and they get sent to the mine. The families complain
that the justicer was told to get more miners. The justicer denies it, and
that just makes people think that he's lying."
Dainyl got the impression that Sturwart was telling the truth. "That's always
a problem."
"Always been a problem, and always will be. What else can I tell you?"
"Who gets the golds after the merchanters in Southport or wherever pay for the
guano?"
"They come to the council, most of them. The mine belongs to Dramuria, the
town itself, the crafters and guilds and partly to a few of the big growers.
They have a fifth. Been that way forever. The council approves Donasyr's
requests for what he's spending. He has a good year, and he gets a bit extra.
Not a lo,t extra, though. Don't want him holding back on food to the miners,
or tools. That'd be a bad business. We also pay for one of the Cadmian
companies."
Dainyl had not known that. "What can you tell me about the troubles at the
mine?"
Sturwart tilted his head and paused for a time, the longest he'd been silent
since Dainyl had been in the council building. Finally, he spoke, more slowly.
"You know ... I wish I knew. Production's down, but the miners aren't getting
fed any less. Went up there a bunch of times to check. Even went when no one
knew I was coming. I've been talking to the ones whose terms were over, too.
They won't talk. Scared-like, but they're not scared of the guards or the
overseers. Something's going on in the mine, I'd say, and it's happening when
the overseers aren't watching." Sturwart looked straight at Dainyl. "Couldn't
prove it any way that I know."
"We received a report about disgruntled miners starting a revolt..."
Sturwart laughed, shaking his head. "Donasyr keeps track of that, and so do
we. Always be folks who won't learn that life has rules. You work, or you go
hungry. You don't want to work at what's here, you join the Cadmians, or go
someplace else, or you get stuck in the dyeworks or the mine. Some won't
learn, and they end up in the mines, and the rules there are tougher. Some
can't take it, and they try to escape. There were fewer than twenty who
weren't accounted for in the last year. Don't know about this year.
Even if they all made it, twenty of that kind wouldn't begin to start a
revolt."
Dainyl nodded, sensing once more that the council head believed his own words
totally. "Why do the growers own a fifth of the mine?"
"Years back, town needed golds to finish the road paving and the buildings up
there. The growers around here put up the coin, and they get a fifth of the
proceeds after expenses. Or they can get more of the guano at a reduced price,
or some combination."
"Do any of them take the guano?"
"Some, like Ubarjyr, use it on their casaran plantations."
"Where could I find the heads of the guilds?" Dainyl had strong doubts he'd
learn anything from the guild directors, jut the Highest had suggested he talk
to them.
"You won't find Bleamyr or Tulcuyt today or tomorrow. I ;an arrange for you to
meet them here on Londi, say around lie ninth glass, in the morning."
"I'll be here," replied Dainyl, rising.
"That's for certain. One can always count on the Myrmi-ions. Always can."
Sturwart rose and headed toward the doorway and the corridor beyond. "Any
other questions you lave, I'll be here, too, on Londi."
"I'm sure there will be some. I appreciate your patience md willingness to be
here."
"Glad to be of help. Without you, we wouldn't have a    . whole lot, now,
would we?"
Dainyl smiled again as he left the building, glad to be out n the warmth of
the white sun, under the cloudless silver-ťreen sky. He mounted, then nodded
to Sturwart, before ooking at Rhasyr. "Back to the compound."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl could tell that the stalwart Rhasyr was relieved to )e heading back to
the compound, both from his feelings md from the fact that he and the others
kept blotting their wows. Dainyl was enjoying the day, one of the most com-
fortable he'd experienced in almost a season, but it was unseasonably hot,
even for the local Cadmians.
After they crossed the bridge and headed up the wide and curving incline
toward the compound, ahead to his left, Dainyl sensed someone radiating fear.
He could not quite locate the source, and as the bay carried him onto the flat
of the bluff, with the compound little more than two vingts ahead, his eyes
and Talent scanned the area to his left, amid the nut trees.
Crack, crack.
He was rocked back in the saddle, his right shoulder twisted violently. He
hadn't even been able to locate the sniper. Even so, the light-cutter was in
his left hand almost instantly, and his eyes jerked to his right, his Talent
probing for the source. He could sense a single man on the low rise in the
middle of the trees less than a hundred yards away, and another sprinting
away.
Drawing on the lifeweb, he raised a deflection shield around his head and neck
as he turned the bay off the road.
"Sir!" called Rhasyr from behind him.
The man remaining raised his rifle once more, but this time the shot went
wide, as did the third and fourth shots.
Dainyl was less than thirty yards away when, abruptly, the man dropped the
rifle, next to another weapon lying on the clay. One hand went to his belt,
then to his mouth. He swallowed and smiled as Dainyl reined up. He was not
wearing anything like a uniform, just a shapeless gray short-sleeved shirt,
and gray trousers--and sandals, rather than boots. His beard was unkempt and
his brown hair greasy and long.
Dainyl glanced to the north, but trying to find the other shooter would have
been difficult, and he needed to find out what he could from the one at hand.
"Why did you fire at me?" Dainyl kept the light-cutter aimed at the man, even
as he tried to sense if there were others around besides the man who had fled.
He found no one. Behind him, he could hear the three Cadmians.
"To kill you. You are a monster. All of you are monsters."
"All of who?"
"You alectors. You do not belong here."
"Who told you that?" probed Dainyl.
"Those who know, even better than you." The man swallowed convulsively, again.
"You ... will... see."
Dainyl could see his lifeforce fading. Then the man pitched forward, dead.
"Sir?" called Rhasyr. "What happened?"
"He shot at me," explained Dainyl. "He swallowed something--poison."
A look of surprise and horror passed between the Cadmi-ans.
Dainyl did not show the surprise he felt. It had been years since anyone had
fired at him. The bullet had flattened against the lifeforce-reinforced
uniform tunic. While it had not penetrated the tunic, the fabric had spread
the impact across the front of his upper chest and shoulder, and he would have
an enormous bruise across his chest and shoulder in the days to come, even
after drawing on the lifeforce web.
"Get his body and carry it back to the compound. His rifle, and the other one
there, too."
"Ah ... sir... ?"
"Whatever he swallowed won't hurt you." Dainyl waited as one of the junior
Cadmians dismounted, recovered the rifles and handed them to Rhasyr, then
hoisted the body of the man across the front of his own saddle.
When the Cadmian had remounted, Dainyl turned his mount back toward the road
... and the compound. While he hated to draw lifeforce, he left the physical
shield in place.
Lystrana had warned him, and he never underestimated her abilities. He just
hadn't expected an attack from such a quarter and so soon.
The most puzzling aspect of the day had been the man
who had shot at him, then killed himself. There were always some who disliked
alectors. That was to be expected. What had been so unusual had been the man's
words. He clearly had been indoctrinated somehow, and whoever had done the
indoctrination had told him only part of the truth. Alectors certainly were
not native to Acorus, but neither were the indigens nor the landers. So who
was behind the attempt? Did they really think that they could kill more than a
handful of alectors? What good would that do--for anyone?
Dainyl couldn't say he understood, but he knew he needed to, and quickly.

17
Immediately after breakfast on Decdi,
Quelyt and Dainyl were airborne under high and hazy white clouds, soaring
northwest from the Cadmian compound toward the jagged peaks and spires of the
Murian Mountains, where lush greenery alternated with black and red rock.
Dainyl leaned slightly left to get a better view of the road to the mine. His
right shoulder sent a jolt all the way across his body. He could only hope
that the soreness and stiffness would subside within a few days. Majer Herryf
and the Cadmians were trying to identify the dead man, and to see if the
rifle--which was clearly Cadmian issue--had come from the garrison at Dramuria.
Dainyl doubted that it could have come from anywhere else, but if it had, he
was facing a much bigger problem.
He studied the road that led to the guano mine, empty except for two wagons
rumbling downhill toward Dramuria. Once below the switchbacks just southeast
of the mine, the road traveled straight along a ridgeline leading southeast to
Dramuria, through the town, and to the high-walled covered bins at the
southeastern section of the docks, where the guano was stored waiting for
shipment to Southgate or the river ports of the Vedra.
Even from the air, the mining compound looked secure. The compound was set on
a triangular bluff with the Mu-ralto River below. The western end of the bluff
was blocked by a stone wall with a single gate. A second wall with another
gate crossed the bluff about a third of a vingt to the west of the first. The
space between the two was bare red clay. There were no walls on the top of the
bluff, just the cliffs to the river below.
The cliffs that dropped to the river from the bluff were sheer, and at their
base was a rocky shingle that sloped into j the river. The stone at the base
was wide enough that diving into the water from the bluff would have been
impossible, and the height of the bluff, a good hundred yards, would have made
climbing down extraordinarily difficult.
'Toward the mine, now!"
The pteridon's wings lifted it into a climb as it headed to the northwest.
The mine was even less to look at--a single cavelike opening, around which was
a circular area of flattened rock and clay. From that apron a narrow road
wound down from a single guarded gate through four switchbacks. Carts were
pulled out of the mine by teams of miners in harnesses, then dumped from a
ramp into the guano wagons.
Three wooden guard towers ringed the apron, and a stockade fence joined the
towers and ran from the innermost towers to clifflike sections of the
mountain. The only exit was through the gate to the road beside the southern
guard tower. If the guards were distracted, an extremely agile miner might get
over the fence, but the sides of the rock apron were totally exposed, and it
seemed highly improbable that large numbers of miners could have escaped.
The colonel looked back and studied the road. Between the mine itself and the
miners' compound below, the road was enclosed by a stone wall on both sides,
and beyond the wall were steep slopes and open rock faces. As the Cadmian
captain had told Dainyl, there was one bridge, over the gorge to the northwest
of the compound.
"Quelyt? Can you circle up around some of the lower peaks here?"
"Yes, sir."
The pteridon climbed once more, circling up and toward a rocky spire several
vingts due west of the guano mine. Dainyl could see another cave, higher and
to the west, and could sense a concentration of lifeforce--more bats, and
another source of guano in the future.
The Murian Mountains were not that high, rising between two and three thousand
yards above the sea. Flying above the higher summits, with several hundred
yards to spare, was close to the highest point a pteridon could fly. Above
four thousand yards, and less over desert areas or ice and snow, the pteridons
could not draw enough lifeforce to hold altitude--or sometimes, as the earliest
Myrmidons had unfortunately discovered, to exist at all.
Dainyl tried to gather in a sense of the lifeforces. There was certainly life
there, but, with the exceptions of another two bat caves and several bird
rookeries, not the concentrations that would have marked small settlements or
a rebel camp.
Then ... after several circles of the rocky spire, for an instant, just an
instant, Dainyl sensed two flashes of lifeforce--traces he had never sensed
before. One was a faint red-violet, and the other, nearly a mist somewhere
beneath him, was golden green.
"Can you come down a little?" he called to Quelyt.
"Not much, sir. Could hit a downdraft here."
"As much as you can, then."
Quelyt was being more cautious than Dainyl would have been, but then, the
pteridon was carrying double, and Quelyt wasn't that familiar with the
terrain.
After another lower circle, during which Dainyl could sense nothing, he called
to the ranker, "You can head back to the compound now."
"Yes, sir."
As the blue-winged flyer soared down and to the southeast, Dainyl wondered
what creature--or creatures--could have a red-violet and golden green lifeforce.
Red-violet wasn't that different from pteridons, but it had not been the same.
Dainyl knew pteridons. And he'd never sensed anything golden green. Ifryns all
were purplish, if in different shades, and landers and indigens ran from black
to yellowish brown. Yet the contact had been so brief that he wasn't certain
what he had sensed. He couldn't report that to the marshal, not when he'd been
so careful to hide the extent to which Lystrana had been able to help him
develop his Talent.
By the time the pteridon settled onto the stones of the Cadmian courtyard, it
was close to midday, and pleasantly warm despite the high hazy clouds.
Dainyl dismounted, then turned to Quelyt. "Thank you. I may need your help
later."
"Any time, sir. Not as though we're doing dispatch flying here."
"One of you may have to do that, when I have to send a           I report to the
marshal."
"We figured that, Colonel." Quelyt grinned. "The marshal always wants
reports."
"We'll see." After a smile and a nod, Dainyl turned and walked swiftly across
the sun-warmed stones of the courtyard to the headquarters building. The
compound remained almost empty, except for the end-day duty squads and
officer. He doubted that he would find Majer Herryf in his
study, even though he had asked the majer to make sure that the dead man and
the rifle were investigated immediately.
Before Dainyl had gotten three steps into the building, the duty squad leader
rose from his desk in the foyer. "Colonel, sir, Captain Meryst is standing by
for you, sir. His study is the second one on the left."
"Thank you." Dainyl wasn't at all surprised. Herryf was the type to delegate
anything that infringed on his time.
Even before the colonel reached the study door, the captain was on his feet,
half-bowing in respect. "Colonel, sir." Captain Meryst was not the one Dainyl
had met before. Unlike Herryf and the other young captain, Meryst was
fair-skinned, if not white like an alector, with small freckles across his
face. He was tall for a lander, close to two yards, and painfully thin.
"Captain. You had the duty today?"
"No, sir. That's Captain Benjyr. He's at the mine. Majer Herryf said you
wanted anything we could find about the man who shot at you as soon as we
could."
Dainyl gestured to the desk. "You can sit down." He took the single chair
across from the captain. It was low, and his knees felt cramped enough that he
wished he'd remained standing. "What have you found out?"
"The man had been a miner. That was easy. The miners are tattooed. There's a
number on their left ankle. The man who shot at you escaped over a year ago.
Devoryn was his name."
"Was there any record of how he escaped?"
"Yes, sir." Meryst frowned. "Most of them jump or dive off the bridge. Devoryn
didn't. Somehow he was one of the handful that no one saw escape. He just
wasn't there when they mustered them to go back. I did check the records for
the last two years. Until this year, there were only four like that. About
eighteen, if I counted right, that went off the bridge that we never found any
traces of."
"How many went off the bridge and didn't make it?"
"Thirty-three, sir."
That surprised Dainyl. "How many miners are there? Some two hundred?"
"Right now, the roster lists two hundred and seventeen."
"How many have died while serving in the mine?"
"Not that many, sir. Eight over the past year, and most were in accidents."
"But a fifth of them have tried to escape in ways that kill more than half of
them?"
"More like a tenth, sir. You see, maybe half the miners in a year are there
for five to seven months--for the minor offenses."
"Do you know if this ... the one who shot at me ... if he had been there more
than once?"
"I'd have to check more for sure, sir, but I don't think so. The number on his
ankle is one of those used about a year ago, and he escaped in the late
winter."
"What about the rifles?"
"They were from here, sir."
Dainyl looked at the captain, raising his eyebrows.
"Ah ... it looks like ... I mean ..."
"Are you trying to say that one of the rankers either lost or gave his rifle
away, then took one from the armory? And that the one that the escaped miner
had was that ranker's rifle?"
"Ah, not exactly, sir. The missing rifle belonged to a squad leader named
Hirosyt. He finished his term a month ago, and no one knows where he went."
"So ... he lost or gave the rifle to one of the rebels, and used his position
as a squad leader to lift another rifle from the armory?"
"It looks that way, sir."
"I would strongly suggest, Captain, that every rifle in both companies be
checked against the records."
"We've already started, sir. We'll know by tomorrow."
"What about the other one?"
"It's a standard Cadmian rifle, and it was never issued to anyone. Someone
took it directly from the armory."
Dainyl asked another round of questions, and a full glass passed before he
stood to leave. "Thank you, Captain. I look forward to hearing what you have
to tell me tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
As he walked back toward the mess, Dainyl considered what he'd learned. First,
there was a way to escape the mines that wasn't suicidal. Second, conditions
had to be > even worse in the mines than anyone believed. When that many
miners tried escapes with such a high fatality rate, something was driving
them. His thin lips curled. Ifryn was dying, and even Talented alectors were
hesitating in trying translations to Acorus and Efra--and death was certain in
time if they didn't. Yet death was far from certain as a miner, but people
were dying to get away.
Dainyl had already suspected that the so-called rebellion had to have been
helped by someone in the Cadmian compound. The question was just how many
rifles the rebels had. There weren't any other sources of weapons, not in any
large numbers. While smuggling was possible, he would have thought it highly
unlikely, if not impossible, given that rifles were only produced in Faitel
and Alustre, and only for Cadmian units.
The other troubling thing had been the escaped miner's words. Dainyl had no
idea who would have known what the man had said--except another alector--and
that was a frightening thought indeed. It just wasn't something that an
alector would do, and Dainyl doubted that there had even been any alectors in
Dramur during the time the prisoner had been in the compound or afterward. The
more he learned, though, the less he liked what he was finding out.

18
i
At the ninth glass on Londi morning, Dainyl walked into the council building.
Sturwart and an angular blond man waited in the director's study. Both stood
as Dainyl entered.
"Colonel, this is Bleamyr," offered Sturwart. "He's the head of the crafters'
guild. Tulcuyt will be here shortly, but he was out on his boat this morning,
and had some trouble with his nets. Can't see as I'd be adding much. So I'll
leave you two and let you know when Tulcuyt comes in." With a smile and a nod,
the council director departed, closing the door behind him.
"Colonel, we don't see Myrmidons often," said Bleamyr, a puzzled tone to his
words.
Dainyl sat down on Sturwart's desk, then gestured to the chairs. "Please sit
down. The chairs are a bit small for me."
"I can see that." Bleamyr smiled. "Sturwart said you might have some
questions."
"I have a few, because of the mine. Have any alectors been here recently,
besides me?"
"Not for a few years, leastwise," replied Bleamyr. "I don't think we've seen
an alector here since, well... after the big storm that bashed up the harbor,
and that was a good six years ago. We send our reports every quint, and that's
been it."
Dainyl nodded, catching the feel of truth in the crafter's words. "What is
your craft?"
"Me? I'm an ironworker. In the old days, I'd have been called a smith, but
things like nails, bolts, all that, they come out of Faitel and arrive here in
boxes and crates. Most
of what I do is decorative ironwork, grillwork, or locks and bars for strong
rooms, that sort of thing."
"Do you do work for the mining compound?"
"Just when something needs repairing. Probably been a half year since I've
been there."
"I'd heard that more young men were being sentenced to the mines. What do you
think?"
Bleamyr squinted, although the chamber was dark, with the light-torches off,
and the sole light coming through the two high windows. Finally, he answered,
"Every few years, . someone says that. We started keeping track of the ones
who were in the guild. Year in, year out, it doesn't change. It's mostly those
who drink too much, or those who think they're fitted for better tasks."
"Did you ever know someone named Devoryn?"
Bleamyr snorted. "He's in the mines now, unless something fell on him. He was
one of the troublemakers. Used to be a laborer for Asadahl, the plumber. Must
have smelled too much lead. Kept telling everyone that Asadahl stole the
plumbery from his uncle. Asadahl gave him the job out of charity. Devoryn was
always wandering off. Said he needed time to himself, up in the hills. People
would ask him why, but he never said. That was one thing he'd close his mouth
about, and it was always open. Anyway, it must have been two years ago,
Devoryn went out of his head and tried to brain Asadahl with a lead ingot.
Busted his arm. Justicer then, that was Goeryt, sent him to the mine." Bleamyr
paused. "Why did you want to know, Colonel?"
"He was one of the miners who escaped who we know survived."
"Well... he spent enough time in the hills and in the rugged places south of
the mine. I suppose he could have made it, if anyone did. How did you know he
survived?"
"He tried to shoot someone, and the Cadmians caught him. He took poison."
"Sounds like Devoryn. Never did have much sense. Him and his wild ideas."
"What were those ideas?"
"You know, I don't know. Never paid any attention. No one with any sense did."
They might not have, reflected Dainyl, but he wished they had. "There's been
talk of the escaped miners trying to take over the town, even all of
Dramuria."
"That's Majer Herryf again. Not that I have anything against the majer, but
he's talked to us at least three times in the past season about that. Says
there could be a hundred miners up there, and if they got the shamblers and
the plantation workers together, they'd outnumber his Cadmians." Bleamyr shook
his head. "That'd never work. Even if they did overrun the Cadmian compound,
one company of your Myrmidons would fry them in moments."
"That's what's puzzling about the talk," Dainyl replied.
"The only thing I can figure is that there have been more miners getting away
than the majer realized, and he figures he's got to do something. There's
nothing to live on up in the higher hills, not for more than a handful of men.
They're already raiding and stealing stuff from the outlying plantations. The
majer told the growers that guarding the fields wasn't the Cadmians' task.
I've heard that some of the plantations have been using dogs at night. That's
here in the east. The big western growers, they don't have to worry."
"Have you heard anything else? Do these men have weapons?"
"Some say they do. Some say they don't. I don't know.,."
Dainyl kept asking questions, but learned nothing significantly new, either
about the mines, the so-called rebels, the guilds, or about Bleamyr.
The door opened. "Colonel..." Sturwart's voice was apologetic. "Tulcuyt's
here."
"I'll be with him in just a moment." Dainyl stood and looked at Bleamyr.
"Thank you very much. You've given me a much better idea of what we're
facing."
"I don't know that it changes things much, but anything you want, I'll try to
help with."
Bleamyr left, and Tulcuyt--a man with a weathered and leathery face--walked in
and half bowed to the colonel.
In the next glass, Dainyl learned almost nothing new or different from
Tulcuyt, except that the boatmen had seen a number of fast schooners--the kind
used by smugglers-- off-loading in a sheltered cove some thirty vingts north of
Dramuria several times over the summer. What they were off-loading, Tulcuyt
didn't know, because no fisherman would tangle with armed smugglers, except
there were crates being passed to the flatboats receiving the smuggled goods.
In the end, Dainyl thanked the head of the fishers' guild, as well as
Sturwart, and left the council building. Rhasyr and the two Cadmians were
waiting outside, patiently.
"Back to the compound. I don't think I'll be leaving it again today."
"You would not mind, Colonel, sir," asked Rhasyr cautiously, "if we did not
tell Captain Benjyr that, not until after the midday meal, sir?"
Dainyl laughed. "Right after the midday meal."
"Yes, sir."
Back at the compound, after getting something to eat and retrieving his flying
jacket and gloves, Dainyl searched out his Myrmidon rankers. He found them in
the sunlight next to the squares where their pteridons were sunning
themselves.
"Colonel?" Quelyt and Falyna straightened.
"Who wants to take me flying?"
"Might be better if I did, sir," replied Falyna. "Trading off works better.
Where to, sir?"
"There's a cove on the coast, maybe twenty-five vingts north of here. I'd like
to go there, then head west to the
mountains. Smugglers have been landing things there. I'd like to see if there
are trails or paths to somewhere north of the mine."
"North, it is." Falyna grinned. "I'd rather fly than sit around, sir."
Dainyl understood that all too well. In the past, when he'd been a lowly
ranker, he'd spent far too much time waiting to fly, rather than flying.
Within moments, Falyna had donned her jacket and gloves, and the pteridon was
carrying the two Myrmidons northward along the coast. For the first ten vingts
there was an outer bank, mostly of sand, if with some grass and bushes, but
the bank vanished when the coastline swung more to the northeast. Dainyl only
saw three fishing craft, all in the protected waters between the inner shore
and the outer bank.
The cove was as Dainyl had envisioned from Tulcuyt's description, a half
circle less than a vingt across cut out of a low bluff, with an entrance no
more than a few hundred yards wide.
"Lower, if you can, above the beach, when you head west!"
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl thought he could make out a narrow footpath threading between the
man-high, greenish gray, brush olives, the kind with long and sharp thorns.
There was a natural depression or narrow valley that led upward toward the
hills, and the mountains beyond, almost between two plantations that held the
nut trees. Dainyl could make out the path--or a path--in places, but he didn't
Talent-sense anyone on or near it. Still, he wanted to see where the trails
from the cove might lead. As Falyna neared the higher hills, the valley ended,
and so did any trace of the path.
"Take us up, in the higher ranges right ahead," Dainyl called.
With the plantations so close to the hidden trail, if the es-
caped prisoners were anywhere, they had to be higher in the hills, perhaps
even in the mountains beyond.
Circling to gain altitude, several times, the pteridon lurched in the
turbulent air, but finally rose above the lower peaks.
A glimmer--or a reflection from something to Dainyl's left--caught his eyes.
Dainyl concentrated. On the edge of the short bluff below a peak, still
several hundred yards above them, there was something ... something that drew
both his eye and his Talent. Was it a faded golden green? He wasn't sure.
"Can you get over that bluff?" Dainyl called. "The one just to the left above
us?"
"We can try, sir. It's getting rougher."
The pteridon strained, and the blue wings lifted them higher, until they were
almost level with the edge of the bluff. For a moment, Dainyl could make out a
golden archway--hidden back inside a natural cave, but they swept past, and the
rock blocked his view.
Then the pteridon's left wing was buffeted upward, and they slid sideways
through the air, losing hundreds of yards, before Falyna and the pteridon
recovered, all too close to another jagged ridge that had been well below them
moments before.
"Better head back, Colonel." Falyna gestured to her left, where the clouds had
moved closer and gotten darker.
"Go ahead." If Dainyl had been flying solo, he would have made another pass,
but the pteridon was carrying double. That reduced maneuverability and the
altitude the pteridon could reach.
Dainyl looked back once more, but he could see nothing of the mysterious cave.
After they had landed in the courtyard and dismounted, Falyna turned to
Dainyl. "A little touchy there, Colonel. I'm sorry we couldn't get any closer,
but the wind was picking up, and there was a good chance of another
downdraft--"
"In better weather, could you set me down on that bluff?"
Falyna frowned. "If we went at dawn. The air would be colder, and calmer.
That'd be worth another couple hundred yards in altitude." She paused. "Might
I ask why, Colonel, sir?"
"There's a building inside that cave. We didn't build it. I don't think the
locals did, either."
"You think it's the rebel miners?"
"I don't think they built it, but they might be using it."
"Maybe both Quelyt and me should come. We can circle there if we're not
carrying you. Flame anyone if you get into trouble."
Dainyl smiled. "Maybe you should."
"Glass before dawn, sir?"
"A glass before dawn." As he left Falyna, Dainyl had another idea. Rather than
head for his quarters, he made his way to the headquarters building, where he
found Captain Benjyr in his study.
"Colonel, sir ... ?" Benjyr jumped to his feet.
"I have a favor to ask, Captain. I'd like to talk to a handful of your rankers
about their duties at the mine."
"Ah ... yes, sir. Third and fifth squads are on standby."
"Good. If you would escort me there?"
Dainyl followed the captain across the courtyard to the barracks. He had
loosened his jacket, but not taken it off.
Benjyr stepped into the second doorway and called out, "Stenslaz?"
A squad leader jumped up from where he had been sitting on a foot chest. "Yes,
sir?"
"The colonel here wants to ask the men a few questions about their duties."
"Yes, sir." The squad leader looked around. "There's no study here, sir."
Dainyl smiled. "It's nothing that has to be too private, and it won't take
much time for each man. We can just talk outside in the courtyard."
Dainyl walked out into the sunlight with the captain. After the chill of
flying, the warmer air and sun in the courtyard felt good. "You can stay if
you want, Captain."
"If it's all the same, Colonel... there are a few reports..."
Dainyl grinned. He understood about reports. "Go take care of them."
"Thank you, sir." Benjyr nodded, turned, and walked quickly back across the
courtyard.
Through the open doorway, Dainyl could hear the Cad-mian rankers.
"What's he want with us?"
"Wearing a jacket, and he looks cold ..."
"... say they like it hotter 'n we do ..."
"Daclyt, you go first," called the squad leader.
A few moments later, a ranker appeared. He looked barely old enough to carry a
rifle. "Colonel, sir?"
"Yes. I have a few questions for you. You can tell anyone you like about what
I'm asking." Dainyl offered a smile.
It didn't seem to help. Daclyt still looked frightened as he stared up at the
colonel.
"What are the prisoners--the miners--like?" asked Dainyl.
The Cadmian ranker moistened his lips. "I'd guess they don't want to be there.
They don't work any harder than they have to. They complain about the smell.
They complain about the food. They shouldn't. We eat the same stuff for the
midday meal."
"Exactly the same?"
"Pretty much. It's the same chow line. We just get to eat first... well, half
of us do."
"Have you ever shot a prisoner?"
"Shot at a couple. Captain told us not to shoot to hit 'em on the first shot,
not unless one of us might get hurt. Never hit one. Solisyr's the only one in
the squad ever hit one. Fellow had a big stone ... was trying to brain another
prisoner..."
After a glass and a half and talks with almost twenty of the Cadmians, Dainyl
thanked the squad leader and walked slowly back toward his quarters. He had a
better feel of how the rankers felt and acted, and that just made matters more
puzzling.
Dainyl was certain that everyone he had talked to was telling the truth as
they saw it. It would have been much simpler if he had discovered an
ill-managed mine with brutal guards--except for four things. First, the kind of
men sent to the mines weren't the type to throw themselves off of bridges or
cliffs or try to scramble over stockade fences with armed guards watching
them. Second, the Cadmians he had seen and the ones he'd talked to weren't
brutal. Third, Devoryn had known far too much about alectors. Fourth, the
marshal and the Highest had sent a battalion of Cadmians--and Dainyl--and
neither the marshal nor the Highest had been in Dramur. Nor was there any
record of any other alector having been there recently.
And then there was the matter of the submarshal's death. That was hardly a
coincidence, Dainyl felt, although he could not have offered a shred of proof
as to why he felt that way.

19
The Duarchs' Valor docked in Dramuria a good two glasses before dawn on Duadi,
at the one pier large enough for deep-sea vessels, but it was well past dawn
before Mykel and Bhoral led the troopers and mounts of Fifteenth Company down
the ramp to the stone pier. Even so, the half-disc of Selena was still bright
overhead, although Asterta had long since set.
There on the pier, Fifteenth Company formed up behind Seventeenth and
Sixteenth Companies, closer together than Mykel would have preferred. As the
last mounts of Thirteenth Company formed up on the pier, Mykel looked back
toward the ramp. Above and behind the ramp, cranes were swinging into place,
preparing to off-load supplies, including ammunition, spare rifles, and fodder
for the battalion's mounts.
Mykel was ready enough to head out. The vessel itself bothered him. The ship
had no sails, and, unlike the lander river craft or the river tugs on the
Vedra, it didn't use coal or steam. There weren't any stacks, and the vessel
hummed its way through the ocean. Yet almost all the equipment abovedecks was
powered by the crew, from the winches and the capstan to the water pumps. The
engine compartments were sealed, according to what several crew members had
told Mykel, and only the chief engineer or the captain and the exec ever
entered them. One of the deckhands said it was the same on all of the Duarchs'
ships.
"Another mystery," he murmured. He'd never liked mysteries, especially ones
that suggested great power being hoarded. While the ship itself had disturbed
him, that unease was as much a symptom of the situation in which he was
finding himself as the ship itself. The alectors had built a ship that could
travel faster than a mount over all but the shortest of distances. They had
pteridons and skylances, and weapons that could turn a man to ashes--and yet
they needed a battalion of mounted rifles to deal with a few handfuls of rebel
miners?
Finally, Majer Vaclyn gave the order to the battalion. "Mount up!"
Mykel waited before he relayed the order. He and his company still had to wait
almost a quarter glass before the rear ranks of Sixteenth Company began to
move out.
From the saddle, riding off the pier at the head of Fif-
teenth Company, Mykel took in what he could of Dramuria. He hadn't been all
that impressed with the view he'd gotten from the deck of the ship. There were
but two piers in the harbor, and the Duarchs' Valor had barely fit at the
larger one, while the vessels at the smaller inshore pier had all been fishing
vessels, most of which had cast off before dawn. His eyes took in the handful
of warehouses, all of graystone, and looking ancient, just beyond the piers.
A light wind blew out of the south, barely enough to keep the morning from
being unpleasantly warm. Even so, he occasionally had to blot his forehead.
There was also an acrid and unpleasant smell carried on the wind, something
between manure, offal, and rotten meat.
Mykel surveyed all that he could, taking in the stone gutters that separated
the sidewalks from the street, deep enough to suggest that at least some of
the time rain was heavy, and lingering on the signboards over the shops-- with
neat images and lettering, yet with faded paint.
Early as it was, there were already a few people on the stone sidewalks
bordering the wider street up which the battalion rode. Some looked at the
riders, and some didn't, but most of those who looked were children or younger
adults, usually men. The young women might have looked, Mykel felt, but did so
more discreetly.
Very few of the buildings along the main street were of more than one story,
but whatever their height, all had roofs of dull red tile, and most of the
dwellings and structures lacked shutters. Even the main road itself was of the
same graystone, with hollows worn by years of iron-tired wagons.
"Place seems worn-out," said Bhoral quietly.
"It's hot here. It's late in harvest, and nearly as hot as midsummer in Faitel
or Elcien. I'd be worn-out working here, too." Mykel offered a low and rueful
laugh. He wasn't looking forward to serving even two seasons in Dramur, al-
though the winter might prove pleasant. He hoped it would, if it came to that.
The sound of hoofs on stone echoed through the morning, loud enough that Mykel
couldn't hear if the people along their way were saying much of anything. The
main street was straight as a quarrel, aimed northwest at the mountains, and
Mykel wondered if the Cadmian compound happened to be in the hills below the
jagged peaks. As his eyes traversed the higher peaks, a mix of red and black
rocks, with intermittent greenery, he sensed something. What he couldn't say,
but he looked northward more intently.
Two huge birds were circling a peak to the northwest. He looked again. "Those
are pteridons."
"Does look like pteridons, sir."
There was no doubt in Mykel's mind, none at all.
Seventeenth Company turned onto a narrower but still stone-paved road that
crossed over a stream, certainly not the main river, then headed uphill,
presumably toward the Cadmian compound. Sixteenth Company followed, and so did
Mykel and Fifteenth Company.
He glanced back over his shoulder. He could only see one pteridon in the sky
over the peaks, but there had been two. Why was Third Battalion being deployed
to Dramur if the Myrmidons had already sent in pteridons?
"You're not liking the pteridons, sir?" asked Bhoral.
"I have to wonder what we're getting into," Mykel replied cautiously. "No one
mentioned pteridons."
"It's always that way. They never tell us everything." Bhoral laughed. "Me,
I'm happier that they're here."
Mykel wasn't, but he smiled anyway, because he couldn't have explained his
feelings except in a general way. Any place that had problems requiring both
Cadmians and pteridons was not someplace where the duty at hand was going to
be easy.

20
A glass before dawn on Duadi found Dainyl standing with Quelyt and Falyna,
between their pteridons in the courtyard of the Cadmian compound.
"You want down on that little bluff below the peak, sir?" asked Quelyt. "I'll
land with you, and Falyna will circle. That way, I can cover you, and she can
make sure nothing else comes up or down the peak." He smiled ruefully. "She's
a better shot, too."
Dainyl had been about to suggest that, but, instead, he just nodded. "Good
plan." Although he was wearing his uniform tunic and padded flying jacket,
another shot to his injured shoulder, and he'd be facing a good three weeks
before he could move it without pain, if not longer. It was still sore and
bruised from the single shot he'd taken.
There was also the unspoken credo of the alectors, which applied especially to
the Myrmidons: Alectors were invulnerable. There were so few that the steers
could never be allowed to consider them vulnerable like other mortals. Too
many shots, and Dainyl would find that image hard to maintain. If he showed
vulnerability, he might well find himself removed from the Myrmidons and
relegated to necessary menial work within the Duarch's Palace, or at the Vault
of the Ages in Lyterna--if not worse.
He looked to Quelyt. "We'd better get flying."
"Yes, sir. It's still cool and calm. No sign of clouds around those peaks."
Dainyl waited until Quelyt had mounted, then climbed into the second silver
saddle. The pteridon's wings extended, and, with the sharp burst of Talent,
they were air-
bome, moving eastward into the wind off the ocean.
Dainyl looked to the south, where he could see a large vessel moored at the
ocean pier. That had to be the Duarchs' Valor, with the Cadmian battalion.
What the Cad-mian mounted rifles could do, Dainyl had no idea, but his orders
were very clear. He was to observe, not to interfere ... unless something went
terribly wrong. If it did, he would have to act quickly; and then, if the
situation got worse, all blame would fall on him.
He forced his concentration back to flying and their destination. As the
pteridon's wings moved, and they gained speed and altitude, Quelyt guided them
back around to the northwest, setting a course toward the higher peaks
opposite the smugglers' cove. Unlike the afternoon before, the air was far
calmer, and much colder. Despite his jacket and gloves, and the insulating
properties of his boots and uniform, Dainyl could feel the chill seeping into
his feet and fingers. Acorus was a beautiful world, but it was a cold one.
Quelyt had clearly decided to gain altitude before they neared the peaks,
climbing through the more stable air away from the mountains.
"That one?" called Quelyt.
"No! Farther north. The summit's angled."
Quelyt had to circle several of the peaks with various outcroppings just below
their summits before Dainyl located the one for which they were searching.
"That one there! With the angle, and the flat space below."
"Be tight to land there, sir. Hang on."
The pteridon managed to make it onto the space, although its left wing tip
seemed to graze the rugged stone escarpment above the cave.
Quelyt sighed, then smiled. "Don't want to do that often, sir."
"Let's hope not."
After dismounting, Dainyl drew on lifeforce to hold deflection shields, then
unholstered the light-cutter before stepping toward the irregular opening of
the cave, which looked to be about three and a half yards tall at the highest
point. Behind him, Quelyt had the skylance ready.
Dainyl stopped well short of the entrance. Even from where he stood, as he had
glimpsed the day before, a good five yards back into the darkness, there was
indeed an archway--like no archway he had ever seen or heard described. The
material looked to be stone, like the eternal goldenstone of the Hall of
Justice, but the shade of gold was different, wrong, amberlike, but somehow
holding green within it. The stone extended seamlessly from the blackish lava
of the sides of the cave. There were no joints, no marks of tools. The base
was narrower than the midsection, and the top rose into a graceful point level
with Dainyl's eyes.
After a moment, he could sense there was no living creature nearby, except for
some rodents and small birds. He glanced upward toward the summit, another
fifty yards above. There was no sign of any other opening, and no sense of
anything living nearby other than the Myrmidons and small creatures.
"It's all right," he called back. "There's no one here. I think this was one
of the places of the ancients."
"Didn't know they lived this far south."
"It's old. Very old." That he could also sense. He took another step forward
and studied the entrance to the cave. The stone was lava, the hard black kind.
Although the cave looked irregular, it wasn't natural. He took another step,
this time into the dimness of the cave, still holding the light-cutter at the
ready. His boots left the only prints on the reddish sand.
Abruptly, he paused and studied the floor of the cave. It was uneven where he
stood, but just a yard ahead, it was smooth, far too smooth to have been
created by any steer, even a lander. His eyes followed the floor to the
archway.
Beyond it, there was no sand, just the finest layer of reddish dust covering
green tiles. Tiles, not smoothed rock, not the amber green stone, yet those
tiles contained the same energy as the archway. Beyond the archway, a corridor
extended farther into the mountain, with walls also of the featureless amber
green. The small corridor, less than a yard and a half wide, and only two
yards in height, ended abruptly only another four yards or so beyond the
archway, not in the black lava that framed the archway, but in a smooth wall
of the amber green stone.
Dainyl stopped just before the archway and extended his Talent-senses. He
could feel residual lifeforces, so faint as to be close to nonexistent,
red-violet and golden green.
He let his gloved fingers slide over the stonework of the archway, so smooth
that the gloves could find no rough edges. Knowing he was being foolhardy, he
still stepped through the archway, carefully lowering his head. Nothing
happened.
He bent down and studied the green floor tiles. They were not actually tiles,
but a pattern impressed on greenstone, with indentations that formed simple
squares. His eyes traveled to the end of the short corridor. Near the end, the
floor changed so that there was a large square, almost, but not quite, the
width of the corridor, a yard by a yard, roughly. The square was just a shade
lower than the surrounding tiles.
He took several careful steps forward until he was standing just short of the
dust-covered square. His mouth opened. There on the floor was a perfect silver
mirror, inset and made of some sort of stone. In the dimness and through the
dust, Dainyl could see his own image looking down at the mirror. He closed his
mouth, and so did the image.
He probed it with his Talent, but, for all that he could tell, it was a
mirror, nothing more. Except it was on the floor. An empty tunnel, exquisitely
if simply constructed, near the top of a peak in the middle of nowhere, with a
mirror set into the floor, one fashioned out of stone.
He stepped back and studied the short corridor and the wall. He extracted his
belt knife and tapped the walls with the butt, gently, listening. He even
leaned down and tapped the mirror.
Yet, for all his scrutiny, the walls seemed and felt solid. So did the mirror.
The corridor tunnel appeared to be what he saw and sensed, and he had the
feeling that he could have stood there for years and learned nothing more.
Finally, he turned and walked out of the tunnel and the natural-looking, but
artificial, cave. Once outside, he turned > and studied it again. After
several moments, he turned once more and made his way back to Quelyt and the
waiting pteridon. He sheathed the knife, but not the light-cutter, and kept
his eyes trained on the cave entrance.
"What is it, sir?"
"I don't know. I wish I did. It's a perfect tunnel that goes back four or five
yards, and ends. The workmanship and artistry are superb, and yet it's all
hidden away up here on a mountain peak where no one's been in years, maybe in
centuries. It just ends, as if it were meant to be that way. There's even a
mirror in there, but it's on the floor. But why..." Dainyl shook his head.
"They must have been able to fly, or had creatures like pteridons, because I
can't see or sense any other way in of out."
"You think, maybe it was some sort of observation post?"
"It must have been something like that, and they weren't too concerned about
anyone else flying. It's not that well hidden from a flier, but you couldn't
see it at all from above or below, and it's located where climbing to get here
would be almost impossible."
"Well... the ancients did leave things here. That's what I always heard."
"I don't think we'll ever know why it's here. It's not as though there are any
ancients around to ask." Dainyl smiled ruefully. "We'd better get back. I
imagine the Cadmians
will be arriving at the compound before long, and I'll need to meet with their
majer." He climbed into the second saddle, asking himself how he was going to
report what he had found--and if he should until he knew more.

21
Dainyl wasn't looking forward to meeting with the Cadmian battalion commander,
not in dealing with such an unsettled situation. How he handled the situation
would be evaluated by both the marshal and the High Alec-tor of Justice, and
his own future in the Myrmidons was under consideration. It had to be.
Otherwise, after the submarshal's untimely death, he should have been promoted
or moved out, but neither had occurred.
He also didn't feel it was wise to avoid the majer.
At the eighth glass on Tridi morning he went to find Majer Vaclyn. It would
have been simpler for Dainyl to have taken over Majer Herryf's study.
Certainly, as the senior officer present, and as a Myrmidon, he had that
authority, but doing so would have tacitly stated he was in command of all
operations in Dramur, effectively undermining his status as an observer. That
would be all too obvious to the marshal and the Highest. Dainyl had to remain
an observer--unless and until matters deteriorated badly. Despite the lack of
evidence of such an incipient deterioration, Dainyl had few doubts that it
would happen. He just didn't know the particular path catastrophe would take,
but, according to the Views of the Highest, it would occur, since both majers
were steers seeking power beyond their ability. That was true of alectors as
well.
He found Majer Vaclyn in a small study at one end of the
barracks on the east end of the compound, a space barely three yards by four
with little more than a desk and several chairs. Foot chests were stacked
against one wall.
The ruddy-faced majer stood immediately as he caught sight of the Myrmidon
uniform and the colonel's stars.
"Majer Vaclyn." Dainyl smiled politely.
"Colonel." Vaclyn's voice was measured. "What brings you to Dramuria? I
understood that the operation here was a Cadmian effort, and one not involving
the Myrmidons."
Dainyl could sense a combination of anger and consternation, but he continued
to maintain a pleasant expression as he replied, "You are absolutely correct.
It is a Cadmian operation. Because the marshal had to rely upon reports, he
did decide to send an observer, to make sure that there were not events and
situations that had been misrepresented."
"Misrepresented? The matter seems simple enough. The battalion has been
deployed here to deal with a possible rebellion, or some other form of
uprising."
"That is true," replied Dainyl. "Yet Majer Herryf cannot explain who these
rebels are and where they might be, only that an excessive number of prisoners
at the mine are escaping."
"If that is the case, Colonel, why are we here? Escaping prisoners do not make
a rebellion."
"You may well be right, Majer. That is why we are both here. If there is no
rebellion, you and your men will be able to spend the fall and winter in a
warmer locale, and I will be able to report to the marshal that Majer Herryf
was excessively worried." There was something about the majer, something ...
almost Talent-connected, yet the majer had no Talent. Dainyl would have to
observe that as well.
"You're suggesting that there is a problem?" asked Vaclyn.
"I am suggesting nothing," Dainyl pointed out. "I have been here only a few
days longer than you have. Majer Herryf has been here much longer."
Vaclyn frowned, then spoke. "Colonel... you are a Myrmidon, and some of your
fliers were seen overflying the hills north of the mines. Is there any
information that you can share with us?" Vaclyn's voice was polite, but there
was still anger behind it, if more subdued.
"So far, Majer, information has been hard to come by. What we have discovered
is that an unknown number of Cadmian issue rifles have reached the rebel
miners, and that other goods have been smuggled into Dramur. The smugglers
have used the cove on the eastern shore some twenty-five vingts north of here,
and whatever those goods happened to be, they were transported westward along
a narrow path that leads toward the area north of the mine where there may be
a number of escaped miners who are armed. So far, they have not attacked any
Cadmian units. The plantation growers to the north have been raided, but
apparently for food, and not in large numbers."
"Sounds more like Majer Herryf wants us to nip something in the bud,"
speculated Vaclyn. "Might not be so bad as if we'd been later." He looked
directly at Dainyl again. "Is there anything you need from us?"
"Not at the moment. I just stopped to pay my respects and to let you know why
I was here." Dainyl offered a polite smile. "I will let you know of anything
else that might prove helpful."
As Dainyl left the study, he caught a few fragments of the words exchanged by
the rankers in the outer corridor.
"... that's a Myrmidon colonel..."
"... trouble for the majer..."
"... makes enough for himself..."
Dainyl concealed an internal wince at the last words. The last thing anyone
needed in Dramur was a Cadmian officer prone to mistakes--and what he had
overheard suggested he was saddled with two. He just hoped that the ranker was
more disgruntled than accurate.

22
On Quattri, just after dawn, Mykel was holding a mug of ale, knowing he had to
drink something. He'd had the choice of wine, boiled water, or ale. He had
taken the ale, and wondered if he shouldn't have chosen water, or even the
cheap wine. Before him was a platter of fried fish and fried apple bananas. He
wasn't certain either qualified as breakfast.
"There he is! Always early to eat!" Dohark's voice carried through the small
stone-walled mess.
Mykel looked up. Dohark and Kuertyl were headed for the table he'd staked out
in the corner, both with platters and mugs in their hands. They sat down
across from him.
"You're just looking at the food?" asked Dohark.
"I'm not sure it is food," replied Mykel dryly. "Not for breakfast."
"Don't want to go hungry now," said the older captain.
"I'll eat it." Mykel would eat what was available. He just didn't have to like
it.
"What's your schedule?" asked Dohark.
"Fifteenth is moving north tomorrow, a good day's ride. Could be longer. We
get to look at a trail that the rebels are using. What about you?"
"Like you, tomorrow. We're going to squat around some cove, hope that some
smugglers show up with contraband. At least, it ought to be cool, right off
the ocean." Dohark turned to the fresh-faced Kuertyl. "What about Thirteenth?"
"We're supposed to patrol the road from the plantations in the west." Kuertyl
shrugged, then took a sip of the ale. "It's not bad. The ale, I mean."
Mykel had already taken a swallow. He'd had worse, but not for breakfast.
"You hear that a Myrmidon colonel came to see the ma-jer yesterday?" asked
Kuertyl.
"Any idea why?" asked Dohark.
"Word is that the colonel is just here watching," replied the young captain.
"Vaclyn needs watching. Always has." Dohark laughed and turned to Mykel. "You
remember that business east of Klamat--"
"That's over," Mykel said easily. He didn't want to remember it. Vaclyn had
wanted a frontal charge by Mykel's whole company on a handful of Reillies dug
in behind a timber barricade. Mykel had pretended not to have heard the order
and taken a squad over a rise and started firing from the side. The Reillies
had surrendered within moments. Even after that, the colonel had left the
majer in command of the battalion, but Mykel had figured that was because the
majer had managed to hide the fact that he'd given a stupid order. What Mykel
didn't understand was how the majer kept getting away with less than brilliant
decisions--or was it just that his captains and senior squad leaders bailed him
out? And no one really cared how the task got done, just so long as it did
without too many casualties?
'True enough, and it's not like we can do anything ..."
Mykel looked hard at Dohark, and the older captain stopped.
"Get carried away sometimes," Dohark said.
"You were saying?" prompted Kuertyl, who hadn't known about the incident
because he'd been an undercap-tain with the Second Battalion at the time.
"Old history," said Mykel. "Very old--"
"All history's old," interrupted Heransyr, the captain in command of
Seventeenth Company, a smallish officer, with deep-set hazel eyes, whose
uniforms never seemed to show
a crease. "That's why it's history. Mind if I join you?"
"Please do," suggested Mykel, before looking back at Kuertyl. "What else can
you tell us about the colonel?"
"Colonel?" asked Heransyr.
"The Myrmidon colonel who's here," explained Mykel. "What about him, Kuertyl?"
Kuertyl glanced at Dohark, who ignored the look, then finally spoke. "He's
big, like all the alectors. One of the locals told me he'd been out flying all
around the mountains, even in the storms a couple days back. They said one of
the rebels took a shot at him when he was out riding, and the bullet bounced
off him, and he rode out and caught the rebel without even using a weapon. He
just looked at the fellow, and he dropped over dead."
"I'm sure he did," replied Dohark. "Just dropped over dead because someone
looked at him. They got lances that turn people into torches, but I never
heard of someone dropping dead without a weapon being used."
"With alectors, you never know," suggested Heransyr. "They are alectors."
Dohark looked at Mykel. Mykel smothered a smile at Heransyr's knowing tone.
Kuertyl finished taking a long pull of ale before answering. "Anyway ...
that's what one of the squad leaders said. He was there. The colonel's been
meeting with the mine director, and with that Majer Herryf, and with important
folks in the town."
"Frig ..." muttered Dohark.
Kuertyl turned to the older captain.
"Look, Kuertyl," Dohark said slowly. "He's a Myrmidon colonel. That's means he
outranks every Cadmian officer. There probably aren't five Myrmidons that
outrank him. He's down here talking to everyone? Dramur's a nothing place,
except for bat shit. So why are we here? Why is he here? Something stinks, and
it's not just bat shit."
"Something they don't want a lot of people to know about," suggested Mykel.
"We're here in the normal rotation, and we don't have any Myrmidons around."
He gave a crooked grin. "Not officially. Just a couple to ferry the colonel
around. Except that they're checking out the mountains and the mine from the
air?"
"Oh," said Kuertyl.
Even Heransyr's knowing smile faded.
"So don't think this is just a set of routine patrols," added Dohark. "You
could get real familiar with unfamiliar dirt here, and that merchant's
daughter in Faitel'd have to find another handsome captain."
Kuertyl flushed, ever so slightly.
"It might not be that bad," said Mykel, "but until we know that, better be
really careful."
Dohark rose. "I think it's time for an unannounced gear inspection."
Mykel smiled. "Not a bad idea. I'll let you start." The word would get around,
and then he'd follow up with Fifteenth Company.

23
Beginning on Sexdi, Mykel and Fifteenth Company spent four days under a bright
sun that was more like summer than fall, riding westward along the stream
valley that held a trail supposedly used by smugglers. The only way to see
what was on the trail was to ride it, and Ma-jer Vaclyn had chosen Fifteenth
Company for that duty. After battling the thorny brush olives, the heat, and
the damp, they found no recent traces of smugglers.
Then, after they completed a last sweep of the valley on Decdi, the majer
ordered them back to the Cadmian com-
pound, where they had Londi for some recuperation. On Duadi, they rode north
thirty vingts to patrol a twenty-vingt section of road--ten vingts on each side
of a small town scarcely larger than a hamlet called Enstyla. The road, in a
winding fashion, eventually made its way south to Dramuria.
The company was housed in an empty barn that had once been used for
cattle--until the losses from the nightwasps had made it far too unprofitable
for the grower to continue. Now he was getting a few silvers for the use of
the barn and well.
"This town is the one where the growers around it have been complaining about
raids," Majer Vaclyn had told Mykel. "See what you can do, either to find out
if they've really been raided, or to stop the raids. If you can't capture the
raiders, shoot them. But make sure that they're raiders and not locals."
On Tridi, just before midmorning, Mykel rode northward at the head of fifth
squad, along a part of the road that ran through grassland that showed as much
clay as grass. As on the previous days, the sky was mostly clear, with a hint
of clouds building over the peaks to the west. No animals were grazing in the
nearby fields, and probably had not in a while, since the scattered tufts and
clumps of grass were nearly calf high. The fields were not fenced, and it had
been a good vingt since the squad had passed a cot.
Mykel alternated riding with the squads, since each squad was handling a
different section of the road. As he shifted his weight in the saddle, he had
to wonder how patrolling roads would stop raids. The raiders weren't exactly
going to ride up and down the roads announcing their intentions, and those who
did use the roads would look like anyone else who belonged there.
Still... Mykel was a Cadmian officer, and there were times when he just had to
follow orders and try not to make a stupid mistake doing so.
Ahead, coming up a long gentle rise from lowlands that held trees, there was a
wagon creaking toward fifth squad, an old wagon that seemed to sag in the
middle, pulled by a single swaybacked horse.
Mykel moved the chestnut to the head of the squad and eased out in front of
the squad, just slightly, moving toward the wagon and the two men on the bench
seat. The driver flicked the reins, pulled them back, and the wagon slowed to
a crawl, then a stop.
Both men looked at Mykel, and the squad behind him, but neither spoke.
Mykel concentrated on the teamster, after a quick study of the younger man
seated beside the bearded driver. "Have you seen any folks up here that don't
belong here?"
The teamster kept the reins in his right hand, but tilted back the tattered
and wide-brimmed woven frond hat with his left. Then he spat to the side of
the wagon away from Mykel. "You're the first folks we've seen since we set
out."
"Not just this morning. Over the past few days."
"You Cadmians are looking in the wrong place. All those escaped prisoners are
in the hills north of the mine." The man's words were even, with a touch of
anger behind them, but they didn't feel right to the captain:
"I don't recall mentioning escaped prisoners," Mykel said politely. "We also
know that someone has been smuggling as well. You might have seen them."
"Told you. We haven't seen anyone."
"We'd heard reports that some of the escapees might have moved eastward ...
might be lifting a little food here and there." Mykel looked squarely at the
teamster.
"Well... Captain. Now, I can't say that there might not have been a few things
missing here and there, but how could anyone tell whether it's from shamblers
sneaking up here or a loose prisoner or two?"
"I imagine you couldn't," replied Mykel with an easy
smile. "If you do find out, we'd like to know. Either way, you'd be able to
keep more of what you grow if we could catch them."
"On the roads?" The teamster laughed. "Not sow-eared likely!"
Mykel eased the chestnut back and gestured for the squad to let the wagon
pass. As the wagon rolled southward, Mykel strained to hear what the younger
man was saying.
"... not like that banty rooster yesterday ..."
"... got to watch 'em all... just 'cause he talks nice, don't mean nothing
..."
Mykel had to wonder whom the teamster had run into the day before. Dohark
certainly wasn't banty. It could have been Kuertyl--or maybe Heransyr, with his
elevated notion of his own importance.
What was certain was that the patrols were going to be long, and hot, and that
they were going to upset some people. Yet, if he didn't patrol, Majer Vaclyn
and the Myrmidon colonel would be unhappy with a certain captain.
Mykel turned the chestnut back northward.

24
On Quattri and Quinti, the squads of Fifteenth Company had patrolled the road
north and south of Enstyla. Each morning, Mykel made sure to tell his squad
leaders to emphasize courtesy and politeness if they did stop anyone. On
Sexdi, his morning briefing was no different.
"Everyone is sir or madam, and you are terribly sorry to stop them. You are
checking for contraband weapons and asking if they have seen anyone who looks
out of place," he had told each squad leader. "Treat them like they were your
aunts or uncles, with politeness, but with firmness."
Mykel had chosen to patrol with third squad, on the northernmost section of
the road assigned to Fifteenth Company, and he rode northward beside Chyndylt,
the third squad leader. Sexdi was cooler than the previous days. Even in late
morning, a wind blew from the northwest, making the day pleasantly breezy--the
first such since they had arrived in Dramur.
"Glad you're with us today," said Chyndylt. "Hope we get this kind of weather
every time you're patrolling with us."
"It should get cooler as we get farther into fall and winter," replied Mykel.
"We could use some cold. Never thought I'd say that after the winter up in
Blackstear." Chyndylt laughed.
Both Cadmians stopped talking as a one-horse cart turned from a side lane on
the west side of the road half a vingt north of Mykel and headed down the
rutted clay toward third squad.
"Couple of women," observed Chyndylt as the cart neared.
Mykel scanned the road to the left, but could see nothing through the widely
spaced casaran nut trees. "We might as well say good day to them."
"The younger one does look sort of pretty, sir."
Not only did she look attractive, Mykel realized, but there was something
about her that went beyond the physical. He forced himself back to the duty at
hand, smiling ruefully. "I don't think she'll be looking on us with any favor,
Chyndylt." He kept riding until he was within thirty yards of the cart.
The younger woman--dark-haired and wearing a pale green long-sleeved shirt,
dark gray trousers, and a darker gray vest--was driving. She showed no sign of
wanting to stop as the cart continued down the middle of the road.
"Just when are you going to clear the road?" she called out, her voice
conveying irritation, yet without being shrill.
"After you stop, madam, and we exchange a few words," replied Mykel politely.
With a sigh visible from a good twenty yards away, the driver jerked the cart
to a halt. The horse snorted. The gray-haired woman sitting to the left of the
driver said not a word.
Mykel reined up beside the cart horse, in a position where he could grab the
leads, if necessary. "I am sorry to ask you to stop, madam, but we've been
assigned here to patrol the road. Have you seen anyone who doesn't belong
here, someone who might have escaped from the mine?" He smiled politely at the
woman, who looked to be younger than he was.
"There aren't people like that around here. Not around our estate." The
driver's green eyes hardened. "Now ... will you let us pass, trooper?"
"Captain, madam, Captain Mykel, Fifteenth Company." Mykel eased his mount
forward toward the cart and the driver. Outwardly, she showed no sign of
nervousness, but he could sense it all the same. That could be just because
she'd been stopped by twenty-two men. That would make any woman nervous. But
it didn't feel like that to Mykel. "We're also looking for contraband
weapons."
"Weapons, Captain? What would two women be doing with weapons?" The driver
eased herself, almost imperceptibly, toward the side of the cart closest to
Mykel.
"Madam, anyone could be carrying weapons.'' He reined up beside the cart, his
eyes dropping to the space under the driver's seat. "Like that rifle you're
trying to hide."
"Rifle?"
'The one you moved your trouser leg to cover," Mykel said dryly. "Chyndylt,
please cover these ladies while I look at their weapon." He looked to the
driver. "I'd appreciate it if you would move over. I'd rather leave you
alone."
"Scarcely a manly sentiment, Captain." The words were cold, cutting, despite
the slight huskiness in her voice, but the driver moved away from Mykel.
As she moved, he quickly leaned forward in the saddle and lifted the rifle
away, careful to keep the barrel down and away from anyone. Then he
straightened and checked the weapon, clearly Cadmian-issue. He looked to the
plate under the stock. It was blank, and so was the flattened space on the
underside of the barrel. Both should have held numbers, identical numbers.
"I'm afraid we'll have to keep this, ladies," Mykel said politely.
"Keep it? Just who do you think you are, riding up and taking things from two
women going about their own business? How are two women supposed to protect
themselves out here? You couldn't find one of those so-called raiders if you
had ten times the men you do. Riding up and down roads..."
Mykel kept smiling, wondering how long she would rail at him.
"You call yourself a captain, but you're more of a thief than those poor
prisoners you're looking for. They didn't take hard-earned goods ... they were
just stupid, and drank too much ..."
"Madam," Mykel began ...
"I am not a madam, and don't call me that, and you may not have my name,
either. I know your kind."
"All right!" the captain snapped. "Enough."
The tone of his voice stopped the woman's tirade. She looked at him as if he
had suddenly become an alector or grown an arm from the middle of his chest.
Yet there was strength, not fear, and he had to admit he admired that.
Mykel spoke into the sudden silence. "You are carrying a Cadmian rifle. That
is against the Code. I could have you both charged and flogged, at the very
least. I doubt that you are the guilty party, but possession is a flogging
offense as well."
The younger woman's eyes widened, and Mykel felt that
she had had no idea that carrying a Cadmian rifle was indeed a crime.
"It is most clear that you did not intend to commit a crime, and I doubt that
anyone even told you that possessing a military weapon was a crime. I will
have your names and the rifle, and you may go on your way."
"You'd leave us unprotected?" asked the older woman, speaking for the first
time.
"Madam," Mykel replied, trying to keep his tone polite. "For the entire past
week, everyone has been telling us that there was no need for us to patrol the
roads. They have told us that there are no rebels, no escaped prisoners, and
no danger. If there is no danger, then there is no need for a rifle."
The older woman looked down.
"Your names and your home, if you would," Mykel asked.
"Kamrita."
The sense of falseness was so great that Mykel snapped back. "That's not your
name."
"Rytora."
"Neither is that."
"Rachyla of Stylan Estate," the driver replied, in a lower voice, for the
first time showing a trace of tentativeness.
The captain looked to the older woman.
"I'm her aunt, Astylara."
"Astylara and Rachyla of Stylan Estate," repeated Mykel. He looked to
Chyndylt. "Have your men check the cart, and underneath. Carefully, and just
for weapons."
"You ..." murmured Rachyla. "My father will..."
"I am doing the duty I was assigned, madam. I am certain he will understand
that." Mykel forced another smile, waiting as the two rankers pulled back the
tarp covering the rear of the cart and revealing a half score of baskets
filled with shelled nuts.
"There's nothing underneath, sir. Nothing but the nuts in the baskets."
"Cover their load, and step back." Mykel turned to Rachyla. "You ladies may
proceed, but I would suggest that carrying contraband rifles is not a wise
form of protection at present." He eased his mount back and watched as the
woman flicked the leads, and the cart began to roll southward, away from Mykel
and third squad.
"You think you should have let her go?" asked Chyndylt. "You know what the
majer said."
"We have the rifle." Mykel paused. "It doesn't have any numbers or markings."
"It doesn't? How could it not... it has to be smuggled, then."
"I'd judge so," replied the captain.
"And you let her go?"
"I don't think that it would have been a good idea to turn a major
landholder's wife or daughter over to a justicer to be flogged for carrying a
rifle she said she needed for protection." Mykel's voice was dry. "Besides, we
know who she is, and we have the rifle. If the majer--or the colonel-- wants her
flogged, he can get her."
And, sometime during the patrol, Mykel would have to write a report on the
incident, to turn over to the majer along with the rifle. He'd bent the rules,
but going by them t blindly would have been worse--far, far worse. Either way,
he'd pay, but that was often what happened to junior officers. Using judgment
was a danger, but so was not exercising it.
He took a deep breath and squared himself in the saddle, looking down at the
contraband Cadmian rifle that he held. A week of chasing smugglers and escaped
prisoners that no one had ever seen, and he had exactly one rifle to show for
it--taken from a woman connected to some wealthy lander.

25
Sexdi morning dawned bright, but breezy, cooler than it had been on the two
previous days. As he crossed the courtyard in the blue shimmersilk jacket he
wore over his uniform when flying, heavy gloves in hand, Dainyl wished he had
decided to take the inspection flight earlier, when it had been warmer, but he
had not, and there wasn't much point in remonstrating with himself over the
decision. What he did know was that he couldn't afford to put it off longer.
There was too much he did not know about Dramur.
Quelyt was waiting by the square set aside for his pteri-don. Behind him, the
pteridon crouched, blue crystal beak slightly parted.
"Where are we headed now, sir?"
"West, over the mountains. There are some large plantations over there, or so
I've been told. We need to look at them."
"We can do that." Quelyt paused. "Can't say I've ever been there."
"Neither have I," replied the colonel, a wry tone to his words.
It had taken Dainyl more than a week to realize what he was missing--or one of
the things he was missing. There had been a number of references to the "big
growers" or the seltyrs in the west, but always in passing. He'd finally
decided that, before asking more about the west, an inspection flight would be
in order. That way, he hoped, any answers that he got would make more sense.
Certainly, according to the maps, there were but a handful of hamlets
to the west of the Murian Mountains, and two small natural harbors.
When he had been a ranker, or even a flying officer, and had been dispatched
to Dramur, he'd never flown west of the mountains. All the dispatches and
transport had always dealt with Dramuria and the Cadmian compound. He was
acutely conscious of that lack of knowledge about the west side of Dramur.
"I'd wager it's a good two glasses to the west shore."
"If it takes all day, we still need to do it."
"Yes, sir." Quelyt checked the harnesses, and then mounted and strapped
himself in.
Dainyl followed him, and in less than a quarter glass, they were airborne,
climbing westward away from the Cadmian compound.
To the immediate west of Dramuria, the dryness of the winter was all too
obvious. Dust swirled up in the light winds, and the vegetation, from what
grass there was to the leaves on the casaran trees, was tinged with brown or
tan. Even on the stone road that eventually led to the guano mine, the few
carts threw up fine dust that Dainyl could see from almost a vingt in the air.
A winding dirt or clay road branched off the mine road north of the town, less
than half a vingt beyond the point where the road to the compound separated
from the mine road and curved uphill and eastward. Given the narrowness of the
road west as it headed toward the mountains, Dainyl could certainly understand
why the larger growers preferred to send their produce by boat.
The wide blue wings beat evenly, and the air was calm enough that Dainyl was
able to get a steady view of the hills to the east of the mountains. Like the
area to the north, around the mine, the slopes were a mixture of open ground,
sandy and rocky, with scattered bushes and trees. The trees were scraggly
pines of some sort, and the leaves on the
bushes a faded green that suggested very little moisture had fallen recently.
For a time, as the pteridon carried the two Myrmidons westward, over the dry
foothills, the peaks of the mountains seemed as far away as when they had
first lifted off from the compound. Then, after they had flown almost a glass,
the hills began to steepen into low peaks, far lower than those around the
mines to the north of Dramuria. The tops were rocky, expanses of gray and
black stone.
Within another quarter glass, the ancient lava on the peaks had given way to
sandstone alone, and more ever greens were evident. Several times, Dainyl lost
sight of the narrow road winding its way through the hills, then the low
mountains, but just when he thought it had vanished for good, he caught sight
of yet another section of road.
Then they were over the mountains, and heading lower.
The hills to the west of the mountains were far greener than those on the east
side, and also looked less rugged, with rounded crests and wider and shallower
valleys. The trees were evergreens, mostly, from what Dainyl could see, and
there were few patches where nothing grew. While the hillsides were not lush,
they were well vegetated.
Quelyt turned and called back. "Looks greener over here."
"Quite a bit."
In places, Dainyl thought he saw evidence of timbering, but whoever had been
cutting had been doing so selectively, so that there was mixed old and new
growth. He smiled wryly. While timbering was frowned upon, he doubted that any
of the high alectors would bother with a lander grower who was cautious enough
to cut so carefully.
Ahead, just to the left of the winding road, was a long ridge. At one end was
a villa, with grounds surrounded by a stone wall.
'Take us over that villa!"
The pteridon banked slightly, then straightened.
The estate grounds enclosed by the stone wall were easily a vingt square, with
several gardens, and fountains. Gracefully curved stone lanes ran from the
main gate to the outbuildings, the stables, then to a separate lodge set
before an oval pool surrounded by a stone terrace. The main villa was a
rectangle with a courtyard within, and four separate gardens. One of the
gardens held a hedge maze with white gravel or stone paths. Another held an
array of flowers--winter or not--whose blooms were clear from above.
The pteridon swept past the villa before Dainyl could note everything.
"Do you want another look, sir?" called Quelyt.
"No. Just keep heading for the coast."
Dainyl kept scanning the rolling hills, with meadows, long lines of trees,
perhaps some of which were the local apple bananas, and recently tilled
fields.
He could see other estates, certainly of comparable size to the first, if not
larger, and the winding road that they had followed had become straighter--and
wider--and headed for the coast, and what looked to be a harbor.
Every so often, he could make a out a clump of houses, more like hamlets than
villages, but there weren't many more of those than villas from what he was
seeing.
They passed over another estate, except there were two villas within the
walls, and each was larger than the first villa that Dainyl had seen. The
outbuildings were numerous, including several across from stables that could
have passed for barracks, except for the laundry hung on lines behind the
structures. He didn't see a pool, but there was an open riding arena, although
he could make out neither riders nor horses at the moment.
The growers in the west were definitely far better off than those in the east.
"That looks like a harbor ahead," he called to Quelyt. "Let's see what it
looks like."
"Heading there, sir!"
The gently rolling hills actually rose as they neared the Lioastline. The
harbor was small, but well protected by rock bluffs, almost as if a volcanic
caldera had once stood there, and the ocean had broken through on the west,
leaving a circular green bay. Dainyl saw two stone piers and a schooner tied
to one. Several buildings, warehouses, stood at the shoreward end of the
piers.
Small harbor or not, the warehouses looked to be almost as extensive as those
at the port in Dramuria. Given what Dainyl had seen, that didn't surprise him.
What did surprise him was that there were no large villages. Most of the
people seemed to be gathered into the buildings on the villa grounds. What
also surprised him was that no one had mentioned the apparent wealth of the
western growers.
"Now what, sir?" asked Quelyt.
"North along the coast for a while. Then we'll swing back east."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl doubted that he would see anything much different from what they had
already observed, but he wanted to make sure. He had the feeling that he might
not have the time to make another trip for a while.

26
After a long day's patrol on Sexdi, Mykel had done two things. First, he had
made inquiries in Enstyla about Rachyla and Stylan Estate and obtained
directions to the estate. Then he had written up his report for the day and
dispatched it with a scout to Majer Vaclyn, who had set up a makeshift
headquarters in the nearby hamlet of Eltorana. The report had included a
summary of all the patrols, al-
though the single rifle taken from the well-attired woman was the only direct
evidence of any illegal or rebellious activities among all those riders and
wagons observed or stopped.
Early Septi morning, more than a glass before dawn, the scout returned with
written orders to Captain Mykel that Fifteenth Company was to suspend patrols
for the day and await the majer's arrival "for further orders." Mykel passed
the order to Bhoral to have the company ready to ride when the majer arrived.
Majer Vaclyn did not arrive until the ninth glass of the day, when he summoned
Mykel to meet him outside the barn used by Fifteenth Company. The majer stood
in the shade afforded by the northeast corner of the structure, well away from
the squad from Thirteenth Company that had accompanied him.
Mykel approached on foot and nodded. "Good morning, Majer."
"It is morning, Captain. I am not convinced that it is good." Vaclyn's right
hand dropped to his belt, his fingers briefly touching the hilt of the
throwing dagger sheathed there in place of the standard Cadmian belt knife.
There was a second dagger on the other side of his belt. Neither was
regulation, but, so far as Mykel knew, no one had ever said anything about the
weapons.
Mykel waited, sensing the majer's anger.
"You have not even set up a proper study--or a command position, I see,
Captain."
"I've been riding with the various squads, Majer."
"And how could they reach you in the event you were needed?"
"Each squad leader knew where to find me, sir."
"I'm sure." Vaclyn extracted several folded papers from his riding jacket. "I
have your report here, Captain. I cannot say that I understand it. You found a
woman with a contraband rifle. You took the rifle, but you did not take her
into custody."
"We confiscated the rifle and warned her of the offense, Majer."
"We have been searching for contraband. She had a contraband rifle. Yet you
saw fit not to bring her in, Captain? On what authority and on what basis did
you decide to ignore both your orders and the Code?" Vaclyn's voice was
cutting.
"I believe I wrote that out in my report, sir--"
"What you wrote has no basis in regulations or in the Code. Could you explain
to me, again, this time in terms I might understand, why you didn't?"
"Yes, sir." Mykel nodded, politely. "The woman was dressed very well, in the
kind of clothes that showed she had golds. She was accompanied by an older
woman, also well dressed, and she was driving a horse cart, the kind that was
almost new and well kept. She was shocked that I would ever dare to stop her.
The single rifle was the only piece of contraband."
"And that was why you didn't punish a violation of the Code?"
"No, sir. The rifle had no numbers, and that indicated that it was not stolen
from a Cadmian unit. Either it was an unauthorized gift, or it is an
indication of a much greater degree of smuggling. Because of those
possibilities, seizing and punishing the woman did not seem to justify the
risks. She seemed very well placed in Dramur. We are already being seen as
more of a danger to people than are the rebels and smugglers. I did not see
how punishing her would help matters. I had thought that a visit to her
estate, and a quiet explanation to either her father or husband, might well
gain more information and results than punishing her immediately. I did obtain
her name and location and verified them."
"And I suppose you intended to make that visit?" Vaclyn's tone was cutting.
"No, sir. I will, if you think it best, but I had thought that
someone with greater position and authority, such as you, might make a better
impression and gain more."
"We're here to uphold the Code, Captain."
"Yes, sir." Mykel managed to keep a polite expression on his face.
"Explain to me again how letting this woman go upholds the Code."
"I could not have proved that she even knew the rifle was there." That was
stretching things, but not by a great amount, because the woman was the kind
who could easily claim that before a justicer. "It was under the bench seat of
the cart. She was not holding it, and she never looked at it. There was no
other contraband in the cart, even hidden on the underside. Since she was
obviously well connected, possibly to someone of great wealth, and since the
rifle had no numbers, I felt that prudence was called for. Had she brandished
the weapon, or used it in any fashion, then there would have been no question
about applying the Code."
Vaclyn frowned. "But you had a squad there who observed the weapon."
"She had an aunt, also well attired, and most proper. We are foreign Cadmians.
I may have misjudged the situation, sir, but I felt it wiser to err on the
side of caution, rather than excess. If there are rebellious activities taking
place on her estate, they could not be concealed that quickly. If there are
not, then taking someone respected into custody might easily push the
landowners into supporting the rebels."
"I can see your concerns, Captain, but people must learn that the Code is the
Code, and that the laws are the laws, and position does not excuse breaking
those laws."
"Yes, sir. Do you wish me to take Fifteenth Company to her estate and convey a
warning to her?"
"Do you even know where this estate is, Captain?"
"Yes, sir. As I told you, I verified its location and her name. She is the
eldest daughter of the landholder, a man
named Ubarjyr. The estate is some thirteen vingts north of the center of
Enstyla, and two vingts west."
"Then perhaps we should make a call on this Ubarjyr, although it well may be
too late, given the fashion in which it has been handled."
Mykel merely nodded, although he had few doubts that handling it in the manner
suggested by Majer Vaclyn would have been worse than the way in which he had
handled it.
In less than a quarter glass, the troopers of Fifteenth Company--and those in
the squad from Thirteenth Company that had accompanied the majer--were riding
northward through a cool and breezy morning.
The majer did not offer any information or conversation for the first five
vingts.
"Could you tell me how matters are faring with the other companies?" asked
Mykel, after the long silence.
"Seventeenth Company is patrolling the area on each side of the road to the
mine. They have apprehended two escaped prisoners."
"And the others ... ?" prompted Mykel politely.
"Sixteenth Company has been patrolling the east-west road to the south of
here. They have so far been unable to apprehend anyone or anything. Thirteenth
Company has been providing security at Eltorana. Fourteenth Company has been
patrolling the highlands to the north and west of the mine. They have
encountered resistance and have taken some fire. They have killed several of
the insurgents, but have not yet taken any prisoners to obtain information."
"Would you judge that the majority of the insurgents are in the area being
covered by Fourteenth Company?"
"That remains to be seen, Captain. It is clear that Fourteenth Company has
been most successful so far."
If getting shot at was a measure of success, Mykel wasn't so certain he wanted
that kind of success. The majer was not about to offer more information, not
without Mykel's
prodding, and that prodding would just upset Vaclyn more. So he rode quietly
beside the majer.
They continued northward to the lane to the estate and westward on it until
they came to a pair of elaborately carved wooden gates blocking the lane.
There were two small raised guardhouses, set on heavy timbered bases in back
of and overlooking the closed gates. A timber stockade extended roughly fifty
yards on each side of the gates. The one on the right side ended at a pile of
boulders that filled the gap between the stockade and a rocky hillside rising
thirty some yards above the lane. On the left the stockade ended partway down
a gully filled with brush olives.
"You!" the majer snapped at the man in the left guardhouse. "Open those
gates!"
"Sir, these are the lands of Seltyr Ubarjyr. We do not admit anyone he has not
invited."
"We are here on the orders of the High Alector of Justice. Open the gates."
"I do not know this High Alector of Justice. I know that you have not been
invited."
"Ready rifles!" ordered Vaclyn.
"Ready rifles!" Mykel repeated.
More than one hundred rifles appeared in the hands of the troopers.
"We are not anyone^ snapped the majer. "I am Majer Vaclyn, and we are here
under the express orders of the Marshal of Myrmidons and the High Alector of
Justice. If you don't open those gates by the time I finish speaking, you
three will be very dead guards."
The three guards at the closed gates looked at the line of mounted riflemen.
One of them murmured, "... dead men, either way."
"Open the gates!" ordered the taller guard.
After several moments, the gates creaked open, revealing a stone-paved if
narrow lane heading due south beyond the
gates. Some fifty yards beyond the gates, the lane was bordered by trees,
which provided an arching cover of foliage. In the distance, upon a low hill,
Mykel saw an extensive villa, with brilliant blue tile roofing.
"Third squad, Thirteenth Company!" ordered the majer, "hold here and keep the
gates open!"
"Yes, sir! Holding here."
"Forward!" called Vaclyn.
Fifteenth Company, forward!" Mykel repeated.
As they neared the house, they passed a long and low stable. Mykel noted that
several stableboys who scurried back into the stable had been oiling the wood
of a horse cart-- the one used by Rachyla or an exact duplicate.
Ahead was the villa, surrounded by a sandstone wall slightly more than two
yards high, with the only entrance an opening marked by two sandstone pillars,
on which were hung a set of decorative iron gates, drawn open. Beyond the
gates was a paved entry courtyard, with a circular fountain set directly
between the gates and the roofed portico that stood at the top of the wide
stone steps. Behind the portico was a covered walkway leading to the villa
itself.
A darker-skinned man in washed-out blue trousers and shirt appeared at the top
of the sandstone steps. His eyes darted from side to side as he looked at the
two officers and the company drawn up in the outer part of the courtyard.
"You can announce us, Captain."
"Majer Vaclyn, Captain Mykel, here to see Ubarjyr and Rachyla," Mykel told the
man.
"Ah ... they are not here."
Mykel smiled politely, and directed his rifle--one-handed--in the general
direction of the man. "That's not true. I happened to see Rachyla's cart
outside the stable, and it was being cleaned and oiled."
"I meant that Seltyr Ubarjyr was not here, sir."
"Then we will begin by seeing Rachyla until the good seltyr returns," replied
Mykel.
"I cannot... make her appear... officers ..."
"She has a choice," Mykel said reasonably. "She can invite us in, or we can
invite ourselves in with our rifles."
Suddenly, the dark-haired Rachyla appeared under the portico. Although she
stood in the shade, to Mykel, she seemed almost luminous. "What are you
officers doing here?"
"We came to see you and the seltyr," Mykel replied. 'To talk over a few
things."
"I cannot imagine what such matters might be," the woman replied. "We have
nothing of interest to you."
Mykel could sense the untruth, yet she did not exactly reek of duplicity. She
had stated something that was not true, yet projected her words with utter
conviction. He wanted to smile at her effrontery. "You have a great deal of
interest to us, especially after your trip south on the road to Enstyla
yesterday."
"You must be mistaken, officers," Rachyla replied. "I never left the estate
yesterday." Her smile was guileless.
Mykel sensed her satisfaction in confronting them. She was up to something.
What?
Abruptly, he turned in the saddle. "Bhoral! Take fourth and fifth squads!
Surround the stables. Rifles ready! Return any fire you receive!"
"Fourth squad!"
"Fifth squad..."
"What--" began the majer.
"She's stalling us," Mykel said in a low voice. "The only reason for that is
to allow her sire to escape or to bring in reinforcements." He rode forward,
practically to the base of the steps, his eyes surveying the pillars and the
wall behind them.
For the first time, Rachyla looked uncertain.
Mykel vaulted out of the saddle, rifle in hand, and went up the stone steps
two at a time.
Crack.' Crack!
He was less than a yard from Rachyla when the first shots echoed from beyond
the courtyard wall.
"All squads, fire at will!" he ordered.
The next shot went past his ear, just as he grabbed the woman's forearm and
pulled her behind one of the pillars--away from the line of fire from the
eastern side of the portico.
"Shoot to kill!" yelled the majer.
"Let me go!" demanded Rachyla, aiming a kick at his groin.
Mykel took her boot on his outer thigh, then grabbed the boot and yanked,
dropping her on the stone--hard. For the moment that she was stunned, he
brought the rifle up and turned, firing instinctively in the direction from
which he had been attacked, willing his shots to strike.
Men in green, carrying Cadmian rifles, appeared at the top of the walls and
began to fire at the troopers. Only a handful flattened themselves against the
stone, most remaining standing.
Within moment, most of them were down, one way or another.
Rachyla shook her head, as if trying to clear her senses, and started to
scramble away. Mykel grabbed her arm and dragged her back down the steps
toward the first squad. "Hendyl! Tie her up, and don't let her get away."
After thrusting Rachyla at the ranker, Mykel scrambled back into the saddle,
but by the time he was mounted, the attackers had vanished. "First squad! Hold
position. Take out anyone who fires! Second and third squads, follow me!"
Mykel turned the chestnut and headed back out through the entry, two squads
following him. As he had thought, some of the seltyr's men were fleeing toward
an orchard. "Rifles away. Sabres out!"
Mykel was adequate with a sabre. Riding down men who ran from him, he didn't
have to be better than that.
When the two squads re-formed just short of the orchard a
quarter glass later, only a handful of those who had fled had escaped. Another
half score had been wounded or captured.
"Back to the villa. Get the prisoners moving."
Another quarter glass had passed by the time Mykel and the two squads and the
prisoners were back inside the walls. Only half of first squad remained in the
courtyard, with the mounts of the other half score. The bodies of two troopers
had been strapped across their saddles, and two others were having their
wounds bound.
"The majer took a half squad into the place, sir," Hendyl reported.
Mykel nodded. "Just hold here, rifles ready." He raised his voice. "Second
squad. Hold here for backup! With the prisoners. Third squad, we're headed for
the stables." The whole situation was a mess, but he could only do what he
thought best
By the time he reached the stables, fourth and fifth squads had already
re-formed, with fewer than ten prisoners that the squads were herding back
past the outbuildings to the main house. Mykel saw a good score of bodies
sprawled on the open space around the stables.
"Sir! There were a good two squads worth out here," announced Bhoral. "Not any
good with the basics. They couldn't shoot that well."
"Cadmian rifles, too?"
"Yes, sir. We got those collected."
"How about casualties?"
"One dead, maybe three wounded. We've got everything secured here, sir."
"Good. Thank you, Bhoral. Stand by here. I'll take third squad back to the
villa."
"Yes, sir."
As he turned the chestnut back toward the villa, Mykel surveyed the road to
the gates and the surrounding areas. He saw no one moving, except for
Cadmians. It had been a mess, but it could have been worse, much worse. All
the in-
formation he had been given had been about smugglers and escaped prisoners,
but no one had even hinted that the rebels--or those who had broken the Code
and obtained smuggled Cadmian rifles--were the wealthy seltyrs of Dra-mur. That
worried him more than the attack itself had.
When he returned to the villa courtyard, Majer Vaclyn and the half of first
squad he had commandeered were returning from within the villa, ushering three
servants, who carried a dead man dressed in ornate green--the seltyr Ubarjyr,
no doubt. On the steps, her hands bound behind her, Rachyla stood, her eyes
hard and cold. She did not look in Mykel's direction, but at the majer. Had
her eyes been a rifle or a crossbow, the majer would have been dead.
Vaclyn turned to Mykel. "Your report, Captain."
"We captured or killed almost a company's worth of retainers. We've lost three
men--so far--and about that many wounded. They were using Cadmian rifles. Squads
four and five are holding the stables and outbuildings."
Vaclyn nodded grudgingly, then said, "We need a complete search of the
buildings and grounds, Captain." He paused but for a moment, "Just one
contraband rifle, now?"
Mykel thought about pointing out that he had never felt that there had been
just one, only that he had not seen the wisdom in taking Rachyla into custody
at that point. He decided against correcting the majer. "Quite a few, sir.
Would you mind if we used two squads to search, one to guard the prisoners,
and two to make sure that we don't get attacked by any more of this seltyr's
retainers?"
"That sounds most prudent, Captain. I will be accompanying you personally. I
would suggest that you observe the seltyr's study."
Mykel turned to Gendsyr. "Send a scout to Bhoral at the stables. He's to use
one squad to search the buildings for contraband and one to stand guard. Have
first squad stand guard here."
"Scout to the senior squad leader, yes, sir."
The captain caught Chyndylt's eye. 'Third squad will search the villa for
contraband. No looting, and no souvenirs!"
"Yes, sir."
Mykel dismounted and let the majer lead the way along the covered walkway from
the portico to the main entrance to the single-level villa. The roof of the
walkway was supported by columns of ivory marble, and between the columns were
raised planters containing a profusion of small purple-and-gold flowers. The
walkway itself was of plain ivory marble.
Double doors, of solid golden oak and carved with half reliefs of vines and
grapes, stood ajar at the villa's entrance. Just inside was an oblong foyer,
only four yards deep but a good eight from side to side. On the walls were
hung tapestries with interlocking designs of purple and gold, woven with
threads that seemingly matched the colors of the flowers bordering the
walkway.
Majer Vaclyn walked through the archway opposite the entrance and down another
marble-floored corridor, the sound of his boots muffled by the heavy
green-and-gold carpet runner that covered the middle of the corridor floor.
The right side of the corridor was composed of a waist-high half wall, with
regularly spaced structural marble pillars, that separated the corridor from
the covered section of the central courtyard. Inward from the covered area was
an open area holding five fountains, and four herb gardens, one in each
corner.
"The next door is the study," announced the majer.
Just outside the study, Mykel saw a body that had been pulled to the side of
the corridor, leaving a series of blood smears on the polished white marble.
He bent down. The dead woman was the one who had accompanied Rachyla. "Sir?
Did Fifteenth Company shoot this woman?"
"No ... not that I saw, Captain. She was dead when we got here."
Vaclyn thought he was telling the truth. So who had shot Astylara?Why?
The seltyr's study measured ten yards by fifteen, with bookshelves on all the
walls. Less than a quarter of the shelves held books. Most of the spaces were
filled with decorative objects--golden vases, small statues of horses, one of a
pteridon with spread wings, the bust of a beautiful woman wearing an elaborate
golden choker adorned with emeralds and diamonds.
The single desk was of black oak, and completely bare except for an open
ledger.
At one end of the study--in a weapons rack--were three Cadmian rifles, all
polished and shimmering. Suspecting that the magazines were full, Mykel
checked. They were, as was the magazine of the rifle lying on the faf end of
the heavy Indyoran carpet that covered most of the marble-floored study. The
splotches of blood on the top of the barrel had dried.
Just beyond the rifle, a bookcase was swung away from the wall, revealing a
chamber beyond. Several books lay on the marble floor. Two were open, pages
loose from where bullets had hit them. Blood was splattered on the floor as
well.
"Seltyr Ubarjyr was coming out of that chamber there when we came through the
door. He didn't get his rifle up in time."
Mykel could tell the majer was lying. Ubarjyr had been holding the rifle, but
he'd never raised it. He would have tried to make a deal, and Vaclyn wasn't
interested in deals. He wanted the dead body of a rebel landowner. A dead body
with contraband rifles around was much more convenient. Mykel did wonder why
the majer had used a rifle, rather than his beloved knives.
"You should look in the chamber, Captain."
Mykel did, although, from Vaclyn's tone, he knew what he would find.
Four cases of Cadmian rifles were stacked on one side of the long and narrow
room. On the other were close to forty smaller cases of ammunition.
"Quite a bit of ammunition here," Mykel observed, knowing that the majer would
need an acknowledgment.
"There is, isn't there?" Vaclyn looked hard at Mykel. "What have you learned
today, Captain?" The majer's voice was low and hard.
"There's more rebel activity here than meets the eye, and it's not just
escaped prisoners."
"That is brilliantly obvious." Vaclyn snorted. "You could have lost your
entire company! The only reason that you didn't is that these rebels hadn't
learned to use their weapons well. There is a reason for following the Code
directly. From now on, Captain, you take anyone with any contraband into
custody. I don't care if it's the local justicer or the wealthiest grower in
Dramur. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"One more incident like this, and I will recommend that you stand
court-martial for insubordination and recommend your dismissal in disgrace."
"Yes, sir." Mykel managed to keep his face immobile, furious as he was.
"Your talents obviously lie more in direct action, Captain. Tomorrow,
Fifteenth Company will ride to relieve Fourteenth Company, and you will patrol
the area north of the mine, and you will capture or kill, as necessary, the
escaped miners."
"Yes, sir."
"We will search the rest of the villa. With a room like this, we probably
won't find any more, but we need to look. We'll take whatever wagons the
estate has to transport contraband back to Dramuria."
Mykel searched the hidden room, but found nothing more than the rifles, the
ammunition, and five locked chests, doubtless containing golds, although he
did not
break the locks. By shifting them, he could hear and feel the coins move.
Then, once Majer Vaclyn had left, he went back to the desk and looked at the
open ledger, studying the entries. He saw nothing about rifles or ammunition,
but the number of golds spent on various things, from bolts of cloth to horses
and even iron rods, was staggering. One entry alone for bolts of cotton was
two hundred golds--four times more than the cost of a factor's great house in
Faitel.
For Mykel, the question remained--why had Ubarjyr risked everything to smuggle
in so many rifles and so much ammunition? It didn't make sense, not with what
Mykel knew.
He shook his head. He needed to get back to overseeing his men. Although he
had assigned squad leaders whom he trusted not to loot, it would be better if
he were supervising what the men were doing.

27
As both the majer and Mykel had suspected, a search of the estate buildings
revealed no contraband besides that already found in the secret chamber off
the study. It did reveal a hidden storeroom filled with recently sewn uniforms
in green with gold trim and with several score cartridge belts, along with the
leather cut for several score more.
Once Fifteenth Company had gathered the wagons filled with rifles, ammunition,
uniforms, and cartridge belts, Majer Vaclyn had returned the estate to the
care of the steward--with severe warnings about supporting smuggling and
handling contraband weapons. Then the majer had accompanied Fifteenth Company,
the prisoners--
fifteen of the men in the green uniforms and Rachyla--and the wagons for
several vingts southward. Mykel had really wanted to talk to Rachyla, but he
wasn't about to try that with the majer around, not when Vaclyn already
thought he'd initially let her go because she was attractive.
She was, Mykel admitted to himself, but that had not been his reasoning, not
that he'd ever convince the majer. So he kept riding, and listening to Vaclyn.
"Some of these growers... they've been a law unto themselves, and they have to
learn that the Code applies to them just like everyone else ... and it applies
to us as well, Captain. I don't want you forgetting that."
"No, sir." Mykel wasn't about to forget how Vaclyn thought about that.
After another quarter glass, the majer turned in the saddle once more, his
eyes on Mykel. "Here is where I leave you, Captain. I'll be heading directly
to Dramuria to report on , this to the Myrmidon colonel. I expect you to ride
straight through with the prisoners and the evidence. Be alert! Someone might
try to ambush you to get the weapons."
"Yes, sir." Mykel had thought of that already. He had two lines of scouts out.
"Good day, Captain." With that, the majer had nodded and ridden ahead with the
squad from Thirteenth Company.
Mykel and Bhoral rode silently until the majer and his squad were well out of
sight.
"What do you make of all this, sir?" asked the senior squad leader.
"It seems clear that someone among the alectors had a good idea that something
was about to happen here."
"If they knew that, why did they send us?"
"Maybe they didn't know who had the guns and where they were, just that they'd
been smuggled to Dramur. Pteri-dons aren't very effective if you don't know
where to point those lancers. You could burn up a lot of villas and destroy a
lot of estates and not get anything."
"So we're doing the grunt work, sort of moving targets to flush these rebels
out?"
Mykel offered a rueful laugh. "It's beginning to look that way."
"I still don't see why the seltyr just didn't open up the villa and invite you
and the majer in. We couldn't have found those hidden rooms, not without
bashing holes in the walls, and even the majer wouldn't have done that."
Mykel wasn't sure about that.
"If we came back, ready to do that, we wouldn't have found anything," Bhoral
concluded. "Or they would have set up a real ambush."
Thoughts along those lines had occurred to Mykel. "I think I'll see if the
young woman might answer some questions."
"Good luck, Captain. She looked like she'd be happy to see us all flogged and
flamed."
Mykel turned his mount back along the road until he reached the wagons and the
string of mounts that carried the uninjured prisoners. Although Rachyla still
had her hands tied behind her, she rode more easily than did Mykel as he eased
his mount around and up beside her.
She kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring the captain.
"Good afternoon, Rachyla."
Rachyla did not look at Mykel, nor did she answer.
"Since you're not responding to pleasantries, perhaps you'd like to tell me
why your father gathered all those rifles. He had to have known it was against
the Code."
Rachyla said nothing, and she continued looking at the troopers before her and
the road.
"Did you think I could just let you go on breaking the Code? Or that the majer
would allow me to?"
She still said nothing.
"How could you--or he--believe you could stockpile all those Cadmian rifles
without someone finding out?"
There was no response.
"He was building his own army. There were uniforms and cartridge belts. How
could he possibly have thought he could get away with it?"
She turned in the saddle and stared directly at Mykel. "You are an idiot,
Captain. He was betrayed by those he trusted, just as you will be." Then she
turned away, looking directly ahead of her at the long and gently winding road
that led back to Dramuria.
Mykel tried another long string of questions, but the one response was all
that he got from her. After riding beside her for more than three vingts, he
finally rode back to the head of the column, where he eased his mount up
beside that of Gendsyr.
"Captain?"
"I just had a few questions, Gendsyr, about what first squad was doing with
the majer. I'll have to write a report on it, and I wasn't there." Mykel
offered an embarrassed smile.
"Wasn't really all that much. After you took care of the ones firing at us, he
ordered half the first squad to follow him. Didn't take all that long before
he was back, and so were you."
Mykel should have realized that Gendsyr would have been left holding the
courtyard. "Who went with the majer who could tell me what happened?"
The squad leader turned in the saddle. "Halomer! Ride up here!"
"Coming, sir." Halomer was an older ranker, probably older than Mykel, who
rode well and slipped his mount between those of the captain and the squad
leader.
"Captain here wants to know what you did in the villa with the majer."
"We just followed him. Everyone pretty much got out of the way until we got to
that study. Some servant tried to stop
us, and the majer clubbed him aside and charged inside. That was the first
time there were any shots."
"Did anyone from first squad fire their weapons in the study?" asked Mykel.
"No, sir. The majer went in first, and he had his rifle out."
"So he killed the seltyr?"
"I didn't see that, sir. I was behind the majer. He fired, and when we got in
there, the seltyr was down. He was dead."
"You searched the rest of the villa after that?"
"No, sir. The majer looked around the study. Then we went back to the front
under those pillars. That was when you came back. We didn't do any searching
until you ordered it." Ś     Mykel nodded. "Thank you. That's all."
"Yes, sir."
As Halomer let his mount drop back, Mykel turned to Gendsyr. "Is there
anything else I missed that I should know?"
The squad leader frowned. "Don't think so, sir."
With a faint smile, Mykel nodded. "Thank you." He eased the chestnut forward
to rejoin Bhoral in the van.
Why had the majer killed the seltyr? Was it because he knew that the man would
somehow escape, because of his connections and wealth? Vaclyn had certainly
seen enough to be that cynical, and he was zealous enough to want to see the
Code upheld, almost at any cost. That he had certainly made clear to Mykel.
Ubarjyr had been betrayed by those he had trusted. That Rachyla had believed.
But how could anyone trust smugglers or whoever dealt in contraband weapons?
Had the Cadmians in Dramuria been involved? Was that why Majer Herryf had been
unable to supply any detailed information? That was certainly a possibility.
But he had no proof, although that sort of conspiracy would certainly explain
many of the strange aspects of the Third Battalion's
deployment to Dramur, including why Majer Vaclyn had made sure that the seltyr
had been killed.
All Mykel could do was keep his eyes and ears open-- and try not to trust
anyone. He shifted his weight in the saddle and took a deep breath.

