Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  There was a dull thud and a clatter as the alector toppled half out of the doorway and onto the polished green marble floor of the corridor. Dainyl replaced the exhausted lightcutter with the replacement from inside his cold-weather flying jacket.

  Then he repeated the process with the second Ifrit.

  Before he could call for the other Myrmidons to join him, the light-rifle fired from the far end of the corridor, scoring the stone of the archway, and leaving the odor of melted stone.

  Dainyl snapped off a quick shot, then bolstered his shields and sprinted for the first doorway. Again, the light-rifle fired, but late enough that Dainyl’s shields only had to deflect a glancing blast at the last moment, just before he jumped over the boots and tunic of the dead and vanished Ifryn Myrmidon and into the small side chamber.

  He couldn’t help but note the body on the floor—that of a gray-haired lander woman, sprawled beside a small desk. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that Delari must have gotten some help from landers—and probably restricted to the upper level.

  Dainyl forced that thought from his mind and returned his attention to the corridor that led to the staircase down to the Table chamber. There couldn’t be that many of the Ifryn Myrmidons left. If there had been twenty and Delari had killed three, and the initial assault by First Company had taken out another three, and he had killed another two, that meant only twelve or so remaining, probably no more than fifteen. That assumed, he told himself, that they did not have an engineer who had gotten the Table back in service.

  But…if they had, there would either be more resistance—or far less.

  Dainyl took a deep breath, sending out another Talent probe, and lifting the lightcutter.

  Yet another Ifryn waited in the next doorway along the corridor.

  Dainyl used his Talent to direct the lightcutter beam, and the alector collapsed.

  Abruptly, another alector sprinted from the last doorway. Dainyl fired once more. He did not miss.

  Dainyl paused, taking a deep breath. Using so much Talent was tiring.

  The upper level was empty.

  He called to the three. “You can join me.” Then he moved to the next doorway, glancing in. This time, the body was that of a young lander woman—unclad. He did not look back as he hurried to the next chamber, the last one on the upper level…and thankfully empty except for a circular conference table and chairs.

  As he waited for the three Myrmidons to rejoin him, he kept Talent-checking, but the staircase to the lower level remained clear. He also checked the two lightcutters remaining with power. One was fully charged, the other less than half.

  “Sir…you’re doing all the work,” offered Saedryk as he dashed into the conference room.

  “That might change when we head down to the lower level,” Dainyl pointed out, breaking off as the other two Myrmidons joined them.

  “It’s clear to the end of the corridor,” he said, after another Talent check. “Let’s go.”

  The landing at the top of the steps was empty, and as he stepped through the archway into the foyerlike space that was the landing, Dainyl glanced to his right where an archway led into a small library—empty, although two chairs lay sideways on the green marble.

  He moved forward, stopping short of the steps and the staircase on the east side of the landing. The steps led back to the north, paralleling the landing foyer. Even so, the Table chamber lay under the main upper level, dug into the hillside—as were all Tables.

  As he stood back from the side and the top of the steps, a blue-green line of light flashed up the staircase and struck the east edge of the stone frieze on the south wall—a simplistic but elegant rendering of the Black Cliffs as seen from the sea to the north, looking southward. The steps down to the Table chamber were narrower than Dainyl remembered. While that would make it easier for the remaining Ifrits to fire at him, it also meant he could concentrate his Talent shield into a smaller area.

  Dainyl extended another Talent probe. From what he could tell, there were two Ifrits in the doorway at the bottom of the staircase, and the door to the Table chamber was open. He looked to the three Myrmidons. “Get as flat as you can around the top of the stairs. When I signal, I want the three of you to fire down the staircase. Then I’ll give a second signal. I’ll want two separate shots. Don’t worry about aiming, except in the general direction of the bottom. Then I’ll head down.”

  “Ah…then what, sir?” asked Saedryk.

  Dainyl smiled. “Then you listen for my next orders.”

