Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Sir?”

  “I was thinking about the Ifryn Myrmidons.”

  “I’ve thought about them as well.”

  “Did you ever talk to Noryan or Veluara about it?”

  “Noryan didn’t want to say much. He only said that the Ifryn Myrmidons had once held the ideals that we do, and that they did no longer, and that there was little point in talking about it.”

  “Why did you replace the original with Noryan?”

  “Why not? The original one had been caught abusing a local boy. The child wasn’t that badly hurt, and with some Talent manipulation, I managed to erase or blur his memories. But that meant he wasn’t suitable to be a Myrmidon. Noryan was.”

  “You just executed him?”

  “It was better than he deserved. If he’d had to go through a court-martial and an administration of justice, he would have been found guilty and had his lifeforce ripped out. We don’t know if he had tried to abuse others, and trying to dig that up would have made matters worse. I didn’t want to see any Myrmidon paraded in front of other alectors as that decadent.”

  Alcyna was telling the truth, and Dainyl could see that she believed she had acted as well as she could have under the circumstances…but it still bothered him, not that he could see any point in taking the matter any further.

  “Did you know about that before you promoted me to submarshal here in Elcien?”

  “I knew who Noryan was, but not why you made the substitution. It bothered me, and it still does, but we’ve all done things that could have been done better, and I had the feeling that you were treading a narrow path with Brekylt.” He still wondered what her relationship with Brekylt had been.

  “That’s a charitable description.” Her laugh was throaty, nervous. “He was worse than Shastylt. From what I saw, anyway.”

  “We need to go over my perceptions of the Myrmidon companies and their needs, and your thoughts and reactions to each,” Dainyl said mildly. “I have the feeling that after tomorrow I’m going to be occupied with a few other concerns.”

  “Tomorrow, sir?”

  “That’s when I have a long meeting and discussion with Khelaryt.”

  “I think I’d rather be marshal, at least so long as you’re High Alector of Justice.”

  As he gathered his thoughts to begin briefing her on insights and observations he had not previously shared, Dainyl could not help but wonder how long he might be High Alector.

  66

  By the end of Quinti, Dainyl had found a green jacket, similar to a flying jacket, that matched the High Alector’s tunic and trousers. He needed one and felt that it was inappropriate to wear a Myrmidon flying jacket or cold-weather coat. He also still carried both lightcutters, unnecessary as he thought they might be, on his belt as he stepped onto the Table in Elcien.

  He half smiled. One advantage of being High Alector was the closeness to the Elcien Table.

  “Sir?” inquired Chastyl, hurrying into the Table chamber, followed by Adya.

  “I’ll be back very early tomorrow. I am taking the petitions in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Chastyl.

  Adya said nothing, but the disapproval in her face mirrored her internal feelings. Apparently, she and Chastyl felt that High Alectors were only supposed to use the Tables to travel to and from Elcien and Ludar.

  Dainyl concentrated on the darkness beneath the Table and felt himself sliding through the silvered surface of the Table and into the coolness below…

  …where he found that his perception of the translation tube alternated between two views. One timeless instant, the tube appeared narrow and solid, its “walls” deep purple, the next instant, little more than a misty and insubstantial cylinder perched parasitically upon a deeper greenish black extension—almost an underground high road, one that was part of the rock and yet separate from it.

  Reaching out with a Talent probe that appeared as much green as purple, he linked to the crimson-gold locator that was Dereka. As soon as the link was complete, he flashed through the faintest mist of silver and golden red.

  He stood on the Table in Dereka, belatedly realizing that he had not even checked on the purple flashes or on the amber-green creation of the ancients, whatever and wherever it might be.

  The five guards stationed around the Table leaned forward, although they did not raise their lightcutters.

  “Highest?” Jonyst’s eyes widened, and he bowed. “Highest…might I ask?”

  “High Alector Zelyert met an untimely end. He attacked a loyal subordinate for no reason other than the subordinate’s effectiveness. The Duarch was pleased to offer me the position.”

  “I see. Congratulations.” The recorder inclined his head slightly, and Dainyl could see that Jonyst’s hair had gotten more of the streaks of brilliant white. As the recorder straightened, Dainyl also noted that his face had become even more haggard.

  Dainyl stepped off the Table. “A moment, if you would.” He nodded to the staircase, gesturing for the recorder to go first.

  When they were in the library on the next level, Dainyl glanced around. Although there were papers on two of the tables, no one else appeared in the room.

  “Jonyst…you’re wearing yourself out. Can’t your assistants help?”

  The recorder shook his head. “Ilerya and Wasen are helping as much as they can, but someone has to monitor the guards, and that leaves Whelyne and me. Otherwise, they’d let anyone translate here.” He lowered his voice. “Except those who would be most useful.”

  “The ones who can help you or Acorus?”

  “Yes, Highest.”

  “If you must use a title, just use ‘sir,’” Dainyl said tiredly. “I’ve been High Alector for less than a day, and…” He decided against saying what he might have. “I’m not much for titles based on position, rather than accomplishment or ability.”

  “You never were.”

  “Have you noticed anything new or different about the Tables or the translations?”

