"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 thelast 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 majercleared 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 majerhad 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 holderattached 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 thesight 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 aswell, 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 canconfirm 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 prejudicehim 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.