  He waited for the three to creep into position, standing back somewhat. When they were ready and looking at him, he first focused a Talent shield, one that would direct their lightcutter discharges to a point. Then he raised his hand. “Now!”

  The three blue beams fused, and with the impetus of Dainyl’s Talent, sliced through one of the Ifrits.

  “Now!”

  The second beam was equally effective.

  Before Dainyl could move more than two steps blue-green beams flared up the stairs, and boots thudded on the steps. Dainyl fired three times, and the Myrmidons kept firing.

  A single Ifrit reached the top of the steps, holding a light-rifle aimed at Dainyl.

  Before he could speak, Dainyl enfolded him with Talent shields.

  The light-rifle exploded under that pressure, and for a moment Dainyl could only see flashing stars. When he finally released the shields, there was no sign of the last Ifrit except a circular pile of black ash and dust, half of which began to vanish.

  “What…what was that?”

  “Talent shield,” Dainyl replied, absently, still trying to determine if anyone remained below. He didn’t think so, but he wanted to check again.

  Then he started down the steps, cautiously, well aware that his shields were far weaker than he would have liked.

  He did not have to worry. There was no one left in the Table chamber, only empty uniforms and boots. He walked back to the door. “There’s no one left. Saedryk…would you go out and have Captain Ghasylt join me here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Meya and Tueral, you can come down and join me.”

  Meya was the first down, and she stepped over and around the gray and green tunics and the sets of scuffed boots. Once she reached the doorway, her eyes traversed the chamber, stopping to fix on the Table. “That’s a Table?”

  Dainyl nodded. “It’s not operating now.”

  Tueral looked from one pair of boots to the next as he descended, then finally to the marshal. “There were nine of them here.” Unlike Meya, he avoided looking at the Table.

  While the three waited, Dainyl holstered his lightcutters and reflected. Once they had gotten into the Table building, while progress had been slow, it had been steady, and without additional Myrmidon casualties—except for the effort exacted on Dainyl himself. He was close to being unsteady on his feet.

  He looked across the Table chamber and up the steps, seeing the green and gray tunics and boots lying everywhere. His lips tightened, but he said nothing. He felt light-headed, and forced himself to sit on the edge of the Table.

  A tenth of a glass later, Ghasylt stepped into the chamber.

  “Meya, Tueral…if you’d wait at the top of the steps,” Dainyl said quietly. He did not stand.

  Ghasylt surveyed the chamber, but said nothing until the Myrmidons had left and climbed the stairs. “Congratulations, Marshal.”

  Dainyl shook his head. “It’s not something I liked doing, but there’s no way we could risk them learning how to activate the Table again and create an open translation tube here from Ifryn.”

  “Would it have been that bad?”

  Dainyl understood what Ghasylt meant. “Acorus can take another thousand alectors—or could before we started accepting them months back. At the last count, we’d accepted more than four hundred survivors. There are over five thousand alectors left on Ifryn for whom there is no room on either Efra or Acorus—not without dooming everyone on
both worlds.”

  “Is that a really hard number?”

  Dainyl shrugged. “Probably not to the last alector, but the Duarch is convinced that it’s close. So is the senior alector in Lyterna, and he’s studied it for decades.”

  “How did we…” Ghasylt shook his head. “Sorry, sir. It’s just…”

  “They weren’t that different from us, and we had to kill them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t know how it got this bad, Captain. I only know that it is.”

  Ghasylt remained silent.

  Dainyl looked at the captain. “Once I get my strength back, I’ll reactivate the Table and translate to Elcien. You’re going to have to keep guard on the Table all the time, no less than four Myrmidons. If another force slips through…”

  “Someone else will have to do what we just went through,” the captain finished. “None of us want that.”

  “No. We’ll probably have to ferry a bunch of guards up here, and I’d guess that Seventh Company will have to bring them.”

  Dainyl had the feeling that no one had ever anticipated needing large numbers of Myrmidon or other alector guards in Blackstear. If it weren’t for the need to keep the Table active while the Master Scepter was being transferred, he would have recommended shutting it down. He might anyway.

