Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Dainyl blinked, and almost missed the impact of the overlarge boulder delivered by the Myrmidon and pteridon who had just perished. Inexorably, it rumbled toward the western wall of the center building, crashing into it with enough force that Dainyl could see the entire building shudder and a course of stones fly off the top of the north side wall.

  For all that, Dainyl would have preferred less impact and not losing the Myrmidon and pteridon.

  Another pteridon released a boulder from the northeast, one that slammed into the north wall of the smaller eastern building. First, the northwest corner crumpled, then the northern wall, followed by the northeast corner. Dust shot up from the middle of the smaller structure as the remainder of the building imploded into a pile of stone. Dainyl did not see any alectors leave the collapsed structure, but he doubted that there had been many within, not after the damage inflicted on the previous day.

  Three more pteridons released their boulders before the lightcannon attempted to fire again, and two struck—one hitting the central building, if indirectly, because it had actually struck one of the boulders that had earlier smashed against and into the lower wall, but still widening the gap and dislodging more stones from the wall above. The second boulder shivered the western building.

  Another glass passed, with more boulders missing than hitting, but without any more Myrmidon casualties.

  In late afternoon, after yet another break for replenishment and rest, the attack resumed once more. As before, the first pass resulted in more strikes, and the western building was close to collapsing. Even the main structure was showing significant signs of weakness. The southern third of the west wall was leaning outward, so far that it looked as if it might topple any moment, and the northeast corner was so battered that Dainyl could see light halfway down the stone courses. The southern side would not be nearly so damaged because the pteridons could not make a southern approach without totally exposing themselves to the lightcannon, but one intact wall would not hold up an otherwise collapsing structure.

  The second pteridon in First Company’s third pass lingered above the ridgeline far too long—and another explosion of blue flame filled the west side of the ridge.

  Dainyl’s eyes flicked back to the east, where the lightcannon had swung, as if the Myrmidon aiming it had decided that a Seventh Company pteridon might attempt to push the limits of an attack while the lightcannon was still focused westward.

  The lightcannon struck just as the pteridon had released its boulder, and the stone absorbed the energy, one side melted into an instant glaze.

  Dainyl stared for a moment. From what he could tell, both pteridon and rider had survived. He shook his head. They had been extraordinarily fortunate—unlike those destroyed by the lightcannon earlier.

  The sun was getting close to the top of the higher peaks of the Coast Range, and Dainyl could sense that pteridons and Myrmidons were getting tired—and sloppy. And that could only lead to more costly casualties.

  From his viewpoint, with the real troubles yet to come, he needed to minimize casualties as much as possible, and he doubted that his failure to close the Soupat Table and destroy all the Ifryn refugees was causing that many additional problems elsewhere. Even if it were, there wasn’t much else he could do besides what he was doing.

  Whether the Duarches and the High Alector would understand that was another question.

  He dashed from behind cover and to the back side of the ridge, raising his jacket, and waving it, then firing the lightcutter. It was time—if not past time—to call off the attacks for the day.

  55

  Mykel sat and looked at the battered wood of the writing desk in the study, then looked up and out through the window at the gray sky, before his eyes dropped to the blank paper on the desk, useless for him at the moment. Although it was Duadi, he had decided to wait another few days to send a report to Colonel Herolt. His arm was immobilized in a splintlike dressing that left him unable to write. If he did dictate a report for Rhystan to draft, he wanted to report that while his shoulder had been injured, he was on the way to recovery. Another reason was that he had little to report, except that the Reillies and Squawts were likely to pose a threat, but had not yet moved, and that the threat from the sandwolves and sanders had increased slightly.

  “Majer?”

  Mykel looked up at the ranker standing in the door.

  “Got something for you, sir.” The Cadmian’s hands were empty.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s outside, sir, at the gates. One of the factor’s men said something about half a silver.”

  Mykel almost laughed. “That’s what they charge if it doesn’t come by sandox.” He had to fumble with his wallet, because it was on his belt on the right. He hadn’t thought about that when he’d gotten dressed that morning, not when dressing had been such an awkward and laborious effort. Finally, he extended a half-silver coin. “If you’d take care of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shortly, the ranker reappeared with an envelope and handed it to Mykel.

  “Thank you.” Mykel would have liked to have given him a copper, but that wouldn’t have done at all, not within a military organization.

  “My pleasure, sir.” The ranker smiled, then inclined his head in respect, and left.

  Mykel looked down at the heavy paper of the envelope, stiff in the fingers of his left hand. On the front was his name, with the words “Commanding, Third Battalion, Cadmian Post, Iron Stem” written beneath in a script he did not recognize. On the back was an ornate seal he recognized, but it was above the phrase: Amaryk, Factor in Tempre for Seltyr Elbaryk. From Rachyla? But not in her hand? Or some sort of notice of something ill happening to her?

  Mykel fingered the envelope with his left hand, then transferred it to his right, barely able to hold the heavy paper of the envelope as he used his belt knife in his left hand to slit the paper, avoiding breaking the seal. There was an inside envelope, blank on the exterior, but not sealed. He extracted the single sheet of paper, opened it, and laid it on the writing desk.

