On Octdi, Dainyl had slept later than he should have and had not arrived at headquarters until nearly a glass after morning muster. That had been the first time he’d ever been so tardy. Even so, he had been exhausted, and not really fit for more than catching up on reports, and getting briefed by Colonel Dhenyr. After Dhenyr left, Dainyl found himself wondering how Alcyna had suborned the colonel—if she had—since Dhenyr hadn’t been stationed in the east for close to ten years.
For all that, Dainyl paid close attention to the colonel. Fortunately, little of major consequence had occurred in Dainyl’s absence. The marshal had been nowhere to be seen, not during all of Octdi, for which Dainyl was more than grateful.
After another night’s decent sleep, Dainyl had spent the half-day of duty on Novdi at headquarters, checking Cadmian deployment schedules and Myrmidon duty rotations against the accounting ledgers. As always, the maintenance requirements for Lysia seemed high, and he mentally reaffirmed his decision to visit Lysia after Prosp and Dulka. He’d decided to visit Prosp and Dulka first, because not much of import seemed to have happened there, although the resupply levels seemed higher than they should have been in Dulka. He wanted his unannounced inspections to seem as innocuous as possible in the beginning. Also, he’d have more background information before tackling Lysia.
The remainder of Novdi and all of Decdi, he spent with Lystrana—happily, trying to avoid thinking about the political currents that swirled through Elcien, Ludar, and Alustre, with ripples that might affect all of Corus.
Londi morning found Dainyl at the Hall of Justice, less than half a glass after dawn. As he walked along the stone-walled and subterranean corridor toward the Table chair, a door opened ahead of him on his left.
“Dainyl…there you are.” High Alector Zelyert’s voice was deep, rumbling, with an overtone of warmth that was not matched by the emotions behind his shields. “Shastylt said you would be here early. I would like a few words with you before you depart.”
Dainyl inclined his head, leaving his personal shields firmly in place. “As you desire, sir.” He followed Zelyert into the small and spare chamber that was the High Alector’s private study.
The High Alector of Justice stood a quarter of a head taller than Dainyl, and his flawless alabaster skin was even paler than that of the submarshal, especially in contrast to his shimmering black hair and deep violet eyes. As usual, at least when Dainyl had seen him, Zelyert wore a tunic of brilliant green, trimmed in a deep purple, with matching purple trousers.
Dainyl closed the door and stood waiting.
Zelyert did not seat himself. “I will be brief. Marshal Shastylt relayed your concerns about the fashion in which the lesser submarshal has handled the ancients and about the recruiting practices of the High Alector of the East. You were right to be circumspect…and cautious. There may be reasons for these actions that are in fact perfectly acceptable and in accord with the Code and the greater purposes of the Archon. Or they may be as you suspect.”
“Highest…sir…I do not assume to know enough to claim a suspicion, only that what I perceived appeared to merit your attention and that of the marshal.”
Zelyert laughed, a sound at variance with the earlier warmth in his words. “I can see why Shastylt holds you in such esteem, Dainyl. You prefer to let the facts speak as they will.”
“I have observed that what one sees often is a reflection of where one stands, sir, and that more than one pair of eyes are often necessary to see what is.”
“You sound like the mystic Dulachamyt, now, and a fighting commander cannot afford to rely on mysticism.”
“I stand corrected.” Dainyl maintained a pleasant smile and an equally pleasant tone of voice.
“You do indeed, and I am pleased that you remain wise enough to understand that. What do you hope to discover on these journeys?”
“Whatever may be at variance with what I was told in Alustre. If nothing appears at variance, then I will report that.”
“Whatever you discover, you and the marshal will report officially that nothing is at variance. Leave it to us to report any discrepancies to the Duarches personally. If there are significant discrepancies, others besides the High Alector of the East may well be involved, and it would not be wise to provide advance warning to them.”
“Yes, sir. I can see that.”
“Good. I thought you would. Have a productive journey. We look forward to hearing what you discover.”
“It may take trips to a number of Tables, sir, and as long as a week, if not longer.”
“Take the time necessary, Dainyl. What you discover, one way or another, is of great import.” Zelyert smiled, then gestured toward the door. “I will not keep you longer.”
“Highest…” murmured Dainyl, inclining his head before turning and departing.