28
Darkness had long since fallen over the Cadmian compound north of Dramuria by
the time Mykel and Fifteenth Company arrived on Septi night. While Bho-ral
settled the rest of the company, Mykel and second squad escorted the captives
to the confinement barracks. There, the senior squad leader in charge of the
confinement barracks told Mykel that Rachyla would be confined in the
officer's cell on the ground floor of the adjoining building.
Mykel walked beside Rachyla, her hands still bound behind her. Four troopers
followed them. In the dimness away from the wall lamps, she stumbled on an
uneven stone, and Mykel steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
"If you don't mind, Captain ..."
"Just making sure you don't try to escape," he answered lightly.
"You think that a mere woman could escape from here? With so many brave
Cadmians around?" Her voice was openly scornful.
"If anyone could, you could," Mykel replied quietly.
Her only response was a disdainful laugh.
There were two guards already posted outside the officer's cell. An iron grate
covered the closed shutters.
"Sir?" asked the guards.
"This is Lady Rachyla. She will be confined here. I'd like to check the
quarters."
The two guards exchanged glances.
"One of you can come in, or not, as you please. My men will guard outside
until I leave."
"As you wish, sir. So long as she stays safe inside."
"She'll stay." Mykel had his doubts about her safety anywhere, but there was
little that he could do.
The shorter guard opened the heavy wooden door. Mykel stepped inside and
glanced around the spartan room, dimly lit only by the wall lamps outside on
each side of the door. All the cell held were a bed, a desk, and a stool, plus
pegs on the wall. A chamber pot stood in one corner. He walked around for a
moment, then turned. "Bring the lady inside."
"I can walk in myself." She did.
"You can close the door. I need to ask her some questions."
"Yes, sir."
Mykel had no doubts they thought he had other ideas, but he also didn't want
any rankers hanging over his shoulder. He waited until the door clunked shut.
The cell was dark, but the faint light seeping through the shutters was
enough. His night vision had always been good.
"Turn around," he said.
"Why?"
"So I can untie your wrists."
Rachyla turned.
"Don't move. I may have to cut these."
He didn't, but he did have to use the point of the knife to loosen the outer
knot. Before he finished loosening her bonds, he sheathed the knife. Then,
leaving her to work free the last of the rope, he stepped back.
She turned to face him in the dimness. "Such an honorable man you are,
Captain. I never would have guessed."
"Sit down. I need some answers." He raised his voice, facing the door.
"I am not sitting on the bed, Captain."
"Then sit on the stool or stand," Mykel replied. "As you please."
"What would please me would be to depart here." Rachyla continued to stand.
"That is unlikely, although if anyone could manage it, you probably could."
"I am the captive, and you seek to flatter me? Are you so deprived that you
would seek pleasure from a prisoner? Do you think I would sell myself so
cheaply?"
Once more Mykel could sense that her words were not bravado, but more like a
statement of fact. "No. You might find yourself forced, but you would never
sell yourself."
"You know me so well?"
"No. I don't know you at all. I can tell some things about you, and that's one
that was obvious from the time I saw you driving that cart. Why were you
carrying that rifle? Had someone just left it there, and you didn't want to be
bothered by taking it back?"
The moment of silence was enough for Mykel to judge that he was close to the
truth. He laughed, ruefully. "And you wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of
knowing that. I should have guessed."
As he looked at her, he thought he saw, despite the darkness, a trace of
brightness in and around her eyes. "I'm sorry. I wish it had been otherwise. I
imagine you do as well."
"I don't need pity, Captain. Or false sympathy. Or anything else."
"Did you know your father was stockpiling so many weapons?" Mykel really
didn't want to ask the question, but he needed to ask some, just in case
Vaclyn inquired.
Rachyla didn't answer.
"You said he was betrayed? Who betrayed him? The smugglers who brought the
weapons?"
"Do you think my father would ever have trusted a smuggler to keep his word,
Captain?" Rachyla laughed, a full but bitter sound.
'Then who was it? The local council?"
"The council is nothing. Neither are your alectors. The true and rightful
rulers of Dramur are its seltyrs."
"The true and rightful rulers? You deny the Duarches?"
Rachyla looked straight at Mykel, but said nothing, offering what might have
been a faint and sad smile.
"You truly believe that?"
She remained mute.
"If you did escape, what would you do?"
There was no answer.
Mykel laughed, gently and stepped back. "Good night, Lady Rachyla." Then he
rapped on the door. "I'm finished here."
When the door opened, all six Cadmians had rifles trained on the doorway.
Rachyla's brief laughter filled the courtyard, cut off as one of the local
Cadmian rankers closed the door, shoved both the heavy iron bolts into place,
then snapped the lock shut.
"Thank you." Mykel inclined his head to the guards.
"You find out anything, sir?"
"A little. Not as much as I'd like, but she wasn't about to say more now."
"She will in time. They all do. Every one."
That might have been, but Mykel was convinced that Rachyla was anything but
everyone.
He looked at his own rankers. "Let's go."
As he crossed the courtyard, he thought about his brief interaction with the
seltyr's daughter. Rachyla didn't care for him, and she shouldn't have, given
what he had been forced to do, but she had also been giving him a message, and
that message was most clear. Someone in the Cadmians, or in the government of
the Duarchy, had been involved. Who or why--those were questions whose answers
were the merest speculation.
If what she had intimated happened to be true, Mykel and
Fifteenth Company, indeed, the entire Third Battalion, faced a much more
complicated situation than anyone could have known--and there was nothing Mykel
could say about it. The majer wouldn't listen, and there was no one above him,
not within hundreds of vingts, to whom Mykel dared entrust such information.
Not until he knew more.
He did wish that he'd met Rachyla under other circumstances, but that wouldn't
have made any difference. She was wealthy--and he was a crafter's son and a
city boy, and now she was likely to spend years in confinement, or even be
executed, and it was largely Mykel's doing. All he'd had to do would have been
to ignore the rifle.
He laughed, ironically. That was the one thing he couldn't have done unless he
wanted to be responsible for scores of Cadmian deaths.

29
After a short early-morning flight on Octdi
with Falyna--a flight that revealed nothing, including in the area around the
ancient tunnel--Dainyl was walking across the Cadmian courtyard when Captain
Meryst hurried up to him.
"Colonel, sir... Majer Herryf would beg your indulgence to join him in his
study at your earliest convenience."
"Thank you, Captain." Dainyl smiled politely. "Did he say what might be so
urgent?"
"He said that a large cache of contraband weapons had been discovered in an
unanticipated location, sir. That is all he said, except that I was to tell no
one that, save you."
"I will be there shortly, then." Dainyl debated making the arrogant majer
wait, but such tactics would be lost on the
majer and only make his own day longer. He turned and followed the captain,
shortening his stride to match steps with the much smaller Cadmian officer.
Two Cadmian officers bolted upright as Dainyl strode into Majer Herryf's
study. Behind Dainyl, Captain Meryst closed the door, taking care to remain
outside and leave the three more senior officers alone. Dainyl repressed a
smile of amusement at Meryst's quiet tact, so at odds with Herryf's manner.
"I am sorry to bother you, Colonel." Herryf nodded to the other officer,
standing beside him. "Majer Vaclyn has arrived with a... startling report."
Dainyl disliked Herryf's fawning and apologetic tone even more than the
majer's arrogance, which remained beneath the subservience. "What might that
be?" He turned to the Third Battalion majer, the older of the two Cadmian
officers.
"Colonel, you might recall that the Third Battalion has been patrolling the
roads north of where the smugglers were detected. On Sexdi, the captain of
Fifteenth Company discovered a single rifle in the horse cart of the daughter
of a local seltyr. The rifle was Cadmian-issue, but without the usual maker's
stamped numbers. Because the woman seemed unaware of the rifle, and because
the captain decided to proceed cautiously, despite the requirements of the
Code, of which he has since been made well aware, I took command of Fifteenth
Company yesterday morning, and we proceeded to Stylan Estate, the dwelling of
the woman, who turned out to be the daughter of Seltyr Ubarjyr..."
At the seltyr's name, Dainyl noted a certain uneasiness in Majer Herryf, but
he merely nodded for the long-winded Vaclyn to continue.
"Fifteenth Company found a closed and locked outer gate, and when we reached
the seltyr's villa, we were attacked by more than fivescore uniformed
retainers using rifles. The rifles turned out to be Cadmian weapons. Fifteenth
Company subdued the insurgents with minimal casualties. There were over
fourscore of them killed, including the sel-tyr, and fifteen captured, while
Fifteenth Company, under my direction, lost but four rankers and had five
wounded. After the skirmish, we inspected the villa and found another five
cases of rifles, more than forty cases of ammunition, as well as uniforms and
cartridge belts."
"You say that the seltyr was behind this?" asked Dainyl.
"Yes, sir," replied Vaclyn. "The last cases of rifles and ammunition were
discovered in a hidden room that opened only into his private study."
"You seem to have been most effective, Majer. You may recall that I am here
only as an observer, however."
"Yes, sir," replied Herryf smoothly, "but as an observer, we thought you
should be the first to know about this. If you wish, and, of course, only if
you wish, you could interrogate the captives. One of them is the seltyr's
daughter."
"You brought her here?"
"How could we not, Colonel?" Vaclyn seemed to expand with indignation. "She
was the one who had the first contraband rifle, and the one who was trying to
delay us while the insurgents tried to get into position to attack."
"Under those circumstances, I imagine you could see no other alternative."
Dainyl paused. "I suppose it could not hurt to talk to some of them." He
didn't like the idea, but if there was information that had not been
uncovered, and the marshal found out later... that would not be at all in
DainyPs favor. He smiled at Herryf. "Is there anything else?"
"Ah... no, sir."
"Then, if you would have someone escort me to the captives." He looked to
Vaclyn. "My congratulations, Majer."
"Thank you, sir."
Herryf followed Dainyl out of the study, and beckoned to Captain Meryst.
"Please take the colonel to the captives."
Meryst half bowed, then turned to Dainyl. "The woman
is in a room set aside for officers. It is in a separate building. Would you
prefer to see her first or after the others?"
"First, I would think."
Meryst led the way to a building in the middle of those set close to the
compound's south wall. The ground-level door at the east end was guarded by a
pair of Cadmian rankers.
"Her name is Rachyla. She is the eldest daughter of Sel-tyr Ubarjyr." Meryst
stopped before the pair of guards outside the door. "The colonel will be
interrogating the prisoner."
One of the guards took out a large, tarnished, brass key and inserted it into
a lock. With a heavy click, the lock opened. Then he retracted both iron
bolts. Dainyl had to lower his head to enter the room, and once inside, the
top of his head almost touched the low ceiling. The door closed behind him,
although he did not hear the click of a lock again.
The woman, her hair as dark and shimmering as that of an alector, was seated
on a tall stool at a small desk, writing. She turned to the door as he
entered. Her face froze, and she turned away.
"Your name is Rachyla. How did you end up here?"
The woman did not look at Dainyl, but he could sense anger. Not fear, but
anger.
"You're fortunate that you're a woman," he said mildly.
Rachyla did not answer.
"You were involved in a revolt," said Dainyl quietly. "That was not exactly
wise."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"You are angry. Yet we have never met."
"I have nothing to say."
Behind the anger was also a sense of dread and despair, a strange combination.
Although he tried a number of questions and approaches, even with a hint of
Talent-projection and -persuasion, she said nothing more. While she did not
seem to be Talented,
she was resistant to mild Talent-persuasion, and Dainyl decided against using
greater Talent, since there was no certainty that it would work and the
effects could be detected by a Talented alector, such as the marshal or the
Highest. After close to half a glass, he left.
From there, Meryst escorted him to the holding cells in a squat and square
building set against the southeast corner of the compound.
The guards brought the first prisoner to the interrogation room, where Dainyl
sat in a too-small chair. The man was young. His left arm was bandaged
heavily, and he slumped onto the stool. His eyes avoided Dainyl.
"Why did you fire on the Cadmians?"
The rebel did not answer.
Dainyl tried to Talent-project compulsion on the slightest level. After a
moment, he asked again, "Why did you fire?"
The young man shivered, then replied, "Squad leader said to fire on them,
sir."
"Did you hit any of them?"
"I don't know. They shot back so quickly. They killed so many of us. So
quickly. Their captain, he shot three or four himself."
"Who commanded you?"
The rebel looked at the colonel blankly.
"Who was in charge of the squad leaders, and who was in charge of that
person?"
"Oh, Nurqueyt, he was the captain. His orders came from Seltyr Ubarjyr."
"Who gave orders to the seltyr?"
"No one, sir. No one gives orders to a seltyr." The young man looked appalled,
then added quickly, "Except an alector, sir."
"How long had you been training?"
"A season or so, sir. But we only got the rifles three weeks ago, maybe
four... it was after Pabolar's birthday."
"Are there other companies training?"
"I don't know, sir."
"What do you think?"
"There might be a few others, but there aren't many. Captain Nurqueyt said
that we were fortunate. The rifles were hard to come by ..."
Dainyl talked to the young man for another quarter glass. After that, he
talked to all the others, and it was well into the afternoon before he
returned to his quarters. All of the captives had said variations of the same
things.
Two things had stood out. The first was the anger of the lander woman. She had
not only immediately recognized Dainyl as an alector, but his presence had
angered her--not frightened her. That alone suggested that she had seen
alec-tors or known of their actions. Then there were the rifles-- and the
timing of their arrival in Dramur. The High Alector of Justice--or Marshal
Shastylt--had to have learned about the incipient rebellion early, perhaps even
while the rifles were on their way to Dramur. That was likely to be the
explanation he received--if he could find a way to ask that question in a
fashion that didn't threaten his own future. If he even bothered with the
question ... because it seemed clear enough to him that somehow the marshal
and the Highest had arranged for the rifles to be shipped to the sel-tyr. Why
was another question, and one he needed to be more careful in investigating,
far more careful, he suspected, than had been Submarshal Tyanylt.

30
Mykel and Fifteenth Company rode northwest over yet another narrow road,
toward the town of Jy-oha. Both sides of the road were without shoulders and
bordered by brush olives and other growth, but all of it was
just high enough and thick enough so that seeing more than a few yards into
the growth was difficult. At the same time, he was following a map about which
he had more than a few doubts with orders that he trusted even less. How
exactly was he supposed to "capture and subdue rebel forces opposed to the
Code of the Duarches" with almost no information on how large such forces
might be or where they were.
As he rode and studied the road, rising slowly before him to cross between two
low hills more than a vingt ahead, Mykel tried to figure out where he had
erred in the mess at Stylan Estate. Should he just have followed the Code
blindly, as the majer had demanded? Mykel still thought that his instincts had
been right. If he taken Rachyla into custody immediately, Seltyr Ubarjyr would
have protested. His daughter would have been returned, either flogged or
merely admonished, and at some time in the future, armed attacks would have
occurred, either against one of the battalion's companies or against other
growers. Certainly, the seltyr had to have been making plans to arm his forces
for some time. But why? And for what purpose?
Why had Majer Vaclyn gone out of his way, even put himself in danger, to make
certain that the seltyr was dead? Was that because he feared that the seltyr's
capture would create a rallying point? If matters were so desperate, why
hadn't a ajpipany of Myrmidons been sent in? Or was Vaclyn covering up
something?
Who in the Duarchy had betrayed the seltyr? It had to be someone high enough--a
regional bursar? Someone even higher? But why would anyone higher, an alector,
even bother with a local grower? Why would anyone want to arm locals, when the
alectors went out of their way to keep rifles out of the hands of landers and
indigens? Mykel took a deep breath. For all his questions, he neither had
answers nor any way to find them, and worrying over them would just distract
him from the tasks at hand.
He looked at the rise in the road ahead, where it passed between the low
hills. Although he couldn't say why, something bothered him. That was another
problem. His feelings were often right, but he'd been raised as a city boy,
and he couldn't always explain--either to squad leaders or to his superiors--why
he had done something or not done it.
One of the scouts reined up short, more than a half vingt ahead of the
vanguard. Mykel watched as the trooper pulled out his rifle and fired at the
ground in front of him. A plume of dust rose, more than should have. The
trooper nodded and started to turn his mount.
Crack! At the sound of the rifle, both scouts completed the turn and spurred
their mounts back toward the van of Fifteenth Company.
"Company halt! Rifles ready!" snapped Mykel. "Road oblique! Both sides!"
First squad swung out to the left, and second to the right, as much as they
could, in a staggered formation that allowed more rifles to be aimed at an
enemy ahead.
Another short volley of shots chased the returning scouts, all coming from the
brush-covered hillside to the right of the road. None appeared to strike the
two Cadmians.
"Take cover on the right!" Mykel ordered.
As the scouts neared, Mykel gestured them to him. "What did you find?"
"Pits ... holes in the road," explained Gerant^reining up and bringing his
mount as close to the brush olive as he could. "Looked like sharpened stakes
in them. Not all that deep, maybe a third to a half yard, but deep enough to
mess up a mount. If you were riding hard ..."
Mykel understood--a broken leg or worse for the mount and a broken neck for the
rider.
Over the next quarter glass, there where were no more shots, and no sounds
from ahead. In the end, Mykel chose slowness and cover, using the first two
squads to advance on foot, using poles to probe any suspicious ground and
keep-
ing close to the brush olives. Fifteenth Company took no other shots, but more
than two glasses passed before the company held the rise. They also discovered
more than a score of pits, most a yard wide and a third of a yard deep. A
darkish substance had been smeared on the stakes. Pickets had been posted in
all directions, but Mykel doubted they would see or hear anyone.
"Have them use something to break them and fill the holes," Mykel told Bhoral.
"If we leave those ... how many riders will get hurt, including some of our
own dispatch riders? Can you imagine what the majer will have to say,
especially after the mess in Enstyla?"
Bhoral nodded slowly. "Sorry time when mounted rifles have to fill holes in a
road."
"There's no help for it."
Mykel looked at the descending road that was barely more than a lane. It
circled around the base of the western hill until it headed almost due west,
but only for another vingt. Then it turned back north and climbed between two
more hills.
He had to wonder how many more traps and ambushes lay ahead before they
reached Jyoha--where they were supposed to establish a base from which to
attack the escaped prisoners who were part of the rebel forces. According to
the map, Jyoha lay less than ten vingts away.
Ten long vingts.

31
By Londi morning, the more Dainyl considered the implications of what he had
observed, the less comfortable he felt, especially as a mere observer in
Dra-mur. Yet he had very little proof that he could bring to the
High Alector of Justice, or for that matter, even indirectly through Lystrana
to the Duarch of Elcien himself. Not only that, but bringing forward his
suspicions looked to be most unwise. The only hard evidence was something like
a hundred and fifty Cadmian rifles without maker's marks or stamps to indicate
whether they had been made in Faitel or in Alustre. While some landers might
have been able to manufacture their own weapons, crafting on the captured
rifles was both high and standardized--and any facility that could provide that
would be hard-pressed to remain concealed. More important, the rifles looked
and felt as though they had come from an artisan facility.
There had been a skirmish at Stylan Estate, where the contraband had been
found, but nothing to indicate what had prompted the revolt, or the breaking
of the Code on the use of Cadmian weapons--and none of those who survived could
explain why any of it had occurred. Dainyl had no doubt that it all involved
some objective of the Highest and the marshal, but he had no idea whether that
purpose advanced the goals of the Duarchy or was a plot against the
Duarches--or against other high alectors.
All the other events were not matters that he could safely report, not in
full, or events without enough behind them for any meaningful conclusions to
be drawn. He could report the attack on himself, but not what the attacker had
said. He could report that the lander woman would not talk to him, but he
could not point out that she was resistant to the use of Talent. He could
point out that someone was smuggling the rifles into Dramur, but not who or
why. He could report the ancient tunnel, although he wanted to wait on doing
that.
And behind all that was one other constraint, one that faced all Myrmidons,
indeed, all alectors. Compared to the total lander and indigen population of
Acorus, the Myrmidons were few. Even the total number of Cadmians was small,
particularly the battalions from Elcien and Alustre or
Dereka, rather than locally recruited and trained Cadmians, such as those
under Majer Herryf.
For all that, he needed to do something. At the very least, he needed to find
out what Herryf was doing and saying, and to do so, he needed to risk
revealing what he had kept hidden for years, but then, he and Lystrana had
kept those abilities hidden just for a situation such as he now faced.
With a wry smile, he left his quarters and made his way down to the courtyard
and toward the headquarters building. He walked toward the north side of the
structure and into the deep early-morning shadows. There he paused, until he
was certain no one was looking in his direction before he raised a full
Talent-shield. With the shield in place, he planned to take advantage of
common misperceptions.
Because alectors were so much bigger than landers, most landers and indigens
had no idea how quietly an alector could move--or that an alector's Talent
could provide a concealment from the eyes of all without Talent, and that was
from all indigens and almost all landers.
He moved silently through the shadows until he reached the main entrance,
where he slipped past the duty desk and the unseeing squad leader who sat
there. Concealed by Talent or not, Dainyl kept to the side of the corridor.
Talent-hiding wouldn't keep someone from walking into him.
Captain Benjyr and Majer Herryf were alone in the ma-jer's study.
Dainyl used his Talent, hoping that the illusion would hold, to project an
image of a closed door, while he opened the door and eased into the study. He
made his way to the corner out of the direct sunlight coming through the
window.
Neither man looked up.
"... have (hey done?" asked Herryf. "Besides kill one of the most respected
seltyrs in Dramur, imprison his daughter, and slaughter a hundred of his
retainers? They hold the roads. They ride through the plantations and upset
the remaining growers. They search wagons looking for rifles
that aren't there. Miners are still escaping, or disappearing, which is worse,
and the guano output continues to drop. The council, the factors, and the
growers have fewer and fewer golds, and prices for food are rising rapidly.
All this, and I have heard nothing from these outland Cadmians. I have heard
nothing from the Myrmidon colonel. He just watches as Dramur is unraveling."
"I had thought Majer Vaclyn might have kept you informed, sir. He and his
captains haven't said much at all, except for Captain Kuertyl. He is the kind
who trades information the way the factors trade goods."
"What has he said?"
"The officers and rankers are less than pleased with you. They feel that you
should have handled the problems with the miners with our forces."
"How? We've been trying for over a year. I was forbidden to create another
company. I was told I could not work with the council to create a local
militia. What choices did I have?"
Dainyl had not been aware of what Herryf had suggested, but he wasn't
surprised that the marshal would have limited the forces under the majer's
direct or indirect control.
"Sir?" ventured Benjyr. "I was asked to tell you something."
"By whom?"
"I don't know. It was dark, and they approached me outside my brother's
house."
He was lying about that, Dainyl knew.
Herryf paused, then asked, "What was this message of great import?"
"Some of the growers to the north think that the Cadmians are there to take
their lands."
"How would they do that?" Herryf shook his head. "Some people will believe
anything."
"Sir, they say that the Cadmians will keep searching until they find weapons
and rebels. Then whatever growers
where they're found will be accused of supporting the rebels and sent to the
mines, and their lands put up for sale, or maybe just turned over to the
council. The colonel spent a lot of time with the guilds and the director..."
Herryf frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Alectors don't care that much about
lands or trade. Why would they... ?"
"Sir, I didn't say it made sense. That's what some of them feel."
About that, Dainyl could sense, Benjyr was absolutely convinced.
"I'll have to talk to Majer Vaclyn. He won't listen, but I'll have to talk to
him."
"What about the colonel, sir?"
"There's no point in that, except to alert him. He'd deny anything. If the
alectors aren't involved, he would say that they weren't. If they are, he'll
say the same."
'Two more miners escaped yesterday," Benjyr said quietly.
"How? There's an extra company of Cadmians guarding the mine road."
"No one knows. They were missing when they were mustered to march back to
quarters. Every span of the mine was searched."
"They must have been hiding somewhere, and then they escaped the stockade
after dark." Herryf glared at the captain. "This sort of thing makes us look
incompetent, and it adds to the illusion that there is some sort of
overwhelming force against us."
"But... sir... you reported ..."
"I reported we needed an additional company of Cadmians to deal with the
escapees, and that, in time, unless we got a permanent addition to the
compound, the escaped miners would present a problem. I wish I'd never made
the report. I was told--told, mind you, Captain--that I was reporting an
insurrection and to expect a full Cadmian battalion and a Myrmidon observer."
Behind his Talent-shield, Dainyl frowned. That was what he had been told by
the Highest, and he had conveyed that to Herryf in one fashion or another, but
Herryf seemed to be telling Benjyr the truth about what he had reported to the
marshal--or the submarshal.
Herryf stood. "I need to walk around the compound, to be seen. You might as
well accompany me."
"Yes, sir," replied the captain.
Dainyl waited until they had left before slipping out of the study and the
headquarters building.

32
From the saddle of the chestnut, as the company headed westward, Mykel glanced
across the ramshackle sheds and run-down holder's dwelling that served as a
base for the Fifteenth Company. They had spent almost a week patrolling in and
around Jyoha, without ever seeing a rebel or an escaped mine prisoner. That
might have been because Fourteenth Company and Dohark had captured the few
that were careless or less adept at avoiding the Cadmians.
Fifteenth Company had seen plenty of hoofprints, but neither the horses that
made them nor the men who rode those mounts. In following tracks and
patrolling the roads, they had lost two mounts to the poisoned stakes in the
concealed pits in various lanes and roads, and two troopers had been injured
when the mounts went down. Four others had been stung by nightwasps and had
turned up with fevers and welts the size of a man's hand.
"I'll keep fourth and fifth squads with me," Mykel said to Bhoral, confirming
what he had told the senior squad leader earlier. "After I talk with some of
the crafters in the village,
we'll look at that lane that winds up toward the ruins of the old sawmill."
"Still don't understand that," replied Bhoral. "They built the sawmill, and
the Myrmidons burned it down? Why would they do that?"
"That's one of the things I'm going to try to find out."
He'd already tried talking to some of the crafters and found out next to
nothing, but he'd kept looking and listening, and now he was ready to try
again.
Short of the town, Bhoral and the first three squads split away, and Mykel and
his smaller contingent continued westward. The fields on each side of the lane
into Jyoha were filled with plants, supposedly all sunbeans. The beans were
actually oilseeds that, when pressed, provided a golden oil that was used for
lamps across Dramur. Some was shipped to Southgate as well, according to the
grower who had leased the run-down and near-abandoned holding to Third
Battalion. Mykel had seldom seen any workers in the fields, but the sunbeans
didn't seem to require much care, and that might have been why they had
displaced other crops.
The houses on the east side of Jyoha were one story and of mud brick, unlike
the cut-stone dwellings in Dramuria. The roofs were of faded red tiles. Some
houses had been plastered with stucco, then washed with pastel colors, mostly
blues and greens; but that had been sometime ago, for the wash had faded, and
the red showed through, giving the walls a pinkish tinge.
The three women doing wash by a well looked away as the Cadmians neared, and
another mother scurried out from a small one-room dwelling and scooped up a
bare-bottomed toddler and carted her back into the mud-brick hut, closing the
warped plank door firmly.
Several men stood on the dusty porch of the one tavern in Jyoha, whose doors
were closed. Two stared at Mykel. He looked back until they dropped their
eyes.
Mykel reined up outside the chandlery, then turned to Dravadyl and Vhanyr, the
fourth and fifth squad leaders. "Ride around the village and see if you can
spot anything interesting. Swing back here in half a glass."
"Yes, sir."
"Try not to shoot anyone." Mykel offered a wry grin. "We don't need any more
pits dug in the roads."
"We won't--not unless they shoot first," replied Dravadyl.
The captain dismounted and tied the chestnut to the hitching post, two squat
pillars built of mud bricks connected by a rusty iron bar. He crossed the
narrow porch and stepped into the chandlery, letting his eyes adjust to the
dimness. For the last few days, he'd stopped there every day and bought
something, usually some item of provisions that he turned over to one squad
leader or another. After dismounting and tying the chestnut to the rail, he
made his way inside.
A man not that much older than he was stood in one corner, rearranging some
cotton shirts folded on a corner table. In a village as small and as isolated
as Jyoha, the chandlery carried far more items than it would in Dramuria, but
fewer of each. Mykel didn't recall there even being a chandlery in Faitel, not
that he'd ever seen.
"Good morning, Harnyck," Mykel offered.
"Morning, Captain." The man's voice was even, neither friendly nor unfriendly.
Mykel walked to the case that served, after a fashion, as a cooler, where he
selected a small round of hard yellow cheese. Holding it up, he asked, "How
much?"
"For that one, seeing as it's you, Captain, two silvers."
"Since I don't want special treatment, Harnyck," Mykel bantered back, "how
about one."
"You're not talking like a good Cadmian officer, Captain. That's the kind of
bargain a smuggler would force on a father needing milk for a starving bairn."
"I'm glad you think so highly of me. A silver and two." "You give me one and
three, and it's yours." Mykel threw up his hands. "What can I do? One and
three." He fumbled in his wallet, then extracted the coins. Harnyck took them.
"I was wondering if you could help me." "What are you looking for?"
"Information. Not about people. About the town." "Might be able to help." The
man refolded a shirt, brushing off a small cobweb and setting it back on the
table. "Might not."
"What did people grow out east before the sunbeans?" "They tried the casaran
trees, but the soil's not right. What nuts they got were too bitter. Not even
the oldest nag would eat fodder with them in it. Then they tried wheat corn,
but the rust got it. The growers like the sunbeans because they don't take
much work until harvest, and you get two crops a year here."
"You know what happened to the old sawmill?" "The Myrmidons burned it. No
secret about that. Old man Baholyn decided the pines in the hills would make
good cheap timber, and he bought out the lands to the west. Didn't pay more
than a few coppers a stead square. Once he had the land, he built the mill.
He'd been running it a quint less than a year, sending timber to Dramuria, and
coins were flowing in here for the first time ever. Then two pteri-dons
dropped right out of the sky. One of those big alectors walked up to him and
told him to close the sawmill and to stop cutting the timber." The chandler
laughed. "Baholyn bowed and said he would. You don't argue with them."
"No, you don't," Mykel agreed. "But why did they burn it?"
"He closed down for a week, maybe two, and then he started running it at
night. He did everything at night, even carted the cut timbers and planks down
to another barn on the edge of town. I guess he figured that nothing would
hap-
pen if the place looked closed during the day. He got away with it for another
quint. Then the pteridons came back and turned their lances on the mill. The
Cadmians from Dra-muria were here, too, and they surrounded the town. Ba-holyn
hid somewhere. The big alector had the troopers gather everyone in the square,
and he made it real clear. The town turned over Baholyn, or there wouldn't be
any town. Gave everyone a glass. Said that every quarter glass that passed
after that, they'd torch another house, and they'd start with the biggest."
The man shrugged. "Took a glass and a half before Baholyn's daughter told 'em
where he was. Her place was next. They flogged him in the square till he was
dead, and then they burned his body to ashes."
"How long ago was that?"
"Not quite ten years."
"What do people here think about the guano mine?"
"It doesn't do us much good. The soil here isn't that good, and we could use
the bat shit here, but folks can't pay what they will in Southgate or wherever
they ship it."
"What about the miners?"
"They say some of them escaped. That's why you're here, isn't it?"
"Has anyone seen any?"
"No. Don't know anyone who has. Leastwise, no one who's talked to me about
it."
"We keep finding tracks of horsemen around Jyoha, but I can't say that I've
seen more than one or two people riding. Most use carts or wagons--or walk. Who
are the riders?"
"Don't know as I could say, Captain."
"I don't mean names," Mykel said with a laugh. "I meant... Are they young
bloods, the younger sons of growers, riding around because they've golds and
little else to do? Or are they raiders? Or these rebel miners that everyone
talks about and no one seems ever to have seen?"
"Can't say as I know."
Mykel laughed. "I know. No one knows, but you've prob-
ably got a better idea than most How about a guess, Harnyck?"
"Don't have enough growers around here for bloods. Land's too piss-poor for
even one seltyr. Same's true for raiders. Same'd seem to be true for rebels,
as well."
"So... who are we talking about?"
"Seems to me, Captain, that you're doing the talking."
"You've got me again." Mykel waited.
"Lots of smallholders don't have coin, can't pay their land rents. Can't stay
there, neither, or the growers'd catch 'em and send 'em to Dramuria for a
judgment. They'd have to work it off in the mines. Even if they paid off one,
there'd be another waiting. Law says you can't take their land if they spend
at least one night a week there. Doesn't say how long on that night." Harnyck
smiled, brittlely. "What else are they going to do?"
Mykel had the feeling that the chandler was telling the truth, but only
because he'd chosen his words carefully. The captain wasn't sure that he'd
learned much of anything when he left the shop. Outside, he only waited a few
moments before the two squads returned.
"What did you see?" Mykel asked after he mounted and joined Dravadyl. Followed
by the two squads, they rode away from the square and toward the stone bridge
over the small creek on the west side of Jyoha.
"Nothing we haven't seen before. We get the looks that tell us to go away.
People keep away, and it's like any other small town, far as I can figure. Did
you have any luck, sir?"
"Not really. The chandler said the Myrmidons burned the sawmill. They also
flogged the owner and burned him in the square back there. They told him to
close it. He ran it at night."
"Stupid. You don't mess with alectors."
Mykel nodded.
The arched bridge was barely wide enough for two
mounts abreast, and the sound of hoofs echoed dully on the stones. Once past
the bridge, Mykel ordered, "Scouts out! We'll take the lane to the left."
"Scouts out, sir!"
The narrow lane showed few signs of travel, except by livestock, probably the
small sheep that were among the few domestic animals besides horses resistant
to the night-wasps. Less than five hundred yards up the lane, the meadows
ended, replaced by low trees, the tallest no more than head high, and all set
amid a forest of large stumps.
After rising gently for another hundred yards, the lane leveled and brought
them out onto a flatter area, one without trees. It had been the sawmill site.
The ground still held depressions that once might have been wagon tracks, and
on the left were the ruins of the old sawmill.
Mykel let his eyes rove over the rains. All that was left were the stone sides
of the dried-up millrace and the mud-brick walls of the foundation, both
blackened from the flame of the skylances. The sunlight glinted off glassy
parts of the rained brickwork. Nothing grew around the foundations. The
nearest clumps of grass were ten yards from the blackened foundation.
"Ten years ago? Just ten?" asked Dravadyl. "Looks like it happened a lot
longer ago."
Mykel thought so, too, but he knew that the chandler had not been lying.
"Hoofprints here, sir!" called one of the scouts at the south end of the open
space. "Squad-sized. Some group as before, looks to be."
Mykel rode forward to where the scout waited. "How old?"
"Not today. Hasn't rained since we been here. Could be a week. I'd say more
like three-four days."
"We'll follow them and see what we can find."
For a glass and a half, Mykel and the two squads fol-
lowed the tracks--carefully--with the pace slower and slower as the lane became
a path that turned into a trail through more of the low trees, growing between
the stumps of old-growth pines and firs.
"This must have been where they were cutting the trees," mused Mykel.
"Pretty large ones, sir," replied Vhanyr, who had moved up to ride with Mykel
and Dravadyl. "Like those over there."
Mykel looked more closely. The shorter trees and seedlings ended less than
half a vingt ahead. Beyond that, the taller old-growth pines rose like a
brown-and-green wall. The smallest of those giants was thirty yards high.
"Look sharp!" he called to the scouts.
The trail ended in a clearing beside the creek short of the forest to the
south. Whoever they had been tracking had used the clearing as a campsite,
with cookfires, long since cold.
"They forded the creek and headed into the forest," reported Dhozynt, the
fifth squad scout. "Do you want us to follow them?"
"Not today," Mykel said. "We'll head back."
He wasn't about to take just two squads into a massive forest he didn't know,
not when they'd had more than enough problems on relatively clear roads and
trails. If Ma-jer Vaclyn wanted that, the majer would have to show up and lead
the company into the woods.
Just looking at the giant pines gave Mykel an uneasy feeling, as if there were
something beyond. He laughed, softly. There was--a group of rebels with mounts
and hostile intentions toward him and his men.
He forced himself not to look over his shoulder as they started the ride back
to Jyoha. He would send a report to the majer about what the chandler had
said--that the riders were poor men who were trying to keep their lands in bad
times.

33
The morning was chill, not so bad as the
time Dainyl had been in Blackstear and his breath had been frozen fog--that had
been during what the locals had called late spring--but the day promised to be
clear. In the early light, the peaks of the Murian Mountains stood out against
the silver-green sky when Dainyl crossed the courtyard, wearing his blue
flying jacket as he made his way to the officers' mess.
As always, the pair of local Cadmian officers avoided even looking at him as
he seated himself. The steward brought him an ale immediately. He sipped it
slowly, thinking about what he had overheard and the patterns revealed by
Majer Herryf's latest reports. Most important of all, while escape attempts
had continued, the pattern of those escapes had changed. Far fewer mals were
diving off the bridge or trying to climb the stockade. Despite the use of more
Cadmians as guards, a greater fraction of the escapees was vanishing without a
trace. Both Sturwart and Donasyr had tried to conceal that the escapes had
risen significantly in the past few months. Was that because they didn't want
more Myrmidons coming to Dramur? Or because they didn't want to lose control
of the mine to the growers? From his observations, it was also clear that
neither the local Cadmians nor the landowners had anything to do with the
escapes.
The steward returned with a platter and a basket of bread, slipping them onto
the table silently. Dainyl took another swallow of the ale before trying the
heavily fried egg toast.
Using Talent to boost his hearing, he listened as he began to eat.
"... still wonder why he's here ...
"... hear that they sent the captain who found those rifles out to chase the
escaped prisoners ... Jyoha's the ass end of the east..."
"Their majer makes what we got look good. The one officer that finds
something, and they give him shit duty ..."
Dainyl mentally marked that comment and kept listening, but neither Benjyr nor
Meryst said anything more of immediate interest to him. After he finished with
his breakfast, lacking, as usual, any sensibilities of finer taste, he left
the mess and stepped back out into the light but chill breeze that swept
across the courtyard.
As he looked to the northwest, he sensed something, a use of Talent that
wasn't normal. He hurried toward the squares where the pteridons were hosted,
hoping either Quelyt or Falyna was there.
Falyna stepped forward as she saw the colonel approaching. "Sir? Something
wrong?"
"I don't know. Are you ready to fly? With a passenger?"
"Yes, sir. We're the duty, such as it is--"
"Good. Let's go. Head for where we found that ancient tunnel."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl didn't feel like explaining. How could he? He couldn't afford to reveal
that he was following a Talent-trace, not when he'd been careful to hide that
he had any significant Talent besides shielding. While that had been true many
years before... it wasn't now, and he didn't want to lose the advantage of
being underestimated in that fashion, especially not after Tyanylt's death and
what he had discovered so far in Dramur. Nothing known to more than two
people, and sometimes not even that, remained secret from the High Alector of
Justice.
After Falyna mounted the pteridon, Dainyl followed, settling himself into the
silver saddle behind her.
With a spring and a burst of Talent, the pteridon spread its wings and leapt
into the sky, headed eastward into the prevailing wind. Within moments, taking
advantage of the thermals over the wanner water off the coast, Falyna and the
pteridon were high enough that Dramuria looked like a toy village below. Then
the Myrmidon turned the pteridon to the northwest and continued climbing as
they headed toward the peak of the ancients.
With the air so chill, the pteridon could climb higher, but the cold seeped
through the insulating fabric of Dainyl's uniform and even through the flying
jacket.
Falyna looked back at the colonel. "Straight to the peak, sir? You want me to
set down there, like before?"
"Circle it, first. I'll let you know. Keep your lance ready when we get near."
"Yes, sir."
Abruptly, the pteridon dropped a good fifty yards, then began to climb again.
Dainyl looked down to his left as they drew abreast of the mining complex, but
he could feel no Talent being used there, although he could make out a column
of miners entering the mining compound. How many more would vanish today? And
how?
He forced his attention to the terrain ahead.
As they drew nearer to the angled peak, Dainyl could still sense, faintly but
clearly, the use of Talent, almost two lines of Talent, one red-violet and the
other greenish gold, although the two seemed interlinked.
"That peak there?" called back Falyna.
"The one that angles, just to the left."
"Got it, sir. Don't see anything, not any more than last time."
"Can you circle a bit higher?"
"We can try."
As the pteridon swept past the cave, Dainyl caught a
glimpse of the golden green arch--and of two figures, one stocky and one far
smaller. The stockier figure seemed to be of red-violet, the slighter one of
golden green.
"Don't see anything there, sir!" called out Falyna.
"Make another circle!"
"Yes, sir."
The red-violet vanished from Dainyl's Talent-perception. One instant, it was
there; the next it was not.
As Falyna brought the pteridon around for another pass, Dainyl studied the
foliage and the rocky slope below the cave/tunnel and the bluff. He thought he
could sense several landers or indigens several hundred yards below.
"Skylance ready!" he called.
"Lance ready!" returned the Myrmidon ranker.
The pteridon swept past the opening to the short tunnel again.
Dainyl could make out, literally suspended in midair, a hazy sphere of golden
green. In that instant, as he watched, the sphere--at least he thought it was a
sphere--vanished. It didn't move; it just wasn't there.
"Nothing there, sir."
There wasn't, not any longer, but Falyna hadn't seen either presence, and that
meant some sort of strong Talent-shielding, although Dainyl hadn't sensed it.
Crack!
As Dainyl was rocked back in the pteridon's second saddle, pain lanced through
his right shoulder, the one that had barely healed from the last set of
braises. Dainyl raised shields around his neck and head, all too aware of the
drain his action would place on the pteridon.
"Sir!"
"I'm fine. Use the lance!" snapped the colonel. "Straight below the bluff."
The lifeforce-imbued uniform and jacket had kept the bullet from breaking
through his jacket and tunic, but he would feel the impact for days.
"Coming round, sir. Hang tight!"
The pteridon began to lose altitude, if slowly.
"Can't stay up here, sir!"
"Go right over that grove of trees ahead. Flame the center."
Crack! Crack!
Dainyl could feel the force of one of the bullets against his shields, and,
the corresponding loss of height by the pteridon.
A line of bluish flame arrowed from Falyna's skylance toward the stand of
evergreens that clung to the slope ahead and below. Yellow-and-blue fires
flared, flame fountains that almost reached up to the pteridon as it passed
overhead, a good hundred yards above where the trees had stood, amid the
steeper rocky slopes and cliffs.
With those fires, Dainyl could sense the deaths of the men who had hidden in
the trees.
"Another pass, sir?"
"No. None of them could have escaped that." At least, the fire had killed all
that were nearby, and it would have been far too wasteful of lifeforce to
flame more of the forest and the living things within it. "Just head back to
the compound."
"Yes, sir."
Once they were well away from the mountains and ridges, Dainyl released his
shields. His entire body was trembling from the effort it had taken to hold
them that long, because he had been forced to share the draw on the lifeforce
around with the pteridon--or they would have crashed into the mountains
themselves.
As they headed back down to a warmer altitude and toward the Cadmian compound
just north of Dramuria, questions swirled through his thoughts.
The golden green lifeforce had to have been one of the ancients. It had
matched the aura residue in the short tunnel. Where had the ancient come from?
How could it have
vanished so quickly? Why hadn't he felt it before? What creature had created
the red-violet lifeforce? Was the tunnel site some place of worship for the
indigens or the landers? Where they worshipped or sacrificed themselves to the
ancients? Had they fired at him to protect the ancient? And why now? That last
question bothered him more than the others.
According to what little he had been able to read on the previous inhabitants
of Acorus, they had retreated to the north and to the colder and higher places
as the planet had warmed as a result of the seedings. But they were supposed
to have died off centuries before. Dainyl certainly had seen no reports of
them anywhere.
Was the cold the reason why it had appeared when it did? Or had alectors
simply not been around when the ancients appeared because the ancients
preferred extreme cold while alectors shunned it?
Dainyl shifted his weight in the saddle and harness, wincing as the straps
pressured his injured shoulder. As a mere observer, he'd taken more injuries
in a few weeks than he had in years as a Myrmidon ranker.
Falyna brought the pteridon in smoothly, but Dainyl was, for once, more than
glad to put his boots on the stones of the compound courtyard. He just stood
there for a moment.
"Hit you, didn't they, sir?" asked Falyna.
"It didn't break through, but I'll have trouble with the shoulder for a
while."
"Were they the rebels?"
"It doesn't matter now." Dainyl looked to the northwest, where a pillar of
smoke rose. As an alector, he was supposed to be encouraging the growth of
lifeforce, not destroying it.

34
Another week had passed, and, even in Dramur, the nights were chill,
especially for troopers in the sheds converted to rough barracks, and in the
small house Mykel used as well. They had not lost a mount to the pit traps for
days, although they had been fired upon from a distance on several occasions,
but no one had been wounded.
On Duadi morning, a still day with low clouds that promised rain that had yet
to arrive, Mykel looked at the dispatch he had received from Majer Vaclyn, his
eyes centering on the section that he'd read over and over.
... Your task under the Code is to bring these lawbreakers to justice. It
matters not whether they are breaking the law by refusing to pay their debts
or by actual revolt. If they will not surrender to lawful authority, you are
to use whatever force is necessary under the regulations governing the Cadmian
Peacekeeping Authority ... Once the lawbreakers are brought to justice, you
are to report the results to higher authority as expeditiously as possible.
Whatever force was necessary. Mykel didn't like the orders, and he'd hoped
that his report to the majer would have suggested that his mission was unwise.
The majer clearly didn't see it that way, and Mykel had one of two choices. He
could refuse and be flogged for failure to obey orders, then imprisoned for
the remainder of his term at hard labor, probably in the very mine that seemed
to be part of the problem. Or he could carry out his orders, but,
hopefully, in some way that did not make the situation worse.
He wasn't sure how to carry out the orders without making things even worse,
and he didn't feel like ruining his life. He snorted. How many officers ended
up doing what he was going to do, knowing that the orders were idiotic, but
not wanting to be punished for saying so?
He folded the dispatch and slipped it into the pouch that he put in the
chestnut's saddlebags. Then he turned to Bho-ral, who had been waiting quietly
in the long morning shadow of the sagging barn.
"Majer didn't read your report, did he, sir?"
"He read it. He disagrees. Breaking the Code is breaking the Code. Those who
break it must be punished, even if they didn't have a choice. People don't
choose to have crops fail. They don't choose where their parents settled, and
not everyone has brains to escape their fate."
"Those that don't, they get punished for their lack of brains," Bhoral
replied. "We all get punished one way or another. That's life. You do the best
you can."
Mykel laughed, harshly. "I'm going to talk to the chandler. Have the scouts
meet me in half a glass. You know where." He mounted the chestnut and rode
westward, past the bedraggled sunbean fields. Some of the villagers actually
looked at him as he rode past, although none addressed him.
He reined up outside the chandlery and dismounted, tying the chestnut to the
rail. He'd continued to stop every day to buy something, although often it was
only for a copper or two. Captains didn't have that many free coins.
The chandler watched as Mykel hurriedly crossed the front porch, but said
nothing as the captain stepped inside and studied the tables and shelves, many
of which had far fewer provisions than on the previous day.
Mykel walked to a shelf on the side wall. There in an open, carved box, which
looked as though Harnyck had been dusting or polishing it, was a miniature
knife in a
sheath. He slowly picked it up, noting that it was not even as long as his
palm was wide. The leather of the sheath was old, blackened, and cracked. The
knife was all one piece, with evenly rough-patterned black stone, almost like
onyx, inlaid on each side of the hilt, forming a grip. The metal was silvery,
with a hint of copper or bronze. Unlike most knives, it was double-bladed, and
the blade was narrow. It looked exceedingly sharp.
"What's this?"
"A knife, looks like to me." Harnyck's voice was even.
"Is it for sale?" Mykel eased the knife back into the sheath, which, old as it
looked, was doubtless far less ancient than the blade.
"I wouldn't sell that to my worst enemy."
"Then you ought to be able to sell it to me." Mykel knew , he had to have the
knife, but not why. That was a frightening feeling, because he'd never had to
have anything.
"Bad luck to sell it. Worse luck to keep it," Harnyck said slowly.
"Do you know someone poor, who needs coins?" asked Mykel.
"These days, who doesn't?"
Mykel extended five silvers he couldn't really afford. "You give these to
them, and the knife to me."
Harnyck looked at Mykel. "I can't refuse that, Captain, but you'll be wishing
I had."
"I won't back out." Mykel laid the coins on the shelf. "Tell me why."
"A bargain's a bargain." Harnyck smiled and picked up the coins. He handed the
knife to Mykel. "I give you this, of my own free will, and you have offered to
take it of yours."
"I have," Mykel agreed.
"It's a knife of the ancients. You knew that when you saw it. For that
artistry, it's worth a score of golds. You know that, too, I'd wager."
"I know it's valuable. That's not why I wanted it."
For the first time, Harnyck smiled. "I could tell that, too. My father told me
only to give it to a good-hearted enemy in a time of great trials. He also
said that it would either destroy or make the man who received it."
"I'm glad you think so highly of me." Mykel's humor was forced, and he
realized that he'd probably said the same exact words to the chandler before.
"You will do terrible deeds, Captain. All who have held that knife have."
Harnyck smiled again. "Leastwise, that was what my da told me."
Mykel wasn't cheered by the chandler's smile. Slowly, he slipped the knife
inside his tunic. "I already have. I probably will again. Most Cadmians do."
"At least, you know it." Harnyck stepped back. "The silvers will help some
bairns ... and not mine. I'd not stoop to that." He paused. "Good day,
Captain."
"Good day, Harnyck."
Mykel's mouth was dry as he left the chandlery. What in the world had he done?
Five silvers? Why? What did the knife mean?
He untied the chestnut slowly, then mounted, turning the horse back eastward
to meet with the men he had assigned to watch the comings and goings around
Jyoha. Again, on the way from the town, some looked at him. None said a word,
and none smiled.

35
Tridi had passed without a word from the observers he had stationed, but early
on Quattri, well before dawn, one of the messengers from the scouts had
awakened Mykel with word that a number of women were leaving the village along
the lane that led to the sawmill.
Mykel had Bhoral roust out the entire company and quickly readied himself.
Before pulling on his riding jacket, he took out the knife of the vanished
ancients, easing it from its sheath and looking at it once again. The blade
was smooth and shiny enough that it should have shown a reflection, but it did
not. There was not a mark of corrosion or rust on it, and the metal was at
least as hard as steel, if not harder, but not nearly so heavy. The facings on
the grip were of a stone that looked like onyx, but was far harder. The blade
was sharp enough to shave with, too sharp, if that were possible--Mykel knew,
he'd tried and cut himself-- and double-edged, unlike most knives, but like a
dagger. Yet the blade was too short for a single killing thrust, for all its
strength and sharpness. There were no markings and no inscriptions.
After a moment, he replaced it in the sheath and tucked into the inside pocket
of his riding jacket. When he had time, he would make a special slot on the
inside of his belt for it. It couldn't hurt to have another knife, one that
wasn't obvious, small as it might be. He picked up his rifle and headed for
the makeshift stables.            ˇ
Mykel finished saddling the chestnut, then rode out into the open space before
the sheds that served as barracks. He glanced up at the dark sky. Through the
thin night haze he could see Asterta, the warrior moon, almost at the zenith.
Warrior moon, but for which warriors did the moon bode victory? As he dropped
his eyes to the dimness around him, Bhoral rode up.
"Company's almost ready, sir."
"Good. We'll take the back lane south. I'll take first and second squads up
through the fields and through the second growth. You take the others on the
sawmill road."
"Yes, sir. Scouts out! Company forward!"
While every sound seemed amplified in the predawn grayness, no one seemed to
look out of the handful of cots set off the south lane, although smoke rose
from most of the
chimneys. Near the end of the lane, the company turned westward onto the cart
path that crossed the main road south. After another quarter glass Mykel could
see the lane he sought to his right.
"Bhoral?"
"Sir?"
"Time for you to take squads three, four, and five."
"Yes, sir." The senior squad leader turned his mount and pulled off to the
side.
Mykel kept looking over his shoulder until he was sure that Bhoral and the
three squads were clear.
Shortly, a scout appeared out of the trees on the west side of the path.
"Captain?" The scout rode forward and swung his mount alongside that of Mykel.
"Look to be about two squads, near that first campsite we found. Couldn't get
too close. They've got pickets, but they're only fifty yards out and on the
lane side. Not all that careful."
"Good. Are you ready to ride ahead and take over point?"
"Yes, sir."
Once Jasakyt had joined the other scouts at the front of the squads, Mykel
turned. "Squad leaders forward," he said quietly. "Pass it back."
Gendsyr and Alendyr appeared within moments, one riding on each side of Mykel.
"We'll be crossing the fields, then following the edge of the older forest.
We'll ride up until we're thirty yards away and form into a firing line,
rifles ready for immediate fire. If they hear us, we'll quick time into
position. First squad to my left, second to my right. I'll give them a chance
to throw down their weapons. If there's any resistance, I'll order immediate
fire. Quiet riding from here on."
"Yes, sir."
Close to a hundred yards farther south, the scouts turned westward, heading up
the long and gently sloping field alongside a fence whose weathered rails lay
on the ground in as many places as they sagged between posts. Just before
the hillcrest, the scouts rode across a downed section of the fence, through
the low second growth bordering the field, and toward the older forest a
quarter of a vingt away.
Mykel kept listening, but the only sounds were those of mounts breathing, the
swishing of branches pushed aside, and the intermittent cracking of broken
branches under hoofs. When they reached the edge of the older growth, the
scouts fell back closer to the main body, and the squads followed the more
recent tracks toward the older campsite.
He and the two squads were still a good hundred yards away from the clearing
when a woman's scream pierced the comparative stillness.
"After me!" Mykel urged the chestnut forward as fast as he dared through
irregular second-growth forest. "Rifles ready!"
The screams and yells seemed to go on and on, and a handful of rifle shots
echoed through the gray morning.
When Mykel rode through the last low trees and reined up, he found riders in
gray, some in shapeless rags, all facing toward the lane from the sawmill,
around two handcarts.
Among the yells, and shouts, he could hear several clearly.
"... Cadmians are coming!"
"Flee! Ride away!"
Mykel glanced around him. Out of the ragtag array of riders, only a handful
had even seen Mykel's two squads. "Firing line! Ready!"
Mykel never had a chance to offer surrender. The riders broke into two groups,
clearly bent on escape.
Crack! One of the troopers in the second squad slumped in his saddle.
"Fire!" Mykel snapped, bringing his own weapon up and firing as he did.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Fifteenth Company fired the first volley almost
simultaneously.
Something flew by Mykel's head, but he sighted and fired
again, watching but momentarily as an angular man in brown toppled from his
saddle.
Three of the riders, two of them with long spears, or makeshift lances, turned
their mounts and charged toward Mykel, and the slight gap between the two
squads. The captain kept firing, and one of those with a lance went down as
his mount collapsed under him.
Mykel finished the magazine. There was no time to reload as the second lancer
bore down on him. Urging the chestnut forward, Mykel rode toward the rebel.
At the last moment, he ducked under the lance, then swung the rifle across the
man's neck and jaw. There was a sickening crunch, and the rider swayed in the
saddle, his eyes rolling back. The third rider had gone down as several of the
rankers in squad two had concentrated their fire on the group.
Mykel reined up and glanced down at his rifle. The barrel assembly was bent
away from the stock behind the bolt. Rifles weren't meant for use as swords or
lances.
He swung the mount back toward his squads, as much as to get out of the line
of fire as to see if he could pick up a rifle.
By the time he turned the chestnut and reined up, the skirmish was effectively
over. There were two rebels still in the saddle. One was slumped over, holding
the mane of the swaybacked mare he rode, and the other was trying to hold a
shattered right arm in place with his left.
Somewhere, he could hear a woman sobbing, and another cursing.
"Cease fire!" The order was unnecessary, since there was no one left to fire
at.
"Reload!" he ordered as he rode toward the mount of the downed trooper.
Vyschyl's right eye was wide-open. A crossbow quarrel had gone through his
left. Mykel's lips tightened, as he eased the rifle from where it was wedged.
"Re-form by squad!" He wiped the rifle clean and reloaded, Ś although the
magazine needed but two cartridges.
"Gendsyr!"
"One man injured, sir."
"Alendyr?"
"One and one."
"Squad one, check for wounded, but be careful. Squad two, hold and stand
ready."
Mykel rode slowly forward across the former campsite, letting the chestnut
pick his way around the fallen raiders or rebels. His eyes surveyed those who
had fallen. He saw two iron-tipped wooden lances, several old swords and
sabres--and only a single rifle, Cadmian, of course. Mykel's quick estimate of
the dead raiders was around thirty.
Bhoral waited for him on the lane side of the clearing.
"There must have been women hiding here, sir. They were the ones who gave the
alarm."
"I don't know that it did them that much good."
"I did a quick count. I think we lost three on my squads, sir."
"One dead, two wounded, on mine," replied Mykel.
Four troopers dead. With only a handful of rifles among the rebels, there
shouldn't have been that many casualties, but he hadn't thought that they
wouldn't even consider surrender.
He took a deep breath. Nothing was going as anyone had planned or thought.
"Let's check their weapons and anything we can. Take care of our wounded. Let
their women take any of their wounded."
"Sir?"
"They got away while we were checking weapons," Mykel said evenly. There
wasn't any way that the poor ragtag fugitives were part of an organized
rebellion, not the way the retainers of Seltyr Ubarjyr had been. What was he
going to do? Drag them back to Dramuria for flogging and death--for being poor?
He'd already done enough.
"Yes, sir."
Bhoral didn't approve. He and Majer Vaclyn would have agreed. Mykel turned his
mount back toward first and second squads. He'd need to have the men gather
enough in the way of useless weapons to support his decision, although he had
his doubts that such evidence would count for much.
Midmorning came and went before Fifteenth Company had gathered its own dead
and wounded and searched the rebels' bodies--discovering but a few coppers, no
silvers, and nothing of value. There were four rifles among the weapons used
by the dead men. Two were older models of Cadmian rifles, dating back at least
twenty years, if not longer, and two were more recent. All were numbered.
There were only half a score of cartridges. The remainder of the armaments
were bows, ancient blades, and two crossbows with cables so frayed that Mykel
would have been unwilling to wind and use them. The handful of raider rifles
had taken three other troopers and wounded four more. Mykel doubted that one
of the wounded Cadmians would live through the morning, not with the sucking
wound in his chest.
The tracks around the site suggested that perhaps two or three men had escaped
on horseback, and possibly one or two on foot. The women who had brought
provisions had left as silently as they had come, with their handcarts--and
with the three survivors of what had been a massacre. Mykel had seen no reason
to stop them. He hadn't wanted to kill their husbands, brothers, and
fathers--except that between his orders and their reactions, he and Fifteenth
Company had been left with little choice.
Bhoral rode up to where Mykel surveyed the skirmish site a last time. "We're
ready to go, sir. Chyndylt got a wagon for our wounded."
"We'll go back the way you came, not through the town."
"Better that way," the senior squad leader said.
Neither way was better. One wasn't as bad.

36
Mykel rode alone as Fifteenth Company started back to the makeshift base. He'd
ordered the slaughter of men and boys--some hadn't been as old as Viencet--
because the majer had ordered him to capture them or kill them, and because
none of them had wanted to be taken-- probably to the mines. He wondered more
about the conditions there, if no one would surrender.
More important, what was he supposed to do now? He smiled wryly. According to
his orders from the majer, he'd accomplished the job. He'd killed the poor
rebels, almost every one. Of course, he didn't see any of Third Battalion
being used to search every seltyr's and large grower's estate, and that was
where the largest number of rebels and weapons had been found so far. But
then, doing that would definitely have provoked a rebellion--if it were even
feasible, given only five companies and more than a score of possible estates.
He glanced to the north. The dawn haze had turned into thin clouds, with
darker gray massing behind them. After another quarter glass of solitary
riding, he turned in the saddle. "Bhoral? I'm going to take second squad into
Jyoha when we reach the north end of the lane."
The senior squad leader's brows wrinkled. "If you think so, sir."
"I'm worried, too," Mykel said. "That's why we'll go there now. The longer we
wait, the more likely someone will try more things like stakes in the road."
"Why do you want to go in at all, sir?"
"So that I can report to Majer Vaclyn that we destroyed
the rebels and that everything was quiet when we departed."
"Departed, sir?"
"That's right. You get the men ready. We're riding out as soon as we can, back
to Dramuria."
Bhoral cocked his head to the side, then nodded slowly. "Might be better that
way, sir. For the men."
What the senior squad leader wasn't saying directly, Mykel knew, was that it
might not be better for one Captain Mykel. "I'm thinking about them, senior
squad leader."
"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you." Mykel raised his voice. "Second squad! Forward, along the left!
Form on me!" He urged the chestnut forward, to open up distance between
himself and first squad. Before long, Alendyr rode forward, at the head of his
squad, and eased his mount up beside Mykel's.
"Sir?"
"We'll need to take a quick ride through Jyoha. Rifles ready the whole time. I
may make a stop or two."
Unlike Bhoral, Alendyr nodded immediately. "Yes, sir. I can see that, sir."
No one spoke on the ride north to the turn, and the loudest sounds were those
of hoofs on the road and the creaking of the wheels of the wagon carrying the
wounded troopers.
As Mykel had suspected, once they headed westward for Jyoha, all the dwellings
bordering the road were shuttered, long before Alendyr ordered, "Rifles
ready!"
Not a soul was in sight. Even the main street of the village was empty.
Mykel reined up in front of the chandlery. Instead of tying the chestnut, he
handed the reins to the ranker in formation behind Alendyr. Then, rifle in
hand, he crossed the porch, eyes searching, ears alert. He opened the door.
From the counter at the rear of the shop, Harnyck looked up at the captain,
then turned and walked out the door in the rear.
Mykel nodded to himself. He could take anything, but
fernyck would not sell it. He slowly surveyed the chan-llery, then turned and
left--without touching anything. Dutside, he remounted the chestnut silently
and turned his nount to continue farther into the village.
His next stop was at the cooperage, not because he needed my barrels, but
because it was the nearest shop that was not ;losed and shuttered. Once again,
he handed the reins to a anker and made his way to the doorway, his rifle
ready. 3ven before he stepped inside, he heard the rear door open. Fhe
cooper's shave lay on the bench, rocking back and forth.
Mykel turned and remounted. Then he nodded to Al-aidyr. "Back to camp."
Usually, when there were unseen eyes on him, particularly in unfriendly
places, Mykel was aware that he was being watched. On the ride back to the
temporary base east of Fyoha, he did not sense anyone looking at him and
second squad, and the lack of that feeling bothered him more than if he had
felt hatred poured out at him, as had so often been the case with the Reillies
in the north, when Third Battalion had driven them out of the Vales of
Prosperity because of their raids on more productive holders.
Bhoral was waiting, still mounted, in the open ground north of the barracks
sheds. He held something.
"You didn't ride into any trouble?" asked Mykel.
"No. Too quiet, if anything. What about you?"
"No one in Jyoha will have anything to do with us. Chandler walked out of his
shop when I came in. So did the cooper."
"We could take what we need," pointed out the senior squad leader.
"I don't think so," replied Mykel. "It's better to return to Dramuria. What do
you have there?"
"Boy ran up and handed this to me," Bhoral said. "Then he ran off." He leaned
forward in the saddle and extended the folded paper to the captain.
Mykel took it and opened it. He read slowly.
Captain--
You can do whatever you wish in Jyoha. No one will lift a hand to stop you and
your men. No one will talk to you. You can take goods, but no one will sell
them. You may remain as long as you wish. I cannot accept golds or silvers or
coppers. Nor can anyone so long as you and your company remain....
Mykel snorted. He could have slaughtered the entire town for rebellion, he
supposed, and Vaclyn might well have executed the leading crafters, but what
good would that have done?
He folded the missive and slipped it into his tunic. "Our landowner thinks our
job is done and that we might best be chasing rebels elsewhere."
"Yes, sir." Bhoral's tone was level, with the lack of emotion that revealed
great doubt about the veracity of his captain's summary.
"Let's get on the road, Bhoral." Mykel did his best to keep the resignation
out of his voice. The majer wouldn't understand, and Mykel wasn't sure he
could explain, but Jyoha needed to be left alone--for a long time, he thought.
And they needed to get as far from Jyoha as they could before the rain started
to fall.

37
Yet another two weeks had passed in Dra-muria, and Dainyl knew little more
than he had earlier. His shoulder had healed, and a week before, he had sent
off a dispatch to the marshal noting Fifteenth Company's successful
destruction of one rebel force and the capture of smuggled Cadmian rifles, as
well as reporting that he and
Falyna had been fired on and that the attackers had been destroyed. He had
sent a copy to the High Alector of Justice, and kept one for his own personal
records. He had not mentioned the ancient tunnel, since that would only have
confused matters even more.
From what Dainyl had seen, there was no real revolt in progress, just the
normal dissatisfactions of landers and in-digens who thought that they should
have more than the land and their labors had produced. According to the two
Cadmian majers, there had been scant progress in rounding up rebels. The
captain in Jyoha had earlier reported finding traces of raiders, but had not
yet been successful in running them down--unless he had done so in the last few
days. Yet neither majer had blundered enough for Dainyl to step in. He
couldn't very well overrule them and take over because he thought they were in
the process of creating a mess.
That the marshal and the Highest were involved hi some sort of machination was
all too clear, but Dainyl had yet to figure out why and for what purpose,
because neither would have hazarded their positions for anything trivial, and
it made no sense for either to scheme to become Duarch, because the Duarch had
to be loyalty-imprinted, and neither the marshal nor the Highest would want to
lose that much personal freedom. It almost argued that they were acting on
behalf of the Duarch, but Dainyl certainly couldn't assume that. Nor could he
assume otherwise.
Then there was Lystrana. Alectors were not supposed to hold the romantic
notions of the landers, but Dainyl had to admit he missed her, and not just
for her intellect and judgment.
He couldn't do much about the plots in Elcien, but perhaps he could do better
with the ancients. Although he'd sensed them--or one of them, the one with the
feel of golden green Talent--almost daily for a time, on the three occasions he
had flown out there they had vanished, with no traces, before he had arrived.
On Quinti morning, well before dawn on a day that would be cold and clear--at
least in the morning--Dainyl dressed carefully, with skintight undergarments he
had not worn in years, designed for the times when he had flown dispatches to
Blackstear and Northport, and with heavier gloves and a cold weather flying
cap. He fastened a waist pouch to his belt and an empty water bottle. He also
checked the crystal storage of his sidearm. It was full.
After an early and hearty breakfast in the officers' mess, where he filled the
bottle with ale, he made his way out to the courtyard to meet Quelyt. Falyna
had yet to return from delivering DainyPs dispatch to the marshal in Elcien.
"Good morning," Dainyl said cheerfully. "Good time and weather for flying."
"This early ... does that mean that you want to go back to that tunnel up on
the peak?"
"More than that," replied Dainyl, with a rueful smile. "I want you to drop me
off there and come back and get me up just before sunset. The air should be
still by then, shouldn't it?"
"Usually, sir. But you can never tell."
"If it's not, you'll have to come back first thing tomorrow morning."
"Hope we can get back this evening. Otherwise, it'll be a long and cold night
up there." Quelyt laughed.
"I've seen colder, but you're right."
Quelyt adjusted the second saddle, then turned to the colonel. "Anytime, sir."
The pteridon lowered its shoulders and neck. The ranker eased into his harness
and saddle, and Dainyl followed. There was almost no wind, and Dainyl could
sense the extra Talent-draw it took the pteridon to get airborne. Still,
before long, Dramuria lay beneath and behind them. In the chill gray air, with
the glow of the sun barely touching the eastern horizon--the waters of the gulf
between Dramur and Corus--the flight was smooth.
Less than ten vingts from their destination, the sun burst into the morning
sky, and the Murian Mountains stood etched against the darker silver-green sky
to the west. Despite the chill on his face, Dainyl couldn't help but smile at
the beauty of the vista before him.
As they circled in to land at the end of the short bluff, Dainyl extended his
Talent as much as he could, but did not sense either of the ancients. The
landing was far smoother than the earlier one, but Quelyt had still air and
was more familiar with the site. Dainyl eased himself out of the harness and
dismounted, stepping away from the pteridon.
"A half glass before sunset, sir? You sure about that?"
"I'm sure." Dainyl gestured at the steep slope below. "If the indigens could
climb up that, I could always climb down."
"I'll be here, sir." Quelyt's tone showed that he didn't like the idea of the
colonel climbing down a mountain. "Half a glass before sunset."
Dainyl nodded and stepped as far back as he could and crouched. There wasn't
that much extra space for the pteri-don's wings.
Once Quelyt was airborne, he made a circle, waved, and headed back to
Dramuria.
Dainyl could sense that there was no one in the short tunnel, either in the
cavelike outer section or in the short tunnel beyond. Because he did not know
just how much the ancient creatures might perceive, he did not enter the cave
or tunnel, but explored the area around the small bluff. After a quarter
glass, he found a hollow space between two boulders only a few yards
downslope, if on the colder north side. Others had rested there, it appeared,
from the flattened and smoothed appearance of the reddish sandy surface, but
not recently.
He hoped that he was not on an idiot's quest, sitting near the top of a peak,
in winter no less, if a far warmer
winter than in Blackstear or Scien. Yet it was clear that the ancients were
shy and skittish--or cautious--and he could not escape the feeling that they
were somehow involved with some of the strange and unsettling conditions in
Dramur.
Or did he feel that because he needed some other cause for the strangeness
than the sense that the marshal and the Highest were gaming on some deeper
level than he could imagine? Or that he needed to rale out the ancients in
order to deal with the marshal--if he even could?
The sun climbed higher, and Dainyl waited, but there was no sign of the
ancients--or of anything else. To pass the time and to get some warmth from the
sun, he eased into the light, but only far enough that he could not be seen
from the unnatural cave above. From there, sitting on an outcropping, he could
just see the charred trunks of the pines from where the locals had shot him.
Why had they done that? Except for the Reillies in the north, and a few other
isolated groups, most landers and indigens knew that attacking a Myrmidon or
an alector would result in the destruction of the attacker. Alectors could
never show vulnerability, and the response was always immediate and absolute.
How many times would he have to wait on a peak to see if an ancient would
appear? Did he have that much time? What else could he do?
The sun climbed higher. Dainyl doubted that the Highest or the marshal had
meant for him to undertake exactly this kind of observation.
Noon came and went, and Dainyl drank some of the ale from the water bottle at
his belt. He should have felt that he was wasting his time, but the sun on the
rocks and the insulated clothing kept him from feeling too chill, and the view
of the east side of Dramur was indeed stunning in the full sunlight. He could
almost forget, for a few moments, why he was there and what lay waiting for
him back in Dramuria.
Abruptly, he could sense the red-violet of Talent, and more than one being. He
glanced around, but he could see nothing, although the feel of the red-violet
grew increasingly stronger.
He turned to see two squat figures, almost caricatures of indigens, with rough
and rocky tannish skin into which crystals were embedded, appear to ooze out
of the very rocks to his right, taking shape less than three yards away.
Dainyl moved quickly, and the light-cutter was in his left hand, aimed at the
creatures. They had no necks to speak of, flat noses that barely protruded,
slit mouths, and eyes almost flush with their flat faces. Although they wore
no clothes, they had no obvious external organs.
Were these the ancients?
They did not move forward, and neither did he.
Then, golden green Talent-aura cascaded across the bluff.
Dainyl looked up to see the golden green sphere hovering less than five yards
away, slightly above his eye height, and within it, a miniature figure,
resembling a lander female, but no more than half the size of a large lander.
The soaring small woman was winged, and an iridescence shrouded her figure,
enough that it served as well as clothing.
As you are, you do not belong here. Although the soaring creature did not
speak aloud, the words were clear within Dainyl's mind.
"As I am? What else would I be?"
That is for you to decide. If you do not change, you will die. You have been
warned.
Then, she was gone. Or rather, she had vanished to sight, although his Talent
showed that she had risen and headed toward the tunnel. In just moments, she
had vanished to both sight and Talent.
Dainyl blinked. In the time that he had spoken to the soarer, as good a term
as any, the two squat creatures had
vanished back into the rocks. There was no trace of aura or Talent.
He shook his head. Had they really been there?
Slowly, he climbed back up to the bluff. There was no reason not to enter the
tunnel, not now. He examined every span of the tunnel, but there were no
tracks on the dust and sand except those of his own boots, from the last time
he had been in the tunnel. He studied the square mirror on the floor, testing
it, tapping it gently, probing as he could with his Talent. No matter what he
did, it seemed to be but a mirror, but why was it on the floor and not upon
the wall?
He straightened. He could sense the Talent-residue of the soarer, but not of
the squat creatures. What were they? Creatures who served, like pteridons? Who
traversed the earth and stone in the fashion that pteridons traveled the sky?
How could he possibly tell either the marshal or the Highest what had
happened? Or Quelyt or Falyna? He couldn't--especially about the warning, a
cryptic statement made without words and received through Talent, he surmised.
Received by a Myrmidon colonel known not to have that degree of Talent,
tracking a creature that had supposedly died centuries before.
His laugh was soft and sardonic. He'd wanted to find the ancients, and they
had found him, and his discovery seemed almost as useless as not having made
it.
If you do not change, you will die. What had she meant? How could he find out?
And what had she meant by "you"--Dainyl or all alectors?
He still had a long afternoon ahead of him. He looked to the north and west,
but outside of a slight haze, the sky was clear. He might get back to Dramuria
by sunset, for all the good it would do him.

38
Fifteenth Company did not reach the
Cadmian compound in Dramuria until late afternoon on Sexdi in a light rain.
Mykel had not pushed his men; he'd seen no reason to do so. Although he'd come
up with a rationale for leaving Jyoha, he wasn't looking forward to facing
Majer Vaclyn. He had unsaddled the chestnut, carted his gear back to the
officers' quarters, and was finishing drying and oiling his rifle--the rifle he
had taken from the dead Vyschyl--when someone was knocking on the doorway.
"Yes?" Mykel set the rifle in the weapons rack and walked to the door, opening
it.
Jiosyr, Vaclyn's senior squad leader, stood there. "Majer Vaclyn would like to
see you immediately, sir. In the headquarters building. He said that anything
else could wait."
"I'll be right there, Jiosyr."
"I'll wait out here for you, sir."
Mykel shut the quarters door. He debated changing out of his damp uniform, but
decided against it. He did hang up his soaked riding jacket to dry before
turning and leaving the quarters. He had the copy of the letter from the
grower in his tunic, but his guts told him that it was better not to show it
to the majer. He would wait and see.
Jiosyr followed him all the way to the compound headquarters.
Mykel found the small study where the majer waited, his door open. "Sir, you
requested my presence immediately."
"You do understand the meaning of that word, unlike many others. Please come
in and close the door, Captain."
Vaclyn did not rise from behind the desk where he was seated.
Mykel stepped inside, closing the door. He remained standing, respectfully.
"Did you receive orders to return to Dramuria, Captain?" Vaclyn's voice was
mild, but Mykel sensed the anger beneath. But then, the majer seemed to be
angry most of the time.
"Your last orders to me, sir, were to report to you as ex-peditiously as
possible once I had dealt with the rebels. With the possible exception of one
man, we wiped out all those riders I had reported. Since one man is not a
rebel force, I believe that we accomplished the goals you set forth, and I am
here reporting to you."
"You ... wiped them out?"
"Yes, sir. This group, as I had reported earlier, was not well armed. They had
but four rifles, some crossbows, along with spears and blades. I did bring
those back for your inspection, sir. They refused to surrender. They attacked
before I could even offer terms. We had no choice but to fight."
The majer stared for a time at Mykel. Finally, he shook his head. "Captain,
you are a difficult officer. You complain about your orders, but always so
politely and courteously that few would even consider your reports a
complaint, yet you find rebels where no one else can, and you dispatch them...
expeditiously." He frowned. "What were your losses?"
"Three in the skirmish, sir, and one from a chest wound later."
"You have lost almost ten men, Captain. No one else has lost any."
"That is true, sir. We have also fought more, and we have killed close to a
hundred and fifty rebels and raiders." Mykel did not point out that no one
else had discovered any rebels.
"Ten for one is barely adequate for a Cadmian force."
"Yes, sir." Mykel kept his voice level, even pleasant. "We'll do better in the
future."
"I expect no less. Colonel Herolt expects no less."
"Yes, sir."
"What is the state of matters in Jyoha?"
"It was quiet when we left. I don't think they believed that we could find the
raiders, or that the raiders would fight to the death. The people didn't want
to look in our direction."
"Good. They need to show a little respect." Vaclyn frowned. "Still... we
cannot abandon Jyoha for long, or there will be more raiders and rebels. After
your efforts, it might be wiser to send another company, rather than send
Fifteenth Company back." He smiled.
Mykel didn't care for the smile. He waited.
"Since you seem able to find things that no one else can, Captain, I am
reassigning Fifteenth Company to patrolling the mine road and providing
support to the local Cadmians. ˇ Prisoners are disappearing, and no one can
find them. It appears to be the sort of mission at which you excel. Your men
may have tomorrow off. Your new duties will begin on Octdi."
"Yes, sir."
"And Captain?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are riding on the cliff edge of insubordination."
"Yes, sir. I will endeavor to be more tactful in the future, sir." Mykel
wasn't about to protest, not when things could have been much worse.
"That would be a good beginning, Captain."
"Yes, sir. By your leave, sir?"
"You may go. We'll go over your new duties tomorrow, at the second glass of
the afternoon."
Mykel bowed, then left. He needed to know more about what was going on with
the mine. Prisoners disappearing?
He wasn't certain whether he liked that or the majer's smile less.
Rather than return to his quarters, he headed for the officers' mess. He hoped
to find one of the Cadmian captains-- before he talked to Kuertyl or had to
talk to the majer again about Fifteenth Company's new assignment. When he
entered the mess, he saw Kuertyl and Heransyr engaged in a conversation, one
that Mykel didn't wish to join, not yet, but Meryst was sitting by himself,
looking as though he might be almost ready to leave.
Mykel hurried over. Meryst had seemed slightly more approachable than Benjyr.
"Could I join you for a moment?"
Meryst looked up, surprised. "Certainly. I had thought you were up north in
Jyoha."
"We just returned a glass ago." Mykel eased into the chair across from Meryst.
"How did Jyoha go?"
"Not well," Mykel admitted. "We tracked down a group of raiders. They attacked
us rather than surrender. They killed one trooper with a crossbow right off,
and..." He shrugged. "When it was all over, most of them were dead."
"You don't sound pleased about that."
"They were hungry men forced off their lands, most of them, anyway. I was
ordered to capture or kill them--or face court-martial. It wasn't put quite
that way."
Meryst's ironic laugh was sympathetic. "It never is."
"So... now we've been assigned to the mine road and supporting you. I hoped
you could tell me what you know, what we shouldn't do--that sort of thing.
Majer Vaclyn was telling me that prisoners are disappearing. We're supposed to
help so that doesn't happen." Mykel gave a crooked smile. "I have a feeling
that it's not that simple."
Meryst laughed. "You have that right. The prisoners are disappearing in the
mine. They're counted when they enter, and they're counted when they leave. If
anyone is missing,
that crew is cordoned off, and the tunnels they were working are searched. So
are all the other tunnels. We've lost ten miners in the last two weeks. No
bodies, and no one saw them go."
"Is this something new?"
Meryst gnawed his lower lip with his upper teeth. "There have been
disappearances before, in the mines, not with prisoners climbing the stockade
or jumping from the bridge. But only one or two a season, if that. These
numbers ... there's no record of anything like this."
The mess steward arrived with a mug of ale. "There is only flatfish tonight,
sir."
"Whatever there is, thank you."
The steward bowed and hurried away.
Mykel took a swallow of the ale. His throat was dry, and while fish was better
than bread and cheese and dried meat, it wasn't that much better. "Do you have
any idea why or how?"
Meryst shook his head.
Mykel could tell that the other man had an idea, but wasn't about to share it.
He'd either been ordered not to say, or didn't feel comfortable saying what he
felt. Mykel would have wagered on the second. "Have you been taking fire from
rebels in the hills around the mines?"
"Once in a while, but no one's been hit. Not yet."
"You think that they're shooting more than they used to?"
"Until a season ago, or less, no one ever shot at us," Meryst replied.
"What's going on, do you think?"
"I wish I knew. The first thing was the prisoners disappearing. That started
at the end of summer. Maybe sooner. I was on furlough for two weeks. Then some
of the prisoners wouldn't go into the mines. They said it wasn't safe, but no
one had been hurt. We had to flog a bunch." Meryst's face tightened as he
spoke. "Then more of them started trying to escape."
"Why would the seltyrs get involved?"
"The seltyrs? What do they have to do with the mines?"
"Seltyr Ubarjyr was outfitting an entire company of mounted rifles..." Mykel
went on to explain what had happened in Enstyla. He was surprised that Meryst
didn't know.
"I'd heard that you'd had trouble up in Enstyla," replied Meryst. "When I
asked Majer Herryf, he just said that you'd taken care of the problem. He
didn't want to talk about it."
Mykel paused. Since Enstyla, Fifteenth Company had spent almost no time in
Dramuria. It was possible word hadn't gotten out. "Why would the seltyrs care
about escaped prisoners?"
Meryst laughed. "How many do you think they put there? Ubarjyr was the worst."
"What do you mean?"
"Not all the bat shit goes to Southgate and the Vedra river ports. The bigger
growers get some of it. The soil isn't great here, you know. There's an
unspoken agreement. It's not written anywhere. The more miners that come from
a sel-tyr's holdings and retainers, the more they get. It's a good way to get
rid of anyone who complains and to get more of the bat shit for worked-out
lands. The council director and the director of the mine just look the other
way. They always need more miners. They've found another one of the caves, but
they don't have enough miners or golds to open it yet. That's what the word
around Dramuria is, anyway."
"Doesn't the justicer have to find them guilty of something?"
"The justicer belongs to the growers. Always has."
"You think Ubarjyr was building a private force to protect himself?"
Meryst shrugged. "I don't know. It's possible."
The longer Mykel was in Dramur, the less he liked what he was discovering. But
it had often been that way on deployments. That was why Cadmians were
deployed. Still...
"There's not much I can tell you about the seltyrs. They keep things to
themselves," added Meryst.
"Is Rachyla--the seltyr's daughter--still in confinement?"
"You interested in her?" Meryst grinned.
"She's good-looking," Mykel admitted, "but I think she knows more than she's
saying. I'd like to talk to her, but... if I go through Majer Vaclyn..." He
shrugged.
Meryst nodded. "I can see that. How about the first glass after muster
tomorrow? We take over the guard then."
"I wouldn't want to cause you trouble." Much as he wanted to see Rachyla, he
did not want to put Meryst on his majer's bad side.
"There won't be. Your majer will be talking to Herryf that early. I'll let the
guards know you're trying to find out something to help us all from getting
shot. That's true, isn't it?"
"I hope so. I think she knows where the rifles came from. If we could find
that out..."
Meryst smiled. "It would help."
"It would. Thank you." Mykel decided to change the subject. "If I could ask
one other thing. How have you been handling road patrols on the mine road?"
"We send a patrol up front, first, or we did. Thirteenth Company has been
doing that lately, gives us more men to watch the prisoners..."
As Meryst talked, Mykel listened.

39
Septi morning dawned chill, cloudy, and
windy, and the air was raw and damp. As he crossed the compound courtyard,
Mykel decided that it was the coldest day he'd experienced so far in Dramur,
and the damp chill made it feel colder than it was. Almost to the moment, at
one glass past the morning muster, he approached the officer's cell. To his
relief, he found Meryst standing by the locked door, talking to the guards.
"Good morning, Captain," offered Meryst, turning to face Mykel.
"Good morning."
"We wish you the best of luck in finding out something." Meryst laughed.
"Neither the Myrmidon colonel nor either majer has had much success."
"Then I can't do any worse," replied Mykel.
Both the sentries and Meryst smiled broadly. One of the two Cadmian rankers
produced the heavy brass key, unlocked the lock, slid back the pair of iron
bolts.
"You won't need more than a glass, will you?" asked Meryst.
Mykel understood perfectly. Vaclyn and Herryf always spent a glass discussing
things in the morning. "That's if I can persuade her to talk. Much less if I
can't."
"Let's hope you can."
Mykel hoped so as well, but he wasn't counting on it.
The sentries held their weapons ready as Mykel opened and door and stepped
inside.
"You could announce yourself." Rachyla sat on the side of the bed. She wore
gray trousers and a heavy green shirt, with slippers, rather than boots. Mykel
noted the dark circles under her eyes, but those piercing green eyes looked
anything but defeated or beaten.
"I'm sorry. I thought you'd be up."
"I am up. It's just a matter of manners, Captain. What do you want?"
"To talk to you."
"So that you can get more information from me?"
"I've gotten very little." Mykel laughed easily. He remained standing, a good
two yards back from the narrow bed. "You might consider what you could tell me
without betraying anyone. That way, I might understand what is happening."
"I'm not aware that Cadmians considered understanding af great import."
"Some don't. Some do."
"Don't pretend. I don't like it."
"How about this, then? Forty men died earlier this week, because they attacked
my company. They'd been driven off their lands, not by Cadmians, but by
growers, because they couldn't pay their debts. It doesn't make sense, and I
really would like it to make sense."
"So that you could find a better way to kill more people?"
"Rachyla... for what it's worth, I'd like to remind you that I didn't take you
into confinement when I found that first rifle. My men didn't start shooting
at your father's men until they fired at us first. Hard as it may be for you
to understand, I would rather not kill people."
"For that, to make you feel better, I'm supposed to betray people?" Her eyes
never left his face.
Mykel snorted. "I asked you to explain what you could without betraying
anyone."
"Anything I say will betray someone."
"Why did your father need rifles? I don't see how explaining that would betray
anyone."
"An unarmed seltyr is without honor. A seltyr who has no rifles when others do
is unarmed."
That didn't make sense, unless ... "Who else has rifles?"
"Did I say that others have rifles, Captain?"
Mykel waited. Sometimes, saying nothing worked better than saying anything. He
just looked at Rachyla, taking in the black hair swept up onto the back of her
head, the clear skin, and the deep green eyes. She had a nose that was strong,
but not overlarge, and long fingers. Her cheekbones were high.
A good quarter glass passed.
"You're more patient than the majers," she finally said. "Or the Myrmidon."
"I have more at stake. So do you."
f        More time passed.
"You know that there are two types of growers, the larger ones, like my
father, who are called seltyrs, and those who are just growers ..."
Mykel nodded, waiting.
"There are also the growers of the east, and those to the west. Those in the
west are more prosperous. They do not need the guano. They do not need
irrigation ditches. They have always believed that the growers of the east
have hidden their coins. We grow casaran nuts, but they grow apple bananas and
use their spiders to create shimmersilk. Those bring far more in golds. With
enough golds, one can buy anything, even Cadmian rifles. What else could my
father do?"
"The western growers are planning to take over the east of the isle?"
Rachyla shrugged. "Now ... with your Cadmians here, who can tell?"
Mykel considered. She could well be lying, but... it didn't feel that way, and
he usually had a good sense about that. Then, did he want to believe what she
said? "Do you have any idea why they would risk it?"
"No. I would judge that they felt that the Duarch would not care so long as
the guano and dyes and shimmersilk kept coming. Would you say I was wrong?"
The corners of her mouth lifted into a sardonic smile.
"No," Mykel admitted. "Did your father ever speak to MajerHerryf?"
"How could he, without revealing what he knew and becoming a target?" Her face
hardened again. "You and your men did a great favor for the western growers."
"It wasn't meant as such," Mykel pointed out.
"No. I can see that you did not mean it that way. Does it matter what you
meant? My father is dead, and I am here, and one day, I will be found dead--or
put before a justicer and quickly found guilty of something I did not do and
exe-
cuted. Or I will just vanish, and no one will be able to explain how it
happened."
Mykel could see how she could believe that. She was probably right, too, and
that bothered him.
"No one talks to me, except you and the majers. Even the evil one only came
once."
"The evil one?"
"The Myrmidon colonel. All of them are evil, deep inside. They do not belong
here."
"Where? Here on Dramuria?"
"They do not belong on our world. They are different. They even smell
different. We will be here when they are long gone." Abruptly, she closed her
mouth.
Smell different? Mykel frowned. "How could they smell different?"
"They do."
"Just how will they depart when they have the Myrmidons and the flame lances?"
"I have said all that I will say."
"And more than you would have," Mykel said gently.
"You are not so evil as the others, Captain. For that, you will pay dearly."
"When did the western growers plan to attack?"
Rachyla shook her head.
"Do you know who was the one the other western growers looked to?"
The only response was an enigmatic smile.
She had said all that she would say. He bowed. "Thank you. I'll see what can
be done."
"You are as confined as I, Captain. Your cell is merely larger. You can do
nothing." The green eyes focused on Mykel, just taking him in, neither judging
nor dismissing.
After a moment, he bowed once more, then turned, and rapped on the door.
Again, the Cadmian guards had their rifles trained as
Mykel left the officer's cell. The angular guard quickly threw the bolts and
snapped the lock closed.
"Did you learn anything?" asked Meryst.
"More than I expected, less than I hoped. I'll have to look into some things.
Then I'll know. I don't want to say much until then. She just might be telling
me things that aren't true."
"Seltyrs and their families haven't been known for their directness," replied
Meryst. "I learned that a long time back."
"I've gathered that." Mykel bowed. "I thank you and hope that this will lead
to something that will help us both."
"So do we."
Mykel nodded, then turned, walking northward across the courtyard. What could
he say to either majer? He wasn't supposed to have talked to Rachyla, although
he hadn't officially been prohibited from doing so. He had no real proof that
the western growers had gotten rifles, and he wouldn't until or unless those
growers revolted or attacked--or unless the Third Battalion raided the western
seltyrs. Majer Vaclyn would have no compunctions about conducting such a raid,
and the results would certainly trigger a revolt, whether the seltyrs were
innocent or guilty.
So what was he to do? He couldn't risk telling the majer, and yet... what if
the western growers were planning a surprise attack?
If pressed, if the majer did find out he had visited the woman, Mykel could
say that she had told him that there were more rifles in Dramur, and that
included the western growers, but that he had not been able to discover either
names or locations.
He didn't want to say even that. Majer Vaclyn wasn't above using stronger
methods to get Rachyla to talk, but Mykel doubted those would work--except to
injure or disfigure her--and what was the point of that?
Sometimes, he wondered what the point of anything was.

40
The weather had held, and Dainyl had returned to the compound late on Quinti.
He had not discussed what had happened on the mountain, except to tell Quelyt
that he had had a brief glimpse of something that might have been an ancient.
That was more than shading the truth, but what else could he say? That a
creature that was supposed to have died centuries before had told him to
change or die? Without explaining what she meant?
How had she even known his tongue? That alone would have been troubling
enough, not to mention her ability to vanish without a trace, and that of the
blocky creatures with her to melt into the very stones of the mountains.
Yet... if she were such a threat, why had there been no sign of her and her
people for centuries? All of Corus teamed with indigens and landers and more
than a few alectors, and there had been no reports of the ancients in
generations.
He paused. That was not quite true. He had heard of no reports. That did not
mean that there were none.
Add to that reports of an insurrection that was not, or not much of one, and
the entire situation in Dramur was troubling, perhaps troubling enough for him
to act, except that he had no better idea than the Cadmian majers did about
what was really going on. If he were to take command immediately, he reminded
himself, how could he improve the situation? Far better to continue to observe
and reflect, until he either knew enough to act well--or until he had to act
because the majers had blundered so badly that he had no choice.
In the time he was reflecting, he noted the return of Fif-
teenth Company. Since he had had not received any report about that return
from either majer, after breakfast on Septi he made his way to the small study
in headquarters that Majer Vaclyn had taken over.
The majer jumped to his feet as Dainyl entered. "Colonel, I hadn't expected
you."
Dainyl gestured for Vaclyn to take his seat. Then he sat on the edge of the
chair across from the majer and looked down and across the desk at the Cadmian
officer. "I would appreciate a short report on what Third Battalion has done
in the past week."
"I can write something up, sir."
"Just tell me."
"Yes, sir." Vaclyn squared himself and looked at Dainyl. "Fifteenth Company
has just returned from Jyoha. The company was successful in tracking down and
encircling forty armed raiders. Regretfully, the raiders chose not to
surrender to custody and attacked. Virtually all of them were killed or died
shortly thereafter of wounds received in the battle. Fifteenth Company
suffered four losses and several wounded."
"Who is the captain?"
"Captain Mykel. He was the one under my command when we took out the seltyr's
force in Enstyla."
"He seems to have learned well from you." DainyPs tone was bland, much as he
disliked Vaclyn, and the majer's exaggeration of his own efforts. He also
could sense a residue of Talent.
"He and his men use weapons well, sir. Since they have returned here, I will
be rotating Thirteenth Company north to the Jyoha area shortly. I've assigned
Fifteenth Company to handle the patrols on the mine road and in the
surrounding area."
"What of the other companies?"
"Fourteenth Company is patrolling the valley trails used by the smugglers.
They captured a small boat of smugglers
last Londi, with several cases of ammunition, but the three men handling the
boat have not so far been helpful or informative. They remain in custody.
Sixteenth Company has been on station north of the valley trails, but has seen
no sign of other rebel forces, either from the growers or from escaped
prisoners. Seventeenth Company has been patrolling the roads through the
mountains from the western plantations. The company's presence has been
effective in discouraging brigandry. That had been a problem, according to
Majer Herryf."
"With the exception of the places where Fifteenth Company has been, everything
seems settled, then."
"Yes, sir."
"Might you happen to have a report from this Captain Mykel on his activities."
"He briefed me when he arrived here last night, sir. I have not yet written up
a formal report."
About that, the majer was clearly lying, and not a little upset behind the
pleasant facade. Dainyl decided to press slightly. "When you've finished it, I
would like to see it." He smiled. "Matters are so quiet that it would be
useful to read about what action has taken place. Is there anything else I
should know?"
"Not that I can think of, Colonel," replied Vaclyn, "but if anything should
come up, you will be the first to know."
Dainyl extended a Talent-compulsion. "Have you met with any other alectors
besides me?"
"Ah ... just the marshal when he briefed Colonel Herolt and me before we
embarked for Dramuria."
That was true enough--but why was there a residue of Talent after so long?
"Did you spend much time with the marshal? Just you?"
"Only a few moments. He cautioned me to be wary of the seltyrs' machinations."
Vaclyn believed that to be true as well.
Dainyl stood. "Thank you."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl made his way out into the courtyard, where a chill and raw wind blew
from the northeast. He missed the warmth of even the winter sun, although it
was not truly a winter sun, not so far south.
Should he go talk to Captain Mykel? Dainyl shook his head. There were times
when it was better to let matters take their course, as Lystrana had so often
told him. This was one of those times. He did wonder why the marshal had
impressed the matter of seltyr machinations upon the majer. What part did that
play in whatever the marshal and the Highest were doing? They were clearly
setting the Cadmi-ans against the seltyrs, but Dainyl had not the slightest
shred of real proof that he could show--or anyone to whom he could tell what he
had discovered.
All he could do was wait for an opportunity. As a former Myrmidon ranker,
though, he hated to wait. He'd always felt that acting earlier worked better
than waiting; but at the moment, he had no real choice--not after what had
happened to Tyanylt. He'd also learned that he had to pick his battles
carefully, and picking one now would be fatal.

