Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Maybe he can’t for some reason.”

  That made sense. At least, Dainyl thought it did.

  “Besides,” added Lystrana morosely, “would you really want him to condemn all those on Ifryn to die any sooner than absolutely necessary?”

  “I have to wonder about that. What would happen if he transferred the Master Scepter earlier?”

  “All the Ifrits would die.”

  “But so long as some lifeforce remains, the indigens wouldn’t, would they?”

  Lystrana was silent for a moment. “A few might survive. For a while.”

  Dainyl looked down at his empty brandy snifter.

  14

  Dainyl had barely looked over the morning muster reports from Captain Ghasylt on Tridi morning when Wyalt knocked at his half-open study door.

  “Another urgent message, sir.” Wyalt appeared apologetic, his eyes not meeting Dainyl’s, as he stepped into the study and handed the large envelope to the marshal.

  “You don’t have to look that concerned, Wyalt. You didn’t create the problem, whatever it is.”

  “No, sir…I just…well, I’ve liked being part of First Company and headquarters.”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll do fine with Seventh Company. Captain Lyzetta is a good commanding officer. She comes from a fine heritage, and she’s a solid Myrmidon officer. And you’ll get to fly far sooner this way.”

  At that reminder, Wyalt smiled, if faintly. “I’d thought of that, sir.”

  Dainyl grinned. “Whoever your lady friend is, Tempre isn’t that impossibly far away, and it’s likely that Seventh Company will be based there for a time.” That was stretching matters, he realized, since Tempre was close to seven hundred vingts. But considering that Dulka, where Seventh Company had been based, was more than two thousand vingts in a straight flight, Wyalt’s lady love could at least reach Tempre by sandox coach in a few days.

  The messenger flushed, if but briefly. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Dainyl watched as Wyalt left. While he would have liked Wyalt to remain in Elcien, with the shortage of Myrmidon fliers, especially in Seventh Company, Lyzetta needed Wyalt as a new flier far more than Ghasylt and headquarters needed a messenger and driver.

  Finally he opened the envelope. The dispatch inside was from Colonel Herolt, commander of the Cadmian Mounted Rifle Regiment based at Northa, immediately east and north of Elcien. Dainyl skimmed the salutations and concentrated on the body of the dispatch.

  Fourth Battalion, commanded by Majer Hersiod, has been deployed to Iron Stem and based out of the Cadmian compound there. The battalion’s mission has been to provide support to the local Cadmian forces in maintaining order at the iron and coal mines, and the ironworks. Battalion patrols have also provided security against large local predators. Over the past week, concentrated assaults by local Reillies and other irregulars, possibly including disgruntled and disguised miners, have resulted in casualties totaling more than half the battalion. These armed assaults occurred in coincidence with an unprecedented series of attacks by giant sandwolves and other creatures…Majer Hersiod and two captains are among the fatalities…

  Dainyl looked at the dispatch. Behind it, there was another report as well. He laid aside the Fourth Battalion dispatch and began to read the second dispatch.

  Three companies of Fifth Battalion, commanded by Majer Druvyr, had pursued a Reillie irregular company and backed them into an indefensible position at the base of the northern cliffs of the Aerlal Plateau some thirty vingts east of Eastice. While the majer prepared for an attack, a section of the cliff broke away, and both the Reillies and all three Cadmian companies and their officers were annihilated by the mass of ice and rock. Two Fifth Battalion companies remain largely intact. Twenty-third Company remains on station in Klamat, while Twenty-sixth Company continues to patrol sections of the high road between Klamat and Northport…

  After rereading both dispatches once more, Dainyl set them on the desk, then looked out through the window at the empty stone flight stage in the courtyard. According to Asulet, the recently rediscovered creatures, the nightsheep, while somewhat dangerous, tended not to be aggressive unless attacked. The sandwolves were dangerous, but not to a well-armed and prepared Cadmian force. Had the attacks been accompanied by the other predator, the one that Asulet said had only been glimpsed in the past?

