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 thelikeness 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 thestaff 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 faintsmile 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 indigencaught 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 steppedinto 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 isDramuria, 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."