Soarers Choice (62 page)

From
the left, a single rider burst through the thinnest part of the line of
Cadmians, laying one aside with the outsized blade, urging his mount uphill
toward Mykel. His long blond hair streamed back over his broad shoulders. A
thin aura of Talent enshrouded him.

Mykel
could feel at least two bullets strike the rider, but the young Reillie ignored
them as he flattened himself against the mane of the white horse he rode.

Two
Cadmians urged their mounts forward. Mykel could sense that they would be too
late. His left hand lifted his own rifle, and he swung it up and toward the
Reillie, concentrating on the youthful face of the attacker.

The
Reillie straightened in his saddle and lifted the massive blade, almost like a
metal bar, bringing it forward for a killing blow.

Mykel
fired, willing the bullet into the Reillie’s forehead.

The
rifle slammed back against Mykel’s arm and side, and he struggled to bring it
forward and up.

The
youth stiffened, and an incredulous look froze on his face, before he plunged
forward in the saddle. His face reminded Mykel of his own younger brother.

Mykel
managed to lever his own rifle high enough to slide the Reillie’s falling blade
away from him, as the white horse swung away and to a halt, the body of the
Reillie who had looked like Viencet half hanging out of the saddle.

Suddenly,
like a spent wave, the Reillies and Squawts receded, quickly flowing back to
the north and west, leaving the bodies of men, women, boys, and girls — and
their mounts-strewn on the hillsides, fields, and even the narrow road that
eventually led to Borlan.

“Third
Battalion! Hold your position! Third Battalion! Hold!” Mykel tried to boost his
order with Talent.

“Hold
position!” The order reverberated across the knoll.

Watching
as the last of the attackers vanished into the wooded area to the west of the
orchards to the north, Mykel slowly eased the rifle back across his legs, then
glanced to his left, in the direction of Loryalt and Seventeenth Company.
Seventeenth Company was re-forming. To the right, so was Sixteenth Company.

Mykel
glanced at the white horse, shuddering and still panting, somehow entangled in
the bare branches of a smaller tree. He was glad he could not see the face of
the young Reillie.

“Majer?
You all right?” Rhystan reined up beside Mykel. “I’m fine.”

The
older captain’s eyes took in the rifle across Mykel’s knees. “How much use did
that see?”

“One
shot.” Mykel nodded toward the white horse and the dead Reillie.

“You
killed him, didn’t you? One shot, one-handed, with your left hand.”

“He
was younger than my brother Viencet,” Mykel replied.

“Nothing
short of killing him would have stopped him.”

“I
know.” Mykel had to wonder if anything would stop the hill insurgents, other
than their total destruction.

Dainyl
had only had to receive petitions for a glass and a half on Tridi morning, for
which he was thankful, since he hadn’t gotten as much sleep as he might have
liked. While he’d spent Londi night in Elcien, he had taken the Table to Dereka
on Duadi night. He and Lystrana had enjoyed a quiet dinner alone together, but
Lystrana had slept restlessly. Even in his sleep Dainyl had sensed her
discomfort — and Kytrana’s stirrings. Given his own restless sleep, he wasn’t
that displeased in the fall-off in petitioners and his being able to leave the
Hall of Justice by late midmorning.

Dainyl
had been in his study less than a quarter glass after the hearings, looking
over local regional Cadmian garrison reports, seeking a hint of where else the
ancients might be undertaking whatever they were doing, when Chastyl appeared
with an unfamiliar alectress.

“Sir?”
asked the recorder.

Dainyl
set aside the reports and gestured for the two to enter. He remained seated.

Chastyl
let the alectress enter first, closing the door behind them. “This is Vyane.
She’s the assistant recorder in Lysia.”

Vyane
was a good head shorter than Dainyl, but not nearly so slender and petite as
Alcyna. Her eyes were a deep purple, but her skin bore the slightest tinge of
almond. She inclined her head. “I’m Sulerya’s assistant, Highest. If at all
possible, she would request that you come to Lysia. So would Majer Sevasya,
although she has made no request.”

“For
how long might the recorder require my presence?” Dainyl understood more fully
— after Khelaryt’s revelation about the scepters — why the recorder would not
leave Lysia.