  “We’re still getting fewer long translations, and the majority of them are wild.”

  That made an unfortunate kind of sense to Dainyl.

  “It can’t be that long before the Archon acts,” the recorder suggested.

  “I’ve thought that before, but I think he’ll squeeze as much lifeforce out of Ifryn as he can, and that may take longer.”

  Jonyst raised his eyebrows. “Your predecessor would not have said that.”

  “I know. I’m less indirect, and it may be my undoing.” With barely a hesitation, Dainyl went on. “Is it possible to borrow your coach and driver for a short ride?”

  Jonyst smiled. “A High Alector who asks and means it is welcome to all that I can supply. Mostly.”

  Dainyl smiled in return. “That last word shows you’re a wise and cautious alector.”

  “Cautious. Were I wise, I’d no longer be a recorder.”

  “I’m glad you are. I’ll see you or Whelyne in the morning.” With those words, and a smile, Dainyl turned and headed for the ramps to the lower level and the main entrance.

  Guersa stared as Dainyl approached the coach.

  “Guersa…not that much has changed. The Duarch only promoted me.”

  “Ah…yes, sir…I mean…I’ve never driven…a High Alector…”

  He opened the coach door. “There’s a first time for everything. I’d just like to see my wife.”

  “Yes, sir. We can do that.”

  As he stepped inside the coach, he heard her murmur, “High Alector in Dereka…”

  When he settled onto the bench seat, he realized that only in coaches had he been alone since he had left breakfast that morning. Would every day as a High Alector be like that?

  The sun was dropping behind the Upper Spine Mountains when Guersa brought the coach to a halt outside the RA’s quarters.

  “Will you need me in the morning, sir?”

  “I think not, but thank you.” Dainyl nodded politely, then turned and walked up th
e stone steps. To the fading sound of hoofs on stone as the coach pulled away, he tugged the bellpull.

  After several moments, Jylena opened the door, and like Guersa, stared for a long moment through the grillwork.

  “I was promoted,” Dainyl said dryly. “I’m still married to the regional alector.”

  “Oh…yes, sir…” She released the lock on the grill door.

  Dainyl had not even taken two steps into the small foyer when Lystrana appeared, clad in an outfit similar to what she had worn the day before, except the colors were reversed with the vest of light green and the trousers and tunic of the rich blue.

  She stopped and looked at him, then smiled. Her eyes were sad.

  Dainyl eased forward and put his arms around her. “It’s all right.”

  Jylena had finished closing the doors and eased away down the right side corridor.

  Lystrana stepped back, still holding his hands. “He attacked you, didn’t he?”

  “You saw it coming?”

  “I thought it might, but not yet. You’re getting more powerful, dearest.” She frowned. “You’ve also got more green about you. It was fading.” She glanced around. “Dinner will be the two of us this evening. Why don’t we go to the study? I had them plan for later.”

  Dainyl offered her his arm. As they walked, he let his Talent sense Kytrana, a growing Talent presence. He worried about her, and about Lystrana. Alectors’ children, for all their strength, needed every moment of their eight months within their mothers.

  “I could sense that,” Lystrana said. “I’m fine.”

  “Can I help it if I worry? Wouldn’t you?”

  “At times I worry enough for both of us, dearest.” When she stepped into the study—a small room with only two narrow windows, but with an entire wall of bookshelves, half empty—Lystrana stepped away from him. “Do you like the garments?”

  “You look good in them, but you always do.”

  “Your mother sent several sets by sandox. They arrived yesterday. She even sent a short letter, admonishing me to stay away from Tables from here on in.”

  “I’d agree with her,” Dainyl replied, “and we don’t often.”

  “I like yours, too.” Lystrana grinned. “They aren’t typical for a High Alector…”

  “They’re more traditional. Bharyt found some for me, and I liked these better than what Zelyert was wearing.”

  “That’s because they’re far more like a uniform, and you’ll always be a Myrmidon, no matter what happens.”

  Dainyl wouldn’t have contested that.

  “There’s something else. The green—it’s now part of your Talent, and it’s even stronger within you. How did that happen?” Lystrana settled onto the short settee to the left of the floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcase.

  “When Zelyert attacked me…” Dainyl stopped. “I think I’d better start from the beginning. After breakfast, I inspected Fifth Company and then took the Table to Elcien…” He went on to describe the events of the day, including how he had been forced to call up the green Talent from beneath the Table, all the way through to his arrival in Dereka.

  “Your ability to use the ancients’ form of Talent…it can’t be just because of the wound from Rhelyn’s weapon,” she said.

  “I think it’s partly that, and partly because they healed me.” He moistened his lips. “I also have the feeling that all really Talented alectors could do it. Otherwise, why would the ancients have been telling us that we have to change?”

  “I don’t like that at all.”

  “Neither do I. I’d rather not talk about it anymore. I don’t know that there’s anything more to be said, anyway. I’m looking forward to dinner, and I’m happy that you don’t have any company tonight—except Kytrana.”

  “So am I.” Lystrana smiled.

  67

  Mykel sat behind the writing desk in the dilapidated study of the run-down garrison in Iron Stem. His shoulder was sore. He was tired, and it was still a glass before midmorning.

