Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Dainyl nodded. “I believe I have.”

  “In the other matter, however, your actions, however well intended, have proved less than satisfactory in assuring a framework on which we may build a strong Acorus.”

  Dainyl had a strong suspicion where Alseryl was heading, but he offered a frown meant to convey worry and concern. “I am glad you are being direct, Alseryl, because I had thought my actions were totally in line with preserving the Duarches.”

  “It has come to my attention that you informed both Duarches of the pending transfer of the Master Scepter to Efra. In doing so, you reduced the Talent force available to each. Could you explain how reducing the power of the Duarches strengthens Acorus?”

  Alseryl couldn’t be that stupid. That meant more was at stake. “As you well know, Alseryl,” Dainyl replied, “I am a Myrmidon, and I have spent all of my adult life as one, or preparing to be one. In dealing with conflicts and opponents, a Myrmidon learns that there are many kinds of strength. An alector who has massive Talent, but who is unable to use that strength except as another wishes, is often weaker than one with lesser Talent and more flexibility. The shadowmatches prevented either Duarch from considering what might be the best course for Acorus were the Master Scepter not to be transferred here. My goal was not to weaken either Duarch, but to give them greater applied strength to deal with the difficulties ahead. In fact, whether you were aware of this or not, Zelyert was pressing me to reveal the transfer to Khelaryt for some time before I did.” Dainyl let the truth of that escape.

  For a moment, just a moment, Alseryl was silent. “I find that hard to believe, despite your apparent honesty, but perhaps that is because of the greenish tinge to your Talent, a tinge always associated with wildness and rebellion in the past, although you certainly have been the model Myrmidon for many decades, always serving, following orders effectively, and never questioning the reasons behind those orders.”

  While keeping his shields fully in place, Dainyl had been absorbing the Talent impressions of the chamber. He observed that there was a Talent concentration behind an apparent boss in the crown molding at the top of the paneled wall that held the painting of the Palace, and that power was similar to what he had sensed with Rhelyn’s portable lightcannon. Doubtless it was aimed at him—or whoever was seated before the desk. It was positioned high enough and the chairs were set far enough back that the energy would not threaten Alseryl.

  “Any alector who has perception is cautious when caution is merited. I have observed that some who had the greatest reasons to be loyal have not been so, and some who seemed less supportive of the Duarches have been far more loyal. Seldom is what one sees all of what is.”

  “The truth goes beyond mere vision. That is true.” Alseryl nodded.

  “So does reality, and what is includes more than what many would call the truth.”

  “For an alector reputed to be direct, your words are somewhat obscure, Dainyl.”

  “All I was suggesting is that each individual’s idea of truth does not usually encompass all of reality.” Dainyl shrugged. “Although many have claimed that knowing the truth will set a thinking being free, I’ve found that such ‘truths’ reflect a selective vision of the world. Selective visions restrict freedom of action, and such restrictions also reduce an alector’s capabilities.”

  “That sounds perilously close to rejecting the views and guidance of the Duarches and the Archon in favor of your own predilections.”

  “I must not have made myself clear, Alseryl. The more one perceives, the more ability one has to carry out the policies of the Archon and the Duarches.” Or to understand why they should not be carried out.

  “That is an intriguing observation.”

  “How have you found working with the other High Alectors?” asked Dainyl. “I have yet to even meet Jaloryt and Zuthyl.”

  “We all share the concerns of the Duarches and the Archon. Jaloryt is faced with the unenviable task of making sure that the pursuit of golds in trade by the steers does not reduce the world’s lifeforce. Zuthyl has his difficulties as well.”

  “What of you? Have the problems with the South Pass required great adjustments in the sandox routes?”

  “Some adjustments, but not great ones. The greatest difficulty has been, as I am certain Marshal Alcyna has conveyed to you, the increased requirement for Myrmidon trainees from our sandox drivers and assistant drivers. It seems rather strange that the requirements have increased so dramatically recently, coincidentally, as it were, with two new marshals.”

