Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Have there been that many?”

  “Four this morning. A half-score yesterday. The numbers are going up.”

  If the other Tables were getting those numbers of long translation attempts, that was another indication of how bad conditions were on Ifryn and how order was breaking down.

  “That’s a sign of more trouble to come.” Dainyl stepped up onto the Table and concentrated, dropping through the silvered surface and…

  …into the chill purpled darkness beneath. He immediately pressed a Talent link toward the brilliant yellow locator that was Ludar. Still…in the timeless instants in the darkness, he sensed strong purple lines and wavering ones, and an occasional flash of brilliant green.

  The entire translation tube shuddered, pulsing and contracting. Was that because something was happening on Ifryn—or even Acorus—or because so many Ifrits were trying to leave Ifryn?

  Pushing away his unease, Dainyl focused on the Ludar locator, sweeping through the silver-yellow barrier, and…

  …holding his shields firm as he emerged on the Table in Ludar. Although there were five armed guards in gray watching the Table, none lifted a weapon. The chamber was quiet as Dainyl stepped down off the silvery surface of the Table.

  Puleryt—the Recorder of Deeds at Ludar—gaped momentarily at Dainyl and the sash. Finally, he spoke. “Marshal…you have an urgent message for the Duarch?”

  Dainyl nodded.

  “Derai will escort you to the coach.”

  A slender alectress appeared, and Dainyl followed her out through the foyer. Behind him, before the door closed, he caught part of what the recorder said.

  “When a High Alector wears that sash, don’t get in his way or be around when he delivers the message.”

  The corridor outside the Table chamber was walled in green marble with a gray granite floor. While Dainyl knew the Table was in the Hall of Trade and Engineering, he’d never translated to Ludar before. He followed Derai to the circular staircase that spiraled upward, and emerged in a hallway lit by expansive clerestory windows.

  “The portico is this way, sir.”

  The area held but a single coach—gray with red trim.

  The driver took in Dainyl’s uniform—more than the sash, Dainyl thought—and leaned down and opened the door. “Sir.”

  “Take the marshal straight to the Duarch’s portico, Geram,” ordered the alectress.

  “Sir…right away.”

  Dainyl slipped into the coach and closed the door. No sooner had it closed than the driver eased the team into motion. Once clear of the roof over the coach area, Dainyl leaned forward to get a better view. Although he had flown over Ludar in the past, especially years back when he had done the dispatch runs, he had never traveled the distance between the Trade and Engineering Hall and the Duarch’s Palace on the ground.

  If Elcien was the city of spires, then Ludar was the city of arches and domes, its structures lower, more rounded, with more distance between them, the space filled with wide lawns, hedges, and flowers, even in late fall. But then, Ludar was more than two hundred vingts south of Elcien and on the warmer and more sheltered end of the Bay of Ludel.

  As the coach passed the gardens of the Duarch of Ludar, Dainyl noted that they, too, were spread more, with the hedges lower, and the flower beds wider. There was also no topiary, and he could smell the lingering fragrance of the autumn lilies. Those in Elcien had faded weeks earlier.

  Geram turned into a narrower lane at the west end of the Palace, a structure that was but two stories in height and extended more than half a vingt from the west end eastward. The coach halted at what was clearly a private, or at least restricted, entrance. Two guards in green and silver stepped forward, then, once they saw the uniform or the sash or both, stepped back. Dainyl walked quickly through the archway toward a single door that opened inward as he neared.

  The functionary who met Dainyl just inside the entryway took one look at the sash, then nodded, although Dainyl could sense the alector’s dismay. Was the sash only used for urgent and terrible news?

  “The Duarch is in the music room, Marshal, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed there, but there’s no help for that. This way, sir.”

  Given the extent of the Palace, Dainyl was braced for a long walk, but he had gone less than sixty yards when his guide stopped at a door, knocked, and opened it. “Here, Marshal.”

  Not without some trepidation, Dainyl stepped through the doorway as the sounds of a violin swept around him, music he did not recognize.