“She
did not say, but I doubt that it would be that long. Certainly no more than the
day, and perhaps less.”

“Did
she indicate why my presence might be required?”

“No,
sir, only that you would find it vital and necessary.”

Dainyl
could sense the truth behind the words, and the cryptic nature of the message
chilled him. He could also see that the message was a shock to Chastyl. He
looked to the older recorder. “Has anything unusual happened with the Tables
this morning?”

“Not
that I know, sir.”

“I’ll
go now.” He stood, donned his jacket, and checked the lightcutters he still
wore at his belt. Then he followed Chastyl and Vyane back down the corridor.

He
stopped and peered into Adya’s small study. “I’m headed to Lysia. I might be
gone much of the day.”

“Sir?”
The question suggested that such Table travel might be unwise.

“There
are important reasons for it. If Marshal Alcyna seeks me, tell her where I am
and my expected return.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Dainyl
was the last through the small foyer and into the Table chamber. It was
definitely crowded, with Diordyn, Chastyl, Vyane, Dainyl, as well as the five
guards and the Table itself.

“You
first.” Dainyl nodded to Vyane.

The
assistant recorder stepped up onto the Table, faded into a misty figure, then
vanished.

Dainyl
followed her onto the mirror surface, concentrating as he dropped ...

...
into the purpleness of the translation tube where he concentrated on the
orange-yellow locator for Lysia and linked. Now was no time to linger in the
tube. The locator sped toward him, and then he was through the silvered
barrier...

...
and standing on the Table, by himself. He glanced around, then nodded as Vyane
appeared behind him.

The
assistant recorder looked stunned to see Dainyl there in front of her.

Dainyl
smiled at her, then stepped off the Table, moving toward Sulerya.

The
Recorder of Deeds for Lysia had dark circles under her eyes. She did not speak,
but gestured to the open entrance to the hidden rooms off the Table chamber,
then turned to Vyane. “We won’t be that long.”

“Yes,
Recorder.”

Dainyl
followed Sulerya, noting again how deftly she employed her Talent to manipulate
the mechanism to seal the stone doorway behind them. Sulerya sat down heavily
in one of the chairs in the study that was far smaller than the one of the High
Alector of Justice in Elcien.

“Why
did you request my presence?”

“The
grid is ... they’re making adjustments somewhere on Ifryn ... and it’s making
translations here unpredictable.”

“I
noticed. Preparations to transfer the Master Scepter?”

“That
would be my guess, but it could be a result of the rapid decline in lifeforce
on Ifryn.”

“Is
that the only reason you requested my presence?”

“No.
Noryan is dead. So are about half the Myrmidons in Norda. We found out just
before I sent Vyane for you.”

“When?”
The single word was harsh.

“Last
night — or very early this morning. Brekylt learned somehow that you’d ordered
Noryan and Josaryk to Dereka, and when he discovered that Noryan was planning
to obey, he and a squad of personal guards — assassins, in truth — used the
Table to travel to Norda in the middle of the night. Most were killed in their
sleep.”

“Most?”
There was something in her tone that bothered him.

“One
attempted to use his pteridon to escape. One of Brekylt’s assassins used one of
those lightcannon on him.”

“They
took a lightcannon to Norda?”

“Or
it had been shipped there earlier in preparation and hidden,” suggested
Sulerya.

“That’s
not at all good. Those shred lifeforce. Even the ones with storage crystals
draw down lifeforce.” Another thought struck Dainyl. “Someone had to have told
Brekylt, someone who knew how to use a Table. He couldn’t have found out soon
enough, otherwise.”

“Dubaryt.”

“Is
he the recorder?”

Sulerya
nodded. “He’s always been Brekylt’s creature.”

“How
did you find out?”

“One
of his assistants. She’d only made one or two translations, but she slipped
onto the Table after the assassins left while Dubaryt was Talent-locking the
chamber. She almost didn’t make it here. Dubaryt may have tried to reach her
inside the tube. She collapsed, and she’s sleeping right now. If you want to
talk to her ...”

“Does
Sevasya know yet?”

“I’ve
told her, but she already knew some of it. She has had a few problems of her
own.”

“She
didn’t want to summon me?”

“You’re
the High Alector, and she doesn’t trust the marshal.”

