Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “This is the deepest part we’ve found so far, not so much deep as far back,” Nophyt said. “We have to rotate the crews working here. They don’t like it here. Say it’s dangerous.”

  Mykel looked around, but could see nothing beyond the circle of dim light. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it might be like in the dark. Despite his closed eyes, or perhaps because of them, he could see a faint red-purple glow from somewhere, almost seeping in at the edges of his vision, if he had had vision with his eyes open. Where had he seen that color?

  His eyes flew open, and the color vanished. The rock-creatures with the ancient soarer! Was that why the miners feared the depths here? “Is this one of the places where miners have disappeared?”

  “Don’t know. No one ever sees ‘em vanish. Some have disappeared from crews working here, but we could never tell if the crew hid that they’d escaped or if they disappeared.”

  “If the prisoners said they disappeared… ?” asked Mykel.

  “Can’t trust what they say.” Nophyt snorted. “They’d say anything to get out of here.”

  “Could you close sections like this for a while? Until people forgot?”

  “Not here. Director Donasyr wouldn’t let us. This is where the guano is oldest, most concentrated, and effective.” The overseer laughed. “It also smells less and gets the best price.”

  “You have different types of guano?” Mykel hadn’t known that.

  “More like different grades. The real old stuff is almost white, powders when you hit it with a hammer. It doesn’t smell much.” Nophyt gestured with the lamp. “Better start back up. Won’t be long before they open the gates, and it takes longer walking back. Doesn’t seem bad going down. Another thing heading back.”

  As he followed the overseer out of the works, Mykel knew where at least some of the missing miners had gone. There was really no way he was about to tell Dohark—or the colonel—what he thought. He certainly couldn’t prove it, but if the prisoners thought that they’d be dragged into the depths and die at the hands of the rock-creatures, he could certainly see why some of them would do anything to escape.

  60

  Dainyl looked out the window of the commander’s study, taking in the shadows of a late-winter afternoon in Dramuria as they stretched across the Cadmian compound. Londi had come and gone, and Duadi had almost done the same. Quelyt had not yet flown back from Elcien, and his delayed return suggested that all was not well in Elcien. Overcaptain Dohark had reported by messenger that most of the patrols undertaken by the companies of Third Battalion had been uneventful, except that Seventeenth Company had been attacked by several squads of horsemen with longbows and arrows and was pursuing them to the north of the western road.

  Dainyl had immediately sent a messenger back to Dohark, suggesting that pursuit to the west was unwise, except in cases where the horsemen could be clearly cut off. He hoped that would be sufficient, since so far there had been no sign of any of the western seltyrs’ horse troopers moving east. Dainyl thought it would likely be only days, weeks at the most, before that happened. For that reason, he had also alerted Dohark that the western seltyrs had armed horse troopers who could be used against the Cadmians.

  He still fretted somewhat about the troopers he and Fa-lyna had overflown. Marshal Shastylt would have destroyed them. Yet Dainyl didn’t see what good that would have done. It would only destroy higher-level lifeforce mass, and lead to greater destruction, while not getting at the basic problem. He laughed softly. If… if he could ever discover the basic problem.

  Then, there was the problem of the ancients. Much as he had tried, with his own Talent, he had been unable to recreate—or find, see, or sense—the vision of the world life-mass web that the soarer had shown him, for that was all that it could have been. The best he could do was sense, if he concentrated, the purple-pinkness of his own lifethread for less than a yard from him. Still, that was an improvement. The prediction that he would perish unless he changed still lurked in the back of his mind as well Change? How? And why?

  “Sir?”

  Dainyl looked up to see Quelyt standing in the open doorway to the study. He stood. “I’m glad to see you. I worried that they might have pressed you into courier duty somewhere.”

  The Myrmidon laughed as he stepped into the study. “We did do a message run or two to Ludar, more as a favor, while we waited.” He extended an envelope. “From the marshal.”

  “Any other dispatches?”