  The music-room door clicked shut behind Dainyl. The chamber itself was twice the size of Khelaryt’s study, and floor-to-ceiling windows comprised the entire outer wall. At the north end was a series of oversized shelves built into the paneled wall, filled with thin books and folders, possibly bound sheet music. A table desk with its top in the shape of a semicircle was placed before the music shelves.

  Standing between the desk and Dainyl was a tall alector, who had been playing the violin. As the echo of the sweet notes died away, the Duarch turned to face Dainyl.

  Samist looked to be fractionally shorter than Khelaryt, but that still left him a figure who would tower over most alectors. Like Khelaryt once had, he embodied Talent that surrounded and infused him, power enough to take down a half-score of High Alectors. He was dressed in a sleeveless tunic, with a clinging undertunic, both of purple. He held a violin and a bow.

  “You know,” he began, then broke off the words as he saw Dainyl and the sash. “It must be urgent for Khelaryt to turn the Marshal of Myrmidons into a messenger.”

  “Yes, Most High.”

  With a weary smile, Samist carefully laid the violin and then the bow on the music table. “‘Sir’ will do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s simple enough, sir. From what we have learned, the Master Scepter will be or is already being transferred to Efra—”

  The unseen darkness of anger and Talent shrouded the Duarch. Unlike Khelaryt, Samist did not lash out with Talent at Dainyl.

  Even so, Dainyl could feel the enormous force of Talent rising, ready to strike.

  “Stop!” demanded the Duarch.

  Dainyl waited, unsure what to do with Samist reacting so differently. Still, he held his shields as strongly as he could.

  The Duarch shuddered. Talent swirled around him like a storm before vanishing, leaving the Duarch standing before the table that held the violin and bow, his Talent reduced to that of an extremely powerful alector. “Now…please repeat what you said and go on.”

  “From what we have learned, the Master Scepter will be or is already being transferred to Efra. Those fleeing Efra who have reached Acorus are confirming that many of those closest to the Archon have already translated to Efra. The guards at the Tables on Efra are slaughtering scores every day—”

  “They have been so kind as to tell you that?” Samist’s sardonicism was spoken gently, but Dainyl could feel the Duarch’s probes.

  “The information was sent back to the recorders on Ifryn to warn people not to try the long translations without authorization. Several Table functionaries have made their way to Acorus and reported this. The Table in Elcien alone has received a score of refugees in the last day.”

  Samist laughed. “Oh, how Khelaryt misjudges me.”

  Dainyl wanted to ask how. He did not.

  “Deep within I have always felt that the Master Scepter would not come to Acorus, yet I could say nothing, only find ways to encourage, or not discourage, those who were more realistic. Khelaryt was the idealist and thought I was trying to thwart the transfer here, rather than recognizing what could not be. You are here only to break the shadowmatch so that my Talent will not surpass his. Is that not so?”

  “He did not say, sir, but I would judge so.”

  “Poor Khelaryt.” Samist laughed once more. “If he could only see what must be, but that is not his role.”

  “What might that be, sir?” Dainyl wante
d to change the subject, and quickly.

  “Khelaryt’s role was his to choose. Not so Acorus. It will always be the violated handmaiden. How else could it be?”

  “Because of the ancients, or because it is so cold?”

  “Both…and because it is where those who displeased the Archon were sent.” Before Dainyl could say another word, Samist went on. “You have released me from bondage, so to speak, Marshal.” Samist laughed once more. “You have done so early enough that all may not be lost for what I would have done. What favor would you wish? To become a High Alector? To replace Zelyert?”

  “No, sir.” Dainyl paused briefly. What did he want? Dare he ask?

  “Then what do you wish—assuming that you live long enough for me to offer a favor? You must know that Zelyert will be less than pleased with Khelaryt’s loss of the shadowmatch and the associated Talent-strength.”

  “I am certain some will be displeased and others pleased.”

  “You sound much like your predecessor.”

