When it came down to it, the Seneschal considered himself a reasonable man. He only wanted back his palace, his city, and the adulation he deserved from the people of Tajvana.
* * *
“Show me.”
Acolyte Raka pointed at the muddy, pier-spined inlet. The Ylani Strait running through the center of Tajvana had many of these side waterways, and Drindel Usar knew what the Bergahldian wanted.
He’d been Calling for hours to get his creatures in range, yet these weren’t their normal waters. The temperature wasn’t completely horrible, but it should have been much warmed and there were nowhere near enough fish.
Another Uromathian padded along beside Raka’s group of Bergahldian toughs. Drindel didn’t recognize his countryman, but he knew from the man’s stance that this was another Talent trained up for Service, and he refocused on Calling, lest he make a bad impression on a likely senior.
He got a very small toothy shark pup to come to the surface. It wanted to be a man-eater one day, but it was only about three feet long so far. And from its starved length, it would never grow to four feet. The creature would die within the week unless someone fed it, and Drindel didn’t have access to enough raw meat or fish to make a difference. At least the cold would dull its senses somewhat.
Raka grunted and led the group mercifully back away from the water.
That night Drindel took a risk and contacted his assigned handler with a simple coded message. He wanted to say, “This place is colder than a cutcha’s privates, with less fish than a desert stream. I’m a Talent, not Arcunas. Send me home and let’s do this in the summer, when there’s enough warmth for algae to bloom, fish to school, and sharks to fill the whole Ylani with shore-to-shore fins!” But he only had code, so all he could send was: “Now. Water cold. Few shark. Small shark. Hungry. Give three month. Many shark. Big shark.”
The answer came back. “Understood. Stop contact. Will inform if directions change.”
Drindel was relieved. Sometimes his handlers were less than understanding about the physical limits of nature. It was good to have a reasonable one; his fellow Talent must have made a good report on him. They were finally taking the details of the Calling Talent seriously!
In a ledger in a small room deep inside Uromathia, Drindel Usar’s name had a small mark added next to it. At the bottom of the page, that mark had a notation: “Weak Talent. Expendable.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
January 24
Commander of One Thousand Tayrgal Carthos snarled behind his goggles as his command dragon spiraled earthward. The pilot was too busy looking down to notice Carthos’ expression and there were no other passengers to see it, since he’d deliberately flown ahead of the main body of his once independent command. His subordinates could oversee the rest of the movement, and he’d decided it would be better for him to meet Mayrkos Harshu with as few witnesses as possible. He doubted the upcoming interview would do anything to improve his relations with the AEF’s commander, whatever happened, and it might be wise to not have any of his subordinates or aides where they might inadvertently offer…unfortunate responses to questions. Better to get the lay of the land so he could brief them on how best to characterize their independent operations in the Nairsom-Kelsayr chain.
Their abortive independent operations, he thought bitterly. He remained far from certain why Harshu had diverted him to that long, roundabout advance, but however hard he’d tried, he’d been unable to think of a single good reason for it. There’d never been any real point from a strategic perspective, even if he’d managed to secure every universe from Nairsom to Kelsayr, given the water gap in Traisum itself. Without ships, getting across the Treybus Ocean-especially in winter! — would have been flatly impossible, even assuming they had managed to take the entire chain and been able to maintain a supply line through it. That had been obvious to Carthos from the moment he’d received his orders.
But it had to have been equally evident to Harshu before the two thousand sent him off anyway, and he’d never provided the support a serious advance through four universes would have required. In fact, he’d proceeded to starve Carthos of even minimal supplies on the pretext that his own advance required everything the AATC could haul. If not that excuse, he would’ve found another, Carthos thought with a fresh surge of anger. He was sure of it, the only question in his mind was why Harshu had shoved him down a useless rathole and then jammed a cork into it behind him.
They’d never liked each other, but this went further than that. He’d pushed Carthos aside, cut him out of any hope for glory, and picked that Air Force prick Toralk to share the spotlight with him. And there’d been something else, something in Harshu’s manner that went beyond anything so simple as dislike. It got a lot closer to scorn, possibly even contempt, and Carthos had found himself wondering if Harshu had somehow discovered the financial transactions between himself and the Mythalan banking interests. The ones Nith mul Gurthak had helped arrange.
It wasn’t as if Tayrgal Carthos were the only Army officer to have skated around the edges of legally allowable loan agreements, but he’d dipped far deeper into those prohibited waters than the majority of his fellows. Worse, the fact that he had gave mul Gurthak a degree of leverage that was…unfortunate. Carthos would have shed no tears over any unpleasantness which befell these Sharonian bastards under any circumstances, but mul Gurthak had made it clear he wanted the gloves to come completely off from the very beginning. Carthos knew the same suggestions had been made to Harshu himself, but mul Gurthak had been more subtle-or perhaps cautious-in the way he’d approached his fellow two thousand. In many ways, Carthos had enjoyed watching the Mythalan manipulate Harshu, maneuver him into deciding on his own to give Alivar Neshok his head. However little Carthos might like dancing to mul Gurthak’s tune himself, seeing a man he detested-and who he knew detested him in return-abandon his high and mighty principles and unknowingly put his entire career into the hands of someone like mul Gurthak had been gratifying.
The fact that his own career was already in mul Gurthak’s hands had been a less pleasing thought, and the Mythalan had been less delicate in his approach to Carthos. His “suggestions” had amounted to scarcely veiled orders delivered outside official channels, and while Carthos would have been inclined in the same direction himself, there’d been no question about how far mul Gurthak wanted him to go. Nor had there been any question about what mul Gurthak intended to happen to Harshu in the end. Carthos didn’t know why the Mythalan had decided to destroy Mayrkos Harshu, but he’d recognized the noose tightening around the other officer.
Harshu had appeared oblivious to the threat, but over the last month or so, Carthos had begun to wonder if he truly had been. If he hadn’t, if he’d seen this coming all along, and if he’d realized Carthos was effectively mul Gurthak’s creature…
The dragon spiraled lower, the flat, brown terrain below taking on texture, and the sheer, knife-sharp cliffs of the portal located near where the Shendisfalian city of Tayrmek ought to be rose before them. Carthos tightened his seat belt for the landing and worked on getting his expression under control. Whatever Harshu’s reason for diverting him from the main advance, the arrogant bastard had changed his mind after his own operations turned into an unmitigated cluster fuck. His losses in the thoroughly bitched up assault on Fort Salby had compelled him to recall Carthos, but the tone of his orders had scarcely been anything one might call cordial. No, whatever else happened, Tayrgal Carthos hadn’t been summoned to Karys to give him an opportunity to shine. Somehow-he wasn’t sure how, but he was certain Harshu would find a way-he’d be shoved aside again, denied the chance to acquire any credit.