  “No, sir.” Then the ranker grinned. “There is a letter.”

  Dainyl shook his head. “Sometimes, you’re a brigand, Quelyt.”

  “Only sometimes, sir.”

  “What’s happening in Elcien?”

  “It’s hard to say, sir. The other fliers think that the mess in Iron Stem is finally settled, but there are rumors that someone killed five alectors on the regional staff in Dereka. They’re missing, anyway, and that’s not good.”

  “What else?”

  “It was a frigging cold winter in Elcien, and it’s still cold. Good to get down here.”

  “For winter, it’s been pleasant here.”

  “Oh… one other thing, I almost forgot. A bunch of new alectors showed up in Elcien. Zorclyt said they’d been translated from Ifryn. Most of them will be sent to Alustre, he said.”

  Why Alustre? Dainyl wondered. “I believe you mentioned a letter?”

  “Yes, sir. The lady delivered it to me herself, just before we lifted off.” Quelyt handed the colonel a smaller and thicker envelope.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you have any flying you need done?”

  “Nothing immediate.” Dainyl lifted the dispatch from the marshal. “Unless I have instructions from the marshal. Fa-lyna took me out on a survey of the west. The seltyrs there are raising private forces.”

  ‘Trouble everywhere.“

  “It looks that way.”

  Quelyt nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

  After the Myrmidon ranker left, Dainyl closed the study door, and, as he walked toward the desk, opened the dispatch, again addressed to Colonel Dainyl. The Talent-seal was untouched. After reading through the third line, he blinked and reread the words, more slowly.

  As Submarshal you can no longer be spared just to observe what is occurring in Dramur. The High Alector of Justice has requested that you return to Elcien immediately, with both pteridons, so that you may be briefed on other matters of vital importance to the Myrmidons, as well as to all alectors of Acorus. This is a critical time, and the Highest and I will be calling upon your experience.

  In addition, we need to consult on how best to handle the future of Dramur. Our scattered observations suggest that matters are not as you were led to believe and that a more unified long-term strategy is necessary…

  So far as Dainyl could tell, there had never been any strategy, just a vague set of orders to Third Battalion to do what was necessary to get rid of a few rebels. He kept reading.

  Delegate responsibilities and duties as you must, and plan for a minimum absence of two full weeks.

  Just as he was beginning to get some idea of the scope of the problems in Dramur, he was being recalled for consultations and strategy development? Why hadn’t anyone developed a strategy before? Or had they, and it hadn’t worked? Or was it working, and was Dainyl being recalled to make sure that he didn’t upset what the marshal and the Highest had in mind? Yet the tone of the dispatch was neither derogatory nor threatening, and it did convey urgency, and it referred to him as the Submarshal.

  Dainyl set down the dispatch on the desk and opened the envelope from Lystrana. The Talent-seal was unbroken.

  Dearest,

  The seasons do stretch out, and with spring not too far away, I wish that you were here in Elcien with me. The days have been long, and especially on the many nights that I have worked late, it would have been so comforting to come home and to see you…

  Late nights mean troubles, and the kinds of troubles Lystrana dar
ed not put into a letter, even one she had handed directly to Quelyt.

  Almost a score of alectors have arrived from Ifryn in recent weeks, and a number are Table engineers who were sent to the High Alector of Engineering in Lu-dar. I overheard talk about the need for greater grid stability, and you know what that may portend…

  Dainyl understood all too well. The Archon had determined that translations to Acorus and Efra had to increase significantly. Such a decision meant either the lifeforce mass on Ifryn was decreasing more rapidly than planned, or the Archon’s control was once more threatened.

  … Now that iron and coal production in Iron Stem have resumed…

  Resumed? They had stopped entirely? No wonder the marshal had always been out in Iron Stem.

  … and the manufactories in Faitel have been able to move toward reestablishing full production, I have had to recalculate so many figures in the Duarches’ accounts, and that has taken many long hours. I fear that too late a spring will also affect the year’s crops, and that will change the revenue projections and the scope of major engineering projects possible…

  Major engineering projects? What was going on in Elcien?