41
Octdi morning was every bit as blustery and chill as Septi had been when Mykel
turned in the saddle of the chestnut gelding to look back down the road at the
sagging barracks behind the two stone walls across the high bluff. To the east
of the walls were the sheds where the prisoners slept. Then he looked ahead
again. The road from Dramuria to the guano mine was paved with rough-cut
Sraystone, soft enough that over the years the iron-rimmed
wheels of the wagons carrying the guano to the port had worn wide tracks into
the very stone.
The first ten vingts from Dramuria were used by holders, by traders, all
manner of people, but that was not the part of the road assigned to Fifteenth
Company. Fifteenth Company was responsible only for the two-vingt stretch that
ran a vingt southeast from the bluff prison compound southeast toward Dramuria
and a vingt northwest over the river bridge and up to the mine--as well as an
arc five vingts deep around mat road, with all the side roads and lanes.
There were stone walls two yards high on both sides of the road from the
prison camp gates to the mine itself. A stockade surrounded the mining area.
Even the sides of the bridge over the Muralto River were two yards high, but
they were of timber, rather than stone.
In his briefing on Septi, Majer Vaclyn had been very clear that Mykel was to
be out with his troopers all the time, and that he was not to follow the lax
example of the local Cadmian officers. So, early on Octdi morning, Mykel was
leading fifth squad on the sweep of the road before the local Cadmians marched
the prisoners to the mine.
"Sure wouldn't want to be them," observed Vhanyr, the oldest of the squad
leaders in the company. "Can smell that shit from here, and we're a vingt away
with the wind at our back."
"We'll be smelling it more than we'd like." Mykel couldn't see anyone on the
road, or in the rocks above and beyond the stone wall. At two yards high, the
wall was really only good for slowing most prisoners down, but since the
prisoners were shackled in pairs, two yards of stone should have been enough.
On each side of the road, a trooper rode beside the wall, close enough to be
able to look ahead and over it, to make sure that no one was on the other
side.
"Glad we're out of Jyoha," said Vhanyr. "Those folks were scary."
That was true enough, reflected Mykel, but Fourteenth Company had been there
earlier, and Majer Vaclyn had doubtless given Dohark the same kinds of orders
he'd impressed upon Mykel. He'd probably be giving the same orders to Kuertyl
for Thirteenth Company.
Crack!... thwingg! A bullet ricocheted off the surface of the road, and
powdered stone puffed up momentarily ten yards in front of Mykel.
Mykel jerked his head to the left, and had his rife aimed. He didn't see
anyone, but the shot had come from the rocks above the road ahead of them and
to his left. It had been aimed at Dhozynt, the lead scout.
"Eyes open to the left!" he ordered. "Keep moving!"
He had a feeling, just a feeling, about where the shooter had to be, and he
kept the rifle ready, his eyes darting back to that spot from each other part
of the rocky slope.
He'd ridden another fifty yards when he saw a flicker.
Crack!... crack! His two shots were measured, and he had willed each of them
to strike, a habit he'd formed soon after he'd learned how to handle the
Cadmian rifle. It worked, for whatever reason, because he always hit what he
aimed for. Shooting was the sole Cadmian skill at which he could say that he
truly excelled.
Abruptly, a gray-clad form sprawled across a rock, fifty yards upslope, and a
rifle clattered against stone as it skidded downslope.
"You want us to get the body, sir?"
"I think we'd better. Without evidence, Majer Vaclyn doesn't like to believe
us," replied Mykel.- He realized that he shouldn't have put it that way, but
he was getting tired of the majer's arrogance. "I'll cover them."
"Palam, Voeret! Head up there and bring down that body. The rifle, too, and
anything that he left. Captain and scouts are covering you!"
Mykel didn't feel as though anyone else happened to be up in the rocks, not
right above them or nearby, but he
wasn't about to relax his guard, not when he was the one who'd ordered the men
up after the dead rebel.
He was not reassured when the two troopers struggled back with the body and
the rifle, even when he looked down at the gaunt bearded form lying on the
graystone road. The dead rebel wore a dark gray tunic and trousers that
blended in with the rocks above the mine road. On his feet were heavy crude
sandals, not boots, and his belt was a length of rope tied at one side.
"The belt pouch has cartridges, sir," offered Voeret. "Not many. The rifle is
one of ours. It's got a number, not like the ones in Enstyla."
"Put the body over the back of a mount. We need to sweep the road ahead." As
he reloaded, so that he would have a full magazine again, Mykel glanced back
toward the prison compound. The local Cadmians were forming up the prisoners
for the march up to the mineworks. The sniper had delayed the road sweep, and
fifth squad needed to get moving.
Was that the point of the sniping? To distract them?
When everyone in fifth squad was ready once more, he nodded at Vhanyr.
Mykel had ridden another half vingt when he began to feel someone, something
in the rocks ahead. He felt foolish, but he aimed where he sensed something
and loosed one round, then a second, and finally a third. There was silence on
the road as the echoes of the shots died away--but only for a moment.
A volley of shots ripped out of the hillside.
"Take cover behind the wall!" snapped Mykel, following his own advice, if
belatedly, and easing the chestnut up beside the wall. He flattened himself
against his mount's neck and studied the slope.
"Fire at will!" he ordered, then he aimed and fired, concentrating hard on a
patch of gray that was not quite right in color.
The rebel slumped, and Mykel began to search for another target.
For a time after the initial flurry of fire, the shots on both sides were
intermittent.
After perhaps a quarter glass, there was no more fire from the hillside,
and--seemingly--no one remaining up above them.
Mykel waited... and waited.
In the end, they found five bodies--all with numbered and marked Cadmian
rifles. All had been dressed in dark gray, with sandals, instead of real
boots, and all had miners' tattoos on their ankles.
The local Cadmians barely looked at the bodies as they marched the prisoners
up past fifth squad, stationed in two ranks of nine on each side of the gate
into the mineworks.
Mykel kept swallowing, trying to escape the smell of the guano, but he
listened to the murmurs of the squad as they watched the last of the prisoners
enter the mineworks.
"What is it... about the Captain?"
That was one of the newer Cadmians. Mykel had to concentrate to remember the
man's name--Herast.
"... always been like this ..."
"... ever get wounded?"
Someone laughed.
Mykel doubted he'd ever live that down. In his first skirmish as an officer,
he'd stood in the stirrups and half turned to give an order, and one of the
Reillies had fired and bit him in the side of the buttocks, more like the back
of his upper thigh, but the word among the rankers for more than a year was
that the undercaptain finally understood being a pain in the ass.
Finally, the heavy wooden gates closed behind the last Cadmian guard.
"Let's head back." Mykel nodded at Vhanyr.
"Double column! Forward! Look lively!"
Mykel had been bothered by the local Cadmians' indif-
ference to the six bodies, but then, everything about Dramur was beginning to
disturb him--and he still worried about what to say about what Rachyla had
revealed. His fingers dropped toward the ancient's knife, but he did not touch
it.

42
Falyna arrived back from Elcien late in the afternoon on Octdi, bearing a
series of dispatches. Only one was for Dainyl. Along with that dispatch came a
sealed letter. Dainyl slipped the letter from Lystrana into his jacket, to
read later.
Falyna had begun to unsaddle the pteridon, after handing the two other
dispatches to Quelyt. In turn, Quelyt set off on foot to deliver the
dispatches for Majer Herryf and Majer Vaclyn to their senior squad leaders.
"What did you hear in Elcien? asked Dainyl.
"No one's saying much, but there's a mess out east in Iron Stem," replied
Falyna, undoing the girths. "Marshal Shastylt was only in Elcien for two days
the whole time we were there. Zorlcyt said that he'd come back to talk to the
High Alector of Justice--more like he was ordered back-- and then showed up at
headquarters and dashed off the dispatches and headed back to Iron Stem
again."
"What else?"
"They sent Yuasylt and his squad to Hyalt, something about brigands in the
hills that the local Cadmian garrison couldn't handle. Undercaptain Chelysta
was complaining that the duty rosters were too thin, with two squads in Iron
Stem, and one in Hyalt, and us here."
"They've been thinner than that many times." Dainyl could recall times when
he'd been an undercaptain, and his
one squad had done all the dispatch flying for weeks at a stretch.
"Not for a while, though. Folks forget."
That was true enough. "Anything more?"
"Not much. One of the assistants to the High Alector of Justice was taking one
of those Tables to Dereka and got caught in the middle of a wild translation.
The Highest will have to find another assistant." Falyna looked at the
colonel. "If you took over as his assistant, you could stay in Elcien. I'd
wager they'd consider it."
Dainyl suppressed a frown behind a laugh. "I've met the Highest on one or two
occasions. He's most formidable. I'll stay in the Myrmidons so long as they'll
have me."
Falyna snickered. "Colonel, I have to admire how you can suggest that another
alector would translate his own mother twice and smile."
"I didn't say that."
The flier just grinned.
"I'd better find a quiet spot and read what the marshal has in store for us,"
Dainyl said.
"I should have kept you talking longer, sir."
Dainyl waved Falyna off, but with a smile, and headed back to his quarters.
Once he was alone, he settled himself on the end of the bed and looked at the
envelope. It was addressed to Colonel Dainyl, with no other titles. The
Talent-seal had not been tampered with, and Dainyl opened the envelope,
extracted the sheets of the dispatch, and began to read.
Colonel--
Both the High Alector of Justice and I have read your single dispatch about
the situation in Dramur. It would appear that the unrest there has been fueled
by differing causes, and your prudence in remaining an observer is to be
commended.
The matter of the unmarked Cadmian rifles has been referred to the High
Alector of Engineering in Ludar, with a request that the manufactory inventory
and shipping processes be reviewed. While a few hundred rifles should not in
themselves present an insurmountable problem to the Cadmians, you are
requested to keep a close eye on these matters in the event that the situation
should deteriorate further.
What is most disturbing is that the local steers would even think to fire upon
an alector. Your immediate action in destroying the would-be attackers is also
to be commended. Such acts cannot be countenanced, particularly now...
Particularly now? Why was now any different from the generations before?
Because the time was nearing to transfer the master scepter? And because
disruptions would count against Acorus in deciding which world would succeed
Ifryn in power and glory?
... You must be especially alert against anything that might lead to a
full-scale insurrection. At the same time, as has been emphasized, you must
not intrude unless and until it is clear that the Cadmian battalion cannot
handle the situation.
Those words were an indication that Dainyl had read the situation correctly.
I would suggest weekly dispatches, but that must be dictated by circumstances.
Both the Highest and I count upon your discretion and judgment in these
matters.
The signature was that of Marshal Shastylt.
Dainyl read the entire dispatch, really a letter of instructions, again. He
would indeed have to be most careful as events unfolded.
Finally, he opened the letter from Lystrana. Unlike the marshal's dispatch,
the Talent-seal on hers had been tampered with, but Dainyl had expected that,
since Lystrana would have had to have left the missive with the marshal. He
smiled as he read the salutation.
My dearest,
Although the house is not large, it feels quite so, and more than a little
empty without your presence. When I wake in the morning, I still look to your
side of the bed, and at night, I often reach out, but find only cool covers. I
also miss your warm smile and enthusiasm for the day...
Thankfully, although I would rather have you here, as always, I have been much
occupied with reconciling bursars' and other accounts and financial details
occasioned by the reductions in coal production and the ramifications for all
sorts of crafting and artisan work over the next two or three quints ...
Had the disruptions at Iron Stem been that severe?
... Fortunately, Zestafyn has provided a great deal of assistance, without
which projections for the Highest would have been most difficult.
Zestafyn? If the head of the Duarch's intelligence operations were supplying
information to Lystrana, matters were far worse than the tone of her letter
suggested; but then, the
reference might have been for the benefit of the marshal or whoever had
tampered with the seal and read the letter.
.. Your mother stopped by on Tridi. It was most kind of her. She was quite
solicitous and hoped it would not be too long before you returned. She said
that your direct and practical approach to solving difficult problems usually
meant that you were never away for that long, but that meant you spent much
more time afterward polishing and smoothing displaced scales, and that someday
there would be scales that could not be smoothed back into shape. I said that
you always had to be practical, and that you would choose the best time to
act. We laughed about that, especially when I told her about the calculations
over your morning carriage ride. She was also most complimentary about the
improvements to the house, and quite warm and gracious in talking about you.
I almost forgot to tell you that I have officially been named as the chief
assistant to the High Alector of Finance. It doesn't change what I'm doing,
but it is recognition. I look forward to seeing you, whenever that may be.
Above her signature, she had written, "With all my love." Dainyl smiled at
those words. Then he nodded slowly as he considered the entire letter. What
Lystrana was telling him was that what he was involved in was extraordinarily
delicate, so delicate that even his mother was worried, and she seldom had
expressed worry. He doubted that his mother had said any such thing, or even
visited the house, but it was Lystrana's way of making a point in a letter she
had known would be read.
The two letters emphasized what he had feared all along--that far more was
going on than anyone not in-
volved knew or even than those involved could or would explain and that if he
took his usual and more direct approach, his troubles would compound
themselves. Yet Lystrana had also suggested, indirectly, that he would have to
act that way ... at the right time.
He just hoped he could recognize that decision point, or points.

43
Duadi was a cloudy day, although the clouds were high, and a cold wind, chill
for Dramur, whistled through the fields and scattered woodlands. Mykel rode
beside Chyndylt, as he had for the past week, after the efforts on the mining
road had quieted that area. With that success, Mykel had hoped that he would
hear little from the majer. He had been mistaken.
Majer Vaclyn had not been totally pleased. He'd sent a short dispatch that
asked Mykel if it had been necessary to tie up the road for over a glass and
keep the miners from working when the mine was already suffering from lowered
production. He also suggested that Mykel should have recaptured at least some
of the attackers.
Mykel had sent back a polite reply, in which he noted that it was difficult to
allow the prisoners to travel a road under fire from rebels hidden above the
road in the rocks, but that he would attempt to do better, should the
situation occur again. He'd had to stay up late in the tiny cubicle in the
rundown auxiliary barracks near the mine to write up his response, as well as
a more detailed account of both actions. He had also written a second copy for
his own records.
Because matters had continued to remain quiet on the mining road, Mykel had
been accompanying Chyndylt and
third squad on patrols of the lanes in the lower hills east of the mining
camp. Chyndylt had earlier reported that the squad had been taking sporadic
fire every day, but that they had never been able to get close to the snipers.
Whoever had been firing always chose places where they couldn't be seen.
By the end of another week's patrols, with Mykel accompanying the squad,
matters had improved somewhat While two of third squad's rankers had been
wounded, enough to send them back to Dramuria, the squad had killed three
snipers. Mykel had killed two, although it was only clear to third squad that
he had taken out one of them, and that was fine with him. He would have been
happy if he hadn't been credited with any.
He had sent back a brief report with the wounded troopers in which he noted
that one rebel had lived for a few moments after being shot, but all that
questioning could get from the dying man was that more rifles would come "from
the west" to add to those stolen from the Cadmian compound. That was as much
as any rank-and-file rebel would know, Mykel surmised.
Earlier, just past midmorning, someone had fired at the squad, but from a more
distant rise, without hitting anyone, and had used the lane to escape. Mykel
had seen no sense in pursuing, not when it might have led into a trap. The
rest of the morning had been quiet, except for an occasional jibe from
holders.
One had stood behind a tree and called, "Found any real rebels yet?"
The murmurs from the squad as they had ridden past the holder's cot had been
worrying to Mykel.
"... mouthy bastard..."
"... like to shoot him ..."
"... not the one being shot at..."
Mykel could see both sides. He didn't see any real rebellion. The shooting at
troopers hadn't happened until after
Third Battalion had arrived. The Cadmians hadn't shot anyone who hadn't shot
at them first, and they were getting tired . of being targets. So was Mykel,
but he wasn't the one who could change the orders. If he protested or ignored
them totally, he'd end up court-martialed and flogged, with someone else
succeeding him and carrying out the same orders.
"There's another cot up there," said Chyndylt. "Three men working on a
trestle, looks like they're doing something to a chimney."
"I don't see anything like rifles." Mykel continued to survey the road and the
surroundings, as did the scouts, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
As the squad neared the square stone house, with faded yellow shutters, the
two bearded stoneworkers turned, watching the squad. Neither said anything.
From one of the windows came another voice. "There go the brave Cadmians. They
shoot because they can't speak. Brave, brave, Cadmians."
"Hush ..." That was a woman's voice.
"I won't. They don't do any good, just kill good men who were sent to the
mines because they were poor. Or because they angered the seltyrs. Ride on!
Ride on, brave Cadmians."
Mykel winced. At least, the idiot had enough sense to stay out of sight.
The unseen woman said something, and the man did not taunt the passing squad
again.
The last of third squad was a good hundred yards past the cot before Chyndylt
spoke. "I'd wager he wouldn't dare to say that face-to-face."
'That's not a wager I'd take," replied Mykel.
"Why are they so angry?"
"They don't want us here. They think that we're tools of the seltyrs and the
growers."
"But... the majer killed one of the seltyrs, and Fifteenth Company destroyed
his private arms force. If the seltyrs had their way, we wouldn't be here."
"Things like facts and truth don't change people's feelings," replied Mykel.
Another glass passed, and, as noon approached, ahead Mykel saw a gray-haired
man carrying stones, apparently to extend a low stone wall that paralleled the
lane. The man fitted each stone, then turned to a pile behind him for another.
As the squad neared, the man stopped and watched.
His eyes avoided Mykel's as the captain rode past.
"Brave, brave Cadmians ..."
The words were just loud enough to be heard. Mykel hoped no one else did. But
hoping probably wasn't enough. For a moment, he debated, then eased the
chestnut aside and started to turn to head back toward the rear of the squad.
Crack! Crack!
"Third squad! Turn and hold!" Mykel snapped.
He finished wheeling the chestnut. When he looked back, less than ten yards
away, a figure lay slumped over the knee-high stone wall. It was the
gray-haired man.
The last four Cadmians had halted on the lane just forward of the fallen man.
As Mykel rode toward them, past the rest of the squad, he had no doubts that
the holder was dead.
"What happened here?" demanded Mykel, reining up. "Who shot him?"
There was no answer. Mykel's eyes hardened, and he began to look over the last
four Cadmians--Rykyt, Jonasyr, Polynt, and Mergeyt.
Polynt looked at the captain with some concern, but not at all nervously.
Jonasyr didn't look at Mykel at all.
The squat and dark-haired Mergeyt swallowed.
"Yes, Mergeyt? Did you shoot him?"
"No, sir. Polynt did. The fellow said we had to be brave to kill honest folk.
Told us to go back where we came from. Then, he looked at Polynt. Maybe he
said something. Maybe he didn't, but Polynt plugged him."
For all the nervousness Mergeyt displayed, Mykel knew the ranker was telling
the truth.
"What happened, Polynt?" Mykel asked.
"Mergeyt shot him," replied the tall blond ranker. "The old fellow called him
useless as a teats on a boar, and worse-smelling than bat dung." Polynt looked
directly at Mykel without any nervousness at all.
"I didn't!" Mergeyt's voice rose almost to a squeak.
Mykel turned to Jonasyr. "What happened?"
"I don't know, sir. I was looking up front. I just heard the shots. Polynt and
Mergeyt were riding back of us."
The captain knew what Rykyt was going to say before the angular and weathered
lander ever did.
"I heard 'em talking, sir, but not who said what. Then there were shots."
Mykel wondered... if they just buried the body? No. With his luck, someone
would find the man, and then he'd be facing a flogging to the death. How ... ?
He almost hit his own head as he realized he had the answer. Before he said a
word, his own rifle was out. "Polynt! Mergeyt! Hand your rifles to Rykyt. Both
of you. Butt first. Now!"
"Yes, sir." Polynt handed over his rifle easily, almost casually.
Mergeyt's hands were shaking as he did.
"Rykyt, check the magazines."
"Polynt's weapon's warm, sir. Two shells missing."
That was as he suspected. "What about Mergeyt's rifle?"
"Cold, and fully loaded, sir." Rykyt's eyes narrowed as he looked at Polynt.
"There's a mistake, sir. Mergeyt switched weapons on me." Polynt projected
complete sincerity.
"We'll see about that. We'll have a hearing. I think the Myrmidon colonel's
still in Dramuria. They're pretty good at finding things out." One way or
another, Mykel needed to get some other officer besides Majer Vaclyn involved.
He
looked at the other older ranker. "Jonasyr. See if there's anyone in the cot
over there."
There was no one else in the cot, and the signs were that no one else lived
there.
So the dead holder's body went with them, and Mykel dreaded making the
reports, but there was no safe way to hide what had been done, and no way to
justify it--not that didn't leave him open to even greater risk and punishment.

44
Slightly past midafternoon on Duadi afternoon, after returning to the mining
barracks briefly, Mykel rode south to Dramuria with third squad. He left
Fifteenth Company under Bhoral, with instructions to continue the same
patrols, except for the area that third squad had been covering. No one was to
patrol there.
The ride to the Cadmian compound in Dramuria took more than two glasses, and
Mykel brought the squad in the smaller east gate, where they would not visible
from the headquarters building. Since Majer Vaclyn seldom inspected or visited
the stables or the troopers' barracks, Mykel had a good chance of working
matters out as he planned. It was worth the attempt.
Before he left the barracks area where third squad was quartered, Mykel gave
specific orders to Chyndylt. "Keep third squad together. Keep Polynt under
guard, and don't let anyone talk to anyone until I return, or until you get
direct orders from someone senior."
"That bad, sir?"
It was probably worse, but Mykel wasn't about to say so. "Not if we handle it
right."
When he reached the headquarters building, he eased in-
side and looked along the main corridor. He didn't see Ma-jer Vaclyn. He made
his way to the duty desk.
"Is Majer Vaclyn in?"
"No, sir," replied the squad leader. "He left a few moment ago. He said he
wouldn't be that long."
"Thank you."
Mykel couldn't find Captain Meryst, but Captain Benjyr was in his study in the
headquarters building.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" asked Benjyr.
"I need a moment with Majer Herryf. Is he around?"
"He might be..."
"It's important that he and Majer Vaclyn know something, but if Majer Herryf
doesn't know about it, and I report to Majer Vaclyn..."
"I think he's still in his study."
Mykel followed the other captain down the corridor.
"Sir," said Benjyr, opening the study door slightly, "Captain Mykel of
Fifteenth Company would like a few words with you."
"Have him come in."
Benjyr smiled at Mykel. "Good luck." His voice was low.
Mykel stepped into the majer's study. The door clicked shut behind him.
'This is rather unusual," began Herryf. "You report to Majer Vaclyn. For
whatever it is, I should send you to him."
"Yes, sir. I'm not asking you to do anything. Something happened that I
thought both you and Majer Vaclyn should know. He stepped out, and the duty
desk didn't know when he'd be back. I thought that you might be able to
counsel the majer if you knew."
Herryf frowned.
"Let me explain, sir. Fifteenth Company has been taking a lot of sniping. I've
sent two men back here wounded in the last week..." Mykel quickly summarized
what had happened, then went on. "... we're being called outland Cad-naians,
and everyone thinks you've been pushed aside. We
won't be here forever. We never are on deployments, and it seemed to me that
you'd have to deal with the results of what we do."
"That is most considerate of you, Captain, but it would have been less trouble
for all of us if your man hadn't shot a Dramuran."
"There's one other problem, sir. The Cadmian who did the shooting is a
Dramuran. He's one of two in my company."
"I'm not sure how that changes matters, Captain."
"It may not. If Polynt is executed, that's two Dramurans dead, and Third
Battalion killed them both. It is a difficult situation. I even have to ask if
the man who shot the holder might have fled Dramur and might have had a grudge
against the holder."
Herryf frowned. "Why would you think that?"
"There were words exchanged, and it seems strange that, just from nowhere, a
ranker would shoot someone. Polynt denies it all, of course. The thing is, if
it is a grudge shooting, then that's one thing, and it ought to be handled as
a case of murder. If it's not, then you and Majer Vaclyn both need to know
that all of this taunting on patrols is having an effect."
"Are you sure that it doesn't reflect lack of supervision, Captain?"
"Every company in Third Battalion has been sniped at, sir, but Fifteenth
Company has taken more attacks than anyone."
"Are you hoping that this is something local?"
"I don't think it is, sir, but I don't know. There's no real way for either me
or Majer Vaclyn to find out. You could, and that would make sure this is
handled in the proper fashion."
"I can see your concerns. You also don't want to be blamed for a failure
that's not in your control, either, I imagine."
"I'm responsible, one way or another, sir. I'd just like to limit the damage."
Mykel tried to convey both sincerity and concern. "I had thought, with a
Myrmidon colonel here, there might be something he could do ... but that
decision rests with you and Majer Vaclyn."
There was a knock on the study door. "Captain Benjyr, sir. Majer Vaclyn has
returned. I told him you might need a few words with him. He said that he'd
await your pleasure."
Herryf smiled faintly and stood. "Lead the way, Captain."
"Yes, sir." Mykel offered a half bow and turned, stepping out of the study. He
could only hope that he could present matters in a way that restricted Majer
Vaclyn's actions, but much of that depended on Herryf. He knew he could not
trust either majer to act fairly unless it was in each's interest to do so,
and he had to set matters so that they saw matters in a similar light.
Majer Vaclyn's mouth almost dropped open as he saw Mykel, but he merely nodded
as Majer Herryf followed Mykel into the small study.
"Majer," Mykel began, "I was looking for you, but you were out, and, since the
matter I was seeking you for also involved Majer Herryf, I sought him out
while I was waiting for your return. As you know, Fifteenth Company has been
patrolling the mine road and the surrounding area in an effort to capture
rebels. We have taken sporadic fire for weeks now ..." Mykel went on to
explain exactly what had happened with the third squad patrol. "Because this
matter will affect both of you, and because--"
"Who knows about this?" snapped Vaclyn.
"The people in this room, sir, and third squad. No one else. The holder lived
alone. That was another reason why I returned immediately with third squad.
Polynt is under restraint in the barracks at this point, and the squad is
under orders not to talk to anyone about the matter."
For several moments, there was silence.
Then Vaclyn turned to Herryf. "Majer... you have had more time to consider
this, and you're more familiar with the local situation. What do you think?"
Herryf smiled politely. "I think your captain was very wise in considering
what the local implications might be, particularly with a Myrmidon colonel
observing us. His immediate referral to us speaks well of your example and
oversight, Majer."
Mykel managed to keep his face impassive. Herryf saw a definite advantage in
not having Mykel made an example, but where was the local Cadmian majer
headed?
"As you may not know," Herryf continued, "I had raised the matter of the
rebels with the Marshal of Myrmidons and Cadmians sometime ago. I had
requested the authority and golds to establish another company. That request
was ... deferred. Then, your battalion was deployed here. For these reasons,
for either one of us to hold a court-martial over the officers and men
involved could be seen as less than impartial."
"You are suggesting that we request the colonel act as justicer, then?" asked
Vaclyn.
"He has that authority, and as an observer, he has even more impartiality."
"That does have merit," reflected Vaclyn.
"Since the incident did occur with Third Battalion, of course," Herryf added,
"I could not make such a request, but I would be pleased to concur and add my
strong recommendation. My very strong recommendation."
"The recommendation will be ready in the morning, Majer," Vaclyn replied. "I
appreciate your counsel and support."
"If we do not act together," replied Herryf, "we may well suffer separately.
If there is nothing more?"
"Not at the moment. Captain Mykel and I will need to discuss the details."
Herryf nodded. "Thank you, Majer... Captain."
Once the study door closed, Vaclyn looked hard at
Mykel. "Why did you even bring this here?" The majer's voice was low and did
not conceal both anger and displeasure. "You could have handled it there."
"No, sir. The holder was an older man, with lands. People know him. You can't
keep eighteen troopers quiet. Not when the guilty one is trying to blame his
riding mate. I'd just as soon have shot Polynt myself, but then every trooper
in the company would be asking who I'd shoot next"
"You think you were so smart, in making sure Majer Her-ryf knew."
"Sir, the whole compound would know within a day if I tried to keep it quiet.
He was here when I came looking for you. He had to know that I'd been on
patrol. He's not stupid."
Vaclyn's hand blurred toward his belt.
Mykel knew what was coming, and he also knew that Va-clyn wasn't aiming to
kill or injure--unless Mykel moved.
Thunk! The throwing knife vibrated from where it had embedded itself in the
doorframe behind and to the left of Mykel's ear.
"Captain..." Vaclyn's voice oozed menace. "I do not like games. I do not like
schemes. What does it take to make that point to you?"
"Sir... I am trying to do the best I know how. It is hard on the men, being
shot at from-cover day after day, and having the locals make cracks and
comments all the time. We're protecting these locals from escaped prisoners
and brigands, and they think we're the enemy. Majer Herryf pointed out that
all the Cadmians are considered as less than impartial, and with Polynt being
from Dramur, if you or the majer find him guilty, lots of people here would
say that he was a scapegoat, that we picked the one of the few Cadmians from
Dramur to blame. By referring it to the colonel, you avoid that. No one
questions an alector--"
"It's still a game." Majer Vaclyn smiled coldly. 'This time... this time...
you just might be right. Unlike the last time. Since this was your idea, you
write the first draft
of the request. I'll expect it here in my study in less than two glasses. Is
that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh ... one other matter. I've let things cool off in Jy-oha, but I'll be
sending Thirteenth Company off on Quattri to make sure things don't go back to
the way they were."
"Yes, sir."
"Write up that draft. Make it good, Captain, very good. After that, you will
also draft a report, just the way you told it to us. Tonight. Majer Herryf and
I will see Colonel Dainyl in the morning. You and your squad are to remain
within the compound until this is resolved. You may go, Captain."
Mykel left. He did not look at the knife in the doorframe. He'd heard about
the majer and his knives, but this was the first time he'd been a target--even
as a warning. Matters were definitely not good, but they could have been far
worse. Still... he had a long night ahead of him. He also wondered how long it
would be before the majer found some way to bring him before a
court-martial--and why the majer was out after him.

45
Over the days since he had received his latest instructions from Marshal
Shastylt, Dainyl had flown twice to the peak of the ancients, after sensing
something, but the soarer and her creatures had vanished long before he
arrived. Could she sense him as well as he could her? Most probably. He wanted
to learn more, but since he had not, he started the weekly report the marshal
had hinted would be appropriate, including a few words stating that he had
discovered a tunnel of the ancients venerated by at least some of the indigens
near where he had been shot.
He had received no reports from either majer since Va-clyn had briefed him on
Fifteenth Company's elimination--or massacre--of the rebels in Jyoha. By
occasionally talking with Benjyr or Meryst, he had discovered that while
attacks on the mine road had decreased, other attacks had not, and mine
production continued to decline. His patience with the majers and the
situation was more than wearing thin.
On Tridi morning, as he was leaving the officers' mess after his early
breakfast, he saw Majer Vaclyn and Majer Herryf headed toward him. He had no
doubts that something had gone wrong, but he stopped and waited, smiling
patiently.
"If we could have a moment of your time, Colonel?" asked Vaclyn.
"I presume you would prefer a less public place," replied Dainyl. "If so, I
would suggest Majer Herryf's study. There is more space there."
"Thank you, Colonel," replied Vaclyn.
As he followed the two majers back to the headquarters building, Dainyl
wondered what had gone wrong. Once they were inside Majer Herryf's office,
Dainyl faced the two. He did not seat himself, partly to make them
uncomfortable and partly because he didn't feel like cramping himself into too
small a chair.
"We have a problem, Colonel," offered Vaclyn.
Both majers had more than one, but Dainyl just nodded.
"One of the Cadmian rankers from Fifteenth Company shot a cot holder out on
the north road. The man wasn't doing anything. The company captain happened to
be with the squad. His report, and it's supported, states that his ranker just
shot the man in cold blood. The evidence seems straightforward. The situation
is not. The ranker claims that he's being blamed and that a comrade did the
shooting. He is also one of the few rankers from Dramur..."
Dainyl listened as Vaclyn described the situation and
concluded,"... if I hold a court-martial and find him innocent, the locals
will find it unacceptable. If I find him guilty, after all the snipings and
insults, the battalion will think that matters will just get worse, and
they'll be tempted to shoot at anything that looks dangerous. If Majer Herryf
holds the court-martial, much the same thing will happen, except worse."
Dainyl could see both sides of the problem.
Vaclyn handed Dainyl a thick envelope. "In there is our request that you act
as justicer in this matter. The captain's full report is also enclosed. As an
observer and a representative of the Duarches, you will be seen as impartial
in a way that neither of us would be."
Much as he disliked the situation, Dainyl had to admire the manner in which
the two had acted. By presenting the matter to him, they could portray
themselves as acting in the highest and best manner, while avoiding the worst
of the repercussions. Dainyl had the duty to represent the Duarches as
impartial and just. If he turned his back on the matter, he would only convey
that the Duarches did not care about justice or about the Cadmians'
discipline.
Dainyl laughed.
The two majers managed to maintain their facades, but Dainyl could sense the
worry. He waited a moment before speaking, letting the silence draw out.
"You have both managed to avoid dealing with this, and you have created a
situation where it is in the best interests of the Duarches for me to act as
justicer." He smiled again. "You have both been most clever, and I will serve
as justicer in a court-martial, but... the local Dramurian justicer will sit
close at hand so that I may consult with him about local matters." He could
sense the relief of both majers.
"The court-martial will begin the day after tomorrow," Dainyl added. 'This is
not a matter that should be delayed. I will need a list of all who witnessed
the event, especially the captain and the squad leader. The relatives of the
dead
man should also be informed. They will be present at the court-martial." He
turned to Herryf. "You will arrange for the local justicer to be here. You
will not tell him why, except that I desire his presence."
"Yes, sir."
After he left the two majers, Dainyl walked back to his quarters, pondering.
He could not imagine how the two majers had put aside their differences, but
perhaps necessity and ambition did occasionally surmount personal feelings.

46
On Quinti morning, Dainyl was in the small hall being used for the trial well
before the eighth glass of the morning. He had a folder containing his notes,
some questions, the request from Majer Vaclyn, and the report from Captain
Mykel.
Cadmian troopers were lining up benches. One table and two chairs had been set
on a dais, and a narrower table with three chairs placed to the left of the
dais. One of the chairs pn the dais actually had been made to seat alectors.
As he glanced around the hall, Dainyl was surprised to find Stur-wart there,
at one side of the hall, talking to a darker-skinned man with iron gray hair.
Behind them were four locals--a gray-haired woman, a younger blonde woman, and
two men slightly past youth. They had to be relatives of the slain cot holder.
Sturwart turned. "Colonel! I'd like you to meet Justicer Alveryt."
Dainyl crossed the hall, then stopped a yard or so from the pair.
"You had asked for me to be present, sir," said the older man.
"I'm pleased to see you. As you may have heard, it is a court-martial for
murder."
"Serious as that is, an alector and a senior Myrmidon officer does not require
a mere local justicer." Alveryt smiled politely.
"Need is not the same as wisdom," Dainyl replied, smiling and projecting a
sense of friendliness. "As a justicer, you can explain to others why matters
were the way they were. Also, I have some questions about the trooper accused
of the murder, and I may need you to interrogate him in matters about which I
do not have any knowledge. Finally, were I not here, it is possible that this
might have come before you, and I thought you should be here."
Alveryt bowed. "You are most considerate." He smiled. "It also serves your
purposes."
"Of course," Dainyl admitted.
"There will be a record of the trial?"
"I have arranged for that." Dainyl might have a few sections removed from what
was given to the justicer, but that would probably be unnecessary.
"That will prove most useful," suggested Sturwart. "Many people are upset
about the patrols by the Cadmians."
"The Cadmians are upset that people are shooting at them."
"Is that not just talk? Except for Seltyr Ubarjyr, that is?"
"I have not seen the latest numbers on casualties, but I know that there are
ten or twelve dead Cadmians and as many who have been wounded in the past few
weeks."
"That many?" Sturwart was honestly surprised.
"I am most certain that the numbers are higher now." At the sound of boots on
the stone, Dainyl turned. A Cadmian captain--doubtless Captain Mykel--and a
squad of Cadmians had appeared and were taking places on the benches. A single
trooper sat in the chair for the accused, with two armed Cadmians behind and
flanking him.
"If you will excuse me," Dainyl said politely to Sturwart.
Turning to Alveryt, he added, "I would appreciate it if you would take the
other chair at the table."
Alveryt laughed softly. "I can see which chair is mine."
Dainyl couldn't help but like the justicer. Dainyl's Talent showed that
Alveryt was honest and direct, but, as Dainyl had learned many years before,
that might not be enough.
As he and Alveryt took their places at the table on the dais, three Cadmian
rankers settled at the narrow table to the left, with pens and stacks of
paper, ready to record the proceedings. Within a few moments, Majer Vaclyn
appeared, followed by Herryf. Both majers settled into the pair of chairs to
the right of the dais.
Dainyl looked to Vaclyn. "Is everyone present?"
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl waited a moment for the murmurs among the Cadmians to die away. "This
is a Cadmian court-martial. All procedures of justicing will be followed.
Cadmian trooper Polynt, of the third squad of the Fifteenth Company of the
Third Cadmian Battalion, has been charged with the murder of holder Casimyl of
Lecorya. Trooper Polynt, stand and step forward."
Polynt did so, his eyes meeting those of the colonel.
"You have been charged with murder. How do you declare?"
"I did no murder, sir. I declare that I am innocent."
"The man charged has declared his innocence. Let it be so noted." Dainyl
nodded to Polynt. "You may be seated until called again."
Polynt sat without speaking.
"A moment, if you would, Colonel?" murmured Alveryt.
Dainyl turned and leaned toward the justicer. "Yes?"
"I did not recognize the name of the trooper," said Alveryt in a voice that
barely carried to the colonel, "but he is indeed from Dramur. He was a laborer
in the dyeworks at Santazl. His name then was Apolynt. He was called Pol. He
murdered his uncle and took his golds and fled Dramur. An
abandoned boat was found, and everyone thought he had drowned."
"How did you know him?"
"He was sent to the mines before that for lifting coins from a potter. I heard
the case."
"Thank you. We'll get to that later." Dainyl turned back toward the Cadmians.
"Captain Mykel, commanding officer, Fifteenth Company, step forward."
The blond and lanky lander captain stepped forward, stiffened, and offered a
slight bow.
"You were with third squad when the shooting took place, Captain?"
"Yes, sir. I was riding at the front of the patrol."
"Did you see the holder before he was killed?"
"Yes, sir. He was working on a stone wall, but he stopped as we neared. He
looked at us. He wasn't pleased to see us, and he murmured something like,
'Brave, brave, Cadmians.' I watched him for a moment, but he just stood
there."
"How did you know he had been shot?"
"I didn't know who had been shot, but there were two reports from a rifle at
the rear of the squad, and I told Chyn-dylt to hold the front of the squad,
and I rode toward the rear to see what had happened ..."
Dainyl watched the captain closely, Talent-sensing as well as listening while
the captain explained his actions, and how he had determined who had fired the
shots. Two things were obvious. First, the captain was telling the truth and
had acted relatively quickly and decisively, for which Dainyl was grateful.
Second, the captain might well be a latent Talent himself, although he was
clearly unaware of that ability. In that respect, he would have to be watched,
another headache for Dainyl.
"... then Polynt said Mergeyt had switched rifles. I checked the numbers on
each rifle immediately and had trooper Rykyt verify the numbers. When we got
back to our temporary base, I cross-checked those numbers. The ri-
fle that killed the holder was the one issued to Polynt. It was the one he was
holding when I rode up." The captain stood waiting.
"Did you see anything to suggest that the rifles were switched before you got
there?"
"No, sir. There was more than a yard between their mounts."
Dainyl paused, then asked, "In the past, did Polynt ever use his rifle on
bystanders--or men who had surrendered? Or behave more violently or less
predictably than other troopers?"
"No, sir. If anything, he was cooler and more levelheaded than many."
"Thank you, Captain, that will be all for now. You may be seated."
Mykel bowed, and returned to his seat.
Dainyl looked to the accused. "Trooper Polynt, would you please step forward?"
Polynt rose and took two steps forward. His eyes met DainyPs easily.
"Tell us what happened on the lane when the holder was killed."
Polynt shifted his weight from one boot to the other, ever so slightly, but
continued looking directly at Dainyl. "It was like this, sir. We were riding
patrol. We'd been riding patrols all over Dramur. Every place we rode, people
would yell at us or say things in low voices. They'd tell us to go home, or to
leave honest folk alone. I've heard that before. You get used to it, but I was
riding with Mergeyt, and we were in the last rank that day. Been a long day,
sir, and we'd been shot at twice. Luck would have it, no one got hurt that
day, but we'd already lost maybe ten men in the company, and another ten or so
been wounded trying to track down the rebels and troublemakers. We saw this
old fellow working on a stone wall. He stopped working, just watched us as we
rode up. Sort of sneered, he did; then he said something to the troopers a
cou-
pie of ranks up. I didn't hear what he said, but they sort of got stiff. One
of 'em, I think it was Sofolt, put his hand on his rifle, but he didn't do
anything. We got close, and the old fellow looked at me and Mergeyt, and he
said something like, 'You're such brave Cadmians. You think you're so brave,
but you're as useless as teats on a boar. Go on, brave, brave Cadmians.' Well,
before I could even think to say anything, Mergeyt took out his rifle and
plugged the fellow. Took two quick shots. That was all. I looked at him, and
then he threw the rifle at my chest. 'Course, I caught it, and quick as I
couldn't believe, he'd grabbed mine. Then, the captain rode back, and I was
sitting there in the saddle with a hot rifle." Polynt paused, then added.
"That's what happened, sir." His eyes had never left Dainyl's.
The most frightening thing about Polynt's statement was his belief in his own
words.
"Did trooper Mergeyt say anything?" asked Dainyl.
"He might have, sir. I don't rightly recall."
"Captain Mykel wrote a report, which will be included as part of the record.
In that report, he noted that the rifle that you held, the one that had been
fired, was your rifle, that the maker's numbers matched those of the rifle
issued to you. If trooper Mergeyt had used his weapon, that rifle should have
borne his numbers, not yours. How do you explain that, trooper?"
"Sir, I can't explain that. I just know what happened, just like I said."
"I will have further questions for you later, trooper. Please take your seat."
"Yes, sir."
'Trooper Mergeyt. Please step forward."
Unlike Polynt, Mergeyt was nervous, shaking slightly as he stepped forward.
"Yes, sir?"
"Please tell me what you saw."
"Yes, sir. Wasn't like Polynt said, sir. Not exactly. I mean, well, there was
the old fellow. He was laying stone, and he
said stuff, but I wasn't paying no attention. Not until he looked at Polynt,
and he said something like, 'Worthless pup, come back to foul your own den?'
Hiding behind a Cadmian uniform, now. Such a brave, brave Cadmian.' Polynt
didn't say nothing, just took out his rifle and shot him. Had to turn in the
saddle, sideways. After that, the captain came riding back, and he had his
rifle out, made both us give our rifles to Rykyt..."
As Mergeyt finished talking, Dainyl managed to keep from nodding. Nervous as
the trooper was, he was telling the truth, even if he had kept looking away
from Dainyl. "Thank you. You may sit down."
Dainyl looked at Polynt. "Step forward."
Polynt did. "Trooper Mergeyt has said that the holder said that you'd come
back to foul your own den? Why would the holder have said that?"
"He didn't say that, sir. He just talked to Mergeyt."
"Is there any reason why he would have said something like that?"
"He didn't say that, sir."
"Aren't you from Dramur, trooper?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you know the holder?"
"No, sir."
"Please take a seat and remove your left boot, trooper."
"Sir?"
"You heard me. Remove your left boot."
Polynt stiffened ever so slightly, and just momentarily, before sitting down.
Slowly, he removed the left boot.
"Lift your trouser and show us your ankle."
Polynt did.
"Would you please explain the number on your ankle?" Prom the corner of his
eye, Dainyl saw Sturwart's mouth open, but the colonel kept his concentration
on the trooper.
"I can't, sir. I just can't."
Dainyl could sense both the truth and the frustration in Polynt.
"Do you see a number there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Has it always been there?"
"I... don't know, sir."
"Do you know how it got there?"
"No, sir."
"You may put your boot back on." Dainyl turned. "I would like Justicer Alveryt
to explain the tattoo on the trooper's ankle, and how it came to be there."
Alveryt nodded slightly and cleared his throat. "Until I saw the trooper this
morning, I did not realize who he was. His name is Apolynt, and he is from
Santazl. He was convicted of theft from a potter h'ere six years ago. After
his term in the mines, he was suspected of having committed a murder, but he
ran into the night. When an overturned boat was found in the gulf, several
days later, he was believed dead."
'Trooper Polynt, is your name Apolynt?"
"That's what my father called me. I never used the name."
"Are you from Santazl?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you sentenced to the mines?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you not asked if you had been convicted of a major crime when you joined
the Cadmians?"
"I don't rightly recall, sir."
"Are you not aware that concealing a crime to join the Cadmians is a flogging
offense?"
"No, sir. I never heard that."
Once more, Dainyl could sense the internal confusion in the trooper, a
confusion that bore a sense of Talent-manipulation.
"You may be seated."
Polynt reseated himself.
'Trooper Rykyt, step forward."
The trooper who stepped before the dais was older.
"Please describe what you saw concerning the killing of the holder."
Dainyl listened carefully to Rykyt and the other troopers he called, but
nothing any of them said cast the slightest shadow of doubt on what Captain
Mykel had reported. After all the witnesses had been heard, slightly before
noon, Dainyl let the silence draw out for a time as he studied Polynt.
The ranker had killed the cot holder. There was no doubt about that, and there
was little doubt that Justicer Alveryt thought so as well. The fact that he
had fled Dramuria after committing one murder--and could not say where he had
been--and that someone had used Talent on the man's thoughts to block those
memories--that was far more disturbing, because it meant either one of the
highest of alec-tors was involved, or that there was a highly Talented lander
loose. Dainyl liked neither of the possibilities. Still, he had to make a
judgment on the facts before him and to pass sentence.
"Polynt, please rise and face your judgment."
The trooper did. For the first time, there was uncertainty and fear in his
eyes.
Dainyl stood and looked down at the trooper. "By the authority vested in me by
the High Alector of Justice, under the Code of the Duarches, and the
regulations governing all Cadmians, I hereby confirm that the accused has had
the right to state his case, and that all parties to the offense have been
heard. The holder Casimyl of Lecorya was shot and murdered on his own holding.
This proceeding has established beyond any doubt that you, Apolynt of Santazl,
committed that murder. For that murder, you will be flogged until dead. Your
sentence will be carried out one glass before sunset tonight." Dainyl paused
just briefly, then added
the ritual phrase. "Justice has been done; justice will be done. This
court-martial is hereby concluded."
"No! I didn't!"
Polynt started to move, but before he took half a step, the Cadmian guards
seized him. In moments, his hands were bound, and a gag was across his mouth.
Dainyl noted that Captain Mykel had been right there. He and his men had
anticipated what Polynt would do, and they had been ready. That was the mark
of a good officer, but a good lander officer who might discover his Talent was
something else again. Yet good officers were always hard to come by, and many
who were potentially Talented never did discover their Talent.
That meant that Dainyl would be the one to watch Captain Mykel. There were no
other alectors near, and, equally important, after what he was discovering,
whom else could he trust?

47
Mykel stood facing north in the Cadmian compound, third squad before him. The
entire squad, including Mykel, wore red armbands--the sign of blood shed
wrongfully.
Chyndylt took one step forward, then stiffened, and snapped, 'Third squad,
ready, sir!"
"Thank you, squad leader. Stand fast." Mykel about-faced, so that he looked
directly at the T-shaped flogging stand directly before him.
On the right of the flogging stand was Majer Vaclyn. Beside it on the left
waited a thick-thewed figure in black wearing a black mask and cowl, and
holding the execution whip, with its razor-sharp barbs.
"Third squad stands ready, sir," Mykel reported.
Majer Vaclyn barely looked at the captain before raising his voice. "Bring
forth the prisoner."
As he waited, although his head did not move, Mykel's eyes flicked to the
west, where the white sun hung just above the walls of the compound, then back
to the flogging stand, a reminder not only of what awaited Polynt, but what
could await any Cadmian who failed badly--including Mykel.
Hands bound behind him, Polynt was escorted to the T-shaped form in the middle
of the south side of the courtyard. The four Cadmians who led him also wore
red armbands, although they were from the local Cadmians stationed permanently
in Dramuria. They positioned him so that his chest was against the cross
member of the stand. Then, his feet were tied loosely to the stand before his
arms were unbound, and his wrists strapped to the stand.
Once the condemned trooper was secured to the stand, and gagged, the four
Cadmian escorts turned as one and marched southward beyond the stand. There,
they about-faced and came to attention.
Majer Vaclyn stepped forward, clearing his throat and speaking. "You have
taken life, and life will be taken from you. You have created pain and
suffering, and with pain and suffering will you die. May each lash remind you
of your deeds. With each lash may you regret the evils that you have brought
into this world." He stepped back and nodded to the whipmaster.
Mykel could sense that, for the majer, the words were merely a procedure. They
should not have been. There should have been meaning behind them. Then, for
Polynt, perhaps that was fitting, for the trooper had never had any
appreciation of any life besides his own, and the final words before the lash
meant as little to him as they had to the majer.
Mykel should have guessed that Polynt had served time
as a prisoner. The trooper's description of the guano mine had been too
graphic--and too out of the character that Polynt had presented as a trooper.
The captain's lips tightened--another failure on his part, and he was probably
most fortunate that the Myrmidon colonel hadn't picked up on that.
The whipmaster stepped forward, raising the whip. The first lash ripped away
fabric from the back of a tunic from which all insignia had been removed.
Polynt convulsed, but the heavy gag muffled any exclamation or moan he might
have uttered.
As the whipmaster continued to strike, Mykel watched, outwardly stolid,
despite the blood and agony before him. At moments, a faint line of pain
seemed to fall across his own back, but that had to be his own imagination.
Then, as Polynt began to sag in the T-brace, Mykel heard a muffled impact
behind him as someone from third squad collapsed, most likely one of the newer
rankers.
Someone condemned was seldom actually lashed to death, but whipped until
insensible. Then the whipmaster and executioner put a dagger through the
heart. When that finally happened, all too close to sunset, Mykel felt a vague
sense of relief, along with an emptiness and a sadness. Polynt's death
wouldn't bring back those he had killed. It would ensure he killed no one
else, and it might deter some trooper from following Polynt's example.
Vaclyn stepped forward once more. "Justice has been done. He stepped back.
Four members of the death squad stepped forward and cut the body from the
whipping frame, laying it on a flat handcart that two others had rolled into
position.
"Dismissed to officers," Vaclyn stated flatly.
Mykel turned to face third squad. Many rankers were pale. Mykel suspected he
might be as well. "Squad leader, you have the squad. Restricted to quarters
until morning muster."
"Yes, sir." Chyndylt turned. "About-face! Forward!"
Mykel stood silently for a moment.
"Captain!"
At the words from the majer, Mykel turned. "Yes, sir?"
"I need a word with you."
"Yes, sir." Mykel walked to the majer, stopping short a yard away and waiting.
"This has been a most distasteful situation. Cadmians should never be on trial
for murder. This whole incident suggests that your leadership has been less
than superb. In fact, your leadership has been barely adequate at times."
Mykel waited, his face calm. Saying anything would just make matters worse,
and Mykel was partly to blame, if not for any reason that the majer knew.
"You'll be returning to the mine patrols first thing in the morning with third
squad," declared Vaclyn. "You will report to me every Octdi afternoon, here at
the headquarters building, no later than two glasses past midday. You will
bring one squad, a different squad, each Octdi. You will begin this Octdi. Is
that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Vaclyn's smile was cold. "You may go, Captain."
Mykel offered a slight bow, the least he dared, before turning and walking
back toward the barracks. He'd need to talk to Chyndylt, and he might as well
get that over with first.
No matter what he did, matters between him and Majer ^ Vaclyn could only get
worse. He would have to continue to document everything he could, however he
could, in between riding and supervising patrols.
Why did Vaclyn dislike him so much? Because the majer was afraid that Mykel
would reveal how incompetent he was?
Mykel shook his head. Vaclyn was too incompetent to ^cognize his own
shortcomings, and too self-centered even to consider whether he had
shortcomings. What Mykel
didn't understand was why the majer remained in command of the battalion.
Sooner or later, Vaclyn would make a mistake that his captains couldn't
rectify and that Colonel Herolt couldn't cover up. Then what?
Mykel snorted softly. What would happen was that some captain would be
blamed--most likely Mykel--and flogged or executed, or both.
The court-martial had bothered Mykel, not because of the outcome, but because
he had sensed that something had not been right about the entire situation.
What that might have been, Mykel had not been able to determine, only that he
felt that way. Polynt had deserved death, probably for two murders, if not
more.
Even so, the execution itself had been hard for Mykel, because flogging to
death was painful. At times, he'd felt like he'd suffered some of the strokes,
even though he'd only had to stand in front of third squad and watch. That had
to have been an overactive imagination. What else could it have been?
Quietly, he headed for the barracks as the last long light of the winter sun
faded in the west.

48
As the long shadows that preceded twilight stretched across the compound,
Dainyl watched from the corner of the headquarters building as Majer Vaclyn
exchanged words with Captain Mykel. The captain's posture remained formal,
neither relaxed nor stiff with anger, but Dainyl could sense a core of
feeling--hot rage encased in cold control. After the captain turned, Dainyl
moved toward the majer.
i
Vaclyn looked up, surprised at the alector's appearance. "Colonel."
"Majer." Dainyl projected a faint sense of curiosity. "I saw you talking to
Captain Mykel, and you seemed concerned."
For several moments, Vaclyn said nothing. Dainyl could sense that he was
irritated at what he felt was an intrusion, but the colonel held a pleasant
expression on his face and waited, using his Talent, as well as his eyes and
ears, to study the majer.
"I am, Colonel. Any time a ranker behaves the way Polynt did is a matter of
concern."
"I can see that, but Captain Mykel reacted well under the circumstances."
"He reacted. That was the problem. He never should have let it happen,
Colonel. Good officers anticipate matters like that."
Dainyl had trouble seeing how the captain could have foreseen an
unpremeditated murder by a man who had successfully hidden his background from
a number of Cad-mian officers. Polynt had obviously changed his name enough so
that he would not have been linked to a murder in Dramuria. He'd also enlisted
in the Cadmians in a place remote enough from Dramur that no one would have
thought to have checked his ankle for a prisoner's tattoo.
"I can see your concerns," returned Dainyl. "Still... Captain Mykel should not
be judged too harshly. He wasn't the first one who failed to discover that
Polynt was an escaped prisoner."
"If you will pardon my directness, Colonel... Captain Mykel's difficulties
cannot be excused by the failures of others."
"That is true," Dainyl replied smoothly. "A commander's shortcomings should
not be blamed on those above or beneath him. Your point is well-taken, and all
officers in the Myrmidons and Cadmians should be held to that standard."
Once more, Dainyl sensed the faint and distant feel of Talent about Vaclyn,
yet he could sense nothing beyond that--and he knew he should, but not what or
how. Not for the first time, he wished he had been given greater training in
Talent, but because he had not manifested Talent when young, he had never been
afforded that opportunity.
"Thank you, Colonel."
Dainyl doubted Vaclyn would be thanking him, not if the majer truly understood
the meaning behind his words. "Thank you very much, Majer. I wish you and
Third Battalion well in your efforts to deal with the rebels."
"Thank you, sir. We'll make sure that there isn't a real rebellion, choke off
this unrest before it gets out of hand."
With a last smile, Dainyl turned and walked briskly toward the officers' mess,
where the food was barely edible, but the ale not too bad.

49
There are those who claim life is sacred in and of itself, or on behalf of
some deity, yet they do not refer to all life, but that of their own kind. If
they do claim that of all life, then they are either ignorant, or hypocrites,
or both. To live, every being steals from another, for to live one must
consume food. Consuming food is taking the life of another, or eating what
another might have consumed to live, if not both. All cannot be equally sacred
if one is prey to the other, and thus less than the other.
One who truly believes that the end purpose of life is but to create more
life--for whatever purpose--is not a thinking being, but a steer as fit for
slaughter as any in a livestock pen. The smallest of creatures strive to
reproduce to the
limits of the food at hand. If beings capable of thought and reflection only
strive to eat, pleasure themselves as they can, and reproduce to the limits of
their world, what makes such beings any different from those millions of
so-called lower creatures who live but to eat and reproduce? Can such beings
be truly said to reflect any higher purpose than that of all other animals?
Such beings will claim that they are indeed different, for they have tools,
and they have developed weapons and cities. Yet the jackdaws and ravens use
tools, and a weapon is but one form of tool. The ants and termites have
cities. To say that one's own form of life is special, or sacred, does not
make it so. Nor does the assertion that some unknown and unproved deity has
declared a people or a faith special make either a faith or a people special.
Again, that is but an assertion based on a faith that has no root in what is,
except a desire for it to be so.
The actions and the purposes of a species are what determine its worth. Those
actions must be more than the assertion of privilege and blind reproduction.
Those actions must challenge the worlds and the stars. They must create
beauty, art, and devices that none have seen before.
Life is not sacred or exceptional merely because it exists, or because one
asserts that it is, but by what it attempts, and by what it achieves. That is
what has always distinguished us. We have not striven merely to reproduce, or
to comfort ourselves with toys, pleasures, and food. We have changed whole
worlds, and we have created art and beauty where there was none before.
What we have done is what has given us the right to claim that we are above
the steers...
Views of the Highest
Illustra

1513 W.T.

50
A good two glasses before dawn on Sexdi morning, Dainyl walked across the
courtyard from the temporary quarters that had become less and less transient,
and more and more cramped. The night before, he'd been up late writing the
report on the court-martial, included in the weekly dispatch to the marshal
that Quelyt would be taking back to Elcien in a glass. Ahead of Dainyl, beside
one of the squares, waited Falyna and her pteridon.
The colonel adjusted the shimmersilk flying jacket and heavy gloves. While
they weren't necessary in the light east wind blowing across the compound,
they would be in the chill heights above and around the Murian Mountains.
Falyna inclined her head to the colonel. "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Falyna. You ready to fly me up there?"
"Yes, sir." The Myrmidon ranker paused, then added, "If you'll pardon my
asking, Colonel, and I wouldn't ask anyone, but you were a flier for a long
time--"
"You'd like to know why I keep asking you to fly me out to where that ancient
tunnel is? There's something that keeps coming back there. Sooner or later,"
Dainyl shrugged, "I hope that I'll be there when it is. I want to get there
earlier today. We've been too late before. I can't help but think it has
something to do with this so-called rebellion."
Falyna frowned, then nodded. "Those locals fired at us from right below
there."
"It doesn't seem like coincidence."
"No, sir. You want me to set down and wait?"
"No. You could set down somewhere else, but not close. Give me a glass alone."
"We can do that."
Falyna felt that her colonel was wasting time, and perhaps Dainyl was, but
he'd talked and questioned lander after lander over the weeks, read reports,
and followed what the Cadmians were doing--and he knew very little beyond what
he'd discovered in the first week.
He nodded to Falyna. "Let's go."
In moments, Dainyl was in the rear saddle and harness, and the pteridon sprang
skyward, wings propelling it seaward into the wind. Once they were well clear
of trees and buildings, Falyna eased the pteridon into a climbing turn toward
the northwest over an ocean that was a dark, dark green, with scattered
whitecaps. Then they were back over land, climbing above the casaran nut
plantations to the north of the compound, headed for the Murian Mountains. The
skies were clear, and promised to remain so.
Dainyl could not sense either the soarer or her creatures, but she visited the
tunnel every second or third day early in the morning. He hoped that he had
guessed correctly. His eyes moved to his left, down at the road to the guano
mine, then to the mine itself.
Mines--the iron and coal mines in Iron Stem, the guano mine in Dramur--all were
having troubles. Iron Stem was close to the towering Aerial Plateau, and the
guano mine was in the lower reaches of the Murian Mountains. Was that because
the ancients were involved, and because they preferred heights? Or just
coincidence?
He could sense the greater use of Talent by the pteridon | as it climbed until
it was above the peak that held the tun-[ nel, then began to make an approach
into the light wind.
As soon as the pteridon touched down and half folded its wings, Dainyl
unfastened the harness and slipped out of the saddle. "A glass from now!"
"Yes, sir." The ranker nodded.
Dainyl hurried back to the western edge of the bluff or ledge to get clear of
the pteridon's wings. There he turned eastward and watched the wide-winged
pteridon launch itself, then glide away, dropping lower as it left the higher
peaks behind.
After a moment, Dainyl entered the ancient tunnel, lowering his head.
As so many times before, the only tracks on the fine sand were those of bis
own boots. There were no scratch tracks of birds, no swirled displacement
created by snakes, or even fine lines drawn by insects--just the heavy
indentations of an alector's boots.
From the outer metallic archway of the tunnel, he studied the mirror on the
floor, a mirror that still puzzled him. Again, he probed it with his Talent.
For the slightest of instants, the golden green that surrounded it seemed to
stretch endlessly ... somewhere.
A flash of golden green light flared before him, and the soarer hovered above
the floor mirror. Dainyl's hand went to the grip of the light-cutter in his
belt.
Do not touch that if you wish to live.
Faced with that cold green authority, Dainyl decided against trying to use the
sidearm.
You have sought us. Why?
"Because the indigens seem to worship this place--or you--and because they
attacked me. Because miners are disappearing. I thought there might be a
link."
You have raised your steers upon our world. Should those among us not also
feed?
Feed? What did that have to do with a revolt? Feed? Who was feeding on what?
You see, but you do not see. Go out and look at the world below.
"Why?"
So that you may see. So that you will be warned.
Warned? Dainyl didn't like those words at all. Still, he moved back from the
soarer, one step backward after another, never taking his eyes off her. His
Talent revealed nothing about her except the golden green nimbus of
Talent-energy surrounding her. The soarer followed him, keeping the same
separation.
Once outside the tunnel and the outer unnatural cave, Dainyl stepped sideways.
The soarer glided past him, a miniature and perfectly formed winged woman
perhaps half his size.
"Now what?" he asked, his eyes and Talent scanning her and the area around
them. There was no sense or sign of the violet-red stonelike creatures ... but
there hadn't been any sign of the soarer until the moment she had appeared.
Behold the world. Look out across the lands.
Warily, Dainyl shifted his glance to the southeast, back toward Dramuria.
Abruptly, he was surrounded by a greenish light or mist. He blinked, forcing
himself not to draw the light-cutter. Through the green he still saw the lands
below, stretching toward the distant ocean, but in addition to what he had
always seen, a weave of color assaulted him, lines and webs of brown, and
black, and amber--thin lines, thicker lines, all intertwined. His second sense
was that he saw a subtle weave that filled the entire silver-green skies, the
warp and weft of lifewebs that seemed to intertwine, and yet never touch.
Under the sensory assault, he took a single stumbling step sideways before
catching himself. What was he seeing? Was she trying to control him, use her
Talent to destroy him? Or worse, enslave him?
We do kill, but only as we must. We do not bind. That weakens the lifewebs
more than death. You see the webs of life, all life.
She might have been lying. Dainyl doubted that he could tell if she were, not
with the power she projected, but he did
not think so. Somehow, he did not doubt that the ancients could see the ties
that bound the lifemass of Acorus. Why couldn't Talented alectors? Why hadn't
he?
Look at yourself, alector. Look at yourself.
Almost unwillingly, he looked down at himself. Purplish pink threads sprang
from him, merging into an ugly purple thread that arched away from him toward
the northeast. Compared to the soft and warm colors of the web stretching out
below the peak, the purplish pink that surrounded him was wrong, not subtly
wrong, but oppressively so, a color and shade that did not belong on Acorus,
that conflicted and fought with the tapestry formed by the softer lifewebs.
Yet he was an alector, and that purplish pink was him. Could he do anything
about that purpleness? Should he? Why him? If he had seen the web and the
clash of life-forces, surely, others had also perceived it. He couldn't have
been the first one, the first alector to sense that. Or could he?
You see? You are not of the world.
He repressed a shiver.
You must become one with the world---and of the world-- or you will perish.
"That sounds like a threat."
As suddenly as it had come, the greenish mist had vanished--and so had the
soarer. Dainyl stood alone outside the cave, looking down on the land. The
warp and weft of the lifewebs had also vanished. Once more, he blinked. Had it
all been illusion? He shook his head No, the soarer had been real, and so had
what she had shown him.
He tried to call up what he had seen, but the only aspect he could sense was
the purpled skein that was his own lifethread. He had always been able to
sense a slight purplish aura around other alectors, and the faint
silver-black-green around the few landers who had Talent, but he'd never seen
himself that way.
What had he seen? Had it really been a web that linked
all the lifeforces of Acorus? Or that of the higher life-forms? He knew that
he had seen those interweaving and converging threads, yet he could not call
up what he had seen, not by himself, anyway. That he could sense his own aura,
and that it was similar to those of other alectors, was enough itself to
suggest that what she had shown him was real, but why couldn't he sense beyond
himself? Was his Talent that weak, compared to that of the soarer?
He took a long and slow deep breath, then turned and walked back to the
amber-green-gold archway that framed the tunnel. His eyes lighted on the
mirrorlike device in the floor of the tunnel. It had to be a transport device,
something like a Table.
Slowly, he walked into the tunnel, his head low, until he stood on the mirror.
He'd never used a Table, but according to Lystrana, the key was to visualize
where you wanted to go. He concentrated, thinking of the one Table he had
seen, in the Hall of Justice in Elcien.
Nothing happened.
He tried reaching out with his Talent, into the depths that had to be within
or behind the mirror, but he could find nothing there.
After a good half glass of trying everything he could think of, Dainyl finally
walked out of the tunnel to wait for Falyna to return. The mirror was a
transport device, but how it worked ... he couldn't determine, and he doubted
that either he--or any alector--would ever understand or be able to use it.
The other phrase that the soarer had used ... that those among them .. .fed.
That suggested strongly that the other creatures, the ugly ones, had fed on
the missing miners. Dainyl had no proof, but it all fit. It would explain why
some of the miners vanished--and why the miners would do anything to escape.
Dainyl walked to the eastern end of the blufflike ledge, thinking. That might
explain the disappearances--and the
reason why those miners who had escaped were trying to create a revolt, but
they were merely a handful. The soarer's revelations might explain the missing
miners, but they didn't make anything any clearer as far as the Highest and
the marshal were concerned.
What had become all too clear was that far more was happening than any of
those involved knew or understood. Yet, if he reported what he had seen, he
would reveal his own Talent and possibly threaten the marshal and the
Highest--and, considering the fate of Submarshal Tyanylt, risk his own
destruction. If he did not report on the ancient soarer, he might well betray
his duty as a Myrmidon.
As the white sun rose out of the dark green ocean to the east, he stood and
waited for Falyna to return.

51
On Septi, Mykel was back patrolling the mining road with fifth squad. The
morning sweep had gone without incident, and the local Cadmians had escorted
the prisoners to the mine and taken up their guard positions in the towers and
along the perimeter. Mykel and fifth squad had continued to patrol the access
road, but had seen nothing. The cool winds around and below the mountains felt
refreshing after the days spent in the Cadmian compound in Dramuria. There,
Mykel had felt as though the walls were closing in around him. He'd never
experienced that feeling of constriction in any other Cadmian compound. It had
to be the situation facing him, where he. could see no way out, no matter how
hard he tried to avoid the traps set for him by Majer Vaclyn. Mykel knew all
too well that people, even senior officers, often disliked others for no good
reason, but
much as he told himself that, he still kept trying to puzzle out why the majer
had suddenly targeted him.
Now, in the late afternoon, he and fifth squad rode back to the mine, sweeping
the road once more before the local Cadmians escorted the prisoners back to
their camp. As the chestnut carried Mykel toward the mine, less than half a
vingt away, the captain surveyed the road to the north. In the late afternoon
the slope was shadowed, making hiding easier. While he could not see anyone,
he had a feeling that somewhere in the rocky slopes to the west of the road
were more of the escaped miners, waiting to take more shots at them. His lips
curled. Based on what he had experienced so far, he would have been a naive
optimist to feel otherwise.
"Eyes sharp, now!" Mykel rode another hundred yards or so, more and more on
edge, but still not seeing or sensing any figures in the shadows above the
road.
Crack! Crack!
The sounds of the shots were so faint that, for a moment, Mykel did not
recognize them, thinking that he was hearing a hammer on stone or some other
mining operation. He straightened in the saddle. "Rifles ready!"
"Fifth squad! Rifles ready!"
Continuing to ride, he eased his mount to the left, alongside the stone wall.
From there he studied the rocky slope, but he saw no one and had no sense that
they were being fired upon.
Another report echoed from the north. Was it from the mine itself? Were the
prisoners trying to escape?
"Fifth squad, loose formation, quick trot! Forward!"
As they neared the mine, Mykel could hear more shots, definitely coming from
the rocky slope above the mine to the north.
As he watched, one of the Cadmians in the guard tower staggered, then dropped
his rifle and collapsed over the wooden railing. Mykel still couldn't see who
was shooting,
and exactly from where, but there were at least several snipers. When fifth
squad reached the heavy wooden gates to the mine area, as suddenly as the
shots had begun, they ended. Mykel had not seen a single rifleman, but at
least one Cadmian guard was dead.
The gates creaked open.
Captain Benjyr was mounted on a roan, just inside. He looked at Mykel. 'Too
bad you didn't get here earlier."
"Did you send anyone up the slopes?"
"To get picked off? No."
Mykel turned in the saddle. "Vhanyr, I need your two best shots to cover me.
I'm going up after the snipers. Put them in the north tower."
"Yes, sir."
"Going to be a hero?" murmured Benjyr.
Mykel looked back at the other captain. "No. I'm going because I'm the best
shot and the least likely to get hit--and because you don't keep asking your
men to take shots without taking them yourself." He eased his mount over
toward Vhanyr. "I'll have to climb from this side. I'd be a plucked fowl if I
went over the stockade on the north side."
After reining up back outside the gates, Mykel handed the chestnut's reins to
Lasent, an older ranker.
"Take care, sir."
"Thank you. I'll try."
Rifle in hand, Mykel moved upslope steadily, using the shadows and the rocks
for cover, keeping low. Riding boots were not made for climbing, and he
slipped several times on the sloping sandy spaces between boulders.
A quarter glass passed before he was above the top of the mineworks and could
begin to move northward. He felt--but didn't know--that there were rebels
somewhere farther . north.
Crack!
Mykel dropped behind an irregular chunk of old black lava. That single shot
had been too close, but it also gave

1
him an idea where the shooter hid, only slightly higher than he was. Mykel
resumed his climb, more deliberately, and jnore directly uphill, rather than
slanting to the north.
He had only climbed another ten yards or so when another shot ricocheted off
the lava to his left. Flattening himself against the slope, beside an
outcropping, he considered. He'd been right. There were at least two shooters,
and one was to his left and one to his right. He decided to go after the one
to the left first. If he went after the one to the right, the one to the left
would be free to rake the mine road.
He peered around the sandstone, then crawled to the next outcropping ... and
the next.
After another thirty yards, he felt he was closer, much closer.
He heard a slipping, scraping sound, feet sliding on sandy soil. Turning
slightly, he fired, hardly aiming at the patch of gray that looked different,
but willing the bullet to strike.
"Oooh!"
The clatter of a dropped weapon followed the exclamation.
Mykel moved quickly, but not carelessly, keeping low and threading his way
uphill and through the lava and sandstone. Before that long he was looking
down at a man in gray, bearded and dying, sprawled and wedged amid the black
lava.
"Who sent you after us?" Mykel demanded.
". ˇ. couldn't say no ..." The rebel half coughed, and his face contorted in
agony. "... cold here ... so ... cold..."
He was dead.
Mykel noted the location and began to move northward through the rocks and
infrequent scrub bushes. He thought he was higher than the other shooter, but
the man easily could have moved to another position.
Crack! Crack! Both shots were high and wide of Mykel and suggested that the
rebel had moved farther north but no higher on the slope.
Mykel peered from the side of another lava boulder, one smoother than most,
looking northward. He had a good idea where the rebel was, but the man was
keeping his head down as well. The captain darted to another boulder, then
another, dropping down just before another pair of shots passed overhead.
Despite the cool air and the chill breeze, Mykel was swearing heavily. He
definitely wasn't used to scrambling around on mountainsides. He took several
long and deep breaths before resuming his crawling-and-crouching progress
across the slope.
He traveled another hundred yards when he heard the clatter of rocks. He
glanced around a taller irregular rock in time to see a patch dark gray
against the darker lava downhill.
Mykel snapped off two shots, and the off-color gray vanished.
He keep moving, carefully and cautiously, toward where he thought the rebel
had been. There were no more shots.
After another twenty yards, he paused. There was heavy breathing, and a low
groan, not too far ahead. Could it be a ruse?
Anything was possible. He looked around, and finally found a fist-sized chunk
of rock, then lofted it over the sandstone outcropping behind which he
crouched.
The breathing subsided, then continued.
Mykel held his rifle ready, easing around the top of the sandstone ledge.
He needn't have bothered.
Below him, in a depression, lay a rebel. The man's rifle was less than a yard
from Mykel, twice that from the wounded sniper, who looked blankly at the
captain.
A golden green radiance washed over Mykel. He whirled.
In midair hung a winged woman, certainly no more than
two-thirds his own height. A gauzy iridescence cloaked her figure, leaving
only her head, shoulders, lower arms, and legs open to view.
For a moment, Mykel just gaped, holding his rifle.
Had the soaring woman--certainly an ancient, if the old tales were
correct--anything to do with the rebels?
"What do you want? Are you with the rebels?"
They serve a purpose.
The wounded rebel looked up at the soarer, and whimpered ... whimpered. "No
... no!"
A blocky figure--smaller than Mykel, but larger than the soarer--seemed to ooze
upward out of the rocks beside the gray-clad man. Mykel turned the rifle on
the creature.
Do not use the weapon. He will die soon anyway.
"Who?"
The injured one.
Mykel's eyes darted from the rock-creature to the winged woman, then back to
the rough-skinned creature that bent over the dying man. The creature barely
touched the rebel, and the man shuddered. He was dead.
"How did you know?" demanded Mykel.
Fading lifeforce is obvious. Fading or not, it should not be wasted.
Not wasted? The creature had fed somehow on the dying man. Mykel repressed a
shudder. "What do you want with me? Are you Death?"
Mykel received a wordless impression of mirth.
No more so than you are.
"What do you want with me?"
Nothing... now. You must find your talent to see the world beyond your eyes.
You must understand what you feel... or you will perish. With those words, the
green radiance vanished, and so did the soarer, leaving Mykel alone with a
dead rebel and another stolen Cadmian rifle.
Mykel had no doubts there were no more rebels. Still, he
was careful as he dragged the second rebel and carried the two rifles--both
with numbers--downhill, his thoughts on what he had seen. The soarer had to
have been an ancient, beautiful, but with a deadliness that made the Myrmidon
colonel look clumsy and brutish. He had no idea what the other sand-skinned
creature had been, save that it had somehow fed on the lifeforce of the dying
rebel.
But how could he tell anyone what he had seen?
He also had no idea what the soarer had meant by finding his talent to see
beyond his eyes. He doubted that he had any particular talent, except for
shooting well enough to kill people. Or was that how he could shoot so well?
Abruptly, he realized that the soarer had not spoken to him, that her words
had been in his mind. At the time, it had seemed normal, and unremarkable. Why
had he felt that way? Could all the ancients do that? The miniature dagger set
in the slots in his belt seemed to pulse green. He knew it hadn't. Daggers,
even daggers of the ancients, didn't pulse. He had to have been imagining
that. But why had he felt that way?
He pushed aside the questions until he had the rime to think about them later.
Once he was within hailing distance of the gates, he called down. "I took out
both of them. Vhanyr! Escort the prisoners back. Leave Lasent and Doytal to
help me."
"You sure, sir?"
"I'm sure."
By the time Lasent, Doytal, and Mykel had finished recovering the other body,
the road back down to the mine compound was empty, and the sun had set. As
Mykel had expected, both dead men had tattoos on their ankles.
Mykel heaved himself into the saddle, then reloaded his rifle, glancing up as
Captain Benjyr reined up beside him.
"You a mountain type?" asked Benjyr.
"I've learned." Mykel felt that admitting he was a city boy would only make
things worse.
"They say you've killed nearly a score of rebels like that."
"Not that many," Mykel protested. "I would have liked to have gotten these two
earlier, but you can't see them until they start shooting."
Benjyr nodded.
Mykel realized that the other captain was offering a silent apology, and that
made him uneasy. "You've never had the men to go after them."
"We never had any real problems until a year ago. Then it just got worse and
worse."
"There can't be too many left. I mean, escaped miners with rifles," added
Mykel quickly. He had no idea where he'd gotten that idea, but he felt he was
right about that. There could be hundreds of rebels in the lowlands, people
forced off their lands, and unhappy growers, but they couldn't be all that
many rebel miners left.
"You think the shootings will slow down?" Benjyr's tone was skeptical.
"Up along the mine road, but not elsewhere."
"I'm afraid you're right. Good evening, Captain." With a faint smile, Benjyr
nodded and urged his mount down the road.
Before starting back down the graystone road himself, Mykel took a last look
over his shoulder at the mineworks. He felt sorry for the local Cadmian ranker
killed by the rebels, but he also felt sorry for the dead rebels--and for the
families of all three men.
He also worried about what Majer Vaclyn would say the following afternoon
about Fifteenth Company's failure to protect the guards at the mine. It didn't
matter that such protection wasn't the company's primary task, or that there
was no way to keep an entire mountain clear with less than a hundred men. The
majer would still blame him for all the problems.
Not for the first time, Mykel had to wonder exactly what
he and his company had gotten into. They were dealing with alectors and
ancients, escaped prisoners seemingly bent on revenge, and rebellious seltyrs,
and no one seemed to know why.

52
Under high and hazy clouds, roughly one glass after noon on Octdi, Mykel
entered the west gate of the Cadmian compound at Dramuria. He carried little
in his saddlebags except the copies of his letters and reports, including a
brief summary of Septi's attack by the two escaped miners, but without any
mention of the soarer. Those he was not about to leave in the mine quarters,
not when he was reporting to the majer. Beside him rode Alendyr, the second
squad leader, with the rest of the squad following.
"It'll be good to have a solid meal," Alendyr said in a low voice. "Too bad we
can't stay for the night and sleep in a decent bunk."
"If we stay, Majer Vaclyn might find us something else to do," Mykel pointed
out.
"That could be, sir. Patrolling the area around the mine hasn't been that bad.
The growers and those folk in Jyoha were a lot worse."
Mykel reined up outside the stable and turned to Alendyr once more. "After the
men deal with their mounts, any who need replacement equipment should take
care of that. They can have the freedom of the compound until half a glass
after the evening meal. That's when we ride out, back to the mine compound."
Alendyr laughed. "One good meal, anyway."
"It's the best we can do." Mykel shrugged and dismounted.
After he'd seen to the chestnut and arranged for some ad-
ditional fodder for all the mounts in the squad, Mykel walked toward the
officers' quarters, wondering what other captains were in Dramuria, or whether
he was the only one reporting weekly to the majer. Carrying a soft leather
case that held his reports, Mykel was still a good ten yards from the quarters
when Dohark stepped out of the shadows cast by the building. The older captain
glanced in the direction of the Headquarters building, then gestured to Mykel.
"You look like there's trouble," Mykel observed as he neared the other
captain.
"I don't know what you did, Mykel," Dohark began, "but the majer's looking for
you. You're supposed to see him as soon as you get here. He's fingering those
frigging knives of his, and he's got that look in his eye, like when you
bailed him out with the Reillies by disobeying his stupid orders. He's so
upset that he didn't even ream me out for getting here early."
"Did he say why?"
"No. He's got some of Kuertyl's squads locked away, under quarantine, but I
haven't seen Kuertyl himself. I didn't want to ask."
Mykel frowned. He could understand Dohark's reluctance to probe when the majer
was in one of his moods. Kuertyl and Thirteenth Company were supposed to be in
Jyoha. Had something happened there? Or had some other seltyr attacked? Or had
Rachyla escaped?
"Are all of us captains supposed to report here on Octdi afternoon?" asked
Mykel, still trying to figure out what he'd done to upset the majer.
"I'd thought so, but I haven't seen Rhystan yet. Heransyr came in just a bit
ago." Dohark shook his head. "Bad idea, having us all report on the same day."
Vaclyn was having more and more bad ideas, far more than in dealing with the
Reillies on the last deployment, and s i Mykel and the other captains had been
concerned then. "I 11 suppose I should go see him."
II
"Don't get him any madder than he is."
Mykel laughed harshly. "Just seeing me upsets him."
"What did you do to him?"
The younger captain shook his head. "I haven't done anything different. If
anything, I've tried to avoid upsetting him."
"Agree to everything."
Mykel nodded. He wasn't about to argue with Dohark, but he had been agreeing
with the majer--except when it was going to get his men killed for no reason at
all, and even then, he hadn't disobeyed any direct orders. Case in hand, he
walked swiftly to the headquarters building.
Jiosyr was sitting at a small table outside the major's study. "Majer said you
were to wait here, sir. He's with Captain Heransyr, sir."
Mykel nodded.
He tried not to pace, but still found himself walking back and forth, back and
forth. A good glass passed before the study door opened, and Heransyr stepped
out.
The dapper captain's eyes slid away from Mykel, and the smile he offered was
weak, almost sickly. "Good day, Mykel."
"Good day, Heransyr. I hope things are going well for you and Seventeenth
Company."
"That they are." Heransyr nodded and hurried away.
Behind him, Mykel heard Jiosyr close the door, leaving him alone in the
corridor outside the study. The door remained closed only for a fraction of a
glass before Jiosyr emerged.
"You can go in now, sir." The senior squad leader stepped aside, holding the
study door. He avoided looking at Mykel. After Mykel entered the study, Jiosyr
closed the door behind him.
Vaclyn had been pacing, but he turned at Mykel's entrance. His face flushed.
"You asked for me as soon as we arrived, sir." Mykel waited.
Vaclyn did not speak. He glared silently at Mykel.
Mykel could do nothing but remain silent.
"I'd like to know what you did up in Jyoha, Captain."
"I did exactly what you ordered me to do, sir, and I reported what I did. You
told me to round up the Codebreakers. I surrounded them, and they refused to
surrender. They said that they'd rather die than go to the mines or go back.
They attacked us. We wiped most of them out. We lost two men, had several
wounded. We returned here, as you had suggested. I reported what happened, and
you ordered us to mine duty."
"Do you know what happened?" Vaclyn's right hand dropped to the hilt of the
throwing knife at his belt, his fingers touching it lightly.
"What happened where, sir?"
"In Jyoha, of course. Are you deliberately trying to seem stupid, Captain?"
"No, sir."
"Then why are you asking such inane questions?
"Majer, sir... I don't understand. When I reported the roaming riders in
Jyoha, I had deep concerns about trying to capture them. I wrote you those
concerns. You sent back a dispatch ordering me to capture them or kill them if
they resisted. Fifteenth Company followed your orders. The results were
devastating. That was why I chose to withdraw, as you may recall."
"Captain ... you were close to insubordinate."
Mykel waited.
"Before Thirteenth Company reached Jyoha, they were ambushed. Even children
attacked them. They used arrows and crossbows and makeshift catapults. They
dug huge hidden pits across the road. They threw gourds filled with flam-wg
oil. This was your doing, Captain. You abandoned Jyoha and let this occur, and
you misled me."
"How badly was Thirteenth Company--"
"Captain Kuertyl was killed almost immediately. Less than two full squads
remain. They returned to Dramuria last night."
Vaclyn pulled his hand away from the throwing dagger, as if he had wanted to
draw it and fling it at Mykel. "Beyond that, I also learned that you have been
visiting the seltyr's daughter--and that you did not request my permission."
"I was attempting to find out more about the rifles--"
"You cannot be trusted, Captain. You have consistently ignored my orders and
put your company into danger. You seem to consider yourself above the commands
of your superiors."
"Sir..."
"Consider yourself confined to the compound, Captain. I will be recommending
your court-martial for insubordination and for incompetence. I had warned
you." Vaclyn's left hand dropped back to the hilt of one of his pair of
throwing daggers.
Mykel studied the majer. "I would like to request that you reconsider that,
sir."
"Reconsider? Who are you to tell me? You are an insolent junior captain who
has consistently refused to follow orders. Your men are unruly and don't
follow your orders. When you do follow orders, you change them to suit
yourself. Get out of here! If you aren't in quarters within moments, you'll
face additional charges."
"Yes, sir." Mykel bowed and stepped back.
Then he opened the door and departed, not looking back as he left the
headquarters building. Anger welled up inside him. Vaclyn was not only being
unreasonable. His decisions were bound to lead to some sort of disaster within
months, if not days. Mykel didn't have that long. He had no doubts about how
his actions would be written up in the report to Colonel Herolt in Elcien--or
to Colonel Dainyl, if the Myrmidon colonel even saw the report. Still, a
Myrmi-
don colonel outranked a Cadmian colonel, and Mykel doubted that he had
anything to lose, not the way matters were turning out.
He swallowed, then crossed the courtyard to the senior officers' quarters,
where he climbed the steps to the second level and the open balcony fronting
the four doors for the senior officers' quarters. Mykel knocked on the first
door. There was no answer. He moved to the second door and knocked again.
"Yes?" The Myrmidon colonel's voice was deep, resonant
"Captain Mykel of the Cadmians to see you, sir."
There was a pause. Then the door opened.
Tall as he was compared to most Cadmian officers, Mykel found himself looking
up at the colonel. He swallowed and spoke, "This is highly irregular, Colonel,
but I don't know how else to keep matters from getting worse."
"Could you explain, Captain? You might as well come in." The alector stepped
back.
Mykel closed the door and stood waiting, but the colonel neither seated
himself nor asked Mykel to do so, but merely looked at the Cadmian officer.
Mykel moistened his lips, then began. "This is a difficult situation, sir. I
was ordered to report to Majer Vaclyn this afternoon, every Octdi
afternoon..." He went on to explain the series of events, beginning with the
discovery of the rifle and continuing through the majer's reaction to the
trial of Polynt and the latest happenings in Jyoha--and the majer's reaction
and the threat of a court-martial. "... because I worried about the situation
in Jyoha, I had made copies of my report and the majer's orders." Mykel ex-*Ś
tended the sheets of paper.
The colonel took them without speaking and read through them slowly.
Mykel stood there, shifting his weight from one booted foot to the other,
unable to read or sense any feeling from the Myrmidon officer.
Finally, the colonel looked up. "I appreciate your diligence, Captain, and
your concerns. You will remain here in the compound while I look more into
these matters. So will the squad you brought with you."
"Yes, sir." Mykel bowed, then stepped back toward the door, letting himself
out.
From the senior officers' quarters he headed to the quartermaster's building,
hoping to find Alendyr. The squad leader was there, talking with a squad
leader from Seventeenth Company. Both men broke off their conversation
abruptly as they saw Mykel.
"We may be staying here tonight, Alendyr. I will be, and the squad will be as
well. I'll be in the officers' quarters, and, if you'll check with me
tomorrow, we should know more."
"Yes, sir."
As Mykel walked away, he caught a few words.
"... too bad ... sticks up for you ..."
"... good time to be a squad leader, not a captain ..."
Mykel had his doubts about it being a good time for either. When he reached
the junior officer's quarters, he found two rooms on the ground floor empty.
He took the one least dusty. There he put the leather case on the desk and sat
down in the single chair. He hadn't brought much gear, as he had expected to
ride back to the mine camp before dark.
Now what was he going to do?
The majer had been so upset that he hadn't even asked about recent events, but
Mykel hadn't wanted to bring those up because Vaclyn would have just turned
them against him. And, in fact, Mykel had ignored or evaded the intent of the
majer's orders. According to discipline and the Code, it didn't seem to matter
that the orders were generally unwise, or worse.
Mykel stood and walked around the small room, then seated himself again.
                                                        i
Would the Myrmidon colonel do anything? Or would he just support Majer Vaclyn.
For all of Colonel DainyPs calm words, Mykel had no idea what the senior
officer would do.
Thrap. At the knock on the door, Mykel got up. "Yes?"
"Sir?"
"Who is it?"
"Jiosyr, sir."
What did the majer's senior squad leader want with him? Mykel walked tiredly
to the door. He eased it open, little more than barely ajar. "Yes, Jiosyr?"
"Alendyr's been hurt, sir. One of your rankers took a knife to him. I thought
you ought to know. He's over in the infirmary. He's hurt pretty badly."
"Frig!" That was all Mykel needed. How had something like that happened?
Alendyr was a good squad leader.
He hurried out of the quarters and around the corner into the long shadow on
the east end of the building. He halted abruptly, realizing that Jiosyr had
not followed him and that another figure waited in the shadows--Majer Vaclyn.
Vaclyn was smiling coldly. "I believe you were ordered immediately to
quarters, Captain, and to remain within them."
"My squad leader's been hurt--" Mykel doubted that, but it was a better excuse
than outright disobedience.
"A likely tale--like all your others." Vaclyn's smile widened. "Captain, you
have been most insubordinate. You even tried to go around the chain of
command. Now, you seem to be trying to escape. We can't have that."
Mykel waited until the last moment, then tried to jump to one side, but Vaclyn
had anticipated that, and the throwing dagger knifed into his left shoulder.
Mykel tried to regain his balance.
"You're quick, Captain, but not quick enough."
"No!" snapped a deep voice, seemingly out of nowhere.
Colonel Dainyl appeared between Mykel and the majer, but the dagger was
already in the air. With the pain stabbing
through his shoulder, Mykel watched the silvery weapon bounce off the
alector's tunic. The colonel's hand blurred to his belt, and a pistol-like
sidearm appeared.
"He was trying to escape, Colonel!" The majer's voice rose. "He was."
A flare of blinding blue light enveloped Vaclyn. The captain blinked. When he
could see again, a charred figure lay on the stones of the courtyard.
"Captain..."
Mykel leaned against the wall, trying to clamp the flow of blood from his
shoulder with his good hand.
"Captain... you'll need some attention." The colonel stood empty-handed. "Can
you walk to the infirmary?"
"If I don't wait too long," Mykel managed.
He took one step and then another. A strong arm steadied him. Now... if he
didn't bleed to death on the way to the infirmary. Mykel kept walking, past
the smoldering remains of the majer.
He supposed he should have felt some regret, but all he felt was relief--and
another kind of apprehension. Why hadn't he seen the colonel? What did the
Myrmidon have in mind?
He kept walking.

