“Third battalion will get the dirtiest and nastiest tasks, and they’ll be looking for me to do the impossible—or fail and it won’t matter much which it is. Is that what you mean?”
“You’ve got it.” Dohark shook his head.
“You wouldn’t mind if I escorted Rachyla back to her state?”
“Might be the best thing if you did.”
Mykel wasn’t sure about that. It might protect her, and then, it might have every other seltyr looking to remove her. He just sat there for several moments, considering.
“Go free your lady friend,” Dohark finally said.
“Not until tomorrow morning. I can’t ride tonight, and she’ll be gone in moments if I’m not ready to escort her.”
“You’ve thought that one out, too.”
He had. How well was another question.
104
Almost at dawn on Sexdi, Mykel rode up to the sentries outside the officer’s cell where Rachyla was held. He was followed by Chyndylt and Fifteenth Company’s third squad—and one mount saddled and riderless. Mykel had not mentioned his possible promotion to any of them. No matter what the Submarshal had said, it hadn’t happened, and there was no point in saying anything until it did. If it did. He dismounted carefully.
“Overcaptain said to expect you, sir,” offered the older guard.
Mykel held out the release document. The sentry barely looked at it. “You taking her back?”
“It seemed best that way.”
“Be a long ride for you, sir.” The Cadmian turned and unlocked the door.
Mykel stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust. As always, i Rachyla was dressed and sat at the stool before the desk.
She stood immediately, as if she wanted to step back.
“You’re up.” He looked at her, taking in the still clear skin, the raven hair, and the deep green eyes, eyes that recalled something to him, something he could not place.
“I could not sleep. I felt something was about to happen.” She squared her shoulders. “Tell me, Captain, and don’t lie to me. You have not lied to me yet. Do not lie now. Are you here to take me to my death?”
“No. The rebellion has been crushed. I’m to escort you back to Stylan Estate.”
For a long moment, Rachyla just stood there, studying him. Then she nodded. “That may be to my death as well.”
“I have an armed squad to accompany us.” He laughed ironically. “I thought it might help if you were escorted by the dagger of the ancients.”
“Do not joke about that.”
His lips curled. “Why not? That’s what everyone on Dramur seems to call me.”
Only then did her eyes drop to his shoulder, rebound under his tunic. He no longer wore the sling, but there was one in his saddlebags, in case he needed it. “There’s a dressing under your tunic. How badly were you wounded?”
“Badly enough,” Mykel replied.
“How long ago?”
‘Two weeks.“
“You almost died, did you not?”
Mykel flushed, not certain how he could answer that. The honorable answer was to lie, and the truthful one was almost boastful.
“I see. You did almost die. Others would have.”
“I don’t know that.” He offered an embarrassed smile. “I couldn’t move for a while.”
“What about the evil one?”
“In the last battle, both pteridons crashed in flames.” That was true. “Two of the Myrmidons died. He was badly injured. Any man would have died. He’s walking around now.”
“I said that they did not belong here.”
“Yes, you did.” Mykel kept his voice even.
“Why am I being allowed to go back to Stylan?”
“The seltyrs who submitted were allowed to keep their lands. You never revolted. Your father did. Since you did not, you deserve the same treatment as those others who did not or who submitted.”
“You know how I feel.” She did not move.
“Yes, I do. That was not the question. You cannot be judged on what you would have done, only on what you did do.”
“What will keep another revolt from happening?”
“It will take a few years to replace those lost. Over a thousand Dramurans died. There will also be a full Cadmian battalion here at the compound. It will be commanded by a majer not from Dramur.”
“You?”
Mykel laughed. “I’m to be sent back to Elcien. If I’m fortunate, I might get promoted. Overcaptain Dohark has been promoted to majer. He’s in command here.”
Another nod from Rachyla preceded her words. “I would like to leave, if I may.”
“You may.” Mykel inclined his head to the domes on the wall pegs. “Do you…
“No. I will burn what I wear when I reach Stylan.”
Mykel stepped out of the cell.
When Rachyla stepped into the silvery light of the moments before dawn, Mykel gestured to the horse he had brought, then mounted himself.
Rachyla mounted, wordlessly.
105
All decisions worthy of being called such result in change. Changes never occur without cost and the greater the decision, the greater the cost. For this reason, all decisions cause pain and discomfort. An alector who does not understand such should never be placed in a position where he or she must make decisions. When an administrator declares that a decision is good because no one is affected adversely, that alector is either duplicitous or self-deceptive, if not both. A good administrator determines both the benefits and the costs, both the pleasure and the pain, that his actions will cause. He will not shy away from determining what that pain may be, either in loss of life, of lifemass, or of food or golds for those steers under his care.
With such an understanding, an alector should also never boast of either the pain or the gain of his acts or of those required by his decisions. He should not state either, only that his decision has balanced all factors and is as just as possible.