  As always, I hope that it will not be too long before you can return, if only briefly, for my heart is empty when you are gone.

  While the last words might have sounded flowery, Dainyl knew that they were anything but vacant phases. Without each other, life had less meaning for both of them.

  Despite the warmth and affection wrapped around the veiled warnings, her letter disturbed him far more than did the marshal’s dispatch. Together, they suggested that matters in Elcien were anything but favorable.

  He refolded her letter and slipped it inside his tunic, then headed out of the study to tell the two Myrmidons that they would leave at dawn. After that, he would need to brief Ma-jer Herryf and write a letter of instructions to Overcaptain Dohark.

  61

  The two days of flying north to Elcien were long and cold, including the stopover in Southgate. For the last hundred vingts, the air was turbulent, with a bitter headwind, and among the more unpleasant flights Dainyl had made, but part of the discomfort might have been that being a passenger was always worse than being the flier.

  As Falyna turned her pteridon due east for the final ten vingts over the Bay of Ludel toward Elcien, Dainyl glanced down at the waters below, choppy and cold gray, with whitecaps clearly visible from five hundred yards up. Above, high gray clouds obscured the late-afternoon sun. To the north, dark gray clouds were building into a wall advancing inexorably on the capital isle, and to the northeast the higher peaks of the Coast Range were solidly coated with white. Even the lower hills to the west of those peaks were heavily splotched with snow.

  As they neared Elcien, Dainyl saw that a miasma of fog and smoke had settled over the isle. Only the outlines of the walls and buildings of the Myrmidon compound were visible as Falyna’s pteridon spread its wings into a flare and settled onto the landing stage.

  With a certain amount of relief, Dainyl set his boots on the graystones of the courtyard outside Myrmidon headquarters. The wind—icy in comparison to Dramuria— gusted around him as he unfastened his gear from behind me second saddle and slung it over his shoulder.

  As Quelyt and his pteridon landed, Dainyl turned to Fa-lyna. “Thank you. Good landing, especially in these conditions.”

  “Comes with the task, sir.”

  They both smiled.

  “You and Quelyt will have to check on when we head back, but it won’t be for a week at the very earliest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then Dainyl turned and walked swiftly across the courtyard and into the headquarters building. Zorclyt was waiting for him.

  “Is the marshal around?” asked Dainyl.

  “The marshal is with the Highest, sir,” replied the senior squad leader. “He left word that, if you arrived this afternoon or this evening, you were free to do what you wished and that he would see you here in the morning a glass after muster.” Zorclyt grinned. “Oh… you can use the duty coach to take you home.”

  “I appreciate that.” Dainyl lifted his gear, light, since he’d left much in Dramuria, and headed for the main entrance and the coach waiting outside. He did not need another invitation.

  By the time the coach reached the entrance to his house, fat and wet flakes of snow had begun to drift down out of the wall of clouds just to the north of the city.

  “Thank you!” he called to Convyl, one of the youngest Myrmidons without a pteridon assignment, and thus one of those saddled with coach duties.

  “You’re more than welcome, sir.”

  Dainyl opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him against the snow that was beginning to intensify.

  One of the housegirls—Zistele—jumped back from where she had been sweeping—desultorily—the tiles in the entry foyer. “Colonel, sir!”

  “I’m back for a time. Is Lystrana here?”

  “No, sir. She said she might be home earlier today, but she’s not here yet.”

  Dainyl set his gear on the bottom step of the stairs to the upper level. “Is there—”

  He broke off as the door opened behind him, and he turned.

  Lystrana smiled broadly as she looked at Dainyl standing there in his shimmering blue riding jacket. She took two quick steps.

  The embrace was long and warm.

  “I had heard that you might be recalled for consultations,” she said, finally breaking away from him.