53
After Dainyl settled Captain Mykel in the
infirmary, making sure that the wound was clean and well bound, the colonel
hastened back toward headquarters. Whether he liked it or not, whether he had
any effective strategies, with Majer Vaclyn dead, he had no choices. Majer
Herryf had no idea how to command his own two companies, much less an entire
battalion.
The sun was almost touching the top of the western wall of the compound when
Dainyl walked into Majer Herryf 's study in the headquarters building.
Herryf bolted upright. "Oh, Colonel... I hadn't realized you were here."
Dainyl closed the door. "Sit down."
Herryf sat.
"Majer Vaclyn just attempted to kill one of his captains, then me," Dainyl
said coldly. "Did you have anything to do with it?'
The color drained out of Herryf's face. "No, sir. No, sir."
About that, the majer was telling the truth.
"I'm very glad to hear that. Majer Vaclyn is dead. I'm using my authority as
acting submarshal to take over command of all Cadmian activities and forces in
Dramur."
"Yes, sir." Herryf was so shocked that he lacked, momentarily, his natural
arrogance.
"Majer Vaclyn's body is rather badly charred. It's in the courtyard at the
east end of the senior officers' quarters."
"I had a report about a body, but no one knew--"
"It's the majer. You will dispose of the carcass." Dainyl looked sternly at
the majer. "You will remain at the compound until I have had a chance to talk
to all officers. Find me the majer's senior squad leader. Jiosyr, I think, is
his name. I want to speak to him first."
"Yes, sir."
"Since I have to take command, I'll be needing this study. Until I leave, I
imagine you can make do with the one Majer Vaclyn was using."
Herryf nodded.
"Now ... find me that senior squad leader."
"Yes, sir." The Cadmian majer rose and hurried out.
As he waited for Herryf either to find the man or to report that he had fled,
Dainyl considered what he knew in light of Vaclyn's attempted murder of
Captain Mykel.
Dainyl had already noted that Vaclyn had been exposed to
Talent-manipulation, but he had not had the ability to determine what had been
done. In retrospect, there was no question that the marshal had used Talent to
force a compulsion on the majer. Such compulsions were almost always worse
than useless for anything but the simplest prohibitions, because they
restricted both thought patterns and actions, and left the one who had been
Talent-compelled in situations where he inevitably acted unwisely. The marshal
knew that. Why had he wanted a comparatively low-ranking Cadmian officer to
behave unwisely? It made no sense, but the marshal was anything besides
stupid. He had wanted Vaclyn to act unwisely.
After hearing what the captain had said when he had come to Dainyl, Dainyl had
used Talent to follow the captain unseen. The one surprise had been seeing
Vaclyn's squad leader go to the quarters and lure Mykel from his room, but
that suggested that the majer had feared what would come out in a
court-martial.
"Sir?"                         '
          j
Dainyl looked up. Herryf stood in the doorway with a short senior squad
leader.
"This is Jiosyr. The one you wanted to see."
"Come in, Jiosyr. Sit down." Dainyl pointed to one of the armless wooden
chairs. He did not take a seat. Even without using Talent, he could sense the
fear in the squad leader, who barely looked even in the general direction of
the colonel, especially after Herryf had closed the door on the two.
"You must know that Majer Vaclyn tried to kill both Captain Mykel and me--and
that he is dead. I've taken over command of Third Battalion."
"Yes, sir." Jiosyr looked at the stone tiles of the floor.
"Why was the majer so angry at the captain?"
"Sir?"
"I heard the majer's last words to the captain. He was angry. Why?"
Jiosyr was silent, and Dainyl contemplated using Talent
to persuade him to speak. He decided to wait, his eyes on the slumped figure
of the squad leader.
"He thought that the captain--Captain Mykel--was always trying to get around his
orders. He said that he needed to be taught a lesson. Then ... he told me we'd
need to set up a court-martial, that the captain had gone too far."
"How had the captain gone too far?"
"He didn't say, sir. He just said that."
"What did you say to Captain Mykel to get him to leave his quarters?"
Jiosyr turned paler than milk and swayed in the chair. "Sir?"
"You're not going to be stupid enough to deny it, are you?"
The squad leader shuddered. "No, sir. Majer Vaclyn ... he told me to tell the
captain that his squad leader Alendyr had been knifed by a ranker and was in
the infirmary."
Dainyl nodded. The captain had worried more about his men than orders or
himself. He'd scarcely talked to the captain, but the more he heard and saw,
the more he approved of the man--and the less sense Vaclyn's acts made. A good
commander praised effective subordinates, both to their faces and in reports
to superiors--then took a small share of the credit for their initiative and
accomplishments. "Why did you do that?"
"The majer said he needed to get the captain to disobey orders one more time,
that Captain Mykel was always so careful not to disobey when anyone was
watching."
"Did you think this was the right thing to do?"
"No, sir... but what was I to do? I only need another two years for a stipend.
The majer could have dismissed me without anyone stopping him. Eighteen years
... gone for nothing."
"Your stipend was worth the lives of two men?"
Jiosyr stiffened. "Sir. I've killed Reillies and bandits and brigands. I did
it because I was a Cadmian. I did it to protect
people. There wasn't anyone protecting me. I'd let it be known, as I could,
that the majer shouldn't be in the field. I even made copies of reports
Colonel Herolt never would have seen, and I got them on the colonel's desk. No
one did anything."
The sudden stiffening and the aura of truth were both almost overpowering,
even to Dainyl.
"No one did anything," Jiosyr repeated. "That's the truth, sir."
Dainyl paused. "That will be all for now, Jiosyr. I'd appreciate it if you'd
remain within the compound."
"Yes, sir." The squad leader paused. "What will you... do with me?"
"That depends on what else I discover."
After Jiosyr left, Dainyl considered what else was necessary. He needed to
question Captain Mykel--in far greater depth--once the captain was feeling
better. He still had to talk to all of the other officers. None of them would
know anything about why Majer Vaclyn had acted as he had. Of that, Dainyl was
most certain, but he had to go through the motions.
He stepped out of the study, looking for Herryf.
Nearly three glasses later, after Captain Rhystan of Sixteenth Company had
left the study that had been Herryf's, Dainyl knew little more than when he
started--except that Majer Vaclyn had barely been marginally competent before
the Third Battalion had been deployed to Dramur. Even more puzzling was that
all of the battalion's surviving captains would have done better if they had
been in command.
Was the marshal out to discredit the Cadmians? Why? What purpose would that
serve?
In the dimness of the study, Dainyl looked at the stone outer wall and then at
the darkness beyond the single window. He still had no more answers--only more
questions.
54
For Mykel, Octdi night was long--and restless. It was well past dark when the
local healer finally allowed Alendyr and two troopers to escort him back to
the officers' quarters. He slept, but not for very long at a time, and pain
ran down his entire arm most of the time.
When he was awake, trying to lie still so that he didn't turn and send more
jolts of pain up and down his arm and shoulder, his thoughts alternated mostly
between the soarer and the alector. Majer Vaclyn's knife had gone through
Mykel's tunic and undertunic like a hot blade through butter, yet his second
knife had bounced off the Myrmidon's tunic. After having seen that once before
when the crossbow bolt had struck the alector in Faitel, Mykel shouldn't have
been surprised. In both cases, there had been a reaction--guards in Faitel, and
the colonel's light-cutting sidearm. That argued that the alectors weren't
invulnerable, but that there was something about the shimmering cloth that
they all wore, an armor that didn't look like armor.
The soarer had been different, totally unafraid of the rifle he had held, yet
she had known exactly what it was. She'd also told him not to use it on the
other creature, and that suggested that, while she might not be vulnerable,
the creatures were. A faint smile creased his lips in the darkness of the
quarters. Just how likely was it that he would ever see either again?
For a few moments, he thought about Kuertyl. Had he caused the younger
captain's death by following Vaclyn's orders? Was there any way he could have
avoided it? His
lips tightened. He could have stopped it only by massacring the entire town of
Jyoha-^r all the men and most of the women. Once you started killing people
who weren't troopers or didn't think of themselves as such, where did it stop?
By following the majer's orders, he'd turned an entire town into deadly
enemies--and that had led to the death of Kuertyl and half of Thirteenth
Company. How could a captain deal with stupid orders without getting killed,
one way or the other, either by carrying them out or through discipline for
insubordination?
In time, he did drift back into sleep.
The next morning, with his arm bound, Mykel took his time pulling himself
together and washing up before making his way to the officers' mess. Minding
what the healer had said, he was using the harness sling to reduce the weight
on his shoulder.
Heransyr, Dohark, and Rhystan were seated around a square table in one corner
of the mess. Dohark stood and waved. "Over here!"
Mykel gave an off-center smile and walked carefully toward the table.
Dohark had pulled out a chair, and Mykel took it.
"You look like shit," said Dohark. "Bat shit." He grinned sympathetically.
"You know, Mykel, you don't get wounded like anyone else. Shot in the ass by
Reillies and knifed by your own commander."
"The Myrmidon colonel really burned old Vaclyn to a cinder?" asked Rhystan,
pushing back a lock of lank brown hair off his narrow forehead.
Mykel nodded. "Used that light-cutter thing. Blue light-- majer went up in
flames."
A server looked at the latest arrival at the table.
"Ale, if you don't have cider," Mykel said.
"No cider, sir. Ale, water, or wine."
"Ale... and whatever you have for breakfast."
The server slipped away.
"Why did the colonel do that?" Heransyr frowned.
"The majer had already put one knife in me," Mykel explained. "Then the
colonel appeared and told him to stop. Majer threw the knife at him instead of
me. That probably saved my neck."
"Or your ass," added Dohark.
Rhystan shook his head. "Stupid. Don't attack Myrmidons. Everyone knows that."
"He was stupid, and about more than that," countered Dohark. "Remember when he
wanted you to take a squad through that flooded field."
Rhystan started to say something, then closed his mouth.
"He was really angry," Mykel admitted. "He said I was to blame for Kuertyl's
death." He took the mug of ale that the server set on the table, looking at
it, but not drinking.
"He was. Didn't he order you to attack all those rebels in Jyoha?" asked
Dohark.
"They were poor debtors, not rebels, and they didn't have many weapons, but he
insisted that I bring them in. They didn't want to go to the mines." Mykel
sipped the ale, wishing it were hot cider. "We had to kill them or let a lot
of troopers get killed or wounded."
"Kuertyl's dead?" asked Rhystan.
"Jyoha--the whole town went up in arms. They made jars of flaming oil, and dug
pits in the roads," Heransyr explained. "With poisoned stakes."
The orderly slipped a platter in front of Mykel. Breakfast was fried fish and
greasy potatoes, with stale bread. He took a mouthful and corrected
himself--soggy and greasy potatoes. He broke the bread one-handed, and crumbs
sprayed across the table.
Heransyr turned back to Mykel. "Why do you think everyone's mad at us?"
Mykel took another swallow of ale before replying. "In Corus, the mainland
part, most people want to do things the way the Duarches want. Here, nobody
wants to do that. So
there's no one who likes why we're here, and everyone's against us. When we
were in Jyoha, we saw the ruins of a sawmill..." He went on to explain what he
had learned.
"Sawmill seems harmless enough," said Rhystan. "Folks need planks and
timbers."
"The Duarches don't do things without a reason," Heran-syr said.
"Majer Vaclyn didn't, either." Dohark laughed, then stood. "I need to check my
squad. Hope we can head back today, not that I'm all that happy looking for
smugglers who won't show up so long as we're there."
Within moments, Heransyr and Rhystan rose as well, leaving Mykel to finish the
last of his breakfast by himself.
Later, as Mykel walked out of the mess, he wondered about what Heransyr had
said. The Duarches hadn't wanted a sawmill, and they did want the guano mine
working. He'd also recalled someone talking about a swamp that had been
drained. Dohark--he'd mentioned a cousin and something about the alectors not
liking growing plants being cut down.
Was that why most buildings were of brick and stone? Was the guano so
important that an entire battalion had been sent to Dramur--with a Myrmidon
colonel to watch? But why?
"Captain Mykel! Sir?"
Mykel turned his head quickly, then tried not to wince at the jolt that went
down his arm.
A Cadmian ranker was hurrying toward him. "Sir, Colonel Dainyl is looking for
you."
"Lead the way." Mykel was not looking forward to seeing the colonel.
The duty squad leader in the foyer took a long look as Mykel and his escort
passed, but said nothing.
The door to the study that had been Majer Herryf's was open. Mykel stepped in,
and the ranker closed it. Colonel Dainyl sat on the desk, his long legs almost
touching the stone floor.
"Sir?"
"How is your shoulder this morning?" Dainyl's deep voice seemed hoarse, and
there was a redness around his eyes.
Mykel sensed that the alector was less than pleased to be in the study. But
then, the word was that he was the acting submarshal for all the Myrmidons,
and he was now handling a position that should have been held by a much more
junior officer--a Cadmian officer at that.
"It stings a bit," Mykel replied.
"You were lucky. Please have a seat. The chairs here are somewhat too cramped
for me." Dainyl offered a grin. "From what I saw, the majer was very good with
his knives."
"Yes, sir. I was lucky you were nearby."
"You still won't be going anywhere for another day or so. It could be longer.
I sent a messenger to your senior squad leader saying that you would be here
for several days and for him to continue the patrols you had set up."
"Thank you, sir." Mykel should have thought of that himself. He would have, he
told himself, if he'd been thinking, and that meant that he'd been hurt worse
than he was admitting.
"Why was Majer Vaclyn so angry with you?"
How was he supposed to answer that? Mykel refrained from taking a deep breath
or sighing. "Majer Vaclyn thought anyone who disagreed with him was his enemy,
even the captains under him. Most of us preferred to find ways to get the task
done without sacrificing men unnecessarily. He got upset with me when I used a
flank attack against a fortified Reillie redoubt rather than a frontal charge.
I suggested that it wasn't wise to try to capture the forty fugitives in
Jyoha. He sent me written orders insisting that I do so--" Mykel broke off.
"I'm sorry. I told you that yesterday. He wanted us to stop the sniping at our
patrols, but when we killed the snipers, he complained that we should have
captured them."
"Did you know that Fifteenth Company has been the most effective company in
Third Battalion?" asked the colonel.
"We've killed more people," Mykel admitted. "I'm not sure that's always
effective. The majer didn't give me any choice. It seems to me that the more
people you kill, the more there are that want to kill you. It's different when
you're fighting other armed forces all in a body." He gave the faintest
headshake. "Don't know why that should be, but people see it that way."
"They do," agreed Dainyl. "You didn't want to bring in the woman, did you?"
"That's not quite true," Mykel said. "When I found the rifle in her cart, I
realized that she hadn't known it was there, but she didn't want to let me
know that. I didn't see any point in taking her in then. That would have just
alerted her father, and made everyone mad. The majer was very displeased. He
told me that a Codebreaker was a Codebreaker."
The colonel merely nodded.
What was the alector after? Mykel couldn't tell, and that bothered him,
because he usually had some idea what people wanted, whether he agreed with
them or not.
"Was Majer Vaclyn always so indifferent to the opinions of his captains?"
That was another possible trap. Mykel considered the implications before
answering. "He didn't get so angry in the past campaigns if a captain found
another way to get the task done. He'd tell us we were lucky that it worked
out, or he wouldn't say anything at all."
"The majer was less flexible here in Dramur?"
'That might be one way of putting it, sir."
"Why was he so angry with you in particular, Captain?"
"I really don't think he was, sir. I mean, he was angry at me, but it could
have been any of the captains. Fifteenth Company just happened to be in places
where things happened. If it had been Fourteenth Company, he would have been
mad at Captain Dohark."
Again, the colonel nodded. "I understand that Captain Dohark is the most
senior of the captains. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir. Dohark, Rhystan, then Heransyr and me. Her-ansyr and I made captain
at the same time. He might be senior, or I might."
"Have you seen any officers among the rebels?"
Mykel frowned. "No, sir, not that I know. That's the miners, the ones in gray.
The rebels who were formed by the seltyr, they had squad leaders and
captains."
"You've captured a number of rifles. Did the ones that the escaped miners had
all have numbers? Did you notice?"
"I'd have to check my reports, sir, to be certain, but I'm pretty sure that
all of the rifles the miners had were numbered."
"How many snipers were there at any one time..."
"Why have you often been the point man in chasing -    down rebels..."
"Have you heard any captives talking about either the Cadmians or the
Myrmidons ..."
The questions went on and on.
Then, the colonel stood, towering over Mykel and the desk where he had been
sitting. "Thank you, Captain. You've been most helpful. I think you and your
squad should remain here until Londi. If your shoulder is healing well, you
could return to your company." He smiled. "You will have to let others do the
scrambling through the rocks, if it proves necessary."
"Yes, sir." Mykel rose, carefully. "Thank you, sir."
As he walked back toward the barracks to convey the news to Alendyr--second
squad would certainly like a few nights on decent beds and solid food--Mykel
had to admit to himself that the colonel was no one's fool. He'd as much as
told Mykel that there were two different revolts going on and that the majer
had changed his behavior since coming to Dramur.
Mykel should have picked those up himself, and he hadn't.

55
Mykel slept better on Novdi night, but when the pain subsided and he
inadvertently moved or tried to turn over, the resurgence of agony jolted him
awake. Even though Decdi was a full end day, he woke with the sun. A cold and
raw wind--chill for Dramur--seeped through windows and shutters designed for a
climate that seldom saw real chill. After swinging his feet onto the cold
stone floor, Mykel finally eased himself erect. He dressed and washed
awkwardly, trying to avoid moving the arm below the injured shoulder.
The courtyard outside the officers' quarters was empty, and so silent that all
he heard was the low moan of the wind and the echo of his boots on the paving
stones as he walked toward the officers' mess. He hoped he wasn't too early to
get something, but he could always come back if the cooks weren't ready.
When he walked into the mess, the only one there, besides one cook and the
orderly server, was Colonel Dainyl. The Myrmidon looked to have finished the
last of his breakfast.
"Good morning, Captain," offered the alector, standing as he spoke.
"Good morning, sir."
"Are you feeling better this morning?"
"Some," Mykel admitted.
"You need another day of rest. See me first thing after breakfast tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
With a polite smile, the colonel departed.
Mykel eased into a chair at one of the tables, very gingerly.
"Is he always this early?" Mykel asked the orderly who appeared with a mug of
ale.
"Earlier most days, sir."
Mykel wondered if alectors even slept.
Breakfast was egg toast, fried apple bananas, and some sort of fried fish
that, thankfully, was white beneath the thick batter--and tasteless. Then, the
egg toast was tasteless as well. The bananas were the most edible part of the
meal. Mykel ate slowly. There was no reason to hurry. Even so, no other
officers had appeared by the time he left.
His next stop was the barracks, where he found Alendyr.
A good glass later, after going over the supplies the company could use and
tasking the squad leader with trying to obtain them, Mykel made his way to the
officer's cell where Rachyla was confined.
"You need to talk to her?" asked the shorter guard of the two. "I don't
know..."
Mykel's eyes hardened. "Do you want to take it up with Colonel Dainyl?"
"Ah ... you've spoken to the colonel?"
"This morning, in fact." That was true enough, even if it hadn't been about
Rachyla.
"He's here?"
"He was at the mess before dawn," Mykel said. "I'll be meeting with him again
later."
"I suppose it's all right."
Mykel stood back as one guard unlocked the door, and the other held his rifle
ready. After the bolts were slid back, Mykel stepped inside.
Rachyla looked up from the stool before the desk, on which sat a tray with a
half-eaten breakfast--the same egg toast and fried fish Mykel had eaten, with
the smallest morsel of fried apple banana at one side. Like Mykel, she had
apparently found the apple bananas the best part.
"You. I'd thought they might be coming to reclaim what passes for breakfast."
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sling and harness.
"It's filling." Mykel stood well back from Rachyla, who wore the same trousers
and shirt he had seen before. But then, from what hung from the pegs on the
wall, she appeared to have but three changes of clothing. That was more than
he had at the moment.
"I see you had some difficulty. I'd like to say I'm sorry, but that would be
less truthful."
"You were right," Mykel said.
Rachyla looked puzzled. Her eyes centered on the bulki-ness of his tunic over
the wound dressings, the sling, and doubtless the paleness of his face. "What
was I right about, Captain?"
"About being betrayed. Majer Vaclyn tried to kill me."
"He did not succeed, I see."
"Colonel Dainyl--I think you called him the evil one-- he stopped him. The majer
used his second throwing knife on the colonel. It bounced off his tunic, and
the colonel turned him into cinders with his light-cutter."
"The knife ... it went through your shoulder?"
"It didn't do too much damage." Mykel offered a rueful smile.
"It did more than you admit. Why are you here?"
"Because you said I would be betrayed. How did you know?"
Rachyla did not answer, although she did not lower her eyes and continued to
look at him directly. Finally, she spoke. "It is always that way. Those who
think are always prepared for evil from those they do not trust, and those
they do not know."
"That is true, but you meant more than that."
"I meant what I meant."
Mykel took in her face, the intent green eyes, the smooth skin, and the
alertness that suffused all her being. "You
meant something that was more than a general observation."
"And if I did, Captain? Why should I share that with you?"
"It might do me some good, and that might do you some good."
"Goodwill? I think not. I am the daughter of the first sel-tyr who rebelled."
"The first seltyr who rebelled?"
"Did I say that? I meant the only seltyr who rebelled."
Mykel laughed. "You don't make mistakes like that, Lady Rachyla."
"Rachyla will do. One way or another, I will not be a lady much longer."
"Which seltyrs are likely to rebel next?"
"If any are, Captain, how would I know? I am quite isolated in my confinement
here. You are the only one who actually speaks to me."
"Majer Vaclyn never talked to you?"
"I would not know your Majer Vaclyn if he stood beside you."
"He won't. He's the one that the colonel killed to save my neck."
"He has some use for you. The alectors only save those who are useful."
"How many of them have you met to be able to say that?"
"Me? I am a woman, and a young one, by their standards. Even lander women mean
little, except for bearing children. There are no alectors in Dramur, save for
your colonel and his retainers. How would I ever have come to meet one of
them?"
Rachyla wasn't telling the truth, but then, she hadn't really lied, either.
She hadn't answered his question. "Do you always avoid answering the
question?"
"Captain ... how could you think that? I have replied to everything you have
said."
Mykel wanted to laugh. Another thought struck him. "What about your mother?"
Rachyla's face stiffened. "She vanished years ago. No one knows where she
went."
"I see." Mykel had a very good idea what she meant. "You must be very much
like her."
"What a strange thing to say, Captain."
"I think not."
"If you could understand what you feel, Captain, you could be a very dangerous
man."
"That is a strange thing to say."
"You do not have to take my observations, Captain. I am just a woman and a
prisoner."
Mykel doubted that Rachyla would ever be just anything.
"Who are the most powerful seltyrs--in both the east and the west?"
"How would I possibly know that?"
"The most powerful ones nearest to Stylan Estate?" prompted Mykel.
"No one ever shared such thoughts with me, and women do not visit armories,
Captain."
He almost missed that reference. "Are there any growers who don't have
armories?"
"I would not know. I have not visited more than a handful of other estates,
only those close to Stylan. I could not imagine much difference."
In short, they were all armed to the teeth, and probably with contraband
Cadmian rifles.
"Do the western seltyrs have more horses?"
Rachyla just shrugged.
From that point on, her answers were either shrugs or flat denials of
knowledge.
As before, she had told him all she would tell him--just enough so that he
would come back--a slight hint or two, doubtless true, but nothing that could
be truly traced to her. A bargaining tool to keep him interested and to keep
her from losing her mind in a confinement that probably was beginning to seem
endless.
"Perhaps you will feel like talking more later."
"Perhaps, Captain. You must come back and see."
Mykel laughed softly.
The faintest hint of an ironic smile creased her lips and vanished.
Mykel rapped on the door. He did not look back as he left.
From the officer's cell and Rachyla, he walked to the stables to check on the
chestnut. His mount had been groomed, and was eating grain from the manger in
the stall.
Feeling tired, Mykel returned to his quarters and stretched out.
It was still before noon when he woke, but without much to do except recover,
Mykel made his way across the courtyard to the mess. It was early enough that
he was alone there. He sat down to puzzle out what he knew, sipping on the ale
mat the Cadmian server had brought him.
He had to admit that Rachyla fascinated him. She was intelligent, and she knew
it, but not in the arrogant manner Mykel associated with alectors. She was
attractive, but not beautiful. She was direct to the point of being
sharp-tongued, but didn't seem vicious with her words. She was the heir to
wealth, yet might be sentenced to death or years in the women's workhouse. He
was a crafter's son, who would be lucky to survive and be stipended off as an
overcaptain--a majer if he happened to get lucky. He took another swallow of
ale.
In time, Dohark stepped into the mess.
Mykel saw the shining--and new--bars of an overcaptain on the older officer's
collar. "Congratulations!" He paused, then added, "Sir."
"Might better be condolences," Dohark said gruffly, if warmly, settling down
across the table from Mykel.
"You're in command of Third Battalion now?"
"And Fourteenth Company." The new overcaptain shook his head. "You know me,
Mykel. I'm a savvy ranker who
took years to learn enough to get by as a captain. What do I know about
running a battalion?"
"You know all the things that a battalion commander shouldn't do," Mykel
suggested. "That's more than Vaclyn knew."
"We're down to about four companies, in real strength," Dohark said. "Outside
of that one seltyr and a few hand-fuls of rebels, we've found nothing. We've
pissed off most of the people. You and I both know that patrolling doesn't
work. We're not finding anyone except escaped miners and poor bastards thrown
off their lands. It just gets people angry."
'Tell the colonel that."
"I did."
"What did he say?"
"He said we could cut down on patrols--except around the mine and along the
road through the mountains to the west. We can't stop the patrols in the other
places, but we can reduce them, put them on odd and different routes and
schedules."
"That might help." Mykel paused. "There's something else. Do we know what's
going on over on the west side of the mountains? They're supposed to have
better plantations and more growers, and we haven't heard anything, except the
business about guarding the road."
"What have you heard?" Dohark looked hard at Mykel.
"Not much ... except a few words by the seltyr's daughter that I overheard
when we went through that estate. Something about the western growers being
better armed. I told Vaclyn, but he never did anything, and I didn't really
want to say anything more. I've talked to her a couple of times, and she
denies having said anything or knowing anything about the western growers."
Mykel couldn't think of any other way to present what he'd learned, not
without revealing how much guesswork was involved. By referring to
Vaclyn, Mykel could make some use of the dead majer. He hadn't been useful
while alive.
"You think we could ... persuade ... her to say more?"
"You might, but... you torture people, and they tell you want you want to
hear. We need good information, not what we want to hear."
Dohark nodded slowly. "You got that right."
"I'd also wager that every big grower around has a hidden armory."
"I won't take that wager." Dohark laughed.
"So what do we do?"
"Tread real lightly, and plan for the worst." Dohark looked at the mug of ale
that the orderly had set before him. "What else can we do?"
Dohark understood more than Vaclyn ever had. Mykel hoped it would be enough.

56
Because Dainyl had his doubts about the necessarily promoted Overcaptain
Dohark, he had spent almost three glasses with Dohark over the end days.
Dohark was respected by the other captains, and the man had a wealth of
experience and common sense. He wasn't without insight, since he had already
asked one basic question. If the western growers of Dramur were the most
prosperous, why was all the attention of the Cadmians being focused on the
eastern growers? Still, whether Dohark had the degree of insight and foresight
a battalion commander needed was another question.
At that thought, Dainyl stopped. Since when had anyone asked that of a Cadmian
battalion commander? The question had always been how effective a commander
was
in accomplishing what the Highest and the marshal needed done. The Reillies
had been disrupting agriculture in the Vales of Prosperity and reducing
lifeforce mass growth. The marshal had sent out the Cadmians to remove the
Reillies and relocate them where their activities resulted in a net increase
in lifeforce. The last thing either of the senior alectors wanted was a
commander who might question why something had been ordered. Was that the
reason why Dainyl was now acting submarshal? Because he had kept his questions
to himself--and Lystrana?
He was also troubled that Quelyt had not returned from Elcien. With a two-day
flight each way, and a day off in between, Quelyt should have been back on
Decdi evening.
The next Cadmian to enter the study was Majer Herryf, greatly subdued from
when Dainyl had first met him. The colonel waited for Herryf to settle himself
before he half leaned, half sat on the edge of the desk and addressed the
Cadmian officer.
"I've been thinking, Majer. You expressed worry about the escaped miners
turning into a rebel force long before they became a problem. What led you to
that conclusion?"
Herryf only met Dainyl's eyes for a moment before looking down.
"I'll let you think about that," Dainyl said. "There's another question that's
never been really answered. Where do the western growers fit in? Their houses
and plantations are far larger than those of the eastern growers, and the
lands are more fertile. Yet, from what I can tell, Dramuria tends to be ruled
by those in the east. I'd like your thoughts on that."
"Sir, the western growers are more prosperous, and they can grow a wider range
of crops. They need less in the way of trade than the eastern growers."
"Why don't they trade with the eastern growers, then? Wouldn't it benefit
both?"
"They don't like each other. They don't trust each other."
Dainyl cleared his throat. "Was this ever reported?"
Herryf looked up, his eyes wide. "Of course. I wrote a dispatch on the problem
two years ago. Marshal Shastylt sent instructions back. He told me to stay on
good terms with both and to avoid getting involved with the western growers
whenever possible. I've done what I could, but that was part of the problem
with the escaped miners. Some of them were heading west and becoming brigands.
I wanted to create a local militia to deal with that, but the marshal said
that two companies were enough to deal with brigands." Herryf gestured vaguely
westward. "There's no way that two companies can cover all of Dramur and also
handle the prisoners and guarding the mine and the guano shipments."
"Do you think that the western seltyrs smuggled in weapons to deal with
brigands?"
"I don't know, sir."
Dainyl read that as an affirmative. "Do the western growers get any of the
guano or the revenues from the mine?"
"Not that I've heard. None of the growers talk about that when we're around."
"When are you around the growers?"
"Not often. I sometimes see them when I check with Sturwart. Once in a while,
one will come here to complain about brigands."
From Herryf's demeanor, Dainyl was certain he wasn't getting the entire story.
"You're from Dramur, then?"
"Most of the local Cadmians here are, Colonel. My older brother inherited the
family lands. He's one of the smaller growers still able to make ends meet."
"Here in the east?"
"There aren't any small growers in the west."
That was more than a little interesting, reflected Dainyl. "How many of the
growers have stocks of weapons?"
"That, I would have no way of knowing. My brother and I seldom talk, less
every year. Even if I did meet a grower, that's not something any of them
would share with me. I'm sure you can see that, Colonel."
"Oh, I do." Dainyl stood. "I'd like you to think about how we might change
what we're doing with the western growers. We'll talk tomorrow."
Herryf stood. "Yes, sir."
After the majer left, Dainyl- stretched. The majer had been less than totally
forthcoming, but it was obvious there was a disagreement between Herryf and
his brother. It was also clear that the western growers worried Herryf.
It was time for another aerial survey of the west.
Dainyl donned his shimmersilk jacket and gloves. On the way out, he turned to
the squad leader at the table outside. "Sheafyr, I'm going flying. I won't be
back until later. If there are any problems, either Overcaptain Dohark or the
majer will have to deal with them."
"Yes, sir."
Outside the air seemed less chill. With spring but a few weeks away, Dainyl
hoped that the weather would continue to warm. Still, it was far warmer than
late winter was in El-cien, or in places like Iron Stem or Scien.
Falyna was the duty flier, the only one, actually, on Dra-mur, and she
scrambled to her feet as she saw Dainyl marching toward her. "Where to,
Colonel? Up to that peak?"
"Not today. We're headed west, over the mountains, to take a look at some
growers' lands there. I want to see what's changed since the last flight out
there."
"That'll take a while."
"The rest of the day, I'd judge." It would take far longer than that to
determine what else he didn't know about what had been happening in Dramur.

57
In the early morning, Mykel and Alendyr rode side by side up the stone road
toward the mining camp and the mine. Behind them followed second squad. The
late-winter air was almost warm, and there was no wind. Selena was low in the
western sky, so low that it would not rise in the east until close to
midnight. Asterta was low in the east, behind Mykel and to his right.
"Sir?" asked Alendyr. "What does the colonel want us to do about the patrols?"
"Keep patrolling, but with more care. I got the feeling that he wasn't happy
about having to take over."
"In his boots, I wouldn't be, either," replied the squad leader. "Majer
Vaclyn, begging your pardon, sir, he didn't do any of us any favors. Bhoral
said that you near-on begged him to leave those folk in Jyoha alone. Was that
right?"
"I don't know that I begged. I did tell him that I didn't see the use of it,
and that it would just make matters worse. He insisted that a Codebreaker was
a Codebreaker."
"When the Code says that a man who steals for his family, cause they're
starving, has to be treated the same as a fellow like Polynt, who just robbed
and killed when he felt like it--there's something wrong there."
Mykel thought for a moment. "Theft is theft. If you treat it differently, then
everyone will have an excuse, and there won't be any justice. What's wrong is
when a man who is able to work is driven off his lands and turned into a thief
because he has no choices left. That's what happened in Jyoha."
"Happens more than there, sir."
Mykel took a deep breath. He didn't have a good answer for what Alendyr had
said, and they were headed back to deal with prisoners and escaped prisoners,
and some of them were probably no different from the men Mykel and Fifteenth
Company had killed in Jyoha. "I'm sure it does. I'm sure it does."
The two rode another half vingt before Alendyr spoke. "You're being quiet,
sir. Something we need to do?"
"No. I was just thinking." Actually, he'd been thinking about several things,
including Rachyla. There was something about her that drew him, and he
couldn't pinpoint it. He couldn't even come close. She was attractive, but
he'd met more attractive women. She was intelligent, but he'd met other women
who were. She came from wealth, but from Mykel's point of view, that was a
disadvantage, because he'd never have wealth, and probably wouldn't know what
to do even if someone settled a pile of golds on him.
"About what, sir?"
"More than a few things." Mykel grinned widely. "Women. Golds. I was also
thinking about the road."
Alendyr said nothing.
'There are eternastone roads everywhere--except here. Why would that be?"
"Because we don't need them? You get here by ship, and ships don't need high
roads."
"That's true enough, but Dramur is a big island. It's farther from one end to
the other than it is from Elcien to Lu-dar or from Tempre to Hyalt, or lots of
places that have high roads. Maybe they wouldn't fight so much here, if they
had better roads. The only decent road is this one, from the port to
Dramuria--" Mykel laughed abruptly. "Of course."
Alendyr looked at Mykel questioningly.
"I'm just a Cadmian captain. It's trade and people. The roads are links for
trade to places where there are either goods or the people to buy them."
"But... sir, there's the road from Iron Stem to Eastice. It's more than five
hundred vingts, and there aren't as many folks on that road once you leave
Iron Stem as there are here in Dramuria. Same's true for the road to Soupat,
or the one from Dereka to Aelta."
Mykel cocked his head. "I thought I had an answer, but you're right. There
must be some reason, but I can't see it. Turning road paving into eternastone
takes golds ?nd some special equipment that the alectors use."
"Maybe they're planning for where there will be more people," suggested
Alendyr.
"That makes as much sense as anything," Mykel agreed, although he wasn't
certain about that, either.
After another hundred yards, he shifted his weight in the saddle, but
gingerly, and looked blankly at the road for several moments. He was headed
back to the mine, and he'd never even been inside the stockade, and that was
where the prisoners were escaping--or vanishing.
He took a deep breath. He really needed to see the mineworks, much as he
dreaded doing so. Maybe... just maybe, that would tell him something. If it
didn't, he wouldn't feel guilty or as though he'd overlooked something.

58
Almost a glass passed from liftoff at the Cadmian compound before the pteridon
cleared the highest points in the Murian Mountains west of Dramuria. From
there the pteridon glided westward on wide blue wings, slowly descending
across the more densely vegetated western hills. Falyna had followed, as
Quelyt had earlier, the road that ran through the lower section of the
mountains south of the mine.
After they had crossed the mountains and started downward, Dainyl could see
the differences between the east and the west sides of Dramur, differences far
more pronounced at the end of winter than they had been when he had earlier
surveyed the area. In the west, the trees were even greener, and the fields
that had just been tilled earlier were showing a green fuzz.
As before, Dainyl saw no carts or wagons on the higher reaches of the road,
but scattered riders and wagons appeared on the road once they flew over the
cultivated lands in the high, rolling hills.
"A little more to the south here, toward that estate with the two villas,"
Dainyl called forward, remembering a large riding area, one suitable for
training horse troopers.
"Yes, sir."
The pteridon banked, then straightened, heading toward the villas of the
estate.
Dainyl watched closely as they neared the large estate, then smiled coolly as
he saw dust rising from the flat riding area to the north and east of the
villas.
"Someone's riding hard there," shouted Falyna.
The pteridon blanked slightly right, then leveled out on a course directly
toward the riders, about five hundred yards above the ground as the pteridon
swept over the eastern stone wall. Some of the dust had begun to settle, since
most of the riders had reined up to watch as the pteridon flew overhead.
All the riders were scattered in squad-sized groups across what Dainyl had
earlier thought to be an outdoor riding arena. They all wore deep blue
tunics--exactly the same color--and all had scabbards attached to their saddles.
Dainyl couldn't see what weapons were in them.
"You see what I see, sir?" Falyna called back.
"Horse troopers, I'd say. You up for a low pass back over them?"
"We can do that, sir."
"Better have your lance ready, just in case."
The blue-metaled lance was in Falyna's hand even before Dainyl had finished
speaking. For his own part, the colonel reached out with his Talent to draw
lifeforce for shields.
The pteridon banked steeply southward into a tight turn, losing altitude
swiftly, until they were headed back over the exercise yard at little more
than a hundred yards above the ground. Dainyl leaned slightly to his left for
a better view.
All of the riders had reined up and watched as the pteridon swept toward them.
Several riders had pulled out rifles, but someone yelled something, and the
troopers lowered the weapons. At the lower altitude, Dainyl could see that the
riders also wore sabres. That suggested that the troopers might also have been
trained with the blades before obtaining the rifles--or that the seltyr had
other uses for the force.
"Another pass, sir?" called Falyna, as the eastern stone wall passed under the
pteridon.
"No. That was enough. Climb back up and head west again."
The pteridon's wings beat more strongly as the Talent-creature began a
climbing left turn.
The seltyr--or his captain--had been smart enough not to fire on the two
Myrmidons, and that indicated that someone was well aware of what a skylance
could do.
"They had rifles out," Falyna said over her shoulder. "Good thing for them
they didn't try to use them."
"Yes, it was," Dainyl called back. "We need to look at some more estates."
"There's one to the north."
"Head over there."
The pteridon straightened on a northwest course. Dainyl shifted his weight in
the second saddle and readjusted his harness. He still wasn't flying enough
not to get uncomfortable--and they had at least two more glasses before they
would return to Dramuria.
The next estate--one that Dainyl had not overflown before--had a square field
that had been heavily ridden-- but no horses or men were out or visible. Still,
the field suggested that someone had been training or exercising sizable
numbers of troopers.
"Sir!" called Falyna. "To the north!"
Dainyl glanced northward, where he saw a line of thun-derheads rising on the
horizon. "Let's start back!"
"On our way, sir."
Dainyl continued to study the ground beneath the pteri-don's wings as the
Talent-creature slowly climbed eastward. Clearly, more than a few of the
western seltyrs had their own private horse companies--and at least one was
armed with rifles--Cadmian-style rifles in all probability.
He found it impossible to believe that the marshal and the Highest did not
know that, not with their access to the Table in the Hall of Justice. The real
questions were whether all the high alectors and the Duarches knew, whether
the marshal and the High Alector of Justice were keeping the information for
their own purposes, and whether the High Alector of Justice and the marshal
had done even more than withhold information.
The other question was more personal. Why had he not had Falyna flame down the
horse troopers? He'd had that right. Because, he told himself, the troopers
were following orders, and killing one set of troopers wouldn't have solved
anything--and even the seltyr who had armed them would likely have escaped.
That raised another set of questions, as well.
Dainyl didn't like thinking about any of those questions, especially about
their implications. The only fact in his favor was that a Table did not reveal
alectors and Talent-creatures, so that no one with a Table would have been
able to determine where Dainyl had been and what he had observed. That was
slight consolation.

59
Despite the aches in his back and shoulder, and a headache that had pounded at
him half the night, Mykel struggled awake well before dawn on Duadi. The
afternoon before, when thunderstorms had just pelted the area and he had felt
even worse from a long day--even if there hadn't been any snipers on the
road--he'd finally arranged to meet one of Meryst's squad leaders at the guano
mine a half glass before dawn so that he could inspect the mine before any
miners arrived. There clearly weren't enough miners or Cadmian guards to work
at night.
Khelsyt--the squad leader--hadn't been that pleased with Mykel's request.
Mykel had insisted. "Miners are disappearing. You want me to tell this
Myrmidon colonel that I don't even know where it's happening? He already took
care of Majer Va-clyn with that light-cutter torch of his."
"Yes, sir. Half glass before dawn," Khelsyt had agreed, tiredly. "I'll have an
overseer there to show you around."
As Mykel struggled into his uniform and made his way to the stable in the dim
light of a morning that had come too early, Mykel half wished that, bad as
he'd felt the night before, he'd just insisted on seeing the mine then. At the
time, he'd thought he'd feel better after another night's sleep. He did, but
not that much better, and he had no idea why he had a headache.
Two scouts--Sendyl and Jasakyt--were saddling their mounts when Mykel arrived at
the ramshackle shed serving as a stable. Mykel's breath puffed white in
morning air that
was far colder than it had been recently, doubtless because of the icy rain
and hail of the evening before.
"Good morning," Mykel said.
"Sir... we figured that lifting a saddle with that arm..." offered Sendyl.
Mykel glanced into the stall. His chestnut was saddled. "Thank you. I am a bit
stiff in the mornings." When he stepped into the stall, he checked the girths,
but the two had done a good job, for which he was definitely thankful. He
slipped his rifle into the scabbard and led the gelding out of the shed. He
mounted easily, but carefully. Even so, a jolt of pain went through his
shoulder. The two scouts joined him immediately, and the three rode toward the
mine road.
"We're going into the mine, sir?" asked Sendyl.
"Just for a little while. After talking to the colonel, it came out that none
of us has ever been in it, and I couldn't explain why no one had." All that
was true, if totally misleading, but Mykel doubted the colonel would object to
his seeing how the mine was laid out and operated.
Sendyl and Jasakyt exchanged knowing glances. Mykel let them think that the
colonel had picked on Fifteenth Company and its captain.
As they neared the outer gates of the prison compound, the sentries looked at
the three riders. The gates opened, then closed once they were past. The gray
paving stones were damp from the intermittent rain of the night before, but
the sky was clear. A chill wind blew out of the northwest. The road was wide
enough for three abreast. Mykel rode in the middle.
"Did either of you see anything interesting or different while I was in
Dramuria?" he asked after they had ridden several hundred yards.
"No, sir. Pretty quiet for once," replied Jasakyt.
"Out on the road, that is," added Sendyl. "One of the squad leaders from the
locals told me that another two min-
ers just disappeared. One moment, they were loading a cart, and the next they
were gone."
"Like that?"
"Overseers said that the miners hid before going down into the mine, and then
the others told the story," Sendyl said.
"No one saw them or discovered tracks or anything?" asked Mykel.
"No, sir. But how would anyone get out of a cave in the rock?"
Mykel had a very good idea, but he wasn't about to offer it. "That's a good
question."
"Strange place, if you ask me," murmured Jasakyt.
Mykel looked from the graystone paving blocks of the road to the still-grayish
green sky, and then to the rocky hillside above the road and its walls. He
should have inspected the mine right after Fifteenth Company had been assigned
to patrol the mine and mine road. Then again, there were so many things he
should have done--going to spread formations immediately, sending copies of his
reports to Colonel Dainyl, talking to Rachyla more, perhaps even going to
Colonel Dainyl earlier about the majer. Was he always going to learn things
later than he should--and perhaps pay for it the next time with his life rather
than a wounded shoulder?
The three rode another half vingt before Sendyl cleared his throat. "Sir, how
long are we going to be here?"
"I don't know, and I don't think the colonel does, either."
The mine gates opened as the three rode toward them and creaked shut as the
three passed into the stockade that surrounded the bluff holding the mine and
the crude loading docks.
Khelsyt waited beside one of the empty wagons. "You can tie your mounts
there." He pointed to the loading dock. "You'll be out of here before we bring
the prisoners in for the day."
Mykel dismounted and walked his mount to the dock. Already, his nose was
beginning to twitch. The odor, more like a stench that combined the worst
features of sewage and manure, hung heavily in the air.
Standing by the timbered mine entrance was another figure, a man clad in what
once might have been green, but was now a shapeless gray-brown coverall. His
expression was stern, just short of grim.
"Nophyt, this is Captain Mykel. The Myrmidon colonel sent him for a quick
tour."
Mykel inclined his head slightly. "I'm sorry to bother you, but..."
"When an alector wants something, the rest of us don't get much of a choice,"
replied Nophyt.
"Nophyt is the head overseer, really more of a mining engineer," explained
Khelsyt.
"Much as anyone needs an engineer here," replied Nophyt. "Bats took an old
lava tube, and the branches off it, just kept hanging there and dumping their
droppings into it, until it got all filled up, or mostly so. Now they use the
caves farther north. I figure that someday, we'll be mining those. Asked
Director Donasyr why we weren't already, and he said that there were only so
many folks with the golds to pay for the guano, and, besides, it'd last longer
if we only mined one cave at a time. Anyway, I make sure that they dig out the
shit evenly so that we don't get a wall of it falling on someone. Check the
rock walls, too, every night and every morning, just to make sure nothing's
developed a crack."
"Do the prisoners have to chop away rock in places to get to the guano?" Mykel
asked.
"Sometimes. Either floors or the places bats get into where people can't. In
another month, looks like we'll be opening up a gallery to get to a lower cave
where they did that." The overseer gestured toward the weathered timbers that
framed the entrance. "Better get moving."
From the bracing and the irregularities, Mykel could see that the mine
entrance had once been a cave mouth.
At the entrance, Nophyt picked up a metal-and-glass oil lamp, already lit.
"This is the main gallery. It was blasted out and enlarged a long time back."
He walked back through the gallery to the rear, where a sloping tunnel led
downward. In the middle of the tunnel floor were ruts worn into the stone. A
heavy rope lay between the ruts. Mykel's eyes traced the rope to a windlass.
Iron supports for the windlass had been set in holes in the lava.
"Once a cart's full they jerk the cable, and the windlass crew cranks it up."
Nophyt walked down the tunnel on the left, and Mykel followed, with the scouts
behind. Khelsyt did not accompany them on the long walk down to the next
level.
"Lower gallery here," announced Nophyt. "The cave branches off here. We use
smaller carts down here. Some places, we just have pits, and they hoist the
shit up in baskets."
Mykel tried not to swallow or breathe deeply, but he almost felt dizzy from
the stench as he followed the overseer along one of the cave branches.
Absently, he noted the irregular sides of the tunnel or cave, but the smooth
floor. In some places, but far from all, the overhead was timbered and
supported, although most of the timbers looked old and cracked.
They passed a wooden barrier on the right side of the cave tunnel.
"What's that?" asked Mykel.
"Drop tube. Goes straight down. So far as we can tell, not much guano on the
sides, and the bottom's a good two hundred yards, maybe more."
The overseer headed down another long and gently sloping tunnel, walking and
explaining, until he stopped in an open space surrounded by darkness. Without
the oil lamp held by Nophyt, which cast but a circular glow, and not a
terribly strong one, the cave would have been pitch-black.
Mykel thought that the air wasn't that good, although the odor seemed less.
Then, it might have been that he was getting used to the stench.
"This is the deepest part we've found so far, not so much deep as far back,"
Nophyt said. "We have to rotate the crews working here. They don't like it
here. Say it's dangerous."
Mykel looked around, but could see nothing beyond the circle of dim light. He
closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it might be like in the dark.
Despite his closed eyes, or perhaps because of them, he could see a faint
red-purple glow from somewhere, almost seeping in at the edges of his vision,
if he had had vision with his eyes open. Where had he seen that color?
His eyes flew open, and the color vanished. The rock-creatures with the
ancient soarer! Was that why the miners feared the depths here? "Is this one
of the places where miners have disappeared?"
"Don't know. No one ever sees 'em vanish. Some have disappeared from crews
working here, but we could never tell if the crew hid that they'd escaped or
if they disappeared."
"If the prisoners said they disappeared... ?" asked Mykel.
"Can't trust what they say." Nophyt snorted. "They'd say anything to get out
of here."
"Could you close sections like this for a while? Until people forgot?"
"Not here. Director Donasyr wouldn't let us. This is where the guano is
oldest, most concentrated, and effective." The overseer laughed. "It also
smells less and gets the best price."
"You have different types of guano?" Mykel hadn't known that.
"More like different grades. The real old stuff is almost white, powders when
you hit it with a hammer. It doesn't smell much." Nophyt gestured with the
lamp. "Better start back up. Won't be long before they open the gates, and it
takes longer walking back. Doesn't seem bad going down. Another thing heading
back."
As he followed the overseer out of the works, Mykel knew where at least some
of the missing miners had gone. There was really no way he was about to tell
Dohark--or the colonel--what he thought. He certainly couldn't prove it, but if
the prisoners thought that they'd be dragged into the depths and die at the
hands of the rock-creatures, he could certainly . see why some of them would
do anything to escape.

60
Dainyl looked out the window of the commander's study, taking in the shadows
of a late-winter afternoon in Dramuria as they stretched across the Cadmian
compound. Londi had come and gone, and Duadi had almost done the same. Quelyt
had not yet flown back from Elcien, and his delayed return suggested that all
was not well in Elcien. Overcaptain Dohark had reported by messenger that most
of the patrols undertaken by the companies of Third Battalion had been
uneventful, except that Seventeenth Company had been attacked by several
squads of horsemen with longbows and arrows and was pursuing them to the north
of the western road.
Dainyl had immediately sent a messenger back to Dohark, suggesting that
pursuit to the west was unwise, except in cases where the horsemen could be
clearly cut off. He hoped that would be sufficient, since so far there had
been no sign of any of the western seltyrs' horse troopers moving east. Dainyl
thought it would likely be only days, weeks at the most, before that happened.
For that reason, he had also alerted Dohark that the western seltyrs had armed
horse troopers who could be used against the Cadmians.
He still fretted somewhat about the troopers he and Fa-lyna had overflown.
Marshal Shastylt would have destroyed them. Yet Dainyl didn't see what good
that would have done. It would only destroy higher-level lifeforce mass, and
lead to greater destruction, while not getting at the basic problem. He
laughed softly. If... if he could ever discover the basic problem.
Then, there was the problem of the ancients. Much as he had tried, with his
own Talent, he had been unable to recreate--or find, see, or sense--the vision
of the world life-mass web that the soarer had shown him, for that was all
that it could have been. The best he could do was sense, if he concentrated,
the purple-pinkness of his own lifethread for less than a yard from him.
Still, that was an improvement. The prediction that he would perish unless he
changed still lurked in the back of his mind as well Change? How? And why?
"Sir?"
Dainyl looked up to see Quelyt standing in the open doorway to the study. He
stood. "I'm glad to see you. I worried that they might have pressed you into
courier duty somewhere."
The Myrmidon laughed as he stepped into the study. "We did do a message run or
two to Ludar, more as a favor, while we waited." He extended an envelope.
"From the marshal."
"Any other dispatches?"
"No, sir." Then the ranker grinned. "There is a letter."
Dainyl shook his head. "Sometimes, you're a brigand, Quelyt."
"Only sometimes, sir."
"What's happening in Elcien?"
"It's hard to say, sir. The other fliers think that the mess in Iron Stem is
finally settled, but there are rumors that someone killed five alectors on the
regional staff in Dereka. They're missing, anyway, and that's not good."
"What else?"
"It was a frigging cold winter in Elcien, and it's still cold. Good to get
down here."
"For winter, it's been pleasant here."
"Oh ... one other thing, I almost forgot. A bunch of new alectors showed up in
Elcien. Zorclyt said they'd been translated from Ifryn. Most of them will be
sent to Alustre, he said."
Why Alustre? Dainyl wondered. "I believe you mentioned a letter?"
"Yes, sir. The lady delivered it to me herself, just before we lifted off."
Quelyt handed the colonel a smaller and thicker envelope.
"Thank you."
"Do you have any flying you need done?"
"Nothing immediate." Dainyl lifted the dispatch from the marshal. "Unless I
have instructions from the marshal. Fa-lyna took me out on a survey of the
west. The seltyrs there are raising private forces."
'Trouble everywhere."
"It looks that way."
Quelyt nodded. "We'll be ready."
After the Myrmidon ranker left, Dainyl closed the study door, and, as he
walked toward the desk, opened the dispatch, again addressed to Colonel
Dainyl. The Talent-seal was untouched. After reading through the third line,
he blinked and reread the words, more slowly.
As submarshal you can no longer be spared just to observe what is occurring in
Dramur. The High Alector of Justice has requested that you return to Elcien
immediately, with both pteridons, so that you may be briefed on other matters
of vital importance to the Myrmidons, as well as to all alectors of Acorus.
This is a critical time, and the Highest and I will be calling upon your
experience.
In addition, we need to consult on how best to handle the future of Dramur.
Our scattered observations suggest that matters are not as you were led to
believe and that a more unified long-term strategy is necessary....
So far as Dainyl could tell, there had never been any strategy, just a vague
set of orders to Third Battalion to do what was necessary to get rid of a few
rebels. He kept reading.
Delegate responsibilities and duties as you must, and plan for a minimum
absence of two full weeks.
Just as he was beginning to get some idea of the scope of the problems in
Dramur, he was being recalled for consultations and strategy development? Why
hadn't anyone developed a strategy before? Or had they, and it hadn't worked?
Or was it working, and was Dainyl being recalled to make sure that he didn't
upset what the marshal and the Highest had in mind? Yet the tone of the
dispatch was neither derogatory nor threatening, and it did convey urgency,
and it referred to him as the submarshal.
Dainyl set down the dispatch on the desk and opened the envelope from
Lystrana. The Talent-seal was unbroken.
Dearest,
The seasons do stretch out, and with spring not too far away, I wish that you
were here in Elcien with me. The days have been long, and especially on the
many nights that I have worked late, it would have been so comforting to come
home and to see you ...
Late nights mean troubles, and the kinds of troubles Lystrana dared not put
into a letter, even one she had handed directly to Quelyt.
Almost a score of alectors have arrived from Ifryn in recent weeks, and a
number are Table engineers who were sent to the High Alector of Engineering in
Lu-dar. I overheard talk about the need for greater grid stability, and you
know what that may portend ...
Dainyl understood all too well. The Archon had determined that translations to
Acorus and Efra had to increase significantly. Such a decision meant either
the lifeforce mass on Ifryn was decreasing more rapidly than planned, or the
Archon's control was once more threatened.
... Now that iron and coal production in Iron Stem have resumed...
Resumed? They had stopped entirely? No wonder the marshal had always been out
in Iron Stem.
... and the manufactories in Faitel have been able to move toward
reestablishing full production, I have had to recalculate so many figures in
the Duarches' accounts, and that has taken many long hours. I fear that too
late a spring will also affect the year's crops, and that will change the
revenue projections and the scope of major engineering projects possible...
Major engineering projects? What was going on in Elcien?
As always, I hope that it will not be too long before you can return, if only
briefly, for my heart is empty when you are gone.
While the last words might have sounded flowery, Dainyl knew that they were
anything but vacant phases. Without each other, life had less meaning for both
of them.
Despite the warmth and affection wrapped around the veiled warnings, her
letter disturbed him far more than did the marshal's dispatch. Together, they
suggested that matters in Elcien were anything but favorable.
He refolded her letter and slipped it inside his tunic, then headed out of the
study to tell the two Myrmidons that they would leave at dawn. After that, he
would need to brief Ma-jer Herryf and write a letter of instructions to
Overcaptain Dohark.

61
The two days of flying north to Elcien were long and cold, including the
stopover in Southgate. For the last hundred vingts, the air was turbulent,
with a bitter headwind, and among the more unpleasant flights Dainyl had made,
but part of the discomfort might have been that being a passenger was always
worse than being the flier.
As Falyna turned her pteridon due east for the final ten vingts over the Bay
of Ludel toward Elcien, Dainyl glanced down at the waters below, choppy and
cold gray, with whitecaps clearly visible from five hundred yards up. Above,
high gray clouds obscured the late-afternoon sun. To the north, dark gray
clouds were building into a wall advancing inexorably on the capital isle, and
to the northeast the higher peaks of the Coast Range were solidly coated with
white. Even the lower hills to the west of those peaks were heavily splotched
with snow.
As they neared Elcien, Dainyl saw that a miasma of fog and smoke had settled
over the isle. Only the outlines of the walls and buildings of the Myrmidon
compound were visible as Falyna's pteridon spread its wings into a flare and
settled onto the landing stage.
With a certain amount of relief, Dainyl set his boots on the graystones of the
courtyard outside Myrmidon headquarters. The wind--icy in comparison to
Dramuria-- gusted around him as he unfastened his gear from behind me second
saddle and slung it over his shoulder.
As Quelyt and his pteridon landed, Dainyl turned to Fa-lyna. "Thank you. Good
landing, especially in these conditions."
"Comes with the task, sir."
They both smiled.
"You and Quelyt will have to check on when we head back, but it won't be for a
week at the very earliest."
"Yes, sir."
Then Dainyl turned and walked swiftly across the courtyard and into the
headquarters building. Zorclyt was waiting for him.
"Is the marshal around?" asked Dainyl.
"The marshal is with the Highest, sir," replied the senior squad leader. "He
left word that, if you arrived this afternoon or this evening, you were free
to do what you wished and that he would see you here in the morning a glass
after muster." Zorclyt grinned. "Oh ... you can use the duty coach to take you
home."
"I appreciate that." Dainyl lifted his gear, light, since he'd left much in
Dramuria, and headed for the main entrance and the coach waiting outside. He
did not need another invitation.
By the time the coach reached the entrance to his house, fat and wet flakes of
snow had begun to drift down out of the wall of clouds just to the north of
the city.
"Thank you!" he called to Convyl, one of the youngest Myrmidons without a
pteridon assignment, and thus one of those saddled with coach duties.
"You're more than welcome, sir."
Dainyl opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him against the
snow that was beginning to intensify.
One of the housegirls--Zistele--jumped back from where she had been
sweeping--desultorily--the tiles in the entry foyer. "Colonel, sir!"
"I'm back for a time. Is Lystrana here?"
"No, sir. She said she might be home earlier today, but she's not here yet."
Dainyl set his gear on the bottom step of the stairs to the upper level. "Is
there--"
He broke off as the door opened behind him, and he turned.
Lystrana smiled broadly as she looked at Dainyl standing there in his
shimmering blue riding jacket. She took two quick steps.
The embrace was long and warm.
"I had heard that you might be recalled for consultations," she said, finally
breaking away from him.
For a long moment, he just looked at her, taking in her violet eyes, her clear
alabaster skin, and the black hair that seemed to hold an energy all its own.
"I'm happy to see you, but I'm not pleased at the recall," he replied.
She raised a single eyebrow.
He laughed.
"We both need to eat. Even bread and cheese," she said. "You're looking
tired."
"You look wonderful."
"I might, but I'm famished." Lystrana turned her head. "Sentya?"
"Yes, alectress?"
"If you would set out some bread and cheese on the table in the kitchen? And
some of the red wine? The Vyan Grande?" Lystrana turned back to her husband.
"It's warmer there."
"It's almost ready, alectress," answered Zistele.
Arm in arm, the two walked into the kitchen, where
Sentya had set out a basket of bread still warm enough from the oven that
Dainyl could feel the heat. Zistele had placed a tray on the smaller kitchen
table. On it were three different wedges of cheese. After pouring the wine,
Sentya slipped out of the kitchen, following the younger serving girl.
"Another long day?" asked Dainyl as he seated himself, glad to be where chairs
were of proper height and breadth.
"They've all been long. I'll tell you later..." She inclined her head toward
the front of the house.
Dainyl nodded. He broke off a chunk of the still-warm bread and took a
mouthful, following it with a small wedge of cheese, then a sip from the
purple-tinged crystal goblet.
"How are things going for you?" Lystrana asked.
"Not all that well," he admitted. "I can't help but feel that there wouldn't
have been all this unrest in Dramur if the Cadmians hadn't been sent there."
He sipped the wine slowly, enjoying the taste, as well as the warmth of the
kitchen, boosted by the still-heated stove.
"That makes sense," Lystrana replied. "It has often been a technique used by
the High Alector of Justice. They look at places where there is some unrest
and likely to be more. Then they provoke violence before the perpetrators can
become well organized."
"What am I doing there, then?"
"You are there to make sure that matters don't get out of hand. The technique
is proved, from what I've been able to discover, but it is also dangerous."
"Did you know this before I left?"
Lystrana shook her head. "After your letter, I went into the archives. I also
made some suggestions to Zestafyn, and his reactions confirmed my suspicions.
It's nothing we could prove, dearest, but I'm convinced that is what is
Planned for Dramur."
"But why?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I was hoping that what you could tell me might
help in finding out why."
"I can tell you more than you want to know... about many things."
"Later." A broad smile crossed her face. "Later."

62
Despite the long flights to Elcien, on Quinti, Dainyl woke at dawn to the wind
wailing outside the windows. When he opened his eyes, Lystrana was awake and
looking at him.
"You still sleep like a child at times," she said.
"That's when I'm so tired I forget to worry," he replied, slowly struggling
into a half-sitting position. "The older I get, the more tired I have to be."
"Breakfast won't be ready for a while, and you were going to tell me what the
problems were in Dramuria." Lystrana propped herself up in the wide bed and
looked directly at him.
He understood why she wanted to talk in their bedroom. "I was ... except
someone had other ideas." Dainyl grinned mischievously.
"Oh ... I didn't see much protesting from a certain colonel." Her eyes smiled.
They both laughed, but only for a moment.
"What's happening in Dramur follows what you suggested last night, but there
are things that don't fit. I'm certain that the marshal used Talent on the
majer in charge of the Third Battalion of Cadmians, so that he would issue
foolish orders and keep his captains from using their initiative ..." Dainyl
gave a summary of the events, including
the unmarked Cadmian rifles, the smugglers, the uniformed horse troopers of
the west, and the trooper who had been Talent-manipulated and committed two
murders.
"Is that all?" asked Lystrana dryly.
"I wish it were. I've also run into an ancient and her creatures--"
"A real ancient?" interrupted Lystrana. "You're sure? Of course you are.
But..." She shook her head. "There aren't any mentions, even in the archives,
and I've read most of them."
"A very real ancient..." He went on to describe both his encounters with the
soarer and her words. "There's a power there that's frightening. It's not just
their power to transport themselves places, either. I can see that. Their
mirror seems equivalent to a Table."
"You said that the creatures disappeared into the rock. I'd wager the soarer
could do that as well."
Dainyl thought about that. "I wouldn't be surprised, but if they're so
powerful, why haven't they shown themselves?"
"There can't be that many, not compared to all the landers and indigens. The
only ruins we've found are in high and cold places. Even this tunnel is in the
mountains, you said. We don't like either, and we're the ones most likely to
sense them."
"Except for the landers with Talent," he said.
"They aren't many of them, and you know what the Views of the Highest says
about that. There wouldn't be any if we could find them early enough."
"That's true." Dainyl paused, thinking about Captain Mykel for a moment.
"You think they're dangerous, even if there can't be very many?"
"I do. I couldn't say why, though." He paused. "I still can't figure out what
she meant by changing or perishing, and not being a part of the world."
"The second part is true, dearest. We're not really a part
of Acorus, not totally. We're linked through the Tables back o Ifryn. Even if
the Archon decides to bring the master scepter here, our link to this world
will be through it."
"But they don't regard the landers and indigens that way."
"No." Lystrana laughed sardonically. "They feed on some of them, though, it
sounds like. It could be that they :an't do that to us."
"Why not?"
"Because we're from Ifryn, even if we're born here. We're different. The
landers and the indigens are partly Ifryn, but mostly adapted to and part of
Acorus."
That made sense to Dainyl, but it left another question. "Why are they showing
up now?"
"Maybe they aren't," suggested Lystrana. "There have always been
disappearances. Maybe this is one of those times when an alector with strong
shields encountered them."
"Neither Falyna nor Quelyt sensed them."
"I'd wager that they've always been around."
"You think that the Highest and the Duarches have hushed up reports about
them?"
"It's almost certain," Lystrana concluded. "There would be pressure to find
them, and that would divert resources and a great amount of lifeforce."
"And that would not please the Archon."
"No. And, if it's as it appears, trying to root them out of high places would
be most costly. When there are so few of them, the Duarches are most likely
just watching and waiting for them to finish dying off. There can't be that
many left"
"I'm not so certain. The soarers are somehow behind the miners' escapes and
attacks."
"I don't think a handful of escaped miners presents that real a threat to the
Duarchy," she said.
"No, they don't. But why are the marshal and the Highest behind the contraband
arms? I just wish I knew why."
"They could be using the miners as cover for their strategy to preempt
trouble, couldn't they?" asked Lystrana.
"They might be, but there's more there. I just don't know what it could be."
He shook his head. "As soon as I take over and get rid of the officer who's
creating more trouble than he's solving, I get recalled here for
consultations. They want things to get worse in Dramur. And I'm not in a
position where I can do anything. I have to think that Tyanylt discovered
something and didn't like it."
"You're probably right." Lystrana frowned. "There's no proof, except for the
contraband rifles, and the High Alector of Justice can claim they were part of
a strategy to preempt later trouble because, if the seltyrs were allowed to
gather forces and arms more slowly, they would have a broader base of support.
They also might start developing artillery."
Dainyl winced. Life-reinforced garments and Talent-shields didn't work against
artillery. "So there's no way you can go to your Highest or to the Duarch?"
"Not unless we find out more," Lystrana replied. "When do you meet with the
marshal?"
"In about two glasses, and I suppose I'd better start getting washed up and
dressed."
Left unsaid as they climbed out of bed and into the chill air was the
understanding that the meeting with the marshal would not be likely to produce
anything resembling evidence.
In the end, Dainyl had to hurry through dressing and eating, and because he
couldn't count on getting a coach to the Myrmidon compound, he left early, and
walked, trying to think out what he could ask the marshal that was in
character with what he was supposed to know.
The snow of the previous night had mostly melted, although the skies were
still gray, and a wind blew out of the northwest. Dainyl was more than happy
to step out of the raw morning and into the comparative warmth of the
headquarters building, and glad that he was early enough to warm up before his
scheduled meeting with Marshal Shastylt.
Before he headed to his study, he stopped at the duty desk, where Undercaptain
Zernylta looked up, waiting. "Is the marshal in yet?"
"No, sir," she replied.
"I'll be in my study." Dainyl nodded politely and walked down the corridor
past the still-vacant study of the submar-shal. The door to his own study was
closed. He opened it and stepped inside. The room was slightly musty, and
there were stacks of reports piled on his desk. The colonel frowned.
Certainly, the reports could have been sent with Quelyt or Falyna.
With a deep breath he sat down and began to read. After less than half a
glass, he almost wished he had not.
Three of the reports were actually reports he'd sent to the marshal, and
someone had read them, but there were no replies and no notations. The rest of
the reports were the standard quintal reports from the various Myrmidon
companies across Corus. Majer Dhenyr, the commander of the Fifth Company in
Dereka, had reported the theft of two more skylances and requested
replacements. How could anyone steal a skylance? They were either in their
holders on a pteridon or stored in the pteridon's square, never more than a
few yards from one of the Talent-creatures. No one stole anything from a
pteridon. They didn't sleep, and their claws and beaks were lethal. They were
virtually invulnerable to anything short of cannon--and there weren't any
cannon on Acorus, not that the alectors of the Tables had been able to find.
Besides, it would have been obvious if anyone had used cannon.
Third Company in Alustre had sent two squads north for reconnaissance around
the North Road between Scien and Pystra, as requested by the marshal. Dainyl
couldn't help frowning at that. Two squads for recon? Why? Dainyl knew that
the two local Cadmian companies there had been scheduled for rebasing at
Norda, but that should have been completed a season earlier.
"Sir?"
Dainyl set the report down and looked up at Zorclyt, who stood in the doorway.
"The marshal would like to see you now."
"Thank you." Dainyl stood and walked swiftly from his study to the door of the
marshal's spaces.
"Come in, Colonel."
Dainyl closed the study door behind him, then followed the marshal's gesture
and settled into one of the chairs across the desk from the head of the
Myrmidons.
As Shastylt looked directly at Dainyl, the marshal's violet eyes were intent,
the thin-lipped and wide mouth set in an expression of concern. The colonel
had seen the marshal use that look before, and rather than respond, he merely
waited. At some point, the marshal would speak, certain that his words would
carry more weight after the silence.
"You have handled the situation in Dramur with care and with tact"--Shastylt
paused, leaving his words hanging before going on--"when many would have been
tempted to act precipitously. At times, it is best to let an infection come to
a head, where it is concentrated, rather than treat it with palliatives that
will only prolong the treatment and recovery."
Dainyl nodded politely. "I have watched closely over the years and attempted
to learn how to distinguish such differences." What he wasn't about to say was
that he didn't believe a word that Shastylt said, and that the analogy was
misapplied to the situation in Dramur.
"Even when you have some doubts about the wisdom of a policy suggested by the
Highest, you seem able to understand that you may not see all that there is to
see."
"The higher I have been promoted," Dainyl replied easily, "the more obvious
that has become."
Shastylt was the one who nodded. "For such reasons, the Highest and I have
decided that you are indeed suited to be Submarshal of Myrmidons, particularly
at this time. All Myrmidons are well aware you have held every position
from being the newest ranker all the way up to being sub-marshal, and that
will instill even greater confidence in them." Shastylt smiled, more
professionally than with personal warmth as he extended an enameled box,
setting it on the edge of the desk before Dainyl. "Here are your stars,
Submarshal."
"Thank you." Dainyl bowed his head slightly. "I will do my best to live up to
all the expectations and requirements of being your deputy."
"I am most certain you will. Tomorrow morning, you will be meeting with the
Highest, one glass before noon, and he will be briefing you on certain
critical aspects of your duties. These are matters of which only a few below
the station of high alector are aware. We also will be promoting Majer Dhenyr
to colonel to take over your previous position here at headquarters. As you
may recall, he's been in charge of Fifth Company in Dereka."
"I've read more than a few of his reports," Dainyl admitted. "I must admit
that the last one I read worried me greatly."
"About the missing skylances?" Shastylt nodded. "That has worried all of us.
The lances are essentially worthless without a pteridon, but how they were
taken is more than a little vexing. The majer and the senior regional alector
have questioned everyone who could possibly have been near the pteridon
squares there, but so far have turned up nothing. There have been more than a
few matters like that recently, and once this business in Dramuria is wound
up, you may have to undertake a more thorough investigation of some of them."
"I have heard that five alectors vanished in Dereka. Is that so, and part of
the problem there?"
"It is, but I cannot say more until after you meet with the Highest." The
marshal looked directly and intently at Dainyl. "I would be curious to know
what happened to Ma-
jer Vaclyn to cause him to lose such control. If you can explain, that is."
"Yes, sir. No one can look into the mind of a dead man, but there were subtle
indications of his ... growing instability. He was an officer who did not have
the ability to be promoted beyond majer. He was a competent company commander,
but his grasp of greater tactics was limited. His captains have, over the
years, quietly remedied his deficiencies. This is something far more easily
done in operations against raiders than in the situation in Dramur--"
"How so?"
"In Dramur," Dainyl replied, "there is not one group of insurgents, but
several. There are smugglers, who wish to avoid Duarchial tariffs. There are
the escaped miners who, for superstitious reasons associated with the vanished
ancients, will often resort to near-suicidal tactics to escape the mines and
attack the Cadmian guards. There are former smallholders, forced off their
lands by the seltyrs and the larger growers. There was at least one seltyr who
was so alarmed by these combined factors that he had assembled his own company
armed with the contraband Cadmian rifles." Dainyl paused. "Did you ever
receive any reply, sir, to your inquiries about the source of those weapons?"
"A reply, yes. One that was helpful... not really. The High Alector of
Engineering sent an inquiry to Faitel and one to Alustre. More than a thousand
rifles are missing from the reserve storeroom in Faitel, but no one seems to
know how and when it happened."
Dainyl winced visibly, even though the number was really no surprise to him
after his inspection flight over the west of Dramur. "That many?"
Shastylt shook his head. "It could be more. There's been no response from
Alustre."
No response? When the contraband weapons had been
reported weeks before, when the high alectors had access to Tables and
Myrmidon couriers?
"You look surprised, Submarshal."
"I'm less surprised by the numbers of weapons missing than I am by the lack of
response and knowledge." Dainyl was walking on the edge of a steep chasm. To
charge a high alector with incompetence or worse was unwise, but not to show
some concern and even indignation would raise the marshal's suspicions.
"Some of the high alectors do not grasp the severity of the challenges we face
in the next few years, and we must tread lightly until they or their
successors understand fully those challenges."
Dainyl nodded. "It is clear that you are dealing with a most delicate
situation, sir."
"As are you, Dainyl." Shastylt smiled. "I would that I could have you delegate
you oversight of the Dramur situation to someone else, but, at the moment,
there is no one else. Majer Dhenyr will have his hands full taking over your
duties, especially now, and it would not be feasible to bring either of the
senior majers from Alustre. The Myrmidons have always had to cope with fewer
officers than we might wish otherwise." The marshal rose from behind the desk.
"We will have to continue this discussion later. This afternoon, the Highest
and I will be briefing the High Alector of Finance and the Duarch, but I did
want to let you know of your promotion. It is effectively immediately. So you
can put on the stars as soon as you have a moment. The Highest will be
briefing you tomorrow; and then on Septi, we'll talk again."
As the marshal had stood, so had Dainyl. He did reach out and take the
black-enameled box that held the eight-pointed silver stars of a submarshal.
The marshal's stars were gold and green-edged, of course. "I look forward to
that, sir."
He managed a pleased smile before turning and leaving the marshal's study.
Once back in his own study, a space that he supposed he would be leaving
before long for the larger study that had been Tyanylt's, Dainyl sat down
behind his desk, heavily. He was both surprised and alarmed by his promotion.
Shastylt had as much as stated that some of the high alec-tors did not
understand the coming crisis and would have to be replaced, and that the
marshal and the Highest would be briefing the Duarch on something of great
import. Dainyl was supposed to connect the two--but he doubted that such a
connection was accurate.
More than anything, he felt that his position was more precarious, rather than
less--and he had yet to meet with the High Alector of Justice.

63
Dainyl walked up to the duty coach outside Myrmidon headquarters roughly a
glass and a half before noon on Sexdi. The sky had cleared the night before,
leaving the heavens a brilliant silver-green. The white sun shone brightly,
but the air remained chill.
"The Hall of Justice, sir?" asked the duty driver.
"That's right." Dainyl offered a smile and then stepped into the coach.
As the coach pulled away from the headquarters building, Dainyl sat back,
thinking about what awaited him. The night before, he and Lystrana had
discussed, quietly and in their bedchamber, what the marshal had told him. She
had not been able to add any more understanding or information. What was
obvious, so obvious that neither had to
speak it, was that times were getting even more dangerous, especially since
Dainyl was thought to have limited Talent and no ties to the Duarches, and no
links to any of the High Alectors--except indirectly through Lystrana.
Dainyl glanced out the coach window, his eyes taking in the Duarch's palace to
the right, the stone glowing in the sunlight, and then the gardens, gray and
winter brown. Did the Duarch of Elcien know what the Highest and the marshal
were doing? Dainyl and Lystrana doubted it, yet neither dared bring matters
before the Duarch without some real proof--and they had none--not given the
Talent-strength of the marshal and the High Alector of Justice.
In less than a quarter glass, the coach pulled up outside of the Hall of
Justice.
"I'll be waiting over at the concourse, sir," said the driver.
"I don't imagine I'll be that long." With a nod, Dainyl turned and started up
the steps.
Coming down the wide golden marble steps were two lander women, followed by a
graying man and woman. The thinner of the two younger women was punctuating
her words with sobs and tears.
"... he didn't do anything wrong, he didn't. What difference did it make,
adding a pinch of white lead to the wine here and there?... kept it from
spoiling and tasted sweeter... the Highest wouldn't change anything ... what
will we do? Gil's dead, and they took the shop ..."
Dainyl concealed a wince as he passed the four. Not only did lead poison those
who had too much, but it also decreased fertility among the indigens and
landers, and that meant slower growth of high-level lifemass.
No matter how often the schools taught that certain practices were not good
for life, some landers and indigens would do them anyway if it brought a few
extra silvers, or even coppers. And then they complained when justice fell on
them, even when they had been warned.
At the top of the outside steps, without looking back, he stepped between two
of the goldenstone pillars and into the receiving rotunda, crossing the
octagonal tiles of polished gold and green marble, with their inset
eight-pointed stars, stars exactly the same shape as those he now wore on his
tunic collar. He could hear the petitioners in the main Hall, even before he
passed through the goldenstone pillars between the receiving rotunda and the
Hall.
The High Alector of Justice was not seated behind the podium of judgment, set
directly before the Needle of the Duarches that soared upward through the high
pink marble ceiling and well above the green exterior tiles of the roof.
Rather, one of his assistants was, although Dainyl doubted that most of the
petitioners would have noted the difference.
Dainyl slipped to the left toward the pillar on the south side that held the
hidden entrance to the chambers below. While the entrance was on the side away
from the podium and petitioners, as always, Dainyl used his Talent to conceal
his opening the concealed entry.
After stepping through the square stone archway, and making sure it closed
behind him, he released the Talent-illusion and made his way down the
light-torch-illuminated stairway to the lower level and warmer air. He
followed the stone-walled hallway to the Highest's chambers.
Even before he reached the door, a deep voice boomed out, "Please come in,
Submarshal."
This time the Highest wore a tunic of deep purple, trimmed in brilliant green.
The purple created a greater impression of gravity. Did the High Alector wear
the purple when meeting with either of the Duarches?
Dainyl inclined his head, murmuring the ritual phrase, "Highest, I am here to
serve."
"That you are." The High Alector of Justice motioned for Dainyl to follow him.
Without saying more, the senior alec-I    tor turned and walked through an open
archway. I      Dainyl followed and found himself in a smaller sitting
room, also windowless, but lit by enough crystal light-torches that the
chamber was more than comfortable.
The Highest seated himself in a curved oak chair without upholstery. Dainyl
took the matching chair on the other side of the small ebony table. Despite
the hardness of the wood, the chair's graceful curves were far more
comfortable than many padded chairs in which Dainyl had found himself. He
waited for the Highest to speak.
Several moments passed, and Dainyl could sense the use of Talent to scan him.
As he had practiced with Lystrana, he did not react, but merely maintained his
shields.
"Your shields improve every year, Dainyl."
"I keep practicing, Highest."
" 'Sir' will do, Dainyl." A half-humorous smile followed the words, then a
pause, before the High Alector continued. "I must admit that the timing of
events, even of your promotion, is less than optimal."
"I certainly didn't plan things that way, Highest," Dainyl said politely.
"I doubt anyone could have been that farsighted, even your lovely wife."
"She is quite farsighted, but neither she nor I anticipated a promotion at
this time." Earlier, or not at all, had been Dainyl's own judgment.
"As Marshal Shastylt doubtless revealed, matters on Acorus are not as we would
wish."
"He did suggest that, sir."
"Knowing him, he was circumspect. They may be worse than that. None of these
difficulties would be especially troublesome by itself. The problems with the
iron and coal mines in Iron Stem would be workable. A wild lander Talent in
the rugged hills west of Hyalt would require no more than a battalion of
Cadmians and a squad of Myrmidons. Grassland nomads have decided to raid
merchant convoys on the upper steppe highway between Ongelya, and they hide in
the high grasses so that pteri-
dons are of little use--unless we were to burn the grass, and that just would
make the lifemass situation less favorable. So another battalion must go
there. There is your problem of what appear to be dual revolts in Dramur.
There are unforeseen difficulties in Dereka--but I will not burden you with all
of those. The marshal is dealing with Iron Stem and Hyalt, and, once you
finish what you must here and in Lyterna, you will handle the difficulties in
Dramur."
In Lyterna? What was he supposed to do in Lyterna? Dainyl decided against
asking, for the moment. He was also concerned, because the Highest had not
been quite truthful about the difficulties, but exactly how, Dainyl could not
have said, only that the Talent-sense surrounding those words of the Highest
had left him feeling most uneasy.
"Before we deal with Lyterna," the Highest went on, "there are some basic
matters of knowledge that are not widely known. I will go through these
quickly. Some you may have deduced, but I would be surprised if you know them
all." He paused.
Dainyl nodded, waiting.
i             "For all practical purposes, the pteridons are nearly inde-
structible, as you may know. What you may not know is that their numbers are
fixed. Once the Dual Scepters have been placed on a world, pteridons as you
know them can no longer be created..."
Dual Scepters? What Dual Scepters? Should he ask? Would Lystrana know?
"... Upon occasion, wild translations may manifest themselves as feral and
near-brainless pteridons or as other wild Talent-creatures, but they are
short-lived and unusable. In the history of all Ifrit worlds, only a handful
of pteridons have been destroyed, that is, until the lifeforce of the world on
which they have been created itself fails. This does not wean that a pteridon
cannot be destroyed, only that no one in recent eras has done so. It is
possible. I will not tell you
how. It is sufficient for you to know that such destruction is both possible
and unlikely ..."
Dainyl had not known what the Highest had just told him, but after his years
as a Myrmidon, he could not have said that he was surprised.
"Second is the matter of Talented landers. As you should know, no lander who
has displayed the ability to employ Talent can be allowed to live. What you
likely do not know is that landers were designed and bred as more, shall we
say, creative versions of indigens when it became apparent that the indigens
were not multiplying world lifeforce mass quickly enough. What the designers
did not realize until far later was that the creativity traits also allow the
possibility of Talent, and that certain landers have demonstrated the
potential to be highly Talented. Thus, they must be destroyed, and quickly,
once discovered. This policy is never to be revealed or discussed with anyone
besides a high alec-tor, or the marshal. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is a matter of survival. Landers breed more rapidly and in far greater
numbers, and they would exhaust the world's lifeforce all too quickly."
"What about crossbreeds between landers and indigens?"
"The offspring could carry those traits," the Highest replied. "We do not wish
those traits to be spread. Talent may never surface in someone with the
traits, and thus cannot be detected, Its emergence in landers cannot be
predicted--except in those cases where both parents are Talented landers--and
such an instance must never be allowed to occur."
"Yes, sir."
"Another related fact is that the so-called ancients are not all dead."
"Sir?" Dainyl hoped he counterfeited enough surprise.
"They are a dying race, among the last remnants of the life-forms fully native
to Acorus. They are seldom encoun-
tered or seen, but they have a form of Talent, and they can be dangerous,
according to the reports in the sealed archives. I have never seen one, but
most of my predecessors have..."
Dainyl had the sense and feeling that the highest was skirting the truth about
the ancients, if not outright dissembling.
"They prefer high and chill locations, and we believe that a small community
lives somewhere on the Aerial Plateau."
"That's too high for pteridons." It would be uncomfortable, reflected Dainyl,
if not close to impossible, for an alector to function well or for long in
that cold and altitude.
"Exactly. Should the ancients become a problem, we do have a contingency plan
for dealing with them. It would be extraordinarily wasteful of world
lifeforce, but such a plan has been developed. If you encounter such an
ancient, it is to be reported immediately."
"Sir... I don't know if Marshal Shastylt told you, but I have found a tunnel
with an ancient archway on one of the peaks in Dramur. There were no tracks
there..."
"The marshal did report that." The High Alector smiled. "Their artifacts, like
our eternastone and other preserved works, do not age. I have seen two of
those tunnels with the amberstone arches myself, one in Deforya and one in the
Spine of Coras near Passera." He cleared his throat "The ancients can be most
dangerous. Several alectors were killed in the early years after the
seedings."
"Do we know how they are dangerous?"
"According to the records, they are accompanied by creatures that can suck the
lifeforce from any living thing. They are supposed to be able to draw
lifeforce themselves, but this has never been observed. Artifacts found in
several places suggest that they are quite skilled. As a matter °f fact, our
light-torches are based on one of then-designs ..."
That was something else that Dainyl had not known.
"Now ... there are other matters you will need instruction in, including the
use of the Tables. For these, you will be flying to Lyterna on Octdi..."
"This Octdi?" Dainyl asked.
"I did say the timing was most inconvenient." The High Alector's voice
contained a trace of irritation.
"I apologize, Highest. I was just thinking about the situation in Dramur."
"That seems to have stabilized for the moment, and what you learn in Lyterna
may also prove helpful when you return to Dramur."
"Could you tell me what else I might be learning in Lyterna."
The High Alector laughed, warmly and humorously. "If I could explain all that,
you wouldn't need to go. I won't say more because I want you to learn from the
senior alectors who have studied Acorus far longer than anyone else. You'll
find it both interesting and intriguing. That, I can assure you."
After years of experience in the Myrmidons, Dainyl had come to distrust
anything a superior described as interesting. That usually meant dangerous,
difficult--or both.
The Highest rose. "Congratulations, and my best wishes go with you."
Dainyl stood and bowed slightly in response. "Thank you." What puzzled him
more than slightly was that the Highest had sincerely meant his best wishes,
unlike some of the other statements he had made, which had been tinged with
the feeling of incompleteness, or outright dissembling. The combination
suggested Dainyl was being set up to be used as a tool--again.
As he left the chambers of the High Alector of Justice, he just wished he had
a better idea of what sort of tool he was and for what purpose he was being
shaped and honed.

64
Mykel looked at the bread and cheese in front of him. The cheese was white,
hard, and not quite rancid. The bread was stale enough that each bite sprayed
crust crumbs. Beside them was a green apple banana. Nothing looked appetizing
in the dawn of a Septi morning that was the last in winter, but very little
food had looked appealing in recent days.
Mykel was worried. Not because anything had happened, but because nothing had.
From the moment Fifteenth Company had started patrolling in Dramur, they had
run into problems of one sort or another. Now, while the locals were no more
friendly, no one seemed to pay any attention to the Cadmians, and no one had
fired a shot at any of the squads in more than a week. People who had been
shooting at Cadmians for months just didn't stop for no reason. Mykel hadn't
gotten any answers from Captain Meryst, either, on his question about the
crimes committed by prisoners who were missing. He doubted he would. Still, it
had been worm a try.
His thoughts drifted back to Rachyla, as they often did. Was it just that he
hadn't seen an attractive woman in months? He shook his head. She was
striking, but not a raving beauty. There was too much understanding, and too
much confidence in those green eyes, for most men to be comfortable with her.
Was that why he was drawn to her? He frowned. No. As he'd noted to himself
before, there was something else, something that he still couldn't identify,
that worried at him even as it attracted him.
His lips curled into a faint smile. Maybe it was just that she was dangerous.
He looked down at his food. With a grimace, he peeled back the banana and took
a bite. It was green, and- edible, if barely. Out of the corner of his eye he
saw Captain Meryst enter the dining shed, look around, and head toward him.
    I Out of courtesy, Mykel stood.
"I'd hoped to find you before you left on patrol. I put in the inquiry along
the lines you asked about." Meryst inclined his head. "How did you know?"
Although Mykel had asked about the crimes committed by missing prisoners, he
had no idea what the other captain meant. "How did I know what?"
"Almost all of the miners who disappeared in the mine, something like
twenty-seven out of the thirty where the jus-ticer had records, were the
violent types."
"Sentenced for murder or beating someone up?" asked Mykel.
"Yes. How did you know?" asked Meryst.
"I didn't. I wanted to know if there were any patterns as to why they
vanished."
"Almost looks like the other miners just took care of them," suggested the
local Cadmian captain. "They would have known."
"It could be," Mykel admitted. "Or it could be that the dangerous ones were
the ones most likely to try anything to escape."
"Either way"--Meryst offered a faint smile--"I'd be interested in your thoughts
on it sometime."
"I'll have to give it some thought." Mykel could sense that Meryst didn't
accept his explanations, but the other captain wasn't going to press, not in
the mess shed with rankers and squad leaders passing and listening.
After Meryst departed, Mykel reseated himself and looked at the remains of
breakfast.
"It doesn't get any better, sir," called Dravadyl from an adjoining table.
I
"I could always hope," Mykel retorted.
Several rankers--and Dravadyl--laughed.
When he finished stolidly slogging through the cheese and bread, Mykel rose
and made his way to the stable shed, where he saddled the chestnut. He'd
planned to ride the mine road patrol with Chyndylt and third squad. He walked
the chestnut out into the cool sunlight, looking around for the third squad
leader.
"Captain!" called Bhoral. "The overcaptain sent us near-on a full wagon of
ammunition. There's a dispatch for you with it." The senior squad leader
hurried across the dusty stable yard.
"A wagonful of ammunition?" Mykel took the dispatch from Bhoral's extended
hand.
"Must think we'll need it up here."
Mykel was afraid of that. He opened the dispatch envelope and began to read.
Captain Mykel--
Since you left Dramuria, a number of events that bear watching have occurred.
Some of the seltyrs west of the Murian Mountains have been training armed
horse troopers. In addition, we have just learned that a number of smugglers'
craft were sighted sailing around the south cape almost a week ago. The
vessels appeared to be heavy-laden. Those vessels may be carrying more rifles
and ammunition.
On several occasions, Seventeenth Company has reported heavy fire from the
hills on both sides of the road to the west and, at my request, is
repositioning closer to Dramuria. Because Fifteenth Company has often been
involved in heavy action, I have dispatched an additional ammunition wagon for
you. Use the utmost caution in any pursuit actions. Report
by messenger if you encounter and observe any large bodies of foot or mounted
troopers.
Mykel read through the short missive once again, nod-ling as he did before
handing the dispatch to the senior quad leader. He waited for Bhoral to read
it
After several moments, the older Cadmian looked up. Overcaptain's worried, and
he doesn't worry easy-like."
"Have all the men carry extra rounds on patrol, and find iomewhere to put the
wagon where it can be guarded. Pull some men from each squad for guards."
"Six men, I'd think, sir. One from each squad, and two rom third squad."
Mykel grinned. "Because I'm riding with third?"
"It keeps the numbers equal, sir." The hint of a smile ap-            i
peared at the corners of the senior squad leader's mouth.
As he rode toward the ammunition wagon, Mykel glanced at the peaks to the west
of the camp. Would there be an attack from the west? Was water wet? Did
nightwasps sting?
Even after he drew the chestnut beside Chyndylt and waited for the remainder
of third squad to form up, Mykel continued to fret, both about Dohark's
dispatch and about Meryst's information.
Why would the rock-creatures--or even the soarers-- have wanted to feed on the
most violent prisoners? He couldn't escape the feeling the soarers had a way
of knowing which men were dangerous, even if he had no idea how. The soarer's
words also echoed in his thoughts--You must find your talent to see beyond the
world... He had no idea how to turn his talent for shooting better into a
broader talent, or even where to start--as if he even had the time to do so.
His fingers moved to his belt, and the slit and hidden sheath that held the
ancient knife. Had she found him in the
rocks above the mine because he carried the knife, or had it been a
coincidence? Did it matter?
"Third squad, ready, sir!" Chyndylt announced.
"Head out!" Mykel glanced back at the squad, then at the road ahead.

65
While he waited for the marshal on Septi, Dainyl moved his papers and gear to
the study that had been Tyanylt's. That took less than a glass, because Dainyl
had never had many personal effects in his study and because everything that
had been the former submarshal's had long since been removed. Then he went
through the remainder of the reports that had piled up in his absence. For all
the pages from the Myrmidon and Cadmian companies across Corus, there was
surprisingly little new or detailed information.
An older report addressed one question. The closure of the Cadmian compound in
Scien had been postponed until the coming spring when the snows ceased and the
weather would be more suited to riding horses along the North Road to Pystra
and south to Norda, where the existing compound was being enlarged to take
another two companies. There

1 still wasn't any information on why the Scien compound was being closed or
the companies relocated to Norda--or about the need for the earlier Myrmidon
winter recon flights. The Twenty-third Cadmian Mounted Rifles from Alustre was
being permanently relocated to Lysia. There was no explanation, except that
the High Alector of Justice had ordered the move. Why Lysia? Although it was a
seaport, it
was another compound more than a little out of the way, well southeast of
Prosp, and more than eight hundred vingts from Alustre by road.
At the request of the High Alector of Engineering, Seventh Company had sent a
squad of Myrmidons to Coren for aerial reconnaissance of the town and forest
fires. A battalion of Cadmians was en route from Alustre to deal with the
revolt and unrest.
Another revolt? In yet another isolated locale? All Dainyl knew about Coren
was that it was one of the few areas authorized for logging and lumbering and
that the raw timber was sent down the river to Alustre. Why Seventh Company?
The Myrmidons in Lyterna were far closer. Dainyl shook his head. It was
winter. Between the storms, the cold, and the height of the mountains in the
Spine of Corus, a direct flight was difficult, if not impossible, until late
spring, and there were neither Myrmidon nor Cadmian outposts or compounds
anywhere close to Coren.
Dainyl kept reading, trying to catch up on everything that he had missed.
Even though he had started right after morning muster, by two glasses past
noon, he still had not read half of the reports he had dug up from the files
and stacked on his new desk.
The door opened, and the marshal stood there.
Dainyl jumped to his feet. "Sir."
"Sit down, Dainyl." Shastylt closed the study door and settled into the chair
across the desk from the submarshal. "I can see you've been busy."
"I was trying to catch up on what had happened." Dainyl reseated himself.
"You never will." The marshal laughed, once, harshly. "I never have, not on
everything. I apologize for being late. Matters with the Highest took longer
than I had thought. We have to make a quintal presentation to both Duarches
next
week." Shastylt offered a rueful smile. "Matters are not what we would like,
and there are certain to be questions." He gestured toward the stack of
reports. "You've found some of them, I'm sure."
"Has anyone discovered anything more about the problems in Hyalt and Dereka?"
"We've isolated the wild Talent in Hyalt, and our Myrmidon squads are closing
in. That's likely to be finished in a matter of weeks, if not days. As for
Dereka... nothing else has vanished, and no one can explain how the skylances
vanished."
"What about the missing alectors?"
"They're still missing, with no signs of where they went. They left everything
behind." Shastylt shrugged. "They were all on the Table contingent there, but
they were off duty."
"First the skylances, and now alectors," mused Dainyl.
"We're leaving that problem to the senior alectors at Lyterna."
Dainyl got the unspoken message. "I was reading the reports. What can you tell
me about what happened in Coren?"
The older alector offered a disgusted snort. "It's another instance where the
regional alectors haven't paid any attention. So long as the timber came
downriver, they thought everything was fine. The locals didn't like the rules
on how and when and where to log, and some of them started forest fires..."
"So that they'd have even fewer trees to log? And more restrictions?"
"Sometimes, steers don't think. The local indigens killed the patrollers, or
most of them, three weeks ago. We finally heard about it last week. The first
time there was any sign of trouble, either the Myrmidons or the Cadmians
should have been called in. In the end, we'll lose forests and lifeforce mass,
a bunch of indigens, and some Cadmian troopers.
Much better to see things in advance, the way you're handling Dramur."
Dainyl wasn't so sure he was seeing anything that much in advance in Dramur,
or that the marshal and Highest wanted him to do so. "It doesn't always work
out that way."
"No, it doesn't. I wish I didn't have to send you to Lyterna right now, but
some rules we just can't break, even for convenience. You know, that's one
thing that gets people into trouble. They bend the rules because they're
pressed or because it's inconvenient, and then the next time it's easier, and
before long there aren't any rules, and matters are worse than they would have
been if they'd just put up with a little inconvenience." Shastylt smiled.
Dainyl easily sensed the lie. The marshal wanted him in Lyterna. Dainyl
doubted that Shastylt was that enthusiastic about Dainyl learning more. Was
that because Dainyl had gotten a grasp on what was happening in Dramur? Or
because he had been about to, and neither the marshal nor the Highest wanted
that to happen? "The rules become easier and easier to ignore."
"Exactly. Principles do matter, and which principles you act on and which you
don't are equally important." The marshal stood.
Dainyl rose to his feet as well, waiting.
"Now ... tomorrow, you'll take your two Myrmidon escorts with you. Fly the
southern route, and stop in the way station at Syan. Be sure to enjoy some of
the good wine while you're there. Asulet is expecting you in Lyterna, and
he'll be the one training you on the use of the Table for travel and providing
you with the submarshal's briefing and background. After they've had a day's
rest, two if it's been a hard flight, you can dispatch the pteridons back
here. You'll be able to return by Table, of course, right to the Hall of
Justice. You'll find that to be a great convenience at times." Shastylt smiled
wryly. "Only at times. We still have to deal with
I
problems in places like Dramur and Iron Stem. Now... if you'll excuse me, I
need to prepare some calculations."
"Yes, sir."
After the study door closed, Dainyl stood behind his desk, motionless,
thinking.

66
"Warm afternoon, sir," said Chyndylt,
from where he rode beside Mykel.
"Like summer in Faitel," replied Mykel. "Hate to think what summer here will
be like."
The captain and third squad rode downhill, a half vingt ahead of the prisoners
returning to the mine compound. The troopers had their rifles ready, if
casually.
"Maybe they'll be sending us back by then."
"Not a chance."
"Haven't seen anything here today."
"No." Mykel doubted they would see many more of the escaped miners who had
been sniping. They couldn't have been that numerous to begin with, and
Fifteenth Company had killed close to a score. He was far more worried by
armed horse companies from the west. While Fifteenth Company was more than a
match for any single company raised in Dramur, Third Battalion was down to
four companies, all understrength. He'd taken third squad back out earlier
than usual for the afternoon road sweep, and had them ride down toward
Dramuria for half a vingt before heading back past the camp to the mine. He
hadn't seen any signs of riders, but that only meant that no one was riding at
that moment--or not riding swiftly.
Mykel cocked his head. He'd heard something ahead,
from near the mining camp. It might have been horses, or the report of a
rifle. Yet it was early for the other squads to be returning from their
various patrols.                                        j
"Eyes sharp!" he called out.
They rode another two hundred yards southward along the graystone road. Mykel
could sense something was not as it should have been. He studied the walls of
the prisoners' camp. The outer gates, which should have been open for the
returning captives, were closed.
Then, as he watched, a line of riders in blue uniforms rode toward the walls,
firing at the guard towers. The Cad-mian guards fired back. Several of the
blue-clad riders twisted in their saddles, and one slowly pitched back over
the rear of his mount.
Mykel turned in the saddle. "Third squad! Close up on me!" As he spoke, he
could see the attackers re-forming. It wouldn't be long before they started up
the road toward third squad.
"We'll keep riding," he told Chyndylt. If third squad attempted to retreat,
they'd end up pinned against the stockade at the mine. He doubted they could
get through the prisoners, in any case. "Send back a scout to get as many of
the local Cadmians up here as you can. We'll take the west side. Let them have
the east."
"Yes, sir!"
"Third squad! Quick trot to the level flat ahead!"
Mykel kept watching the riders below, swirling under the camp walls, with an
occasional rider being picked off by the tower Cadmians.
A horn sounded a triplet, then a second.
The swirling mass of blue coalesced into a rough formation.
"Third squad! Halt!" Mykel reined up on the flatter section of the mine road,
below which was a slight incline down to the mining camp. The attackers would
have to
climb the rise, such as it was, but it was the best that he could manage.
The attackers began a charge, at close to a full gallop.
"Firing line! On the oblique!" Mykel barked out. "Bring down the lead mounts!"
His own rifle was up even before he had finished shouting out the commands. He
forced himself to sight on the mount of one of the first riders in blue,
squeezing the trigger with an even pressure, and willing the shot home.
Crack!
The lead mount lurched, then went down, at enough of an angle that the mount
to the left also fell.
Mykel targeted another mount, more to one side, and fired, twice, before that
horse stumbled and collapsed.
The continuing fire of the Cadmian rifles began to take a toll, and the
blue-clad riders slowed behind a mass of fallen mounts and men caught in the
space between the road walls.
To his left, Mykel saw Meryst and his rankers also laying down a curtain of
fire. The attackers tried to bring their ri-j fles to bear, but seemed
hampered by their numbers and a lack of a clear formation and leadership.
As he reloaded, Mykel glanced back over his shoulder. A good ten prisoners,
five pairs, each pair linked by chains, were running down the center of the
road, between third squad and the local Cadmians, taking advantage of the
local Cadmian troopers' concentration on repelling the attack of blue-clad
riders.
"Save us! Save us!" The prisoners raced toward where the attacking horsemen
had broken into groups behind all the fallen men and mounts.
A squad leader wheeled his mount toward the prisoners, then reined up and
aimed his rifle over the fallen men and mounts. The first shot took the
leading prisoner through the chest, and he sprawled onto the road dragging
down the man chained to him.
More shots filled the space between the road walls. Several more prisoners
went down.
A horn sounded twin doublets, twice.
The blue mass of riders seemed to swirl, then turn and retreat downhill.
Mykel fired the last shots in his rifle, watching as another trooper in blue
sagged in the saddle, and as the rider beside the wounded man grabbed the
reins and guided the disabled man's mount down the road toward Dramuria.
A scattering of shots continued, chasing the attackers downhill toward and
past the walls of the mining prison camp. Two of the trailing riders were hit,
one slumping over his mount's neck, the other flying backward and sideways off
his horse, his body being jerked along for a good ten yards by the single boot
caught in the stirrups before he struck the stones, unmoving.
The attackers had close to two companies, although it had been hard to tell
exactly because they had not kept in much of a formation or in any real order.
"Cease fire!" he ordered, although most of the firing had died away. "Reload
and hold!"
From the other side of the road, Meryst echoed the command.
Mykel glanced downhill at the wounded and dead prisoners sprawled across the
graystones of the road. He looked sideways across a space of four yards at the
other captain, catching Meryst's eyes. "The prisoners? Why did they shoot
them?"
"The western seltyrs don't believe that a man can change," replied Meryst.
"Once he has become tainted with evil, he can only be a slave or dead."
"So they shot the prisoners?"
"Slaves and prisoners cannot be allowed to escape."
Mykel winced. He looked at the dead mounts, and dead and wounded attackers
strewn on the road. Then he glanced back around him. There were at least three
empty
saddles from those among third squad. Only three? That was in itself amazing,
or a testament to the poor shooting of the attackers.
Where had the blue riders come from? Had they merely evaded Seventeenth
Company? Or had they overwhelmed it?

