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 stepforward 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 amirror, 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 hiscaptains 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.