  “They have increased dramatically,” Dainyl replied, “but the increase resulted from higher casualties, and those casualties, as I am certain you are aware, resulted from the increased activity of the ancients and from the late Rhelyn’s attempt to use unauthorized translations to attempt to create an independent Duarchy in Hyalt. Of course, Brekylt’s misreading of the situation compounded matters as well, but that has been resolved for the time being.”

  “Oh?”

  “The Alector of the East and I had a lengthy conversation several weeks ago, and he understands quite thoroughly my views and my support of the Duarch Khelaryt.”

  “I am glad to hear of that support.”

  “My support of the Duarch has never been in question.” Dainyl smiled. “But then, I’m sure you understand that.”

  “That is true. Khelaryt is fortunate to have a High Alector of Justice so devoted and supportive.”

  “Is that not the duty of a High Alector?”

  “It is indeed.” Alseryl smiled once more. “And it has been a pleasure to learn how seriously you take that duty.” He rose, almost languidly.

  “As it has been for me, to hear your words and observations.” Dainyl stood and inclined his head just slightly. “Until later.”

  He could feel Alseryl’s eyes on his back as he left the paneled study.

  While he walked down the columned Palace corridor, out toward the waiting coach, Dainyl had no doubts as to where Aseryl stood, and that was with Ruvryn and Samist, even though Aseryl reported directly to Khelaryt. The hidden lightcannon in Alseryl’s study suggested strongly that Aseryl was allied to Ruvryn and had been for some time.

  He didn’t know whether to hope that the Archon moved the Master Scepter soon or whether it would be best if he had more time. He shook his head. Just what could he do until they acted?

  75

  Outside the headquarters building, intermittent gusts of wind rattled the narrow window of the study where Mykel sat, studying the map spread across a writing table desk small enough that both ends of the map drooped over the sides of the desk. Although it was close to midafternoon, Mykel had been studying the maps since early on Novdi morning, trying to develop a better sense of how to use the roads and terrain to trap the Reillies and the Squawts.

  Rhystan appeared in the doorway. “Sir, Jasakyt has just ridden in. He’s got news about the Reillies. They’re getting ready to move.” The captain paused. “What about the other scouts?”

  “They’re farther west and south. I can’t say when they’ll be back. Gather the officers in the mess. Jasakyt can tell us all at once. We’ll have to brief Loryalt when he returns.”

  Rhystan nodded, then left.

  Mykel stood and rolled up the large map, one-handed and awkwardly, before tucking it under his left arm and leaving the study. Croyalt had been right, not that Mykel had doubted the outholder, but the fact that such information was widespread meant that any failure by Mykel and the Cadmians would spark even greater insurgency in the west of Corus. With the regiment significantly understrength, the last thing the Cadmians needed was to fight more insurgents.

  Mykel was the first in the officers’ mess. He set the map on one end of the large table and looked up as Culeyt appeared.

  “We’re getting word on the Reillies, sir?”

  Mykel nodded.

  Shortly, Dyarth and Fabrytal joined them, followed by Captain Hamylt and Undercaptain Sendryrk of Fourth Battalion.
The last to arrive were Rhystan and Jasakyt.

  “We might as well sit down,” said Mykel, following his own suggestion. “Jasakyt, tell us what you found out.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lanky scout remained standing. “The Reillies are breaking up from that big gathering they had. The only ones that are leaving are the older women and small children, and a handful of gray-beards. They look to be heading back into the higher hills to the west of Wesrigg. Yesterday, a bunch of Squawts rode in, but most of them rode out early this morning. Two heavy wagons came in late yesterday, too.”

  “Supplies or ammunition,” murmured Culeyt.