Dainyl
could understand that. “The marshal and Noryan have turned out to be far more
trustworthy than others.” In fact, it appeared as though the submarshal had
paid for his loyalty with his life. “I’d better see Sevasya.”

“Vyane
can — “

“I
can find my way, and you may need her.”

“Thank
you.”

Dainyl
started to turn, then stopped. “I saw your father not that long ago — on
Londi.”

“How
was he?”

“In
good health, but tired.”

Sulerya
nodded. “He has worked too hard for too many years. We see each other seldom,
usually only through the Tables.” The momentary wistfulness left her face.
“Sevasya could use your advice and help.”

“Then
I’d better go and provide them.”

The
door to the hidden chamber opened, and Dainyl stepped out, just in time to see
a creature appear on the Table. It had the head of a pteridon, the lower legs
of sandox, and ropy arms that held lightcutters. Two guards triggered their
lightcutters, and the creature collapsed, but did not disintegrate.

“You’re
still getting wild translations,” he said, turning back toward Sulerya.

“There
are fewer, but they’re more bizarre.”

Dainyl
nodded and left the Table chamber, following the corridor to the staircase —
also cut through solid stone — that he took up to the doorway leading out into
the walled courtyard beyond. The mild sun and moist air reminded him that even
winter in Lysia was warm, and he unfastened his shimmersilk green jacket as he
crossed the courtyard, skirting the immaculate pteridon squares and then stepping
through the archway into the headquarters building.

The
duty officer jumped to her feet. “Highest!” Her eyes darted down the corridor.

“I’m
here to see the majer. Is she in her study?”

“Yes,
sir, Highest.”

“Thank
you.” Dainyl turned left and walked to the second doorway, opening it and
stepping inside.

A
Myrmidon captain was bound with shimmersilk ropes and tied to a chair. Dainyl
could sense the darker purple aura of an alector born on Ifryn.

Sevasya
stood by the narrow window, thinking, but her eyes immediately turned to
Dainyl. “Highest!”

“I
understood that you are facing some difficulties. I can see that Captain
Josaryk — this is Josaryk, is it not?”

“It
is.”

“I
can see where his loyalties lie.” Dainyl looked to the majer. “How did you find
out?”

“He
tried to suborn the wrong Myrmidon. I’ve been watching ever since.”

Dainyl
could see the weariness in her eyes. He looked directly at Josaryk. “Why?”

“The
Duarches are weaklings. Only Brekylt can save Acorus.”

“Even
if that were true, you owed your allegiance to those Duarches. You could have
left the Myrmidons and become an assistant to the Alector of the East. Why
didn’t you?”

The
captain’s eyes flickered, but he did not answer.

“Might
it be that you wanted the pteridons, and that suggests that the Duarches are
not that weak. When will Brekylt declare that he is Duarch of the East?”

“I
know nothing of that.”

“What
did Brekylt promise Duarch Samist?”

“I
have no
i.e.
what you’re talking about.”

“Or
Ruvryn?”

Josaryk
closed his mouth.

Dainyl
turned to Sevasya. “Do you need to know anything else?”

“No.
He’s revealed what he knows, and it’s not all that much. He was supposed to fly
Fourth Company back to Alustre this morning.”

“Did
Sulerya tell you about Noryan?”

“Yes.”

Dainyl
unholstered the lightcutter. “You can’t do that,” said Josaryk.

“I
can. The Marshal of Myrmidons can’t, but the High Alector of Justice can.”
Dainyl lifted the lightcutter and aimed it, focusing his Talent into a thrust
that opened a wedge in Josaryk’s shields. Then he fired.

The
Myrmidon barely had the chance to look surprised.

Dainyl
turned to Sevasya. “Do you have enough trainees for the pteridons of the
rebels?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“And
an undercaptain we can promote to command? Who’ll be loyal and can command?”

Sevasya
nodded. “Waelstyr. He’s solid, and Fourth Company will follow him.”

“Let’s
see the next one of the rebels.”

“That’s
Undercaptain Staetyl.” Sevasya turned and left her study, walking to the south
end of the building and down the steps to the lower level.

Staetyl’s
eyes widened as Dainyl followed Sevasya into the narrow cell. The undercaptain
stiffened. “You may execute me, but that will not change matters.”