Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  There had to be a way. He shook his head. That would have to wait.

  He smiled as he recalled what else the soarers had said—that he was tied to Rachyla and that would benefit all the world? The tie was obvious, but benefiting the world?

  He snorted.

  85

  Dainyl felt a warm hand on his forehead.

  “Dearest…dearest…”

  “…be all right.” His words came out mumbled.

  “I’m sure you will be, but you need rest.”

  He opened his eyes, taking in the darkness beyond the bedchamber windows. Then he realized that Lystrana had undressed him and put him in a nightshirt, as well as propped two pillows under his head, and folded the counterpane across his chest. “Thank you.”

  “It was the least I could do.” Her perfect violet eyes showed concern.

  Dainyl could sense the deeper worry. “I just need rest. Quivaryt…he had a lightcannon of the roadcutting kind. They tried to use it against me.” Even those few words left him light-headed, yet he knew he hadn’t taken any physical injuries, not beyond some bruises, anyway.

  Lystrana didn’t bother to hide her feelings. “That’s…awful. It’s appalling. They suck lifeforce from everywhere.”

  “Lightcannon and light-rifles…they’re showing up everywhere. They should know better.”

  “They should.” She eased a tray in front of him. “You need to eat. You had almost no lifeforce when you got to Dereka.” She handed him a beaker of ale. “Start with this.”

  He sipped it slowly, then stopped. “How did you know?”

  “Jonyst sent his assistant to tell me. They got worried after they saw you.”

  “I hope I didn’t disrupt your afternoon.”

  “Keep drinking. No…it was already late. Even Jylena noticed how pale you are. She said you were so pale you were green.”

  “I suppose I am.” He took another sip of the ale. “No matter what I do…”

  “And the soup in the cup.”

  “Yes, dearest.” After setting down the beaker on the tray and sipping some of the soup, he said, “I think Brekylt must already be in Ludar. He’s left Alustre, and I don’t think he was in Dulka.”

  “There’s not much you can do about that. Not in your condition. Besides, if the Myrmidons are needed, you have a marshal in Elcien to command them.”

  “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you will be,” she said soothingly. “You just need rest and nourishment. Please drink some more.”

  Light-headed as he was, Dainyl could still recognize the placating tone. He went back to the ale.

  “And a little cheese.” She slipped a small sliver into his mouth after he’d taken another swallow of the ale.

  “They’ll destroy Acorus to rule it for but a few years,” he added, realizing his words were not as logical as he would have liked. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” She picked up the beaker of ale and held it so he could grasp it. “You need to drink more—and have some of this.” She eased something into his mouth.

  He chewed the morsel of what felt like paté. “Not bad.”

  “Some more.” Lystrana eased more of the paté into his mouth.

  “It won’t be that long before the Archon transfers the Master Scepter, and they’re squabbling—”

  “You can’t do anything about it, dearest, unless you eat and rest and get stronger.”

  While her words made sense, Dainyl couldn’t help but say, “I don’t have time to wait to get stronger.” He yawned.

  “You need a good night’s sleep.”

  That was a good idea, but there was so much he had to do, so very much.

  “Just rest…” Lystrana’s voice was soothing.

  He closed his eyes.

  86

  In the grayness before dawn, Mykel stood in the corner of the shed and loosened the sling. He tried to lift his arm. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and lines of pain shot across his chest, but he could lift it a span or more. The day before, nothing had happened. Had his momentary link to the darkness helped speed healing? That might be, and there might be other things his Talent would allow him to do…but those didn’t seem too helpful at the moment when he was responsible for two battalions and had to stop over a thousand Reillies and Squawts from killing him and his men, not to mention from sacking Borlan.

  He stepped out of the shed into the chill air, carrying his gear. Someone had groomed and saddled the roan, for which he was grateful, and tied it to the nearest fence post. Fastening his gear behind the saddle was time-consuming, but easier than it had been. He mounted as quickly as he could and rode toward the barn where the battalion’s companies were forming up. There, he reined up beside Bhoral.

  “Morning, sir. The scouts aren’t back yet,” offered Bhoral.

  “Let me know.” Mykel rode toward Rhystan, who turned in the saddle and looked closely at Mykel, then nodded.

  “You’re inspecting me like you might a new mount,” Mykel observed.

  “Yes, sir. I’m glad to see you’re looking better.”

  Mykel laughed. “I’m happy to know that I pass inspection. How are the men?”

  “They’re happy. The night was cold, the ground hard, but they got to fill their bellies.”

  Mykel couldn’t help but smile at Rhystan’s wry assessment. “Good.” He eased the roan along toward Seventeenth Company and Loryalt.

  In the end, the entire battalion moved out half a glass before sunrise, riding for more than a glass on the Borlan road, a packed clay track that would turn to a quagmire in heavy rain. The road wound through a wide valley filled with stubbled fields and meadows whose grasses had been cut, leaving a short tannish thatch. Occasional apple and plumapple orchards dotted the low hills. As the sun rose into a clear silver-green winter sky, the air warmed enough that the breath of men and mounts no longer steamed, and a slightly warmer breeze blew out of the southwest.

