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ancients see us all as enemies. Besides, how would they even communicate?
Dainyl felt much safer phrasing the last concept as a question, rather than
stating it as a fact.
There is that... but those two are inventive.
I would agree with that, but Alcyna directed her Myrmi-dons to attack them,
and the rankers were telling the truth about the attacks. I can t see the
ancients allowing that.
Shastylt pursed his narrow lips before replying. No. They would not. After a
time, he focused his eyes di-rectly on Dainyl. What do you think about it?
I think the ancients are planning something. We have not seen them in
hundreds of years, not really, and now, within two seasons, they ve destroyed
six pteridons, and now there s a lifeforce predator that no one s seen in a
thousand years. That s not coincidence. It also suggests that they know the
time for the transfer of the Master Scepter is near, or at least that more
alectors will be com-ing to Acorus.
More alectors have already been translating here. They could have noticed
that, mused the marshal. I want you to watch for any other signs ...
anywhere. Don t report them. Just tell me.
Yes, sir.
Dainyl returned to his own study, closing the door. He needed time to think.
First, somehow he needed to get word about the giant ice-wolf predator to
Zelyert in a way that wasn t obvious to Shastylt, and before long. He also
wanted to think about what the ancients had said about him not changing
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enough. Had he changed at all? How? Was that good?
He couldn t help but recall the near-casual way mat the small soaring creature
had used her power to hurl him back into the translation tube. Yet, if they
had the kind of power that he had seen and experienced, why hadn t they just
attacked? Or was it because there still were so few of them? He wished he knew
more or how to find out more without putting himself at the mercy of creatures
who had shown themselves to be powerful and dangerous.
His eyes drifted to the window and the clear silver green sky beyond. Not even
a sign of a storm, but he knew that the times and the weather could change
quickly.
32
The hired carriage drove through the
open gates of one of the villas in the center of Southgate, carrying Mykel,
Overcaptain Sturyk, and the overcap-tain s wife, a brunette a good fifteen
years younger than Sturyk, Mykel judged.
Mykel wore his better uniform, clean and with every-thing polished, but
wiuiout his sabre. He had been per-suaded to accompany the couple in a rented
carriage, because Sturyk had insisted, telling Mykel, Arriving on horseback
is just not acceptable, sir.
Mykel hadn t felt like arguing about that. If his taking a carriage made
Sturyk more comfortable and resulted in better relations between the Cadmians
and the factors
and high landers of Southgate, then that was a small price to pay.
This is Seltyr Elbaryk s place, offered the overcap-tain. Every year the
ball is in a different villa. If I m commander long enough, Sheranyne and I
might get to see them all.
Are all those who own the villas seltyrs? I thought some were factors.
Oh ... that s the rank title. Some are factors. Some own lands. Several have
ships, and some of those proba-bly smuggle goods.
The same title is used in Dramur, but all of the seltyrs there are large
landholders, offered Mykel.
Most of the seltyrs here have family or trade ties to Dramur. They re a
close-knit bunch.
The carriage came to a halt under a covered, but open portico.
Mykel stepped out of the carriage, onto the mounting block. He would have held
the door for Sheranyne the overcaptain s wife except that a footman in
spotless light gray already had opened the carriage door and held it.
Welcome to Villa Elbaryk.
Thank you. Mykel nodded and glanced westward, where the sky still held a
faint shade of silver from the earlier sunset. Only Asterta was visible in the
early-eve-ning sky, a small green disc high in the eastern sky.
The ballroom is straight ahead through the main entry and then up the grand
staircase to the left.
The three walked abreast, Mykel to the left of Sher-anyne, Sturyk to the
right. Mounted on every white gran-ite pillar was a brass lamp polished to a
fine luster, with light radiating through glass panels showing neither smudges
nor soot. The walkway was covered with a thick black-carpeted runner, fringed
with white and gold. The spring evening was warm, with a hint of flowers, but
also with a touch of dustiness in the air.
The main entry was a vaulted stone enclosure, win-dowless, that soared a good
three stories, lit by an enor
iuous crystal cnanaener. MyKei wondered it the oil tor each miniature lamp was
fed down through a tube in the heavy links of the twined brass chains
supporting the chandelier, or if each lamp had its own reservoir to be filled.
Impressive, is it not? asked Sturyk.
Rather, murmured Mykel. The villa was more like a palace, like something he
would have imagined for one of the Duarches.
Two couples walked up the staircase ahead of them. The staircase circled up
and around the side of the entry, its carpeted steps each a good five yards
wide. One of the women half-turned to say something to the younger woman
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behind her. While her gown was cut low enough to reveal that she was shapely
and extremely well en-dowed, it covered her shoulders and upper arms. The
younger woman s gown left her arms and shoulders bare, although she wore a
filmy silver shawl over them.
Mykel suspected that either woman s gown cost more than several years of his
pay as a majer, and he didn t want to speculate about the worm of the jeweled
choker worn by the older woman. The couple ahead... a seltyr and his wife?
Oh, no. That s Orefyt. He s a cloth factor, one of the larger ones, but
certainly not so wealthy as a seltyr. Everyone does wear their best to the
ball.
If they are not seltyrs, added Sheranyne, their very best.
At the top of the grand staircase was another foyer, only larger than any
officer s mess Mykel had ever seen, and on the far side was an archway hung in
deep green velvet, trimmed with silver. At one side stood a tall man in a
formal gray shimmersilk tunic who announced, Ser Orefyt, Madame Orefyt, his
daughter and son.
Did formality in Southgate require everything be linked to the man?
Mykel tried not to be obvious as he squared his shoul-ders, but he felt as
though he headed into a skirmish
without weapons. As the three of them stepped through the archway, the
functionary in gray shimmersilk tunic bowed, then declaimed, his deep bass
audible above the strings of the quintet playing on a dais in the left-hand
corner of the chamber, Majer Mykel, Overcaptain Stu-ryk, Madame Sturyk.
Mykel could sense the eyes upon him, even though he did not see anyone looking
directly at them, and the mass of so many auras and their lifeforce pressed at
him.
The ballroom was a good thirty-five yards across, with a domed ceiling that
rose some ten yards above the center of the chamber. The archways to the
adjoining anterooms were set off by double columns. The walls and the inside
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