Dainyl made his way to the Table chamber, making certain that he replaced each Talent-lock that he passed. Before he stepped onto the Table, he slowly studied the entire chamber, seeking out, with Talent and all other senses, any possible hint of another hidden chamber. So far as he could tell, there was none. Was that because there were so many other adjoining chambers within the Hall of Justice, and all were hidden? Or was the use of Talent and architecture merely more clever?
His conversation with Zelyert had been disturbing, for all its superficial pleasantness, particularly the points about Shastylt and Zelyert reporting privately anything Dainyl might find out. Dainyl had strong doubts that, if facts came to light suggesting less than honorable behavior by those he served, they would ever reach the ear of the Duarch. Nor would other information. And if Dainyl even revealed such to the marshal, Shastylt would certainly attempt to handle him as he had Tyanylt. Yet, at the moment, all Dainyl had were suspicions, without a single fact to support them—and he might well be wrong.
Finally, he stepped up onto the Table, concentrating, falling through the stone and into the depths beneath….
The darkness beneath the Table was slightly less dark than he recalled, but more chill. In the distance that could have been yards, or vingts, or hundreds or thousands of vingts from him, he could sense the directional wedges of the fourteen Tables, although the bright blue of Tempre and the brilliant yellow of Ludar were the clearest and strongest.
Because he did not wish to arrive in Prosp any more tired than necessary, he immediately concentrated on the silver locator that marked that Table and linked to it with a thin line of purple Talent. As he felt himself ever closer to that Table, although there was no physical sense of motion, once again, briefly, if time even existed within the translation tubes, he thought he sensed a flash or a line of golden green. Then he was at the thin wall of silver, with insubstantial shards shattering away from him and vanishing.
He took only a single step on the silvery and polished surface of the Table, making sure that his shields were firmly in place even before taking in the Table chamber around him.
The space was empty, but, as in Alustre, black and silver-trimmed hangings of scenes in the east ornamented the walls. Directly before Dainyl was a vista of the Great Marsh, with the volcanoes of Cape Fiere rising above the sea of rushes.
He could sense immediately the special light-torch bracket, touched with Talent, that marked the entrance to the hidden chambers beyond. His hand on his sidearm, he stepped off the Table, still alert for any possible attack, either from the Table, a wild Talent, or an overenthusiastic Recorder of Deeds or assistant. No one appeared, nor did he sense anyone.
Stopping short of the door to the chamber’s entry foyer, he released the Talent-lock, and cast out his senses. There was no one in the foyer. Beyond the outer door in the corridor, however, there were two guards, Cadmians rather than Myrmidons. That made sense because there were no Myrmidons stationed anywhere near Prosp, and only two companies of local Cadmians. The rich and agricultural lands that stretched away from Prosp had never seen much unrest, doubtless because there were few places for rebels to hide and no reason to rebel.
Dainyl had chosen Prosp because he had hoped the setting and situation would favor less plotting and guile, and thus, more directness. He put his hand on the door and opened it, stepping out.
Both Cadmians had been leaning against the limestone wall. They scrambled erect.
“Sir! We didn’t know…we didn’t expect…”
“I would have hoped not,” replied Dainyl pleasantly. “I’m looking for your commander.”
“The overcaptain, sir?”
Dainyl nodded.
“He’ll be across the courtyard in the headquarters building.”
“Then I’ll find him.” Still leaving his shields up, Dainyl turned, walked down the corridor, and headed up the stone steps to the ground-floor level of the building.
“…hope that’s not trouble…”
“…Myrmidons…always trouble…those stars…that’s a marshal, I think, and that’s big trouble…”
Not for the two Cadmians, Dainyl thought, and probably not for the overcaptain, but he needed to find out more before deciding.
Someone saw him crossing the sun-flooded courtyard, almost warm enough to be pleasant without the flying jacket he wore, because the overcaptain was waiting for him just beyond the entry foyer to the small, single-story headquarters building.
“Overcaptain Morash, sir. At your service, whatever that might require.”
“Just a few questions, Overcaptain. If you’d lead the way to your study…”
“Yes, sir. This way.”
After he closed the study door, Dainyl remained standing, not wanting to cramp himself in the undersized chairs.
“What can I do for you, sir? We don’t see submarshals here.” The bulky and graying overcaptain chuckled. “Matter of fact, I haven’t seen Colonel Ubarak ever, or his predecessor, either. We just get dispatches, and not many of those.”