  “I am not much like Shastylt, but I know little of those around you, or of any around Duarch Khelaryt, except for High Alector Zelyert.”

  “A cautious marshal, yet one who flew against an entire company.”

  Dainyl offered a polite smile.

  “Speak.”

  “I understand you have not yet named the regional alector for Tempre.”

  “You would wish that?”

  “Not for myself, but for my wife. She is a most capable administrator.”

  The Duarch of Ludar laughed once more. “That she is, and she would make a very capable RA. It would also handicap that idiot Chembryt, who could do little without her.” His long fingers intertwined, and he nodded. “I cannot make her RA of Tempre, but Yadaryst suffered a wild translation several days past. Would you consider…would she consider becoming RA in Dereka?”

  “I think she would, although that would have to be her decision.”

  “If she would, that would resolve many…difficulties…”

  Dainyl was both elated and dismayed. He was anything but certain that Lystrana would wish to leave the beauty and glory of Elcien for Dereka. Yet he harbored the growing sense that Elcien would not be the best place to be after the Master Scepter was actually transferred. “I can only ask her.”

  “Do that, Marshal. If she is willing, have her translate here to see me to receive the appointment. No later than Septi.” A sad smile crossed his face, a visage slightly too long to be ideal for an alector, especially for a Duarch. “If that is all, I would like to return to the violin.”

  Dainyl bowed, still wary, still holding full shields. “That is all. By your leave, sir.”

  “By my leave.”

  After another nod, Dainyl turned and left the music room.

  Once he closed the door, he thought he heard the Duarch resume playing, but he wasn’t sure. Playing the violin…after losing so much Talent? Was Samist that composed? What did that say about Khelaryt? What did Dainyl face on his return to Elcien?

  “This way, sir.”

  Dainyl followed the functionary.

  31

  Dainyl found the coach and driver still waiting outside the Palace of the Duarch in Ludar. After a quick trip back to the Table chamber in the Hall of Engineering and Trade, he stepped toward the Table, but had to wait as one of the guards folded a set of clothing around a pair of boots, then added the bundle to the short stack in the corner of the chamber before resuming his position at the corner of the Table nearest the door. The air held a sickly sweet odor that threatened to turn Dainyl’s stomach, a stench that reminded him too vividly of what had happened in Hyalt.

  “More wild translations?” Dainyl asked Puleryt.

  “Unacceptable translations, sir. He was a street poet from Yarat. He demanded artistic asylum.”

  “Why did he need asylum?” Dainyl couldn’t imagine a street poet anywhere on Ifryn being a danger to anyone.

  “He didn’t say. He only said that the Archon had forbidden all dissident artists to translate from Ifryn. He begged. He even groveled.”

  “And the guards shot him?”

  “Orders from the Archon and the Duarch, sir. No one, except pregnant alectresses, who does not have a pass ordersealed by a High Alector is to be accepted. We would be overwhelmed.”

  Although he knew logically that what the recorder said was true—he and Lystrana had actually worked out the lifeforce-carrying ability of Acorus a year earlier—the thought of killing people whose only offense was a desire to live added to the nausea he already felt. He nodded politely, swallowed, and stepped up onto the Table. Concentrating, he felt himself sliding through the silvered surface and…

  …into the purple-shaded gloom of the translation tube. All around him flashed streaks of purple, but he concentrated on the brilliant white locator of Elcien, simultaneously trying to hold and rebuild his shields before he appeared on the Table there.

  The silvered-white barrier flashed toward him…

  …and he had to take a quick step to balance himself.

  “It’s the marshal!” called out Chastyl.

  Dainyl quickly cleared the Table and made his way out through the foyer and into the corridor, conscious that most eyes had been on him.

  An assistant whose name did not immediately come to mind stepped toward him. “The Highest will be down from the Hall shortly.”

  “The Duarch insisted I return to report to him immediately,” Dainyl demurred, glancing down at the sash across his chest. He recalled the alector’s name. “I am certain that the High Alector will understand that, Cartalyn.”