  If so, why were all these attacks and strange occurrences happening now? They bore the mark of the ancients, although Dainyl doubted there was any concrete proof of that. If the ancients had been responsible, surely they knew that the problems they had created were minor and would change nothing. Yet the ancient who had spoken with Dainyl had been absolutely certain that unless any alector changed, and linked directly to Acorus, he would perish.

  He looked down at the dispatches. There was little to be done, not immediately, about Fifth Battalion. All companies of the battalion had been scheduled to be withdrawn to their headquarters within weeks. Fourth Battalion was another matter. More than ever, the Duarchy needed iron and coal.

  Slowly, he nodded.

  Third Battalion. If anyone could deal with the ancients, Majer Mykel could. And, Dainyl told himself, that assignment would also keep the majer away from other alectors. He pulled a sheet of paper toward him, then began to write the orders to Colonel Herolt that would send the majer and his battalion to Iron Stem.

  He hadn’t quite finished when Wyalt reappeared, this time bearing a smaller envelope.

  “Sir…it’s from the Highest.”

  Dainyl nodded. “If you’d set it on the desk, Wyalt, please.”

  Dainyl finished drafting the Cadmian orders before he lifted and opened the envelope. The message inside was simple. He was to report to High Alector Zelyert no later than a glass before noon. Somehow, that was typical of Zelyert. Either he didn’t care what Dainyl was doing, or he knew Dainyl was at headquarters.

  That gave Dainyl a glass to hand off the Cadmian orders to Zernylta in order to have copies made for dispatch to the colonel and to take the duty coach to the Hall of Justice.

  He stood, shaking his head.

  Three-quarters of a glass later, he stepped out of the duty coach outside the Hall of Justice. “Wyalt, today, you’d best wait for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dainyl made his way through the Hall of Justice, avoiding the larger than usual crowd of petitioners lined up before the dais, where one of Zelyert’s assistants was sitting to receive them. Few would receive what they wanted, Dainyl knew, because neither alectors nor landers nor indigens really wanted justice. They just wanted matters to favor them.

  Cloaking himself in a Talent shield, he vanished to their sight and opened the hidden entrance to the chambers below.

  Zelyert was waiting in his small and spare study. He did not stand when Dainyl entered and closed the door.

  “Marshal…always punctual. I trust you will keep that habit. A number of your predecessors became less than responsive once they became marshal.”

  Dainyl inclined his head before taking one of the two chairs before the table.

  “First, Chastyl asked me to convey his apologies for the inadvertent firing at you in the Table chamber yesterday.”

  “No apology was necessary. I was fortunate to have been holding full shields. I can understand the confusion with all the wild translations from Ifryn occurring across Corus.”

  “That is unfortunately quite true.” Zelyert leaned forward slightly. “I would be interested to know where you had been to return tinged with a Talent-green that has not yet faded.”

  “That is no secret. I had received a report last week about yet another ancient lifeform that had appeared in the Iron Valleys, a large horned and dangerous variant on a sheep. I sent an inquiry to Asulet. His response was that he couldn’t provide such information by message.” Dainyl shrugged helplessly. “So I went to Lyterna and was returning. The entire tr
anslation tube held streaks of green. Chastyl told me that everything coming onto the Table was tinged green.”

  Zelyert nodded. “He had mentioned that, as I now recall. What did you discover from Asulet?”

  “He said that the new creature was not all that new, that it was a nightsheep, and that while they were dangerous to landers if provoked, they were amenable to Talent control. He was more worried about what that signified. As I discovered just before I received your message, he was correct. Half of the Cadmian Fourth Battalion has been killed by a combination of rebellious miners, sandwolves, and another ancient predator, presumably the most dangerous and elusive creature of the ancients. In addition to that, three out of five companies of the Cadmian Fifth Battalion were wiped out when they cornered armed Reillies beneath the Aerlal Plateau, and a section of the cliff and the ice above fell on them.”