  For a long moment, he just looked at her, taking in her violet eyes, her clear alabaster skin, and the black hair that seemed to hold an energy all its own.

  “I’m happy to see you, but I’m not pleased at the recall,” he replied.

  She raised a single eyebrow.

  He laughed.

  “We both need to eat. Even bread and cheese,” she said. “You’re looking tired.”

  “You look wonderful.”

  “I might, but I’m famished.” Lystrana turned her head. “Sentya?”

  “Yes, alectress?”

  “If you would set out some bread and cheese on the table in the kitchen? And some of the red wine? The Vyan Grande?” Lystrana turned back to her husband. “It’s warmer there.”

  “It’s almost ready, alectress,” answered Zistele.

  Arm in arm, the two walked into the kitchen, where

  Sentya had set out a basket of bread still warm enough from the oven that Dainyl could feel the heat. Zistele had placed a tray on the smaller kitchen table. On it were three different wedges of cheese. After pouring the wine, Sentya slipped out of the kitchen, following the younger serving girl.

  “Another long day?” asked Dainyl as he seated himself, glad to be where chairs were of proper height and breadth.

  “They’ve all been long. I’ll tell you later…” She inclined her head toward the front of the house.

  Dainyl nodded. He broke off a chunk of the still-warm bread and took a mouthful, following it with a small wedge of cheese, then a sip from the purple-tinged crystal goblet.

  “How are things going for you?” Lystrana asked.

  “Not all that well,” he admitted. “I can’t help but feel that there wouldn’t have been all this unrest in Dramur if the Cadmians hadn’t been sent there.” He sipped the wine slowly, enjoying the taste, as well as the warmth of the kitchen, boosted by the still-heated stove.

  “That makes sense,” Lystrana replied. “It has often been a technique used by the High Alector of Justice. They look at places where there is some unrest and likely to be more. Then they provoke violence before the perpetrators can become well organized.”

  “What am I doing there, then?”

  “You are there to make sure that matters don’t get out of hand. The technique is proved, from what I’ve been able to discover, but it is also dangerous.”

  “Did you know this before I left?”

  Lystrana shook her head. “After your letter, I went into the a
rchives. I also made some suggestions to Zestafyn, and his reactions confirmed my suspicions. It’s nothing we could prove, dearest, but I’m convinced that is what is Planned for Dramur.”

  “But why?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was hoping that what you could tell me might help in finding out why.”

  “I can tell you more than you want to know… about many things.”

  “Later.” A broad smile crossed her face. “Later.”

  62

  Despite the long flights to Elcien, on Quinti, Dainyl woke at dawn to the wind wailing outside the windows. When he opened his eyes, Lystrana was awake and looking at him.

  “You still sleep like a child at times,” she said.

  “That’s when I’m so tired I forget to worry,” he replied, slowly struggling into a half-sitting position. “The older I get, the more tired I have to be.”

  “Breakfast won’t be ready for a while, and you were going to tell me what the problems were in Dramuria.” Lystrana propped herself up in the wide bed and looked directly at him.

  He understood why she wanted to talk in their bedroom. “I was… except someone had other ideas.” Dainyl grinned mischievously.

  “Oh… I didn’t see much protesting from a certain colonel.” Her eyes smiled.

  They both laughed, but only for a moment.

  “What’s happening in Dramur follows what you suggested last night, but there are things that don’t fit. I’m certain that the marshal used Talent on the majer in charge of the Third Battalion of Cadmians, so that he would issue foolish orders and keep his captains from using their initiative…” Dainyl gave a summary of the events, including the unmarked Cadmian rifles, the smugglers, the uniformed horse troopers of the west, and the trooper who had been Talent-manipulated and committed two murders.

  “Is that all?” asked Lystrana dryly.

  “I wish it were. I’ve also run into an ancient and her creatures—”

  “A real ancient?” interrupted Lystrana. “You’re sure? Of course you are. But…” She shook her head. “There aren’t any mentions, even in the archives, and I’ve read most of them.”