  The wagons bothered Mykel, because they suggested an outside provider of provisions or ammunition. While he hoped that such a provider was not an alector, if he had to wager, he would have bet that the provider was either a rebel alector or one of the High Alectors with the goal of weakening the Cadmians. Otherwise, the earlier smuggling of Cadmian rifles to Dramur, and even the creation of the Alector’s Guard in Tempre, made little sense. And Mykel was quite certain that the alectors seldom acted without a definite purpose.

  “What about mounts?” he asked.

  “They’ve got more mounts than possible fighters, sir.” Jasakyt stopped for a moment, then added, “The younger women carry rifles, too, and so do the older boys. It’s hard to tell, but some of the young ones might be older girls. They all dress the same, and their hair’s about the same length.”

  “So we have to shoot women and girls, too?” asked Fabrytal.

  “If you don’t,” replied Mykel, “they’ll shoot you.” He glanced at his own shoulder. “They don’t care much for any of us. As I can tell you.”

  There were several chuckles from the officers.

  “How many Reillies are there?” asked Mykel.

  “I couldn’t get a good count, sir, but somewhere over five hundred of fighting age. If you count the young ones with rifles, might be as many as eight hundred.”

  That was more than Mykel had left in Third and Fourth Battalions combined—and didn’t include whatever force the Squawts added. “Did you get any idea of where they’re headed?”

  “They sent a party, not sure you could call ’em scouts, down that southeast road, the one that leads to the west of Sudon toward Borlan. No one was headed toward Iron Stem.”

  That made sense to Mykel. The locals were going to force a confrontation. They knew the Cadmians would likely have to protect Borlan, and if Mykel didn’t, they’d take the bridge across the Vedra and raid the town. He’d thought that was the most likely possibility all along.

  “It’s already winter in the hills, and they want to fight now?” asked Dyarth.

  “Why not?” replied Rhystan. “They like to fight, and the harvesting and gathering’s done. They’re used to the snow, and we’re not. Besides, we don’t have any snow on the ground here, not yet. So, if we chase them back into the hills, we’re at a disadvantage, and they can scatter.”

  “We don’t let them scatter,” said Mykel. “We have to win decisively, or Third Battalion or some other Cadmian battalion will be fighting the same people next summer and fall. Do any of you want that?”

  The murmured “no, sir” gave an answer, although Mykel would have wished for a slightly less resigned tone from his officers.

  He leaned forward and unrolled the map. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  76

  Dainyl had finally taken the Table from Elcien to Dereka a glass before noon on Novdi. He’d felt guilty about leaving early, although the Hall of Justice was largely deserted by then, since most alectors in Elcien regarded all of Novdi as a full end-day and not the half end-day practiced by the Myrmidons. He’d arrived in Dereka a glass past noon, local reckoning, but Jonyst’s second driver had been glad to take him to the RA’s complex. He still found the ancient construction odd, with the extended quarters for the RA running practically to the outer wall, and effectively splitting the rear courtyard in two. Once more, he also wondered why the original structure had been built half over a Talent-dead area. Had the builders not considered it? Or had the area not been Talent-dead? Or had they been less perceptive?

  As Dainyl left the coach and walked up to the outer door under a sky covered with high gray clouds, he tried to put aside his worries. At the moment, there was little he could do, and worrying wouldn’t help. For all that, he couldn’t stop the broad smile when Lystrana opened the door herself.

  “I thought it might be the High Alector.” She opened the iron grate-work door and stepped back.

  “The High Alector is in Elcien. Your husband is here.” Dainyl gently wrapped both arms around her.

  “Is that a promise?” Her words were muffled against his shoulder.

  “So long as the regional alector doesn’t show up. After I tell you one thing.”

  “Just one thing?”

  “One of the dual scepters is somewhere in Dereka,” Dainyl murmured in her ear. “The other is in Lysia.”

  Lystrana stiffened. “How did you…”

  “Khelaryt told me. That’s why Sevasya—”

  “And Jonyst…and the separate building here for the recorder. It has to be there somewhere.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He kissed her neck. “That’s all, but I wanted you to know.”