  43

  Dainyl stepped up onto the Table in Blackstear, concentrated, and dropped through the mirrored surface into…

  …the chill purple dusk of the translation tube. As he focused on finding the Elcien locator wedge, he realized that he did not sense the greenish Talent forging—if that were what it had been—by the ancients. He did sense an amber-green “presence” somewhere beyond, so great that it felt as though it loomed over all of Acorus.

  He pushed that thought aside and Talent-linked to the brilliant white locator of Elcien. Even as it neared him, he could sense even more purplish flashes—and what he could only have described as purplish explosions. Those had to be failed translations.

  How soon would the Archon transfer the Master Scepter? Could it really be a season away, with all the unrest and the desperation on Ifryn? Or was that what the Archon wanted in order to reduce the number of alectors drawing higher amounts of lifeforce from Efra and Acorus? Or was he trying to stretch out the time Ifryn could last through such manipulations?

  With all too many questions swirling through his mind, Dainyl slipped through the white-silver barrier and…

  …onto the Table at Elcien, holding what Talent shields he had remaining, barely enough to stop the weakest of lightcutter bolts.

  Chastyl looked up, and a smile crossed a face worn with worry, and showing dark circles under his eyes. “You put it back on the grid! I’ll have to let Delari know. She’ll be pleased.”

  Dainyl offered a wry smile as he stepped off the Table, ignoring the guards. “You’d best wait a moment until I tell the Highest. I think he’d like to know.”

  Chastyl’s smile faded, but he nodded. “You’re right. He was in his private study. There’s more trouble. He’d better tell you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try to be quick so that you can tell Delari. Just give me a few moments.”

  Chastyl gave Dainyl a sympathetic smile, but said nothing.

  Dainyl made his way out through the foyer and down the corridor. There, he opened Zelyert’s door without knocking, knowing the High Alector was alone.

  The Highest looked up, his face twisted in annoyance. “What took you so long?”

  Dainyl took the seat across the table from Zelyert and settled into it. He was tired and ached all over, and he would have liked to have seen Zelyert do what he’d done. “I sent a message by sandox on Quinti, but it might have been delayed. We ran into a blizzard that was too heavy to fly through and too big to fly around. We had to wait it out overnight in Harmony.”

  “I suppose you couldn’t help that.” The High Alector’s tone reflected a combination of grudging acceptance and frustration.

  “That kind of weather isn’t something I could do anything about.” Dainyl paused. “Blackstear is in our hands, and all of the invaders are dead.”

  “That’s one problem taken care of, but I’d hoped you’d be quicker.”

  “I take it that there’s more trouble.”

  “The same thing has happened in Soupat. Another group of Myrmidons from Ifryn. Nomyelt was killed when he tried to shut down the Table. His assistant translated to Ludar. We got word late yesterday. The Table’s still on the grid, and it’s beginning to get increasing numbers of long translations. The Duarches are extremely worried.”

  Dainyl couldn’t say he was surprised. “If it had to happen anywhere else, that would be the most likely.” Before Zelyert could say more, Dainyl asked, “What is the situation at Hyalt?”

  “The Duarch Samist has indicated that Hyalt is heavily guarded and that matters are under control there. It’s not a problem. Nor is Tempre. What do you intend to do about Soupat?”

  Dainyl bristled inside at the quick assignment of responsibility to him. Table security hadn’t ever been a primary Myrmidon duty. In fact, usually the only Myrmidons who ever even saw a Table were the marshal and submarshal. He kept his voice pleasant as he replied, “Whatever is necessary. I asked Alcyna to draw up a plan for what to do if we had to handle another situation like Blackstear. The Cadmian Sixth Battalion, Mounted Rifles, has been operating there for the past two seasons, but they’ve already suffered heavy casualties, and I assume you’d rather not get them involved unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “An astute observation, Marshal.”

  “I’ll go back to headquarters and see what else we have available.”