Those alectors and steers who suffer will resent the results of such a decision, while those who gain will not be able to refrain from telling others of their good fortune. Such telling will invariably be linked more strongly to the alector’s decisions if the alector has been the one to announce either gain or loss, and the resentment of those who suffer will be far greater. In consequence, the authority and respect for the Archon and his administrators will be thus diminished.
In this, as in all matters, those entrusted with the powers of the Archon must weigh fully all aspects of what decisions they make and how those decisions are declared to those affected…
Views of the Highest
Hlustra
W.T. 1513
106
As Mykel had feared, the ride north was long, and painful. Not until the sun was low in the sky, on the second day, just above the Murian Mountains, did Rachyla offer more than a few words at any one time, although she had ridden beside him the entire journey.
“We should be at the estate before too long.” Mykel tried not to think about how uncomfortable he was. His fingers brushed his belt above the concealed miniature dagger. For some reason, letting the hand of his injured side rest near the ancient weapon helped relieve the worst of the nagging pain, if but for a time.
“Not only are you the dagger of the ancients, but you carry one, do you not?”
“You knew?”
“Yes. There is a feel to one. I always knew when my grandfather carried his. How did you obtain it? Steal it?”
“No. A chandler in Jyoha gave it to me. He said I was an honorable man who was his worst enemy. I paid him good silvers to feed the children in return.”
For a moment, Rachyla looked at the road ahead, rather than at Mykel. “They say that those who are the daggers are also like the ancients, that they can feed upon the spirit within a person, and that they are without mercy.”
“Was your grandsire without mercy?”
“Many said that he was. I never saw that. Would you say you la
cked mercy, Captain?” The seltyr’s green eyed daughter looked at Mykel, intently.
“Recently, many could have said I offered little mercy. That was because they had offered less.” Mykel laughed softly. “If people acted better, less mercy would be necessary.”
“Then they would not be people,” replied Rachyla.
“You think highly of people.” Mykel kept his voice light.
“People are what they are. So are the alectors. One can change neither. People cannot be changed because there are so many. Alectors could be killed or removed, for they are few, if one had the power, but they cannot be changed.”
“From what I have seen, Lady, alectors are most difficult to kill.”
“Not for a dagger of the ancients who could become as the ancients were. If the alectors learn what you are, Captain, they will destroy you far more quickly—and more painfully—than any you have dispatched. And with less regret.”
Mykel did not know how to reply to her words. Him? He knew he had some abilities, such as that of directing bullets he fired, and sensing where people were—but those were nothing compared to what he had seen from the Submarshal alone.
“You doubt me, Captain. Do not. I know what I know. You told me that two of the Myrmidons and their pteridons perished. The evil one did not, but was gravely injured. Do those events not prove that they can be destroyed? Those who are few in number and hold great power have little choice but to destroy any who have the ability to bring them down. Did you not see that with the selryrs of the west? Can you imagine your mighty alectors as being any different?”
Mykel had not thought of the parallel, but once Rachyla had pointed it out, he could not deny it. For a time, he rode without speaking, considering her words.
Ahead, he saw the gates to Stylan Estate. “There is your estate.”
“It is not mine. It was my father’s.” Rachyla’s words were clipped, and she looked away. “We will not speak of that.”
With the coldness of her words, Mykel decided against saying more.
The road gates were open, without guards, and they proceeded up the long drive without challenge or welcome. Not until they had passed through the villa gates and were nearing the rotunda of the villa did anyone appear, and that was a single older woman who ran down the steps, then halted as he saw the Cadmians.
“I have returned, Velenda,” Rachyla said firmly.
“It’s really you, Mistress? You’re back?”
“I am.” Disdaining the mounting block, Rachyla vaulted from the saddle and stepped away from the horse. “Thank you, Captain.” She did not incline her head to him.
Velenda stepped closer to her mistress and spoke, her voice almost a whisper, although Mykel heard the words as if he were standing beside them. “Mistress Rachyla, there is a message for you. From your cousin Alarynt. He said that he will arrive next Duadi.” Velenda’s eyes were bright. “He said that—”
“I am most certain I know what he said. We will have time.” Rachyla turned back to Mykel. “Will you and your men stay upon the estate grounds tonight? There is a separate lodge to the south. You must stay somewhere.”
Mykel was exhausted, but he could not inflict more upon Rachyla. “I would not wish to cause you more difficulties, Lady Rachyla.”
“Your presence, and that of a Cadmian squad, would inflict less, Captain. No one would dare enter the grounds with you here.”
“You are the daughter of a seltyr.”
“Exactly. I was his daughter. My brothers would have held the estate, save that neither lived to do so.”
Had Mykel killed either of them?
“That was something that had nothing to do with you, Captain.”
“Can we do anything, Lady Rachyla?” After her last words, Mykel feared he knew what the message from her cousin had meant.
“For an enemy, Captain, you are most gallant. No… there is nothing you can do. Nor would I have you do anything. Will you stay or not?”
“We will.”
He hoped that his decision was the right one, but he sensed no treachery in her words. Something else, perhaps concern, desperation? He wasn’t certain.