  “I will tell him, Marshal.” Cartalyn’s words suggested Zelyert would not understand at all.

  “You can tell him I’ll return once the Duarch has dismissed me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cartalyn sounded barely mollified.

  Dainyl hurried up the stairs and out through the concealed entrance. The rain he had anticipated before he left had begun to fall, but as a chill drizzle that, under the dark clouds, turned all Elcien gray. He found a hacker almost immediately, although he could have walked the distance, had it been necessary, but he preferred not to arrive at the Palace soaked.

  Even so, his tunic was still damp in places as he followed Bharyt along the corridor back to the Duarch’s study. Dainyl was not looking forward to the reception he would receive once he reported back to Khelaryt. He only hoped that he had Talent-read the unshadowmatched Duarch correctly.

  Khelaryt was standing at the study windows looking out into the rain. He turned as Dainyl entered, but waited until Bharyt closed the door. “You told him?”

  “Yes, sir. I did.”

  “And he let you leave?”

  “He offered me a favor for freeing him of the shadowmatch,” Dainyl volunteered. “I think he already suspected that the Master Scepter would go to Efra and was having great difficulties with the shadowmatch.”

  “If he suspected…”

  “No one would tell him, either,” suggested Dainyl. “Suspicion, or even announcement, without proof was not enough—as you discovered, sir.”

  “You offered little proof.”

  “You truth-read me, sir, and that was enough, combined with what you already knew.”

  “Did you accept his favor? What was it?”

  “Not for myself. No. For Lystrana and our daughter.” Before Khelaryt could object, Dainyl went on. “I asked that she be named RA in Tempre. He refused, but offered her the position in Dereka. I told him I could not accept for her. She has until Septi to decide.”

  Khelaryt laughed—and kept laughing.

  Dainyl waited, wondering exactly what Khelaryt found so extraordinarily amusing.

  Finally, the Duarch wiped the tears of laughter from his face. “He thinks that by removing Lystrana from Elcien he will weaken Chembryt and strengthen his own position. Without your wife as chief assistant, Chembryt will turn to me more than before. Only her insight allowed him independence. She has all my sup
port to become RA in Dereka—provided you remain as marshal.”

  “I had not thought otherwise, sir, but I do serve at the pleasure of you and the High Alector. Also, I do not yet know Lystrana’s decision.”

  “She would be foolish not to become RA—even in Dereka.”

  Dainyl wasn’t about to volunteer an opinion on that. Lystrana had a definite mind of her own.

  “Is there anything else, Dainyl, not that I can imagine much?”

  “Were you aware that the Archon has ordered the execution of anyone fleeing here without a pass ordersealed by a High Alector?”

  Khelaryt frowned, clearly concentrating. “That is true, but as Duarch, I can countermand such as I see fit.” He paused. “Dainyl…even without the restraint of the shadowmatch, I cannot allow everyone who wishes to flee Ifryn for Acorus to come here. If I do, within a handful of years, or less, Acorus will spiral down into the same fate as Ifryn, and no one here will have anywhere to go. I have told the recorders who heed me to spare the best, and those bearing a child. That is the best that I can do.”

  Dainyl could sense that Khelaryt truly believed that. What was worse was that he suspected that the Duarch’s assessment was accurate.

  “You have one more task, Dainyl.”

  “Telling Zelyert? He already knows that you sent me to Ludar. I had planned to tell him, unless you had an objection.”

  “Very wise of you. You can tell him that I insisted you report to me first on your return.” Khelaryt smiled. “I would judge that you already did.”

  “I left word that I had to report to you first, and left the Hall before he could get to me.”

  “Creative avoidance. He won’t care for that.”

  “You would have cared less for the alternatives, sir.”

  “You might be right at that. You’d best go.” Khelaryt paused. “The sash, Marshal?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” Dainyl eased it off and handed it to the Duarch. “By your leave?”

  Khelaryt nodded.

  Even before Dainyl opened the study door to depart, he could see that the Duarch had turned back to the windows and the rain.