67
After a late supper, and well after Sentya and Zistele had gone to bed--and to
sleep--Lystrana and Dainyl sat in the darkened sitting room, each in an
upholstered chair with a square table set in the corner between them. Lystrana
had turned off the light-torches earlier. With their Talent, they needed
little light to see. Each held a goblet of golden brandy.
"Neither the marshal nor the Highest want me back in Dramur anytime soon.
That's clear." Dainyl fingered his chin, too square compared to that of most
alectors.
'They're afraid that you'll put a stop to whatever they have in mind."
"They don't want me crossing them, the way Tyanylt did? Have you ever found
out any more about that?"
"No. It's as though he never existed." She raised her eyebrow. "That's the way
they have always dealt with those who will not follow their plans. Would you
expect otherwise?"
"No. One could hope... but no."
"Some matters do not change." Lystrana lifted her goblet and sniffed the
brandy. "This is good."
"Better than what Kylana remembers of Ifryn," replied Dainyl sardonically. "I
wish that I could figure out what they have in mind. They want an armed
revolt. What I don't understand is why. It's not merely preempting trouble.
Things wouldn't have gotten this far for decades. Do you believe they're
thinking that much ahead?"
Lystrana laughed. "They might be, but that doesn't explain why they don't tell
you. There's something else." Her husky voice died away before she spoke
again. "All of these       i revolts, these problems, are all in out-of-the-way
places-- Dramur, Hyalt, Iron Stem ... Coren..."
"Coren? I asked the marshal. He said that the locals were protesting the
logging rules and setting fires, and that it was weeks before word got to
Elcien. What happened?"
"Someone started setting fires in the forests there last fall. Local
patrollers began tracing the arsonists. Last month, there was another fire.
They tracked the arsonists through the snow. The patrollers never came back.
Another set of patrollers found blood on the snow, but no bodies. Three of
them were shot and killed. One escaped. When he got back to Coren, he found
that patroller headquarters had been blown up. The whole town revolted. It
took weeks to get word back because the patroller had to hide until he could
flag down a sandoxen coach."
"Why did the locals revolt?"
"What the marshal said was essentially right. The life-force alectors in
Lyterna calculate how much should be logged on what schedule. There's some
room for local needs and such, but some loggers always want more coins. Late
last harvest they started logging more trees and sending them downriver in
rafts. Somewhere west of Vysta, in the south part of the Mitt Hills, on the
north side of the river, a trader opened a mill and began selling timber and
planks to locals there. He wasn't paying his tariffs, and he was dumping all
the wastes into the stream that drained into the river. He was caught and
executed in Novem. That was when the fires started."
Dainyl shook his head. "Always the golds." He sipped his brandy.
"We all have our weaknesses, dearest."
"Maybe whatever this Asulet tells me when I get to
Lyterna will make things clear." Dainyl had his doubts that any alector
suggested by Shastylt would be of much help in figuring out what was behind
the mess in Dramur.
"I checked the records. Asulet has been a senior alector in lifeforce
management for more than a hundred years. It could be longer, but I'd have to
get a seal-warrant to open the archives."
"Lifeforce management? What does that have to do with the Myrmidons?" Dainyl
thought for a moment. "The Highest seemed to think it was important. He was
dissembling about the ancient ones--the soarers--but not about that."
"They're keeping something about the ancient ones hidden. I checked again.
There aren't any records anywhere about them. There's not a single real fact
or a single specific location where one was sighted, or where any ruins or
artifacts have been found."
"That's because they're more powerful than anyone wants to admit."
"I'd say it's because they're intelligent, and what we're doing is causing
them to die out."
"There's no question they're intelligent," replied Dainyl. "You think that our
management of lifeforce mass is causing them to die out?"
"They were already dying out. There were ruins when the first alectors
arrived. If we'd had any conflicts with them, there would have been records of
fights, legends, that sort of thing."
"But we're making Acorus warmer. If they need the cold..."
"Then we're causing them to die out," Lystrana said. "But if we don't, then
what do we do when the lifeforce on Ifryn is gone?"
They sat in silence for several moments.
"Do you think the marshal and your Highest know you
have more Talent than you've shown?" Lystrana finally broke the silence.
"I don't think so. What do you think?"
"I think that, if they knew, you'd still be a colonel--or requested to resign."
"Or dead?"
She nodded, her face somber.
"I'll have to be most careful." He paused, then added, "Tell me about the Dual
Scepters."
Lystrana looked up, both concerned and surprised. "Who--"
"The Highest. He said that pteridons were created here, but more couldn't be
once the Dual Scepters were placed."
"I didn't know that. I know that the Dual Scepters are somewhere in Corus in
different places, that they have something to do with why the Tables work, and
that without them we couldn't live here, because they're key to the link to
Ifryn. Every time I've asked or hinted to know more ... no one will say
anything."
Dainyl nodded, slowly. "What about Table travel? How does it work?"
Lystrana raised an eyebrow.
"That's one reason why they're sending me to Lyterna. I'm supposed to be
briefed on things that only the submar-shal and the marshal--and I suppose the
Highest--know, and I'm to be taught how to use the Table to travel."
"It's not that hard. They make it seem--" Lystrana stopped. "I shouldn't say
that. If you can concentrate on the location vectors, it's very easy. If you
can't, you'll die in the translation tubes or turn into a wild translation--and
die very quickly thereafter."
"What are location vectors?"
"When you step onto a Table, you drop into darkness, and you see with Talent,
not with your eyes. Your mind and Talent are what guide you; but wherever
there's a Table,
there's a location vector. To me, they look like long triangles, arrowheads.
The one for Tempre is blue. The one for Elcien is white, edged with purple.
Dereka is golden red."
"Is there any reason for the colors?"
"If there is, I don't know what it is," replied Lystrana. "Beyond identifying
the location of the Table, that is."
"How do you use your mind and Talent?"
"It's something that you have to feel. I don't think you'll have to worry."
Dainyl could tell she was concerned. "Then why are you worried?"
"You've learned too much. You couldn't have Talent-read that when we were
married."
"Why are you worried?" Dainyl asked again.
"Because... because you should do well with the Tables ... but you never know.
When I first tried it, I almost froze in the blackness. It was days before I
felt warm. Clanysta was far more Talented than I was, but she stepped into a
Table and never reappeared."
"Why do I have to learn in Lyterna?"
"You could learn anywhere there's a Table. I'd wager your Highest has several
reasons." She took another sip of brandy and shifted in the chair so that she
was facing Dainyl directly.
"He wants me out of the way. It gives him a way to keep me there longer.
Someone else can teach me, and if I fail, it's not on his head."
"That covers it, I'd say."
"A revolt in Dramur..." mused Dainyl once more. "But why?"
"We won't solve that mystery tonight, dearest." Lystrana set down the goblet
and rose, stretching sensually. "It's not too late, and you are leaving
tomorrow."
Dainyl left his goblet on the table and stood, taking her outstretched hand.

68
Octdi morning dawned cloudy, with a cold drizzle sifting out of low-lying
clouds, a day more reminiscent of midwinter than of the spring beginning on
the coming Londi. The night before had been long. Mykel had fretted about
Fifteenth Company's other squads, but all returned safely, and none but third
squad had taken fire. The raiders had killed four troopers from third squad
and wounded two others. Both of the wounded men looked to recover, for which
Mykel was thankful.
According to Meryst, there had been thirty-three dead rebel troopers on the
road, which was amazing given that the deaths had been caused by one squad and
the Cadmian tower guards. Still, counting the dead and wounded, Fifteenth
Company was less than four-fifths of authorized strength. It had been whittled
away, man by man.
After the quick and fierce battle the night before, the night had been quiet,
but Mykel still had a slight headache when he woke. Even before he had eaten,
he'd sent out scouts. Then he went to the mess shack. The fried bananas and
salted fried fish presented for breakfast didn't help either the headache or
his mood. As he sat at the plank table in the mess shed, he forced himself to
eat. Just as Mykel was finishing the final chunk of banana--he wanted the last
taste to be other than fish, Meryst slipped onto the bench opposite him.
"What do you plan, Captain?"
"We'll be scouting and protecting the approaches to the camp. Fifteenth
Company will not be doing any more patrols on the road to the mine. Have you
seen riders in that blue before?"
"Not riders, but the blue is the color of the west."
Rachyla had been right, Mykel reflected, hoping she was still safe and
healthy. He forced his thoughts back to the problem at hand. "That means there
will be more attacks and troopers."
"Why do you say that?"
"You didn't tell me that it was the color of a particular seltyr or house or
grower, but of the west. I'd wager that all the western seltyrs have adopted
the blue. Probably all the ones in the east have their men in the green."
"That is the eastern color," Meryst admitted.
"That's all we need, a war between the east and the west, with Myrmidons
flying everywhere."
"You had not heard? The Myrmidon colonel and his fliers left almost a week
ago. They have not returned."
"That's even worse." Mykel could imagine the seltyrs deciding to attack the
Cadmians--and each other--in the absence of the Myrmidons' flame lances. "Why
would he leave now?"
"He did not look happy, I understand. He had received a dispatch from one of
his fliers, and he left the next morning."
"That sounds like trouble somewhere else. Worse trouble." Mykel eased his way
off the bench. "I need to see what my scouts have found out. I'd rather not be
caught by surprise."
"You think they will attack here again?"
Mykel suspected that the attack had been to keep Fifteenth Company pinned down
so that the attackers could move more freely. "I don't know. That's why I sent
out scouts."
"You think they will stay that close?" Meryst's tone conveyed disbelief.
"We'll have to see." Mykel offered a smile before heading for the stable
sheds.
Bhoral was waiting, lines of worry creasing his forehead. "No one's back yet,
sir,"
"I didn't think they'd be. We need to go over some maps."
"You have something in mind, sir?"
"I do, but I want to see what the scouts find out" Mykel lifted his hand to
push back too-long hair from his forehead, and thought the better of it as his
shoulder began to twinge. Using his rifle the day before hadn't helped with
the healing. He unrolled the crude map and pointed. "Here we are, and here's
the road from the west. It's a good five vingts toward Dramuria from here.
That's the only quick way that they can bring horse troopers in--or out. The
road south from here is open for about half a vingt, to where the lanes split
off..."
Bhoral listened as Mykel explained.
Then they waited another glass before the first scouts returned. Mykel had
Bhoral gather the squad leaders in the stable shed--the only real space away
from the Cadmian rankers.
Once scouts and squad leaders were assembled, Mykel turned to Sendyl, the
first squad scout. "What did you find?"
"There's a squad, and they're about a vingt and a half toward Dramuria, almost
a vingt past the crossroads on the east side of the road," reported Sendyl.
"Small hill there, and they were hiding in a woodlot."
"Did they see you?"
"Afraid they did, sir. Took a couple of shots afore I got under the trees
where they couldn't see me. That's when I sneaked through one of those nut
plantations. I got close enough to get a better look. They were mostly just
back of the first lines of trees. I circled to the south side of the hill. No
one over there, and the ground's real open there, just poor grazing land. I
had to come back the way I came so as they wouldn't see me leaving."
Mykel nodded, then looked to the second squad scout. "Gerant?"
"Went back over the side roads where the smaller growers are, along where
Polynt... you know, sir. Anyway, there was a little rain there last night. Not
a sign of riders, or even carts."
"Dhozynt?"
"Nothing to the north of the mine, sir."
Neither of the other two scouts had seen any other signs of large bodies of
riders.
Mykel cleared his throat. "That squad to the south seems to be the only one
nearby. They're there to keep us here and to report if we move." Mykel smiled.
"We don't want them letting anyone know, now, do we?"
Several of the scouts grinned back at the captain.
Mykel looked to the five squad leaders. "I've got some maps here, and we need
to be going over what we'll be doing this afternoon." He spread the map on an
old plank wedged into a space between two wall boards, scarcely the best of
map tables, but it would do to outline what he had in mind. The first step
would be easy. After that, it got harder... much harder.
A glass past midmorning, Fifteenth Company formed up just inside the outer
walls of the mining camp. Mykel rode back along the column to fifth squad,
reining up opposite Vhanyr.
"Sir?" asked the fifth squad leader.
"Any last questions?"
"No, sir. Once we split at the crossroads, we're to start inspecting each side
of the road, as if we're searching for something. We're to stay out of range
until we hear you attack. Then we're to move up and keep any of the rebels
from escaping."
"Good. I meant it about staying out of rifle range." Mykel didn't need to lose
any more men when he didn't have to.
"Yes, sir." Vhanyr couldn't quite keep the trace of a smile from the corners
of his mouth.
As he rode back to the front of the company, Mykel almost laughed. He still
occasionally made statements that were overobvious. Any good squad leader--and
Vhanyr was good--wasn't about to disobey orders to stay away from sniper fire.
"Company's ready, sir!" announced Bhoral.
Mykel nodded. "Let's go."
"Fifteenth Company! Forward!"
Mykel rode alongside Gendsyr at the head of Fifteenth Company. Bhoral dropped
back to ride with third squad. Not for the first time, Mykel just hoped that
he'd judged what lay before them correctly. Almost absently, the fingers of
his free hand dropped to his belt and the slot that held the soarers' dagger.
Matters had indeed gotten steadily worse since he'd been given the ancient
weapon.
Should he discard it? A tight smile crossed his lips. Somehow, that would be
worse. Either the weapon meant nothing, in which case it was stupid to get rid
of it, or what the chandler had said was right. In the second instance, it was
likely that discarding the weapon would cause him even worse problems.
Then ... he could just be justifying keeping it. He shook his head. Arguing
with himself over something like that was courting madness. He put the
miniature dagger out of this mind and looked down the stone-paved road, clear
of any riders or wagons.
By the time the two scouts reached the crossroads, where lanes led off to both
the east and west, Mykel could sense eyes on the company. He forced himself
not to look in the direction of the hill. Not too often, anyway.
"Fifteenth Company! Left turn! At the crossroads!" he called out just before
he and Gendsyr neared the two clay lanes.
The lane to the west almost immediately turned southwest and followed a dry
streambed. The one to the east ran straight for several hundred yards between
a field of sun-
beans on the left and an overgrown area on the south side, which might once
have been a field but now sported scattered bushes and occasional trees, none
higher than a horse's ears. After about a quarter vingt, the lane turned back
to the northeast, slowly descending through various scattered holdings, with
which Mykel and Fifteenth Company had become all too familiar.
They weren't going to follow the lane that far, but ride back south, and
circle through a woodlot back toward the hill on which the seltyr's squad had
been posted. The trees would keep them from sight until they were almost at
the base of the hill.
Once he reached the woodlot, Mykel eased his mount to the side of the lane and
looked back over his shoulder. Vhanyr and fifth squad had reined up and were
beginning to study the shoulders of the main road, as well as the first ten
yards of the west lane.
Mykel urged the chestnut forward until he was riding with the scouts. After
another three hundred yards or so, he turned his mount onto a rutted track to
the right side of the road, just between a tumbledown stone wall and the
woodlot. On the east side was an orchard of casurans, perhaps the
sorriest-looking nut trees Mykel had seen. Brown-splotched yellowing leaves
drooped from sagging branches, and a bitter odor seeped from the neglected
orchard.
"... smells like shit..."
"... worse..."
"Quiet riding," hissed Gendsyr.
Almost a quarter glass passed before the track petered out into a grassy oval
perhaps two hundred yards by a hundred and fifty. Mykel looked to the
southwest, where a wooded hill offered a gentle rise, with little undergrowth.
From what the scouts had observed, anyone stationed on the northwest side of
the hill in a position to observe the road would have trouble seeing the
eastern and southeastern sides of the hill. A squad couldn't afford to post
too
many sentries in the rear, and one or two couldn't stop an attack.
"First squad, on me," he ordered in a low voice.
First squad was to ride up the northeast side of the slope, as quietly as
possible until the blue troopers reacted. Second squad was to take the clearer
southeast side, and third squad was to take the southwest side, holding back
halfway up the slope. Bhoral and fourth squad were to hang back at the base of
the slope, somewhere on the south side, to plug any gaps or reinforce as
necessary. The plan of attack was simple.
Mykel recalled all too vividly a statement his father had made. Olent had
finally finished the last stones of a mosaic in the entry foyer of the family
dwelling. Mykel had only been twelve, and he'd suggested that the design was
nice, but simple.
"Simple doesn't mean easy," Olent had said quietly.
The words had stayed with Mykel. This time, he just hoped that his simple plan
wasn't too difficult to carry out.
The woodlot trees were mostly older short-needled pines, and the branches
didn't really begin until they were head high. The trees were thick enough
that it was hard to see more than ten yards ahead. That worked for and against
Fifteenth Company.
Halfway up, he turned in the saddle. "Rifles ready. Pass it back! Spread to
the left!"
The trailing troopers swung to the left, moving more quickly, while Mykel
slowed, until he had a line abreast moving through the trees. He judged that
they were less than a hundred yards from the top of the rise when he heard the
first shout.
"Riders! Coming up the back of the hill! Riders!"
Mykel would have liked to move more quickly, but the trees were close enough
together that the best he could do was a fast walk. Even so, he had ridden at
least another fifty
yards before he heard the first shot from the west. He kept riding, his rifle
out.
Ahead, Mykel saw a blue uniform and fired, trying to will the bullet to its
target. Then, to his right, he glimpsed another rebel--on foot. He immediately
fired two shots, concentrating on the second one. He thought the man went
down. Several bullets flew through die branches above his head, and short
gray-green needles fell around him. He rode around a fallen pine, one that
someone had started to trim, and caught sight of another rebel rider a good
twenty yards ahead. He fired, and the man slumped. Mykel had die feeling that
someone else had shot him.
From that moment, Mykel lost track. The only thing keeping the attack from
turning into a melee where Cadmi-ans accidentally shot Cadmians was the bright
blue tunics of the rebels.
Mykel finally reined up in a small clearing where the rebels had apparently
been waiting. There were still two mounts tied to pine trees. Four bodies in
blue were crumpled in various places around the trees at the edge of the
clearing. Alendyr and several of his men were herding two prisoners toward
Mykel. Bhoral and several rankers from diird squad appeared out of the trees
to the left of the prisoners.
"Sir!" called Alendyr. "Caught these two trying to sneak down the hillside."
Mykel rode toward them and reined up. "What company are you? Who's in charge?"
"That was Alawart. You killed him."
"He was the squad leader?"
"Yes."
"Yes, sir!" snapped Bhoral, raising his rifle and pointing . it at the
captive's midsection.
I      "Yes, sir!" squeaked the young man, barely more than a I youth. ˇ
"Who was over him?"
f
"That was the captain. Captain Mahwalt. He is Seltyr Ghondjyr's nephew." The
youthful captive looked at Bhoral, and added quickly, "Sir."
"Does the seltyr have another company besides yours?"
"No, sir. Each seltyr has one company, except Seltyr Anatoljyr. He has two."
"How many seltyrs are there west of the mountains."
"I don't know ... sir. Ten, fifteen."
Mykel guessed those numbers were high, but he had no way to tell. "Did Captain
Mahwalt say when he'd be back?"
"He said we were to stay for two days, then ride south to the road to the
west."
"Tonight, then, that was when you were to meet them there?"
The youthful trooper shrugged helplessly.
Mykel turned to the second ranker, with scratches across his face and cheek
and blood running along his jawline. The slight wounds looked to have come
from contact with pine trees, rather than weapons. "You. How many companies
came over the mountains?"
"I don't know, sir. We rode with Seltyr Hamadjyr's men. There weren't any
others."
"Did you attack or fight any other Cadmians?"
"No, sir. We heard shots to the north, but the captain said we weren't going
there... sir."
"How many other companies are there in the west?"
"I don't know, sir."
Mykel kept questioning, but got no better answers. Abruptly, he glanced around
the small clearing on the northwest side of the low hill. He could only see a
score of his troopers. While he didn't sense anything nearby, nor could he see
any troopers on the mine road, his men shouldn't be spread through the trees
longer than necessary. He turned to Bhoral. "Get everyone re-formed back on
the road. We're spread all over the place here."
"Yes, sir." Bhoral turned his mount. "Re-form on the road! By squads! Pass it
on!"
Mykel picked his way through the trees, occasionally seeing a sprawled body in
the brilliant blue tunic of the western seltyrs. Once they were back on the
road, and waiting for third and fourth squads to rejoin them, Mykel looked up
at the hill, then southeast.
"What do you think, sir?" asked Bhoral. "About what we should do next?"
"We ought to give this Captain Mahwalt a taste of his own tactics. They still
don't shoot that well. It might be best to make sure that they don't get much
more practice. First, we need to see what our own losses were and how many
extra mounts and prisoners we have."
"Best I could figure, we killed maybe fifteen of theirs, could have been
eighteen." Bhoral paused. "Looks like they got the prisoners over there. I'll
be right back, sir."
With the midday sun beating down on him, Mykel felt almost uncomfortably warm
as he surveyed the road from a high point on the shoulder. The only figures he
saw were the Cadmians and their prisoners.
The squads were almost re-formed when Bhoral rode back and reined up beside
Mykel. "Six prisoners, sir, and eleven mounts. Some of them look pretty fair."
"We'll keep the best ones for spares. You choose." Mykel knew that Bhoral was
a far better judge of horses than he was.
"Yes, sir."
Mykel turned the chestnut, then raised his voice. "Squad leaders! Forward and
report!"
Within moments, the five squad leaders reined up opposite Mykel and Bhoral.
"Report, by squads," Mykel ordered.
"First squad, two wounded."
"Second squad, one wounded."
Third, fourth, and fifth squads had no casualties, and Mykel looked across the
faces of his squad leaders. "We'll ride back to the camp. We'll leave the
wounded and the prisoners. The local Cadmians can handle them. They've had
practice. Have the men eat--quickly--and water their mounts and pack their gear.
Whatever happens this afternoon, we'll be heading back to the compound in
Dramuria afterward. When we leave, we'll ride south to see if we can set up an
ambush for the rebels where the western road turns off the mine road. From
what I remember, there's high ground to the southwest, but we'll see what
looks best after the scouts report." He paused. "That's all. Dismissed to your
squads."
"Yes, sir," came the response.
Mykel waited until the squad leaders rejoined their men, then nodded to
Bhoral.
"Company! Forward!"
Mykel kept glancing back over his shoulder as he rode back up the gentle
incline of the road toward the mining camp. He saw nothing but his own company
and the faint dust raised by its mounts.

69
Hazy high clouds,     silvery against the
silver-green sky, were drifting in from the west by the time Fifteenth Company
headed south, but the air was so still that the early afternoon seemed more
like late spring than late winter. As Mykel rode down the mine highway toward
Dramuria, he glanced to his left, at the low, wooded hill that had been the
site of the morning's skirmish.
He shifted his weight in the saddle, conscious of the lingering soreness in
his shoulder, soreness that hadn't been
helped by using a rifle. The attack on the seltyr's squad had left a bad taste
in his mouth. Mykel certainly didn't want his men killed, but it bothered him
that the rebels were sending out troopers so poorly trained and led. It was a
waste of men because nothing would change, except that the Cadmians would lose
some troopers, and, if all the rebels were so inept, they'd lose most of
theirs.
He had more than a few questions. Who had picked out uniforms of such a bright
blue that they stood out in any terrain? The maroon and gray of the Cadmians
might not have blended in all settings, but the Cadmian colors didn't turn
every man into a target. Why were the seltyr's men so poorly trained? Even the
worst of the Reillies had fought far better--and they had only had crossbows
and handmade single-shot long rifles. The seltyrs had more men and golds--and
good contraband weapons. So why were their troopers so ineffective?
Mykel had drafted a brief report on what had happened in the past two days and
given it to Captain Benjyr for dispatch back to Dohark with Benjyr's
messengers. He'd also made arrangements for the wounded men--since none of the
wounds appeared life-threatening--to accompany the local Cadmians returning to
the compound in Dramuria. With his own company being whittled away man by man,
Mykel wasn't about to spare even a single trooper for a message run when he
could have someone else deliver it.
The five-vingt ride to the junction took more than a glass, without pushing,
and three of the four scouts joined Mykel a good two hundred yards north of
where the packed dirt road to the west branched off from the paved mine road.
"Jasakyt's still investigating that low bluff over to the west, there,"
offered Dhozynt. "Can't ride up it from this side, but he thought there might
be a way up from behind."
Mykel's eyes followed the gesture of the fifth squad's scout. The bluff wasn't
high, no more than two and a half yards, but it was almost vertical, and the
red dirt and sand
section facing the road extended more than a hundred yards from east to west.
The eastern end dropped into a small area of wooded and marshy ground, not
quite a small swamp, fed by the rivulet that ran between the road and the
bluff. The western end merged with a hillside covered with patches of brush
olives. On the south side of the western road, right at the junction, was a
wooded area that rose slowly to the southwest, behind and to the east of the
marshy ground. Low bushes and heavier undergrowth began within a few yards of
the road.
The captain nodded and looked to his right, at the area on the north side of
the western road, gently rolling fields that had been recently tilled. There
was no cover there.
Jasakyt appeared, riding onto the road from behind a second hill, farther to
the west.
"Company, halt!" Mykel ordered. He wanted no additional hoofprints on the
western road until he'd heard from Jasakyt. While he waited for the last scout
to reach him, he might as well assemble those he needed. "Squad leaders!
Scouts!"
Vhanyr had just joined the group when Jasakyt rode up and reined in his mount.
The scout had a broad smile.
"I take it that bluff is a good ambush point," Mykel said dryly.
"Yes, sir. You can get there two ways, and neither leaves much in the way of
tracks. Could put the whole company up there, and no one could see 'em from
here on the road."
"Do you know of a better place?" Mykel addressed the other three scouts.
"The orchard there'd be better for mounts," said Sendyl, "but you'd be
downhill and riding up. Wouldn't want that."
Dhozynt shook his head. So did Gerant.
Mykel surveyed the squad leaders. "We'll set up here, and wait to see what
happens. Squads two, three, and four will take positions on foot--at the top of
that bluff. Squad one will be out of sight in the woods to protect our east
flank." Mykel looked at Gendsyr. "Your men are not to move out or open fire
until after their companies turn westward, and not before the squads on the
bluff fire. If the rebels head north, we'll follow them until the right time
to attack. If they turn west, keep your men under cover when you open fire."
"Yes, sir."
"Vhanyr, fifth squad will cover the west flank. You'll need to keep to the
high ground. Don't open fire unless you're attacked, or until you get specific
orders from me. Scouts--Sendyl, you head south along the mine road toward
Dramuria. When you see the rebels coming, I want you to head back here early
enough that they can't see you."
Mykel turned to the second squad scout. "Gerant, you'll have to ride east. I
don't want to be surprised if they decide to head for the western road through
those orchards over there. Watch the lanes and trails there. Jasakyt, you head
west, say two vingts, just in case there might be more rebels riding this way.
Dhozynt, you get to go back the way we came..." As he outlined his plan, Mykel
could only hope that what he learned from the captives was accurate.
In less than half a glass, Fifteenth Company was in position. The stillness of
the early afternoon was replaced by a light wind out of the northwest. From
where he waited, hidden behind the low ridge of the bluff, Mykel looked
northward. The clouds were slowly thickening.
His strategy was simple enough--use the bluff as a point from which his men
could rake the rebels. The hill slope facing the road was steep enough that
riders would find it difficult to climb, especially in the face of heavy fire.
If necessary, Mykel's men could withdraw directly down the more gentle slope
to the south.
Mykel kept looking at the clouds, listening for scouts or horses, but the
afternoon was still, except for the low murmurs of the troopers, and the
occasional chuff of a mount tethered downhill in the trees.
"You think the western seltyrs have ten companies over here?" Bhoral asked
after a time.
"Who really knows?" Mykel had no doubts they had that many ... somewhere.
One glass passed, then another. During that time, Mykel made several
inspections, walking down through the wooded area to see Gendsyr and first
squad, and back to the west to check with Vhanyr. The sun was touching, the
peaks of the Murian Mountains, and Mykel was wondering when he should call off
the ambush and start the ride southward. At that moment, Sendyl rode up out of
the woods from below and east toward Mykel. The captain eased out of his
sitting position and hurried downhill to where the scout waited. Bhoral was
close behind.
"There's two companies coming," Sendyl announced. "Riding up the road from
Dramuria plain as you please."
"Coming up from Dramuria? There's no pursuit?"
"No, sir. But there's smoke down south. Not so far as Dramuria, but this side
of the bridge on the north of the town."
"Do they have scouts out ahead?"
"No, sir. Outriders maybe two hundred yards forward of the van."
"How long before they get here?"
"A little more than half a glass, I'd judge."
"We'll be ready. You take a position as far south as you can and still stay
under cover."
"Yes, sir."
As Sendyl headed back downhill, Bhoral cleared his throat.
Mykel turned to the senior squad leader. "What do you think?"
"I don't like it, sir. No scouts, no supply wagons, and they're riding around
shooting and burning things?"
"You think they're a diversion? Some sort of setup?"
Bhoral shook his head. "Don't know, sir. Suppose they could be that stupid,
but... ?"
"That's one reason why we're trying it this way. Even if there are more rebels
coming from somewhere, we've got a good position. We've also got scouts out in
other directions."
"Good thing, sir."
"If you'd go tell fifth squad, now."
"Yes, sir."
Mykel walked toward Alendyr. The squad leader looked up.
"Rebels headed this way. Half a glass. Keep it quiet."
By the time Mykel had passed the word to Chyndylt and Dravadyl, made a last
quick inspection of the three squads, and returned to the position he'd chosen
for himself roughly in the middle of the bluff, a quarter glass had passed.
Shortly, Bhoral reappeared. "Sir?"
"Why don't you take the west end, so that you can send out fifth squad, if
necessary?" Mykel left unsaid that they wouldn't be in the same place.
"Let me know if things change." Bhoral hurried back to the west.
Mykel had picked a spot on the bluff behind a low scrubby pine, where he could
look through the branches and survey the road without being seen by the
riders. He stretched out on the ground, behind and under the pine, and began
to watch and wait.
No riders appeared, and a rock dug into the front of his thigh. Carefully,
quietly, he eased himself slightly to the side. The wind began to moan,
picking up in intensity, into a brisk breeze. Mykel kept watching and,
finally, two outriders in the brilliant blue of the rebels turned off the
mining road and rode westward. Just when the outriders were almost below
Mykel, the first riders of the main body turned. They had ridden no more than
thirty yards, when someone called an order, and the outriders and the rest of
the riders halted--scarcely in the best position for Fifteenth Company to
attack.
Mykel hoped that none of his men would fire, not until the rebels moved
farther into firing range. Several riders galloped northward along the mining
road, but the rebel force did not move. Mykel had no way of knowing how far to
the south it stretched, since all he could see was perhaps thirty riders.
At least a quarter glass more passed ... and another. The day darkened, if
without shadows, as the clouds to the north and west obscured the sun.
Finally, a set of horn signals echoed through the afternoon, and the outriders
urged their mounts forward.
"Ready," he murmured ... "pass it along ... quietly."
"Ready..."
As the riders in the van neared, Mykel watched closely, trying to pick out the
captain of the first company. Finally, he could see a taller man with insignia
on his tunic collar, and a silver shoulder braid--the kind Cadmians only wore
on ceremonial occasions or in staff capacities at headquarters. He sighted,
waiting, until the middle of the company was opposite him.
"Fire!" Mykel concentrated on the captain, aiming and willing the bullet
toward the target. His shot was true, and the officer sagged, then slumped out
of the saddle.
The shots of the first volley were nearly simultaneous, and deadly. Bluecoats
were falling and flailing everywhere.
Mykel looked for a squad leader, but couldn't find one. So he just kept
seeking clear shots. By the time he reloaded, a good third of the leading
rebel company was down, either wounded or dead, and the remaining riders were
still half-milling around. Only one or two of the riders on the road even
seemed to know from where the shots were coming.
After reloading, Mykel fired one more shot.
Thump! Needles cascaded around him. A sharp pain shot along the side of his
neck just behind his ear, then subsided.
Mykel flattened himself and touched his neck. He couldn't feel anything,
except a fragment of wood--a long splinter. He pulled it out, and raised his
rifle again, running through another magazine, then reloading.
Horns sounded, the handful of riders still in their saddles turned their
mounts and dashed toward the mining road. There, the riders of the second
bluecoat company were galloping northward, toward the mine. He frowned as he
saw them slow, close to a vingt farther north, and turn westward, moving
through the fields at a quick walk, well out of range.
Should he have his men mount up and follow? Mykel shook his head. He had no
idea what might be waiting to the west, and it wouldn't be that long before it
was dark.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!" He stood and stepped away from the pine to get a
better view. Blue tunics lay strewn everywhere. Some men moaned. A horse was
screaming somewhere.
"Bhoral! Get a quick count of the bodies, and get someone to round up all
their weapons and ammunition. Send one of the scouts west, a half vingt or so,
to make sure no one's headed back toward us. Get all the mounts clear of the
woods and ready to ride."
"The bodies, sir?"
The last thing Mykel wanted to do was to deal with scores of bodies. He didn't
have the manpower or the time--and there was at least one company of rebels on
the road west of them. "Lay them out on the side of the road for now." Mykel
turned to get the chestnut, but a ranker was leading his mount toward him.
"Squad leader said you'd be needing him, sir."
"Thank you, Rykyt." Mykel mounted and rode west, coming up on Vhanyr and fifth
squad. "Take the road, and set up, just in case someone turns and comes back
from the west. Second, third, and fourth squads are gathering weapons and
ammunition"
"Yes, sir."
"Any casualties?"
"No, sir. Not a one."
"Good." When Mykel reached the western road, the surviving bluecoats were out
of sight, somewhere to the west, and a clouded twilight had fallen.
After letting his mount pick his way back along the packed-dirt surface, he
reined up just where the western road turned off the mine road, so that he
could see both roads. There were but a handful of bluecoats lying on the
graystones of the mine road.
He watched as his men stripped weapons and ammunition and dragged bodies to
the side of the road. He said nothing about the quick searches of wallets. He
doubted if many of the dead had jewelry of value.
Bhoral rode slowly toward Mykel, reining up.
"Do you know how many we lost?"
"Just one, sir. Trooper from first squad--Onstyt. Three wounded, two from first
squad, and one from third. What about their wounded?"
"Put them on mounts. We'll take them back to Dramuria with us."
"Some are hurt pretty bad."
"Do what you can." Mykel stopped. A single rider was headed toward them from
the west. After a moment, he recognized the scout, and raised his hand.
"Jasakyt! Here!"
The third squad scout reined up short of Mykel. "Sir!"
"Is someone coming after us?"
"Not right yet, sir, but the riders that circled round Fifteenth Company, they
got back on the road a vingt or so west of here. Thought I'd follow and watch
for a time." The scout paused, then went on. "They joined a bunch more rebels,
maybe close to half a battalion's worth. They're all heading west. Not in a
hurry, I'd say."
"You think they have a camp somewhere here?"
"Hard to say, but if I had to guess, sir..."
"You'd wager that way, and so would I," Mykel con-
eluded, turning to Bhoral. "Have them finish up as quickly as they can. We
need to get back to Dramuria. The overcap-tain needs to know. The men and
their mounts need quarters and decent food and beds."
Most of all, Mykel needed to talk to Dohark--if he even happened to be there.
For all Mykel's urging, twilight was giving way to night before Fifteenth
Company finally began to ride southward. The captives rode at the rear, with
captured mounts carrying all the captured rifles and ammunition behind them.
"Getting to be a bloody mess," Bhoral said quietly from where he rode beside
Mykel.
"Likely to get bloodier," Mykel replied. "I worry about Seventeenth Company.
They were supposed to be patrolling that road."
"Maybe the westerners just avoided them."
"With half a battalion? Be pretty hard to do that on such a narrow road."
"Could have lured them north. Wasn't there a message about that?"
"That was days ago." It could have happened, but that was another reason why
Fifteenth Company was riding back to the compound. The local Cadmians at the
mine compound had walls and plenty of ammunition. Third Battalion's companies
were scattered across all of eastern Dra-mur, without that much ammunition,
little warning, and no walls.
Less than a vingt south of the battle site, Mykel began to smell the
smoke--thick and acrid. Through the growing dusk that was almost night, he
could see reddish embers ahead. Only because the wind was at his back had they
not smelled the odors of burning cots and huts.
He turned. "Bhoral! Get those prisoners and their guards up front here. Right
now!"
Even before he had finished the order, Mykel could feel the unasked question
and answered, "They burned people's
huts and stables. I want whoever's around to know that they didn't all get
away. Bring them up right behind the outriders and me--with the rankers
guarding them."
"Yes, sir." Bhoral turned his mount and rode toward the rear of the column.
"Prisoners forward! Captain's orders! Quick as you can."
Before that long, the eight surviving captives lurched along in their saddles
behind Mykel and the outriders. Even under the cloud cover, the night didn't
seem all that dark to Mykel as they neared the rows of burning cots and barns
ahead. He could see figures trying to salvage goods, struggling to tie up
animals that had escaped.
"Riders!" called someone.
"Cadmians! Headed back with captives!" Mykel called back.
The first person he saw was a graying woman. She knelt by an open gate between
two stone pillars, then looked up from an animal--a dog that had been
shot--toward the oncoming riders. Then her eyes took in the captives in blue,
and she sprang to her feet. She took one step forward before a wiry man
appeared and laid a hand on her arm. Both watched silently as Mykel rode past.
He listened as he rode past them and the smoldering remains of the cots and
huts.
"... Cadmians ... didn't stop them ..."
"... killed a lot of 'em... captured some... you saw..."
"... won't rebuild my cot and barn ..."
The raiders had fired close to a score of dwellings and outbuildings, but they
hadn't fired anything else along the road. Mykel had to wonder what they had
done in two days.
When he finally turned his mount off the mine road and onto the spur road
leading to the compound, through a break in the clouds he could see the small
green disc of Asterta. "Warrior goddess," he murmured under his breath, "we
did you proud today. Lots of bodies." Not that he be-
lieved that the smaller moon was a goddess, but it helped to vent some of his
frustration.
The compound gates were open, but there was a full squad of local Cadmians
stationed in the towers and just outside.
"Fifteenth Company!" Mykel called. "Returning with captives for resupply."
"Hold there!"
"Send someone out and check, and make it quick!" snapped Mykel. "We've got
wounded men and captives, and it's been a long ride."
A squad leader and two rankers advanced gingerly, holding rifles.
Mykel snorted. "If we'd meant trouble, you'd all be dead, and we'd already be
inside the gates. If you'd stand aside..."
The squad leader looked up at Mykel. He swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Mykel heard more low comments as he rode through the gates.
"... captives ... westerners ..."
"... knew they were up to no good..."
If everyone knew that, Mykel reflected, why hadn't anyone told them? Then,
Rachyla had, in a way. He wondered if she were still all right.
The sound of hoofs on stone echoed through the night. There were few words
between the Cadmians, a sign that most were exhausted.
As they neared the stables, Mykel turned to Bhoral. "Have Alendyr and second
squad take the captives over to the prisoner's barracks. We'll let the locals
sort that out."
"Good idea, sir."
Mykel hadn't even dismounted when a ranker hurried through the darkness toward
Fifteenth Company, stopping short of the column. "Captain Mykel, sir? Are you
there?"
Mykel could see the ranker plainly. Why couldn't the man see him? "Right
here."
The ranker turned. "Sir. The overcaptain would like to see you right now."
Mykel glanced toward Bhoral. "More calls of duty. I'll check back with you.
Make sure that all the men get their weapons cleaned and they get washed up
before they sack out."
Bhoral chuckled. "They'll love that."
"Tell them I'm meeting with the overcaptain, and that I'll be in a piss-poor
mood by the time he gets through with me. Tell them whatever you have to..."
Mykel dismounted, handing the chestnut's reins to Fioryt, the closest Cadmian.
He followed the messenger through the darkness of the courtyard to
headquarters. One thing was certain--his night vision hadn't suffered.
Everything else had, though.
Dohark sat behind the desk in the study that had been Majer Herryf's. Before
him was a large map. He looked up tiredly as Mykel stepped through the
doorway, then gestured. "Close the door. Might as well use this study.
Colonel's gone, and Herryf's not real helpful."
Mykel shut the door, then stepped toward the desk and slumped into a chair
across from the battalion commander. Dohark looked more tired than Mykel felt.
"You look like shit, Mykel," offered the overcaptain.
"So do you, sir."
"Tell me why you're here, when your station is at the mine."
"Two rebel companies attacked the mine compound last night. We drove them off,
killed more than thirty. This morning we found a squad spying on us, and we
killed something like eighteen of them--"
"I got your reports and the prisoners. They didn't seem to know much."
"No one does." Mykel stifled a yawn. He was tired. "We
interrogated the captives, enough to learn where they were going to rejoin
their captain. We set up an ambush. Pretty much wiped out one of the
companies. At least, we left seventy bodies on the road. We brought back the
rifles and ammunition, and some extra mounts. All the rifles are new Cadmian
pieces. My scouts found at least three more companies to the west of the mine
road, maybe four. They were riding west. I didn't bother with bodies when I
could have been outnumbered five to one. I also thought you ought to know."
"Five to one?"
"Four and one makes five," Mykel said. "There might be more. We didn't finish
up until close to dark. Oh... the western bluecoats burned a score of cots
north of Dramuria."
"I got word on that when we got here earlier tonight. We got tied up with
snipers on the smuggling road. Didn't lose many men, just three, captured a
small boatload of ammunition last night. Five cases. Then we started south.
It's a long ride back here. It's a long ride anywhere on this frig-gin'
island."
"Yes, sir."
"How much of your company do you have left--that can fight?"
"A little less than fourscore. Some of my earlier wounded might be well enough
in another week or so to rejoin the company." Mykel paused, then asked, "Have
you heard anything from Seventeenth Company?"
"No. Have you?"
"No. That's why I asked. They were supposed to be patrolling the west road.
When I found out there were five-odd companies that came down the road ..."
"Could be Heransyr had enough sense not to engage them."
"It could be," Mykel agreed politely.
"You don't think so."
"I don't know. The other thing that really bothers me is that these bluecoats
can't fight. Why are they sending them over here to get killed?"
"Maybe they didn't know they couldn't fight," Dohark said quietly.
Mykel sat there for a moment. He'd never considered that possibility.
"They can get reinforcements. We can't," Dohark pointed out. "Not for a long
while, anyway. We'll have to scout the western road and protect Dramuria. I've
called . Sixteenth Company in from the north. They should be here tomorrow.
I'll also be suggesting to Majer Herryf that he either station both Cadmian
companies at the mine or pull everyone out." Dohark laughed harshly. "He
won't. He might get by with it because the walls there are high and thick."
Mykel nodded.
"As for you, Mykel. You look like shit. I'll bet your men do, too, or you
wouldn't have brought them back. We can't afford exhausted troopers, or
captains. Get some sleep, and check in with me in the morning."
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"The same goes for exhausted overcaptains, sir."
Dohark laughed, briefly. "You get some sleep, and I'll get some. Now ... get
out of here, so I can finish figuring out something, and we'll both get to
sleep sooner."
"Yes, sir."
Mykel eased out of the study, realizing that Dohark was using it because the
Myrmidon colonel was gone--and because Dohark didn't expect him back soon. He
shook his head, then slipped out of the building and into the cool night air.
He did not head for quarters, but to the officer's cell that he hoped still
held Rachyla.
The guards looked at him. One opened his mouth.
Mykel looked back, hard. "I won't be long."
"Ah ... yes, sir."
As always, they held their rifles ready as they unlocked the cell and let him
enter.
Rachyla turned from the desk where she had been writing in the dim light of
the lamp hung on the wall. She did not rise from the stool. "It's rather
presumptuous of you to come so late. What if I were asleep?"
"I would have left."
She studied him before speaking. "You have blood all over your neck."
"You were right."
"What does that have to do with the blood. Have you been out slaughtering more
helpless and untrained men?"
"Yes. We ambushed two companies of bluecoats after they had burned out cots
and dwellings north of Dramuria."
"After? How brave of you."
"We'd fought our way out of one ambush the night before. That was where your
equally noble bluecoats tried to massacre the mine prisoners." Mykel managed,
somehow, to keep a dry tone to his words, rather than the anger he felt. "We'd
already fought another skirmish earlier in the day. In the last fight, since
we were outnumbered more than two to one, we were the ones to spring the
ambush. And no, I don't feel good about it. But... you were right. They were
all from the west."
"And they wounded you."
Mykel laughed, ironically. "No. They didn't. Someone hit a tree beside me, I
was hit by a big splinter. I pulled it out. I didn't even know I was
bleeding."
For a moment, she was silent.
"How many large or powerful seltyrs are there west of the mountains?" he
asked.
Rachyla cocked her head, then said, "Twelve. There are only twelve of the
west, as there are only ... were only twelve of the east. Some of the growers
in the west hold more land than some of the seltyrs in the east, but they are
not seltyrs."
"Thank you." Mykel forced himself to breathe easily.
"Why did you say I was right?"
"You said--you hinted, rather--that the seltyrs of the west might be a problem.
They are. There are at least four companies east of the mountains."
"So ... you will kill them all, too."
Mykel wanted to break through her composure, almost to scream at her that she
didn't understand, that he didn't like slaughter, didn't want to kill so many
men. "Perhaps."
"If you do not, the Myrmidons will."
"The Myrmidons have left," Mykel said. "Didn't you know?"
Strangely, Rachyla laughed, softly and musically. It was anything but a happy
sound. "You, too, have been betrayed."
Mykel understood exactly what she meant. Was the whole campaign really just
meant to destroy Third Battalion? Were the Cadmians being scattered across
Coras so that they could be destroyed piecemeal? Or was there any explanation?
Would it be any better?
"You see, Captain?" She stood. "You need sleep. I have nothing more to say.
Good night."
They faced each other for several moments.
Finally, Mykel said, "Good night, Lady Rachyla."
He rapped on the door and left without saying a word to the guards. Whether he
was right or not, there was no way that the seltyrs could have gotten so many
Cadmian weapons without some alectors supporting them. While the seltyrs saw
more clearly than other landers that the world ran on force, their mistake had
been that they'd thought that the alectors would respect force, rather than
crash it. The rest of Corus accepted what was--mostly, anyway--and that was that
there was no practical way to use force against the alectors and their
Myrmidons--or even against the Cadmians. Because of its comparative isolation,
or for some other reason, the seltyrs and those who controlled Dramur hadn't
learned that lesson. Mykel wasn't particu-
larly happy being the one to administer it. What was happening in Dramur
should have been obvious to him much earlier, but it just wasn't the sort of
thing that a Cadmian captain would expect. What else was likely to happen that
he didn't expect?
Mykel walked back toward the stables. He needed to find his gear. He needed to
check his own weapon. He needed to get washed up and get rid of the blood. And
he needed sleep.

70
What then is the role of belief for an alector in these times and those to
come?
Understanding the hold that belief lays upon the undis-cerning is the first
step. There are beings who discern and those who do not. Those who discern
are, in the normal course of events, of the alectors, although we must admit
that not all alectors are as discerning as they should be, and some discern
not at all. Likewise, not all people of the lands are undiscerning, and, as
will be discussed later, those of the lands who are discerning are most
dangerous and must be handled with the greatest of care.
Whether alectors or peoples of the lands, those who do not discern are but the
highest of the animals. Because they are like unto the cattle of the fields
and the sheep in the meadows, a discerning alector's role is to care for them.
They must be fed, and they must be kept happy and healthy. They must also come
to understand that not all their desires can be satisfied, and therein lies
the role of justice and discipline, for, as in the case of animals, one cannot
appeal to the reason of an undiscerning individual, for one such has no true
ability to reason. Rather, such an individual wants and
feels, then uses a crude form of logic to rationalize those desires. The most
dangerous are those who are skilled with the tools of logic and reason and yet
have no true understanding of the universe that surrounds them, for they will
use such logic to make themselves the center of their limited world,
regardless of the cost to others--or to themselves.
Most important, because not all desires can be satisfied, an alector must also
offer comfort to the undiscerning. One of those comforts is that of faith, the
comfort of the irrational, the comfort of believing that a supreme being cares
for each and every being who prays to this deity. An alector may claim, "But I
care for those for whom I am responsible." That should indeed be true, but the
truth as such does not offer comfort to the undiscerning, for an alector is
not seen as supreme being.
It matters not that an alector ensures that murderers are caught and punished,
or that food is shared equitably so that none starve. It matters not that an
alector provides justice and a land where the industrious prosper. The
undiscerning will not praise the alector for such; they will claim that all
the benefits provided by the alectors are the "will of the deity."
For these reasons, a truly wise alector will always align himself with the
perceptions of the undiscerning. He will not claim credit for what he has
done, but will remain modest, and assert that he was but carrying out the will
of the deity, "the One Who Is," or "the Almighty," or whatever divine
appellation the undiscerning of that time and place have adopted. By so
positioning himself he will reduce unrest among those over whom he is placed
to care, and thus minimize the use of force and applied justice.
Views of the Highest
Illustra
W.T. 1513

71
Novdi morning dawned as gray as Octdi evening had been, but with a sheen of
rain across the stones of the compound's courtyard. The rain had stopped
falling even before Mykel ate, but the clouds remained. A cold raw wind blew
out of the northeast as he walked from the officers' mess toward headquarters.
He managed a quiet burp and hoped his guts would settle. Fried fish, day after
day, was wearing, and then some; but he understood why, when the nightwasps
had made large herds of cattle impossible and when no one raised many hogs,
although Mykel didn't know quite why. There wasn't much fruit either, except
for the apple bananas.
Dohark was in the same position as when Mykel had left the night before,
looking down at a map on the desk. Mykel saw that the overcaptain had even
deeper circles under his eyes.
"Close the door."
Mykel did. "What happened? Seventeenth Company?"
The overcaptain nodded. "The survivors came in late last night. All eight of
them."
Mykel winced. He'd feared that, but fearing and having those fears confirmed
were two different mounts.
"Somehow, Heransyr let his company get strung out on a lane running through a
valley. According to the scout, it looked peaceful. Men tilling fields,
repairing stone fences. Then a squad of those bluecoats rode in on the other
side of the valley, and began shooting. People were falling like rain--"
"It was a trap," Mykel said. "They were pretending to fall."
Dohark frowned. "You know that now. How would you have known it then?"
"In all the time we've been here, I've never seen more than three men working
together in one place. With that many men out in the fields, there should have
been some women."
"Maybe you ought to be the overcaptain."
Mykel wasn't quite sure what to say. "It's easy to say that afterward, but I'm
sure you would have seen the same thing if you had been there. It wouldn't
have felt right. You might not have been able to say why it was wrong, but you
would have known."
A brief smile flitted across Dohark's face. "You can go by feel as a captain.
It's harder when you can't see what's happening." He looked at Mykel. "How
many companies do you think the western seltyrs have?"
"I'd say that they had thirteen to start, and that the eastern seltyrs might
have eleven."
"Where did you come up with those numbers?"
Mykel shrugged. "It's a guess. The captives we took yesterday morning said
that every seltyr in the west had raised a company, except for one, and he had
raised two. Seltyr Ubarjyr's daughter--she's a captive here--told me last night
that there were twelve seltyrs in the east and twelve in the west. We wiped
out Ubarjyr's company. So ... twenty-three or twenty-four."
"You talked to her last night?"
"After we talked. I've been trying to find out things from her all along.
Every so often she says something, and it goes with something else."
"That's one thing I like about you. Behind that agreeable face, you're like a
dog looking for a bone. You just keep sniffing around, and you don't give up.
What else have you learned?"
"Not much. She was the one that hinted that we might
have trouble with the western seltyrs. She also intimated that there are
companies here in the east."
"We haven't found any."
"Would we, sir, after the raid on Stylan Estate?"
"It'd be unlikely, that's certain," admitted Dohark.
Silence stretched out in the study.
"I have a question, sir," Mykel finally said.
"Do I want to hear it?" countered Dohark, with a flat laugh.
"Don't you find it a little disturbing that all of the rebel companies raised
by the seltyrs have unmarked Cadmian weapons and that the moment that the
Myrmidon colonel leaves with his pteridons we get attacked?"
"I'd thought about that." Dohark gestured around the study. "One reason why I
took this over. I don't think he'll be back soon." He paused. "With or without
pteridons, we still have a mission. What do you suggest?"
"Find out as much as we can about where their companies are. Pick them off,
one at a time. They're no match for us if we choose where and how we fight."
"How many good scouts do you have?"
"Four."
Dohark nodded. "We'll need them. If we're going to choose where to fight and
pick off these bluecoats, we'll need to know where they are and where they can
go." After a moment, he looked squarely at Mykel. "Do you want to add the two
squads--one full squad, really--from Thirteenth Company to Fifteenth Company?"
"I'd like the extra men, but it would cause more trouble. I'm sure they feel I
set them up in Jyoha, and, in a way, I did. I didn't think Vaclyn would be
that stupid."
"Most of Heransyr's survivors are all right. You take them, then."
"Thank you. We could use them."                   -
"Go get your scouts and come back in a glass. We'll assign areas to all the
scouts then."
"Yes, sir." Mykel stepped back and headed for the study loor.
"She is pretty, Mykel," Dohark said conversationally, 'and useful. But I
wouldn't put her in a position where you lave to trust her."
"Sir?"
"You know exactly who I mean." Dohark's voice carried a race of good humor.
"The seltyr's daughter. Just be careful."
"I intend to be very careful, sir."
"Good. Go round up your scouts."
Mykel slipped out of the study and down the corridor to the entrance foyer. He
wished he could be as dispassionate as Dohark about the possible betrayal of
the Cadmians by sither the Myrmidons or other alectors. The overcaptain
accepted that possibility and went on. Mykel was still trying to figure out
why. And then there was Rachyla--an enigma--much like the ancient dagger in his
belt, both beautiful, both able to cut deep, and perhaps... both deadly.

i
He stepped out into the courtyard, where a light rain had begun to fall once
more. If the rain continued, it might keep the bluecoats from trying to fire
more cots or from attacking the Cadmians in the next day or so. Fifteenth
Company could use the rest, and so could the others.

72
After two long days of flying, late on Novdi, just before the sun set behind
the western horizon of the seemingly endless grasslands of Illegea, Quelyt
called back over his shoulder, "There it is, sir!"
Dainyl looked eastward toward the Spine of Coras and what lay at the base of
the red cliffs footing those snow-
capped winter giants. The late, late-afternoon light fell across the redstone
spires of the Vault of the Ages, turning them a deeper and duskier shade,
outlining them against the lighter stone and scattered trees of the peaks to
the east. Directly below the columned entrance to the Vault were the wide
stone steps that descended westward to the polished redstone plaza, empty so
late in the day. In the still air just before twilight, a haze blanketed the
lower areas of the hills to the east and north of the Vault.
"We'll set down on the plaza, sir," added Quelyt.
"Go ahead!" Dainyl had flown into the plaza himself, more than a few times,
but he'd seen little of Lyterna, outside of the barracks tunneled into the
cliffs to the south of the Vault, where he had waited as a ranker to carry
dispatches to regional centers and other places without Tables. There was
little visible from the air, or the ground--except for the great steps and the
plaza--because the entire complex had been carved into the rock ages before.
Quelyt made a long and shallow approach across grasslands that remained tan
and brown, without any traces of green, although all the winter snows had
melted. Then, the long blue wings spread, and the pteridon flared and touched
down gently on the plaza.
Once the pteridons had landed, and the three Myrmidons had dismounted, Dainyl
took the saddlebags that held his gear and turned to Quelyt. "I doubt I'll see
you for a while. You have tomorrow off, and you'll head back in the morning on
Londi."
"You don't want us to wait, sir?"
"No. I'll be here for a while. There's no reason for you to wait." That was
true. Dainyl would be in Lyterna for a time, and, if he were successful in
learning to use the Tables, he wouldn't need a pteridon to return. If he
weren't successful, he wouldn't need one, either.
"You certain, sir?"
"Very certain. Thank you." Dainyl shouldered the saddle-
bags and turned, crossing the fifty yards of the plaza between him and the
great steps. As he climbed the steps toward the Vault, the wind picked up,
whistling around him. Although Lyterna was south of Elcien, it was also higher
and colder--much colder.
The Ifrit who greeted him at the top of the great steps had silver hair, yet
his life-aura was clearly that of an alector, with the purple essence that was
of Ifryn and always would be. "I'm Asulet, Submarshal Dainyl. High Alector
Zelyert sent word to expect you." An impish smile crossed the broad face. "I
tutored your mother. Briefly. You don't look at all like her."
As Dainyl smiled wryly, the older alector laughed. "She had definite
opinions."
"She still does."
"I imagine you're hungry and a bit chilled."
"Somewhat," Dainyl admitted dryly.
Asulet turned and stepped through the wide-open space that matched the width
of the great stairs and walked past | the first columns, toward a blank stone
wall that parted as he neared. The stone panels were a good nine yards high
and seven wide, but they moved quickly and silently, retracting flush into the
walls, so well fitted that Dainyl doubted a knife blade would fit between the
stones. When open, no one could have guessed there were stone doors. Dainyl
noted the deftness with which the elder alector had used his Talent to
activate the portals.
Within moments after the two passed through the entrance, the stone doors
closed behind them. Dainyl could feel the immediate and welcome warmth and
dampness to the air within the chamber, more like summer in Lysia or Tylora.
Asulet stopped and gestured around the columned hall in which they stood. "For
reasons I never quite grasped, the        ' first lifemasters here decided to
call this the Council Hall." He laughed once more, again with an ease that
Dainyl en-
vied. "We never have had a council, nor any need for such, but then, maybe
they knew what they were doing. It's the smallest of the three great halls.
The other two originally were used to house the first pteridons until we
tunneled the barracks and squares to the south."
Dainyl glanced around the space, modestly lit with light-torches set in wall
brackets exactly three yards above the polished red eternastone floor. The
hall was not exactly small, not at fifty yards in length and fifteen in width,
with ceilings easily ten yards high. Like the floor, the walls and ceilings
were of polished red eternastone. The redstone so treated did not reflect
light, for all its apparent shine and shimmer.
"Your quarters will be in the upper quadrant," Asulet went on as he resumed
walking toward the square archway set in the middle of the back wall. "They're
quite spacious, with a private bath and accommodations. No windows, of course,
but when they were built, there wasn't anything to see, and the winter cold
might well have shattered any glass."
The floors, the light-torches, the walls--everything looked so crisp, so
recently formed that it was hard for Dainyl to realize just how ancient
Lyterna was.
"We will have dinner in a glass. That should give you some time to refresh
yourself." Just past the archway, Asulet touched a light-torch bracket on the
right wall. Another stone door opened, revealing steps leading upward. "The
upper level is far more comfortable."
Dainyl followed the silver-haired alector up the staircase cut from the solid
stone, a distance more than twice the height of a staircase in most
structures. There was no portal at the top, and they stepped out into a
circular foyer nine yards across. Three wide hallways radiated from the foyer.
All were four yards wide and brightly lit with light-torches set at three-yard
alternating intervals along the stone walls.
"The center corridor leads to the dining and common
rooms, and the library," Asulet explained. "Quarters for distinguished guests,
such as you, are set along the far left corridor. Somewhat larger apartments
for those of us who toil here are set along the right-hand corridor." He
turned down the left corridor. "Most of these are seldom used. We get very few
guests for long these days, and it's always good to see a new face."
"Once an alector gets ... a great deal of experience ... is this where?"
Asulet laughed again. "Very few alectors age enough for it to show, but
Lyterna is always available for those with, as you put it, experience who wish
a quieter life. There is much we do not know about life here on Acorus, and
there have never been enough minds and hands to properly study and catalog
what is here, much less to mold additional useful life-forms."
The older alector stopped at second door and turned the flat bronze lever,
letting the door swing open. He gestured for Dainyl to enter.
Dainyl took two steps inside and surveyed the sitting room. On the right wall
was a large mural-like painting, showing the grasslands to the west in spring
green, with wildflowers blossoming, and a herd of antelope. Beneath the
lifelike depiction was a settee, with the long legs and high back designed for
alectors. On the wall directly before him was a wide and high white oak desk,
with rounded edges, but clean and unornamented lines. The desk chair reminded
Dainyl of the chairs in the chambers of the High Alector of Justice, without
cushions or upholstery, but gently curved. On the wall above the desk was an
oval painting of the High Court of Illustra, with the twin green towers that
framed the palace of the Archon. On each side of each of the two paintings was
a light-torch in a bronze holder.
The walls were of the redstone, but pale green hangings, like full-length
drapes, ran from ceiling to floor on each side of the desk and on each side of
the painting on the wall
to Dainyl's right. The floor was almost entirely covered by a large oval
carpet of dark green, bordered in gold, and with a gold eight-pointed star of
the Duarches in the center.
Asulet gestured toward the ceiling, pointing to the corners of the room. "The
ventilation louvers have levers so that you can adjust them. The lever with
the blue handle is for cold air, and the one with the red handle is for warm
moist air. You can't close them completely because there has to be some
circulation, but you ought to be able to find a mix that's comfortable."
Dainyl glanced around the room before catching sight of the two narrow but
wide air return ducts set just above the floor beyond the edges of the
hangings on the wall he faced. "How do you get the warm moist air?"
"That was one reason why Lyterna was located here. There are boiling springs.
We tapped them, for both hot water and heat. Be careful with the hot water for
a bath or shower. It is very hot." With a smile, Asulet stepped back into the
corridor. "I'll meet you in the foyer in a glass."
After the older alector had headed back in the direction of the foyer, Dainyl
closed the door. On the inside of the heavy oak door was a simple privacy
bolt, no more. He turned and walked through the sitting room to the
bedchamber, dominated by a triple-width bed with a plain white oak headboard
and footboard. The coverlet was dark green. A white oak armoire two yards wide
stood against one wall, far more space than Dainyl would ever use. With a
smile, he set the saddlebags holding his gear on the rack beside the armoire.
On the polished white oak stand beside the bed was a mechanical glass, the
circular face with its single hand. There were five marks between each of the
ten triangles. Dainyl nodded. Without any sight of the sun, mechanical glasses
were even more necessary, and far better than sand ones, which had to be
turned every glass or measured against a gauge. Light-torches were set in wall
brackets on each side of the headboard.
He moved through the open archway to the bath chamber, which held both shower
and a deep redstone tub, coated with a clear enamel or glaze. Beyond to the
right was a much smaller chamber with the other necessary facilities. Dainyl
looked at the stone-walled shower and the white bronze fixtures. A truly hot
shower would be more than welcome.
Almost a glass later, feeling warmer, refreshed, and definitely hungry, Dainyl
stepped out of the guest chambers, wearing a clean uniform, and walked down
the corridor toward the foyer.
Ahead of him was an older alector wearing a dark gray shirt and
trousers--white-haired, and slightly bent. He was carrying folded linens. As he
saw Dainyl, he stepped to one side and bowed. "Terribly sorry, sir."
"That's all right," Dainyl replied, uncertain of how or why the old alector
was supposed to have offended him.
The man bowed quickly once more, then hurried past Dainyl.
Dainyl reached the circular foyer, but saw no one there. He debated heading
down the center corridor, but decided to wait. Each of the four curved
sections of stone wall between the three corridors and the staircase held a
mural. The geographic locale of each mural was that of the isle and city of
Elcien. The first scene was just that of an isle, rocky in the center, low and
marshy near the bay on the south, with scattered stunted trees. The second
showed the arching bridge from the mainland and a grid of stone streets, with
the Hall of Justice, and Palace of the Duarch, and but a handful of other
structures. The third depicted an Elcien similar to the one Dainyl knew, if
somehow subtly different. The fourth illustrated an Elcien where a soaring
palace-- identical to the depictions of the Archon's Palace in Dlustra--rose
between two green towers far taller than those that currently flanked the
Duarch's palace.
"You are most punctual," observed Asulet, entering the foyer.
"I try." Dainyl pointed to the third mural. "When was that drawn?"
"Oh ... some five hundred years ago. They were all done then."
"That one, it's almost like Elcien today."
"It was the plan for Elcien about a hundred years ago. It's fairly close to
what it is today. Matters often take longer than originally planned." Asulet's
last words held an ironic dryness.
"The fourth one--that's what's planned?"
"If the master scepter is transferred here," Asulet said. "The Archon has yet
to decide. Let us go eat. We will talk of that, and of other matters of which
you should know." He turned.
Dainyl walked beside the older alector down the wide center corridor.
"I saw someone in gray ..." Dainyl ventured, wondering if the rumors about old
alectors were indeed true.
"Yes. The orderlies and servants. Various failures, heavily imprinted with
loyalty bonds. Tragic, but it's better than execution, and someone has to do
the menial work, and it's far better than letting landers or indigens know
what lies behind the facade of the Vault."
What did lie behind the facade of Lyterna? The Highest had intimated that much
did, and now Asulet was telling him the same thing. The engineering alone,
Dainyl had to admit, for what little he had seen in the past glass and a half,
had to have been stupendous.
"You are beginning to wonder, are you not, Submarshal?"
"How could I not?" Dainyl managed a laugh. "I've already seen superb
engineering and remarkable crafting, and I doubt that I've seen a fraction of
what is here."
"That is indeed so." Asulet raised a hand toward the
open square archway just ahead of them. "The dining chamber is the most ornate
space in Lyterna, and it is also among the oldest finished rooms in the
complex. The thought was that we should have something of elegance and grace
when outside held little but lichens, stunted trees, and winter-cold swamps."
As Asulet finished speaking, he stepped through the wide square arch into a
large circular chamber.
Dainyl followed--and stopped.                                             i
The space was close to fifty yards across, with a high-arched dome cut out of
the very rock, soaring to nearly twenty yards overhead. Double goldenstone
columns circled the chamber, set at intervals of six yards, and reaching from
their pediments to a frieze ten yards above the shimmering green and gold
marble floor. The green marble frieze was less than a half a yard in height.
On its face had been carved a repeating design of pteridons and sandoxes. The
wall space between the columns and beneath the narrow frieze had been faced
with creamy white marble. Each set of double columns was flanked by lighter
green hangings that dropped from the base of the frieze to just above the
polished marble of the floor.
Overhead was the domed ceiling, inset with the same creamy white marble tiles,
edged with green marble. The lines of green marble converged, ending at a
circle of green surrounding and filling the apex of the dome. In the center of
the green was the gold, eight-pointed star. The dining l hall was illuminated
by light-torches set in ornate bronze brackets on the goldenstone pillars.
There was a full score of tables arranged in the quarter of the chamber
opposite the entry archway. So large was the space that the tables seemed well
apart from each other.
"Once there were more of us living here," added Asulet. "That was when Acorus
was too chill for half the year."
Four circular stands, each six yards across and a yard and
a half high, were set equidistant from each other, lost in the openness of the
otherwise unused space under the dome.
Dainyl glanced at the nearest stand, realizing it held the model of a city.
"That's Ludar."
"Exactly, and the others are Elcien, Alustre, and Dereka."
"As they are now, or as they were planned?"
"As they were planned. The models are close to five hundred years old. There
are a few differences between the plans and the final construction, but not
many. Those differences are largely because of geographic peculiarities of
which we were unaware at the time."
"I would never have ..." Dainyl left his words hanging, not sure what he could
have said.
"You will think better after you have eaten." With a smile, the older alector
led the way to a table on the left side of the assemblage.
Dainyl noted that only eight of the tables were occupied. They seated
themselves, and a server immediately appeared, a silver-haired alectress who
looked to Asulet and bowed, then waited.
"What do you have tonight, Ulasya?"
"We have prairie fowl stewed and spiced in golden brandy, then finished on the
grill over hot coals. We have an auroch filet, marinated in Nordan winter
wine, then seared, and poached with gharo root; and we have golden noodles
with fried oarfish."
"I'll have the filet." Asulet nodded to Dainyl.
"The prairie fowl."
"And a carafe of the Vyan Grande as well."
After the server slipped away, Asulet looked at the younger alector. "We may
not have the best of vistas here, but we still have excellent fare."
Before either said more, the server returned with two crystal goblets, tinted
slightly purple, and a crystal carafe filled with the ruby vintage. Without
speaking, she departed as quickly as she had arrived.
"As a Myrmidon who began as the lowest of the low, then became a flier, then
an officer, and now submarshal, you have seen most of Acorus, have you not?"
"It is clear I have seen most of what is visible, sir."
"Sir?" Asulet arched his eyebrows.
"At the least, you must be one of the senior lifemasters. I should have
realized earlier."
Asulet laughed his easy laugh. "You were not told." He filled his goblet
halfway, men Dainyl's.
"No, sir."
"That's one of Zelyert's little games. Sometimes, they aren't so harmless. He
should have read the Views of the Highest more closely, but that is for
another time. As a matter of fact, I am the senior lifemaster." Asulet sipped
the wine. "Good vintage. They always haven't been."
"The High Alector of Lifemasters."
"That title does not exist, but something like that. I don't like being called
'sir.' It makes me feel even older than I am. You have shown more respect
without the honorrfics than many have with them. I'd prefer that. Try your
wine."
"That won't be difficult..." Dainyl almost added the "sir." He did take a sip
of the Vyan Grande, and as Asulet had suggested, it was good.
"You have seen most of Acorus--Corus, anyway, not that there's that much
besides the frozen continent that spreads across most of the south pole and
the volcanic island chains in the western ocean. That's a misnomer, too. Those
in Alustre call it the eastern ocean, those in Ludar and Elcien the western
ocean, but it's the same ocean. Some of the western islands are large, larger
than Dramur, but the volcanoes made them unsuitable, especially for placing
the scepters."
Placing the scepters? The Dual Scepters? "I understand that the scepters are
necessary for the Tables to function properly ..." Dainyl hoped the hint would
be enough.
"Young Dainyl--and you are young, for all your years, at
least to an ancient like me--the scepters are necessary for the Tables to
function at all. They had to be placed in certain locales in order to create
the stresses necessary for us to create the local translation tubes."
"But... if they were necessary ... how did we even get here?"
"That is a good question, and one that I cannot answer in depth, because it is
not my field. However..." Asulet drew out the word. "... a massive spear of
lifeforce was used to throw a tube or a link to Acorus. Through that link
poured alectors, with what crystals and tools they could carry, until enough
survived to create the first Table. That solidified the link with Ifyrn. Then
came the Dual Scepters, linked, of course, to the master scepter, and they
were carried to different locales until the stress patterns were stabilized.
Two more Tables were built at those locations, and then, within a few years,
the remainder were created and linked to the grid."
"Could more be added?"
"Yes, but it wouldn't be wise. Each Table drains lifeforce from the world
itself. All is a balancing act." Asulet stopped as the server set a platter
before each of them, and then a smaller plate with various sliced fruits
arranged in an asymmetrical pattern. "We should eat while the fare is still
warm."
Dainyl waited for Asulet to take the first bite, then cut a slice of the fowl
and ate it--perhaps one of the better fowl dishes he had ever had. The golden
rice-grass was just firm enough without being elastic.
"Enough of Lyterna for now. I'll have your head turning in two directions by
tomorrow night. Tell me about Elcien, or anything else out beyond Lyterna--but
not military events. I read all the reports from the high alectors. Have you
heard any new musical compositions? Read any new poems?"
Dainyl got the message, although he wondered whether
those reports really reflected what was in fact happening. "I haven't heard a
concert for several months. The last was a chamber concert at the palace in
Elcien..."                                I
The rest of the evening was pleasant, accompanied by good food, and told
Dainyl little more about Lyterna or why he was there.
When, a good two glasses later, Dainyl stepped back into his temporary
quarters, it was more than clear that someone had been there.
He saw the uniform he had worn on the flight to Lyterna, and his flying
jacket, both spotless and hung in the armoire, its doors left open to let him
know that they had been cleaned.
As he undressed and prepared for bed, he smiled sadly, thinking of the old
alector in gray.

73
A pall of smoke hung over the compound on Decdi morning, pungent and acrid, as
Mykel and Rhystan walked from the mess toward the headquarters building under
a hazy gray sky. The sun had barely climbed out of the ocean and was trying to
fight its way through the clouds, showing little more than a bright patch amid
the gray.
"Still looks like winter," observed Rhystan.
"It is," replied Mykel, "the last day of winter."
"Worst mess we've been in," said the older officer. "You think they'll attack
here?"
"Sometime, if we don't stop them first."
"With three companies, Mykel?"
Put that way, Mykel reflected, the situation didn't sound all that hopeful. He
decided to say nothing, at least until they heard what Dohark had to tell
them. When the two
captains reached the study that had belonged to the local majer, Dohark was
pacing back and forth. He stopped and motioned them inside. Mykel shut the
door.
"I wouldn't worry about that," said Dohark. "Majer Her-ryf's not around. He
told me he wouldn't be. Nothing happens on Decdi in Dramur." The overcaptain
shook his head. "Friggin' idiot. He wouldn't listen to me. Who knows? Maybe
he's right." He took a long deep breath and leaned against the desk but did
not sit down.
Neither did either captain.
"The western seltyrs have moved their troopers out of the valleys to the west.
They're scattering into the east here. There look to be three companies to the
south of Dramuria, and four or five to the north and east. They haven't burned
any more cots or houses. There's been no fighting or attacks in any of the
towns outside of Dramuria."
"Did the scouts take a look at the estates of the eastern seltyrs?" asked
Mykel.
"I don't have any reports on them." Dohark looked at the younger captain. "Why
don't you just say what you have in mind, Mykel?"
"I'm just guessing, sir, but the only cots burned were on the outskirts of
Dramuria, and they've only attacked Cad-mians. Maybe the attacks aren't
against the eastern seltyrs at all, but against Dramuria and us. I'd wager
that the golds from the guano don't go to the seltyrs."
"Some of the eastern seltyrs get a little, I've been told," replied Dohark.
"The westerners don't get any. The guilds and the crafters in Dramuria put up
the golds to open the mine, and to build the road--some sort of pooled thing,
and they have to pay off lenders in Elcien. What's left goes to the guilds and
the council and the eastern seltyrs who put up the coins."
Mykel would have wagered that Seltyr Ubarjyr had been one of those.
"What are you getting at?" asked Dohark.
"The seltyrs who aren't getting anything from the mine are the ones we'll be
fighting."
"You don't know that," pointed out Dohark.
"No, sir. I could be wrong, but why else would they be here? The western
seltyrs and the easterners don't get along that well. There has to be
something in it for them."
"We don't know what that is," replied Dohark.
Mykel decided not to say more. Dohark either believed him or didn't.
"What does Majer Herryf plan to do?" asked Rhystan.
"Nothing. He says that he warned the marshal and that he has but two
companies, but they can hold the compound against ten times that number, if
the seltyrs are foolish enough to attack." Dohark snorted. "Besides, today is
Decdi, and nothing will happen on Decdi."
"Why don't we turn the tables on them?" asked Mykel.
"What do you have in mind?"
"Tracking and hitting them with ambushes and shoot-and-run. Like the Reillies
did."
"After what's happened, you think that will work?"
"The only time I've lost more than a few men is when I've been forced to be in
one place or another, sir."
Dohark nodded slowly. "You're volunteering Fifteenth Company to keep the
seltyrs off-balance while the seriousness of the situation sinks in to Majer
Herryf and the colonels?"
"It might be better said that we can only afford to send out one company at a
time to do this, and Fifteenth Company was the one chosen."
Dohark laughed. "When do you want to go?"
"I don't. I just don't like the alternatives. But... today. No one does
anything on Decdi."
Rhystan looked at Mykel. "Do you know what you're asking for?"
"Probably not," Mykel lied. He knew very well. He also knew the seltyrs would
only get better with time--if they
were given the chance. He didn't want to give them that chance.
"You might end up as an overcaptain," Dohark said. "Most likely, you'll end up
dead."
Mykel had the feeling that he'd more likely end up dead by doing nothing. He
did not say so, but just waited, a pleasant expression on his face.
"If that's what you want to do... go ahead. At this point, you can't make
things worse."
Left unspoken was the statement that Mykel would delay, at the least, any
attack on the compound and the other companies.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Rhystan.
"We need to look to the compound's defenses," replied Dohark. "I don't want to
find out that there's some secret way in or that the east or west gates don't
work because they haven't been used in years."
"If you don't need me ..." offered Mykel.
"You can go." Dohark laughed, half-sardonically and half-sadly. "I'm glad I
don't have to tell you not to make foolish head-on attacks."
Mykel bowed, and left, making his way to the barracks, then to the stables,
when he learned that was where Bhoral had gone. The senior squad leader was
standing outside the stable, talking to one of the ostlers, as Mykel crossed
the courtyard.
Bhoral said a last word to the man, who hurried into the stable, and turned to
Mykel. "What's the news, sir?"
"Do you want the bad news or the worse news?" countered Mykel. "We've got
something like eight companies of horse troopers from the west around here.
That's in addition to whatever the eastern seltyrs have. The Myrmidons have
big problems elsewhere, and we don't know when they'll be back. The good news
is that we're going to do something about it."
"Sir? Against eight companies?"
Mykel smiled. "The westerners have split up their companies all over the
place. How many men did we lose in destroying those bluecoats on Octdi?"
"Just a few," admitted Bhoral.
"How many would we lose if they all got together and attacked?"
"More."
"We need to get to them the way we did before and whittle them down before
they unite. We'll ride out in a glass," Mykel said. "I need to check the maps
and reports a last time."
"Yes, sir." The senior squad leader sounded anything but happy.
After leaving Bhoral, Mykel made his way back to headquarters, where he went
over the reports and maps Dohark had received. Dohark handed them to him and
left with Rhystan to inspect the compound. Mykel went through the stack as
carefully as he could quickly, taking notes. One thing stood out. A single
company of bluecoats had ridden just north of the compound, then due east to
one of the larger estates in the east on the coast--Fynhaven.
Mykel wagered that the coastal estate held another company--of greencoats.
Since they were both closer than any of the others, Fifteenth Company might as
well look into Fynhaven. He took some of the maps--and his notes--and headed
back to the stable, stopping by his quarters for his rifle and a riding
jacket, and the armory for more ammunition.
When Mykel reached the stables, Bhoral was standing beside his mount adjusting
the saddlebags. The senior squad leader still looked glum. "Hazy out there.
Might rain. Hate to be riding in the rain."
"If it rains, we'll change our plans," Mykel said. "Is the company ready?"
"In a few moments, sir."
Mykel walked into the stables. By the time he saddled the          .
chestnut, with his gear in place, including extra ammunition in his
saddlebags, and led his mount out into the courtyard, Fifteenth Company was
forming up. Mykel listened, trying to pick up what was being said.
"... riding out on Decdi..."
"... had to be us..."
"... don't fight a friggin' war on a crafter's calendar..."
Mykel smiled at those words and swung up into the saddle with workmanlike
skill, if not grace. In less than a quarter glass, Fifteenth Company was
heading out the east gates of the compound, with Mykel riding just forward of
first squad with Gendsyr. Bhoral rode with Chyndylt at the head of third
squad.
"Where are we headed, sir?" asked Gendsyr.
"East, to an estate called Fynhaven. We're going to take out another company
of bluecoats, and maybe some green-coats as well."
"Are they expecting us?"
"I hope not." Mykel laughed. "No one does anything on Decdi."
The words brought a momentary smile to Gendsyr's face.
They had ridden slightly more than two glasses, heading first east, then north
and east once more, when Gerant came riding back from his scouting to report
to Mykel. The scout pulled his mount in beside the captain, but they both kept
riding.
"About a half vingt ahead, there's another crossroad, and it heads southeast.
Wider, too, with shoulders and stone walls," the scout reported. "Lots of
tracks on the road. Not in the past few glasses, but in the last day."
"That should be the road to Fynhaven. It's another four vingts along that
road. We'll take a break when we get to the road. See what you and the others
can find out, but try not to be seen. We'll wait there for a while."
In less than a quarter glass, Fifteenth Company halted in good order just
short of the larger southeast road.
"Make sure everyone drinks and takes whatever breaks hey need," Mykel told
Bhoral and the squad leaders.
While he waited for the scouts, he studied the maps igain. Fynhaven was the
closest estate to the Cadmian com-lound, and from what he could tell, one of
the larger ones a the east.
A half glass later, as Mykel saw the first of the scouts re-urning, he ordered
the squad leaders forward. He dis-nounted, handing the chestnut's reins to
Aloryt, one of jendsyr's rankers, and waited until the squad leaders and couts
had gathered around him on foot. Then he drew a ough map of lanes and the road
with a stick. "Is this right?" fe looked to the scouts.
"Pretty much, sir," said Jasakyt.
Mykel handed the stick to him. "Add what you saw."
"There's a gated entrance on the main road. Here, tfaybe, five or six guards."
Jasakyt used the stick to add ines in the road dirt and dust. "The estate is
back almost a ringt along a lane lined with trees. Fields, or meadows, on ťoth
sides. Real open."
"Is there any area with cover?"
"All the grounds behind the villa and buildings are :asaran orchards. They run
to those hills to the south," said Dhozynt. "More than a vingt. Easy to ride
through the trees, >ut not easy to see from the villa there."
"Behind the orchards?"
"There's a lane, comes off the main road, leads to a ham-et to the west."
Dhozynt took the stick from the other scout ind added the lane.
"How close are the orchards to the outbuildings?"
"A hundred yards. Best as I could tell, they've got the nounts here, southwest
of the main buildings, some in a orral, and some on tielines. They got
barrackslike sheds lere, and some tents next to them. Bunch of them were
(laying some sort of game over here. That's why I couldn't jet any closer,"
Dhozynt said.
"Could we come down between the trees in the orchard behind the stable sheds?"
Dhozynt cocked his head. "Might not be seen that way."
Mykel looked at the squad leaders. "Here's what we'll do. We'll take that back
lane. Squads one and two will get as close as we can. If there's anyone
playing that game, we'll ride up and take them down. If not, we'll take out as
many mounts as we can--just until they come running. We'll stand just long
enough to get in some good shots, and then we'll ride back up between the
trees. Squads three, four, and five will be spread in firing lines in the
trees. I'll drop off with squad three, and we'll hit anyone that's coming,
then withdraw. If no one comes after us at all, we'll withdraw to the lane. If
anything looks wrong, and I give the order to withdraw--that's where we'll
re-form. There are two objectives. The first is to kill as many of them as we
can without losing men. The second is to make them ˇ     think we're
everywhere."
"Shooting unarmed men ... mounts ... that won't go down well with some of the
men."
"Squad leaders," Mykel said firmly. "You might ask some of the survivors of
Seventeenth Company how they feel about that. You'd also best remind each of
your rankers that these are the same men who shot shackled and unarmed
prisoners. The bluecoats will get a better chance than they gave those
prisoners."
"They did?" asked Vhanyr.
"Why don't you answer that, Chyndylt?" suggested Mykel.
"They shot eight prisoners, dead. We lost four men," said Chyndylt.
The other three squad leaders looked at each other.
"We're going after troopers, not helpless prisoners," Mykel said firmly.
"They've already wiped out most of Seventeenth Company, and they've attacked
us. Remember, they started this." That wasn't totally true, but the seltyrs
lad started most of the skirmishes and battles, including the me at Stylan
Estate. "Get the word to your men. We'll ride nit in a tenth of a glass."
After the squad leaders moved back toward their squads, tfykel turned to the
scouts. "Jasakyt? Is there any way to ivoid riding by the gate?"
"Yes, sir. Thought you might ask about that. Take another lalf vingt, but
there are two lanes and a short ride across a ield..."
Mykel committed the directions to memory, but added, 'You'll lead the way."
"Yes, sir. Figured that, too."
Another glass passed, quietly, as Fifteenth Company fol-owed the scouts down
the southeast road and circled away Tom Fynhaven Estate, only to return to the
lane bordering he casaran orchards on the south.
"Company! Halt!" Mykel ordered. "First and second squads, follow me. Stand
by." He rode back along the col-imn until he reached third squad, where Bhoral
rode with Dhyndylt.
"Bhoral, fifth squad will hold just short of the lane. I want you to ride back
to Vhanyr, and explain that. Hold here with them. You'll need to re-form the
squads as they leave the orchard, so that we can move out immediately. We'll
head west on the lane."
"Yes, sir."
"Chyndylt, third squad will take position a hundred yards south of first and
second squads in a double staggered firing line abreast in the trees..." Mykel
then rode back to Dravadyl and explained what he wanted from fourth squad.
After that, he returned to first squad. "Follow me. Quiet riding." He turned
the chestnut through the opening in the low stone wall, a wall low enough that
a mount could jump, if necessary, and headed northward. The rows of casaran
trees were well tended, and the spaces just wide enough for i rider.
Occasionally, Mykel had to duck his head. Once he
had to ride back to position fourth squad, but Chyndylt had no trouble with
third squad.
Less than a quarter glass had passed when he reined up, close to thirty yards
back from the end of the orchard. He had to duck to see through the last
trees, toward the outbuildings and the villa beyond.
No one was on the field where Jasakyt had reported seeing men playing a game.
Several bluecoats lounged against the corral. None even looked in the
direction of the orchard. Mykel could see others walking or standing near the
tan-nish tents short of the barracks. He turned to Gendsyr. "We'll move in
fast, come to a firing line, and take out anyone who's standing there. If no
one else shows up, shoot a few of the mounts."
"Sir?" asked Gendsyr, his voice low.
"We need to get them stirred up so they'll come out in a hurry. Pass the
word," Mykel said, in a low voice. "When I start to fire, everyone does, and
if their men and a lot of mounts don't go down, then some of our men will die.
It's that simple." Mykel lifted his rifle, waiting for Gendsyr to pass the
word. He didn't want to shoot the horses. It wasn't their fault, but facing
possibly as many as fifteen companies in the days and weeks ahead he had to do
something to cut down the odds--any way he could. Besides, the horses were
wealth as well, and it wouldn't hurt to bleed the seltyrs in every way
possible.
"Ready, sir?" Gendsyr finally said, easing his mount up near Mykel.
Mykel nodded. "Forward!"
He urged the chestnut through the last thirty yards of the casaran orchard,
then across the open space toward the corral, the tielines, and the space
between the tents and shed barracks.
As he reined up less than twenty yards from a startled bluecoat, he ordered,
"Squads! Firing line on me! Fire!" His rifle came up.
The stunned bluecoat looked up. Mykel forced himself to im and will the bullet
home.
Crack!
The trooper's death stabbed at him, and he pushed it way, aiming at a second
bluecoat.
Shouts and yells began to rise, but troopers still peered >ut of the tents,
and several streamed out into the open, /earing but undertones. After a few
shots, screams came rom the tethered mounts as well as those in the corral.
Two r three handfuls of bluecoats finally came rushing out of lie stables and
sheds. Perhaps half had weapons in hand, dl looked dazed.
Mykel kept firing, as coolly as he could, then reloaded, absently, he realized
that he'd seen none of the officers or quad leaders. With that thought, he
looked toward the ilia.
Two men in what looked to be dress uniforms--one in ;reen and one in blue--were
running toward the barracks nd stables. One held a rifle.
Mykel shifted his aim to the one with the rifle, then con-entrated and
squeezed the trigger. The captain went down ace-first. The second officer
threw himself to the ground ind rolled sideways.
A horn sounded, and more bluecoats appeared. A number lad made it to the
stable sheds. Mykel smiled.
"First, second squads!" he ordered, "Withdraw! With-Iraw!" His eyes swept the
area as he wheeled the chestnut, 'rom what he could tell, twenty bodies lay
sprawled across he area, perhaps more.
Now ... if some of them followed ...
A hundred yards into the orchard, Mykel reined up and >ulled the chestnut
beside a casaran tree, one adjacent to the me behind which Chyndylt remained,
mounted. The re-nainder of first and second squads rode past, not pell-mell,
>ut at a quick trot, under control. Dust roiled up and around he trees, and
Mykel stifled a cough.
The third squad leader shot an inquiring look to the captain. Mykel nodded,
then pointed.
Before that long, a thin line of riders in blue appeared, moving at a quick
walk.
Mykel waited until they were less than twenty yards away before he ordered,
"Open fire! Fire at will!"
More bodies fell, and the riders turned and fell back.
"Third squad, withdraw!"
Mykel rode back toward the lane, but slowed as he neared fourth squad.
"Dravadyl! Fourth squad! Withdraw and reform! Withdraw and re-form." Whatever
the bluecoats did, they weren't going to ride blindly any farther into the
orchard. Fifteenth Company had done what it could for the day.
Mykel rode to the lane, then stood in the stirrups. "Bho-ral! Forward! I'll
check the rear!"
"Fifteenth Company! Forward."
Once he was certain all his men had cleared the orchard, he rode at the rear
for a good vingt and a half until it appeared likely that the bluecoats--or
their hosts--were not on (heir tail. Then he checked with each squad leader as
he rode forward toward the van.
He finally pulled his mount in beside Bhoral. "We got between thirty and
forty. We lost one man, two wounded. Neither too serious."
"One dead, two wounded," Bhoral said, his voice flat.
"Let's ride ahead a bit," Mykel said quietly. "Alone."
The captain didn't say anything until they were well away from first squad.
"You don't like what we're doing, Bhoral." Mykel paused. "Do you?"
"I can't say as I do, sir."
"There are somewhere between eight and fifteen companies of men armed with
Cadmian rifles in the eastern part of Dramur. Right now, they're not well
organized. Their men really aren't used to fighting, not with real bullets,
and they haven't figured out that if they massed everyone and swept down
toward the compound, we'd have real trouble."
"The Myrmidons--"
"They've been gone for a solid week, and we have no idea when they'll be back.
Or if they'll be back." Mykel paused. "Bhoral... just how do you think the
seltyrs got hold of over a thousand Cadmian rifles?"
"Sir?"
"Either the Myrmidons got betrayed by other alectors, or we got betrayed by
the Myrmidons. Take your pick."
For a long moment, the senior squad leader was silent.
"Either way, we can't count on much support. It might come tomorrow. It might
come next week. It might not come."
"You've known this?"
"Only since last night," Mykel temporized. He didn't know it for certain, and
he'd suspected it for longer, but Bhoral had to understand, or the company
wouldn't be worth a frigging lame mount over the days ahead. "I don't want the
men knowing all that. If anyone asks, tell them that the Myrmidons have big
problems elsewhere. That much is certainly true, and that's why we were sent,
and why we don't have any pteridon support right now, and why we can't count
on it."
"Put that way, sir, I don't suppose we have much choice."
"No. We don't." Not any choice that Mykel could see, at least. If the seltyrs
ever got organized, Third Battalion was dead. Mykel's task was to keep them
from getting organized. Any way he could.

74
Dainyl's lessons in Lytema began right after breakfast on Decdi when he
followed Asulet down the steps from the upper level and then inward from the
Council Chamber through yet another square arch. They walked
a hundred yards down a stone corridor until they reached a wall on which was a
relief sculpture that was also a mural, the brilliant and varied colors
shimmering forth from the stone itself, rather than having been painted over
the marble. Yet the wall appeared to have been carved from a single block of
stone, with no lines that revealed joints.
Twenty Myrmidons flew in formation, each of the enforcers of justice seated
upon his blue-winged pteridon, each pteridon flying below high clouds, and
each Myrmidon carrying a blue metal skylance. From each lance, a ray of blue
light flared down upon the ranks of an army drawn up upon the grasslands, the
yellow-blue flames created by those rays consuming the soldiers of that
massive army.
"The mural is marvelous," observed Dainyl, "although I'm surprised to see it
here. There were a few such battles as those upon Ifryn, but not here."
"Tradition is always valuable, and a visual representation always outlasts the
stories."
"That is so." Yet Dainyl could not help but wonder what someone might read
into the mural in years to come.
"Lyterna is also called the Vault of the Ages--for many reasons." Asulet
turned, and a section of the wall silently swung back, revealing a passageway.
"Lead on, Submarshal."
Dainyl stepped through the oblong opening a yard and a half wide and three
high, followed by the older alector. Once the two had passed, the stones
closed behind them, silently, massive as they were, and the two walked in
dimness lit only by intermittent light-torches mounted on the walls.
Dainyl could feel grit under his boots. "Not a great deal of maintenance here
lately," he observed, still puzzling over what might lie ahead--and how it
related to his dispatch to Lyterna by the Highest.
"We do what we can. This section is a museum, open only to those with a need
to know. Museums, especially
those that are hidden, are seldom high in the allocating of resources."
At the end of a marble-walled passage--the stones there also without seams--the
two emerged in a vast hall. Dainyl glanced up at the smooth stone ceiling
twenty yards above.
The older alector cleared his throat, then spoke. "Each of these recesses
holds something of value, of one sort or another, frozen, in more ways than
one, through time. You should study each, and take your time in doing so. The
first you will recognize."
Dainyl turned his attention to the right wall, unadorned blue-tinged marble,
within which were set at regular intervals a series of recesses, each roughly
ten yards wide. Each recess was a yard deep and ended in a flat sheet of what
appeared to be blue crystal. The crystal rose ten yards, but the space between
the top of the crystal and the ceiling was empty.
Sensing the other's expectation, Dainyl moved forward until he stood before
the flat crystal. The crystal had looked far darker when he had been standing
back, but closer, it was almost clear, and but lightly shaded with the merest
hint of blue. Farther back in the solid blue crystalline mist, embedded within
it, was a shape--that of a pteridon, its blue leathery wings folded back, its
long cruel blue crystal beak slightly parted, as if it had just landed. The
blue crystal eyes also glittered and held that dark sentience common to all
pteridons. Set just below the thick neck and above the shoulders that anchored
the wings was the saddle of a Myrmidon.
"One of the first pteridons? How have you been able to preserve it? It looks
so lifelike."
"It is one of the first. It is as alive as any of those on Acorus."
"It's alive?"
"Very much so. The crystals beneath each recess interact with the lifefields
to suspend them. Very simple, but it took much work. They'll be the last
things to fail if it comes to that."
Dainyl bowed his head in respect. "My deepest apologies, Most Highest."
"I'm not a Highest. Never was. Just a biologist trying to get things to work
out... and they have." The older alector smiled. "Mostly, anyway."
"If you turned them off... ?"
"They would be ready to fly. It would take a few days to charge the lance."
Dainyl shook his head. He had certainly not expected this in Lyterna. "Are
these set aside for an emergency? Because no more can be created?"
"Exactly. Outside of Lyterna, the only alectors who know of them are the high
alectors and the Marshal and Submar-shal of Myrmidons."
"Are there any more?"
"Just these twenty. That should be more than enough."
Asulet moved farther back, passing the other recesses with pteridons. "Farther
along, past the pteridons, each recess holds something from the past, each
from farther back in time."
When Asulet finally stopped and gestured, Dainyl stepped forward until he once
more stood just short of the flat crystal. There, Dainyl studied the shambling
apelike figure, caught in midstride. "Was that what the indigens looked like
after the seedings?"
"That is one of the first indigens. I preserved him myself."
"Like the pteridons, if you turned the crystals off... ?"
"The poor thing would be frightened and try to run." Asulet sniffed. "Timid
sorts, really. Took years to breed in more aggressiveness. We needed that to
get the expansion and the ability to herd. Cattle, very important sources of
methane. They came from the aurochs, the cattle did."
"If... you turned the crystals off, could you turn them back on?"
"Oh, yes. Several times. Once or twice we have had to replace things. The
switches are Talent-hidden, on the right."
Dainyl extended his Talent and let it sweep over the hidden controls,
verifying what Asulet had said.
"Now here, this is what the grasslands looked like just before we released the
indigens."
Before looking at the next recess, Dainyl turned to the older alector. "How...
how did you ... could you ... ?"
"In essence, we mixed together the smallest components--parts of cells, if you
will--taken from ourselves, from samples of steers on Ifryn, and from one of
the life-forms existing here. We kept at it until it worked. It was hard on
us, and harder on the brood mothers."
"Brood mothers?"
"Ulasya was one of them. Those condemned on Ifyrn were allowed a second chance
here. For her services, she has every comfort Lyterna has to offer. She is a
server by choice. She says that she can meet people that way."
Dainyl turned his eyes on the next recess. The greenish grass was sparse, with
open patches of dirt and sand, and he could see a grass snake, clearly
stalking some rodent.
Slowly, he made his way down the line of preserved exhibits.
"This was what it looked like after the first three hundred years," explained
Asulet, gesturing to a scene that showed a snowy tundra with grayish flowers
protruding from an icy expanse. "That is a summer scene, by the way."
The last recess showed a pool surrounded by snow and ice, a faint hint of
steam rising from it. The only vegetation seemed to be lichens on the rocks
closest to the water.
"That was what it was like in full summer when we began."
Even with the crystal field, the chill seemed to reach out and sink into
Dainyl's very bones. He shivered.
"That was also close to the equator," added Asulet. "This world would never
have developed life, not our kind of life, without our efforts."
"I thought it did have life. What about the so-called ancients?"
"They were dying out back then. It was getting too cold for them, and there
wasn't enough lifeforce. They're no different from us, really. They need
lifeforces to exist, and they weren't getting enough. Their only city was
Dereka..."
"That was theirs?"
"We had to rebuild it, but it was abandoned before we ever made full-body
translations to Acorus."
"How ... If there wasn't intelligent life to build a Table?"
Asulet laughed, harshly. "Blind translations are possible. I know. The success
rate is less than five percent. It took five hundred to get the first forty of
us here, carrying what little we could, and there were only twenty alive when
we cobbled together the first receptor Table."
Dainyl turned and looked into Asulet's violet eyes, a violet so deep that it
was almost black. He couldn't imagine attempting that kind of blind
translation.
"I was brilliant--and arrogant, Submarshal. Much like you. I paid, and so will
you."
"I'm scarcely brilliant," Dainyl protested. "It has taken me more years than
most to become a submarshal."
Asulet laughed. "You may deceive Marshal Shastylt, because he is far more
arrogant than either of us, and the arrogant too often see what they wish to
see in their subordinates. You may even deceive Zelyert. You cannot deceive
me. I would venture to say that your progress has been slow because you do not
see things in quite the same fashion as most other alectors. It has also been
slow because you have recognized that quality within yourself, and it has made
you most cautious. Your shields are among the strongest I have seen, and you
show no sign of Talent. That is not possible. That can only mean great Talent,
and the ability to listen with both Talent and ears."
Dainyl managed to keep a pleasant smile upon his face. "You're most
complimentary, but I'm afraid you do me too much honor."
Asulet laughed easily once more. "I have little interest in who becomes the
Marshal of Myrmidons, or the High Alector of Justice. My interest is in seeing
Acorus blossom. It will not blossom if too much intellect and Talent, and too
much lifeforce, are spent in determining who rules. Already, we run close to
the ragged edge. Each time we move to a new world, a little more is lost. More
knowledge, more understanding, is lost because some of the brightest are lost,
one way or another. Once we could fashion the very cells of our being. Here,
we managed to mix together cells to create the life we needed, and that took
long years. I have tried to impart my knowledge to a score of those who have
come here to learn, and not one has learned all that I have to share. Always,
the question is how can that knowledge be used for power. And so, with each
transfer of the master scepter, there is more arrogance, more squandering of
lifeforce, and fewer alectors. It cannot continue, or we will not continue.
That is why I look for strong and cautious alectors. They can be far bolder
when necessary and seldom waste energies." Asulet paused. "Do you know why you
have seen this?" He gestured back toward the crystal recesses.
"I doubt I understand all of it, but you are suggesting that life has a much
more fragile hold on Acorus than most alectors imagine, and that the effort
taken to allow life is far greater than anyone can acknowledge, and has taken
far longer than we are told." "Exactly."
"How long?"                                                              m
"Almost five thousand years."                                      fl
"You... ?"                                          J|
Asulet laughed. "I did not live all those years. Many wersHj
spent in those recesses, once we set them up. We alternated for centuries,
tens of centuries."
Dainyl looked to the frozen recess, then back to the older alector. He could
sense the absolute truth of the other's words, and that chilled him more than
the cold of the preserved past.