  Major Mykel,

  I trust that you are recovering from your injuries, severe as they may have been.

  Matters here in Tempre are proceeding as expected, and Amaryk is proving to be adept in forging the alliances necessary for commercial prosperity.

  As once noted, daggers have more than two edges.

  Mykel frowned. The handwriting was Rachyla’s, yet she had not signed it. And how had she known he had been injured, let alone that he was recovering? There was no way a message could have reached her in time for her to write and send back the letter.

  There was only one explanation, and that explained all too much. While he could not sense anything she felt or sensed, despite his Talent, she could sense at least something of what he felt, and perhaps more. He shivered slightly. How much had she felt? How much did she know of his feelings for her? Was that why she had risked touching his hand in Tempre? In the hope he would sense or realize her feelings? She was sending him messages on two levels—one formal and proper—and one suggesting a deeper and more personal concern. Did the phrase about “more than two edges” suggest that his injuries cut her?

  Mykel eased back in the armless chair, very carefully, thinking. She was conveying, as best she could within the limits of her situation, her interest in him, as well as her inability to accept him at present. Was it just because his position and social status were insufficient?

  He laughed, softly and not quite bitterly. Just?

  His thoughts went back to their last meeting. He had mentioned hope, and she had said hope was for children. He paused. That wasn’t quite what she had said. She had said that hope was for children who did not realize that the faults and the status and the reputation of their parents could blight their future. Yet she had reached out to him, if formally.

  He sat there for a time, still holding the unsigned missive. Children…Rachyla wasn’t just thinking about herself. She was thinking abo
ut children, about, in a way, what she had suffered because of her father’s failings and her mother’s abandonment. She could not accept a mere majer’s suit, not and remain in the south of Corus, and she would not doom a child to a life where that child was forced by birth to be subservient to those with whom she had been raised. Those were the messages she had sent, and given the indirect nature of the world in which she had grown up, she was clearly suggesting that she cared, but that she could do little about it unless he could do better by her. Somehow…he had to cut her loose from her prison.

  Yet…what could he promise? He had no commercial prospects, and from what he had seen, he was not by nature a factor, even had he the golds to launch such a venture. He’d been promoted early to majer, and it was unlikely that he would ever become a colonel. Even if he did make the rank, it would not be for years, and there was no guarantee that Rachyla would be there for him by then. Would she accept him as a majer, living near Elcien or Faitel?

  He shook his head again. That was most unlikely, given the luxury in which she had been raised.

  Yet…she knew what his limitations were. She was far too intelligent not to, and she had mentioned them more than once. But she had earlier made certain that she had been sent to Tempre as Amaryk’s chatelaine, and now she was informing him that she knew of his injuries when there was no way that she could have.

  His eyes dropped to the letter once more, and he smiled. For all her protestations against the vanity of hope, she had hopes as well, and those hopes included him…and she wanted him to know that.

  His smile faded. No matter what she wrote, no matter what they both wished and hoped, there would be no prospects at all if he did not find a way out of the situation in which fate and Marshal Dainyl had placed him—and one in which he had to find better solutions than always risking himself.

  56

  Duadi morning had come far too early for Dainyl, since he had awakened well before dawn. While the other alectors slept, he had thought…and thought some more. He did not wish to lose more pteridons, but he also could not afford to take a week to reduce the Soupat alector’s complex to rubble, and the way matters were going, it might take that long. Losing two pteridons a day for who knew how many days more wasn’t acceptable, either.

  Finally, after an informal morning muster, he met with Alcyna and the two company commanders outside the dilapidated patroller’s barracks, just as the sun edged over the sandy rolling and rocky hills to the southeast. Alcyna stood slightly back of his shoulder.

  “We need to change the attack strategy some.” Dainyl studied both Ghasylt and Lyzetta. They looked more tired than he felt, and every bone in his body ached. That was more from sleeping on a hard floor on a partial pallet, because none of the patroller beds were long or wide enough to fit even an alector of Alcyna’s diminutive stature, although she was only slightly taller than almost all indigens and most landers. “I’d like to try varying the attack numbers, having two pteridons attack on one side, then several single attacks, interspersed irregularly with dual attacks.”

  “Anything to keep them from predicting when and where the next pteridon will appear,” added Alcyna in a quiet voice.

  “We can do that,” replied Ghasylt.

  Lyzetta nodded.

  After the captains left, Dainyl turned to Alcyna. “We’re running out of time.”

  “Better that than pteridons, sir.”

  But Dainyl knew they were running out of both.

  For the third day running, nearly two glasses passed before Dainyl was in position and the pteridons began their passes at the regional alector’s complex. As on previous days, few local inhabitants were out in the streets or lanes, and despite the warmth of the day the majority of homes, especially those to the northwest, nearer the bombardment, remained shuttered. Dainyl had seen no sign of the Cadmians of Sixth Battalion, and that was also for the best.