  “Such occurrences are unlikely to be coincidences.” Zelyert’s deep voice was mild.

  “That was my thought,” Dainyl replied.

  “The ancients have begun to act. What do you plan to counter them?”

  “For the moment, I am sending the Third Cadmian Battalion to Iron Stem. That battalion is the only one with experience in dealing with Talent creatures.”

  “No Myrmidons?”

  “No. Not at this time.”

  Zelyert nodded. “You think these are diversions?”

  “That I do not know, but it is unlikely that any ancient activity near Eastice can harm us, and the main problems in Iron Stem lie with indigens, not ancients.” Dainyl paused momentarily before going on. “Shastylt once mentioned ‘special weapons’ being ordered from Faitel. If matters worsen, with greater ancient activity near Iron Stem, could those be used there?”

  “That would be overkill, Marshal.”

  From what he had seen and sensed of the ancients, Dainyl had his doubts about that. “I watched them destroy two pteridons, sir. We have weapons that are that powerful as well. I am assuming those were developed by the Engineers’ Guild.”

  “It is true that the engineers have certain…capabilities…and those have been employed, shall we say, unwisely, in the recent past. The lightcannon are an adaptation version of road-cutting equipment, and I understand that there is a weapon that creates and fires hundreds of crystalline spears every instant. The problem with them is that prodigal as pteridons are of lifeforce, the most terrible of the engineers’ weapons are even more so. They are best kept in reserve for eventualities we hope never to see.”

  Considering how wasteful of lifeforce pteridons and skylances could be in battle, in principle, Dainyl had to agree with the High Alector. At the same time, he wondered if the eventualities Zelyert alluded to were the same as those Dainyl feared.

  “Did Asulet mention anything else of interest?”

  “No, sir. Nothing else. I wasn’t there long before he sent me off again.”

  “Does he have guards at the Table there? Have they had difficulties?”

  “Yes, sir. Just before I arrived, they lost a guard to a wild translation of some sort. I asked if all the Tables had guards, and his recorder indicated that they did.”

  “That will get worse in the season ahead.”

  “You anticipate that the actual transfer of the Master Scepter is near at hand?”

  “One never knows what the Archon will do—or when he will do it. I doubt that Ifryn will be inhabitable for Ifrits for more than two seasons, certainly not more than three, but we are making that judgment on the basis of those who survive the long translation—and the majority of those who arrive here in these times are not placed so well as to have the most accurate of information. That being said, matters will get worse until the transfer occurs. After a period of quiet, there will be more disruption.” Zelyert stood. “Please keep me informed about the progress of restoring order in Iron Stem. High Alector Ruvryn is likely to become more unsettled if the supply of coke and iron does not remain steady and eventually increase.”

  Dainyl rose. Zelyert had said what he would say. “I certainly will, sir.” He inclined his head. “Good day.”

  On his way back up the stairs to the upper and public level of the Hall of Justice, Dainyl considered the implications of Zelyert’s inquiry and words. He also couldn’t help but worry about the Highest’s observations about the green cast to his aura.

  15

  Under a hot midafternoon harvest sun, Mykel slowly rode back along the track of the road that was to be paved from the high road to the new Hyalt compound. The shoulders of his tunic were sticky and damp, and on hot dusty days such as this Quinti, he almost was ready for fall and the cooler winds. Almost.

  The planned road had been marked roughly with stones, redstone chunks that sometimes were hard to pick out against the reddish soil between the clumps of tan grass. Captain Cismyr rode beside Mykel.

  “They’ll need to angle this section to the west a little higher on the hill,” Mykel said to the captain, gesturing to the southeast. “If you get heavy rains, the way this is laid out now, that little stream there will rise to cover the road. I’ll tell Poeldyn, but you may have to follow up on it, if we get sent orders before they finish paving the compound courtyard.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you know when you’ll be getting orders?”

  Mykel laughed. “Tomorrow, next week, next season…”

  Cismyr chuckled politely.