  “So you’ll stop being the High Alector now?”

  “I can manage that.”

  For a time, they held tight to each other, before Lystrana freed herself. “I need to breathe…and close the doors.”

  “Let me.” Dainyl closed and locked both before turning back to her.

  “You’re still carrying that greenish Talent. Is it stronger when you haven’t eaten?” She paused, then asked, “Have you eaten?”

  “Enough for now. I’m not hungry.”

  “Come and tell me what’s happened. I’d like to sit down. We can use the sitting room. I hadn’t realized how isolated an RA could be.” She headed across the foyer, but before she reached the archway, she winced, ever so slightly.

  “Is something the matter?” Even with Talent, Dainyl couldn’t tell whether the pain came from Lystrana or their daughter.

  “Kytrana’s upset,” Lystrana admitted.

  “Is she…?” Dainyl didn’t know quite what to ask.

  “Growing pains. It happens. Sometimes they sense things. It doesn’t have to be bad. It can even be a strong feeling.”

  “Like seeing your husband?”

  “Or hearing about a scepter.” She nodded. “But it takes her a while to settle down.”

  “When does it look like?”

  “Not until the middle of Duem, maybe Triem—three months from now.” She stiffened, almost imperceptibly.

  “Why don’t we take a coach ride? Might that not help?”

  “Using the coach for personal ends?” Lystrana raised her left eyebrow. “On an end-day?”

  “Isn’t one of the drivers on duty? He’d rather be driving than sitting doing nothing.”

  “She,” corrected Lystrana. “It’s still personal use.”

  “Have you actually toured Dereka since you got here?”

  “No. I haven’t had time.”

  “Don’t you think you should? You are the RA, you know? Do you want the reputation of being aloof?” Dainyl grinned. “Or not knowing where things are?” His stomach growled.

  “You need to eat,” she replied. “Go get something from the kitchen. I’m sure you can find something. I’ll let Dunneta know we’ll need the coach.”

  “Yes, dear…and regional highest.” He grinned.

  “Go.”

  Dainyl went.

  He found some white cheese and some flaky rolls. Only after he’d eaten three rolls and a goodly amount of the cheese did he admit to himself that he had been hungrier than he’d thought.

  “So…you’d eaten enough?” Lystrana stood in the doorway to the expansive kitchen, furnished with two large porcelain stoves, a large water cooler for the cheeses and other items,
and a fully-stocked walk-in pantry larger than their kitchen in Elcien. She wore a light jacket over her loose but heavy tunic and vest.

  He shrugged. “I was mistaken.”

  “You’re still carrying that Talent-green.”

  “I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve been shielding it as much as I can.”

  “You’ll think of something. The coach is ready when you are.”

  Dainyl swallowed the last of the cheese, chasing it down with sweet cider, then used the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “I’m ready.”

  They walked out to the private entrance—the only one Dainyl had used—where the coach was waiting.

  Lystrana stopped and looked at the driver. “Drive us north along the boulevard, Dunneta. We’ll go all the way to the north end of the city.”

  “Yes, Highest.” The darker-skinned indigen woman nodded.

  Dainyl opened the coach door for his wife, then joined her, sitting beside her on the narrow bench seat. The seat cushion was at least yielding.

  As the coach pulled out through the gates, Dainyl glanced back through the opening in the goldenstone walls at the massive structure. “Do you really need a building that big?”

  “No. When it was built, the idea was that there would be an administrative center in the middle of Corus, one to match Alustre in the east.”

  “It didn’t work out that way. Was that because of the lack of water?”

  “That…and no alectors wanted to live here. It makes most alectors uncomfortable.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “At times. By the end of the day, though, both Dyena and Garatyl can’t wait to leave. Going back to the quarters is a relief for me. It’s strange how such a short distance makes such a difference.” Lystrana eased down the coach window on her side. “Would you?”