  The sky was a dusty beige-silver, with but the slightest trace of green, except near the northern horizon. As he watched the pteridons release their boulders, Dainyl wondered if that beige-silver was the way it looked all the time during the intense heat of summer.

  Both companies completed their first set of passes and part of the second before the lightcannon fired even once. That first shot was nowhere close to the single pteridon, but once more the power of the weapon created brilliant burning sparkles in the air and left a clear swath through the dust and sand raised by the bombardment.

  The second bombardment run continued, and Dainyl noted that the lightcannon was not firing so often as on the previous days. In fact, it only fired three times at the next fourteen pteridons. He also sensed what he could only have described as a Talent-vibration each time the beam winked out.

  After a slight break, First Company began the third set of runs with two pteridons, one from the west-southwest and another from the northwest, both delivering substantial boulders. One missed the central building, but the second slammed into the southwest corner of the smaller western building.

  Dainyl watched as the corner shuddered and then toppled outward, stones flying in a long slow arc. Then the ends of the western wall crumpled into a heap in the center, leaving the northwest corner as a triangular battlement—but after a moment it imploded in toward the center of the structure, and the remaining walls collapsed, with sand and dust exploding skyward.

  A single alector scrambled away from the rubbled ruin, sprinting toward the remaining battered building.

  Battered the surviving structure might have been, but after three more glasses, with a break for replenishment and rest, the Myrmidons had still not been able to inflict any more significant damage on the central building. In fact, Dainyl had the sense that the boulders piling up around its walls might now actually be providing a measure of protection.

  The lightcannon fired erratically, but despite the feeling of instability Dainyl sensed, the actual blue-green beam was as powerful as ever, and those aiming it were getting closer and closer to bringing down another pteridon.

  The pteridons were getting tired. That Dainyl could tell. Many more passes, and the lightcannon would start taking them out. He studied the flat area around the remaining building on the ridge, littered as it was with boulders, not huge, but a number large enough for cover. He’d already seen that the lightcannon did not have the power to stop or destroy the boulders, only to glaze one side.

  After another moment of thought, he edged back from cover and partway down the backside of the ridge before signaling Lyzetta. While he waited for her, he checked the lightcutters at his belt. Both were fully charged. Two would have to do.

  Before that long, Lyzetta made a low approach and landed. Rather, her pteridon balanced on the slope while Dainyl scrambled into the second harness.

  “Here’s what I need,” he called forward to the Seventh Company captain. “Set me down on the east side, below the ridgeline, low enough that they can’t see me from the central building. Then make one or two more passes, but make them from due east, and don’t come above the ridgeline—just lob boulders over the edge as well as you can, and not too often. Don’t expose yourself. Give the same message to Captain Ghasylt. I don’t want anyone exposed.”

  “Sir…?”

  “I need to get close enough to check out some things.” That much was true, but that was only the start—unless things were worse than he thought, in which case he had no compunctions about withdrawing as expeditiously as possible. “I’ll come back as close as I can to where you drop me and signal for pickup.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The pteridon turned and glided down the east side of the ridge, almost into the sinkhole valley, before turning back west, but remaining barely a handful of yards above the uneven and rocky ground on the east side of the ridge that held the regional alector’s complex. Once more, when the pteridon landed, it balanced with tail and talons until Dainyl was clear.

  He took a deep breath once Lyzetta and her pteridon were away, then looked at t
he seventy-some yards of steep and rocky incline before him. He began to climb, extending his Talent-senses to make certain he did not face snipers, even though there had been no evidence of them previously.

  He angled his way up the slope, using his Talent to guide him, so that he would reach the area directly behind the rubble of the smaller eastern building, where he would be seen so easily from the remaining building. There were no boulders or other types of cover above where the slope flattened out—not until within fifty yards or so of the first pile of rubble.

  Dainyl stopped short of where he could be seen, then came up the last part of the slope at a sprint, holding his Talent shields as well. He had covered almost a hundred yards before the first light-rifle fired past him. He angled to his right, then back left, before skidding to a halt behind the first boulder he reached. He had to tuck himself tightly together to keep all of his body behind the stone. Somehow, the stones that had looked large while being flung seemed all too inadequate to conceal an alector.

  Another light-rifle beam flaring overhead emphasized that point.

  Keeping low and out of sight, he tried to breathe deeply and let his body recover.

  From what he could tell, he still had a good three hundred yards to go before he reached the area where there were numerous boulders for cover. He extended his Talent, trying to locate the next nearest patch of cover. Ahead and to his left was a slight rise, slightly less than a yard, but high enough to have slowed and stopped one of the boulders launched at the buildings of the complex.

  Dainyl coiled his legs under him, strengthened his shields, and sprinted again.

  The lightcannon hummed above him, not aimed at him, but somewhere beyond. As close as he was, Dainyl sensed the definite growing instability of the weapon, an instability that suggested a failing crystal in the power or control system. He also had the feeling that one of the Myrmidons had appeared more than he had ordered, perhaps to draw fire from him. It had helped, because there was only a single light-rifle shot, and that was a belated one as he drew up behind the rocky escarpment that was little more than knee high and the boulder that had half climbed it and stuck.