75
,                By the second glass of the afternoon on
Londi, Fifteenth Company was set up behind a stone fence, and in the trees of
a woodlot a half vingt north of the main entrance to Khalmyn Estate--the home
of the eastern seltyr Sheludjyr. For the first day of spring, the day was
warm. The white sun cast shadows from the casaran trees to the west onto the
shoulder of the road, but was high enough that Mykel did not have to squint
when he looked westward.
Blocking the road was an overturned wagon with a Cad-mian uniform tunic lying
in the dirt beside a rifle. There were gouges and hoofprints in the road, and
the wagon was missing a wheel. The site was some two hundred yards to the
north of a gentle curve in the road just sharp enough that a rider could not
see the wagon until he had ridden to the end of the curved section.
From the trees, Mykel surveyed the scene. Then he looked at the stone fence
five yards in front of him, set several yards back from the shoulder of the
road. Second squad was deployed on foot, each man crouching close behind the
stones, concealed from those on the road.
Mykel glanced to the south. He could barely hear the sound of hoofs on the dry
road, the occasional murmur of voices of the oncoming companies of rebels.
While he was
certain he and his men were well concealed, for the ambush to be most
effective, the column of riders--one company of greencoats and one of
bluecoats--needed to get within , forty yards of the wagon. He'd debated about
the diversion, but had decided to use it, because, with the center of the road
blocked, the men riding into the ambush would be more likely to turn back or
bunch up around the wagon. He'd also placed more of fourth and fifth squads in
the trees in the middle of the curve, so that they would be in a position to
fire at any troopers turning and trying to flee.
Mykel continued to wait. Sweat oozed down his back. The sound of hoofs slowly
grew louder, as did the voices. Then the first outriders appeared, coming
around the last      , section of the curve. Neither seemed to notice the wagon
until they were only about a hundred yards from it.
"There's a wagon overturned!" called one.
Words were shouted back, but Mykel could not make them out.
Both riders continued toward the wagon, until they were less than thirty yards
from it. Then one reined in, and the other continued northward. He reined in
just short of the wagon.
"It's empty. Lost a wheel, looks like. Wait! There's a tunic here--and a
rifle." The outrider straightened in the saddle. "Someone left a rifle. Good
rifle, too."
By then, the first squad of the oncoming troopers was through the turn and on
the straight section of the road toward the wagon.
"Empty wagon and rifle!" the second outrider called back. "Wagon's missing a
wheel!"
Mykel waited, hoping that the column would keep moving forward.
The leading riders of the first squad had just passed Mykel when the captain
riding in the front ordered, "Column! Halt!" He rode forward toward the wagon.
As Mykel had planned, the front of the column slowed,
then stopped, while the later riders failed to hear the orders--or did not
react as quickly. The spacing between the squads of greencoats narrowed, then
vanished. Mykel couldn't tell what was happening farther back to the south,
but the seltyr's troopers were about as close as they were likely to get.
"Fire!" ordered Mykel, aiming at the captain in green near the front of the
column.
Crack! Crack! Crack!... The initial shots came from out of the trees, where
the other squads were arrayed, because they did not have to reveal themselves
to fire.
The green captain pitched forward in the saddle.
The next volley came from the stone fence and second squad.
"Return fire!" came a command from somewhere, but few of the riders on the
road heard it or heeded it immediately.
One squad leader repeated the order, and had his own rifle out. Mykel aimed
and fired, willing his shot home. The squad leader dropped. Mykel kept firing,
deliberately, dropping a man with almost every shot. Then he leaned back
behind the short-needled pine to reload.
Some of the greencoats bolted northward, but they had to slow to get around
the wagon. More were hit, some wounded in arms or legs, others slumping in
their saddles or toppling onto the road,
Mykel winced as one second squad trooper slumped over the wall. He turned and
fired on a group of greencoats that had formed into a rough line and were
firing at second squad. Three went down before the other three wheeled their
mounts and withdrew.
Within moments, the road was empty of mounted blue-coats and greencoats, with
only the wounded and dead and at least a half score of mounts milling around.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Mykel ordered.
He mounted the chestnut and moved out through one of the openings in the stone
wall. "Second squad, mount up!
First squad, round up the loose mounts!" Then he rode back southward toward
the curve in the road. He had to pick his way around the bodies. At a rough
count, there were probably close to sixty, all told.
"Fourth and fifth squads! Mount up and re-form! Gather the rifles and
ammunition. Leave their wounded."
He turned the chestnut back northward.
When he neared the wagon, he could see that Gendsyr's men had managed to get
control of more than a half score of the rebel mounts. Several of the second
squad rankers were strapping and tying the rifles they had covered to the
captured horses. Others had dragged the wagon clear of the road. Mykel looked
back, and saw that Bhoral and fourth and fifth squads were formed up and
riding northward toward Mykel.
"Squads one, two, and three, mount up! We need to get riding." While Mykel
doubted that the routed rebels would immediately return, he wanted to get
moving before they had a chance to regroup and return. If he had had a full
battalion at his command, he might well have pursued and captured or
eliminated the two rebel companies entirely.
Once Fifteenth Company was riding in good order northward, with both scouts
and outriders ahead, and after Mykel had gotten the casualty reports from the
squad leaders, he turned the chestnut and rode back to find Bhoral.
"Sir," acknowledged the senior squad leader, as Mykel   . eased his mount
beside him.
"We didn't do too badly," Mykel said. "Two dead, and two wounded."
Bhoral looked at Mykel. "Captain ... they didn't even know what happened."
"No." Mykel felt disturbed about that, but he didn't see that he had that much
choice.
"It won't be too long before they catch on."
"Probably not, but if we can take on two or three more companies this way, we
won't have to worry about being outnumbered." Equally important, from Mykel's
point of view, was his hope that the rebel squad leaders and rankers would
come to fear the Cadmians.

76
Dainyl stood in a stone-walled chamber. Two sets of double light-torches set
five yards apart in bronze brackets on each side wall provided all the
illumination. The only furnishing in the chamber was a black oak chest
slightly over a yard in height and set against the north wall, equidistant
between the light-torches. Nothing was rested on the chest's shimmering black
surface. The sole apparent entry and exit to the Table chamber was through a
square arch at the west end of the chamber. There was no door attached to the
archway, and a set of stone steps led upward from the chamber. In the center
of the chamber was a square stone pedestal that extended a yard above the
stone floor. The stone appeared black but did not reflect any illumination
from the light-torches. Each side of the tablelike pedestal was three yards in
length. The walls and ceiling were all of polished red-stone, and outside of
the light-torches, the stone pedestal, and the single chest, the chamber
contained no other furnishings or decorations.
Asulet gestured to the stone pedestal. "That is a Table. It does not look
terribly prepossessing, but used properly, it is a tool of immeasurable value.
Look at it closely, not only with your eyes but with your Talent."
Dainyl studied the stone pedestal, slowly, carefully. After
i moment, he realized that there was a purple glow suffus-ng the Table and
emanating from it.
"The Table is actually closer to a cube," Asulet added. "It attends well below
the floor."
"It's not solid, is it?"
The older alector smiled. "It is, and it isn't. The outer ayers are a form of
stone. The interior contains certain crystals in a matrix. Once placed and
linked to the grid, the natrix is extremely stable--unless one attempts to move
he Table. It could last for thousands of years, if not longer."
"And if someone tries to move it?"
"You wouldn't want to be anywhere near. The Table stores energy from every
use. This Table has been in use for a long time, although it doesn't get as
much use now as do the Tables in Elcien and Ludar."
"Would it explode?"
"With force enough to collapse the chamber." Asulet stepped toward the Table,
resting a hand on one edge. "Traveling on Acorus is just a local translation,
taking the tubes to go from one Table to another. Using the Tables or any
translation tube is all mental. It requires the use of Talent and mental
vision and positioning to go through the barriers and to find a locator
marking another Table, then to break out. Each Table has its own location
vector, and every alector sees the shape of the locators slightly differently.
Some see the locators as arrows, others as mathematical vector symbols, and
still others as triangles."
"What do I do?" asked Dainyl.
"You step onto the Table, and think about the blackness beneath. You should
feel yourself falling into darkness, as cold as anything you have ever felt.
Around you, your Talent should show you the various locator arrows. They
should seem nearer or farther away by their size, although that is not always
a good guide. That is why you should
know the color of the locator. Each Table has a different color. The Table
here in Lyterna is pink. The one in Elcien is white."
"Is there a map?"
"Somewhere, but it's better just to learn the colors."
"Could I go to Ifryn as well through the Table? By mistake?"
"You'd have to make that mistake on purpose. The long translation tunnels are
large purplish tubes, and they feel far away. You can't sense the locators on
Ifryn from here, just as alectors using the Tables on Ifryn cannot sense
ours." Asulet looked sternly at Dainyl. "No matter how experienced you may
become with the Tables here, there is always a risk to a long translation. It
is a risk not worth taking if you're already here on Acorus."
Dainyl understood the unspoken message. Ifryn was dying as too many alectors
and too many uses bled the world's lifeforce away, and what was the use of
risking his life to travel to a dying world?
"There is some risk the first time you use a Table," the older alector
admitted. "Once you master the technique, then there's virtually no risk to
travel to any of the other thirteen Tables on Acorus."
Dainyl wasn't certain he wanted to try the Table just yet. "What about using
the Table to see things?"
"That's a different technique, and you shouldn't try that until you've
mastered traveling."
"I've heard that a Table can't show anything created through Talent or anyone
who can use Talent. Is that true?"
"Generally speaking, yes. An experienced recorder can still often determine
what an alector with Talent is doing by watching the surroundings."
"What about seeing what has already happened?"
"Events fade. Insignificant events, those which do not
lpact the lifemass, are impossible to recall with a Table
Lthin glasses, certainly within a day. Others ... it depends

1 who is involved, where, when, and the ability of the
corder or whoever is using the Table. Never more than a
eek, I understand."
From what Dainyl could sense, Asulet was telling the nth as he knew it.
"Enough of that for now," said the older alector. "You sed to try the Table."
Dainyl looked at the Table, and the purple glow, visible nly through his
Talent, seemed almost ominous. "Is there aything else I should know? Where
should I go?" Asulet's istructions seemed sketchy at best.
"I can't tell you more, because a Table has to be experi-nced. Even if I
stepped onto the Table with you, the mo-lent we dropped into the dark and
cold, you'd be on your wn. It is a total solitary experience, and you either
mas-sr it on your own ... or you don't. You'll have to decide our own
destination. The easiest Table to translate to eems to be Tempre. Its locator
is a bright blue." Asulet miled. "Just step onto the Table and concentrate.
When rou get to Tempre, wait a while to warm up before you ;ome back."
The submarshal stepped up to the Table and brushed it with his fingers. The
surface was cool to the touch, but not xrid. Looked at from the side, there
was a mirrorlike finish to the surface. He bent over the Table, seeing his own
reflection.
Then he took a half step back, studying the Table once more before he half
stepped, half jumped, onto it. The surface felt as hard as stone, and there
was a chill that seeped through his boots, even though the Table had not been
cold to his touch.
Concentrate on the blackness. Asulet had said. Dainyl reached out with his
Talent to the Table, and below it, where
he sensed a well of darkness. He could feel it rising around him...
Dainyl found himself in turbulent river of purplish blackness, a darkness that
buffeted and battered him. Yet he was carried nowhere, much as he felt as
though he were caught in an underground river. Bitter chill penetrated every
span of his body, sweeping through his garments as if he wore nothing.
Instantly, he felt colder than he had in winter at Eastice. He could see
nothing. He tried to lift his arms, but they would not move.
Sluggishly, as if his thinking had been slowed by the chill, he remembered to
reach out with his Talent, to try to find the locators. After what felt like
glasses, he began to discern several narrow wedges, colored wedges. One
hovered above him, a bright pink-purple. Another wedge of bright blue seemed
closer than all the others except for the pink. Beyond, somewhere in the
blackness and chill, he could sense wedges of color--crimson-gold, amber,
brilliant yellow, green, gray... Beyond, in a sense he could not have
explained, stretched a deep and distant purple-black wedge. The sense of
distance was so overpowering that Dainyl felt almost nauseated.
What was he supposed to do? To concentrate on using his Talent to move himself
toward one of the wedges--the bright blue wedge.
He concentrated... trying to focus on the blue, so near, and yet not so close
as it seemed, seeking to bring himself to it, before the chill of wherever he
was slowed his thinking so much that he could no longer use his Talent.
He sensed no movement, nothing.
He had to do something before he ceased to exist, or turned into a brainless
wild translation--but what?
Could he link himself to that blue wedge that was Tem-pre? He attempted to
cast out a Talent-line, and a thin line of purple flowed from him, a line of
Talent-energy that con-
tected with the blue wedge. Abruptly, with a swift pulsation, lefelt himself
flowing through the chill darkness, hurtling oward the blue, a blue that
turned silver and shattered iround him.
Dainyl had to take two quick steps to get his balance be-x>re he caught
himself. Once more, he stood on a Table, Ms time in another windowless
chamber. His entire body shivered, much as he would have willed it otherwise,
and jven his legs quivered, feeling weak. Frost appeared on tiis uniform then
vanished, melting as quickly as it had appeared.
Dainyl eased himself off the Table. Unlike the Table chamber in Lyterna, the
chamber was empty. The single entrance was a narrow square arch, in which a
solid oak door was set--closed. There was not a single hanging on the walls,
formed of fitted stone, rather than carved out of the rock itself, nor a
single furnishing in the chamber.
Dainyl opened the door. Outside, stationed on each side of the arch, were two
alectors, both wearing the blue-and-gray Myrmidon uniforms. The Myrmidon
ranker on the right had his hand on the hilt of a lightning-edged short sword,
the weapon used for guard duty inside buildings. As his eyes took in the
uniform and the stars on Dainyl's collar, the Myrmidon relaxed. "Submarshal,
sir?"
"Just looking around," Dainyl replied. "This is Tempre, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir." Puzzlement appeared in the other's eyes.
"Good. Thank you." Dainyl closed the door behind him and walked into the
corridor, turning right, since he saw some sort of light in that direction.
Behind him, he could pick up the murmurs between the two.
"... said only the ones with stars, submarshal and marshal, and the high
alectors..."
"... what's behind the door..."
"... don't know, and Furtryl said I'd better never ask, and never look..."
Dainyl kept walking. After fifty yards, he came to a circular stone staircase.
Did he want to go up? He decided against it--Asulet was waiting--and walked back
to the Table chamber.
Neither guard said a word as he opened the door to the Table chamber and
closed it behind him.
He looked at the Table, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the black stone
surface, concentrating on the blackness below. As he dropped through the
Table, this time, he was aware of silverness spraying away from him.
Again, the chill purple blackness enfolded him, but this time, he was already
focusing on finding a pink-purple wedge. He fumbled for a moment before
Talent-linking to the pinkish wedge. Silver sprayed away from him...
He stood on the Table at Lyterna.
Asulet smiled. "Congratulations, Submarshal. You are now qualified to be
considered as a High Alector."
Dainyl stepped off the Table. That made sense in a way. "At least, the Highest
and Marshal Shastylt won't have to look for another submarshal."
"Not until you become marshal; then it will be your problem."
That was likely to be many, many years away--if ever. Dainyl still recalled all
too vividly what had happened to Tyanylt--and how no one had ever mentioned his
name again, even to Lystrana, once he had crossed the marshal and the Highest.

77
On Duadi, Mykel had sent out the scouts but given the rest of Fifteenth
Company a day of badly needed and well-deserved rest. Then he had headed off
to see Dohark.
The overcaptain was standing in the study that wasn't his, rather than pacing,
and he still had dark circles under his eyes. "You might as well come in,
Mykel."
Mykel closed the study door behind him.
Dohark sat behind the desk and waited for Mykel to seat himself. He did not
speak.
"What have you heard?" asked the captain.
"I've heard that I have a captain who's managed to slaughter between one and
three entire companies of rebels, and who has probably shot half of them
himself."
While Mykel felt he'd shot and killed all too many rebels, the number couldn't
have been that high. "I've shot a few. Most rankers in Fifteenth Company
have."
"How long can you keep it up?" From his tone of voice, Dohark might have been
asking about what was being served in the officers' mess.
"For as long as they don't know how to use scouts and don't trust each other."
Mykel paused. "Is there any word on when the colonel will return back? Or on
reinforcements?"
Dohark shook his head.
"Do you think that we've been left here to rot on the vine, sir?"
"I don't think so. I don't have any delusions about the warmth of the
Myrmidons and the alectors, but I can't see any benefit to them jn abandoning
us." A wry smile ap-
peared. "Waiting until we're in great difficulty before pulling us out... I
can see that as a way of reminding everyone of our dependence on the power of
the alectors."
Mykel could see that as well. He just didn't like the implications for Third
Battalion--especially for Fifteenth Company.
"What new idea do you have for keeping us less dependent on them?" asked
Dohark.
"Can you get me several barrels of gunpowder?" asked Mykel. "And a length of
good fuse, and two or three kegs of nails? Big nails."
Dohark looked across the desk at the captain. "How are you going to manage
that, without blowing up your own company? What happens when the locals decide
to reciprocate? Or the Myrmidons show up again? They're not exactly fond of
large explosive devices."
"I've heard words about that, but I've never seen anything."
"You won't. It's not written anywhere. I was a ranker for longer than most
officers," Dohark said. "I'd been with Ninth Company a year, maybe two, when
we were sent east to deal with a bunch of Squawts in the hills around Dekhron.
They'd built a redoubt on a hilltop, walls a good three yards thick, and at
least four high. Had a well or a spring there, and enough food for years.
Stone roof as well. Firelances didn't do any good."
Mykel nodded. Solid stone would stop a skylance.
"We had a captain. Bright man. You remind me of him. He didn't like us getting
picked off one at a time. He suggested that maybe we ought to leave the
Squawts alone. Majer Bryten said no--we had orders to take the place, even if
it meant killing half the battalion. He was like Majer Vaclyn. The captain did
pretty much what you were thinking about. Did it himself. Sneaked up the hill
on the darkest night and climbed up the stones where the Squawts couldn't see
him. He lowered the barrel of powder somewhere, lit
the fuse, and made off. Blew a big hole in the redoubt. We attacked, and the
Squawts surrendered."
"What he did worked," Mykel said. "Then what happened?"
"He was recalled to Elcien. Told to ride there immediately the next morning.
He never made it. One of the Myrmidons thought he was a Squawt--fried him to a
cinder. Terrible mistake." Dohark paused. "The word is that anytime someone
starts using gunpowder for anything besides rifles, there's a terrible
mistake."
Mykel could not only sense the truth of Dohark's words, but the concern behind
them. He also realized he'd never heard or seen gunpowder used for anything
except rifles or work in the mines. "I'd better think of something else."
"I worry about you, Mykel. All you've been doing is thinking of ways to kill
people."
"Isn't that what we were sent here to do?" Mykel heard the tiredness in his
own voice.
"You seem to like it."
Mykel could feel his face stiffen. "Sir, I don't like it. I never have. I'm
getting good at it, but that's only because the choices don't seem to be very
great. If Fifteenth Company can't strike first and harder, then Third
Battalion loses more men."
"Frigging tough problem, isn't it?" Dohark laughed, a sound both harsh and
soft. "Do you have any other ideas?"
"I'll have to think about them, after the scouts get back."
"Maybe the lady seltyr can give you some ideas. She seems to talk to you. She
won't say a word to me, or Majer Herryf. She wouldn't even say anything to
Colonel Dainyl. Do you know why she talks to you?"
"No," admitted Mykel. "She doesn't say much. I'm fortunate if I can get her to
say more than a few sentences."
"That's more than she'll say to anyone else." Dohark
stood. "Do you still think you can operate effectively against the seltyrs?"
"For now." Mykel rose as well.
"Don't push it. There'll be a time when you can't. Just ride away when that
happens."
"I will." Mykel had no desire for a so-called glorious death in the face of
impossible odds. He'd tried not to roll the bones except when the odds favored
him. That wouldn't change.
"See that you do. We need you."
Mykel inclined his head, then left the study. He appreciated Dohark's warning
about the gunpowder, and the fact that the overcaptain had explained, rather
than just dismissing the idea, as Majer Vaclyn would most likely have done.
Once outside the headquarters building, Mykel had to squint for a moment while
his eyes adjusted to the bright morning sunlight. A light wind blew out of the
south as he walked across the courtyard toward the structure holding the
officer's cell--and Rachyla. The air was far warmer than it had been, giving
the compound the feel of early summer in Elcien. Mykel had no desire to remain
in Dra-mur for the long hot summer that was sure to come.
Even before he reached the cell, one of the guards was watching him. Mykel
stopped in the shade cast by the overhanging balcony and blotted the dampness
off his forehead.
"Sir?" asked the guard.
"Overcaptain Dohark sent me. If you want to check--"
"No, sir. He already told us that you were in charge of questioning the
woman."
Mykel suppressed a smile. He owed Dohark for that. He wasn't sure what he owed
the overcaptain--a thank-you or a practical joke, or both.
Rachyla did not even look at Mykel until the guards closed and locked the
door. She said nothing. In turn, for several moments, he just looked at her.
"Your splinter wound has healed," she finally said.
"Yes." He waited, still standing a good two yards from her.
After a moment, she asked, "Why are you here? Again?"
"Because I want to be, because the overcaptain asked me, because..." He
shrugged.
"You are losing?"
Mykel shook his head. "Not so far. It might be easier if Fifteenth Company
were."
"Do not ask me for sympathy, Captain."
"I'm not." He paused. "More than a week ago--it seems longer--we were attacked
by bluecoats at the mine. Some prisoners tried to escape. The bluecoats
stopped shooting at us long enough to shoot down all the prisoners. Why?"
"A slave or a prisoner can never be allowed to be free again. That is the law
of the seltyrs."
"What about you?"
"I will not be freed. When my usefulness is over, I will be killed."
"That's why you talk to me?"
"I must talk to someone, or I will have no usefulness. You are honest. You are
as sharp and as direct as a dagger of the ancients, and with that edge you
will likely cut your own throat."
                                     !
"As sharp and as direct as a dagger of the ancients? What does that mean?"
Rachyla looked hard at him. "You are a dagger of the ancients, Captain. That
is a curse and a prophecy, but the daggers are real. I have only seen one. It
was my grandfather's. He gave it to his worst enemy. Where it is now, who can
say?"
Mykel couldn't help but wonder if the dagger concealed        i in his belt was
the same one. He doubted it, because he couldn't imagine a seltyr stooping to
have a chandler as his worst enemy, but one never knew. "Don't you think the
seltyrs are cutting their own throats?"
Rachyla shrugged. "Do they have any choice? Do you?
Do I? Only the stupid talk of choices. Wisdom is.when you see that there are
no true choices."
"You don't believe that we have choices?"
A laugh filled the cell, that same ironic and melodic laugh that he tried to
recall once he had left her--and never could. Mykel waited, hoping she would
say more.
"We have choices, Captain. We have one true choice at any one time. The rest
are but illusions."
"The illusion of choice," he said softly.
"You understand. You wish you did not, but you do."
"So I am fated to kill hundreds of men whose only fault is that they follow an
unwise seltyr, and that seltyr is fated to fail because he sees no other
choice?"
"Not if he would remain a seltyr," Rachyla replied.
"You're saying that the Myrmidons are using the Cadmi-ans to destroy the
seltyrs."
"Are you not? My father is dead. How long before the others are dead--or wish
that they were?"
Mykel didn't have an answer for that, not an honest one. "What of you?"
"I told you. Unless someone makes a foolish choice, I will die."
"Then why don't you just give up?" Mykel managed not to snap the words out.
A sardonic smile crossed her lips. "Because, Captain, there are enough men who
make foolish choices that I see no point in seeking death. Death comes to all,
sooner or later, but I would rather not hasten it. Besides, it is amusing to
see you try to avoid your fate."
"What is my fate?"
For the first time, her face showed just a touch of indecision, but that
indecision vanished even as he read it in her green eyes. "You will be
tormented by the One Who Is until you no longer know what you believe or whom
to trust-- and that is but the beginning." Abruptly, she turned away.
"So... what do you suggest, Lady Rachyla?"
She didjiot turn or respond.
She would not. That he could tell, and he bowed, even though she could not see
the gesture. "Good day, Lady. Until the next time."
He rapped on the door, and waited until it opened.
Once he was outside, the guards looked at him.
Mykel shook his head.
"Seems to go that way, sir."
"Still... each time, I learn a little more." Mykel wasn't about to reveal all
that he learned, and some of what he learned didn't seem applicable. Not yet.
As he crossed the courtyard, he hoped that the reports from the scouts would
offer some ideas on what he could do with Fifteenth Company. Rachyla hadn't
been helpful there, except to reinforce his feeling that the seltyrs weren't
about to surrender or submit--just as she would not.

78
Dainyl had felt exhausted after his two
Table trips on Duadi, brief as they had seemed, and had gone back to his guest
quarters in Lyterna to rest.
At the evening meal, Asulet had reassured him, "The first trips are tiring.
With each translation, it gets easier. You'll hardly notice it when you go
back to Elcien tomorrow."
"No more secrets?" Dainyl had asked, with a smile.
"There are always more secrets," Asulet had replied with a laugh, "but those
you don't know won't help you until you master what you've just learned."
That had been the end of the information, as Asulet had asked about the latest
music from Ifryn, and about the weather in various places where Dainyl had
recently been.
I
He politely refused to answer any questions that dealt with substance.
Early on Tridi morning, wearing his flying jacket and gloves, Dainyl had
stepped onto the Table in the chamber in Lyterna, his saddlebags over one
shoulder. He concentrated ... and felt himself dropping through the silver
barrier...
... into the chill blackness. He extended his Talent, seeking out the
brilliant white wedge at Elcien. With his Talent-link, he rushed through the
darkness, yet without a real sense of motion, toward another silver barrier,
one limned in white. White silver sprayed from him ...
He stood on another Table. For a moment, he shivered. The jacket and gloves
had not helped against the cold blackness between Tables. The Table was
identical to the others he had used, or so it seemed. The walls of the Table
chamber were of white marble, and the floor of green. He stepped off the Table
and walked to the heavy white oak door: He opened it and stepped into a small
foyer, with a second door. The second door had a Talent-lock, and it took a
moment for Dainyl to release it.
After he stepped into the familiar lower-level corridor in the Hall of
Justice, he replaced the Talent-lock and walked toward the Highest's study.
Even before he reached it, he could tell it was empty. He made his way to one
of the other smaller chambers, one where the door was ajar.
An assistant who vaguely resembled Kylana, Dainyl thought, looked up.
"Submarshal? Can I help you?"
"The Highest?"
"Sir... he and Marshal Shastylt are in Ludar today. He hoped to return this
evening."
"Oh. I've been traveling. If you would tell the Highest that I've returned."
"Yes, sir. I'll make certain he knows."
"Thank you." With a nod, Dainyl turned and made his
'ay to and up the hidden staircase, out through the Talent-oncealed stone
doorway, and through the Hall of Justice, (utside, the fat and chill flakes of
a spring snowstorm elted him.
It took almost a quarter glass before a hacker and car-iage drove by the Hall.
It took less time than he had waited 3 get him back to Myrmidon headquarters,
since there was            I
io reason to go to his house, not when Lystrana would not ie there for
glasses. The interior of headquarters was wel-omingly warm as Dainyl stepped
inside, still carrying his ;ear.
"Welcome back, sir," offered Undercaptain Chelysta, landing by the duty desk.
"Thank you." Dainyl smiled, gesturing toward the win-low from where the duty
officer could see the flight stage. 'Fourth squad has the duty? Is anyone
flying?"
"Viosyna lifted off on the dispatch run to Ludar before he snow came in. I
told her to hold there until she was sure he storm had blown through."
                                            j
"Good. What else has gone wrong while I've been away?"
"You mean outside of the mess in Iron Stem, the missing skylances in Dereka,
the wild Talent in Hyalt, the rebellion in Dramur, the furor in Coren, the
floods in Catyr, or the missing pteridon and Cadmians on the North Road?"
Dainyl managed to offer an ironic smile. "Let's start with the missing
pteridon and Cadmians. Does this have anything to do with the Cadmian
relocation from Scien to Norda?"
"Yes, sir. An entire company of Cadmians vanished riding south to Norda. An
unseasonal blizzard hit, and there's no sign of them anywhere. Third Company
in Alustre sent two pteridons to Pystra to see if they could find the
Cadmians. One pteridon is missing."
"Missing? How could a pteridon be missing?" Sometimes a rider had a mishap,
and the pteridon returned with-
out the flier, but there was no record of a pteridon and rider vanishing. Not
in recent years, at least. "Could they have landed somewhere to wait out a
storm?"
"We don't know," replied Chelysta. "It's never happened before. We heard on
Londi, and they had been missing for a week. The report's on your desk."
"What about Iron Stem?"
"The mines are open, but third squad has been patrolling there..."
"What about the skylances? Are more of them missing?"
"One more. No one knows how it happened."
Considering then-Majer Dhenyr hadn't known how the first disappearances had
occurred, that there was nothing new on the second wasn't exactly surprising.
"Hyalt?"
"Yuasult lost Synetra to the Talent-wielder, but they flamed him down,
finally. Everything's under control there."
"Coren?".
"The marshal's been handling that, and he hasn't said anything, sir."
"What about the floods?"
"Catyr. That was another case where the locals logged a section of the lower
mountains, in a place where we don't usually overfly. They had warm rains, and
some of the hillside slid across the river. Then there was more rain, and a
big lake built up behind the mud--"
"The mud gave way, and all that water washed downstream and flooded the town?"
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl almost wished he hadn't asked. "Are Quelyt and Falyna around?"
"Quelyt has the day off. He did a long message run to Salcer and back
yesterday. Falyna was out in the squares a while ago."
"I'd appreciate it if they weren't sent on any more runs without first
checking with me."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl headed to his study. As he had feared, there were eports stacked on his
desk, but as he read through them, it was clear that they added only a few
details to what he had already known or to what Undercaptain Chelysta had told
dim. There were no reports from Dramur, but then, there was no way for there
to be any. There were no Myrmidons there. Dainyl had no doubts that the
situation had gotten worse. It couldn't have developed any other way.
He sat back in his chair. Over the winter and the first days of spring,
everything had gotten worse. He couldn't recall as many problems hitting at
once. He also didn't believe in coincidence, but he couldn't see a common
cause--except in the cases of Dramur, Catyr, and Coren, where one consistent
factor was lander greed, tied to a lack of understanding about the fragility
of the world's lifemass.
It wasn't that the schools didn't teach about natural balance; it wasn't that
the landers and indigens hadn't been told that mature forests were better for
the world. It was that lifeforce couldn't be measured except through Talent,
and steers didn't have any. So, without a way to see the truth with their own
eyes or senses, when golds were involved, steers just let those teachings fall
away--unless the alectors stepped in with skylances or sent in a Cadmian
battalion.
Yet, there was more at work than golds. He still had no idea why he was being
kept, so indirectly and yet so obviously, from heading back to Dramur. It
seemed clear enough that the marshal and the Highest wanted things to go wrong
there, but Dainyl still couldn't figure out why. Was it to weaken the
Cadmians? Or because they disliked the culture being built up by the seltyrs
and needed an excuse to destroy it, in a way that would be seen as justifiable
by landers outside of Dramur? The latter was certainly possible. From what
he'd seen, he didn't care much for the way the seltyrs controlled the island.
That possibility was some-
thing he could broach, at least in a veiled way, with the marshal.
He went back to studying the reports, then reviewing the accounts, a task he
would be more than happy to turn over to his successor, whenever Dhenyr
reached headquarters.
The marshal arrived in the duty coach right after the fourth glass of the
afternoon, presumably after having used the Table at the Hall of Justice to
return to Elcien. He stopped at Dainyl's door. "If you have a moment,
Submarshal?"
Dainyl stood immediately. He not only had the moments, but wanted to hear what
Shastylt had to say. He'd hoped the marshal wouldn't be too long in returning,
because he was looking forward to seeing Lystrana, and not late in the
evening.
Dainyl followed the marshal, closing the door to the marshal's study. He
waited for the senior alector to seat himself before settling into one of the
straight-backed chairs.
Shastylt looked tired, one of the few times that Dainyl had seen him that way,
with redness around the edges of his eyes and a sense of lagging lifeforce.
His left eye twitched several times. "How was Lyterna, Dainyl?"
"Most interesting. Asulet clarified a number of things."
"He has that habit." Shastylt's tone was dry. "I assume you've read all the
reports?"
"Yes, sir. I also talked to the duty officer to see if anything new had
happened."
"Is there? I would hope not. Enough has gone awry in the past few weeks
without something else."
"I didn't see a report on the floods in Catyr. Everything else was covered."
"Catyr is another example of lander stupidity and greed. It just came at a bad
time, but it's manageable."
"I don't like the report that we lost a pteridon," Dainyl said bluntly. "We've
never lost one, to my knowledge."
"In the early days, we lost a few to the ancients."
"Is that possible? Now?"
Shastylt took a long and slow breath. "The North Road is le northernmost high
road in Corus, and the coldest. The ncients have always preferred cold and the
north. There re occasional sightings, still. It is possible." "What else could
it be?"
"The Highest does not know of anything else, but one /ay or another, it is
worrisome. I sent a message to Asulet sking for his thoughts. He said that was
the most likely lossibility." Shastylt looked across the wide desk, a desk hat
held neither reports nor papers, and steepled his long ingers together. His
eyes looked at Dainyl without really eeing the submarshal. "I'd like you to
brief Colonel Dhenyr when he arrives the day after tomorrow. I'm going o be
tied up with the Highest, and with the Duarches' Council. They're asking
questions about the problems in ron Stem and Hyalt, and now the High Alector
of Trade is claiming that the way we handled Coren has created trade jroblems
that will affect lifeforce adversely."
"From what I have read in the reports," Dainyl replied, 'what was happening
there before the Myrmidons got involved was having an even larger negative
impact on life-force. You don't let people chop down older-growth forests
without some significant impact."
"Exactly. Unhappily, the High Alector of Trade seems to feel that we should be
overflying every old-growth forest in Corus."
Even without calculating, Dainyl knew that sort of overflying would have taken
every moment of the year for the hundred-and-eighty-odd pteridons of the
Myrmidons, not to mention what the drain on the world lifeforce would have
been.
"What about the situation in Dramur?" asked Dainyl. "It will have been several
weeks by the time I return, even if I leave first thing on Sexdi. With all
that is happening here, it might be best if I returned there to see if I could
wind mat-
ters up there. That way, I could return here, and help deal with some of the
other problems. Several of them look to be even longer-running than Dramur...
and more serious."
Shastylt nodded. "The Highest and I talked that over earlier today. That might
be best."
"What do you think about the seltyrs and the growers on Dramur?" Dainyl asked.
The marshal shrugged, then gave a half smile. "Like most landers, their
concern is for golds and comfort. They are more ruthless than most in power,
but that is because Dramur is an island, and other landers cannot easily
challenge them." He raised his eyebrows. "You think that they should be
replaced?"
"I had not made plans in such a direction, but I have thought about what might
happen if they had taken matters into their own hands in my absence."
"You should follow what you think, Dainyl. Dramur needs to be settled quickly,
now. Since there is an ancient tunnel there, also, you might take care to
avoid it... in view of what may have happened at Scien."
Dainyl caught the word "now" and kept his face pleasantly interested, as well
as maintaining a tight Talent-hold over his feelings. "I will be most careful.
I'll leave first thing on Sexdi... after I've briefed the colonel on Quinti.
In the meantime, is there anything else you'd like me to handle?"
Shastylt tilted his head before speaking. It was a pose. "Not at the moment.
You may have to brief the Highest and the Duarches on the situation in Dramur
once you have resolved it."
'Then, by your leave? You are doubtless rather pressed..."
The marshal laughed once, a sound not quite humorous, and forced. "Pressed is
a very good way of saying it. If I'm not summoned again, we'll talk tomorrow
about what I'd like you to emphasize when you brief Dhenyr. You might give
that some thought."
Dainyl closed the study door firmly but quietly on his way out.
He'd definitely gotten the impression that whatever the marshal and the
Highest had planned in Dramur had not gone at all the way that they had
anticipated. Now he'd be stuck cleaning it up, and it was likely to be messy
and bloody, because they'd practically forced it to get out of hand. He just
wished he knew why.

79
Lystrana was waiting in the foyer of their dwelling when Dainyl stepped
through the doorway and out of the snow flurries that had come and gone all
day. The warmth of her smile erased--for those moments--the concerns that had
preoccupied him most of the day. He moved toward her, but she was faster, and
had her arms around him before he could set down his gear.
"I'm so glad you're back safely," she murmured in his ear, still holding him
tightly.
"Did you ever doubt it?"
"Not from you ... but there are stories about those who never leave Lyterna,"
Lystrana admitted, easing back.
"I met some of them." Dainyl shook his head sadly. 'They do the menial work
there. They're prisoners in all but name. They have to be the ones who can't
use the Table, though."
"That means they were born here."
"Or thrown through the long translation tubes blind. That was also done."
Lystrana's face froze for an instant. "It was?"
Dainyl nodded. "I learned a great deal while I was there."
"You can tell me later." Her head inclined toward the
kitchen. "Sentya will have supper ready before long. We can settle at the
table and talk about other things."
"I'll take my gear upstairs and be right back." He gave her another hug,
brushing her smooth alabaster cheek with his lips, then stepped back and
hurried up the stairs.
It took him but a few moments to hang up his clothing and set his spare boots
on their rack. Everything he brought back was clean, thanks to the very
industrious menials of Lyterna.
A glass of amber wine stood at his place at the table, with one before
Lystrana as well. Once he had seated himself across from her, she lifted the
purple-tinged crystal. He lifted his as well. There was the faintest ringing
cling as the goblets touched.
"To your safe return." Her smiling face glowed.
"To all safe returns." He was smiling as broadly as she was. He took a sip of
the wine, savoring it. "What is this?"
"It's something from Syan. Zestafyn recommended it, and I had Zistele buy some
for us. How was the flight out?"
"The weather was clear and cold, but we didn't run into any storms. I'd
forgotten just how wide the grasslands are. It's almost six hundred vingts
from the west side of the Lower Spine Mountains to Lyterna..." Dainyl went on
to describe what he had seen on the flight, and the view of the Vault in the
late afternoon.
"Alector... alectress ..." murmured Sentya, standing by the table with two
bowls of steaming oarfish chowder.
"Oh ... I'm sorry, Sentya," Dainyl said. "I didn't see you there."
"Sir, I liked hearing what you saw."
Dainyl caught a touch of wistfulness in her voice. It reminded him how
fortunate he was to be able to fly and to see so much of the world. "That may
be," he replied with a laugh, "but I wouldn't want your arms to fall asleep
while I kept talking."
The older serving girl slipped a bowl before Lystrana, then the other before
Dainyl.
"Thank you, Sentya," said Lystraria.
After the day's chill, the chowder was more than welcome, and neither spoke
for a time.
"What's happened at the palace?" Dainyl finally asked.
"Very little in our area. We've had to transfer additional funds to Alustre
and to some of the regional centers with problems."
'Things like the floods in Catyr?"
Lystrana nodded. "We can't pay for the reconstruction costs. The locals will
have to do that, but we'll have to send in a supervisor to make sure that they
don't cut corners, and that they do the necessary reforestation. Even so, that
puts us farther behind in growing lifeforce mass."
"The locals won't like bearing the costs."
"They never do." Lystrana took a sip of the wine. "They cause the problem
because they want golds, and they never think of what other difficulties
they're causing. Then they complain when we insist that they remedy things.
They think that you can keep abusing the world, as if there were no costs at
all."
Zistele appeared and removed the empty bowls, and Sentya reappeared with two
platters. One held cheriaf, pasta tubes filled with a mixture of minced beef,
cheese, spices, particularly mint, and covered with a golden white sauce. The
second platter held deep-poached onions.
Dainyl nodded to his wife, then served himself after she had. "It's good to be
home."
"How long can you stay?"
"I have to leave on Sexdi morning. The situation in Dra-muria is probably
worse. We don't have any reports, but I don't see how it could have improved."
He took a bite of the cheriaf, savoring it. He supposed he should eat the
onions, but he couldn't say that he looked forward to them with as much relish
as he had the cheriaf.
"That seems to be the case all over Corus."
"You don't think it's coincidence?"
"I admit to some doubt," replied Lystrana.
"That makes two of us."
They shared a smile.
"Do you think that the snow will affect the apple tree in back?" asked
Lystrana.
"It hasn't flowered yet..."
After that, they said little beyond pleasantries while they ate.
After they finished, Lystrana stood. "Let's go to the sitting room. It's more
comfortable." She walked to the sideboard, where she poured two small snifters
of the golden brandy. She handed one to Dainyl and seated herself in one of
the corner chairs, holding her snifter so level that the brandy barely moved.
Dainyl doubted he could do that, and set his brandy on the side table before
sitting. "You think the weather will turn springlike before long?"
"About the time you leave." A mischievous smile appeared on her face.
Once the girls had finished clearing the dinner and retired to their quarters
for the evening, Lystrana looked at her husband. "I'd like to hear about
Lyterna."
"I'm not certain where to begin." Dainyl took a sip of the golden brandy.
"Asulet met me. I never really talked to anyone else, except in passing or in
trivialities. He is the High Alector of Life-form Creation, in practical
terms, even if he doesn't have the title ..." Dainyl went on to explain all
that had happened, and all that Asulet had conveyed to him. "... he as much as
warned me not to trust High Alector Zelyert."
"You've known that all along."
"Zelyert and the marshal have an agenda, and Dramur is tied into it. I'd
thought it was mostly Dramur, but I'm getting the feeling that is only a
portion of it."
"Do you think the Highest wants to be Duarch?"
"No. I think he wants to control the Duarches, but it's not just about power.
At least, I don't think so, but that could be because I'd like to ascribe
higher motives to them."
"You're the number two officer in the Myrmidons, and you still have ideals."
At her sardonic tone, Dainyl laughed, but his laugh faded as he thought about
Asulet.
"You have that look, the thoughtful one."
"I was thinking about Asulet. There was a sadness behind his words. One thing
he said truly disturbed me, after I had a chance to think about it. He said
that we had lost so much, that once his predecessors could mold the very cells
of the body, but that he and the others working to build lifemass here on
Acorus had been forced into combining and modifying cells."
Lystrana nodded.
"You don't seem surprised," Dainyl said.
"I hadn't thought of it that way, but it makes sense. The archives reference
the numbers of alectors on Aciafra--"
"The world before Ifryn?"
'Two before Ifryn. There was Aciafra, then Inefra, then Ifryn," Lystrana
explained. "When I first saw it, I thought someone had made an error in
transcription. The reference was to more than twenty thousand alectors who
would need to be translated."
"Twenty thousand?"
"Slightly less than ten thousand made the translation to Inefra, and somewhere
around seven thousand made the translation to Ifryn."
"If we've lost that many alectors to translation..." mused Dainyl.
"More likely both through translations and between translation. We have to
have lost knowledge. Only a few volumes can be carried by each alector who
makes the translation."
"There's something very wrong here," protested Dainyl. "If we're losing so
many alectors, and so much knowledge, why are we restricting the number of
children we have?"
"Did you know that there aren't any illustrations or descriptions of Aciafra?
Or even of Inefra? Not one. I've always wanted to ask why, but there's never
been anyone I trusted to ask."
Dainyl caught the amused and intellectual expression in her eyes. "What else?"
"There was a reference to a mortality table. Just one. I couldn't find the
table or the data, or any other references to it."
"Mortality table? But that suggests that alectors died, that many died ..."
"Exactly. We don't die often now, but that takes more lifeforce..."
Dainyl took another sip of the golden brandy, thinking. "We're each taking far
more lifeforce. Is that just to extend our lives or because we're more and
more removed from wherever we started?"
"I don't know. It could be, but I don't think so. I think it's also about
power and comfort. Do we really need all the things that drain lifeforce? The
eternastone highways and buildings? The pteridons? The personal shields used
by those with Talent?"
"They all help increase lifefosee," he pointed out. "I saw what Acorus was
once like, and Asulet wasn't lying about that. Without what he and the early
life-formers did, Acorus would be cold and dying, if not dead."
"We could talk about this until it rains on the Dry Coast, or until indigens
obtain Talent. Is there anything we can do about it tonight?"
Dainyl took another sip of the brandy. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't
even know what I could do tomorrow or next week, except to straighten out the
mess in Dramur--if
I even can. There's certainly no one I can talk to about it, except you."
"Then," said Lystrana as she set down her brandy. "We'll have to think about
it. Later. Much later."
Dainyl left his brandy on the table and stood, extending his hands to his
wife.

80
The Fifteenth Company scouts Mykel had
sent out on Duadi had discovered a disturbing pattern. Most of the western
seltyrs had withdrawn from the area around Dramuria and appeared to be
consolidating their forces to the north. One of the few still-isolated forces
was the one bluecoat company at Weslyn Estate to the southwest of Dramuria.
Mykel would have liked to pursue that company on Tridi, before it could rejoin
the others, but Bhoral had advised against it, suggesting both men and mounts
needed another day of rest. So Mykel had persuaded Dohark to send Fourteenth
Company scouts out on Tridi. Those scouts had ridden back late in the
afternoon, reporting that the bluecoats had set up a more or less permanent
camp at the estate. Mykel decided Fifteenth Company could ride to the area the
next day and find some way to ambush or otherwise catch the bluecoats unaware.
Fifteenth Company rode out through the west gates at dawn on Quattri morning.
Mykel had drawn field rations for his men, rather than wait for the mess cooks
and the later meal. Although there was a brisk wind out of the northeast at
his back, he could see no clouds and no other sign of rain to come.
Should he really be trying to pick off another seltyr com-
pany? Yet, what else could he do? Sit with the other companies in the compound
and wait for an attack? Or wait and do nothing as the seltyrs took over all of
Dramur? The other four companies could certainly defend the walled compound
against anything the seltyrs could mount--and it was unlikely that an attack
would come soon, in any event since many of the bluecoats were more than a
day's ride away.
Still... as he led Fifteenth Company south through Dra-muria, Mykel worried.
As early as they passed through the town, there were folk out and about, but
not many, and the streets were mostly empty and quiet. Of those who were on
the streets, all seemed to avoid looking at the Cadmians. That was another
aspect of Dramur Mykel didn't understand. Even after only a season or so, it
was clear to him that only the Cadmian presence had kept the seltyrs from
taking over Dramuria. The guano mine and trade kept Dramuria alive and
independent of the seltyrs, and the Cadmians kept the trade and the mine from
being controlled by the seltyrs. Yet the people of Dramuria didn't seem to
care much for the Cadmians.
On the southwest side of Dramuria, there were more people out, many of them
working on the shallow irrigation ditches that ran through both the few fields
and the many casaran orchards. Others were hoeing up various weeds from both
the orchards and the fields.
A glass and a half after riding out, the company stopped for a ration and
water break, in an area shaded by one of the ever-present casaran orchards. By
a glass past noon, Fifteenth Company was less than three vingts from Weslyn
Estate, beside a woodlot with a small stream, and Mykel had called a halt for
another ration and water break, then sent out the scouts to see what, if
anything, had changed at the seltyr's estate.
Mykel had dismounted and watered the chestnut and stood beside his mount in
the shade. Even in early spring the sun in Dramur was warm. All he could do,
for the mo-
ment, was wait for the scouts, try to think up alternate tactics ... and
worry.
"You think the bluecoats'll still be there?" asked Bhoral.
"I don't know. They should have moved out days ago, but they were there
yesterday."
"What do you have in mind, sir?"
"There are hills to the northwest, and the orchards run up and over the hills.
The trees are planted in rows up the hillside. We'll ride down those rows. We
can get within a third of a vingt of where the bluecoats are set up without
being seen."
"Like that other estate?"
"Mostly." That bothered Mykel as well. If Bhoral could tell what he was going
to do, so could the seltyr's officers.
Dhozynt was the first scout to return, less than half a glass later. His
report was brief. "Nothing to the east of the place, sir. No tracks on the
road."
"Nothing at all headed toward us?"
"No, sir."
"What about the estate?"
"There's a gate with two guards in green. From where I was, I couldn't tell
much more. That whole side is those nut trees. Can't see the buildings from
there, and the road's so open that I couldn't cross it without them seeing
me."
The second scout back was Gerant, and his report was similar. "No sign of
anything on the south lanes, sir. Not a track."
Sendyl followed Gerant. "They've been doing maneuvers and training on the
fields to the north of the villa and grounds. Not today. No dust in the air.
Not a bit, and I couldn't see anyone out on the grounds, except a few
retainers. Some of the tents are gone, too."
Had they moved out? There were no tracks to the east, south, or north. Mykel
decided to wait for Jasakyt.
The third squad scout was the last to return, nearly a glass
later. He rode right up to Mykel. "Sir! They've pulled out. They've headed
west."
"How do you know?"
"From the tracks in the northwest lane, sir. Not all that long ago, no more
than two glasses, I'd wager. They weren't riding that hard, though. The whole
place looks deserted, except maybe for some retainers here and there."
Mykel's guts tightened. He mounted the chestnut and stood in the stirrups.
"Squad leaders to the front!"
He waited uneasily for the five to gather. As soon as they rode up, he looked
over the five men for a long moment before speaking. "The bluecoats have
pulled out, heading west. We're headed back to the compound."
"You don't want to follow them, sir?" asked Vhanyr.
"Like Seventeenth Company did? I think not." It was all too likely someone
among the seltyrs wanted to ambush Fifteenth Company, and he didn't want to
pursue, as outnumbered as Third Battalion was. "There's a time to fight, and
this isn't it. We'll head out immediately."
He needed to check the maps, but he wasn't about to travel back the same way
they had ridden in. That was one precaution he intended to take, even if it
meant riding over some seltyr's fields to get to another road or lane.
"Company! Forward!"
Mykel wanted Fifteenth Company off the road they were on as soon as
practicable. Even so, he did not breathe that much easier. The less direct
route only meant crossing the corners of two fields and riding down the center
of one unkempt casaran orchard.
Between the not-quite-so-direct route and Mykel's caution in not getting the
mounts overtired on the return, the sun had already dropped behind the Murian
Mountains as Fifteenth Company rode eastward toward the compound. A light
breeze carried the faintest hint of a most unpleasant
odor to Mykel as he led Fifteenth Company toward the closed gates of the
compound.
"It's Fifteenth Company! They're back!" That came from the guards on the gate
towers, and Mykel caught a tone of relief. He didn't like that at all.
The gates opened, just halfway, and closed quickly behind the last riders of
fifth squad.
Once inside, as he rode toward the stables, Mykel studied the compound
courtyard. The few troopers he saw moved slowly, and carts--filled with
canvas-covered shapes-- seemed to be everywhere. The sickening odor was
stronger within the walls. What had happened in less than a full day? An
attack of some sort? He didn't see any wounded. Disease didn't strike in a
matter of glasses, not to create that many bodies in so short a time.
A ranker hurried on foot toward Mykel, staggering slightly as he did. "Captain
Mykel! The overcaptain needs to see you soonest, sir! Right now!"
Mykel reined up and dismounted. He handed the chestnut's reins to Bhoral.
"Have the squad leaders stand by after they've settled the men. I'll be there
as soon as I can."
"Yes, sir."
Mykel followed the ranker to the headquarters building and the study that
Dohark had taken over, at least while the colonel was gone.
The overcaptain sat behind the desk. In the light of the single light-torch,
his face looked faintly green, or perhaps yellow-green, and his eyes were
red-rimmed. "Good to see you back."
"What happened?"
"We've been poisoned. Had to be in the morning meal. A good third of the men
are dead. That includes both Mersyt's and half of Benjyr's company. How are
your men?"
"They're fine. I drew field rations this morning."
"Lucky you."
"We just didn't want any more fish for breakfast." Mykel
refrained from pointing out that luck hadn't always been with Fifteenth
Company. "Do you know how it happened?"
"One of the cooks is missing. He was the one in charge of breakfast. None of
the others know anything."
"What about the officers?"
"Everyone's been sick, but not so badly. I don't know about Majer Herryf. He
didn't come in this morning."
"He hasn't been staying at the compound?"
"No. He says that he's from Dramuria, and that if he stays here, it will cause
too much fear in the town."
"You think he's in trouble?"
"He is, or we are, or both."
"What was poisoned? The fish?" That seemed most likely to Mykel, since it
tasted bad, even under the best of conditions.
"Who knows?" Dohark's face twisted momentarily. "Fifteenth Company needs to
take charge of the guards tonight."
"I'll take care of it. What about food?"
"We're using field rations. I've got those guarded. The water comes direct
from springs ..."
When he and the overcaptain had finished a quick outline of what Fifteenth
Company needed to do, Mykel left the study, and headquarters, crossing the
courtyard quickly and hurrying toward the stables.
All five squad leaders were waiting, with Bhoral. The questions began before
Mykel even reached the six Cadmians.
"How come ... dead troopers everywhere ..."
"What happened? They got bodies everywhere. Some sort of plague..."
Mykel held up his hand, and there was quiet. "One of the cooks poisoned
breakfast. He's vanished. The overcaptain thinks a third of the Cadmians are
dead. We'll be eating off the field rations. They're under guard. No one feels
worth sowshit. So we have to take over compound guard duty."
"We just rode all day ..." began Gendsyr.
"Most of the Cadmians who survived can't hold a rifle
yet," Mykel said firmly. "Do you want to trust them to guard you against ten
companies of bluecoats?" His eyes knifed through each squad leader in turn.
No one spoke.
"Now ... we'll rotate squads. First watch--first squad takes the gates and
walls. Second watch--second squad. Third squad will take the morning watch.
After that, I'll let you know."
After arranging the sudden duty rosters, Mykel walked over to the officer's
cell. There was but one ranker there, and he sat slumped on a stool.
"Sir?"
"How's the prisoner?"
"Don't know, sir. Only me here, and no way to check."
"I'll check. You watch."
"Yes, sir." The Cadmian trooper sounded too tired to argue.
There was no sound from inside the cell as the guard unlocked and opened the
door, or as Mykel stepped inside.      . Rachyla was stretched out on the cot.
She did not move       j when the door closed behind Mykel, but even in the dim
ii light, he could see she was breathing.
"Lady Rachyla?"
She turned her head, slowly. "It... would ... be ... you."
Her face was greenish, or yellowish. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but
it certainly wasn't her normal color. He could almost sense the miasma of
sickness--or poison-- that shrouded her form--a greenish pink, it seemed. He
blinked. Had he really seen that?
"... so thirsty ..."
There was water in the pitcher on the desk, and he poured j it into the cup,
then bent and held it while she drank.              ji
After drinking, she lay on her side, looking at him. J "Do ... you poison all
your ... prisoners, Captain?" Each * word was labored.
"No. Someone poisoned everyone who ate breakfast. There are bodies all over
the compound."
"You ... look... fine."
"We left before breakfast this morning."
Her lips curved into a parody of a smile. "... fortune of cursed one ...
dagger of the ancients ..."
That made little sense to Mykel, but he didn't pursue it. "How are you
feeling? I mean... I know you feel terrible ... but better or worse lately?"
"Better... worse fortune ... no sense ... dying twice."
"You won't die here." Mykel spoke without thinking.
"Your... promise?"
Mykel had been caught off guard by her condition, but he wasn't that green or
stupid. "I can't promise anything. You know that."
"You ... said..."
"That's a prediction, not a promise." He held the cup. "You need to drink
more."
Her face twisted, the way Dohark's had, but she said nothing. Several moments
later, she drank. Mykel finally took back the cup, nearly empty.
"What is... happening?"
"A third of the Cadmians are dead. Eight companies of bluecoats are here in
the east. The Myrmidons haven't returned, and neither has the majer in charge
of the compound."
"Majer Herryf. None of the seltyrs ... care for him. He will not be back."
"How do you know that?"
"I know ... people." Her eyes flickered, as if she were having trouble keeping
them open.
"Are you ... is something the matter?"
"I am tired. Good night, Captain." She closed her eyes.
Mykel watched for a time, but her breathing seemed stronger. Finally, he
rapped on the cell door. She did not stir as he left.

81
From Dainyl's point of view, Quattri had been both productive in getting
caught up with the piles of paper and unhelpful in discovering what he really
wanted to know. He'd gotten to headquarters before the morning muster, but the
marshal had already left to meet the High Alector of Justice at the Duarch's
Palace. Since Dainyl had been able to work uninterrupted all day, he'd
finished reviewing the reports from all eight Myrmidon companies on Acorus.
The marshal had returned to headquarters late in the afternoon and immediately
summoned Dainyl to make sure he would be at headquarters on Quinti to welcome
and brief Colonel Dhenyr. Then the marshal had departed for a formal dinner at
the Duarch's Palace.
Dainyl had gone home to Lystrana--most gratefully-- for a more than pleasant
evening.
Although the spring snow had all melted, the streets had still been damp and
the air raw. The rawness had persisted into Quinti, when Dainyl had arrived
early at headquarters to prepare to meet Colonel Dhenyr, although it was
likely that the new colonel would not be flying in until midday. The marshal
was not in, and, perhaps would not be. Before he began his own projects for
Quinti, Dainyl stopped to talk to Undercaptain Ghanyr at the duty desk.
"Submarshal, sir, what can we do for you?"
"Is first squad up to strength?"
"Yes, sir. Weather's clear, and we've got a dispatch run to Ludar. Nothing
else, yet."
"How did things go in Iron Stem?"
Ghanvr shook his head "Wouldn't have been a oroble' 1
if anyone talked to anyone. The local trade director claimed he'd sent three
messages about cutting the timber, because he'd been turned down on his
requisition for stone and bricks. The regional alector never saw any of the
messages or the requisitions, and the trade director produced a dispatch that
gave him authority to cut. It was forged, but not by him. Cadmian majer
claimed he'd been ordered to do what was necessary. Some hothead blew the
shaft because he was tired of living in a tent with all the wind. They were
all trading dispatches, and half of them were false--"
"How did that happen? Do you know?"
"Marshal didn't say." Ghanyr looked down the corridor toward the submarshal's
study.
"That's interesting," mused Dainyl. "I didn't even know about Iron Stem until
after the miners blew the shaft."
"No, sir. Most didn't. Just the marshal and the submar-shal, that's what I
heard Marshal Shastylt was telling the regional alector." Ghanyr was telling
the truth, and still doing his best to convey that the blame would fall on the
dead Tyanylt. It was also a warning.
"I'm glad everyone's back safe." Dainyl smiled warmly.
"Yes, sir. Yuasylt didn't have it so easy out in Hyalt."
"I heard. That's why it's important to watch for wild Talents before they get
established."
Ghanyr nodded. "Heard you found one of those places of the ancients down in
Dramur."
"We did. We circled and watched, but neither Falyna nor Quelyt ever saw
anything there. Some indigen rebels took a shot at us, though."
"Strange times, sir."
"The strange happenings come in groups. They always have, and now is no
different. Then they settle down." Dainyl paused, but briefly. "Anything else
I should know about?"
"No, sir. There's nothing new, no special dispatches."
Ghanyr did not quite look at Dainyl as he asked, "Are there going to be any
more deployment orders, sir?"
"Quelyt and Falyna will be heading back to Dramur with me tomorrow, as things
stand now. That's the only deployment, if you can call it that."
"Lucky them. It's warm there."
"It's getting wanner here." Dainyl offered a parting smile before heading for
his study, thinking about the false dispatches. Why had Shastylt fomented the
problems at Iron Stem ... and in Dramur? What possible reason could the
marshal have had? Yet, when Shastylt had talked to Dainyl on Tridi, the
marshal had been most clear on wanting Dainyl to resolve the problems in
Dramur. That had not been the case before. What had changed? And why?
Dainyl settled behind his desk, thinking.
After a quarter glass, he shook his head. There was doubtless some simple
reason, but he couldn't figure it out. Shastylt was loyal to the High Alector
of Justice, and to the Duarchy. Dainyl had been able to sense that, and so
far, he'd never been mistaken. Could he be now? Was Shastylt that much
stronger with his shields, strong enough not only to hide lies but to actively
project untruths? Dainyl didn't think so, but he no longer knew, not for
certain.
He lined up all the reports, and all the background files, that Dhenyr would
need to read and review and carried them to the study that had once been his,
placing them on the corner of the desk. Gathering and arranging all that
material took less than half a glass.
After that, he turned to the side table in his own study, and the ledgers
stacked there--the consolidated supply accounts for all the Myrmidon companies.
He started looking for something to prove or disprove his suspicions. Midday
came and went, and Dainyl only took a
short break to eat before returning to his review of the ledgers.
Four months back, he found the only irregularity--if he could call it that. A
page in the ledger had been replaced, and there were two fewer lines of
entries on the page than on any other page. That was all. Nothing much, except
that in scores of pages, all were the same length and the pages had not been
touched. The figures all balanced. Dainyl put the ledgers aside. He suspected
that someone had made a mistake, and it had been covered up, but what had been
covered up he wasn't about to find in the official records, and it couldn't
have been just a bookkeeping error. That could safely have been corrected.
He stood and stretched, then took a walk down the corridor toward the duty
desk, only to find Ghanyr walking toward him.
"Viosyna just reported two pteridons inbound from the east, sir," the
undercaptain said. "It must be the new colonel."
"I'll go out and meet him." Dainyl did not put on his flying jacket, but as he
stood, looking to the south and east, he began to wish he had. The wind was
light, out of the north, but still raw. He stood well back and to the east of
the landing stage, watching as the two pteridons circled to the south, then
made their final approaches into the wind. The first pteridon settled, then
the second. Colonel Dhenyr was in the second saddle of the trailing pteridon.
Within moments, he had vaulted off the flight stage and walked toward Dainyl.
Dhenyr was the image of the perfect Myrmidon--two and two-thirds yards in
height, black hair so dark and straight that it seemed to reflect light while
absorbing it, deep purple eyes, a well-formed oval face with black eyebrows
neither too thin nor too bushy, and an alabaster skin whiter than the whitest
marble or limestone. Even after two days of flight, he scarcely seemed to have
anything out of place in either his bearing or his uniform.
"Colonel Dhenyr... Submarshal Dainyl." Dainyl offered a pleasant smile.
Dhenyr inclined his head slightly before replying. "A pleasure to meet you,
sir. Marshal Shastylt has told me a great deal about you. You're the first
Myrmidon born on Acorus to become submarshal. That's quite something."
"It had to happen sometime," Dainyl replied, smiling politely and keeping his
shields locked and impermeable. Dhenyr's warm and deep voice should have been
reassuring. For some reason, it was not. "Let's go inside. They can bring your
gear to your study. Your personal furnishings are being sent overland?"
"They left before I did." Dhenyr laughed. "With my wife. She was fortunate
that there was an opening for an assistant to the High Alector of Transport."
"You both were fortunate. There aren't that many good positions." Without
saying more, Dainyl turned and led the way into headquarters and to his own
study, where he gestured for Dhenyr to seat himself, then settled behind his
own desk. "How were the flights?"
"Long. There aren't many that aren't, anymore. We came straight, and that was
cold, just below the Aerial Plateau." Dhenyr waited, politely attentive.
"I'll be relatively brief with you... although there is a large stack of
reports waiting for you to review. As operations and maintenance director of
the Myrmidons, you'll see, read, and review more reports than you knew
existed..." Dainyl went on for close to a glass, outlining everything from the
duty and dispatch system and structures to the general locations of what
Dhenyr would need to know immediately. "... and that's probably more than you
want to hear."
"I hope I can explain it that clearly before long," replied the newly promoted
colonel.
"I'm sure you'll manage." Dainyl leaned back in his chair. "Now... I do have a
few questions."
"If I can answer them, sir..."
"First, I was hoping that you might'be able to explain how three--or is it
four--skylances vanished from Fifth Company in less than two seasons. I read
your reports with interest, but I'm afraid I never did get a good picture of
what happened."
Dhenyr smiled, ruefully. "None of us did, either. The skylances were racked
with the saddles, each in the square for that pteridon. The pteridons never
left the squares, and no one could have gotten to the skylances without coming
within a yard or two of the pteridons. I requested that the regional alector
interview each ranker and officer. The interviews revealed nothing. Both the
regional alector and the marshal were less than happy with the results."
"Do you have any ideas who took them--or how they managed?"
"Well, sir, it is Dereka, and some of the locals said that it could have been
the ancients, but there was no Talent-trace of anything--not alectors, not
ancients, not anything else. The recorder used the Table, but it revealed
nothing untoward, either. The last time, he used the Table within a glass of
the disappearance, but there was no sign of anything. The regional alector
sensed no Talent-use, either."
Paradoxically, that meant that Talent had to have been involved, Dainyl knew,
but how had it been managed with no Talent-traces? "What do you think
happened?"
"I'm truly at a loss, sir. Dereka is an old city. Maybe it was the ancients."
Dhenyr shrugged.
The colonel didn't really believe that, Dainyl could tell, but seemed
mystified by what had happened, and not all that upset. His reactions told
Dainyl more than just what Dhenyr didn't know, and that suggested Dainyl would
learn little more from Dhenyr, about anything.
All Dainyl really wanted to do was to go home to Lystrana.

82
All alectors who deal with steers each and every day must keep in mind that
there are significant differences in outlook between alectors and steers. Some
of these differences, while fundamental, are anything but obvious to casual
observation. One of the most critical differences is that steers instinctively
believe that there is an intrinsic worth to each and every person, no matter
how useless or even destructive an individual may be. This is often expressed
in terms such as, "every life is sacred" or "we are all worthy in the eyes of
[whatever deity is fashionable]."
As alectors, we understand the feelings behind such quaint phrases. All beings
who can think, even those who do so on a rudimentary level, seek meaning in
their lives. They wish to be appreciated, to be recognized, to be granted a
place and position of some value. At the same time, the universe does not
place any value on any life. Life is. It is the result of physical and
chemical processes, and it arises in some places and not in others as a result
of the interactions between the components of a world.
What value an individual may have to the world or society is determined solely
by his or her abilities and contributions. To say that a mature individual has
an intrinsic worth, independent of acts, is mere wishful thought. Thus, a
newborn child has no worth--only potential worth. That potential may be great
indeed, but it is only potential until the child matures and demonstrates
through abilities and acts what that value may be. History has shown that the
worth of individuals is not the same, and yet the delusion persists
that because individuals are created by the same process, they are equal.
Anyone who has observed individuals knows they are not equal, and that their
worth is anything but equal. While the laws of a society must assure that no
one is treated inequitably, no society that has forced equality of worth upon
its members has lasted long.
Yet the delusion about intrinsic worth is necessary in steer societies
because, without it, too many individuals would become excessively
self-centered and spend their lives seeking only to gratify the most basic and
base of instinctual drives, using all their resources against those with less
strength or wealth. This reduces creativity, such as it is, and productivity,
and is not acceptable, either in terms of maximizing higher lifeforce or in
assuring fairness to others.
As alectors, we understand that what value we may represent or attain comes
solely from what we can create or produce of higher worth. Great art, soaring
architecture, inspiring music, well-organized and functioning cities--all these
and other like achievements are the manifestations of individual worth.
We must recall, however, that such worth is as we deem it. The universe makes
no judgments and bestows no awards for worth or merit. Because the universe
does not, we must make such judgments. One of the most critical requirements
of any society is to define "worth" fairly, accurately, and in a way that
inspires all thinking members toward achievements that create such worth.
This understanding, which is taught to and accepted by all discerning
alectors, is seldom accepted by steers. Therefore, any alector who deals with
them must always recall that it is the fashion and custom to act as though all
individuals have worth, even the most worthless, and that, when a steer must
be disciplined or terminated because the individual in question is truly a
destructive and negative force on
others and the world, such discipline must be administered with a show of
regret that the worth of such a life has been wasted...
Views of the Highest
Illustra
W.T. 1513

83
Mykel woke up on Quinti just before dawn, still worrying about Rachyla. He sat
up on the hard and narrow bed. Why was he so concerned about her? It wasn't as
though there happened to be any romantic attraction between them. He had to
admit she was beautiful--not just pretty--and he admired her intelligence and
poise, but she was hardly likely to be interested in a Cadmian officer, and he
couldn't afford to get close to the daughter of a rebel leader, even a dead
one. Besides, in her own way, she was as deadly as the dagger of the ancients
he still carried.
Still... he did worry.
He forced himself out of bed and into washing up, then dressing. Even before
he went to find the field rations that would be breakfast, he gathered Bhoral
and the squad leaders outside the barracks under a slightly hazy sky.
Mykel looked at the five squad leaders. "We'll need to expect an attack here.
Fifteenth Company is the only company at anywhere close to full strength, and
we'll bear the brunt of any attack until the others recover. I'd like you to
have your men stand down, except for two on watch on each wall. Have them keep
their weapons nearby. Bhoral will work out the watch arrangements, while I
meet with the overcaptain." He nodded to the senior squad leader.
Bhoral stepped forward, and Mykel slipped away.
Dohark was not in the study in headquarters, but at a table in the mess.
Before joining him, Mykel served himself from the ration cases set on the
table and tapped his own ale from the keg. A Cadmian ranker guarded both food
and drink.
As Mykel settled across the table from the overcaptain, Dohark looked up from
the stale flat biscuits, hard yellow cheese, and dried apple slices before
him. "Not much to choose from. Better than being poisoned." Dohark took a bite
of the biscuit. "Not much, though."
Mykel took a bite of the dry and crumbly biscuit, then a small sip of the ale.
He didn't care much for either. Both officers ate quietly for a time.
"The men are getting better, those that survived," Dohark finally said. "You
think it had to do with the seltyr's daughter?"
"Whatever it was poisoned her as well," replied Mykel. "She couldn't even sit
up last night. She was greener-looking than you were."
"What do you think they'll do next?"
"They'll have to attack. We won't be fortunate enough to see a siege."
"No. We've got enough supplies for months, and they'd have to know that. They
also can't count on the Myrmidons staying away forever."
"No, but it could be a while," Mykel pointed out. "Is there anything that
burns well?"
Dohark raised his eyebrows.
"Well... sir... if they have siege ladders or ramps, maybe we could throw oil
on them. Or is that something that the Myrmidons frown on, too?"
"No. I've never heard anything about that, but there's nothing like that in
the armory."
"What about in the kitchens? Some cooking oils burn well."
"I hadn't thought about that."
"If you don't mind, sir, I'll see what they have."
Dohark nodded. "Your men are still guarding the walls?"
"I have some on watch. The others are standing down until there's an attack."
"You're optimistic. Not if there's an attack, but when there is one."
"I hope I'm wrong, sir."
"You get very formal and very proper, Mykel, just before you predict something
unpleasant, and then think up something even worse than the enemy has. If we
get through this, I'd suggest you change that mannerism." Dohark offered an
off-center smile.
"I'll... see to it, sir. By your leave, sir?"
"Go and do what you have to, Captain."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Mykel stood.
After leaving the mess, he returned to the barracks and gathered up Chyndylt
and half of third squad, waiting until the squad leader and the nine rankers
stood before him in the southeast wind that warmed the courtyard.
"We have a few tasks to attend to here in the compound. Just come with me."
That was the only explanation he offered.
"Yes, sir." Chyndylt smiled faintly.
The first stop was the mess kitchen, which was cool because there had been no
cooking. In the storeroom, Mykel found seven full casks of cooking oil, and
one half cask. He tested some of the oil with a splinter of wood. It burned
brightly. He turned to the head cook. "We'll be borrowing these for a time."
"Borrowing, sir?"
"If we're fortunate, borrowing. If we're not, then tell Ma-jerHerryf."
"Yes, sir." The cook's voice was less than enthusiastic.
"Chyndylt, have the men roll these out to the west gate-- carefully. Just the
full ones. Put one barrel at the top of each
guard tower--inside--and leave the others beside the steps on each side. I don't
want a drop spilled."
Chyndylt gestured. "Rykyt... you four... you heard the captain."
Once he saw that Rykyt and the four rankers with him had that task in hand,
Mykel led Chyndylt and the remaining four rankers to the armory.
The senior squad leader who served as armorer was not there, his place taken
by a local Cadmian squad leader Mykel did not know.
"I need to inspect the armory and draw ammunition."
"But... sir... you need a requisition."
"I tell you what, squad leader. If ... if we all survive the bluecoats'
attacks later today, I'll be happy to provide that requisition. In the
meantime, we'll need the ammunition."
The dark-haired squad leader looked from Mykel to Chyndylt and to the four
rankers behind the captain. "Ah ... I suppose ... you will put a requisition
in, sir?"
"If it's necessary, and when we have time, I'd be more than happy to. Now ...
if you'd care to show us what we have?"
"Yes, sir." The armory squad leader kept looking back as he unlocked both
doors.
"Jonasyr," Mykel ordered. "You guard the entrance here."
"Yes, sir."
The storage areas of the armory were down a long ramp, within solid stone
walls set into the ground on which the compound was built. The ceiling
consisted of solid stone beams, each a good third of a yard thick. Mykel had
no idea how thick the side walls were, but the combination of stone and earth
behind it was strong enough to keep any inadvertent explosions confined.
"Here is the main section, sir."
In the dim illumination of but two light-torches, one on the east wall and one
on the west, both set almost up to the
filing, Mykel slowly inspected the armory. On the west 'all were four locked
racks filled with rifles. Across from le rack, stacked out from the east wall,
were cases of mmunition--almost floor to ceiling in a space three yards igh and
ten yards long. Mykel walked to the north end joking for what else might be
there. In the northwest corner were four kegs. All looked old, ut they were
sealed, and "gunpowder" was stenciled across tie staves in white. Mykel hid a
smile. "Chyndylt... we'll teed at least three cases on each wall of the
compound. We von't have the time or the men to lug up ammunition if they ush
the compound."
"Sir? That much?" asked the armory squad leader. "There are at least ten
companies of bluecoats. How nany cases would you suggest?" The squad leader
did not reply.
"Do you have dollies or something for carting the ;ases?"
"Just that flat truck there, sir."
"That will do. Why don't you station yourself at the top of the ramp there.
You can count the cases as we bring them up." Mykel turned to Chyndylt. "We'll
start at that end." He gestured toward the north end.
The armory squad leader looked at Mykel uneasily before retreating up the
ramp, not quite to the top.
'The truck can handle four cases easily," Chyndylt suggested.
"I want those four kegs there, as well." Mykel kept his voice low and pointed.
Stack them between the cases." "Sir?"
"I need to make sure that the oil will ignite. They're old. Don't drop them,
but they should help with the task." Chyndylt nodded.
Mykel could tell the senior squad leader didn't quite believe him, but he knew
Chyndylt wasn't about to say any-
thing. That was one of the reasons Mykel had picked third squad.
"If you'd handle this ... I need to organize a few other items for our
defense."
"Yes, sir."
Mykel walked back up the ramp. He stopped beside Jonasyr. "See anyone, or hear
any alerts?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Thank you."
Mykel's next stop was the carpentry shop, set in the southwest corner of the
compound, beyond the last of the stables.
"What might you be looking for, sir?" asked the gray-haired man in a leather
apron even before Mykel had a chance to announce himself.
"An old barrel of some sort, one that will roll downhill on its side."
The carpenter frowned. "I'm not a cooper..."
Mykel waited.
"There might be one in the back, sir."
Mykel kept looking at the carpenter.
"One moment, sir." The carpenter moved slowly through the open door into the
storeroom behind the workroom.
Mykel studied the supplies stacked in various places, and without much regard
for order, from what he could tell. Some time passed before the carpenter
returned.
"There is one, sir."
"Thank you. What about big nails, or spikes? Do you have any of those?"
The carpenter looked at Mykel. "Maybe half a keg here ... Might I ask why,
sir?"
"We don't have any caltrops here. Large nails or spikes would be better than
nothing."
The crafter's dubious expression turned to puzzlement. ;         "Caltrops are
special four-pointed spikes that disable
horses. We're very likely to have a thousand or more blue-coats charging the
compound. I'm looking for something that can act like caltrops."
"They're just heavy nails, sir."
"They'll do. I'll be sending some men for the nails and the barrel. If we
don't need them, I'll return them." Mykel smiled. "You do understand that the
bluecoats slaughtered Seventeenth Company almost to the last man?"
"They did, sir?"
"The rebels did the same to Thirteenth Company. We do need those nails and
spikes."
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you." Mykel nodded and walked back across the courtyard.
He was passing the headquarters building when Dohark appeared. "Mykel--I'd like
a word with you." He motioned for Mykel to join him outside the south entrance
to headquarters.
"Yes, sir?" Mykel inclined his head.
"There's dust on the roads to the north. Three vingts or so north."
"I've gotten the oil, and I have my men setting cases of ammunition on the
walls."
Dohark looked steadily at Mykel for a moment. "There are enough able men left
from Fourteenth and Sixteenth Companies to man one wall and part of another.
The locals are down to half a company. What do you suggest?"
"The south wall for the others in Third Battalion, the east wall on each side
of the gates for the locals. Fifteenth Company will handle the rest. I'll be
keeping a squad back until we see where they attack. If there's enough for a
reserve squad from the others, that would be good."
Dohark nodded. "There should be. I'll be at the west gate's north tower. That
offers the best vantage point."
"How is Rhystan doing?" Mykel asked.
"He's too weak to stand, but he seems to be getting better. Sixteenth Company
took the worst of the poison."
"Good that the survivors will be all right."
Dohark raised his eyebrows.
Mykel grinned. "After this attack, we'll need everyone to clean up the mess."
Dohark shook his head. "And maybe the colonel will promote you to majer, too."
Mykel offered an exaggerated shrug. "I can always hope."
"Best you get on with your preparations, Captain Mykel."
"Yes, sir."
Before he returned to his special preparations, Mykel gathered the squad
leaders again, with Bhoral, making sure that all the mounts would be saddled
and ready to ride out, if necessary. Then he went back to doing what could get
him into great difficulties--if he survived.
By the time another glass had passed, the ammunition and casks of oil were in
place, and Mykel had the older barrel, the half keg of heavy nails, and the
gunpowder kegs in a shaded place just behind and north of the west gate. He
also had a number of other items, including lengths of old, near-rotten canvas
and a small bucket of glue.
One cask of oil would fit inside the larger carpenter's barrel, as would a
cask of the gunpowder. Mykel set to work with the glue, canvas and nails,
until the inside of the barrel was lined with two layers of canvas with the
nails glued inside. The glue wouldn't harden before Mykel would probably have
to use the device, but all he cared about was something to keep the nails from
clumping together too much.
By the time he had finished and replaced the head of the
barrel, he was soaked with sweat, and another glass had
,     passed. With a sardonic smile that he quickly erased, Mykel
|     noted that he had not seen Dohark. The overcaptain had
lost conspicuously avoided him while he had been working, and that was
probably for the best--for both of them.
Another glass and a half passed. The men had eaten noon ations. The breeze had
died off, and the sun beat down on the compound.
Vhanyr came sprinting across the courtyard. "Captain Mykel. Bluecoats are
coming! Some greencoats, too. Hun-Ireds of 'em!"
"Fifteenth Company! Squad leaders! Forward!"
Mykel barely waited before he began issuing his orders, orders that the squad
leaders already knew. "Fifteenth Company to the walls! Squad one to the main
gate, two to the rest of the west wall, three to the north wall, and four to
last gate. Squad five, stand by."
"Fifteenth Company to the walls!" snapped Bhoral, 'Squad one ..." He echoed
Mykel's orders.
Once he was satisfied that all his men were in place, Mykel climbed the steps
beside the west gate, where he stood on the walls below the south tower. He
looked westward under the noon sun. The seltyrs' forces had halted a good half
vingt to the west, and were stretched out in front of the end of the casaran
orchards, forming a line of riders a good five hundred yards across and at
least three ranks deep. Most of the riders had dismounted.
That bothered Mykel, although it was what he would have done.
He turned and walked along the top of the wall to the southwest corner, then
most of the way toward the east wall of the compound. A half vingt to the east
was another formation, considerably smaller, with more clad in green than in
blue.
After studying the second formation and confirming that they were also
dismounted, Mykel returned to his former position on the wall beneath the
south guard tower.
"Sir?" Bhoral appeared.
"Have the men stand down in position. There won't be an
attack for a little while at least. But check on the mounts. We still might
need them--one way or another."
The squad leader nodded and slipped away.
"You don't think we'll see an attack right now?" asked Dohark, who had
appeared at the top of the steps.
"Not for a while. Do you?"
"No. They're not mounted. They're resting their horses."
"They've got something else in mind, I'd wager," suggested Mykel.
"Siege ladders?"
"Could be."
"They wouldn't try blasting powder," said Dohark.
"They probably would if they could get any." As Mykel said that, he wondered
if that happened to be the reason why whichever alectors had provided the
rifles had done so--so that the seltyrs wouldn't develop something worse?
"You're cheerful."
"I expect the strongest aspects of human nature to surface--greed,
destructiveness, shortsightedness--all the good things." Mykel's tone was more
sardonic than he'd meant it to be.
"I'm headed over to the north tower to see if I can get a better view," Dohark
finally said.
"Yes, sir." There was little that Mykel could do but wait.
Another half glass went by before Mykel heard a dull rumbling sound. He looked
northward, thinking it might be a storm, but the sky remained clear. His eyes
went to the west. Six wagons with angled timber barricades five yards wide
reaching from knee height to almost two yards lumbered down the road toward
the west gate, slowly, but seemingly by themselves. It took Mykel but a moment
to realize that troopers behind the timbers were pushing me heavy wagons. He
had no doubts that behind or in the wagons were long siege ladders that would
be swung up to the walls, that or something else to allow them over the walls.
Very shortly, he had to wonder, because the wagons
swung wide of the road and stopped short of the walls, a good sixty yards
back, three on each side, lined up barricade to barricade.
A long single note on a horn sounded.
Crack! Crack!
Mykel ducked as he heard the first shots. Staying low behind the stone
parapets, he studied the barricades, realizing that the regularly placed
narrow slits in the heavy timbers were for rifles.
A long wagon moved slowly down the road toward the rebels' movable barricades,
drawn by eight riders, four on each side of what looked to be an enormous
wagon shaft. As it neared the barricades, Mykel looked more closely. A tree
trunk almost a yard across had been fastened to an eight-wheeled wagon, and
the forward end of the trunk had been covered in iron. As Mykel watched and
waited for the riders to get closer to the walls, they began to urge the
horses into a fast trot, then even faster.
The firing from behind the timbered wagons intensified.
"First squad! Aim for the riders!" He raised his rifle and began to aim.
Just as he squeezed the trigger, with the wagon-ram less than thirty yards
from the west gate, the riders swerved away and let the wagon rumble toward
the heavy oak gates alone.
Thuddd! The impact of the heavy tree-trunk ram, with its iron cap, shook the
walls, but the gate held.
"Gates held!" called a ranker from somewhere.
Peering from beside one of the merlons, Mykel watched as the wagon began to
roll backward. How could that be? Then he saw the long cable attached to the
rear of the wagon-ram. While the road from Dramuria rose most of the way from
the town to the compound, the last eighty yards before the gates were flat,
and the smooth and level stone road leading across that stretch to the west
gate made the scheme possible--and all too likely to succeed. The riders
didn't have to get that close, and they could try until the ram failed or the
gates collapsed.
Almost half a glass passed before the wagon-ram had been drawn back past the
barricade wagons. The riders--or another group--re-formed on each side of the
front part of the wagon-ram. Several moments passed before the device began to
move along the road toward the west gate.
"Aim for the riders on the north--just on the north!" Mykel ordered.
"Aim for the riders! North side!" echoed Gendsyr.
Mykel sighted on the lead rider, squeezing the trigger, and willing his shot
home.
The rider crumpled in the saddle, but dropped the lead or whatever linked him
to the ram, and his mount carried him off the road. The ram continued to
rumble toward the gates.
Mykel shifted his aim to the second rider, aiming and firing.
Just as he squeezed the trigger, the riders broke away from the ram, earlier
than they had before, and the heavy contraption rumbled inexorably toward the
gates.
Thudddl Once more, the gates and walls shook.
Mykel looked down. The gates were definitely bowed, and at least one of the
heavy timbers was splintered in one place.
"Aim for the horses!" ordered Dohark from the north tower. "Drop the horses!"
The Cadmians waited, and Mykel wondered if they would not have done better if
all the Third Battalion companies had followed his example and tried to
whittle away the seltyrs' forces in the field. Then, Heransyr had tried that,
and Seventeenth Company had been wiped out.
Once more the wagon-ram began to move forward, but this time, the horses only
started it, well behind the barricades, and moved away, while a good score of
bluecoats used leads attached to the rear of the ram and others just pushed it
from behind.
"Fire!" ordered Mykel and Dohark near-simultaneously.
Mykel brought down three of those pushing the ram, and another half score fell
to other fire, but other bluecoats took their places and the ram rumbled
toward the west gate.
The thudding impact was accompanied not only by the shaking of the walls, but
by the sound of splintering timbers.
Mykel looked down to see the north side of the gate ripped open wide enough
for a man to enter. Outside the walls, the rebels were dragging back their ram
once more.
"One more time, sir, and the gates'll go," Gendsyr said. "Two at most, and
we're not stopping 'em with rifles."
Mykel could see that. So far there were perhaps twoscore bodies strewn on the
flat east of the gates--if that. There were a good thousand bluecoats waiting
back out of easy rifle range.
After a quick glance back outside, Mykel scurried down the steps to where one
of the kegs of gunpowder had been placed at the base of the stone wall. There
were also several casks of oil. The gate was bowed enough that he could        i
squeeze both through--he thought.
Overhead he could hear Dohark barking out orders about timbers and wagons, but
Mykel would leave that to the overcaptain. If the ram weren't stopped before
it did more damage, Dohark's timbers would do little good.
"Fifth squad! To me!" Mykel ordered.
Vhanyr appeared instantly. "Sir."
"We need to get that keg and two of those casks out through that gap. I need
someone to go out there with me."
Vhanyr turned. "Lortyr! Fonyt!"
Mykel looked up. "Gendsyr! We're headed out in front of the gates! Open fire
at those barricades and anyone who even looks up!
"Yes, sir. First squad! Stand by to fire!"
Mykel waited until the two rankers stood beside him. "You're going to set
those casks of oil out in front of the gates--a good five yards. Put them so
close together that
they touch--right in the middle of the road. I'll be right behind you with this
keg of powder."
The two rankers looked at Mykel and the keg of gunpowder.
"You don't mind if we hurry, sir?" asked Lortyr.
Mykel grinned. "The faster, the better." Behind him, he could see rankers
pushing two wagons toward the gate, probably to overturn and block the entry
as well as they could.
Lortyr rolled one cask to the gate, right up to the opening, then turned it
sideways. He had to lift it--with the help of two others--almost chest high to
get it through the bowed part. Then he slipped under the cask and helped lower
it to the stone pavement. Keeping low, he turned the cask and rolled it out
five yards or so. He kept the cask between him and the bluecoats, even while
he levered it upright.
Behind him, Fonyt followed the same example.
Once Fonyt was through the gate, Mykel lifted the smaller keg of powder,
standing by the gate, waiting for both rankers to dash back.
Mykel scuttled out, quickly setting the powder directly behind the two barrels
of oil, then returning, almost diving through the narrow opening in the gates.
He'd sensed shots, but all had seemed high, perhaps because the angle of the
slits in the rebel barricades had been designed more to allow shots at the
positions on the top of the wall.
The two rankers grinned at the captain. "That all, sir?"
"For now." Mykel grinned back, but only for a moment.
"Clear the gate space!" Dohark bellowed from above.
Mykel hurried back up to the top of the wall on the south side.
Out to the west, the rebels were readying the wagon-ram for another run at the
gates. Below, behind the gates, rankers were wedging timbers and the wagon
beds into place, as well as they could be, to reinforce the battered and bowed
west gates.
More slowly, the wagon-ram began to move eastward.
"First squad! Fire!"
More of the bluecoats pushing the ram dropped than on earlier runs, and the
ram did not seem to have quite the same speed. Mykel also thought that it was
wobbling somewhat, but it still stayed on the road.
He watched, his rifle ready, sighting on the gunpowder keg. He needed that keg
to explode in flame. He truly needed it. As the shadow of the ram neared the
oil casks, he fired--once, twice, and a third time, willing the explosion.
Crumpt! The walls shook, and a wave of flame spewed upward across the wagon
and the ram. The front two wheels on the right shattered, and the weight of
the ram dropped the corner of the wagon. Then the iron-tipped ram skidded
sideways, coming to rest against the stone gate supports. The wall shook
again.
The flames from the oil and from the burning powder and wagon created a heat
so intense that the Cadmians on each side of the gate were forced to duck
completely behind the merlons and walls.
Mykel studied the gate below. His explosion had twisted the north side of the
gate open farther, despite the wagon beds and timbers, leaving an opening wide
enough for one rider, perhaps two, once the flames and fire died away--and if
the riders could force back the timbers and wagon bed behind the opening.
The firing from the timber barricades died away, not that there had ever been
that much.
Mykel frowned as he realized that. Why hadn't they fired more?
He wanted to shake his head. Because they were worried about ammunition. They
had to be concerned.
He climbed down the steps and crossed behind the gate, then climbed up to the
tower where Dohark surveyed the road and the still-massed bluecoats.
"You didn't do much for the gates, Captain." Dohark's tone was half-humorous,
half-rueful.
"No, sir, but another hit from that ram would have done much worse." He
paused. "Did you notice that they're not firing that much."
"Wouldn't do that much good."
"No. I don't think that's the reason."
"Neither do I. They can't have smuggled in that many cartridges. That's why
the timber barricades and the ram. They'll probably move up the barricades to
shelter then-foot, or what passes for it, and rush the gates. They have to
take us now, or they won't ever."
Mykel wasn't certain of that, but Dohark had a point.
"Besides, the western seltyrs don't care that much about how many men get
killed so long as they get control."
The overcaptain had more of a point there, Mykel reflected.
"You were working on something else earlier," Dohark said quietly, still
looking westward through the blackish smoke rising from the burning wagon-ram.
The sun, faintly orange from the smoke, was well past midafternoon. "Would it
work against a mass attack?"
"It should."
"You'll probably have to use it." Dohark paused. "I only saw cooking oil, you
know?"
"That's all you saw, sir. I need to see what I can do."
Dohark nodded, but said nothing as Mykel left the small north guard tower.
Almost a glass passed before the flames died down to embers. The bluecoats
remained gathered back in the casaran groves, well out of range.
In the meantime, Mykel had moved his unwieldy device to a point just behind
the gap in the north gate. First, he'd had to persuade one of the local squad
leaders to move two timber braces and slide back a wagon bed. Then, it had
taken three rankers to lift and carry the big barrel over the bracings to get
it into position.
The second keg of gunpowder stood behind it.
"Cadmians--to the west wall!" ordered Dohark.
Carefully, Mykel climbed up the bracing behind him. He could see a line of
riders outlined against the late-afternoon sun. He made his way down, then
wrestled the barrel out the gate and onto its side. Carefully, he rolled it
around the embers and charred wood of the wagon-ram and back onto the road.
He could hear hoofs, even feel them through the stones, by the time he had the
barrel in place a good twenty yards out from the wall. He would have liked to
have moved it out farther, but didn't know that he'd be able to get everything
to work if he did.
Then he ran back to the gate and grabbed the keg of power, lugging it back to
the adapted barrel. Once he was behind the big barrel, he poured almost half
the ancient powder into a pile and set the keg in the middle of the powder.
Then he sprinted for the gate and squeezed through. As soon as he did, the
rankers pushed the wagon bed back into place and began to rewedge braces into
position.
Mykel stood there for a moment, panting, before he scrambled back up the steps
to the wall. He was sweating, both from the heat, the exertion, and from
thinking about what could have happened to him had anything gone wrong with
his device.
'
The rebel bluecoats were pouring toward the compound. Even some of the
greencoats from the east had circled around to join the attack.
"Open fire!" ordered Dohark.
Mykel picked out one of the riders in the fore and fired. The bluecoat went
down, slowing those behind him. Mykel fired again, and again. By then the
bluecoats were within a hundred yards of the barrel, but as a result of the
heavy fire
from the compound, they had condensed into a more compact mass.
Mykel reloaded quickly, waiting until the bluecoats were almost upon the
ancient barrel, sitting in the middle of the approach causeway to the
compound.
Finally, he aimed at the powder around the base of the keg--and fired. The
barrel and the keg sat, there, with the rebels almost upon them. He fired
again. Still nothing. The third time he fired, he willed the bullet home,
willed it with power and heat.
After that shot, Mykel ducked, not even knowing whether it hit, but knowing
something was about to happen.
CRUMMPTTT! Before his head was fully behind the merlon, the entire west wall
of the compound shook, and fragments flew above and against the wall. Then,
pattering sounds like rain followed as bits of things dropped onto the stones.
Mykel slowly peered around the stone edge. A circle almost fifty yards across
had been carved out of the rebels, bodies and sections of bodies lay strewn
everywhere. Beyond that, mounts were rearing, many riderless.
Mykel swallowed, hard, then ordered, "Full fire! Cadmi-ans! Full fire."
More rebels dropped.
The bluecoats and greencoats began to turn, riding in almost every direction.
"Fifteenth Company! To mounts! To mounts!" Mykel scrambled down the steps and
raced toward the area north of the south wall, where the mounts were supposed
to be lined up and waiting.
They were.
Then he had to wait for his men.
When he finally rode toward the east gate--a good fifth of a glass later--he
only had about two-thirds of Fifteenth Company, but he didn't want to wait any
longer.
The east gates did open, but they shut quickly.
Mykel led Fifteenth Company across the flat north of the compound, flanking
the timber barricades, until he saw that they had been abandoned.
A squad of bluecoats turned, as if to form up, but when they saw that they
faced a larger force, several riders on the ends turned their mounts.
Mykel rode straight for the squad leader, his sabre out and ready.
The squad leader tried to lift his rifle.
Mykel dropped almost flat against the chestnut's neck for a moment, then swept
in from the right. His sabre cut was awkward--but effective enough that blood
welled across the other's arm, and his rifle dropped onto the ground. Mykel
kept riding, turning toward the bluecoat in the second rank, who half raised
his sabre. Mykel's momentum slammed his weapon aside.
In moments, there was a melee, but within a fraction of a glass, half the
rebels were down, and the others were scattering. Fifteenth Company had gone
through them like a newly sharpened sabre through rotten cheese, leaving a
half score dead.
Ahead, Mykel saw another formation in one of the few small meadows on the
south side of the road. He sheathed the sabre, more slowly than he would have
liked, and called back, "Fifteenth Company! Ready for firing line!"
The rebels had grouped into a tight formation and drawn blades, clearly
awaiting a sabre charge.
"Fifteenth Company! Firing line and halt!"
Mykel almost couldn't believe what he saw, with the rebels standing flat, but
he wasn't in the mood to be forgiving or charitable, not after poisonings,
battering rams, and ambushes.
He reined up and slipped out his rifle, aiming at the squad leader. "Open
fire!"
By the time Fifteenth Company had emptied its maga-
zines at a distance of less than fifty yards, at least a third of the rebels
were down.
"Sabres ready! Forward!"
Several of the rebels tried to fight--not well. The others tried to flee, and a
number were cut down from behind.
Less than a glass later, short of the river bridge, Mykel turned Fifteenth
Company back. His sabre was bloody, as was his uniform.
As they rode slowly back to the compound through the growing twilight, Mykel
saw bodies everywhere. He could smell blood and burned flesh, and already the
flies and nightwasps were circling in on the ground around the compound.
He wouldn't have been surprised if a third of the rebels had died. With those
wounded, and those deserting, the sel-tyrs could have lost half their forces.
The east gates opened just long enough to readmit Fifteenth Company, then
closed with a dull thud.
Dohark was waiting at the stables.
"Wasn't that taking a risk?" he asked after Mykel dismounted.
"The whole day was a risk," Mykel replied, adding, after a moment, "sir." He
took a deep breath. "I thought they'd be disorganized. They were. We probably
killed off another company or so."
"Do you think they'll be back?"
"Not soon. It'll take them a few days, maybe even several weeks, to regroup.
After the men rest, I'd suggest harassing them more, picking off stragglers
and anyone else we can."
"You've got the only force that can do that."
"Is that an approval?"
"We'll talk about it tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
"The colonel might want to know why you helped the rebels blow apart the
gate," said Dohark. "When he returns."
"He might." Mykel shrugged. "I was trying to use some
owder to spread the burning oil to burn up their ram. hings got out of hand."
"You could put it that way," Dohark said. "I'm report-lg that the kitchen oil
that you used to set the ram afire xploded."
"That's also true, sir."
"That's the way it is. That powder... it must have been lisplaced when the
rebel sympathizers took the rifles last ear."
"Yes, sir."
"There's one other thing, Mykel."
"Yes?"
"How in the Anvils of Hel did you get that stuff to ex-ťlode? It's frigging
near impossible to get powder to burn >y shooting it with a bullet."
Mykel managed to keep from looking blankly at Dohark. 'I guess I was just
lucky. I don't have any other explanation."
"Too much luck is as bad as too little, at times."
"I suppose so."
"After you get your men settled, get some rations and est." Dohark nodded and
walked into the dusk.
Why wasn't Dohark all that pleased with a battle that had urned a sure
disaster into something better, with a chance :o wipe out the rebels in the
weeks ahead? What was it ibout command that turned officers into men more
concerned about what methods were used than about winning with the fewest
losses? He stifled a yawn. He'd worry about that later.
"Bhoral? Make sure that they groom their mounts and clean their weapons.
Tonight."
"Yes, sir."
Mykel led the chestnut toward his stall. He had to take care of those chores
himself, or before long, men would ask why he issued orders he didn't follow.
He couldn't have that. Not the way things were going.