  “Don’t be in too much of a hurry to get rid of us, Captain,” Mykel pointed out. “My letter of credit is far more ample than yours, and I’m trying to build up your equipment and supplies. Also, yours doesn’t take effect until I leave.”

  “What about the paving? We can’t…”

  “I’ve made arrangements for that. It’s a separate agreement. You’ll get extra golds until the end of fall.” Mykel eased the roan up and around the sand, gravel, and crushed rock road base below the recently paved causeway outside the main south gates. The completed portion of causeway extended a good twenty yards on a gentle slope down from the gates, and the next section had a base in place, but no more would be done until the interior courtyard paving was finished.

  Once past the road base, Mykel turned his mount onto the paved section of the causeway and rode through the gate. Ahead, he could see the last roof tiles of the small headquarters building roof had been put in place.

  He’d finished stabling and grooming the roan and was heading to inspect the interior progress of the headquarters building when Undercaptain Matorak walked swiftly toward him.

  “Undercaptain, how is Second Company?”

  “We’re doing well, sir.” Matorak stopped, paused, then cleared his throat. Finally, he spoke. “Majer, I’ve had two squads on quarry duty today, and we’ve had quarry duty for a time, and we will for a while, I understand. Until there’s enough stone to pave the road from the compound, anyway.” He paused again. “Well, sir, I’ve noticed something.”

  Mykel was afraid of what might be coming next. When undercaptains noticed things, it usually meant trouble. “Yes?”

  “Sir, we haven’t spied one of those strange cats in weeks. I checked with Captain Cismyr and the other undercaptains from Third Battalion, and none of them have seen any, not since the Myrmidons came down and destroyed the buildings of the alectors’ place.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Mykel hadn’t seen any references to the giant cats in any of the reports he’d received since he’d returned from Tempre, and his Talent-senses told him that Matorak was telling the truth with great certainty. Still, he had to ask.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s interesting—and important. It could be that the cats were connected to something those rebels were doing. I’ll pass that along. Thank you.” Mykel smiled. “How are your men doing with the road patrols to the east?”

  “There’s not much traffic, sir, but we’ve scared off a few brigands. They were across a gully, and we couldn’t reach them, but we haven’t seen them since.”

  “That’s one of the thing
s you’ll have to keep doing.” No matter how many the Cadmians caught or shot, there would always be some brigands. Someone always wanted to take, rather than grow or build or create. That wouldn’t change soon—it hadn’t in all the long centuries of the Duarchy.

  After Matorak turned and headed toward the stable, Mykel considered the disappearance of the giant cats. Had they really been tied to something that the rebels had been doing? He frowned. There had been reports of problems with the creatures going back at least a year. Had the rebels held the compound for that long? Or were the creatures linked to something else—like the alector’s Table? Or the alectors themselves?

  Mykel fingered his chin. He’d have to consider how much to tell the two Cadmian officers who would be in charge of the compound…and he’d need to do it carefully.

  Like everything else. He laughed softly.

  16

  Slightly past midmorning on Septi, Undercaptain Yuasylt knocked on the door to Dainyl’s study. “Marshal, sir…we got a message that the submarshal has arrived at the Hall of Justice. I dispatched the duty coach, but I thought you’d like to know.”

  Dainyl looked up from the ledgers he’d been studying, trying to get a better sense of what resources were where. “Thank you, Yuasylt. The senior officer’s visiting quarters are ready for her, but I’ll see her as soon as she arrives.”

  After the duty officer left, Dainyl glanced out the study window. The day was gray, and the usually clear silver-green skies of harvest had been replaced by haze and high clouds, a harbinger of the colder weather of fall that was only a week away. It still gave him a start when people referred to “the submarshal,” and he realized they weren’t talking about him.

  His eyes went to the ledger, but he closed it and picked up the draft flight schedules Zernylta had left for him. About a quarter glass later, Dainyl heard measured and quick steps on the stone of the corridor, and sensed a strong Talent presence—Alcyna. He laid aside the draft flight schedules and waited.