“You may leave as you wish. I trust you will not expect to see me again.”
Mykel would have liked to have seen her one more time, but it was not something he expected, not at all. “I would not impose further, Lady Rachyla.”
“If you would wait a moment, someone will guide you to the lodge.”
Mykel watched as she disappeared through the columns.
“You think that’s a good idea, sir?” asked Chyndylt.
“We’ll look over the lodge. If it’s not, we can leave.” Mykel could hear the tiredness in his voice. Why had he been so determined to escort the woman home? It had been necessary—that he felt in his every bone—but he did not know why, except that it was neither love nor lust. His lips curled into a wry smile. He was a man, and Rachyla was attractive to him. Not lust alone, he reflected.
Dainyl and the two Myrmidons landed in the headquarters compound in Elcien a glass before twilight on Decdi. Because it was end day, and late, no one was there, except for Undercaptain Ghanyr and his squad, since they had the duty. Dainyl was glad for the duty coach because it would have been difficult to find a hacker near headquarters late on Decdi afternoon, and his leg was definitely not up to walking more than a vingt, especially with personal gear.
The sun was barely above the Bay of Ludel, or rather the rooftops of the dwellings that blocked his view of the bay, when Dainyl stepped through the front door.
“Lystrana!” he called, setting his gear beside the door he had just closed.
“You’re back!” She rushed from the sitting room toward him, as if to wrap her arms around him, then stopped. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m better. It’s much better seeing you.” He was the one to step forward and put his arms around her.
Her arms tightened around him, but gently. After a time, she eased back slightly, studying his face with her eyes, and the rest of him with her Talent. “You were hurt that badly, and you didn’t send word?”
“I got here as fast as word would have come.”
“You need to sit down in something comfortable. I’ll get you some of the good red wine, and I’ll see what we have to eat. The girls won’t be back until late. It is end day.” She looked at him once more, then kissed him again, before slipping from his embrace and leading him through the foyer.
“You sit down in the comfortable chair… right there.”
Dainyl was tired enough that he didn’t even offer a token protest as he eased himself down into the chair.
“You’ll need a hot bath, too.”
“After a bit,” he replied.
Lystrana hurried to the kitchen, returning quickly with a goblet half-filled with the dark red wine.
Dainyl looked at his wife with both eyes and Talent. Then he smiled. “I had hoped…”
Lystrana bent down and set the wine on the table beside him. “A daughter.”
Dainyl couldn’t help but smile even more broadly than before. “She’ll be like you.”
“More like you, I suspect, but who can tell?” She rose. “I’ll be right back.”
Dainyl lifted the goblet and sipped the wine, enjoying it, just taking in the comfort of home and the presence of Lystrana. He had several swallows of the Vyan Grande before she reentered the sitting room with a small tray, filled with sliced early peaches, cheeses, and dark bread. The tray went on the side table she pulled over so that it was between their chairs, and she sat down.
“You said you couldn’t send word…” she said softly.
“Not any faster than I could come,” he replied. “We lost both pteridons in the last fight against the rebels…” He went on to explain, as briefly as he could, in between bites of the fruit and cheeses, what had happened in Dramur, including the power of the ancients and what had happened after that. “Captain Mykel came out and found me. He shot four rebels who
would have killed me. The fourth one he took down after he’d been shot. He almost didn’t live. After that, his squad found us, and we recovered, but there was no way to let anyone know until the marshal sent two more pteridons. I left Dramur within a few days of the time they arrived.” Dainyl offered an embarrassed smile. “I could have sent a message three days earlier, but… I was asked not to send messages until I returned.”
“You returned late on Decdi.” Lystrana’s left eyebrow lifted. “I suppose that was coincidence?”
“Novdi was as soon as I could leave. I did make sure that we would arrive late enough that the marshal would not expect me. I did want to see you first, and… our daughter. I had hoped.”
“I had no doubts.” Lystrana beamed. “I did tell your mother. I couldn’t resist, and I suppose that means everyone knows.”
“I’m glad she’s a daughter.”
“Because of your mother?”
“That’s one reason.” Dainyl took another sip of the Vyan Grande, enjoying it in the growing dimness of the sitting room.
“It seems so sad, in a way,” mused Lystrana. “The landers and the indigens can have as many children as they want… and so many of them don’t seem to care.”
“The Highest claims that they rut like animals.”
“Some doubtless do. So do some alectors,” noted Lystrana dryly.
“We pay a price for being Ifryns. We bring beauty and culture to a world, and music and soaring song, but what sustains us means there can never be too many of us.”
“Like on Ifryn now,” she said somberly. “Have you read the latest dispatches?”
“When would I have seen…” He laughed. “You’re teasing me.”
“Just a little.” She cleared her throat, then sipped her wine. “The dissipation point is somewhere between five and eleven years from now at the current alector population levels.”
“How many now?”
“Eight thousand.”
“What is the surplus lifeforce carrying ability here and on Efra at present?”
Alector's Choice Page 57