  “What you have available?” Zelyert raised his eyebrows.

  “Unless you want me or Delari to inactivate Blackstear again, First Company will have to guard it until we can get more guards there, one way or another. Guarding it day and night will take almost all the Myrmidons from First Company. So they can’t be used to fly guards up there, and the harbor is already frozen in. That means using Myrmidons from somewhere else, like Second Company in Ludar.” For most tasks Dainyl wouldn’t have considered Second Company, but even Samist and Brekylt had a clear interest in keeping too many refugees from Ifryn from arriving on Acorus. Still…he’d rather not rely too heavily on Second Company.

  Zelyert was silent for a moment, clearly taken aback. Then, he said, “I’ll have to talk to Delari.”

  “I’ll see what we can do.” Dainyl turned and left, without asking Zelyert’s leave. He did close the door behind him…and quietly.

  He found Delari in Adya’s study, seated on one side of the small writing desk. Adya was not there.

  Delari stood and turned. “Dainyl…Chastyl told me that Blackstear’s back on the grid. I was getting together some things before I returned.”

  “You’d better wait until Zelyert talks to you. He’s not happy.”

  “You don’t sound very encouraging.” Her voice was cool.

  “You’ll pardon me if I’m not, Delari. The only people alive in the Table building in Blackstear are my Myrmidons. The intruders killed everyone else, and we ended up having to kill all of the intruders. That’s not exactly encouraging.” He cleared his throat. “I have one question. Then I have to get back to work on what to do about Soupat. When the Table is powered up, it’s almost impervious, isn’t it? Except to a direct Talent thrust, I mean. You could drop a timber or something on it, and nothing would happen—unless the timber were Talent-guided?”

  The tall recorder frowned, then nodded. “That’s supposedly so. I wouldn’t want to try it. Do you have something in mind?”

  “Not yet,” Dainyl temporized. “I wanted to know because we may have to use more force in Soupat.”

  “You can’t do what you did in Blackstear?”

  “I think it’s unlikely. They’re already getting more translations, and the weather and geography won’t limit them to the Table building. But we’ll ha
ve to see.” He managed a smile and a nod before taking his leave.

  An icy rain was falling across Elcien when Dainyl left the Hall of Justice looking for a hacker. Because it took a while to find one, he was glad for the cold-weather gear he was still wearing.

  From the outside, through the cold rain, headquarters looked deserted when Dainyl got out of the coach and walked through the gates and then into the entry foyer.

  Squad leader Doselt was handling the duty desk, one of his extra responsibilities when all of First Company was gone, and he looked up as Dainyl entered headquarters. “Sir? The rest of the company?”

  “They’re still in Blackstear. I came back by Table. Is Seventh Company here?”

  “Two squads, sir. Undercaptain Asyrk is in charge.”

  “Good. I’ll want to see him later. Is the submarshal in?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  Dainyl walked down the corridor to Alcyna’s study, stepping through the open door and taking the chair at the corner of her table desk, motioning her to keep her seat.

  “You look tired, Marshal. How did it go?”

  “We hold Blackstear. The insurgents, refugees…whatever you want to call them, they killed everyone at Blackstear. We stormed the building, killed all of them, and First Company is now guarding the Table there.”

  “You were successful.” Her voice was level.

  “For the moment. As soon as I returned by Table, less than a glass ago, the Highest informed me that another group of Myrmidons from Ifryn has taken over the Table at Soupat. He doesn’t want the Cadmians there involved. They wouldn’t do well if the intruders in Soupat are as well armed as the ones in Blackstear were.”

  “How did you know that was going to happen?” asked Alcyna.

  “I didn’t. It seemed logical that attacks would be made where we couldn’t respond quickly, except through the Table, and there aren’t that many alectors here on Acorus who are Table-trained. Certainly not enough to mount that kind of a counterattack.”

  “They must have counted on that.”

  “I’m certain that they did. Have you got a plan for dealing with Soupat?”