84
Marshal Shastylt never did return to headquarters on Quinti, and Dainyl
finally left, much later than he would have liked, after confirming
arrangements with Quelyt and Falyna for an early flight on Sexdi.
He and Lystrana ate quietly, and did not say much of great import throughout
the meal. Once the girls had finished with the cleanup and had settled
themselves for the evening, Dainyl and Lystrana retired to their bedchamber.
Each brought a goblet of the golden brandy.
Dainyl sat on a tall padded stool, sipping his brandy and watching as
Lystrana, wearing a pale gold dressing gown, brushed her shimmering black
hair. Each stroke was smooth, efficient, yet subtly sensual. Nevertheless, he
could not totally concentrate on her, beautiful as she was, close as she was.
"Something's bothering you. I can feel it."
"You always can." He laughed softly.
"Tell me." Her voice was gentle.
"I don't understand," he said quietly.
"Understand what?"
"I'm convinced the marshal and the Highest fomented this revolt in Dramur,
and, now, they want me to put it down quickly. There wasn't any urgency
before, and now there is."
"Too many things have gotten out of hand," she suggested.
"Why now? Because we're approaching the time when a
- decision has to be made on the master scepter?" He shook
his head. "The landers and indigens know nothing about
that. There are few of them who even have a trace of Talent.
How could they know?"
"My Highest mentioned that there had been a wild Talent
in Hyalt, but I've never sensed that in any lander. Do you think any of them
really does? Or was that another situation that got out of hand, and the
marshal claimed that it was caused by a wild Talent?"
"Either is possible," mused Dainyl.
"Do you really think so?" She laid down the brush and turned.
Dainyl just took in her perfectly shaped oval face, her Form, and the deep
violet eyes he could look into endlessly.
"You're not thinking about my question." She laughed softly.
"I wasn't," he admitted. "I was thinking that this was our last night for a
while, perhaps a long while."
"If you think about it, more quickly, it might settle your thoughts, and then
we might have more time to get on with what else you have in mind." Her lips
curled into a playful smile. Then, she took a sip from her goblet.
"There are landers with Talent--at least potential Talent. I've run across a
Cadmian captain who has the potential. He doesn't know, and I hope he never
learns. He's one of the better junior officers. I'd hate to lose him."
"Competent landers in positions of responsibility are hard to find, but... the
way they breed, we can't afford to have all that wild Talent loose. You know
that. You know what a toll that would take on Acorus."
"He doesn't even have a consort, and he's not the type to spend himself on
other women, or not much."
"That's not all that's worrying you, dearest."
"No. There's Colonel Dhenyr." Dainyl shook his head.
"He's polite. He's well-mannered. He has a long, but not terribly
distinguished record in the Myrmidons. His Talent is limited, and he has no
real grasp of what is happening," suggested Lystrana.
"Exactly. You've met him?"
"I've never even seen a report on him," she replied.
"That's the way you would have appeared when they made you colonel."
Dainyl winced.
"Why do you think they made you colonel? Why do you think we worked so hard at
concealing the full extent of your Talent?"
"They don't want someone looking into what they're doing." He laughed
ruefully. "I don't see that it matters. Who could I tell who could do
anything?"
"You could tell the Duarches."
"I could, indeed. And then what? Do you think that the High Alector of Justice
would exactly allow himself to be disciplined? Or the marshal, after what he
did to Tyanylt? We'd have a revolt among alectors. That's if I'm right. If I'm
wrong..."
"You're not wrong," she affirmed.
"I can't chance destroying everything. I have to find a better way."
"You will."
"How?" Dainyl shrugged, conveying frustration and helplessness with the
position in which he found himself.
"Resolve the problems in Dramur. Then, once you're back here in Elcien, there
will be an opportunity."
He took another sip of the brandy. "I suppose you're right."
"Then ... is there anything you can do about it tonight?"
"No..." He laughed. "I suppose not."
Lystrana set aside the goblet and stood, letting the dressing gown slide away.

85
On Sexdi, Mykel reported to Overcaptain Dohark right after his breakfast of
field rations.
Sitting behind the study desk, Dohark no longer looked at all greenish, just
exhausted, with deeper circles under his eyes.
"They killed Majer Herryf," Dohark said, without preamble.
"When?"
"The night before last. There was a squad of bluecoats waiting for him. They
had tied up his wife and children. They shot him as he came in the door, then
rode off."
Mykel wasn't totally surprised. From what he had seen, Herryf had never
understood fully what was happening in Dramur, and because he had identified
with the people of Dramur, he had thought they would believe him one of them
rather than an outland Cadmian. To most people, even his own family, he
suspected, a Cadmian was a Cadmian, and Cadmians were tools of the alectors
and Myrmidons. "Does that leave you in command?"
"Not really. He reported directly to Colonel Herolt in Elcien."
"For the time being, Meryst and Benjyr might accept your command."
"Meryst might. No one's seen Benjyr."
"You think he's with the rebels?"
"He might be. He might be up at the mine compound. Or he might be dead."
"What about the mine?"
"I sent a squad up there a glass ago. It'll be a while before we hear. What
have your scouts found?"
"Dead bodies, more than four hundred, from the looks of it," replied Mykel.
"That doesn't count the wounded who won't make it, and the deserters."
"You still want to go after the rest of them?"
"Tomorrow. I'll need today to put together the supply wagons and ammunition."
"You're not going to operate out of the compound, I take it," said Dohark.
"They'll stay away from here for a while. We need to go where they are, while
they're still not organized."
"You'll do anything to get away from the dirty work." A faint smile creased
the corners of Dohark's mouth.
"Dirty work?"
"Those four hundred bodies have to be buried, in addition to the ones of ours
that still aren't in the ground. There's also a gate that got rammed and
exploded that needs repair." Dohark paused. "Oh, and the armorer said that you
never got a requisition for all the ammunition." His smile broadened. "I told
him you'd have it to him today."
Mykel inclined his head. "I'll take care of that immediately."
"I'd suggest one for the cooking oil as well."
Mykel understood the reasons for that, even though the cooks probably could
have cared less about a requisition for cooking oil, so long as they got
replacement casks.
Dohark looked hard at Mykel. 'The seltyrs are people, Mykel."
"I know, sir. So are we, and they're trying to kill us. They're also willing
to kill anyone who doesn't meet their standards. They shot prisoners who
wanted to escape. They wiped out almost all of Seventeenth Company. They sent
more than a thousand troopers across the mountains and against the
compound--and we never did anything against the western seltyrs. All that
suggests that it's them or us. I'm doing my best to make sure we're the ones
still standing--or riding--when the smoke clears."
Dohark said nothing. He merely nodded.
"Are you suggesting that I remain here, sir?" Mykel finally asked.
"No. The Cadmians need you to do what you've proposed. I wish there happened
to be another way. I don't see it."
Neither did Mykel, at least not a way that would result in any chance of
survival for what was left of the Third Battalion.
"Is that all?" asked Dohark.
"That's all, sir. By your leave?"
The overcaptain nodded.
Mykel left the headquarters building at a quick walk. He still had one other
problem for which he had no answer, and that was Rachyla. Should he see her
first--or later? He decided on sooner. She might offer some insight. Then
again, he reflected, she just might not.
He walked toward her cell. There was still only one guard on duty, although a
different Cadmian.
"Sir? You need to talk to the prisoner."                                   I
"If she'll talk," Mykel replied.
The guard unlocked and opened the cell.
In the dimness within, Rachyla sat at the desk, one forearm resting on the
edge. She did not turn until after the door had clunked shut.
"How are you feeling?" Mykel asked.
"Better. The food isn't helping. If you can call it food."
"Those are field rations. No one wanted to trust the cooking after a third of
the Cadmians died from poisoning."
"A third?"
"Something like that--around a hundred and fifty."
"It is too bad it wasn't more."
"It was enough."
"All the firing yesterday--what was that all about?"
"The eastern and western seltyrs attacked the compound. We killed almost half
of them. They've scattered everywhere."
"They won't give up."
"No," Mykel agreed. "Not until they're all dead."
"And you, brave captain, will see to that?"
"If I have to. They seem determined to kill all of us. The only way to stop
that is to kill them--or their men."
"You must be very good at killing." Rachyla looked at Mykel evenly.
"It would be better if I didn't have to be."
"So noble ..."
Mykel forced himself not to take a deep breath in exasperation. "You might
explain why the seltyrs are so determined to attack us."
"If they do not attack, they lose everything they have built. They lose it
without honor. Without honor a seltyr is nothing more than a fat grower."
"I don't understand. What are they losing? The only thing they're being asked
to do is not to create personal armies with contraband weapons."
"An unarmed seltyr is without honor."
"You said that before, but the weapons they want are banned by the Duarches.
If the Cadmians are not the ones to disarm and defeat them, then the Myrmidons
will turn their estates into ashes and dust."
Rachyla shrugged. "You asked. I have told you before. The Duarches will not be
here forever. We will be. They do not belong. Those who do not belong will
vanish as if they had never been."
"Who told you that?" Mykel should have asked that before, but he wasn't used
to questioning people like Rachyla.
"All in Dramur know that. We have since the times of the ancients. It will not
be long before they vanish. If not in my life, then in the life of my
children, or their children."
Were most of the Dramurans secret followers of the An-cienteers? Or of
something similar? "The alectors have been here as long as we have."
"It matters not. We belong. They do not."
What Rachyla said made no sense. She was an intelligent woman, but she was
uttering sheer nonsense. Even a fully trained Cadmian battalion could not
stand against a squad of Myrmidons--or even a pair with their flaming
skylances.
"They may not belong, but it takes more than honor and belief to stop
pteridons and skylances ... or even Cadmi-ans and rifles. What do they have to
stand up to those?"
"What will be... will be."
"Could you explain a bit more, give me an example?"
"You will see when the time comes, Captain. That is all I know and all I can
tell you."
Mykel could sense that she fully believed what she said and truly did not know
more.
"Good day, Captain."
He inclined his head. "Good day, Rachyla."
He walked to the door and rapped on it for the guard to let him out.
He still had to write up two requisitions and work with Bhoral and the squad
leaders to organize the supplies for the coming campaign of attack and
harassment.
But... he wished he knew what Rachyla had really meant and why an intelligent
woman could believe something so impossible.

86
As on every flight from Elcien to Dramur, both Sexdi and Septi were long, and
Dainyl's legs and back were already aching as he rode behind Falyna across the
channel from Coras to the northern tip of Dramur. A glass later, after
descending carefully through breaks in the clouds, the two pteridons reached
clear air at less than five
hundred yards above the ocean. Dainyl could see the northeastern shore of
Dramur less than five vingts away.
Three glasses later, the fliers were on approach to the Cadmian compound at
Dramuria. Falyna swept in toward the compound just before twilight, swinging
to the west north of Dramuria and making a final descent toward the courtyard
from the west.
In the last few moments aloft, just before landing, Dainyl studied the ground
around the compound. The rebels had clearly attacked, but several days
earlier. That was obvious from the state of the ground, the lack of bodies
near the compound and those remaining farther west and short of the casaran
orchards, and the ongoing repairs to the west gate. There were also two large
circular and overlapping patches of scorched ground, one immediately in front
of the west gate, and one perhaps fifty yards farther west.
The pteridon crossed the walls and flared to a stop just to the right of the
closest pteridon square. Dainyl waited only until Falyna had dismounted before
he eased himself out of the harness. His legs almost buckled when he first
stood on the stones of the courtyard, but he stretched one leg, then the other
before turning to Falyna.
"Thank you," he told Falyna. "That was a very smooth flight. If you'll excuse
me, there's been some heavy fighting here, and I need to find out what
happened."
"Yes, sir." She smiled. "We'll be ready first thing in the morning if you need
us."
"I just might." With that, he turned and hurried toward the headquarters
building, hoping that either Majer Herryf or Overcaptain Dohark--or both--were
still there.
Overcaptain Dohark was waiting outside the study that Dainyl had been using.
He'd obviously been alerted to the Myrmidons' return.
The submarshal motioned for Dohark to follow him inside. Dohark shut the door.
"I thought we might have Majer Herryf join us," Dainyl said.
"He was killed on Quattri night, Colonel... I mean, Submarshal.
Congratulations, sir."
Although the desk was clear, as Dainyl had left it, his Talent indicated that
the overcaptain had been using it, but there was little point in saying
anything about that. Because the last thing Dainyl wanted to do was sit, he
leaned against the side of the desk, his eyes on the overcaptain. "You'd best
tell me what happened."
"What was bound to happen with an understrength battalion, Submarshal, and no
Myrmidon support. The blue-coats and greencoats attacked on Quinti--"
"Bluecoats? Greencoats? Remember, Overcaptain, I have been out of touch."
"Yes, sir. All the troopers of the western seltyrs wear blue. The troops of
the eastern seltyrs wear green. The bluecoats moved more than ten companies
across the mountains..."
As the overcaptain explained, Dainyl listened, intently. The poisoning
confirmed his beliefs that the local seltyrs had decided to use any weapon at
hand before the marshal's--or the High Alector's--support was withdrawn. It also
confirmed Lystrana's view that the marshal had never intended the revolt to be
successful, and that the marshal--or some high alector--had to be behind the
revolt, because the majority of seltyrs had cooperated in sharing, at least to
some degree, the contraband weapons. Without some hint of alector power, the
majority of weapons would have gone to the handful of stronger and wealthier
seltyrs. Dainyl would have to avoid that aspect in his final report, as well
as emphasize the more barbaric aspects of the seltyr tactics.
"... the wagon-ram was about to splinter the gates, but we poured cooking oil
on it and set it afire. A cask of oil
was dropped on the fire, and it exploded. That scattered some of the rebels
and disorganized them. The Cadmians managed to shoot a number because they
were packed in. Then, and because they were taking heavy fire, the rest of the
rebels began to fall back. Captain Mykel pursued them with Fifteenth Company
and killed a number of the stragglers and sent the others off."
"How many seltyr casualties?"
"We've buried over four hundred. How many died away from here or deserted,
that's something we can't tell."
"I noted what seemed to be explosions ..."
"As I mentioned, we used cooking oil to burn the ram. Some of it exploded."
"Whose idea was that?" Dainyl added quickly, "Please don't tell me it was
yours."
"No, sir, but it was my responsibility. I authorized the use of the cooking
oil."
Dainyl paused, thinking. The overcaptain might not have come up with the idea,
but he was trying to protect his officers. Dainyl suspected he already knew
whose idea it had been.
"How did Captain Mykel come up with that idea, Over-captain?"
"Sir?"
Despite Dohark's evasions, it was more than clear that it had to have been
Captain Mykel. None of the other officers had enough creativity and initiative
to carry out anything involving cooking oil and whatever else the captain had
used. "Where is Captain Mykel?"
"He took Fifteenth Company out early this morning. He's pursuing some of the
seltyr forces. He's the only one with enough able men to do that."
"You thought it was necessary?"
"Mykel pointed out that they were disorganized, but that they wouldn't stay
that way. He also said that we
didn't know when you and the other Myrmidons might return."
What Dohark said rang true, and it also suggested that Captain Mykel either
knew or suspected far more than was wise for a junior officer. The captain's
abilities were likely to create as much of a problem for Dainyl as the lack of
ability of his former superior had.
"Do you know his plans?"
"Not in detail, sir. One or two companies had headed northeast, and Captain
Mykel had thought he would attack them before they could rejoin the main body
of rebels."
"You allowed the only fully functioning company to leave the compound?"
"Sir, with all deference, I believe Captain Mykel was correct. The best
strategy was to attack before they could regroup and attack again. While the
massed forces of the rebels could not stand against the sky lances of your
Myrmidons, we had no word as to when you would be able to return. It seemed
imprudent to assume that you would return so soon. We could have been badly
outnumbered in a second attack, and we would not have been able to mount as
successful a defense as we did the first time."
Dainyl nodded slowly. "I would have done the same under the circumstances." He
smiled. "At the very least, we may be able to use the pteridons to make the
captain's tasks much easier." Because he could sense Dohark's combined sense
of relief and apprehension, he smiled. "We cannot begin that until tomorrow,
and not with full support until Novdi, but I have complete authority to use
the Myrmidons in any way necessary to put a stop to this rebel foolishness and
to return the mine to normal operations."
"Yes, sir."
"We'll talk in the morning after muster, Overcaptain." Dainyl stepped away
from the desk, but let the captain leave the study first.
As Dainyl walked to the officer's mess--where he was scarcely looking forward
to dining on Cadmian rations--he just hoped that he could end the revolt
without too many complications, including those posed by the potentially
Talented and enterprising Captain Mykel.

87
For Fifteenth Company, following the trail of the withdrawing rebels had not
been that difficult, either on Septi or Octdi. They had made no effort to
conceal their tracks, and while, after the first few vingts, they had carried
their dead with them, they had left clear signs of their passage, from
discarded garments, bloody bandages, empty cartridge belts, and one mount that
had broken its leg and been shot on the side of the road.
Mykel and his men had followed at a measured pace, not pressing, but not
slacking. While they had ridden through a few showers, those had been brief
and light.
At twilight, they had made an encampment on a grower's lands south and east of
Enstyla. Mykel had simply ridden in with the company and taken over the
outbuildings and the stables. He also slaughtered enough of the livestock to
feed his men. After all that he had seen in Dramur and more than a week of
stale field rations, Mykel was feeling far less charitable. The family had
remained in the main dwelling, and had been left to themselves. The handful of
retainers had vanished.
On Octdi morning, they had ridden out, carrying some additional food. Only a
thin high haze remained of the previous day's clouds, and by midmorning, Mykel
was uncomfortably warm. He had to remind himself that while it was early in
spring, he was in Dramur, not Elcien.
Less than a glass before noon, Jasakyt came riding back down the road toward
Mykel.
"Fifteenth Company! Halt!" Mykel rode ahead to meet the scout. Bhoral followed
his captain.
Jasakyt reined up a yard away from Mykel. "Sir... there's almost two companies
up ahead. Don't know whether it's a seltyr's place or just a big grower's. Not
many sentries, just by the main entrance. They're sort of scattered. They look
pretty beat."
"How far?"
"No more 'n vingt and a half. Sort of sits on a long gentle ridge. Doesn't
hardly drop off at all, but the highest point is between the big house and the
casaran orchard."
"Did they see you?"
"No, sir. Pretty sure they didn't. Dhozynt went around back, circled the
woodlot, and an orchard."
"What sort of encampment?"
"Doesn't look like much. They just stopped and sat down, almost..."
Mykel continued to ask questions until he saw another scout returning.
Within moments, Dhozynt had joined them.
"You circled to the back side?" asked Mykel.
"Yes, sir. They don't have any sentries there, not a one, and there's a back
cart path off the side lane. We could ride the whole way without anyone seeing
us--till we got to the last part of the casaran trees, anyway."
Mykel went over what Dhozynt had seen as carefully as he could. Then he turned
to Bhoral. "If you'd have the squad leaders join us?"
"Yes, sir."
While he waited for the squad leaders to gather, Mykel strapped an extra
cartridge belt across his chest, considering how he wanted to attack the
bluecoats, although there didn't seem to be a need for much strategy--just a
quiet hidden approach, a wide field of fire, and a restraint of any
pursuit, until and unless it was clear that Fifteenth Company had total
control. He had the feeling that if matters went as he planned, he wouldn't
care for the results. But if they didn't, he'd like it even less.
Gendsyr and Alendyr were the first to rein up on the road next to Mykel, but
only moments later Bhoral and the other three joined them.
Mykel looked at the squad leaders. "There are two companies up ahead. They
don't expect us. We'll be taking the back road to this estate where they've
set up camp. There aren't any guards, and few sentries. We'll ride in the last
quarter vingt hard and set up by squad into firing lines across the front of
their encampment--at less than twenty yards. I'll set first squad on the north
end, and you'll take intervals on us. We'll shoot everything that moves. No
pursuit unless and until I give the order--or Bhoral does. Is that clear?"
Nods and muttered replies of "Yes, sir" came back.
"Now ... this isn't going to be easy on the men." Mykel went on. "Some of the
rebels will fight hard. Others will have trouble fighting back. Some are
killers, and some are tired and discouraged. It doesn't matter who your men
are facing. They need to shoot and shoot well. I don't want this attack ruined
by pity. Make it simple. Tell your men these were the same rebels who gunned
down almost all of Seventeenth Company in an ambush. They're the same people
who poisoned Third Battalion. If we don't take out as many as we can now,
they'll do the same things to us again in half a season or less. They still
outnumber us overall, and we've got to change that while we can. Tell them one
other thing. The seltyrs like to shoot prisoners who escape. They'd rather do
that than fight an armed foe." He paused. "These aren't the poor folk of
Jyoha. These are the men who will be trained as killers for the seltyrs if we
don't stop them now." After another pause, he added. "I'm counting on you to
get the message to your men."
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed to your squads. We'll ride once you pass the vord."
Once the squad leaders had left, and the scouts had noved back forward to lead
the way, Bhoral looked at vlykel. "You think this will be a slaughter, sir?"
"Like I said, Bhoral, there will be some who fight and ;ome who will look at
us as they're shot down. We have to cill either kind, because if we don't,
they'll be trying to kill is next week or the week after ... and I'm getting
frigging ired of losing men who shouldn't be here in the first place." \s he
finished the last phrase, Mykel wished he hadn't gone quite so far.
"Yes, sir. You don't think the Myrmidons will be back soon, then?"
"I don't know what to think about that," Mykel admitted. "I only know that
these people don't think the same way anyone else I've ever met does. The only
thing they respect are either golds or force, preferably both."
"Seems that way, sir."
Mykel could tell that Bhoral had his doubts, but he didn't care to discuss it
further. The seltyrs, as Rachyla had told him, believed it was their right to
rule as they saw fit, and that the alectors and their Myrmidons--even the
Cadmians--would vanish. A Cadmian captain couldn't reason against that
attitude, and Mykel wasn't particularly happy being in a position where the
only practical solution was greater firepower. He looked at the empty road
ahead, then shook his head.
In less than a quarter glass, Fifteenth Company was again moving northward,
with orders to ride silently. Within another quarter glass, Mykel had dropped
the wagons behind, close enough to be reached quickly, if necessary, with a
four-man guard, two of whom had been stung by night-wasps the evening before.
Finally, Fifteenth Company reached the back of the
casaran orchards to the east of the bluecoat encampment. Ahead, there was the
slightest slope up through the orchards.
Mykel blinked. For a moment, he thought he'd sensed something like a road
beneath the dirt, a faint black trail running along the barely perceptible
high point of the gentle rise that split the orchard. He looked again, but saw
nothing.
"Now," he ordered quietly. "Forward." He urged the chestnut into a fast trot
down the lane between the nut trees.
As he rode past the last of the casaran trees and turned right, toward the
north end of the bluecoat encampment, Mykel took in the bluecoats he saw.
Several had started to run. Only one had a rifle immediately at hand, and he
seemed frozen.
After a moment, a single cry rang out. "Cadmians! Cadmians!"
Mykel and first squad reined up in a firing line at the north end of the
encampment, taking the highest ground, even if it was but a yard or so higher
than that to the east.
"First squad! Rifles ready! Fire!"
Five or six of the closest bluecoats were down within the first two volleys.
"Second squad! Fire!"
Bluecoats began to scramble toward the sheds, toward any form of shelter.
Abruptly, two older-looking bluecoats appeared, and one took dead aim at the
Cadmian captain. The other turned as well.
Mykel had one shot left. With all his thought, desire, everything, he willed
the bullet home.
The first bluecoat dropped, but the second brought his rifle to bear, taking
his time, as if to indicate that he might die, but that Mykel would as well.
All Mykel could do was duck, urge the chestnut forward, and will that the
bullets not strike him. Time around him seemed to slow, and he could sense the
bullets moving to-
rard him. Somehow, some way, he twisted his body out of lie line of fire as
the chestnut carried him forward.
Still in that slow movement, he watched the bluecoat's nouth open. For a
moment, the man froze, and then Mykel ind the chestnut were upon him. Mykel
knew that he could lot have covered that distance so quickly, but he had.
With-)ut cartridges in the magazine, he did the only thing that he ;ould,
reversing the rifle and slamming the butt across the jluecoat's temple. The
man dropped. Mykel felt a sudden smptiness, a feeling that he had come to
recognize as death.
He wheeled the chestnut back to the firing line, but the return seemed far
slower. The area closest to him was empty of able rebels. He reloaded quickly,
then slipped the rifle into its saddle case. "First squad! Sabres! On me!" He
stood in the stirrups. "Second squad! Hold!"
Very few of the rebels had lifted rifles in the face of the attack. Even so,
Mykel thought he had lost some of his men, or that some had been wounded. He
urged the chestnut toward the handful of fleeing men. "First squad, forward!"
The next glass was a confused mixture of pursuit, slashing sabres, moments of
silence, intermittent rifle shots ... and slaughter.
Mykel finally led first squad back to the villa, where they re-formed.
Led by Bhoral, the other squads rejoined them.
"Fifteenth Company stands ready, sir."
"Thank you. What were our casualties?" Mykel asked the senior squad leader.
"One dead, three wounded, not badly."
It could have been much worse, Mykel thought, glancing back toward the ruined
tents, then toward the apparently silent villa.
"What now, sir?" asked Bhoral.
"We'll take a half score of the best mounts, and whatever good supplies will
fit in the wagons." Mykel gestured to-
ward the villa. "Burn it. Not the outbuildings or the stables. Just the
villa."
"Sending a message to the seltyrs, sir?"
"And to their retainers and the others. I hope they'll get it." Mykel had his
doubts, but it was worth a try.
As Bhoral conveyed his orders to four rankers in first squad, Mykel surveyed
the devastation around the villa. It had been a slaughter. Over a hundred
bluecoats lay dead, left where they had fallen, in the fields, in ditches,
beside the stables, on the dirt lanes of the estate.
Slowly, he took a rag from his saddlebags and cleaned his sabre and sheathed
it. Then he checked his rifle, making sure that the magazine was full.
They hadn't taken prisoners. That bothered him, because the rebel troopers
weren't really to blame, but he didn't have any choices. If he let the
troopers escape, he'd have to fight them again later. Every prisoner taken
meant Cadmi-ans who had to guard them, and Fifteenth Company was already
understrength and needed every man. Finally, there was no reciprocity--the
seltyrs didn't take prisoners... and wouldn't, and they seemed to regard such
mercy as weakness.
He took a deep breath. There were other bluecoats left to find--and deal with
as best he could.

88
Despite his tiredness and the effects of flying two long days, Dainyl did not
sleep well. Images swirled through his dreaming thoughts, images of pteridons
and their fliers vanishing into dark tubes, of hundreds of landers and
indigens cutting each other down with bright
"1
shimmering rifles, of an ancient soarer in midair above a peak pointing a tiny
finger at him and telling him, "Change or perish."
He woke covered in sweat on Octdi morning, for all that the officer's chamber
was more than pleasantly cool. It was a relief to get up. He washed and
dressed, and made his way to the mess, where he ate hurriedly, washing the
rations down with ale, as a single sleepy-eyed Cadmian watched.
Then he began a thorough walking inspection of the compound, starting at the
east gate, and going through each building. Several were locked. Most of the
locks he could open with his Talent. One, which had a heavy hasp lock, he
severe&with the light-cutter sidearm. He could find nothing amiss, nothing
that should not have been there.
In the armory, he noted--through his Talent--that there were traces of where
barrels of ancient gunpowder had been recently removed, but he did not mention
that to the senior squad leader who was bemoaning just how much ammunition had
been used in the past weeks. When he finished, it was past the morning muster,
and he made his way to the headquarters building.
Overcaptain Dohark had taken over the smaller study, the one to which Majer
Herryf had retreated after Dainyl had assumed command in Dramuria. He looked
up as Dainyl appeared, then stood, quickly but smoothly. "Sir?"
"I was just checking."
"Battalion rosters, sir. It's really the first time I've had a chance to go
over them in detail to assess what we have. We've got a little less than half
a battalion left. Fifteenth Company is closest to full strength, with
eighty-four men, but that includes nine from Seventeenth Company."
"Have you heard anything from Captain Mykel?"
"No, sir. I doubt that I will until he returns."
"If he returns."
The overcaptain gave a harsh short laugh, more of a bark. "He'll return,
Submarshal, sir. Worst he'd do would be if he
only brought back half his men. If he did that, there wouldn't be a seltyr
left alive in a hundred vingts."
"You have a high opinion of the captain." Dainyl pressed a hint of Talent
toward the overcaptain, a suggestion that Dohark needed to say more.
The overcaptain frowned, then nodded, as if to himself, before speaking.
"Fifteenth Company has accounted for something like nine out of ten rebel
casualties. He seems to sense where the enemy will be. He gets people to talk
to him, too. He's found out more from that seltyr's daughter than I'd ever
thought possible. The local captains, they didn't want to talk to us much.
They were polite, but not much more. Mykel--I don't know how he did it--got them
to talk. On top of that, he's the best marksman in any of the battalions.
Anything he can see, he can bring down, and some that he can't." Dohark
stopped abruptly.
With each revelation by Dohark, Dainyl became more concerned. All of the
skills that the overcaptain mentioned were potentially Talent-driven or
Talent-enhanced. "Majer Vaclyn didn't know this?"
"He didn't want to know it, sir. He was the kind who was afraid that good
captains would show that he wasn't a good commander."
"And the Cadmian colonel, what did he think about Captain Mykel?"
"He didn't know that much, except that Fifteenth Company stopped taking heavy
losses once Mykel became captain."
"You praise the captain, yet you sound concerned," Dainyl pressed.
"Yes, sir. Mykel's realized that there's only one way to win here in Dramur,
and that's to kill off most of the sel-tyrs' bluecoats and greencoats
quick-like, before they can replace them, and take as many of the seltyrs as
possible. He's getting real good at using Fifteenth Company to wipe out
scores--more like hundreds--of rebels. I'm not sure
that's a good attitude for the rankers to develop. Leaves some of 'em real
cold, killers."
"Isn't that what they have to do?"
"It is here, sir, and that's the problem. Other places in Corns, we killed
rebels and folk, but the idea was to show force and control. Folks understood.
Here, they don't. Mykel sees that, and he'll do what he has to bring his
company through with the fewest casualties. Ambush, shooting down men as they
rest or eat, night attacks, if he thinks they can work..."
In short, thought Dainyl, Captain Mykel is becoming as ruthless as any
alector, and far more efficient than his peers--and it is clearly disturbing
the overcaptain.
"... thing is, sir, Captain Mykel's not like that, not inside, and someday,
he's going to have to live with what he's done here."
"Don't we all, Overcaptain?"
"Yes, sir." Dohark's voice turned flat and polite.
Dainyl regretted his choice of words, but he'd never had to deal that much
with Cadmian officers, and he'd forgotten the emotional overtones and issues
differed. The Views of the Highest had a section on that, but it had been some
time since he'd reviewed that wisdom. He wished he had, or that he could have
talked to Lystrana. After a moment, he offered a rueful smile. "I think that
sounded harsh. What I meant was that all officers end up having to do
unpleasant duties. It's the nature of what we do, and Captain Mykel has had
the misfortune to be in a position where, to get the job done, he must
undertake particularly distasteful acts. I'm sure that he will regret the
necessity, as I am sure you have at times, Overcaptain. Regret... and a wish
that matters could have been otherwise ... those we all face."
Dohark seemed to relent, at least slightly. "That'd be true for most of us. I
worry more about Mykel because tr seemed to care more, and worried about the
folks here--c
when we dealt with the Reillies. I think it tears at him, where he won't even
let himself see it, when other folks' cruelty requires the same, or worse,
from him."
Dainyl nodded. "There are some who simply don't care about the impact of their
acts. If all people did, then we wouldn't need as many Cadmians and Myrmidons
as we do."
"I suppose not, sir, but it's a sad world at times."
"That it is." Dainyl offered a smile he hoped was understanding. "I'll be in
the study if you need me."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl spent the morning reading through all the reports that the overcaptain
had left him. A number appeared to have been written most recently, and he had
to wonder if Dohark had composed them hastily after Dainyl's return.
From the reports and from what Dohark had told him, Dainyl had to admit that
the situation had not only gotten too far out of hand, but that Captain Mykel
seemed to be the only one who understood--or the only one willing to face what
had to be done.
Dainyl also needed to check on the local Cadmians and how and whether they
were getting the mine back into production, but he'd wanted to get a better
feel for the military situation before he talked to Benjyr and Meryst.
Just after midday, when he was considering trying to go to the mess to choke
down more ale and rations, Dainyl stiffened. From somewhere to the north had
come a flash of Talent, not ifrit-Talent, with its pinkish purple feel, but
something like that of the soarer, green, but overlaid with black, rather than
with the gold he had felt from the ancient.
Without a word, he left the study and walked out into the courtyard, turning
to the north.
The greenish black Talent had already begun to fade from his senses. Yet, in
its place, to the northwest, he could sense, if but faintly, that of the
ancient--as if whatever he had felt had also summoned her. He didn't need the
an-
cients around, not when they were apparently the only creatures who could
summon forces to bring down a pteridon.
Had that other flash of Talent been Captain Mykel? Had he begun to understand
and use his Talent? Or was another Talent-wielder loose on Dramur?

89
Mykel looked out into the darkness from where he sat on an old bench in front
of an outbuilding that had seen better days. After the slaughter southeast of
En-styla, Mykel had led Fifteenth Company a good fifteen vingts westward until
he had found another grower's place to commandeer for the evening. Fifteenth
Company had taken all the buildings, except for the main dwelling. There,
behind barred doors, the wife and children of the absent grower huddled, Mykel
was certain, dreading what might happen.
So long as no one attacked, he would let the dwelling stand. He realized that
he would be seen as arbitrary in what he destroyed, but those who openly
supported the rebellion would pay. In a way, though, that just encouraged
hypocrisy. There were no good answers, not that he saw.
As he considered the day just past, and the day yet to come, Mykel felt both
drained and, in a strange way, somewhat more alive. The fighting and the
killing discouraged and depressed him, necessary as he felt it was. Yet in
some fashion, he felt more alert than he had in years.
The skies were clear, and Selena had not yet risen. Asterta was but a pinpoint
just above the mountains to the west. There were no lamps or light-torches
anywhere, yet it did not seem that dark. Mykel could see the sentry on the
inner line, standing in front of a fence just in front of a
short-needled pine tree, slowly chewing on something, then turning away.
"Banayt!" he called out. "If you're going to eat on watch, at least keep
looking!"
The sentry jumped. "Yes, sir."
"Sir?" Alendyr's voice was tentative.
Mykel hadn't realized that the squad leader was so close, but he had not been
paying that much attention, lost as he had been in his own thoughts. "Yes?"
"You can see what Banayt's doing from here?"
"He's only some fifty yards out," Mykel said.
"It's dark as pitch out there, sir. I can barely make out the tree."
Mykel offered a shrug.
"Sir? About today ..."
"I wish we didn't have to do things like that, but there's no help for it,"
Mykel said, tiredly. "These people only respect force." He felt like those
words were becoming an excuse for everything.
"No, sir. We all know that. This was something different. I was just wondering
how you managed to get across that field so fast this afternoon. Those
bluecoats who were aiming at you, you dropped one, and then, all sudden-like,
you were almost on top of the other one."
"It just seemed that way," Mykel replied. "When you're fighting, strange
things seem to happen. Things speed up and slow down. It seems that way to me,
at least."
"I don't know, sir. Never seen anything like that... like you were in one
place one moment, and another the next."
While that was how it had felt, Mykel was reluctant to admit it. "Sometimes,
it feels that way. You're fighting. Then, suddenly, it's all over. Haven't you
felt that way at times?"
"Yes, sir." The squad leader paused. "You think there are that many other
rebel companies out there?"
"I'd guess there are still four or five. We need to take
down a couple more, at least, before they'll even think about surrendering."
That was being optimistic, but Mykel saw no point in saying so.
"Seems like a shame ... they haven't been trained that well... If we had two
battalions here, we could just roll them all up and get it over."
"It'd be quicker and easier on everyone, but... we don't. No one calls us in
until there's a real mess."
"Myrmidons would help."
"They would, but there are so many rebels that they'd have to burn the whole
island. There aren't that many of them, either." Mykel offered a rueful laugh.
"That's why we're here."
"Yes, sir... just thought you'd like to know."
"I appreciate it, Alendyr. I just hope we can finish this up before long."
"Yes, sir. It'd be good to get back to Elcien. Had some more nightwasp stings.
Say they'll get worse as it gets hotter."
"We can always hope we can finish before it gets too hot." Was that another
aspect of the rebel strategy? Drag things out so that the nightwasps and other
summer pests made things worse, until the Cadmians just wanted to leave?
"Hope so, sir."
After Alendyr slipped away, Mykel looked into the darkness. He knew what had
to be done, just as he could see Ba-nayt walking his post. Why did so few
others? Or was he trying to justify what he had done and would do?

90
Fifteenth Company moved out early on
Novdi morning, heading along one of the larger farm roads that meandered
northward and was one of the few that descended into and crossed the stream
valley that held the
smuggling trail. The scouts had reported some hoofprints in the road, no more
than one or two days old, possibly messengers between two rebel forces.
As he rode through an early morning that was already too warm, he considered
how long and to what degree he should pursue the disorganized rebels. The
bluecoats had not brought supply wagons eastward through the Murian Mountains,
perhaps one reason why the rebel companies had not remained in one unified
force. They needed to forage or buy supplies--or obtain them from those eastern
seltyrs with whom they were allied. Contrary to what Rachyla had said, Mykel
was convinced that some of the eastern and western seltyrs were acting
together. Admittedly, the decision to work together could have come after her
imprisonment.
Mykel frowned. He couldn't see that her imprisonment was doing much for either
her or the Cadmians. He also worried that she was right about her fate, but
what could he do? If he appealed to Dohark or Colonel Dainyl, they'd assume it
was because he was attracted to her--and dismiss his suggestion. In a way, he
was, but certainly not in a lustful or romantic fashion, and she definitely
had no interest in him.
He glanced at the road ahead, catching sight of the dust that heralded a
rider, one of the scouts. In less than a tenth of a glass, Sendyl had pulled
his mount alongside Mykel.
"A company of bluecoats, sir, maybe two vingts north, but they're heading
south. Looks like they're going to head west on that farm road on the south
side of that valley. Right now, they've stopped down in the valley. Maybe for
rations or water."
"Squad leaders! Forward!"
As he waited for them to gather, Mykel got out the maps he had. There was a
lane that angled to the northwest. The road heading west passed through an
area where the descent into the stream valley was so rugged that it was almost
im-Passable and where the land to the south was marshy, even
in drier weather. If Fifteenth Company set an ambush to the west of that and
then followed with a charge, the ability of the bluecoats to retreat or
withdraw quickly would be hampered. Yet, if they mounted a strong defense,
Fifteenth Company could withdraw quickly.
Once the squad leaders arrived and pulled up in a semicircle facing him, Mykel
began to speak. "We've got another bluecoat company headed our way. It looks
like they'll be turning westward north of here. We're going to set up a
surprise..." He went on to outline the plan as quickly as he could, finishing
up with a summary. "... I'll be with first squad, up front. If they don't
notice us until they're fully in range, the whole company will fire from cover
as long as we can. Then I'll order either a charge or a withdrawal. If they
react sooner, first squad will make a quick sabre charge. This will allow the
other four squads to set up in the oblique firing lines to rake the road.
We'll be riding back as quickly as possible." Mykel offered a rueful laugh,
looking at Bhoral. "Just make sure first squad is clear on the way back before
you open fire."
Bhoral even smiled in return. "We can manage that, sir."
Chyndylt chuckled.
"That's it. We'll be heading northwest at the next cart path. Back to your
squads and pass the word."
The cart path that Mykel had noted and recalled was more like an overgrown
trail, and he heard the creaking of the supply wagons at the rear--even as far
ahead as he was riding. After half a vingt, the path emerged from between two
woodlots and became a dike between two marshy areas. As soon as the chestnut
set foot on the dike section of the path, clouds of gnatlike insects swarmed
up around the riders. While not as bad as nightwasps, the gnats found their
way into eyes, ears, and even noses. Swatting them released an odor much like
rotting meat.
At the far end of the raised path, where a casaran orchard that had seen far
better days replaced the marshy ground,
the gnats vanished--but not the lingering odor. Mykel didn't recall the
insects, but the last time they had ridden the area had been winter. Based on
what he was seeing, feeling, and smelling, he wasn't looking forward to the
summer ahead in Dramur.
He could hear the mutters behind him.
"... longer we're here ... worse it stinks ..."
"... better to let 'em fight among themselves ..."
Mykel had some sympathy for that view, although he wasn't about to voice it.
Another quarter glass passed before they neared the junction with the south
valley road. Jasakyt, whom Mykel had sent ahead, was waiting, just off the
road, in a shaded spot. He rode forward to meet Mykel.
"Nothing on the road, sir. No tracks. Way's clear to a stand of trees a half
vingt east."
"Thank you. Fall in with your squad."
"Yes, sir."
"Supply wagons! Hold here! Pass it back!" Mykel stood in the stirrups and
looked back to make sure that the wagons had halted before turning his
attention to the east-west road. "Fifteenth Company, to the right!"
After covering another two hundred yards, Mykel turned to Bhoral, on his left.
"Up there, where the woodlot south of the road thickens, that's where I want
the rest of the company."
"You want them set up so that they can take the road if necessary--in a firing
line?"
"Right. That won't give as much concealment, but I want them able to ride at a
moment's notice."
"You're thinking that this group might be better prepared, sir?"
"Something like that." Most of the rebels couldn't have been less prepared.
Was that because the more disciplined companies had stayed away, or had their
own scouts and information allowed them to avoid the Cadmians?
"Be a good thing to be ready to ride."
That was about as far as Bhoral was likely to go in saying that he approved.
As they drew abreast of the trees, seemingly less tended than most woodlots,
with more than a few bushes between and under the trees, Mykel turned in the
saddle. "Company, halt!" He looked to Bhoral. "They're yours."
"Yes, sir."
"First squad, forward!"
Gendsyr rode forward and took the position beside Mykel. They rode toward a
copse of trees, standing alone on the right, large enough to conceal a squad,
but certainly not a company.
"Squad, halt!" Mykel reined up well short of the trees and turned the chestnut
so that he faced the squad. "Find cover, but stay mounted, and make sure you
have a clear line of fire at the road. Don't ride any farther east on the road
itself. And don't open fire until I order it."
Within moments, first squad was off the road and settling into the trees.
Waiting was one aspect of being a Cadmian that Mykel had the most trouble
with, especially on hot days where flies and other insects buzzed around
looking for exposed flesh. It seemed like a glass or more had passed, but he
doubted that it was much more than half a glass. Then, another quarter glass
went by before Mykel could see two riders on the road, with a larger group
behind them. "Quiet! I Rifles ready!" he hissed. "They're coming."
The few murmurs that had competed with the insects and birds died away.
Mykel kept waiting, his rifle in hand.
The rebel outriders were no more than seventy-five yards in front of the main
body. They continued to ride toward the Cadmians concealed in the trees south
of the road. Neither outrider gave the trees more than a passing glance--until
they were within a few yards of Mykel, when one of them
abruptly lifted a rifle and wheeled his mount, firing toward the trees.
"First squad, open fire!" As he yelled out the orders, Mykel brought his own
weapon up and fired, concentrating hard.
The rebel outrider dropped, knocked back in the saddle. The second outrider
fell a moment later, but not from any shot Mykel had fired.
"First squad! Forward!" Mykel guided the chestnut out from cover and turned
eastward, not riding full out, so that Gendsyr and first squad could catch up.
He tried another shot, but wasn't certain he hit any of the approaching
bluecoats, still a good fifty yards away. He sheathed the rifle and brought
out the sabre. "Forward!"
The bluecoats in the lead were slow to react, and first squad was on them
before most ever had their rifles out or aimed. Only half even had sabres
ready.
Mykel aimed himself and the chestnut at the squad leader--he hadn't seen anyone
resembling an officer. The rebel parried Mykel's sabre, but Mykel slipped it,
ducked slightly, and countered with a slash to the back of the other's neck
and shoulder as he passed.
He was slightly off-balance, and barely managed to get his blade back into
position for his own parry of a blow from a rebel ranker, but the less
experienced ranker had put too much effort into his slash, and Mykel caught
him across the throat before he recovered.
Behind them, in the following companies, Mykel could hear orders, so clearly
that they must have been bellowed at full throat.
"Lead squad! Break and withdraw! Second squad, rifles ready! Four abreast!
Measured advance! Fire at will!"
Mykel pulled to the side of the road, knocking back a weak blow from a
retreating bluecoat, and issued his own orders. "Fifteenth Company! First
squad! Withdraw!"
Studying the confusion of the retreating squad of bluecoats
and the order behind them, Mykel watched as first squad rode past him, heading
back toward the rest of Fifteenth Company. Then he urged the chestnut along,
bringing up the rear.
Several quick glances over his shoulder told him that the bluecoats were
pursuing, if at the measured pace ordered by their commander. When first squad
was out of easy rifle range, he called out, "First squad! Re-form! Now!"
The squad slowed and re-formed, still headed westward. Mykel checked the
advance of the bluecoats against the position of the still-concealed main body
of Fifteenth Company.
"First squad. To the rear, turn! Staggered firing line!"
"That's a long way, sir," Gendsyr pointed out, from his mount beside Mykel.
"I don't care if we hit them. I want them to keep coming after us." Mykel had
cleaned and sheathed his sabre and taken out his own rifle, reloading it as
well. After a moment, he ordered, "Fire!"
He concentrated on one of the lead bluecoats, once more fully concentrating
and willing the shot to hit.
The bluecoat sagged in the saddle.
"Cease firing! To the rear, quick trot!"
After another hundred yards, Mykel repeated the firing line. He took down
another bluecoat, and the rebels began to pick up the pace.
As they drew near the woodlot where the remainder of Fifteenth Company waited,
Mykel called out, "Bhoral! Fifteenth Company! Stay under cover! Stay under
cover!"
First squad rode past the first section of the woodlot before Mykel called a
halt and had the squad turn and form a full firing line.
"First squad! Stand by for two shots, then reload and hold! Commence firing!"
The bluecoats were closer, little more than sixty yards to the east, when they
broke into a full charge, riding five abreast, and filling the road.
Shots flew past Mykel, mostly overhead, and he forced himself to wait...
longer than he felt comfortable before ordering. "Fifteenth Company! Open
fire! Fire at will!"
The rifles of a full company sounded like thunder, and the first two ranks of
the bluecoats went down. That slowed the charge, but the rebels struggled
forward past riderless mounts and downed horses and men and kept coming. Mykel
could sense the combination of hatred, frustration, and desperation. He kept
firing, until the blue-coats were within twenty yards. "Rifles away! To
sabres! Charge!"
Since Mykel couldn't see an officer, he charged the nearest ranker, a young
dark-haired man who flung up his sabre wildly. Mykel beat it down, but could
only deliver a second slash to the other's sword arm as he passed.
When Mykel finally broke free of the melee, a handful of bluecoats were riding
westward. Mykel glanced west, then east. To the east, a body of rebels, equal
to perhaps two squads, was withdrawing, riding hard. They were already too far
away for Fifteenth Company to pursue.
An enormous shadow fell across Mykel, then passed on. He looked up to see a
single pteridon diving toward the retreating bluecoats.
A line of blue flame jetted from the skylance, moving across the riders. Then
... the flame was gone. So were the riders. A wave of something passed over
Mykel--a feeling of mass death? He wasn't sure, except that he had felt
something. Even from almost a vingt away, he could see the blackened spot on
the road and the heat rising from where there had been twoscore rebels.
"Make it look easy, they do," said Dravadyl, reining up beside Mykel. "That's
after we've done all the hard work."
"They can't do much unless the enemy forces are away from us," Mykel pointed
out. "Otherwise, we'd be cinders, too."
"Ah... sir?"
Mykel looked at the fourth squad leader. "Yes?" * "Might want to bind that
wound."
Abruptly, Mykel looked down, suddenly conscious of the slash across his left
arm. "It's not that deep, but you're right." He glanced back at the pteridon,
which had banked and turned back toward the Cadmians.
Within moments, the flying creature had swept back overhead and was overtaking
the handful of rebels riding westward.
The skylance flamed once more, and once more Mykel sensed death, and it felt
like something had been severed. He doubted that any of those killed had even
seen the pteridon.
The pteridon circled back and began to descend toward the road junction. Mykel
could see that it was coming in to land. "I'd better go meet them."
"Here, sir," offered Dravadyl. "Just take a moment. Let me bind that."
Mykel waited until the white bandage was around his arm, not too tightly, but
enough to staunch the blood oozing out, he hoped.
"Bhoral! Re-form the company and get a casualty report. I'm going to meet the
colonel."
"Yes, sir."
Mykel urged the chestnut forward, but only at a walk. He'd asked too much of
his mount already. Ahead of him the pteridon had spread its wide wings and
settled in the wide space where the two roads joined.
As he neared the flying beast, which had folded its long blue wings, he saw
that there were two saddles on the pteridon. The forward saddle held a
Myrmidon ranker. The second saddle was empty, because Colonel Dainyl had
dismounted and stood waiting for Mykel.                              j^

91
With no messages from Captain Mykel on Octdi, nor by two glasses after morning
muster on Novdi, Dainyl was concerned. The Cadmian scouts had reported more of
the remaining forces of the various seltyrs had joined and were withdrawing
into the rugged country to the north of the guano mine. None of the scouts had
gathered any information to indicate where Fifteenth Company was or where it
might be headed.
The mine was back in operation, and guano was being carted down to the port,
but that would last only so long as the seltyrs' forces remained to the north
and east of the mine--or if they were destroyed.
Dainyl stood in the study that had belonged to the late Majer Herryf,
considering his options. He had to agree with Captain Mykel's feelings that
delay in dealing with the rebels was unwise--that was how the overcaptain had
presented it--but Dainyl would have appreciated some message as to how the
captain was proceeding. Then ... could Dohark--and the captain himself--have
overestimated Mykel's abilities and underestimated those of the rebels? That
had already occurred with two other Cadmian captains--and landers did have a
tendency to think they were more able than they in fact were.
There was a knock at the study door.
Dainyl turned to see Captain Meryst standing there.
"Submarshal, sir?"
Dainyl motioned for him to enter. Meryst did, his eyes reluctantly meeting
those of the Myrmidon. Dainyl could sense the apprehension there.
"You have something to tell me, Captain?" Dainyl remained standing, looking
down at the junior officer.
"Yes, sir." Meryst squared his shoulders slightly. "We got some information
from one of the squad leaders. His younger brother brought it this morning."
Dainyl waited.
"A company of Cadmians rode into the grounds of the grower Fhezart yesterday
afternoon. There were some men in blue there. The Cadmians pulled up into a
line and began shooting. Then they rode after those who hadn't been shot and
cut them down with sabres. After that, they burned the place."
"All the buildings?" asked Dainyl.
Ah ... no, sir. Just the villa. They left the other buildings. They took all
the weapons and ammunition and some supplies and put them in their wagons.
Then they rode off. They left the bodies where they fell."
"Captain Mykel, I would say. Where is this grower located?"
"East-southeast of Enstyla, forty vingts from here."
Dainyl nodded.
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"People are going to be upset at that. You just don't ride in and shoot
people."
The submarshal tilted his head slightly. He said nothing.
Meryst shifted his weight from one boot to the other and back again. He did
not speak.
After the silence had drawn out, Dainyl cleared his throat. "Let me see if I
understand the reasoning behind this. The locals revolt against the Code and
against the Duarches. They obtain contraband weapons, and they ambush and
destroy two companies of Cadmians. They use some sort of subterfuge to poison
and kill a third of the Cadmians in the compound. Then they assault the
compound. Captain Mykel follows some of them, catches them
off guard, and shoots them. He rides down others and kills them, too. He does
not burn the entire estate, but only the villa belonging to those who
sheltered the rebels. What the rebels did was acceptable, but what he did is
not? Can you explain that to me, Captain?"
"They feel that they are defending their land, sir." Meryst stiffened.
"Convenient rationale," Dainyl replied dryly. "Buy or take the land from those
who once had it. Because you now hold it, that entitles you to revolt against
those who made having the land possible, and to use any method at all. Those
who are upholding the Code, of course, can only attack the armed men who are
revolting under certain 'honorable' conditions." He looked hard at Meryst.
"Dramur would not exist were it not for the Duarches. The seltyrs would have
nothing. The Code makes that quite clear. They have broken the Code. They are
not entitled to even the consideration that Captain Mykel has offered. I
strongly suggest that you recall that, Captain." Dainyl forced himself to
relax and to smile understandingly. "I appreciate the information, and I very
much appreciate your conveying it to me. I realize that, as someone raised
here in Dramur, this entire revolt places you in a most difficult situation.
It puts us all in that situation, in different ways, and I trust you
understand that. You do not wish to be involved in this. Neither do I,
Captain. I ask you to remember one thing. All the seltyrs had to do... was
nothing. No one was taking anything from them. No one raised their tariffs.
The only real problem was that prisoners were escaping from the mine."
"Yes, sir."
"Now"--Dainyl shrugged--"we have to do the best we can, and the best course is
to crush resistance as quickly and absolutely as possible. Unless the seltyrs
surrender unconditionally and immediately, I intend to do so."
"They will not do that, sir."
"That is unfortunate." Dainyl nodded. "Thank you, again."
"Yes, sir. By your leave, sir."
"You may go."
Dainyl watched the captain leave. He could sense the anger and the
frustration, but nothing Dainyl could have said would have eliminated either.
What bothered Dainyl most was the fact that he'd had to mislead the captain.
Either the Highest or the marshal had appealed to the greed and fear of the
seltyrs and arranged for them to receive contraband weapons, suggesting that
they would need them. With the arrival of Majer Vaclyn and his heavy-handed
ways, the seltyrs began to prepare, and the Cadmians had reacted to that. In
turn, the seltyrs had reacted to the Cadmians, and now Dainyl had no options
but to finish what Captain Mykel had begun--because he certainly couldn't
reveal the duplicity and schemes of the marshal and the Highest. Not and
survive. There was also no point in revealing those schemes until he was in a
position to do something about them, because, until he had some power over the
marshal and the Highest, or some hard proof to submit to the Duarches, all he
would accomplish would be his own demise.
His lips tightened. After a moment, he shook his head. He walked to the peg on
the wall, took down his flying jacket, and donned it, walking quickly from the
study and the headquarters building out into the courtyard.
Quelyt was waiting beside his pteridon, the one wearing the second saddle for
the day, since he had the duty. "Submarshal?"
"Are you ready to fly?"
"Yes, sir. Where to?" After a pause, the Myrmidon asked, "Do you need us
both?"
"Not today. We'll see if we can find our missing Cadmian company. Yesterday,
they were some forty vingts to the northeast. They'll be moving to the
northwest."
"Anything we're looking for?"
"When we get to the northeast, a burned-out villa. There won't be much smoke.
It was burned yesterday."
"Could be some," Quelyt suggested. "It's clear enough we might be able to see
it." He finished checking the saddles and harnesses, then slipped into the
forward saddle.
Dainyl mounted behind him and adjusted the straps.
With a burst of Talent-energy, the pteridon leapt into the light wind, wings
spread, and began to climb, barely clearing the eastern wall of the compound.
Quelyt continued eastward directly into the wind for another vingt before
turning northward.
As the pteridon carried the two Myrmidons northward, Dainyl studied the narrow
roads. There were no large groups of riders on the roads, no lines of wagons,
no large pillars of smoke climbing skyward, and no Talent-sense of the
ancients--or of anything else except the pteridon. He couldn't help but worry
about the ancient soarers. With only an understrength Cadmian battalion and
two pteridons, if he were to put down the revolt quickly, he didn't need any
interference from the soarers.
After slightly more than a glass, Dainyl caught sight of a black patch in an
open area, farther to the east than the course on which he had directed
Quelyt.
"To the right!" he called forward. 'To that black spot."
The pteridon made a gentle, banked turn eastward. The crystal beak pointed
directly at the black spot. As they drew nearer, Dainyl could see faint lines
of thin smoke still rising from the blackened mass. He could also see that
only one building had been burned.
"Follow the road to the east of the burned villa--the one that heads north."
Again, Quelyt turned the pteridon.
They had traced the course of the road, at an altitude of around two hundred
yards, for less than a half glass when Dainyl sensed Talent, the same sort of
greenish force that
he associated with the ancients--yet it was not the same, not exactly. The
Talent-trace vanished before he could pinpoint it, although it was generally
to the northwest.
"Turn more to the northwest."
"Coming northwest, sir."
Another quarter glass passed before Quelyt turned in his saddle. "Fighting up
ahead, sir. South side of that long valley."
"Drop a little and get your lance ready."
"Yes, sir."
The pteridon lost another hundred yards and continued        | westward almost
down the center of the valley that the Cad-mians had patrolled for the arms
smugglers. Below to the left was the road that ran along the top of the bluff
forming the south side of the valley.
Dainyl sensed another flash of greenish Talent, far closer, and he leaned to
the left, studying the road, making out two mounted forces. Even from two
hundred yards above, Dainyl could make out the difference in uniforms between
the maroon and gray of the Cadmians and the bright blue and green of the
rebels.
"A little lower!"
As Quelyt swept down, Dainyl could see that whatever the Cadmians had done,
the rebels were getting the worst of it and were breaking off the fight.
                                   J
"Circle back and flame the riders in blue, the ones riding     I eastward and
trying to escape!"                                              I
"Yes, sir!" A grim satisfaction filled Quelyt's voice.             I
Dainyl could also see a handful of rebels riding west-     I ward, but those
would have to wait.                                          i
The pteridon banked steeply and dropped into a dive, centering itself on the
road and coming down to less than fifty yards above the road as Quelyt aimed
the skylance.
A long burst of blue flame flared over the more than two squads of riders, and
then the pteridon was past the section of road that held only soot and ashes.
"There were some rebels headed west," Dainyl said.
"We can get them, too."
This time Quelyt climbed slightly before bringing the pteridon into another
tightly banked turn that brought the pteridon onto a westward heading. They
swept over the Cadmians and in moments were closing on the fleeing rebels. A
quick burst from the skylance was enough.
"Now what, sir?"
"Can you set us down somewhere west of the Cadmians?"
"Need a wider place, sir. Let's see."
Yet another tight turn followed.
"Right at the road junction," Quelyt finally said. "Plenty of room there."
The pteridon flared and landed on the road. A brief cloud of dust rose, then
began to settle.
"You stay mounted. Keep the skylance ready," Dainyl ordered. "I need to talk
to the captain."
"We can do that, Submarshal."
Dainyl unfastened the harnesses and dropped to the road. His legs buckled
slightly for a moment. He supposed he'd never again get as used to flying as
he had been as a full-time flying Myrmidon. After stepping well away from
Quelyt and the pteridon, Dainyl waited for the captain. He kept a pleasant
smile on his face as Captain Mykel rode toward him, hard as it was. The bare
hint of a greenish aura surrounded the captain, the unmistakable sign of
emerging Talent. Stronger Talent would have blared forth or been hidden behind
shields. He should deal with the captain immediately, or '    soon, at least.
Yet... Mykel was the only captain in the battalion who seemed to know what he
was doing and who was able to do it. Dainyl had been ordered to end the revolt
quickly, and ending it would take longer, perhaps far longer, without the
captain.
Mykel reined up a good three yards back from the sub-marshal. He inclined his
head in respect. His uniform was bloody, and one arm was roughly bound.
"Captain Mykel."
"Colonel..." The captain paused. "I'm sorry, sir... have you... do the stars
mean you're a marshal?"
"Submarshal."
"Yes, sir. Submarshal."
"You seem to have been most effective in dealing with the rebels," Dainyl
offered.
"You and the pteridon were more effective, sir."
"It's going to take both Myrmidons and Cadmians. I heard that you attacked a
company yesterday while they were in bivouac on an estate. Was that report
accurate?"
"There were two companies. We killed more than a company. The rest scattered.
I had the villa burned. Not the outbuildings. That would have hurt the
retainers more than anyone else."
"Was pursuing the rebels your idea or Overcaptain Do-hark's?"
Mykel smiled uneasily. "I requested permission to undertake the pursuit after
they had attacked the compound. Overcaptain Dohark granted my request."
"With some trepidation, I would wager." Dainyl laughed.
"Sir... you'd have to ask the overcaptain about that."
"I did. He was worried about losing Fifteenth Company. Did you think about
that?"
"Yes, sir. Every time we've lost badly has been when we fought on their terms.
Sitting and waiting would have been fighting on their terms."
"What would you suggest now, Captain?"
For the first time, Mykel looked uncertain. He did not answer immediately.
                                                            j
Dainyl waited.
"If... if Third Battalion were up to full strength, I'd keep pursuing until we
wiped them out or until they made a stand."
"So would I," Dainyl said. "That's exactly what we're going to do. Two
Myrmidons with skylances will help." He
studied the captain. His Talent was still intermittent and unfocused, and he
might not even be aware of what he was doing. Dealing with the captain could
wait. The rebels could not.

92
Late on Novdi evening, Mykel sat on a sagging and backless pine bench outside
yet another grower's stable--where, this time, Mykel had taken the tack room
with its single narrow bunk for his own. This grower had been on his lands,
and he had explained that he had not backed the rebels and wanted no trouble.
He had been telling the truth, and Mykel had told the man that he wanted no
trouble either, just fodder and some food and shelter, and that Fifteenth
Company would be leaving in the morning.
Mykel looked from the dark main house, its shutters fastened tight despite the
warmth of the evening, toward Bho-ral, who sat on a sawed-off log set on end
across from his captain.
"Colonel--the submarshal--talked to you for a long time," observed the senior
squad leader.
"He did. We'll be getting messengers regularly now. He might even drop
messages by the pteridons."
"Glad to see that they finally decided to use the Myrmidons," Bhoral said.
"I have the feeling that the submarshal wanted to all along," Mykel replied.
"He said he was recalled, and that there had been some changes made."
"Made him submarshal for one." Bhoral shifted his weight on the log. The
planks underneath creaked slightly. "You think his plan will work?"
"We don't have to do anything but what we've been doing."
"Not until we get them all bunched up. If they gather their forces. You think
they will?"
"That part seems likely," mused Mykel. "We've already proved that they can't
stand against us if they're separated. Once they're together, the Myrmidons
can fly in."
"They have to know that--after this afternoon."
"They might, but who will tell them? I didn't see any survivors," Mykel
pointed out. "We could have burned the bodies."
Bhoral pulled at his chin. "Don't know as I'd count on it."        j
"What else can they do?"
"They could hide and wait."
Mykel laughed, a sound ironic and rueful. "You and I could hide and wait. The
seltyrs have based everything on their power. They can't wait, not if they
want to remain seltyrs." He couldn't help but think of the legacy he had left
in Jyoha. There, the people had learned exactly what could be done against
arrogant and unprepared power. Mykel hadn't meant to teach them that, but he
had, however inadvertently, and that was something else that might change the
future of Dramur--one way or another.
"They could still dig in someplace, where there are caves, holes, rocks, and
make us come get them," Bhoral said.
"The submarshal expects that. He thinks that, if we push them in the right
way, they'll move into the rocky ground some twenty vingts north of the mine.
There's a forest in front, with big pine trees, the kind that the Myrmidons
can't use those flame lances through, but the trees are far enough apart for
mounts underneath. They can retreat upslope to a cliff with caves."
"We're going to do that, with one company?"
"He's going to put Rhystan in charge of an oversized       i company, what's
left of Fourteenth and Sixteen Companies. They'll push from the south."
"We'll still have to lose men digging them out."
"The submarshal says that he and the Myrmidons can take care of that part. Our
job is to whittle them down and get them into the open or into the caves."
"Coldhearted bastard, isn't he?"
"You could say that." Mykel didn't see that Submarshal Dainyl was any more
coldhearted than Mykel himself had been recently--or than the seltyrs had been
more than a few times. "Better coldhearted than hotheaded."
"Suppose so. I still don't like it."
"Neither do I, but it's better than what we faced without the Myrmidons."
Mykel stood and stretched.
"We going to push tomorrow?"
"No. It'll take Rhystan another day to get far enough north. We're supposed to
move west and north some, and make sure that we're seen--and not get ambushed
or lose any men. If there's a small group or company, and I think we have a
solid edge, we can attack." Mykel snorted. "That's not likely."
"No, sir. Everyone knows we're here. Either find five companies on our
doorstep, or none in a half score of vingts." Bhoral yawned and rose from his
log stool. "Going to check the sentries. See you in the morning, sir."
"In the morning." Mykel continued to look out into the darkness, taking in the
corral fence and the sentries beyond. While Selena had risen earlier, it had
vanished behind the clouds to the east, providing only a faint glow behind
them. Asterta hung, a miniature circle of green, above the Murian Mountains,
reminding Mykel of the ancient soarer--who had also hovered above the
mountainside and told him to find a talent that allowed him to look beyond, as
if he even knew where to start. And when had he had time for that? The only
talents he seemed to have time to find and use were being able to shoot a
rifle with lethal effect under almost any conditions and finding more
effective ways to kill rebels.
Somehow, he didn't think that was what she had meant.
Was there a link between her and the ancient dagger? Alone in the darkness, he
slipped it out from the slot in his
)elt. The blade shimmered greenish in the darkness, yet in a way that shed no
light, cast no shadow. Why was he still ;arrying it?
Because not to would be worse. That he knew, even if he iidn't know why. He
slipped the miniature dagger back into its slot.
Then he turned and headed for the door to the tack room.

93
Decdi morning was pleasantly warm, if
drier than Dainyl preferred, when he left the officers' mess after breakfast,
now back to cooking normally, and walked to the stables. There he watched as
Captain Rhystan mustered the bulked-up Sixteenth Company and headed them out.
Four supply wagons brought up the rear as the Cadmi-ans rode out the west
gate.
Once Sixteenth Company was well down the road, and the rebuilt gates had
closed, Dainyl strode across the courtyard to the headquarters building. Early
as it was, the building was empty, except for the squad leader on duty, who
sprang to his feet as Dainyl passed.
"Carry on." The submarshal smiled and kept moving.
Once in his study, Dainyl walked to the window and looked out into the
courtyard, far emptier than on previous days. How long would it take for the
two Cadmian companies to herd and prod the seltyrs into gathering their
forces? What if they remained separate?
A cold smile appeared. If they remained separate, between the pteridons and
Captain Mykel and Captain Rhys-tan, soon there would be no sizable rebel
forces left.
Dainyl still pondered over why the marshal and the Highest had armed the
seltyrs and fomented such disorder in
Dramur. The unrest clearly reduced lifeforce, both through the actual deaths
of higher life-forms and through the disruption of guano deliveries to the
mainland. Why would they want that, particularly at this time?
Still having no answer, he turned to the rack set against the inside wall and
picked up the map of the area north of the mine. He needed to study it before
he had Falyna fly him over that terrain later in the day. It wasn't the best
of maps, but it was what he had, and he systematically committed the major
terrain features to memory.
Sometime later, there was a quiet rap on the door. Dainyl looked up.
"Sir?" Meryst stood in the study doorway.
"Yes?"
The captain held up an envelope. "A messenger delivered this to the guards on
gate duty a little while ago. It's addressed to you."
Dainyl took the envelope. The outside bore the inscription "Colonel Dainyl."
He broke the blue wax seal, unfolded the parchment, and began to read the
flowing script.
Colonel Dainyl,
Dramur and its people are not and will not be mere counters or tokens in a
game played by a handful of alectors who appear only when they wish to take
something. On behalf of those who have entrusted their futures to our
leadership, we urge that you leave Dramur to its people and their traditional
leaders, for we cannot and will not submit to the rule of outsiders who have
neither understanding nor appreciation for our ways.
If you do not choose to leave, and to take your Myrmidons and Cadmians with
you, you and they will suffer. We will not surrender, and alectors will never
rule Dramur, for you can never be a part of the land and the world upon which
it rests.
At the last words of the message, Dainyl barely managed
keep from frowning, recalling what Lystrana had pointed
it earlier. How had the seltyrs known that? Were they            '
lessing? Or had they just used flowery words and come up
ith that phrase? There was no signature, only a seal, set in
e same blue wax.
"Sir?" asked Meryst.
"We have been told that we will suffer, and that they will
sver surrender. I didn't expect something in writing, but I
aderstood the message without a formal declaration." He
^tended the missive so that Meryst could see the seal. "Do
ou recognize this seal?"
"No, sir."
About that, the captain was telling the truth, and his puz-lement seemed
genuine.
"Why do they think they can defy the Myrmidons? Do ou have any idea, Captain?"
"Sir... the seltyrs have always felt they are the true and ightful rulers of
Dramur. So long as no one interfered in            1
^hat happened on their lands, they paid token allegiance to tie Duarches."
Was that the reason for the marshal's plot? But... if that vere so, why would
the seltyrs have trusted any emissary vho was an alector? Or had they just
pretended to trust to )btain the weapons? Or had someone else acted as an
inter-nediary? "That speaks poorly for everyone." Dainyl's vords were dry.
                                                                     i
"Yes, sir, but that is the way they have felt."
"Thank you, Captain."
Meryst nodded, then turned and left.
After a moment, Dainyl walked across the corridor to the smaller study, where
Overcaptain Dohark stood at the window.
The overcaptain turned. "Sir?"
"The seltyrs have declared war to the death, or some such," Dainyl announced,
holding up the missive. "They ac-
tually sent a message. Almost touching, their belief in their power and the
lightness of their ways." "Yes, sir."
"You sound doubtful, Overcaptain." "Not doubtful, sir. A Cadmian finds out
soon enough that every man feels his ways are the right ways. Otherwise, he
couldn't face the next day. Most wouldn't declare that they'd fight to the
death. Fewer would." "You don't think the seltyrs will?" "They will. Some of
their men will." "And the rest? What will they do?" "They'll go home and do
what they must." "Even if that means following the next seltyr?" "If that's
the only choice, and it will be for many." "I fear you're right about that."
Dainyl nodded. "I'll be out flying for most of the morning. It could be
longer."
The submarshal returned to his study, where he reclaimed his flying jacket
from the study and made his way out of headquarters and into the courtyard,
striding toward the square that held the duty pteridon. Falyna was waiting.
"Just recon today, sir?" "Just recon--unless we happen to see a massed force of
rebels in the open."
Dainyl thought that most unlikely, and, from her expression, so did Falyna.

94
Under the midmorning sun of a warm Duadi, Mykel blotted his forehead, then
leaned forward slightly in the saddle to look at the half score of houses that
lay five hundred yards ahead down a barely perceptible incline.
Over the past few days, following the submarshal's or-iers, Mykel had slowly
moved Fifteenth Company westward and northward. While they had occasionally
seen the tioofprints of the rebels' mounts, the prints had been at least a day
old, and all were headed in a westerly and more northerly direction.
Gerant cleared his throat. "Sir, roads and lanes look clear."
Mykel shifted his eyes from the small hamlet back to the scout reined up
beside him. "There's no one out in the hamlet?"
"No, sir," replied the scout. "Saw me coming, and every door and every shutter
slammed shut, quick as a lightning bolt. A couple ran and shut up their
stables."
"We're not exactly popular," Mykel said.
"No, sir. Not as though we shoot women or children."
"Or poison people," Mykel added dryly. "We'll ride through, but with rifles
ready." He doubted that they would need the rifles, since he couldn't sense
any real danger, but there was always the chance that his senses wouldn't pick
up all dangers.
He straightened in the saddle. "Fifteenth Company! Rifles ready! Forward!"
"First squad, forward!" repeated Gendsyr^
Mykel studied the hamlet as they rode closer. The fields on each side of the
road alternated between sunbeans and pastures where grass alternated with bare
soil. The grasses that had been green throughout Dramur a few weeks earlier
were showing signs of tan and gold as the days continued to warm.
Small orchards grew behind most of the small cots, but Mykel had no idea what
the fruit might be. He'd thought the people who lived in the north Westerhills
had been poor, but they were well-off compared to the peasants in small
hamlets in Dramur. Yet the seltyrs lived like rulers--they were
cepted it. They not only accepted their poverty, but they seemed to be against
anything that would make the seltyrs more accountable. From what he could see,
the young men willingly joined the ranks of the rebels, even while the seltyrs
were bleeding their families and parents.
"Quiet." Bhoral pulled his mount alongside Mykel's. "Every hamlet has been
like this. You think they fear us that much?"
"I don't know whether they fear us, or they fear what we might do, or they
fear not showing fear because of what the seltyrs and growers will do once
we've left."
"You think things will be that bad?"
"Oh, there will be new seltyrs, and some growers will become seltyrs, but
these people will stay poor. For them, nothing will change."
"I suppose not. My folks still live in the same house in the same village
outside of Hafin as my grandparents and their parents did."
Mykel's parents lived in the same house where his grandparents had. Was it
like that for most people? Was that why so little changed? Mykel's lips
tightened as he considered the thought.

95
Dainyl leaned against the study desk that was too low and small for him to sit
behind for any length of time. He supposed he could have ordered a larger one
built, but he'd never expected to be in Dramuria so long, and he wouldn't have
felt right about wasting the resources for something used so infrequently or
for such a short time. For a moment, his eyes flicked to the window. Outside
headquarters, the Tridi morning sun was beating down on
the stones of the courtyard. A faint heat haze was forming, although noon was
a good two glasses away. His eyes turned back to the overcaptain who stood
before him. "The rebels are slowly being pressed back north of the mine and
well west of Enstyla. Within another day or so, they should be in a position
where we can attack."
"I'll head north this afternoon, then," said Dohark.
"That wouldn't be a good idea. I'll have to be there." Dainyl handed a folded
sheet to the overcaptain. "That is my commission designating you as officer in
charge of all Cadmian forces in Dramuria, under my supervision, as well as the
officer in charge in my absence, injury, or death."
Dohark's eyebrows lifted. "Sir?" He did not unfold the sheet he had accepted.
"While I don't plan on anything happening in my absence, if you join this
assault on the rebels, there will be no one I can trust here in the
compound--or in Dramuria. In my boots, would you wish to leave command in the
hands of Captain Meryst or Captain Benjyr?" Dainyl didn't mention that Benjyr
had spent the last weeks avoiding even getting anywhere near him, although
Dainyl had not pressed the issue.
"No, sir." Dohark's words were grudging.
"I know you're a fighting officer, and a good one, but my choices are simple.
I can either relieve Captain Mykel and give you Fifteenth Company, and put him
in charge here, or leave you here. You have more rank and stature, and you are
not perceived in quite the same ... light... as Captain Mykel. Didn't you tell
me he was being called the Knife of the Ancients, or something like that?"
"Yes, sir. That's a blade that cuts so sharply that it wounds both the user
and the victim. Supposedly, such blades actually exist. They're very rare,
though, and no one admits to ever having seen one."
"Does the captain know this?" The idea of Captain Mykel being termed a tool of
the ancients disturbed Dainyl,
but then, the captain and his emerging Talent already worried at the
submarshal.
"He knows what that means, sir, but I don't think he's aware of being called
that."
As he stood in the study, Dainyl sensed, for the third day running, the use of
Talent to the north. It was clearly the Talent of an ancient--the soarer--and
not the unfocused and shorter spurts of Talent that he associated with the
Cad-mian captain. Unlike earlier manifestations of the soarer, the more recent
appearances had lasted far longer. So much use of Talent by an ancient, or
ancients, at a time when his plans were coming to fruition, troubled Dainyl.
It suggested that the ancients were aware and interested, if not involved.
"The name fits, in a way," added Dohark.
"That the captain is far sharper than most realize?" Dainyl kept his tone dry.
"Yes, sir. Right now, he could be a good majer. In time, he could be a good
colonel."
"As I recall, you were worried that he could be too ruthless."
Dohark flushed. "Ah ... that was not quite what I said. I said he was as
ruthless as necessary, and effective, but I worried that it would take a toll
on him."
Dainyl, distracted by the continuing sense of the ancient to the north,
perhaps near the old tunnel that held what had to be the equivalent of a
Table, nodded. "I apologize for overstating, Overcaptain." He paused. "I trust
you understand why I must insist you remain here."
"I understand, sir. It might be helpful... at the appropriate time..."
"If it is necessary, I will inform Colonel Herolt."
"Thank you, sir."
"There are a few other pressing matters. Until later, Overcaptain." Dainyl
waited for several moments until Dohark had left, trying not to look hurried.
Then he pulled on his flying jacket and strode out and down the corridor, nod-
ding at the duty squad leader before leaving headquarters. He crossed the
courtyard rapidly to the pteridon square, where Quelyt waited.
The Myrmidon ranker had seen Dainyl coming and stood by the pteridon in his
own flying jacket. "Where to this morning, Submarshal? North again, sir?"
"Yes. We'll swing west, head north past the mine, then do a recon of the area
where the seltyrs seem to be gathering."
Quelyt vaulted into the first seat and began fastening himself in.
Dainyl waited a moment and did the same in the rear seat. After a moment, he
called forward, "Anytime, Quelyt."
The pteridon sprang into the air above the courtyard, blue wings spread wide,
into the wind out of the north. In moments, they cleared the northern wall of
the compound. Once they were a good hundred yards above the ground, Quelyt
swung more to the northwest, until they reached the mine road and paralleled
it.
Dainyl leaned slightly to the left, studying the ground below, but he saw no
one on the mine road, nor on the winding lanes farther east. He still sensed
the soarer to the north. It had been half a glass since he had noted her
presence--a far longer time than ever before--except over the last three days.
They flew northward for more than half a glass before Dainyl saw plumes of
dust on an older and narrower road heading north. "Up ahead, on the road. See
how close you can get!"
"Heading down, sir!" The pteridon half folded its wings for a moment, starting
a shallow dive, then extended them again, so that the dive became an extended
downward glide.
By the time the pteridon had descended to a hundred yards above the road, a
point where Dainyl could have determined who was riding, the rider or riders
had vanished-- hiding in casaran orchards, woodlots, under single large trees,
whatever cover was available. Such disappearances
alone suggested that the riders were rebels and that their officers had scouts
detailed to watch the skies for pteridons.
While Dainyl knew that some of the orchards below held rebels, he couldn't
very well have Quelyt flame every tree under which rebels might be hiding.
That was one reason he needed the Cadmians to herd the rebels into a more
circumscribed area. He kept scanning the area on both sides of the road, but
the riders remained concealed.
"What now, sir?" called back Quelyt.
"Head north, toward that mountain where we found the ancient tunnel."
"North it is." The pteridon began to climb, turning slightly to the northwest.
Dainyl looked back over his shoulder, but the rebel riders remained hidden and
doubtless would stay so until they were certain the pteridon was well out of
sight. He turned his eyes and Talent northward, seeking out the soarer's peak,
with its odd-angled shape.
Another half glass passed before the pteridon neared the site, and with each
vingt that the Myrmidons drew closer, Dainyl could sense the soarer more
clearly.
Below the peak, in the charred grove that the Myrmidons had flamed a season
before, Dainyl could see greenery where there should have been none--not so
soon after the destruction wrought by a skylance. The presence of the soarer
remained strong, with a hint of something implacable behind the green Talent.
"There's something there, sir. Can't tell what it is, but it's like a fog in
front of that cave," Quelyt called back.
For Dainyl, there was no fog--just a circle of green iridescence with the
soarer hovering in the center two or three yards out from the front of the
cave. "Don't get any closer. Just sweep by, then circle back again at the same
distance."
"Yes, sir."
As the pteridon flew by, Dainyl could sense a Talent-probe of some sort, but
one so light, so delicate, that he
might not even have noticed it had he not been fully concentrating with his
Talent and all his senses. He tried to block it, but his own Talent skittered
off and through the fine line of green, as if it were smoke or mist, or not
present at all. Yet there was a sense of strength there.
With a suddenness that took Dainyl's breath away, the pteridon dropped a good
fifty yards, almost instantly. The wide wings beat faster to regain altitude.
Dainyl had felt the Talent drain, but not any link to the soarer.
Quelyt banked to the right, gently, so as not to lose more altitude, swinging
the pteridon out away from the peak and the higher ridges to gain separation
from them.
"Sir... there's a downdraft or something there."
"Just head back to the compound," Dainyl replied. "We've seen enough for now."
The pteridon kept turning until Quelyt straightened on a southerly heading,
pointed toward Dramuria and the Cad-mian compound.
Was the soarer able to divert lifeforce from the pteridons at will? That was
what the last few moments had strongly indicated, reinforcing what the marshal
had suggested about the ancients being able to destroy pteridons. In using the
pteridons, Dainyl would have to watch for the ancient soarers, avoiding them
completely if at all possible and giving them a wide berth if not.
After all these years, why had the soarers reappeared now?
Dainyl couldn't help but feel that it was neither accident nor coincidence,
and to avoid disaster he would have to be most careful, most careful indeed.
He looked southward, out over Dramur, recalling and wondering exactly what the
ancient had meant when she had told him that he would change or perish. How
could an ifrit and an alector change? An alector's very nature was unchanging.
What had she meant? Or had she merely meant to confuse him?

96
Mykel looked down from the ridge at the swale below, mostly reddish sandy
soil, covered in parts by wild grasses. Absently, he blotted his forehead.
Even in the late afternoon of Sexdi, past the heat of the day, spring in
Dramur was hotter than most full summer days in Elcien.
On the far side of the swale, which was close to two hundred yards wide, the
older-growth pine forest began. Each of the giant trees had a trunk close to a
yard across. The rebels had retreated to the old forest to the north of the
mine, a wedge of giant pines with a front only half a vingt across. The warren
of tall pines extended more than two vingts back, on a gradual slope. The top
of the slope was a barren and sandy flat plateau covered with pteridon-sized
boulders, and ringed by an irregular semicircle of cliffs. Those on the
northern end were three hundred yards above the forest, while those to the
west were half that, and those in the south were more like reddish bluffs only
fifty yards high.
Within the forest itself were somewhere between four and six companies of
rebels and several seltyrs. Thin trails of smoke from the rebel cookfires rose
into the silver-green sky. Mykel frowned for a moment. Cookfires meant men
gathering. Did he dare try the approach the scouts had found? Did he dare not
to, given the alternatives?
He glanced to his left, where Rhystan had reined up beside him. Beyond the
older captain, a half vingt to the south, Sixteenth Company was drawn up on
the more southern ridge facing the forest, a vingt to the south, just far
enough back that the rebels could not fire from the trees and hit the
Cadmians.
"We've got them in the forest, like the submarshal wanted," Rhystan said. "Now
what? We've been here for nearly three days. We just can't keep sitting here
and patrolling. We go down that slope, and we'll lose half the men we have."
Mykel had to agree. While they could cross the open swale under heavy fire,
they would not be able to make much headway in moving through the trees, not
without losing too many men. Even with Sixteenth Company joining Fifteenth,
they were heavily outnumbered, with no chance of obtaining replacements
anytime soon. Under those circumstances, he wasn't about to sacrifice men for
position. "It will be worse in the trees."
"You have that look, Mykel. What do you have in mind?"
'To the northwest, there's that jumble of rock beneath the cliffs. It fills in
the space between this ridge and the northwest corner of the forest."
"You said that they had men stationed there."
"They do, but most of them are facing the lower ground. My scouts think there
might be a narrow passage right under the cliffs. If I could bring Fifteenth
Company up behind them... and if most of their men are near the cookfires ...
and if I wait until they're eating ..."
"That's three 'ifs,' and two are too many for a good operation," Rhystan
pointed out.
"Only two," Mykel countered, with a laugh. "We bring the company in early in
the morning, before it's light, and we just wait until they're eating."
"That's two dubious propositions."
"Only one. That's whether I get the company past their sentries. If I can,
then there's either a way or there's not. If there's not, we come back, and
we're no worse off. If there is, then we wait and attack. All you have to do
is be ready to deal with anyone who leaves the forest."
"Or charge in and rescue you," replied Rhystan dryly.
"One way or another... it's best if you don't attempt a rescue. Just slaughter
them, if it comes to that."
"You're going to try it, aren't you?"
"I'm going to see if it can be done. If we don't finish this quickly, then the
other growers and seltyrs will raise more men, and we'll be in an even worse
position."
"That's what I like about you, Mykel. You're such a cheerful fellow." Rhystan
shook his head. "You're certain you want to do it?"
Mykel nodded.
"Then I suppose we can attempt a few diversions, to keep their interest
focused on us."
"Nothing that loses men. We don't have any to lose on diversions."
"Just on problematical operations?"
Mykel laughed. "Look who's being cheerful."
"Realistic," countered Rhystan. "Go see what you can do. We'll divert them."
"If it doesn't work, we'll let you know. Otherwise, I'll need you to start the
diversions at a glass past dawn tomorrow. Would you send a message to the
submarshal that it's likely we'll be attacking early tomorrow?"
"I'll tell him Fifteenth Company will attempt certain unspecified actions in
the morning."
"That's better. Thank you." With a smile, Mykel turned the chestnut and rode
back two hundred yards to the northwest, where Bhoral waited, mounted in front
of Fifteenth Company.
Bhoral looked at his captain, but did not speak, waiting.
"We're heading farther northwest--opposite that rock pile below the cliffs.
We'll stay well back below the top of the ridge. I don't want the rebels to
see us."
"Yes, sir. Are you planning an attack on that section of the forest?"
"Not until tomorrow before dawn. The scouts had sug-
gested there might be a path between the rock pile and the cliffs. If I can
find a way to take out the sentries, then we'll try it."
"If you don't?"
'Then, we'll have to think of something else--or wait." The thought of waiting
beyond Septi chilled Mykel, because every day the seltyrs would get stronger
and find more men. "Fifteenth Company! To the right, and forward!"
He rode at the head of a column of rankers that had gotten gradually but
steadily shorter with each week, leading them across the back side of the
ridge. A slight breeze gusted across them, but died away, and the silver-green
sky remained clear of clouds, but hazy from the heat.
A half vingt later, Mykel reined up the chestnut short of the crest of the
ridge and dismounted, handing the reins to Sendyl and taking out his rifle. He
also extracted a spare cartridge belt from his saddlebags and fastened it
across his chest and shoulders.
While he could sense Bhoral's disapproval, even without looking, he ignored
it, instead turning to the senior squad leader. "Just hold the company here.
After I see what the situation is, we'll stand down and make sure that the men
and their mounts are rested for tomorrow."
He turned and, rifle in hand, motioned to Jesakyt. The two Cadmians walked up
toward the crest of the ridge, angling toward one of the scrub oaks near the
top. Keeping low, they slipped behind the bushy oak.
Mykel peered through the leaves. The swale directly below was a slight
depression barely five yards below the ridge crest, rising to the northwest
until it reached the base of the cliff another hundred yards to Mykel's right.
There, it merged with the ridge top in a flat and open expanse-- except that
half of that open expanse was covered with a jumble of sandy red boulders that
appeared to have been piled haphazardly just out from the base of the cliff.
"You see, sir," Jasakyt said in a low voice. "The rocks
look like they fell away from the cliff. I could see light all the way
through. I could have ridden to cover behind the rocks, but coming back, they
would have been waiting, and I thought you should know."
"I appreciate that." Mykel studied the rock pile, then the forest to its left
and behind it. The rocks rose close to thirty yards above the base, not quite
so high as the tallest of the giant pines, but higher than most. Between the
top of the ridge and the forest were a few of the scrub oaks, spaced
irregularly. There were none on higher ground short of the rock pile and the
cliff, and nothing else that would offer cover.
Mykel studied the ground for a while, then nodded. He turned and started back
down the back of the ridge. Jesakyt followed.