“You make it sound as though there’s little need for your companies here,” Dainyl suggested.
“Now, I wouldn’t be saying that, sir. No, sir. Folk here are just like folk everywhere. At times, if we weren’t here, they might do what they shouldn’t. Sometimes, they need protection, too. Last fall we had to take to the field against some hill folk that had come from northeast of Flyr. Must have been close to fifty of them, armed with good rifles, too. They burned Ceantor’s villa, and looted his strongroom. Took one of his daughters, too.” Morash shook his head. “Sad business, that.”
“What happened?”
“What could we do? They broke the Code. We surrounded them. None of them would surrender. We killed nearly all of them, except for the ones who were wounded and couldn’t fight. Some of them died anyway. The justicer sent the rest of them to the quarries south of Catyr for life. They killed the girl. Couldn’t believe we wouldn’t just let them walk in and take what they wanted.”
Even though the quarry laborers were well fed and not mistreated, the work was grueling, Dainyl knew, and few lasted more than five or ten years. “How often does something like that happen?”
“I’d have to check the records to be really accurate, Submarshal, but as I recall, it takes a couple of years for the hill folk to forget. Say every three-four years. If we weren’t here, though, they’d be long gone before one of the battalion outposts could send anyone. Our road patrols do a good job of keeping the brigandage down, too.”
Dainyl had his own ideas about why, but he asked, “Just by patrolling the roads?”
Morash smiled. “It’s simple enough. There are only a few places where goods and coins are concentrated, and that’s in the towns and in the strongrooms of the growers and the factors or when people travel the high roads. The growers and factors guard their golds well. We guard the marketplaces and the roads.” He shrugged. “We can’t do much about all of the petty theft, cutpurses, and that, but most of them get caught in time and sent to the labor camps or quarries.”
“I suppose you don’t get many dispatches directly from the Myrmidons or the High Alector of the East?”
“Not many. In fact, I can only recall one in the past year, and that was a reminder to keep the pteridon squares ready. That happened after the troubles out west in Coren.”
“You don’t seem to have problems like that.”
“No. But it’s a different place. Here, every grower and every holder has his own lands. If he doesn’t work them right, he suffers. If he has a problem that’s not his making, and he works hard, others will help him. Out there, folks see lands and trees that look empty, and for just a little extra effort, they can pick up quite a few more golds.”
“If they overlog the slopes, the rains wash off more soil, and the rivers flood, and everyone suffers,” Dainyl pointed out.
“You know that, Submarshal, and I can figure it out, but the ones that suffer are downstream and out of sight, and people have trouble giving up coins for people they don’t know and might never see.”
Dainyl nodded. He knew what the overcaptain said was true, but it was a facet of lander thought that had always given him difficulty. How could they not see, especially when it was something taught in every school?
In the end, Dainyl only spent three glasses in Prosp, inspecting the one company in the compound and making a brief scrutiny of equipment and dispatch orders.
After eating a hearty if plain meal at the small mess serving the handful of Cadmian officers, he made his way back to the Table chamber, pondering the general order from Brekylt about the pteridon squares. It might have just been a reminder, but it also might have been a step in making sure Myrmidon companies could be moved quickly.
This time, the Recorder of Deeds for Prosp was waiting in the Table chamber. He was a comparatively young alector, Dainyl sensed, but he reeked of raw Talent. He bowed to Dainyl. “Submarshal, we had no word that you would be traveling to Prosp. For this reason, we regret that we were not here when you arrived.”
Dainyl kept his Talent-shields in place as he replied. “Even a Recorder of Deeds cannot be everywhere.”
“We would wish to be of service, Submarshal, but we cannot do so if we do not know when you will arrive.”
“You are forgiven,” Dainyl said with a smile, managing to keep the expression in place, even as he wished he had not delivered the gentle rebuke. He couldn’t very well say that he didn’t want the Table guardians knowing when he would be arriving or where he was headed.
“Sir?” The recorder radiated displeasure.
Dainyl wanted to crush him for his youthful arrogance. Instead, he said, “I act at the request of the High Alector of Justice and under the command of the Duarch, and cannot offer explanations or schedules. If you wish, seek an explanation from them.”
This time, the recorder paled.
Dainyl stepped onto the Table, maintaining his shields even as he dropped through the silver-dark surface into the chill blackness below.