  For an instant, a flash of green—Talent-green—seemed to surround him, but it was gone almost before he had recognized it. Then…from somewhere came a deep and distant rumble, not one that he heard with his ears, but one that he perceived.

  “Loryalt!” he snapped.

  Within moments, the undercaptain stood in the study doorway.

  “Put everyone here at the garrison in combat duty status. Immediately. Have them saddle their mounts and stand by for orders.” According to the schedule, only Sixteenth and Fourteenth Companies were out on patrol. “In the courtyard.”

  “Yes, sir. Any other orders?”

  “Not yet. I’ll know more in a bit.” You hope you know more.

  Loryalt hurried off. “Muster for ride-out! All companies!”

  Mykel had certainly felt and sensed something, and that it meant trouble. If it didn’t, he could always claim he wanted to see how fast the battalion responded. That would be better, embarrassing as it might be to him personally, than the unnamed danger he sensed was about to strike Iron Stem. It had something to do with the soarers. At least, he thought it did.

  For a time, he sat there, but could not think of what more he should be anticipating. Then he began to hear mounts and men out in the courtyard. Finally, because sitting and thinking was doing him little good, Mykel stood and struggled into his riding jacket one-handed, fastening it over the arm in the bound sling, leaving that sleeve empty. Then he walked quickly toward the courtyard. He was opening the door when the ground began to tremble.

  He staggered for a moment, then ran into the center of the courtyard. “Away from the buildings! Get away from the buildings.”

  While the buildings swayed, and several windows broke, and an old shutter crashed to the stones, in several moments the shaking of the earth stopped. Lazy flakes of snow drifted out of the gray sky, so at odds with the feeling of doom that he sensed, even after the apparent earthquake.

  “Majer, sir!” Loryalt rode toward him followed by the other four officers.

  Mykel surveyed them. “Fabrytal. Fifteenth Company is to patrol the area around the ironworks. Shoot anyone who doesn’t obey, and anyone who looks like he’s looting.”

  “Looting, sir?”

  “This earthquake and whatever else has happened might have wrecked houses or even the ironworks. Those orders are for all companies. Loryalt, Seventeenth Company has the area around the town square. Dyarth, you’ve got the area to the east of the square. Hamylt, you and Fourth Battalion have the area north of the ironworks and around the garrison. Leave two squads here in case someone gets ideas.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All of you send back scouts with reports of what you find.”

  The chorus of “Yes, sir” was ragged, but firm.

  “Go!” Mykel wanted to ride out to get a better view of what had happened. Instead, he forced himself to walk to the front of the headquarters building. There, he stood outside, watching as the companies rode out.

  “Sir?”

  Mykel turned to see a ranker bringing a tall stool with a back. He didn’t know the man, but thought he had to be from Fourth Battalion.

  “If you’re going to wait here, sir, this might help.”

  Mykel couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you.”

  He set the stool under the eaves that formed a slight roofed area over the front entrance and settled down to wait.

  In less than a quarter glass, a mount galloped back toward the gates, then slowed to a walk as the ranker guided the horse into the garrison. Mykel recognized the Cadmian—Jasakyt, the lead scout from Fifteenth Company.

  “Jasakyt! Over here!” called Mykel.

  The scout turned the chestnut toward the majer, finally reining up less than three yards from Mykel, who had stood and stepped forward. “Sir…the dam for the ironworks must have burst. There’s water half a yard deep in places around the ironworks. Some of the furnaces exploded, it looks like. A few of the houses are burning. Before I left, the
company had to shoot some of the mals from the ironworks.”

  “Tell Undercaptain Fabrytal that he’s to keep order at all costs. The water will subside before long, and there will be more looters then. Tell him he can break the company into half squads, but no smaller.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If anything changes, especially for the worse, I’ll need to know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “On your way…and thank you.” After Jasakyt rode out, Mykel walked out to the gates, now guarded by a squad from Fourth Company.

  “Sir!”

  “I’m just looking.” Mykel took several more steps, until he was partway into the high road, then looked south toward the center of Iron Stem. Through the intermittent snow, he could see several patches of orangish red, but the distance and the snow blocked any clear view. After a moment, he turned and walked back to his self-appointed post.

  Not more than a few moments later, another scout rode back up the road and through the gates. One of the guard detail apparently told the rider where Mykel was, because the scout rode directly toward him.

  Mykel stood once more and waited.

  “Sir…Seventeenth Company has established order around the town square. Some of the men from the ironworks tried to break into the chandlery and the inn. Three of them ignored the undercaptain’s orders and were shot. They’re dead. The others scattered. Everything is quiet now.”

  “What about the buildings?”

  “One of the houses caught fire. The locals look like they’ve saved the ones around it, but that house is going to burn to ashes.”

  “Thank you. You can return to your company. If anything changes, have the undercaptain let me know immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once more, Mykel settled onto the high-backed stool. The dam that served the ironworks and the mine shouldn’t have burst. Even if it had, there shouldn’t have been enough water to flood the section of Iron Stem around the works—not unless the stream flowing into the lake created by the dam had also flooded. But how likely was it that an earthquake and a flood would occur at once?