97
In the darkness close to three glasses before dawn, Mykel stood on the back
side of the ridge, looking at Bhoral. "You can let the men sleep or rest for
another glass. We're aiming at riding through the defile at the base of the
cliffs at a glass before dawn, while it's still dark. I don't want it to be
dark that long, though, because they'll need the light once we're in the
forest and clear of the rocks. When you get word from Jasakyt or one of the
scouts, you'll have to bring the men through in single file and quickly."
"Yes, sir." Bhoral nodded stiffly.
Mykel understood the older squad leader's feelings--that the only dangerous
thing officers were supposed to do was to lead charges against enemy fire, and
that was something Mykel had always preferred not to do until he'd found a way
to change the odds. One simple way of changing the
odds was sneaking through the darkness in which he could see better than could
most people, then shooting sentries with his gift--was it a talent?
"Every so often," Mykel went on, "have someone near the crest of the ridge
fire a rifle. Not at the forest, either." He didn't want to get hit by his own
men, even by accident. The occasional shots were another cover. Mykel hoped
his own use of the rifle, with shots from outside the forest, would be heard
as an intermittent exchange of fire between scouts and sentries.
"Yes, sir. Jasakyt and Dhozynyt will be watching the defile for your signal.
They'll bring your mount."
"Good." Mykel lifted his rifle and walked up the hill toward the first of the
scrub oak bushes, keeping low so that he would not be outlined against the
sky. He wore crossed ammunition belts over his chest, heavier than he would
have liked, but he was afraid he might need every cartridge.
Behind the first scrub oak, he paused, looking across the flat section of the
ridge and planning his route from oak to oak toward the dark and looming mass
of the pine forest. Keeping low, he slipped from behind the first scrub oak
and moved at a quick, but measured pace, still staying low. He crossed a space
of thirty yards before he reached the second, where he stopped and caught his
breath, peering through the leaves toward the forest.
He didn't sense any of the tension he felt when people were watching him, but
he also didn't want to feel that instants before a bullet blasted into him.
After several moments, he slipped downhill toward the next scrub oak, a
distance of less than ten yards. His boots skidded as he stopped, and a small
stone skittered down the steeper section of the slope, clicking several times
before it came to rest. Cool as it was in the darkness, Mykel had to blot his
forehead with the back of his sleeve to keep the sudden sweat from running
into the corners of his eyes.
He looked through an opening in the leaves, focusing his
eyes on the darkness of the forest, but while he could make out tree trunks,
and some undergrowth, he could see no sentries. He knew they were there and
could sense their presence in that clear but undefined feeling he had always
had, but which had become more and more certain since he had been in Dramur.
Absently, he wondered why, then pushed away the question.
The next scrub oak was back to the right, more than twenty yards away. Mykel
was halfway there when he could feel someone, something looking at him.
He flattened himself on the ground, just before the crack of a rifle. Then he
scrambled forward over the last ten yards, zigzagging erratically before
dropping flat behind the base of the small bush, just before two more shots
sounded.
Mykel did not move, waiting to see what would happen. His head and chest were
shielded, but a really good shot might hit his legs--if the shooter were far
enough to one side. From what Mykel could tell, the shooter seemed to be
directly south of him.
Slowly, he eased the rifle into position, still waiting, and looking out the
right side of the base of the tree. Nothing happened.
He eased himself sideways, just a fraction and aimed at where he thought the
shooter was, and fired once. The return shots were high, but Mykel marked the
slight flare of the muzzle flash and took aim and fired, once more willing his
shot to its target.
He could sense that he had hit the other, with a flare of emptiness.
Not waiting, he scrambled forward, dodging forward and behind several scrub
oaks in a row, but without the sense of anyone looking for him until he was
within a few yards of the edge of the forest. Once more he half flattened, and
half scramble-dived toward the roots of a huge tree. His chest slammed into a
root that felt as hard as iron.
Crack! Crack! Crack! At least one bullet struck the trunk
love him at enough of a glancing angle to drop fragments bark across the back
of his all-too-damp neck. He squirmed around the base of the tree so that it
was be-'een him and the direction of the shots. For a time, he re-ained
silent, letting his straining lungs take in air until he is no longer
breathing hard, while listening intently. The rock pile lay to his right, but
there was at least one ntry in the trees to his left. The sentry he thought he
had lied lay somewhere more immediately to his right. For a oment, he froze.
How did he know the man was dead? e'd been acting on those kinds of feelings
more and more, e longer he'd been on Dramur. He'd always had some use of where
people were, but not to the degree he did )w, and the sense of knowing death
was far more recent. 7as that part of the talent the ancient soarer had been
say-g he had to find?
In the darkness of the forest, he shook his head. Now asn't the time for that.
A shot from up on the ridge, from the area of Fifteenth ompany, echoed through
the darkness. Mykel nodded, len eased, as quietly as he could, from the trunk
of the one ine to the next, trying to keep trunks between him and here he
thought/felt the nearest sentry was. As he moved, he picked up sounds that
became more ear as he moved eastward.
"... shots... swear one came from out there... like the ist one ... you heard
it."
"... Dhurcan's always shooting at shadows ... wastes mnunition..."
"... saw something ... sure I did ..." "... could have been a forest cat...
seen some here ..." Mykel stopped, then stepped sideways behind a slender ine
trunk. There, less than ten yards away, three yards back om the northern edge
of the forest, were two rebels, tieeling behind a crude log barrier, looking
out into the arkness.
Slowly, he raised his rifle, aiming, and firing.
The sentry on the right dropped. The other dropped behind the logs, his head
below the topmost, but clearly still visible from where Mykel stood.
Mykel fired again. He did not move for several moments, but heard nothing. He
quickly but quietly reloaded, then began to move back through the forest to
the northwest. He kept his senses alert, knowing that at least one more sentry
was stationed somewhere between where he was and where the rock pile was. He
had to keep moving, because he had less than two glasses before it started to
get light. Should he have started earlier? That had risks as well, such as
running into changes in the watches.
The last sentry in the forest was in the same kind of revetment as the pair
had been. Like them, he never seemed to have considered someone approaching
from behind. Mykel dropped him with one shot.
That left the men in the rock pile, and Mykel had to remove them all, if he
possibly could.
He circled to the south in the darkness, still remaining in the darker shadows
of the trees. As he moved southward, a slight clearing appeared between the
forest and the rocks. He stopped and moved back northwest, halting behind the
trunk of one of the last giant pines. Then he peered around the ancient trunk,
studying the jumbled mass of scrub pine and rock at the far side of the
clearing, directly west. At one time in the past, part of the cliff farther to
the southwest had peeled off and fallen, leaving the jumble of rock and trees
from which the rebel sentries could rake the approach to the defile between
the cliff and the rock pile, barely wide enough for a single mounted Cadmian
at a time. If any sentries remained, the Cadmians would be better targets than
tethered chickens, even in the darkness, standing out against the face of the
cliff.
He eased around the tree, moving as quietly as he could toward a large boulder
at the base of the rock pile. From
/hat he could sense, there were only a handful of rebels in tie rocks, perhaps
as few as four or five. While he would pproach them from the side, almost the
rear, coming up rom the southeast, he would have to be careful, because the
outhern part of the rock jumble overlooked the rear of the orest, the area
where the rebels had set up camps.
Mykel would have placed more men to guard the flank, tut even the rebels only
had so many men, and the rocks ooked impassable, especially to men on
horseback. He noved up the back of the rocks, a boulder at a time.
The first sentry heard something, and turned. "That you, Juirstyn?"
Mykel put the single shot through his forehead.
"Stop the target practice!" came a call from Mykel's left.
Mykel coughed, loudly.
"What's the matter there, Visort?"
Mykel made choking sounds, even as his eyes, ears, and enses tracked the
oncoming squad leader. He assumed that he man was something like that.
Scraping sounds, and the clicking of small displaced ocks suggested that the
squad leader was descending from i position slightly higher and to the west.
Mykel just waited.
As he did, another shot rang out from the ridge, followed )y one from the far
side of the rock pile.
"Stop it! They're firing to see if you'll fire back so they ;an figure out
where we are." The man's voice carried icross the rocks, as though he were
within yards, but Mykel itill couldn't see him.
Another rock bounced past Mykel's foot. A large figure ap-jeared three yards
or so upslope, sliding down the flat smooth iurface toward Mykel. The Cadmian
barely had to aim.
The shock of the other's death slammed through him, ind he took a half step
backward, before catching himself, -fe'd sensed death before, at least
recently, but he'd not felt i physical impact. He shook his head, trying to
clear it.
"What was that?"
"Don't know, squad leader went down to see Visort."
Mykel noted the general direction of the second voice and started to make his
way up through the rocks. He was getting tired, and the actual operation
hadn't even begun.
The last two sentries were less than ten yards apart, one at each end of a
boulder that had split. The rear section had dropped, leaving the forward part
as a near-perfect stone revetment.
Despite his care, his boot scraped on the rock as he moved into position
behind and above the two.
"That you, squad leader?" The nearer sentry turned his head, but not his rifle
or his body.
Mykel hated to shoot. He did. Then he hurried his shot at the second man, who
whirled, looking around blindly.
Mykel forced himself to concentrate on the last shot. Then he just stood there
for several moments. There were no sounds, no voices, and no sense of any
other rebels nearby.
He reloaded, his fingers seeming stiff, but he managed, before he began to
climb down the northwest side of the rock pile. When he reached the corner,
where the defile started, he whistled, once.
Two low whistles responded.
He returned a triplet, and waited.
After what seemed a good quarter of a glass, but was probably less, Jasakyt
appeared, riding slowly, peering into the darkness, his face tight with
apprehension. Mykel wanted to laugh, seeing the scout with a look that
mirrored a belief he was about to be shot.
"Jasakyt..." he hissed. "Just ahead on your left."
"Captain?"
"Right here. Get the others. We don't have as much time as I'd hoped."
"Yes, sir."
The sky was beginning to show signs of silver-gray to the
ast by the time all of Fifteenth Company had ridden irough the narrow defile
and formed up behind a copse of rees below the southwest comer of the rock
pile.
"We'll ride by squads around the back of die rocks. If no me challenges us,
we'll move into the edge of the trees and eeping moving south toward the
cookfires. We'll walk the tiounts as close as we can. If they give an alarm,
or when I irder a charge, we'll ride to a firing line on the north side of lie
cookfires, then fire until they start to regroup. That's vhen we'll switch to
sabres and use the trees." Mykel ooked across the squad leaders. "Is that
understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let's head out. Silent riding." According to any tactics nanual or training
Mykel had received, what he was doing vas unsupported and dangerously foolish,
but there was a ime to follow standard tactics and a time not to. He hoped le
was right in choosing the time not to.
He and first squad rode close to half a vingt, around the ock pile, and
another three hundred yards just inside the rees at the back edge of the
forest, on the flat short of vhere the ground rose toward the rocky and sandy
plateau ibove and to the west. The sky had lightened into the silvery gray
that immediately preceded dawn.
Then, from the trees, came a shout. "Cadmians! They're lere! Cadmians!"
"Forward!" Mykel urged the chestnut into a fast trot, as nuch as he dared
while dodging trees and branches, an->ling out of the forest and pushing his
mount into greater ;peed toward the northernmost of the cookfires.
A good three hundred rankers were gathered, either in ines at the cookfires or
standing or sitting. Others were still ying on their bedrolls and blankets. At
the sight of the nounted Cadmians, rebels in blue scrambled for weapons aid
for cover.
"Fifteenth Company! Firing line!"
Mykel reined up and took aim at a man dressed in blue
and silver, wearing something similar to what Seltyr Ubar-jyr had worn. He
fired, and the seltyr dropped. He turned his rifle on a captain and fired
again.
He had dropped more than five bluecoats and reloaded once before the rebels
began to return fire with more than scattered shots--and those faded away
quickly. He surveyed the space around the cookfires, taking in the bodies
lying at so many odd angles, and swallowed. Now what? The rebels had melted
into the trees.
Only a fraction of a glass had passed, or so it seemed, but the angled rays of
the early-morning sun sifted through the tops of the giant pines.
Mykel caught sight of mounted rebels to the southeast. "Sabres! Fifteenth
Company! Forward!"
Pressing the attack seemed less dangerous than trying to withdraw through a
forest he did not know, and going back through the defile would take too long
and allow the rebels to regroup and fire at Fifteenth Company when the
Cadmi-ans would be in a position where they could not return fire effectively.
While he did not know how much of Fifteenth Company followed his lead, he
could hear the hoofbeats and sense riders behind him, and several moving up
abreast of him, if separated by the pines.
Mykel had his sabre at the ready as the chestnut carried him toward the middle
of a single squad of rebels. Several had rifles up. Mykel ducked as shots
whispered past him.
Then he was among the rebels, slashing the shoulder of a too-young ranker,
then parrying a thrust from an older rebel.
"South! To the cliffs! South!"
'To the cliffs ... to the cliffs!"
The surviving bluecoats spurred their mounts up the gradual slope to the
southwest and away from Fifteenth Company, now spread in the trees. Mykel
didn't like that, and realized he'd pushed too much.
"Fifteenth Company! Re-form! Re-form!"
The company hadn't been that scattered, because he had his men back in squads
in less than a quarter glass, and they were following the fleeing rebels. When
they came out of the trees at the top of the gradual slope, there were other
bluecoats riding slowly southward, less than a hundred yards away.
"Full firing line!" Mykel ordered.
He waited only until his men were in a rough semblance of a firing line. "Fire
at will!"
After the first shots, the rebel laggards began to spur their mounts. Even so,
another ten or fifteen rebels went down before those fleeing vanished into the
welter of boulders, although Mykel could see dust and sand rising in various
places.
"Cease fire!"
At the top of the slope, as he reloaded, Mykel studied the area before him
more closely, a sandy plateau, with boulders and long and short rocky ridges
rearing up everywhere. The ridges were as short as ten yards, but in length
some seemed to stretch for a hundred. A few of the boulders were as small as
his foot. Most standing alone were larger than a peasant's cot, and one to his
right was as large as a seltyr's villa.
Should he follow the rebels?
A shadow flashed over him, and he glanced up. Two pteridons circled overhead.
One bore two riders, the other but a single Myrmidon.
A skylance flared down, then another.
"By squads!" Mykel ordered. "Toward the cliffs! Measured pace! No quarter!
Third squad on me!"
"First squad! Toward the cliffs ..."
"Second squad ..."
"Third squad! On the captain!"
"Fourth squad..."
Mykel followed the tracks of the rebels rather than trying
to navigate a new path. That way, he hoped, he could avoid pitfalls in the
sandy soil. For the first several hundred yards, that also meant riding around
fallen mounts and men.
He glanced to the southwest, where another line of blue fire lashed down from
one of the pteridons. Mykel could sense a wave of deaths.
From the sand and dust, he could see that the remaining rebels--those that had
fled the forest--were gathering under a rocky point jutting out from the
cliffs, as if to make a stand.
Mykel couldn't help but feel sorry for them. Gathering was the worst possible
tactic against Myrmidons and their skylances. They had to know that. So why
were they doing it?
He glanced upward, looking for the pteridons, but they had circled back
around.
Maybe the tactic wasn't so stupid. Could it be that there was some angle to
the rock or a protected area there?
Mykel certainly didn't want to assault a natural stone fortress, but he
couldn't see more than a hundred yards ahead. He didn't sense anyone that
close, but he slowed the chestnut to a walk. "Measured walk! Measured walk!"
They weren't going to catch the rebels immediately, and the base of the cliff
where the rebels were looked to be less than a vingt away, although it was
hard to tell with the fine sandy dust raised and the long shadows cast by the
early-morning light.
Mykel had ridden less than a hundred yards farther when the profusion of low
rocky ridges and boulders ended, and a flat expanse of low sandy hills
replaced the rocks. Half a vingt away, the rebels were re-forming with their
backs directly to the low cliffs.
"Fifteenth Company! Halt! All squads! Halt!"
Something was happening on the rocky point above where the rebels gathered.
There was a greenish cast to the air just above the point. The green
intensified, growing into a glowing greenish sphere. Side by side in the
center of the sphere were two of the winged soarers.
Fhe lead pteridon ignored the sphere, and Mykel took an trawn breath, sensing
power still rising in or from the lere until it began to glow more brightly,
almost as if terta had appeared over the plateau in all her green glory, t
Mykel could feel no heat.
'Fifteenth Company! Stand fast!" He didn't want anyone tting any closer to the
soarers, especially with the Myr-dons closing on them. "Stand fast!" repeated
Bhoral.
A line of blue flame flared from the skylance of the first yrmidon, angling
down toward the gathered rebels. Mykel winced, waiting for the eruption of
flame and the ndreds of deaths. Instead, the blue flame flared and then rved
backward, turning and twisting back toward the yrmidon's lance. A line of
green flashed and joined the le flame, and the lance of blue and green tore
through the yrmidon and into the pteridon. "Oh..."
The pteridon's wings folded inward, and like a duck shot midair, it seemed to
cartwheel downward in an arc to-trd the massed rebels.
A squad of bluecoats bolted from the right side of those thered beneath the
red-walled cliff. They rode hard, gal-ping to the northwest, sandy dust rising
from the hoofs of ;ir mounts. None of the other bluecoats moved, seem-gly
frozen in place.
The injured pteridon struck the cliff twenty yards above i remaining mass of
rebels. Blue flame exploded out from Ł impact, spraying across the rebels
below. The few reams of mounts and men were brief, and most came jm the
stragglers of those galloping northward. Those aser never had a chance to
react. The heat from the impact blast washed over Fifteenth jmpany like that
of a forge fire in a gale, but subsided al-ost instantly.
Mykel's eyes flicked back to the soarer's green sphere. It had paled and
remained so for several moments before beginning to regain its intensity. Only
a single soarer remained within the sphere, although Mykel could not have said
when the other had vanished.
The second pteridon turned toward the sphere and the soarer within. A line of
blue flame flashed toward the single soarer.
Once more the flame did not reach its intended target, but twisted back,
turning into a mixture of green and blue before striking, then knifing through
the forward Myrmidon and into the chest of the second pteridon. The pteridon's
wings bent upward and back as the pteridon nosed down and began to drop, more
swiftly, toward the southwest of Fifteenth Company.
The remaining soarer and the green sphere had vanished.
One of the Myrmidons separated from the falling creature, and Mykel
watched--fascinated--because he could sense something happening. Was it the
submarshal? Whoever it was, whatever it was, he fell far more slowly, in an
arc that carried him toward the rocks to Mykel's right.
'Third squad! On me!" Mykel turned the chestnut and urged him into a fast
walk.
Barely had he done so when another explosion of blue flame flared from the
cliffs to the southwest, the heat washing once more over the Cadmians, then
dissipating.
Mykel glanced up once more. The Myrmidon was tumbling, end over end, but
falling far more slowly than he should have been. Even so, he was falling, and
disappeared behind a long ridge of rock a good hundred yards ahead of Mykel
and third squad.
Mykel had covered another twenty yards when he could sense someone ahead.
"Rifles ready!" He had his own weapon up even before he finished speaking.
Crack! The shot was close.
Catching sight of a figure in blue behind a low boulder,
i fired. The man dropped.
More shots came from behind the rock ridge.
"Third squad! Drop back and take cover!" Mykel
)uldn't see losing a squad--or even several men--at a me when the majority of
the rebels had been destroyed.
e guided the chestnut back behind one of the larger boul-;rs, finding Chyndylt
and his mount coming around the lier side.
"Fancy seeing you here, sir," offered the squad leader.
"You, too." As he flashed a grin to Chyndylt, Mykel juld sense a faint
purpleness farther to the west, to the ght of where the rebels seemed to be.
Was that purpleness le Myrmidon? Could it be the submarshal?
Crack! Another bullet smashed into the boulder behind hich he had taken cover.
"Chyndylt, keep the men under cover, but keep them fir-ig at those rebels. I
think the Myrmidon colonel's still live, but he's out to the north of where
they are."
"Must be hurt, or we'd know it. He'd use that weapon of is."
Mykel dismounted. "I'm going to circle around." He ;ached up and handed the
chestnut's reins to the squad sader.
"Yes, sir." Chyndylt sounded doubtful.
"If he survives, would you want to be a captain who left im out there?"
"No, sir. I see what you mean."
"Just keep the squad firing enough to occupy the blue-oats."
"We can do that, sir."
Mykel moved to the right side of the boulder, then rouched before he peered
around it. The rock ridge that tieltered the rebels was high enough that they
would have lore trouble aiming at a man on foot.
He dashed across the five-yard space to the next rock, one less than a yard
and a half high, but enough shelter for a man. More shots peppered the area,
most of them high and ricocheting off the taller ridges behind him.
The next dash was a shade longer, but the cover was higher, and longer.
As he moved to the northwest, more and more outcrop-pings blocked the rebels
from getting a clear view of him. He could sense the purplish pinkness that
had to be the colonel, and felt that he was getting closer, but he was also
getting a sense that there were others nearby.
Ahead, behind another series of more jumbled boulders, he heard voices.
"Just shoot him. Too big to move him."
"If he'd wake up ... we could use him to get out of here. Won't do us much
good dead."
"Won't do us any good alive ..."
Mykel inched forward, peering around the base of an eroded chunk of reddish
sandstone, trying to move more into a better position without being seen.
Three rebels stood over the prone figure of the Myrmidon submarshal, who had
apparently dragged himself into a half sitting, half-lying position against
the rocks before losing consciousness. Mykel could see that the submarshal's
right arm and left leg were bent at angles suggesting they were broken. If
they were not, then alectors' bones were very different from landers', and
Mykel doubted that. He was amazed that the alector had been able to move at
all.
"Need to get the others over here," said one of the rebels.
That was the last thing Mykel needed.
He raised the rifle, aiming--and firing.
The speaker dropped, and both the other rebels whirled.
Mykel fired twice more. The others fell where they stood.
He listened, and tried to sense whether there were other rebels nearby. He
didn't hear anything, except rifles ex-
hanging fire to the south and sensed no one. After several noments, he eased
around the boulder and moved toward he submarshal.
Crack!
The impact on his left shoulder spun Mykel around and o the ground.
Several more shots went overhead.
Mykel's left side was a mass of fire. He still held the rifle n his right
hand, but doubted he could aim it that well. He night be able to prop it to
get a shot in the general direction )f someone. Why hadn't he sensed the other
rebel? Had he >een too worried about the submarshal?
He had to scrabble, slowly easing himself into a position cropped against the
rocks. He could see the blood welling icross his tunic.
"... certain dangers ... to commanding from the front, Zaptain ..." The
submarshal's voice was labored.
Mykel glanced toward the alector. He could hear the ;runch of boots on the
sandy ground, and he doubted those joots belonged to a Cadmian. He levered the
rifle up, icross his knees in at least the right direction--he hoped.
"Well... look what we got here ..." A bluecoat stepped iround the boulder
directly across from the submarshal, his rifle held at the ready, swinging
from Submarshal Dainyl to Mykel and back again. "Like to take you for a ride,
but looks like neither of you is going anywhere."
Mykel couldn't sense anything about the rebel, unlike the others, even as he
stood there and fired.
The bullet bounced off the Myrmidon's tunic.
In that moment of surprise, Mykel squeezed the trigger of his rifle, willing
with all the concentration he could muster the bullet to strike the bluecoat.
A single hole appeared in the bluecoat's forehead, and he toppled forward.
Mykel knew the rifle had not been aimed that well.
He could feel his vision narrowing, then widening.
"... if you want us to get through this, Captain ... you
need to get my sidearm into my good hand... can't reach it... otherwise ..."
Mykel scrabbled forward, leaving the rifle, crawling, then resting, crawling,
until he was beside the Myrmidon.
His right hand fumbled with the catches on die holster, but he managed to
loosen them and ease the weapon onto the submarshal's chest.
"We might... have a chance now ..."
Mykel slumped back. He could barely see... and then ... he could not.

98
With the pale orange-white of a sun that had just crept above the eastern
horizon out to his right, Dainyl shifted his weight in the harness and second
seat of the pteridon he rode behind Falyna. Ahead, and to his left, were
Quelyt and the other pteridon, as the two flew across the old-growth forest.
As the dispatch from Captain Rhys-tan had indicated, Captain Mykel had indeed
attacked the rebels at dawn. Whatever he had done had scattered them away from
the forest, and Cadmians were pursuing, in a measured fashion.
Both pteridons had circled to the northwest to make a long pass across the
rebels heading southeast, in order to avoid the higher cliffs. At that moment,
Dainyl Talent-sensed the appearance of one of the ancients. He leaned to one
side, trying to pinpoint the source of the amber green force. There was a
distortion in the sky, just above a rocky point where the rebels had begun to
re-form. The distortion resolved itself into a greenish sphere.
Suddenly, the pteridon began to lose altitude as the ancients drew on
lifeforce as well, leaving less for the pteri-
don. Dainyl dropped his shields, except around his head, and let the energies
flow to the pteridon.
"Falyna! Avoid that point, and fire from as far away as you can!" Dainyl
leaned sideways to see past Falyna. Her pteridon's blue crystal beak shimmered
in the bright white light of the morning sun. Farther to the south, Quelyt had
clearly not seen or sensed the soarer, and he had dropped his pteridon into a
dive toward the remaining rebels beneath the rocky point; his skylance flared
toward the rebels, a line of blue flame.
The blue flame that had been aimed at the rebels at the base of the red bluff
curved and reversed itself, retracing its path back skyward to the lance and
turning green. The shaft of green exploded through the lance, then drove
through the impenetrable skin of the pteridon.
Dainyl blinked. Quelyt slumped in his harness, the upper part of his body a
blackened mess. More impossibly, the pteridon's wings froze, then folded
against its body. The pteridon nosed downward toward the rebel force and
slammed into the stone above the rebels. The bluish explosion cascaded off the
stone and across the rebels below.
Falyna raised her lance and triggered it.
"Get away from there! Turn east!" snapped Dainyl. He'd sensed that the soarer
was dangerous, almost from the beginning, but he hadn't thought that she'd get
involved in something like a minor revolt.
A second line of green extended from the green sphere and met the blue flame
from Falyna's skylance. Dainyl saw and sensed the energies flaring back at
them and drew all the lifeforce he could, throwing up shields.
The green lance struck, and Dainyl found himself swatted clear of the
pteridon, his harness straps snapped, tumbling in midair. Time seemed to slow,
and he reached out with all his Talent, thrusting out force to the ground
below, trying to slow himself, to break his fall. The wind past his face
seemed less fierce, but was that enough?
He could see rocks and sand below, and he cast out more Talent-force, could
feel himself slow... but not enough. From somewhere came another infusion of
Talent-- green?--tinged with black, and his speed slowed yet more. Then he had
no more strength left, and he dropped out of the sky, slamming into a line of
rock with one leg. Instinctively, he put out an arm--and wished he hadn't as he
heard and felt it snap as he crashed into another boulder.
Pain washed over him from too many places for him to count--but he was alive,
at least for the moment. In addition to the broken arm and leg, Dainyl's chest
was badly bruised. With his good hand, he tried to straighten himself, to push
himself into a sitting position against the rocks beside him. He moved a bit,
and then a pinkish blackness washed over him.
He couldn't have been unconscious too long, before, in between waves of pain,
he could hear voices, but the words were indistinct. Dainyl could vaguely
sense three rebels, standing less than two yards away. If he could reach his
sidearm ... but it was on his right hip, and that was the arm that was broken
so badly he couldn't move it, even blocking the pain with Talent.
"Need to get the others over here," said one.
A single shot rang out, and the rebel who had spoken pitched forward. Two more
shots followed, and the other two rebels dropped.
Dainyl wasn't surprised when Captain Mykel slipped out from behind the rocks.
Crack!
The captain was twisted by the force of the bullet that had slammed into his
shoulder, and he went down hard. For several moments, the Cadmian officer lay
on the sand stunned, then slowly twisted himself onto his back and used his
legs to lever himself into a position against the rocks. Blood was staining
his tunic, slowly.
"There are certain dangers ... to commanding from the
front, Captain." Dainyl forced the words out. He could sense someone else
coming, but not who it might be.
The captain laboriously moved the rifle up, but Dainyl couldn't see how the
captain would be able to aim it one-handed and one-armed--and wounded. Yet
there was little Dainyl could do. He was anything but mobile.
"Well... look what we got here ..." Another rebel stepped out from behind the
boulder directly across from Dainyl.
Dainyl could sense that the man had a natural Talent-shield, but seemed
unaware of it, another indication of how much the captain relied unconsciously
on his Talent.
"I'd like to take you for a ride, but looks like neither of you is going
anywhere." The rebel smirked, then fired directly at Dainyl.
The bullet blasted into Dainyl's tunic. For a moment, he could sense nothing,
except pinkish blackness, and, as he came back to quick consciousness, the
pain radiating through his already bruised chest.
A second rifle went off--the captain's--and Dainyl felt the focused Talent that
twisted a horribly misaimed bullet right through the forehead of the rebel.
The man toppled forward, dropping his rifle and landing facedown in the sand
just short of Dainyl's less injured leg.
Talent--potentially strong Talent. Dainyl had known many alectors who did not
have a fraction of the Talent the captain might have--if he were allowed to
live to develop it.
For the moment, Dainyl could do nothing about that. Even if he could persuade
the captain to reach his sidearm, the weapon was best saved for any more
rebels who might appear before the Cadmians did.
"If you want us to get through this, Captain," Dainyl said slowly, with more
effort than before, because every breath hurt, "you need to get my sidearm
into my good hand. I can't use it otherwise."
The captain eased sideways, then stopped, then moved
some more. Dainyl could sense the pain, pain that the captain could have
controlled better if he knew how to use his Talent. Finally, Mykel was almost
beside the Myrmidon. His good hand fumbled at the catches, but he finally
loosened them enough to ease the sidearm clear and ease it onto Dainyl's
chest.
Dainyl had to force his left hand up to take the weapon, but he had it. "We
might have a chance now."
The captain slumped back, unconscious.
Dainyl looked at him. The captain was still bleeding, enough that all Dainyl
had to do was nothing, and a Talented lander would die, and no one would know.
Dainyl looked at the captain who had risked his life to save him. He was so
young, and he would die young in any case. He might never develop his Talent
more, either, Dainyl told himself. With the tiniest point of Talent, he
reached out and fused the point where the bleeding was the worst, then in a
second place.
His eyes closed, and he tried to listen, since he could not see. For a time,
he did neither.
When he could open his eyes again, he heard voices.
"Captain! Captain Mykel!"
"He's over here!" Dainyl rasped out. He smiled, raggedly, waiting.

99
Alectors who govern should avoid explaining their actions, if at all possible.
Life is complex and filled with conflicts, and few of even the most
intelligent know the background information. Fewer still can calculate the
implications and ramifications of a decision. For these reasons, the facts and
conditions that underlie a ruler's deci-
sions, or the decisions of an alector who administers for the Archon, can
seldom be presented fully in a manner that will accurately describe the
rationale for such action.
Even if all such information could be presented, doing so would be useless, if
not dangerous. Both steers and less discerning alectors demand certainty in
their life, yet the only certainty is uncertainty.
Equally important is the fact that they do not want to study the world around
them and all that lies behind it. Nor do they wish to spend the time necessary
to master understanding. They wish simple explanations to support their baser
desires and a sense of certainty in their lives. To this end, they delude
themselves that they understand their world. In point of fact, they will
perform all manner of contortions in thought to retain that illusion of
understanding. That illusion is the fundamental basis for their acceptance of
their society and their world.
In the vast majority of instances, the simple and appealing answer or
explanation is inaccurate or misleading, if not both. Therefore, the wisest
course for an alector is never to explain. If an explanation is necessary,
however, the one given should be simple and straightforward, couched in a
manner that appeals to the simplistic beliefs of those for whom it is
intended. There should be no lies and no inaccuracies, for those can often be
easily determined, merely the use of what is factually correct in a manner
supporting the decision at hand.
Views of the Highest
Illustra
W.T. 1513

100
Mykel did not remember much after shooting the last bluecoat. There were
images of the submarshal looking at him strangely, and warm pressure across
his chest, and being carried somewhere on a stretcher, then rolling in agony
in a wagon.
After that, there had been blackness, and heat and chill. He remembered
liquids down his throat, and voices, but not whose voices or what he had
tasted. He could recall talking to someone, more than one person, but his
words had made no sense, not even to himself. Through it all, his left side
and his head had been splitting, or throbbing dully.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. He lay in a large bed that looked out through two
open doors to a balcony. Beyond the balcony railing were trees, deep green,
not because of summer, but because of the late-afternoon sunlight. The chamber
walls were all of white plaster, wide golden wooden shutters folded back from
the windows, and fabric hangings, showing trees and flowers. He was propped up
in a half-sitting position with pillows. His left shoulder was heavily bound,
and dull aches throbbed everywhere.
A Cadmian ranker stood inside the closed oak door.
Mykel coughed.
The ranker turned, and Mykel recognized Wejasyr. "Sir? Are you awake?"
On the surface, it was a stupid question, but Mykel understood what he meant.
"If you're asking whether I'm in my right mind, Wejasyr, I think so."
"Yes, sir!" The ranker rapped on the door. "Captain's awake."
Within moments, an older woman came through the guarded doorway first,
carrying a tray, on which were a beaker and a pitcher. She filled the breaker
and tendered it to Mykel. "The more you drink, Captain, the faster you'll
heal."
"Thank you." He accepted the beaker and took a swallow. The ale tasted good,
very good, Mykel had to admit, and took another long swallow.
By then Rhystan stood by the foot of the large bed. "I'm glad to see you're
back with us."
"How is Fifteenth Company?"
"Bhoral has them in line. You only lost five men, and seven wounded. Amazing,
really, given all that mess."
"What about Sixteenth Company?"
"We had three wounded. That was all. A few rebels tried to leave the forest,
but when we shot at them they didn't want to try. Later, we let them
surrender, those that were left."
Mykel moistened his lips, glad that things had held together after he'd been
stupid enough to get shot--and after the battle had been largely won, at that.
"When is it? What day?"
"Londi afternoon." Rhystan smiled.
"That long?" Mykel knew he hadn't been himself, but... he hated to think of
what he might have said, because he recalled saying things, but not what they
had been. He hoped he hadn't said anything about his shooting or about
Rachyla. It would be best if he hadn't said what he had seen when the
pteridons had been destroyed. "I must have been raving for days."
"You weren't raving. You mumbled a lot, and some of it didn't make sense. The
only thing that did was that you couldn't let them shoot the submarshal. You
kept saying something about soaring, several times--must have felt like you
were flying."
"I didn't feel that way. Maybe I wished that I had been." Mykel offered a soft
laugh.
"You lost a lot of blood, almost too much, but they said you should be all
right. They were more worried about your head. You whacked it against the
stone pretty hard after you were shot, the submarshal said."
"The submarshal? How is he?"
"He's tougher than ... he's tough."
"You were right," Mykel replied slowly. "It was problematical--and foolhardy."
"I'm glad it was you, but it worked. There aren't any rebels left, and the
handful of seltyrs who survived pledged full allegiance to the Duarches."
"No rebels?"
"A few. We rounded up maybe thirty, and there were others who ran and don't
want anyone to know that they were part of the bluecoat force."
Mykel nodded slowly.
The door opened again, and another figure entered the
chamber. More properly, the submarshal was rolled through
ˇ   the doorway in a chair with wheels that creaked as it moved.
The ranker who pushed it must have been from Sixteenth
Company, because Mykel didn't recognize him.
The submarshal's left leg and right arm were both splinted, and the leg was
supported by a plank fastened at an angle to the rolling chair. A large bruise
covered the left side of his forehead and his cheek. Mykel could sense a
purplish pink aura around the alector. Was it his eyes? He glanced at Rhystan
and the older woman, who had stepped back, but he saw nothing out of the
ordinary with them.
"Captain, I'm glad to see you're recovering," offered the submarshal. "Without
your courage and abilities I would not be here."
Mykel smiled crookedly. "I'm afraid I didn't handle things as well as I could
have."
"You did far better than any had a right to expect. Far better."
Rhystan nodded emphatically.
Mykel took another swallow of ale. It eased the dryness in his throat, as well
as the headache he hadn't been totally aware that he had.
"There's one thing I'd like to know..." Rhystan said slowly, looking from
Mykel to the submarshal and back to the Mykel.
"What's that?"
"How did the rebels manage to shoot down the pteridons?"
Mykel would have shrugged, but that would have hurt far too much. "I don't
know. I saw them go down. The first one was flying too low, I think, but the
submarshal would know."
Both captains turned to look at the submarshal.
Dainyl smiled ruefully. "You may recall that one of the reasons why the
Cadmians were sent here was because of the nature of the Murian Mountains.
Some mountains are more dangerous than others. There are downdrafts and other
problems. We had known about those just north of the mine, but not about those
above the plateau behind the forest. We should have guessed from the nature of
the ground, but when you are pursuing a foe, you don't always see things so
clearly. Because of the problems that caused the first pteridon to crash into
the cliff, my flier was distracted, then was hit--I would guess--by a lucky shot
from below. The lack of guidance and the terrain combined to cause the second
impact. I was fortunate--mostly fortunate--to have been thrown clear."
Mykel could sense a combination of truth and misleading statements^ although
not quite lies, in the submarshal's words. He also understood that the
submarshal would say nothing else except along the same lines.
"I saw you flung clear," Mykel said. "I wasn't sure you would survive, but we
thought you might."
"For that, Captain, I am most thankful."
There were no conditions or evasions in those words, for which Mykel was most
grateful.
"We will be here for several more days, at least," the sub-marshal said,
"until we have healed further. Overcaptain Dohark reports that all is calm and
quiet in Dramuria, and that there is no need for haste in our return."
Mykel stifled a yawn.
"I think we have tired Captain Mykel enough," said the submarshal.
After they had left, Mykel took another swallow of the ale. Rachyla had hinted
that the alectors were different, and from what Mykel had seen, they
definitely were. How the submarshal had survived a fall of over a hundred
yards onto rock and sand--and was in better shape with a broken arm and leg and
bruises across his entire body than Mykel was |           with a single gunshot
wound to his shoulder--that was
amazing.
Mykel looked down at the binding across his left shoulder. Then he swallowed.
He could tell that the bullet had been far lower than he had thought. Men
didn't survive long where he'd been shot... but he had. Had the submarshal
done something? Or had he just been extraordinarily fortunate?

101
Dainyl examined his leg, then his arm, with his Talent, and nodded. They were
healing well. Within another two weeks he would be able to walk, if with a
brace of some sort. By then, his next set of troubles would begin.
While he had been healing at the estate of the former Sel-tyr Veluasyr--who had
been one of those shot by the in-
trepid Captain Mykel--Dainyl had had time to think, too much time, in some
ways.
He felt guilty about the deaths of both Quelyt and Falyna. They had followed
his orders, and died. Both had been faithful Myrmidons, and a pleasure to
command and work with--and he had failed them by not recognizing how great a
danger the soarers had represented. He had been warned, but, deep inside, he
had not believed those warnings. Even though it had been his failure, he had
been the one to survive, and he did not understand how--or why.
The drop from such a height should have killed him outright. While Talent
could cushion or slow falls from lesser heights, he was not aware of any
alector's surviving such a fall. He had a vague recollection of a brief flow
of Talent-energy, but it had been green. Had he been imagining that? He had to
have been. The soarers would not have spent all that force bringing down two
pteridons--then helped him save himself. However it had all happened, a great
deal of luck had to have been involved.
Then, too, he knew that both the Highest and Marshal Shastylt would have been
horrified that he had used Talent to heal Captain Mykel enough so that he
would recover, rather than die. They would have been horrified more if they
knew that the captain had Talent. Yet the captain had done more than anyone
could have asked, and he had saved Dainyl when no one else could have. Without
the captain, Dainyl would not be eventually going back to Elcien and
Lystrana--perhaps even to a child. He had not been certain when he left, but...
they had been hopeful.
To let the captain die, after he had failed Quelyt and Falyna, that would have
been intolerable, a decision he could not have made. He had chosen to save the
captain, and that was a choice he would have to live with. He could but hope
it would not come back to torment him.
For all the fighting, and all of what he had learned in Lyterna, he still had
no understanding of why the Highest
and the marshal had set up the revolt in Dramur. It could not have been just a
test of his abilities, nor could it have been to weaken the Cadmians. Part of
the reason might have been to teach the seltyrs a lesson of sorts, but that
could have been far more easily accomplished with greater forces over a
shorter period of time.
He also considered Asulet's words, especially those about how much the
alectors of Ifryn had lost in transfers from world to world. Those words were
part of the answer, but what part?
When he and the Cadmians returned to Elcien depended in large degree on
whether the recorders of deeds at one of the Tables had been able to
determine--indirectly, since the Tables displayed nothing of Talent or created
by Talent-- that the two pteridons had been lost. But return he must, and
fairly quickly, to report on how the two ancients had destroyed the pteridons.
He knew of nothing that could stand up to a skylance, but the soarers had, and
he was perhaps the only one still alive who had witnessed that. But... how
much should he say? And to whom?

102
The Submarshal of Myrmidons looked
from the too-small desk, behind which he was seated sideways and awkwardly,
toward the open window. Dainyl would have preferred to have flown back to
Dramuria, but without pteridons and with a leg that had not healed enough for
him to ride, he had been forced to take a carriage, and it had been a long
trip. A welcome breeze blew into the study, wanning him after a cool and
restless Decdi night, during which he had slept badly, and a long Londi,
dealing with more administrative details than he would have wished.
During all that time, his thoughts had swirled between the loss of Quelyt and
Falyna, the two irreplaceable pteri-dons, half of the Third Cadmian Battalion,
and more than a thousand rebels. For what?
As soon as he had been able, Dainyl had written up a detailed dispatch
outlining the events in Dramur. He had not sent it, because there had been no
ships of the Duarches porting in Dramuria, nor any pteridons arriving. Writing
the dispatch had not been difficult. He had reported what had occurred and
that Dramur and Dramuria were now calm, partly in a state of shock and partly
through a numb acceptance by the remaining seltyrs and growers that the
Duarchy would do whatever was necessary to maintain control.
In Dainyl's absence, Overcaptain Dohark had taken a firm control over the
compound, as well as over the local Cadmian companies. Captain Benjyr was in
full evidence, and no longer made an effort to avoid Dainyl, even if he did
not go out of his way to speak to the submarshal, and the compound gates
remained open once more. The daily wagon loads of guano had resumed, rumbling
down to the storage buildings off the piers at the port, and the dwellings
burned by the rebels were being rebuilt.
Dainyl looked to the window, noting that the sun had dropped behind the
mountains. Where, exactly, had the day gone?
At the knock on the study door, Dainyl turned his head. "Yes?"
One of the local Cadmian rankers stood there. "Submarshal, sir? There are two
pteridons on their way inbound. The overcaptain thought you would like to
know."
"I'll be right there. Make sure two of the rooms in the officers' quarters are
ready."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl stood and took the heavy polished cane from where it rested against the
wall. He hated using it, but there
were times that his legs still did not respond, and it would be far worse to
fall and injure himself again than to appear incapacitated. What was in his
favor was that enough of the Cadmian rankers had seen him fall that they
regarded his remaining alive--let alone walking with only a bound arm, a
splint, and a limp--as a testimony to the indestructibility of alectors.
Although he had hurried, both pteridons were on the stones of the courtyard
beside the squares by the time he reached the two Myrmidons.
"Submarshal, sir!" Ghenevra--the senior ranker in third squad--stiffened.
"Sir!" added Rhenyt.
"The marshal sent us to serve at your pleasure, sir." Ghenevra extended a thin
envelope. "He sent this for you."
Dainyl took the envelope. "Thank you."
Rhenyt's eyes looked past Dainyl, speculatively.
"You won't find them, Rhenyt," Dainyl said quietly. How much should he tell
them? "What I'm about to tell you is to be kept to yourselves. If I ever hear
a word about this anywhere else, you'll be out of the Myrmidons. If you're
fortunate, you'll be a servant in Lyterna for the rest of your life. That's if
you're fortunate." Dainyl couldn't count on complete secrecy, but all he
wanted to make sure was that word didn't pass to the landers and indigens. He
waited.
"Yes, sir," replied both Myrmidons.
"The pteridons ran into a pair of ancients. Both the pteridons and the
ancients were destroyed." Strictly speaking, Dainyl knew, that was not true.
He was certain that at least one ancient had survived, but both pteridons had
been destroyed, and the ancients had vanished.
"Ancients?" murmured Rhenyt. "There are still..."
"There are a few left, and they're quite dangerous, because it takes a great
deal of Talent to sense where they are. If you leave them alone, they have
always left us alone."
"But..."
"That's why you're not to fly along the crest of the Murian Mountains unless
I'm with you. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." They both nodded emphatically.
Dainyl could sense that he'd explained enough, both why they should not say
anything, and why the Cadmians should not know the true cause of the loss of
the pteridons. "Welcome to Dramuria. We'll need to get you settled. It's
always a long flight from Elcien."
"Yes, sir."
Once he had the two in the hands of the duty squad leader, Dainyl took the
dispatch and returned to his study, closing the door behind him. He could
sense the overcap-tain's curiosity, but Dohark would have to wait until Dainyl
had read what the marshal had sent. After reseating himself, awkwardly, Dainyl
opened the dispatch and read through it quickly.
Submarshal Dainyl--
We trust that this dispatch finds you in health. The recorders of deeds under
the High Alector of Justice have surmised from what the Table reveals that the
revolt in Dramur has been successfully put down and that you have been
restoring order. We have also received word from Lyterna that there appear to
have been certain uses of energies that have far-reaching implications for the
Duarchy.
In view of these circumstances, we would request that you immediately
restructure Cadmian operations in Dramur to preclude a repetition of the
events just past. Once this is complete, and once you feel the situation in
Dramur is fully stable and will remain so without your presence, you are to
return to Elcien at your earliest possible convenience to brief us on events
in Dramur and their resolution. We request that you convey any written reports
only upon your per-
son. If your departure will be more than two weeks from the time of receiving
this, send a brief report indicating when we may expect you.
The document was signed and sealed by both the High Alector of Justice and the
marshal.
After a time, he read it again, but nothing changed. They were definitely
concerned, and the half surprise shown by the two Myrmidons indicated that
neither the Highest nor the marshal had been that certain whether they would
find Dainyl, and in what condition.
Dainyl was not looking forward to returning to Elcien to explain matters. His
eyes drifted to his leg. He would have to wait another few days, perhaps a
week, before his leg would be strong enough, even with Talent-assisted
healing, for him to make such a long flight. By then, he might have a better
idea how to present what had happened. He also had to determine what to do
about Dramur. Neither the Cadmi-ans nor the Myrmidons could afford another
commander such as Majer Herryf.
Dainyl looked out into the twilight, thinking.

103
More than a week passed, and it was Tridi of the following week before Mykel
mounted the chestnut and began a slow three-day ride back south to the Cadmian
compound north of Dramuria. The submarshal had left by carriage on the
previous Octdi, insisting that Mykel not leave before Tridi at the earliest.
In midafternoon on Sexdi, Mykel rode through the open gates of the Cadmian
compound, accompanied by six rankers from Fifteenth Company who provided his
escort.
His shoulder and chest throbbed, and his head ached as he dismounted--one-armed
and carefully.
After arranging for Estylt to carry his gear to his quarters, Mykel walked
toward the headquarters building to report his return. In the center of the
courtyard, two pteridons sunned themselves on the top of their squares. They
had to be another pair. He'd seen--and sensed--the total destruction of the two
in the battle that had destroyed the seltyrs' mounted forces.
Mykel stepped into the comparative cool of headquarters and turned toward the
study that Dohark had to be using, then stopped by the duty desk, manned by a
local Cadmian squad leader.
"Is the overcaptain in?"
"Yes, sir. He was a moment ago."
"Thank you." Mykel smiled and headed toward Dohark's study, only to see
Captain Benjyr walking toward him.
"Good day," Mykel offered cheerfully.
"Good day, Captain," replied Benjyr, his voice very polite, but not cold. "If
you'll excuse me."
"Of course." Mykel smiled. Benjyr had radiated fear of Mykel. But why? Had
Dohark or the submarshal said anything?
Behind him, Benjyr murmured something under his breath, words that sounded
like "dagger of the ancients."
Mykel's hand went to his belt. The ancient dagger was still there. With a half
smile, he continued to Dohark's open door.
"Mykel! I thought you might be back today. Come on in." The overcaptain
motioned for Mykel to enter the study.
Mykel stepped inside, leaving the door ajar, not quite fully closed. He
settled carefully into the straight-backed chair across from Dohark.
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore, but better."
"Most people don't recover from bullets that close to the lungs and heart.
You're fortunate." Dohark smiled. "I'm glad you're back."
"So am I. Have you heard anything?"
"Not yet. The submarshal is working on something, though. He's been asking
questions about everything, studying ledgers and accounts. I'd wager that it
won't be long."
"I wanted to talk to you about something." Mykel had no idea if Dohark would
support him. If necessary, Mykel would go to the submarshal, but he should ask
Dohark first.
Dohark raised his eyebrows.
"Rachyla. Everyone else who survived has been allowed to keep their lands, so
long as they pledged to the Duarch. She should be freed as well..." Mykel saw
the amusement on Dohark's face. "Have you already let her go?"
"I had thought it might be best for you to be the one to release her," said
Dohark, "since you captured her. Besides, she won't talk to any of us." He
handed a folded sheet of paper to Mykel. "I already drafted her release order,
and I've told the guards that she'll be released soon."
For some reason, Mykel had been expecting an argument. He just sat there for a
moment
"Sirs?"
Both Mykel and Dohark looked to the door of the study.
"The submarshal has asked that you both join him."
"We'll be right there." Dohark stood.
So did Mykel.
They crossed the hallway to the larger study. This time, Dohark closed the
study door. The submarshal was seated behind the desk, one of the few times
Mykel had seen that. He waited until Dohark and Mykel had settled into chairs.
"I have been summoned back to Elcien. I'll leave within a few days, and I will
not be returning here. I've been ordered to make sure that the situation that
occurred here does not happen again. For that reason, I have developed a plan
"or Dramur." The submarshal looked at Dohark. "First, over he next year, the
number of Cadmian companies here will )e increased to five--a full battalion.
Second, those compa-lies will not be commanded by a Cadmian from Dramur, ;ver.
Third ..." Dainyl paused.
Mykel caught a hint of amusement in the eyes of the sub-narshal, and he could
feel that the submarshal was enjoy-ng himself.
"... third, they will be commanded by Majer Dohark lere--assuming you are
willing, Majer."
"Majer... I... ah ... Yes, sir. I'd be pleased to, sir."
"You are to institute full Cadmian training, and we will work out the details
to ensure that you receive some junior :aptains not from Dramur." The
submarshal extended a pair of insignia. "Your new rank is effective now."
"Yes, sir." Dohark took the insignia. "Thank you, sir."
The submarshal turned his eyes upon Mykel. 'Captain..."
"Yes, sir."
"You demonstrated a solid grasp of both strategy and tactics in your campaigns
here in Dramur. Your sole weakness is the occasional individual foray, but I
trust that the results of your last effort have impressed upon you that such
... exploits ... can have a high price." Again, the submarshal smiled.
"Admittedly, I am most grateful for that last exploit, although it was not in
your best personal interest." He paused before continuing. "I will be sending
an overriding recommendation to Colonel Herolt for your immediate promotion to
majer and for command of Third Battalion. It is technically only a
recommendation, because, until I confer with the Marshal of Myrmidons, I do
not have the authority to order it, unlike here in Dramur, where I do. But...
I seriously doubt that Colonel Herolt would wish to dispute such a
recommendation, not when my letter points out that you and your company routed
and destroyed fifteen armed companies over the course of two seasons and that
your ac-
tions kept Third Battalion from being totally destroyed by the late Majer
Vaclyn."
"Yes, sir." That was all that Mykel could say. Majer? Skipping the entire rank
of overcaptain?
"You may not be familiar with all the administrative details of command,
Captain Mykel, but since it will take at least several seasons to rebuild and
retrain Third Battalion, I am certain you will have time to learn those. One
can never learn the instinctive grasp of tactics and motion which you have
already demonstrated."
"Thank you, sir."
"You may not always thank me." The submarshal smiled. "That is all for now.
You'll pardon me if I don't escort you out."
"No, sir." Both Cadmians smiled and stood, nodding as they left.
Back in Dohark's study, Mykel looked at the new majer. "Do you want to stay
here?"
"Why not? It's a good position, if you just listen and don't let the seltyrs
get out of hand. Besides, you think an old former squad leader like me would
make majer any other way? I don't think like you, Mykel. I don't know as I'd
want to." Dohark grinned. "Besides, any of the seltyrs get out of hand, and I
can call for the 'dagger of the ancients.' I'll also tell them that you're a
majer, with a whole battalion that you've trained."
"That's what they're calling me?" Mykel had overheard the expression used by
Benjyr, but hadn't connected it to himself.
"It fits, doesn't it?" Dohark pointed to Mykel's bound arm and shoulder. "I
don't envy you, Mykel. The submar-shal's right. Old Herolt can't very well
ignore the Marshal of Myrmidon's recommendation, especially when you've
managed to do what you have. You'll be a majer. You know what else, though?"
"Third battalion will get the dirtiest and nastiest tasks,
tid they'll be looking for me to do the impossible--or fail, nd it won't matter
much which it is. Is that what you lean?"
"You've got it." Dohark shook his head.
"You wouldn't mind if I escorted Rachyla back to her state?"
"Might be the best thing if you did."
Mykel wasn't sure about that. It might protect her, and hen, it might have
every other seltyr looking to remove her. le just sat there for several
moments, considering.
"Go free your lady friend," Dohark finally said.
"Not until tomorrow morning. I can't ride tonight, and .he'll be gone in
moments if I'm not ready to escort her."
"You've thought that one out, too."
He had. How well was another question.

104
Almost at dawn on Sexdi, Mykel rode up to the sentries outside the officer's
cell where Rachyla was held. He was followed by Chyndylt and Fifteenth
Company's third squad--and one mount saddled and riderless. Mykel had not
mentioned his possible promotion to any of them. No matter what the submarshal
had said, it hadn't happened, and there was no point in saying anything until
it did. If it did. He dismounted carefully.
"Overcaptain said to expect you, sir," offered the older guard.
Mykel held out the release document. The sentry barely looked at it. "You
taking her back?"
"It seemed best that way."
"Be a long ride for you, sir." The Cadmian turned and unlocked the door.
Mykel stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust. As always, i             Rachyla
was dressed and sat at the stool before the desk.
She stood immediately, as if she wanted to step back.
"You're up." He looked at her, taking in the still-clear skin, the raven hair,
and the deep green eyes, eyes that recalled something to him, something he
could not place.
"I could not sleep. I felt something was about to happen." She squared her
shoulders. 'Tell me, Captain, and don't lie to me. You have not lied to me
yet. Do not lie now. Are you here to take me to my death?"
"No. The rebellion has been crushed. I'm to escort you back to Stylan Estate."
For a long moment, Rachyla just stood there, studying him. Then she nodded.
"That may be to my death as well."
"I have an armed squad to accompany us." He laughed ironically. "I thought it
might help if you were escorted by the dagger of the ancients."
"Do not joke about that."
His lips curled. "Why not? That's what everyone on Dra-mur seems to call me."
Only then did her eyes drop to his shoulder, rebound under his tunic. He no
longer wore the sling, but there was one in his saddlebags, in case he needed
it. "There's a dressing under your tunic. How badly were you wounded?"
"Badly enough," Mykel replied.
"How long ago?"
'Two weeks."
"You almost died, did you not?"
Mykel flushed, not certain how he could answer that. The honorable answer was
to lie, and the truthful one was almost boastful.
"I see. You did almost die. Others would have."
"I don't know that." He offered an embarrassed smile. "I couldn't move for a
while."
"What about the evil one?"
"In the last battle, both pteridons crashed in flames." That was true. "Two of
the Myrmidons died. He was badly injured. Any man would have died. He's
walking around now."
"I said that they did not belong here."
"Yes, you did." Mykel kept his voice even.
"Why am I being allowed to go back to Stylan?"
"The seltyrs who submitted were allowed to keep their lands. You never
revolted. Your father did. Since you did not, you deserve the same treatment
as those others who did not or who submitted."
"You know how I feel." She did not move.
"Yes, I do. That was not the question. You cannot be judged on what you would
have done, only on what you did do."
"What will keep another revolt from happening?"
"It will take a few years to replace those lost Over a thousand Dramurans
died. There will also be a full Cad-mian battalion here at the compound. It
will be commanded by a majer not from Dramur."
"You?"
Mykel laughed. "I'm to be sent back to Elcien. If I'm fortunate, I might get
promoted. Overcaptain Dohark has been promoted to majer. He's in command
here."
Another nod from Rachyla preceded her words. "I would like to leave, if I
may."
"You may." Mykel inclined his head to the domes on the wall pegs. "Do you ...
T
"No. I will burn what I wear when I reach Stylan."
Mykel stepped out of the cell.
When Rachyla stepped into the silvery light of the moments before dawn, Mykel
gestured to the horse he had brought, then mounted himself.
Rachyla mounted, wordlessly.

105
All decisions worthy of being called such result in change. Changes never
occur without cost, and the greater the decision, the greater the cost. For
this reason, all decisions cause pain and discomfort. An alector who does not
understand such should never be placed in a position where he or she must make
decisions. When an administrator declares that a decision is good because no
one is affected adversely, that alector is either duplicitous or
self-deceptive, if not both. A good administrator determines both the benefits
and the costs, both the pleasure and the pain, that his actions will cause. He
will not shy away from determining what that pain may be, either in loss of
life, of lifemass, or of food or golds for those steers under his care.
With such an understanding, an alector should also never boast of either the
pain or the gain of his acts or of those required by his decisions. He should
not state either, only that his decision has balanced all factors and is as
just as possible.
Those alectors and steers who suffer will resent the results of such a
decision, while those who gain will not be able to refrain from telling others
of their good fortune. Such telling will invariably be linked more strongly to
the alector's decisions if the alector has been the one to announce either
gain or loss, and the resentment of those who suffer will be far greater. In
consequence, the authority and respect for the Archon and his administrators
will be thus diminished.
In this, as in all matters, those entrusted with the powers
of the Archon must weigh fully all aspects of what decisions they make and how
those decisions are declared to those affected...
Views of the Highest
Hlustra
W.T. 1513

106
As Mykel had feared, the ride north was long, and painful. Not until the sun
was low in the sky, on the second day, just above the Murian Mountains, did
Rachyla offer more than a few words at any one time, although she had ridden
beside him the entire journey.
"We should be at the estate before too long." Mykel tried not to think about
how uncomfortable he was. His fingers brushed his belt above the concealed
miniature dagger. For some reason, letting the hand of his injured side rest
near the ancient weapon helped relieve the worst of the nagging pain, if but
for a time.
"Not only are you the dagger of the ancients, but you carry one, do you not?"
"You knew?"
"Yes. There is a feel to one. I always knew when my grandfather carried his.
How did you obtain it? Steal it?"
"No. A chandler in Jyoha gave it to me. He said I was an honorable man who was
his worst enemy. I paid him good silvers to feed the children in return."
For a moment, Rachyla looked at the road ahead, rather than at Mykel. "They
say that those who are the daggers are also like the ancients, that they can
feed upon the spirit within a person, and that they are without mercy."
"Was your grandsire without mercy?"
"Many said that he was. I never saw that. Would you say you lacked mercy,
Captain?" The seltyr's green-eyed daughter looked at Mykel, intently.
"Recently, many could have said I offered little mercy. That was because they
had offered less." Mykel laughed softly. "If people acted better, less mercy
would be necessary."
"Then they would not be people," replied Rachyla.
"You think highly of people." Mykel kept his voice light.
"People are what they are. So are the alectors. One can change neither. People
cannot be changed because there are so many. Alectors could be killed or
removed, for they are few, if one had the power, but they cannot be changed."
"From what I have seen, Lady, alectors are most difficult to kill."
"Not for a dagger of the ancients who could become as the ancients were. If
the alectors learn what you are, Captain, they will destroy you far more
quickly--and more painfully--than any you have dispatched. And with less
regret."
Mykel did not know how to reply to her words. Him? He knew he had some
abilities, such as that of directing bullets he fired, and sensing where
people were--but those were nothing compared to what he had seen from the
submarshal alone.
"You doubt me, Captain. Do not. I know what I know. You told me that two of
the Myrmidons and their pteridons perished. The evil one did not, but was
gravely injured. Do those events not prove that they can be destroyed? Those
who are few in number and hold great power have little choice but to destroy
any who have the ability to bring them down. Did you not see that with the
selryrs of the west? Can you imagine your mighty alectors as being any
different?"
Mykel had not thought of the parallel, but once Rachyla
had pointed it out, he could not deny it. For a time, he rode without
speaking, considering her words.
Ahead, he saw the gates to Stylan Estate. "There is your estate."
"It is not mine. It was my father's." Rachyla's words were clipped, and she
looked away. "We will not speak of that."
With the coldness of her words, Mykel decided against saying more.
The road gates were open, without guards, and they proceeded up the long drive
without challenge or welcome. Not until they had passed through the villa
gates and were nearing the rotunda of the villa did anyone appear, and that
was a single older woman who ran down the steps, then halted as he saw the
Cadmians.
"I have returned, Velenda," Rachyla said firmly.
"It's really you, Mistress? You're back?"
"I am." Disdaining the mounting block, Rachyla vaulted from the saddle and
stepped away from the horse. "Thank you, Captain." She did not incline her
head to him.
Velenda stepped closer to her mistress and spoke, her voice almost a whisper,
although Mykel heard the words as if he were standing beside them. "Mistress
Rachyla, there is a message for you. From your cousin Alarynt. He said that he
will arrive next Duadi." Velenda's eyes were bright. "He said that--"
"I am most certain I know what he said. We will have time." Rachyla turned
back to Mykel. "Will you and your men stay upon the estate grounds tonight?
There is a separate lodge to the south. You must stay somewhere."
Mykel was exhausted, but he could not inflict more upon Rachyla. "I would not
wish to cause you more difficulties, Lady Rachyla."
"Your presence, and that of a Cadmian squad, would inflict less, Captain. No
one would dare enter the grounds with you here."
"You are the daughter of a seltyr."
"Exactly. I was his daughter. My brothers would have held the estate, save
that neither lived to do so."
Had Mykel killed either of them?
"That was something that had nothing to do with you, Captain."
"Can we do anything, Lady Rachyla?" After her last words, Mykel feared he knew
what the message from her cousin had meant.
"For an enemy, Captain, you are most gallant. No... there is nothing you can
do. Nor would I have you do anything. Will you stay or not?"
"We will."
He hoped that his decision was the right one, but he sensed no treachery in
her words. Something else, perhaps concern, desperation? He wasn't certain.
"You may leave as you wish. I trust you will not expect to see me again."
Mykel would have liked to have seen her one more time, but it was not
something he expected, not at all. "I would not impose further, Lady Rachyla."
"If you would wait a moment, someone will guide you to the lodge."
Mykel watched as she disappeared through the columns.
"You think that's a good idea, sir?" asked Chyndylt.
"We'll look over the lodge. If it's not, we can leave." Mykel could hear the
tiredness in his voice. Why had he been so determined to escort the woman
home? It had been necessary--that he felt in his every bone--but he did not know
why, except that it was neither love nor lust. His lips curled into a wry
smile. He was a man, and Rachyla was attractive to him. Not lust alone, he
reflected.

107
Dainyl and the two Myrmidons landed in the headquarters compound in Elcien a
glass before twilight on Decdi. Because it was end day, and late, no one was
there, except for Undercaptain Ghanyr and his squad, since they had the duty.
Dainyl was glad for the duty coach because it would have been difficult to
find a hacker near headquarters late on Decdi afternoon, and his leg was
definitely not up to walking more than a vingt, especially with personal gear.
The sun was barely above the Bay of Ludel, or rather the rooftops of the
dwellings that blocked his view of the bay, when Dainyl stepped through the
front door.
"Lystrana!" he called, setting his gear beside the door he had just closed.
"You're back!" She rushed from the sitting room toward him, as if to wrap her
arms around him, then stopped. "You're hurt."
"I'm better. It's much better seeing you." He was the one to step forward and
put his arms around her.
Her arms tightened around him, but gently. After a time, she eased back
slightly, studying his face with her eyes, and the rest of him with her
Talent. "You were hurt that badly, and you didn't send word?"
"I got here as fast as word would have come."
"You need to sit down in something comfortable. I'll get you some of the good
red wine, and I'll see what we have to eat. The girls won't be back until
late. It is end day." She looked at him once more, then kissed him again,
before slipping from his embrace and leading him through the foyer.
"You sit down in the comfortable chair ... right there."
Dainyl was tired enough that he didn't even offer a token protest as he eased
himself down into the chair.
"You'll need a hot bath, too."
"After a bit," he replied.
Lystrana hurried to the kitchen, returning quickly with a goblet half-filled
with the dark red wine.
Dainyl looked at his wife with both eyes and Talent. Then he smiled. "I had
hoped ..."
Lystrana bent down and set the wine on the table beside him. "A daughter."
Dainyl couldn't help but smile even more broadly than before. "She'll be like
you."
"More like you, I suspect, but who can tell?" She rose. "I'll be right back."
Dainyl lifted the goblet and sipped the wine, enjoying it, just taking in the
comfort of home and the presence of Lystrana. He had several swallows of the
Vyan Grande before she reentered the sitting room with a small tray, filled
with sliced early peaches, cheeses, and dark bread. The tray went on the side
table she pulled over so that it was between their chairs, and she sat down.
"You said you couldn't send word ..." she said softly.
"Not any faster than I could come," he replied. "We lost both pteridons in the
last fight against the rebels..." He went on to explain, as briefly as he
could, in between bites of the fruit and cheeses, what had happened in Dramur,
including the power of the ancients and what had happened after that. "Captain
Mykel came out and found me. He shot four rebels who would have killed me. The
fourth one he took down after he'd been shot. He almost didn't live. After
that, his squad found us, and we recovered, but there was no way to let anyone
know until the marshal sent two more pteridons. I left Dramur within a few
days of the time they arrived." Dainyl offered an embarrassed smile. "I could
have sent a message three days earlier, but... I was asked not to send
messages until I returned."
"You returned late on Decdi." Lystrana's left eyebrow lifted. "I suppose that
was coincidence?"
"Novdi was as soon as I could leave. I did make sure that we would arrive late
enough that the marshal would not expect me. I did want to see you first, and
... our daughter. I had hoped."
"I had no doubts." Lystrana beamed. "I did tell your mother. I couldn't
resist, and I suppose that means everyone knows."
"I'm glad she's a daughter."
"Because of your mother?"
"That's one reason." Dainyl took another sip of the Vyan Grande, enjoying it
in the growing dimness of the sitting room.
"It seems so sad, in a way," mused Lystrana. "The landers and the indigens can
have as many children as they want... and so many of them don't seem to care."
"The Highest claims that they rut like animals."
"Some doubtless do. So do some alectors," noted Lystrana dryly.
"We pay a price for being Ifryns. We bring beauty and culture to a world, and
music and soaring song, but what sustains us means there can never be too many
of us."
"Like on Ifryn now," she said somberly. "Have you read the latest dispatches?"
"When would I have seen ..." He laughed. "You're teasing me."
"Just a little." She cleared her throat, then sipped her wine. "The
dissipation point is somewhere between five and eleven years from now at the
current alector population levels."
"How many now?"
"Eight thousand."
"What is the surplus lifeforce carrying ability here and on Efra at present?"
"Eleven hundred here, and twenty-one hundred there."
Dainyl fingered his chin. "Thirty percent survival rate for
a world translation is normal, and both worlds will have greater lifeforce
within another year or so. Some will choose not to try the translation."
"Most will put it off, and that will reduce the margins," she pointed out.
"When will they begin mass translations?"
"The Archon has ... indicated that key alectors will have to begin
translations in six months--if they want a guarantee of a position here or on
Efra."
"You don't look happy, dearest."
"The Marshal of Myrmidons on Ifryn attempted a coup, along with several
colonels. Almost fifty alectors died."
"That won't help much;" said Dainyl. "Just a week or so."
"Dainyl!"
"What do they expect?" He snorted. "Our forebears took the risk of the
translation here when the success rate was more like fifteen percent. Five
percent for the very first, according to Asulet. Their chances are at least
four times that, and for someone with the ability and lifeforce of a senior
alector, it's more like forty-five percent."
"Dainyl..." she said softly.
"Yes?"
"We can talk about all that later. You're back, and I missed you."
"I missed you." Dainyl set aside the wine goblet.

108
On Londi, Dainyl did not hurry unduly, but neither was he late in reporting to
Myrmidon headquarters. He had no sooner settled into his study, not even with
a chance to look at the reports neatly stacked there, than Colonel Dhenyr
knocked on the door.
"Come in, Colonel." Dainyl offered the words with a smile and gestured to the
chair across from him. "How are matters with the other Myrmidon companies
going?"
Dhenyr shifted his weight in the chair. "I'm most glad you're back,
Submarshal. Most glad. Might I ask about Dra-mur first?"
"The revolt is over, and the mine production is back to normal. We did lose
two pteridons to unusual circumstances. I'll have to brief the marshal before
I can say more. Most of the rebels and rebel leaders were killed, well over a
thousand rebel casualties. The Third Cadmian Battalion had a particularly
effective captain. When I have a moment, I'll be recommending him for
promotion to majer and command of the battalion. You may have to follow
through on that. Now ... what have you to report?"
"You knew about the pteridon lost near Scien?"
"Didn't that happen before I returned to Dramur?" Dainyl frowned. "Or did we
lose another one?"
"Yes, sir. In that same area. The marshal has ordered all flyers to avoid it
until further notice."
"Have we lost any more pteridons anywhere else besides Dramur?" asked Dainyl
dryly.
"Ah... yes, sir. One flying out of Dereka over the Barrier Range on a message
run to Indyor, and one near Aelta. Fifth Company found the burned rock in the
Barrier Range, but no one has found any sign of the pteridon that was flying
north of Aelta."
"What were they doing up there?"
"I've put in an inquiry to Captain Fhentyl, sir, but we don't have a
response."
Dainyl managed to take a long and slow deep breath. In less than a season, six
pteridons had been lost--six out of slightly less than two hundred, and none
could be replaced. According to the records, not one pteridon had been lost in
the past three hundred years. Why had the ancients decided to attack pteridons
now, after so many years of being invis-
ible? It had to be their work. "What else? What about Coren, Catyr, and
Hyalt."
"Hyalt's calm, and all of First Company's second squad has returned--except the
one Myrmidon lost, of course. We've been able to stop overflights of Coren,
and the marshal ordered the return of the squad covering Catyr yesterday. They
haven't returned yet."
"Any more skylances missing in Dereka?"
"No, sir."
"What else should I know?"
"I understand that the Duarch is not pleased with events, sir. That's what the
marshal said on Octdi, anyway."
"Thank you."
"Yes, sir."
Dainyl nodded, and the colonel slipped away. From what he could tell,
Lystrana's analysis of Dhenyr was accurate. He tried hard, and he was
conscientious, and he had even less Talent than people had thought that Dainyl
had--and far less insight. Dainyl wasn't sure whether to be more worried about
Dhenyr or about the lost pteridons. Clearly, the marshal and the Highest did
not want any higher-ranking officers in headquarters with both insight and
Talent. Dhenyr had neither. They'd accepted Dainyl--for the moment--because,
while he had insight, they did not know that he had more Talent than was
obvious.
"Submarshal! Welcome back!" Shastylt stood in the doorway.
Dainyl rose, not quite so easily as he had before and would again.
"You were injured, I see."
"Broken arm and broken leg. They're mostly healed. It happened when we lost
Quelyt and Falyna and their pteridons."
Shastylt nodded slowly. "I feared something like that."
"I have a report here, sir. Would you like me to tell you, or would you prefer
to read it, then discuss what happened?"
"Why don't I read it? It won't be long. That's the first thing we need to deal
with. I assume that you resolved everything in Dramur?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." A twisted smile appeared on the marshal's face. "The Duarches would
like some good news. If you have that report..."
Dainyl lifted the thick envelope off the desk and handed it across to
Shastylt. "It may be longer than you need. As you requested, that is the only
copy."
"Good. I'll be back to you shortly."
After Shastylt departed, Dainyl settled down with the re-.ports. He'd only
made his way though five when the marshal reappeared, stepping inside the
study, and closing the door.
The marshal settled into the chair across from Dainyl, looking solidly at the
submarshal. While Dainyl was well aware of the Talent-probing of the marshal,
he left his shields in place, with the same apparent unaware stolidity that
Lystrana had helped him develop years before.
"I've read your report, Dainyl. It's most remarkable. Or rather, I should say
that your actions were most remarkable. You seem to have prevented a runaway
rebellion with a minimum of casualties, that is, given the feelings of all
those involved."
Dainyl had his doubts about the "minimum" of casualties. To him, nearly half
of the Third Cadmian Battalion, more than a thousand dead rebels, and two
Myrmidons and their pteridons were far greater than minimum casualties. He'd
managed to salvage the situation, but his actions were anything but
remarkable. The only thing remarkable was the fact that he hadn't seen what
was happening earlier. In hindsight, it had all been so obvious. There hadn't
been a rebellion, until the combination of Majer Herryf's arrogance and
stubbornness and Majer Vaclyn's stupidity had collided and created one. But
then, that was clearly what the
marshal and the Highest had intended. Things would have been worse if it
hadn't been for Captain Mykel.
"There was one aspect of all this that troubles me, Marshal," Dainyl said,
trying to inject puzzlement into his voice. "As we discussed much earlier,
there could not have been a rebellion without large numbers of Cadmian rifles
present in Dramur. Has anyone been able to determine how such unmarked weapons
got there?"
Shastylt laughed. "Coins. Golds. All the steers of Acorus are obsessed with
accumulating what they perceive as wealth. The landowners on Dramur tend to be
fearful of both the prisoners and each other. They have more wealth than many.
The smugglers knew that, and they bribed one of the assistant weapons
engineers in Faitel to produce extra rifles. Over time, he reported a number
of production runs as spoiled, requiring extra production. The runs were not
spoiled, but were slipped out of the manufactory as scrap to be reused, then
were diverted. The engineer in question has been discovered and punished.
Before he died, he revealed what happened." The marshal smiled coldly.
"I see. Thank you." Dainyl returned the smile, hoping he could keep to
himself, behind his shields, the knowledge that the marshal was not telling
the entire truth.
"The more important aspect of your efforts in Dramur was the discovery that
the ancients are still alive and active, if in a reduced capacity. Things
could have been much worse," reflected the marshal, "but, in many ways,
matters turned out better than they might have."
"Better, sir?"
"We are aware of the problem before the ancients have been able to act against
us on a larger scale."
"Colonel Dhenyr reported that we have lost four other pteridons in the past
season."
"That is true, but only in Dramur do we know what happened. In all other
cases, the pteridons either disappeared or mysteriously crashed. We would be
guessing, or acting with
less than complete knowledge..." Shastylt was clearly more concerned about the
ancients. He had seemed almost amused about the abortive rebellion. "... the
Highest and I have decided that it would be best if you were the one to brief
the Duarch on the events in Dramur. You have the greatest personal
acquaintance with the situation, and you were the one to bring everything back
under control."
Dainyl understood that as well. The marshal and the High Alector of Justice
were tired of being called to task.
As abruptly as he had entered, the marshal stood. "The Highest requested that
you attend him immediately upon your return. I took the liberty of summoning
the duty coach. It will be here shortly, after taking a message to the Hall of
Justice."
"Right now?"
"That is the meaning of immediate," Shastylt replied wryly.
Dainyl laughed and stood. "I'll be on my way."
He did have to wait a quarter glass for the coach to take him to the Hall of
Justice.
Once he arrived there, what surprised Dainyl even more than the immediate
summons was that the High Alector of Justice ushered Dainyl into his private
chambers instantly, and with a broad, almost relieved, smile.
"I had feared you had been even more seriously injured than you were, Dainyl."
"I was fortunate, Highest."
"We have not talked since you returned from Lyterna, Dainyl. We've been
somewhat preoccupied. What did you think of what you learned there?" asked the
High Alector of Justice.
"Some of it, sir, I knew," replied Dainyl carefully. "There was much I did not
know."
"Asulet knows more about life-forming and lifeforce than perhaps any alector
in our history here on Acorus. We are most fortunate to have had him guiding
us."
"He is most knowledgeable, and he was most instructive."
"You have seen much of Acorus over the years, Dainyl. What do you think about
our progress in building lifeforce mass?"
Dainyl kept his expression pleasant and a tight rein on his emotions and
shields, even as he wondered why the Highest was more interested in Lyterna
than Dramur. "I would not be the one who could best judge, but I would say
matters are progressing more slowly than might have been hoped."
Zelyert laughed, a hearty booming expression. "You are so tactful! 'More
slowly than might have been hoped!' So delightfully droll." His voice dropped
into a lower tone, one almost sad. "And so unfortunately true. Life here on
Acorus is still most fragile, despite outward appearances. We must be most
careful. That was one reason why we did not wish to send a full Myrmidon
company or even a full squad to Dramur."
"I had wondered," Dainyl said politely.
"As you have doubtless seen, over the past year, the life-force mass here is
slow to respond, and that is something that we have had some difficulty
conveying to the high alec-tors who serve the Archon in Ifryn. Using the
Tables for messages is most difficult, because recorders at each Table must
hold the link open simultaneously, then read and write down what appears."
That was something Dainyl did not know.
"The only alternative is to send a courier, and that tends to be hard on the
couriers." After a moment, Zelyert went on. "We have tried to point out the
fragility of the life structure on Acorus, and how we are caught between two
difficult alternatives. Because of the rapidly deteriorating conditions on
Ifryn, the Archon and the Duarchs have directed the high alectors here on
Acorus to manage the life-force growth for maximum gain. This requires strict
controls on the landers and indigens. They resent it, and there are uprisings
and disobedience. The ensuing violence
and the greater use of pteridons and skylances reduces growth as well. You saw
this in Dramur. The recent events in Catyr and Coren are other examples. If we
are less strict, then we do not face so many uprisings, but lifeforce growth
is slower, and that is not acceptable to the Archon and the Duarchs." Zelyert
offered a sigh. "This problem is also why we have permitted so few alector
births. Oh, I understand that you and the most honorable Lystrana will be
expecting a child?"
"Yes, we are," replied Dainyl. "We are most grateful."
"As you should be, but I can think of no couple who more deserves a child."
Another smile crossed the face of the Highest. "In addition, Marshal Shastylt
and I have decided that you are worthy of being not only submarshal, but
designated, unofficially, of course, as the next Marshal of Myrmidons."
"That is quite an honor and responsibility," Dainyl replied.
"After you brief the Duarch of Elcien--and that may be a good week or so, if
not longer, for he has a crowded schedule, I also have a small task for you. I
would like you to travel to Alustre--by Table, of course--and consult with
Submarshal Alcyna. I would like you to find out if she knows more about the
disappearances of the pteridons near Scien than we have heard. You are, I
believe, far better suited to such a task than anyone else."
Dainyl nodded. "By then, I will be more conversant with what occurred in my
absence."
"I am most certain you will." Zelyert stood. "I congratulate you on your
handling of a most delicate situation, and, of course, upon your child. I am
confident that we can continue to rely upon your judgment and discretion, and
that you will provide an instructive briefing to the Duarch on the events that
transpired in Dramur."
Dainyl stood, more slowly, and inclined his head. "I hope
that I will prove adept in conveying to the Duarch not only our successes in
Dramur, but also the difficulties of relying upon landers and indigens to
build lifeforce when resources for supervision are as limited as they have
been."
"You do that, Submarshal," replied Zelyert, "and you will have our gratitude.
I fear he has heard that too often from us. He needs to hear it from one who
has just returned from the field. As for the matter of the pteridons and the
ancients ... I would suggest that you also note that we are working to develop
a contingency plan, should it appear necessary, but that the details have not
all been worked out."
Dainyl nodded again. "I can see the wisdom in that."
"I thought you would. Give my best to Lystrana, and do not strain yourself too
much until you are more recovered."
Dainyl maintained a pleasant smile on his face until he was well away from the
Hall of Justice.

109
Mykel had barely finished stabling the
chestnut and hauling his gear to his room in the officers' quarters in the
Cadmian headquarters compound in Elcien when he turned to find a senior squad
leader standing at the door.
"Captain Mykel, sir?"
"Yes?"
"Colonel Herolt would like to see you, sir. At your earliest convenience."
Mykel set down his gear. He might as well see what the colonel wanted. It had
been a long day, already, after five days at sea, and a tedious unloading of
all the mounts and men remaining from Third Battalion, although far shorter,
unfortunately, than the loading out had been when they had left Elcien more
than two seasons before.
"If you'd follow me, sir."
Mykel followed the senior squad leader across the courtyard and into the
headquarters building, then to the door of the colonel's study, which had been
left open.
"Captain Mykel, reporting as requested, sir."
Colonel Herolt, with his iron gray hair and black eyes, looked up. "Come in
and close the door, Captain." He motioned for Mykel to seat himself.
"Captain--or should I say, Majer?--I have a report here from the Submarshal of
Myrmidons, with an endorsement from the High Alector of Justice."
"Yes, sir?" Mykel allowed himself to look puzzled.
"Do you know the Submarshal of Myrmidons?"
"Submarshal Dainyl, sir? Yes, sir. He took command of all operations in
Dramur, sir."
"How well do you know him?"
"Not well at all, sir. I saw him preside over a court-martial, and I briefed
him on Fifteenth Company operations--it couldn't have been more than three or
four times. I could check on that, but that's what I recall. He was injured in
the last battle in Dramur, and Fifteenth Company recovered him and provided
cover."
"You and Majer Dohark most clearly impressed him." The colonel stared at
Mykel.
Mykel met the colonel's eyes. After dealing with the submarshal, the colonel
seemed far less intimidating.
"I don't like promoting junior officers too soon. I like being ordered to do
so even less. On the other hand, both Majer Dohark's reports and the
submarshal's indicate that your conduct and your accomplishments were all that
stood between a successful revolt and the destruction of the entire
battalion."
Mykel waited, sensing that it was best to say nothing.
"I can see a certain calmness and responsibility that was not there a half
year ago. It might even be enough to get you through." Herolt sighed. "You
understand that, once Third Battalion is back to full strength and retraining
is finished, you will be ordered to handle the most challenging and unpleasant
assignments?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you understand why?"
"Yes, sir. To prove that Third Battalion will receive no special favors or
easy assignments, and that any officer who receives early promotion not only
earned that promotion, but will have to continue to prove that it was earned."
"Majer... what do you intend to do with your senior squad leader?"
"Make him the battalion senior squad leader, with particular emphasis on
training and retraining."
"You would not recommend him as an undercaptain?"
"No, sir."
"Are there others who might be considered in the future?"
"Chyndylt, the third squad leader, would make a solid senior squad leader for
Fifteenth Company. He might make a good undercaptain, but I'd want to see him
with greater responsibility first."
A faint smile appeared on the colonel's face. He extended a small cloth pouch.
"Here are your insignia, Majer. For all of our sakes, I wish you well. You
will have to continue in command of Fifteenth Company, as well, for several
weeks, until we determine your captains or undercaptains."
"Yes, sir." Mykel took the pouch.
"Majer... I am curious about one thing."
"Sir?"
"Does a guano mine smell as bad as everyone says?"
Mykel laughed.
After a moment, so did the colonel.

110
For all the towering halls of the Duarch's palace in Elcien, Dainyl was
escorted into a comparatively small library, six yards wide and twelve in
length. Oak shelves filled with volumes lined all the inside walls, while the
outside wall held smaller sections of shelves set between the narrow
floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the southern sunken garden.
The Duarch sat behind a desk piled high with books. Even seated, he was a
towering presence, with shimmering black hair and deep violet eyes. Talent
radiated from him. As he caught sight of Dainyl, he smiled, but did not stand.
When Dainyl bowed, he could feel a warmth issue from the older alector.
"Submarshal, I am pleased that you could come to brief me on what has happened
in Dramur. Please sit down. Both the High Alector of Justice and Marshal
Shastylt have spoken in glowing terms about your success there."
"We did what was necessary, Most High." Dainyl took the chair toward which the
Duarch had gestured.
"I trust that there was not too great a loss of lifeforce?"
"More than I would have liked," Dainyl admitted. "Over a thousand rebels, and
half of the Third Cadmian Battalion."
"That is not good." The Duarch frowned. "Not good at all. We must be making
all possible efforts to expand lifeforce so that we will be ready to host the
Master Scepter. The Archon must choose Acorus. We have accomplished so very
much under the most adverse of conditions, and for that, he must find us the
worthy ones, as we are." A broad smile appeared, then vanished. "All is judged
on lifeforce mass, yet today's
measurement does not always reflect what it will be tomorrow or next year. Nor
what a world will be or could be."
Dainyl kept his own expression pleasant and waited.
"The marshal tried to explain why there was a revolt, but I must confess that
his explanation lacked a certain ... co-hesiveness. There is enough food;
there is enough shelter; and there seemed to be enough golds to satisfy the
greedier of the landers. We had neither increased levies on the sel-tyrs nor
imposed greater controls on them. Ingratitude, while universal, does not
provoke rebellion." Another warm smile followed his words. "Could you make it
clearer?"
"I will try." Sensing the more pointed feelings concealed by the smile, and
the danger of being caught between the Duarch and the High Alector of Justice,
Dainyl composed himself. "The landers and indigens are split into two areas,
those east of the mountains and those to the west. The guano mine is on the
east side of the mountains, and the golds that come from it go to those in the
town and some of the eastern seltyrs. For reasons that remain unclear, all the
seltyrs decided that they needed weapons--"
"Unclear to whom?"
"To me, Most High. I talked to a number of those close to the seltyrs, and all
suggested that they believed that an unarmed seltyr is without honor. This is
a belief that has existed for some time, but has never been reported. Why, I
have not been able to discover."
"Go on."
The seltyrs used golds to persuade smugglers to bring them Cadmian rifles ..."
"Who permitted that?" The Duarch's voice turned cold, and a perceptible chill
filled the library.
Dainyl could sense a strong Talent force, as strong as that of the High
Alector of Justice, if not stronger. "No one, as I understand it. They paid
the smugglers to bribe an assistant engineer to divert weapons reported
as   flawed and
scrapped. He was punished and executed, but not before the rifles and
ammunition had been shipped to the seltyrs."
"Always the golds. The landers and indigens, they think of nothing but golds,
nothing at all. The steers are worse than spoiled children. Acorus would have
long since died without us, and they cannot see that. Pardon me, Submar-shal.
Please continue." The sense of chill dispersed, although the Duarch did not
smile.
Dainyl went on to describe what had happened, in plain terms, with the first
attack by Seltyr Ubarjyr, then the sniping at the Cadmians and the uprising by
the Jyohans.
"You did not impose discipline?"
"I was ordered to observe only, unless the Cadmians failed..." Dainyl went on
to explain the increasingly erratic behavior of Majer Vaclyn as well as the
lack of understanding by Majer Herryf. "... Once I assumed command, under the
conditions laid down by the marshal, immediate discipline had to wait until
the military situation was resolved, because the Cadmians were under attack by
more than twenty companies of the seltyrs. Despite being vastly outnumbered,
and with only two pteridons, we crushed the revolt. Once that was
accomplished, we restructured the Cadmian command in Dramur so that the local
commander will be able to control matters in a fashion that will not destroy
any more lifeforce."
"That is right." The Duarch nodded, then looked at Dainyl. "Do you think that
they truly believed that they could prevail? Against the Myrmidons?" An
expression of calculation dominated the Duarch's face, especially the violet
eyes that darkened. "You did not mention the lost pteridons."
"Both pteridons were lost. That is true. Two of the ancients appeared just as
the pteridons attacked the last of the rebels."
"You did not wish to mention that?" The Duarch's pleasant smile dropped away,
and Dainyl could sense a chill coldness.
"I admit that I did not," Dainyl admitted. "I had not realized that the
ancients were present so far south, or that they were so powerful, and that
was my oversight and failure." At the word "failure," Dainyl could sense the
coldness projected by the Duarch vanish, and that mystified him.
The Duarch laughed, once, a sound that mixed rue and humor. "You are the first
submarshal--or marshal--ever to enter this study and admit that he failed at
something." After a moment of silence, he asked, "Are there other failures you
might admit?"
"I am certain that there are aspects of what happened in Dramur that I could
have handled better, Most High. Unfortunately. I don't have the range of
knowledge that you and the High Alector of Justice have. So I doubt I could
identify what those might be."
"You're sounding like Shastylt. Please don't. As for the failure to tell you
about the ancients and pteridons, that is something that I will take up with
the marshal directly."
Dainyl didn't like that at all.
"Oh ... I won't mention you. We've lost too many suddenly, and you couldn't
have had anything to do with that. Please continue."
Dainyl decided to risk more directness. "I still don't really know what
sparked this revolt. We stopped it, and we've taken steps that I think will
preclude it from happening again, but I could be mistaken."
"We all could. For all that, you have not told me everything, Submarshal."
"No, Most High. We would be here for days were I to do that. I will be happy
to answer any questions you may have, now or in the future, or to provide more
details about anything."
"At least you are more honest than many. What else should I know?"
"I would say that the revolt shows that we face a delicate balance between the
need to keep from spending lifeforce
and in maintaining order among the landers and indigens. They will easily
squander lifeforce as though it meant nothing, because to them it means
nothing. They think only of either amassing golds or controlling other landers
and indigens. If we do not step in, as we did in Dramur, they could easily
destroy more lifeforce than we did. Yet to keep them from doing worse, we also
spend more lifeforce than we would prefer, especially with the transfer of the
master scepter not that many years away. Yet we cannot explain the importance
of lifeforce in a fashion that would mean anything to the landers and
indigens, not without revealing our own needs and vulnerabilities."
The Duarch's face twisted, and Dainyl could sense ... something ... a
conflict... but that vanished within a fraction of an instant.
"Yes, that has always been a difficulty, and yet, we must prepare for the
transfer, whatever the cost, because if we do not receive the Master Scepter,
our future will be in the hands of those on Efra, and they calculate even more
than those who claim to serve me. You have told me what I need to know." There
was a sense of sadness, followed by another smile and more warmth. "I
understand that you and Lystrana are expecting a child."
"Yes, Most High." Dainyl wondered exactly what the Duarch had needed to know,
but he wasn't about to ask. He was relieved to have gotten through the
briefing.
"A wonderful thing. Wonderful. She will be old enough to behold the transfer
of the Master Scepter." The sense of chill returned. "Do be careful in what
you believe of Shastylt and Zelyert, Dainyl. They do not see everything,
although they think they do. Be most careful." Another smile appeared, with
the same warmth as earlier. "You may go. Thank you."
Dainyl stood and bowed. "I am at your command, Most High."
"So you are."
Dainyl stepped toward the library door, and it opened. Two alector guards
appeared, walking beside him, escorting him back to the entry foyer, with its
high-arched dome, as they had escorted him from it. He felt like running, but
he kept walking, flanked by the silent guards. The palace, for the first time
in all the years he had been in it, felt confining, as though the walls would
fall in upon him.
Ill
Mykel stood at the edge of the warm-weather dining porch, in the light breeze
that reminded him that spring in Faitel was far cooler than winter in Dramur.
For a time, he looked at the still-fragile grape leaves, barely unfolded. The
lower trunk and the outer canes had yet to leaf out. He let his eyes take in
the ancient vine, not really seeing it, just feeling that it was alive, in a
way that he had not felt before, not exactly. He was so motionless that a
redbird alighted on the far end of the arbor, cocking its head in a perky
fashion.
A faint halo of something surrounded the redbird, golden brown. Mykel blinked,
and the halo vanished. Yet it had been there, and too real to have been his
imagination.
"The grapes aren't out yet," said Olent, crossing the porch toward his son.
"It was a wet and cold winter. That    ť usually means they're late leafing
out, but, if the summer's warm, we'll have a good crop come harvest."
Mykel turned, studying his father, trying to recapture what he had felt when
he had looked at the redbird. After a moment, he could sense a warm brownish
gold around Olent.
"Supper's almost ready." Olent paused. "You've been more quiet since you got
back. Are you all right?"
Mykel stopped to consider his father's words and lost the sense of the aura he
had felt, but he knew, now, that he could recall it. What exactly it meant or
signified, other than life itself, trmt he would have to discover. "I'm fine.
I've just been thinking."
Was he fine? He'd killed scores of rebels, and that didn't include the poor
and hapless debtors of Jyoha. Many of the so-called battles had been little
more than massacres, and he'd succeeded by being more ruthless than the
seltyrs. He'd been placed in a situation where he'd had little choice if he
wanted to survive--and if the men under him were to have had any chance. And he
still didn't really understand why, other than the seltyrs and the alectors
both wanted power. Was that life? The struggle for power? Did it have to be
that way? Could he change things as a majer? Or would he be pressed to create
more destruction?
"You've been thinking a lot."
"I suppose that's true. Dramur changed things." He offered a smile. "I'm
probably hungry, too. It's been a long day." He turned and walked back across
the empty dining porch and into the cramped inside dining room.
Following him, Olent closed the door to the porch behind them. "Let's eat
before it all gets cold," he announced, taking the chair at the head of the
table.
Mykel settled into the place at his father's right, across from his sister. As
he sat down, Sesalia offered a smile. Olent looked to the other end of the
table at Aelya, and his wife nodded back at him.
"I think that means I'm saying the blessing," commented Olent. "I don't know
why I even asked. With everyone here, it's always the same." He cleared his
throat. "In the name of the One Who Was, Is, and Will Be, may our food be
blessed, and our lives as well, in the times of prosperity and peace, and
those which are neither. Blessed be the lives of both the deserving and the
undeserving that both may strive to do good in the world and beyond, and may
we always re-
call that we do not judge our worthiness, but leave that judgment to the One
Who Is." After a moment of silence, he looked up. "Everyone take whatever's
closest."
Mykel lifted the basket of hard dark bread to Sesalia first, who served
herself, then Bortal, before handing it back to Mykel. The main course was a
mutton pie, heavy on early carrots and onions, that Olent passed to Sesalia.
Aelya glanced at her daughter, "I still miss the children, dear."
Olent guffawed. "Every time she doesn't bring them, you remind her. You'll
make her feel guilty for being able to eat a meal in peace."
"I don't see them that often now," replied Aelya.
"You see them more often than Sesalia and Bortal get to see Mykel. Now that
he's a majer, we'll all probably see him even less."
While the others talked, Mykel took several bites of the mutton pie, enjoying
it and the sweet and heavy black bread, so much better fare than he had eaten
in seasons.
"Mykel... you're a majer, now? A real majer?" asked Viencet.
"Where have you been, Viencet?" asked Bortal. "Hiding in the cellar?"
"Ah ... studying ..."
"With that young Dalya?" probed Sesalia.
Viencet flushed. "She's smart..." His words trailed off.
"Well, he is a majer," announced Olent. "My son, the commander of a battalion,
and only twenty-seven years old."
"They're saying that the Myrmidons lost some pteridons out east," offered
Viencet quickly. "Did you hear about that?"
"People are always saying things," replied Mykel with a smile. "Who's been
telling you those stories?"
"It was Trebyl, and he got it from his uncle. What he says has always been
right before."
"It doesn't mean it is now."
"He claims that it proves the ancients are still around, some of 'em, anyway,
because the ancients are the only thing that can kill pteridons."
"It's a good story," Mykel said. "Maybe you should become an Ancienteer."
"Nah ..." Viencet shook his head. "They'll believe anything. We know the
ancients existed, but soaring through the sky without a pteridon ... I can't
swallow that."
Mykel just nodded.
"Some people," added Aelya. "They'll say anything."
Mykel took a swallow of the wine, then another bite of the mutton pie.
"You haven't said much about Dramur, and how come you got promoted to majer,"
Viencet pressed.
"I suppose I haven't," demurred Mykel. "There's not much to say. I managed to
survive and keep most of my company alive."
"I'd wager you were a hero," said Viencet.
"No. I wasn't a hero. I was a moderately effective company commander when most
others weren't. I looked good by comparison."
"Did you kill lots and lots of rebels?"
Mykel lifted the heavy goblet, only brought out for special dinners, and took
another sip of the red wine. "People always get killed when they shoot at each
other long enough."
"I can't believe--"
"Viencet," said Olent quietly, but forcefully, "I don't think your brother
really wants to talk about it. Maybe later, when he comes home another time."
Mykel silently thanked his father. He didn't want to talk about it, but didn't
want to announce that publicly, either.
"And none of the Dramuran women took a liking to you?" teased Sesalia, after a
moment of silence.
"I saw very few, almost none," Mykel said with a laugh,
"except from a distance. Most of those were trying to stay out of our sight."
He wasn't about to mention Rachyla, especially since he would never see her
again, and since she'd hardly been the friendliest toward him. But then, had
their situations been reversed, he doubted that he would have been all that
friendly, either.
"You must have been busy," offered Bortal. "Corylt says that his captain never
has a free moment."
"We're always busy." Nodding absently in agreement, Mykel looked at Sesalia,
heavy with the child to come, seeing not one aura, but two, the second almost
a ghost of hers, but growing stronger, he knew. That had to be a part of his
talent, the talent that had started with his being able to aim and fire a
rifle more accurately than almost anyone, and now seemed to be growing. What
else could he expect? Was that the talent that the ancient soarer had told him
to find? Or was there something else?
"Mykel? Mykel?"
At Sesalia's voice, he almost jumped, but managed a smile. "Yes?"
"You were looking at me so strangely."
"Oh ... I'm sorry. I guess I'm still more tired than I thought." That wasn't
it at all, but better to say so than what he thought. Where would that talent
lead him?
He forced a smile. "Are there any sweets?"

112
Dainyl and Lystrana lay side by side in the darkness of their bedchamber, warm
covers over them. Dainyl's fingers twined around hers.
"When do you go to Alustre?" she asked, her voice soft, but not sleepy.
"On Duadi."
"Do you know what the Highest truly wants?"
"He hasn't said. Not exactly. He wants my impressions about Submarshal Alcyna.
He has something else in mind."
"As he did with your briefing the Duarch. You're still upset about your
meeting with him, aren't you?"
Dainyl thought about dismissing her concerns, but Lystrana would see through
him. She always had. "Yes. There's tremendous Talent there, but..."
"But what?"
"It's as though he wears a blindfold about some things. I tried to point out
the problems with lifeforce, and how the landers and indigens just don't
understand the way the world works, and he kept talking about how we needed to
increase the lifeforce and how fortunate we were to have a child, and how
Kytrana would see the transfer of the Master Scepter here to Acorus. One
moment he was smiling, and the next it was as though he were ready to turn his
Talent on me, especially when he talked about Zelyert and Shastylt."
"He told you not to trust them. Was that unwise?"
"No. We know that." Dainyl took a deep breath. "But... I don't trust the
Duarch, either I feel that his heart is better than theirs, but that--I said
this before--he is blinded. He will do anything to bring the master scepter
here."
"The loyalty imprint," suggested Lystrana. "That is why those who seek power
do not wish to be Duarch."
"I feel as though I'm trapped between two sets of masters. The Highest and the
marshal see the world as it is, but I don't trust what they have in mind, even
if I don't know what it is. The Duarch--he would do the best he could, so long
as it does not conflict with what the Archon requires. He has great Talent,
but how he might use that Talent is hampered because the imprint does not
allow him to see all that is before his eyes. Both would destroy those who
disagree with their visions." Dainyl turned and reached out
with his free hand, letting his fingers touch the cheek and jawlinc of his
wife.
"So you must not show any disagreement. That has always been so for a prudent
alector. What you have seen changes nothing."
Dainyl laughed, once. "I had hoped that seeing more would provide greater
hope, not less. Matters need to change. Even the ancient soarer said something
like that."
"Was she talking about you, or about all alectors?"
"I had thought she was speaking to me, as I told you the other night, but now
... I don't know."
"You are submarshal, and someday you will be marshal. That will give you the
opportunity to change matters."
"Nothing changes quickly."
Lystrana turned toward him and brushed his cheek with her lips. "We can only
do what we can."
"I didn't tell you everything about the Cadmian captain," Dainyl said slowly.
"I had thought you held something back."
"He has Talent. He used it to save me. The Highest told me that landers with
Talent had to be destroyed."
"That has always been the policy," Lystrana said softly.
"I couldn't do it. I kept thinking about how he nearly died to save me, so
that I could come back to you and Kytrana. He's so young, not for a lander, I
suppose, but..."
"You think that the marshal will discover your failure?"
"No. Talent can emerge at any time."
"Then why do you worry? He serves the Duarchy. It's not as though he happens
to be a wild Talent, like that one in Hyalt."
"I still worry. He did more than I did to stop the revolt in Dramur."
"You succeeded in the end."
"But... without the captain I would not have. Are we too frightened of Talent
in landers? Or am I too frightened to make the hard choices?"
Lystrana's fingers squeezed his. "You made the choice, and we will live with
what comes of it."
Dainyl looked up into the darkness. He had made the choice, an alector's
choice.