  Mykel watched the road as well as the higher hills to the west. More than a vingt ahead, on the western side of the road, was a heavily wooded hillside. Mykel glanced at it, then glanced back. Even though he sensed no Talent emanations, there might be men there. He turned in the saddle. “Bhoral!”

  “Sir!” The battalion squad leader rode forward.

  “Send out some scouts and some men to check out the forest on the hill up there—the one on the right side. Just half a squad. I want them to go at least a hundred yards in a line abreast, and I want them close enough to see each other. If they run into Reillies, they’re to withdraw.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The Cadmians rode forward of the battalion and toward the wooded area that had drawn his attention. No one shot at the ten Cadmians as they neared the woods and then spread into a line abreast and started into the trees. Mykel kept watching, as did Rhystan and Bhoral.

  A single shot echoed down the road from the wooded area, followed by several more. Shortly, a handful of Cadmians rode out of the trees, and turned their mounts back toward the company. Hundreds of mounted insurgents poured out of the forest, and swept along the road, northward toward the main body of the battalion.

  Mykel turned his mount, standing in the stirrups. “Sixteenth Company! Wide front, staggered firing line! Centered on the road! Fourteenth Company! On the right, wide front…”

  By the time Mykel finished both bellowing orders and sending Bhoral and his messengers to pass them along to the companies in the rear, Rhystan already had Sixteenth Company in position, and Fabrytal had Fifteenth Company on the left, and Culeyt had Fourteenth on the right, both angled forward slightly to allow somewhat of a cross fire. Seventeenth Company was behind the center, and Thirteenth was moving forward onto the higher ground off the road to the east, from where they could rake the Reillies if they continued their attack.

  By now the Reillies were less than half a vingt away.

  Rhystan rode up to Mykel. “Majer…”

  “Since I’m not that good with
a rifle right now, you’d appreciate it if I didn’t make a target of myself in the front rank?” Mykel knew Rhystan had a point. “I’ll move back a rank or two, but I need to see.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mykel could detect the relief in the captain’s voice and bearing as Rhystan turned his mount back south to face the oncoming Reillies. Mykel eased his mount back into the formation of Sixteenth Company so that there were two staggered ranks before him.

  “Rifles ready!” Mykel ordered. “Hold your fire!”

  When the Reillies reached a point two hundred yards out from the Cadmian formation, Thirteenth Company opened fire—as ordered. Reillies and Squawts began to fall, but the losses barely slowed the charge.

  The Reillies formed a tight spearhead of riders aimed at the center of the Cadmians—and at Mykel. He could sense the faintest of Talent probes, clearly trying to fix his location. What sort of beliefs were they when people insisted that only their leaders could use certain abilities and when they were determined to destroy anyone else who showed such abilities? He laughed, low enough that only he could hear the sound. The alectors believed that way, as did the Reillies, and probably, were Talent widely enough spread among landers, so would they.

  He forced himself to wait until the Reillies were only about seventy-five yards away before standing in the stirrups and ordering, “Open fire! Fire at will!”

  Mykel dropped back into the saddle. He hadn’t wanted to be a target, but he had wanted the orders heard. Besides, the Reillies seemed to know where he was anyway.

  Under the withering fire, Reillies and mounts dropped, and other mounts fell over the fallen. And still, the hill riders kept coming. Mykel slipped his rifle out of its case and laid it across his thighs. If necessary, he could get off a good shot or two, one-armed or not.

  Of the attackers’ first wave, less than a score reached the battalion’s first rank. Half of those were cut down before they could bring their oversized blades to bear. A handful of Cadmians had to use sabres, but in moments there were no more Reillies within twenty yards.

  “Battalion! Reload! Now!” The order was probably unnecessary, but some might need the reminder.

  The thunder of hoofs increased as another wave of hill riders pounded toward Third Battalion. Once more the concentrated fire from the Cadmians ripped through the Reillies.

  Over the haze of dust and smoke, Mykel could tell that Dyarth had brought Thirteenth Company closer to the road, where they continued to deliver a punishing cross fire at the trailing section of the Reillie attack.

  This time, the Reillies turned, veering toward the west, and riding through a low vale between hills, avoiding any of the roads or lanes.

  In less than a quarter glass, Third Battalion remained alone on the Borlan road.

  Mykel rode forward, easing the roan through the ranks of Sixteenth Company. He only saw a handful of wounded and one empty saddle, but that was only one squad. The road to the south was littered with the bodies of men and mounts, and Mykel reined up, trying to survey the carnage, as well as get a rough count of the Reillie casualties. He guessed there were well over a hundred dead and wounded, just on the road.

  Bhoral rode up beside the majer. “What about their wounded?”

  “Take their rifles and ammunition—and the good mounts. Shoot anyone who resists, but leave the others alone.” Mykel didn’t feel particularly merciful. From what he could tell, killing Reillies didn’t make an impression. Perhaps leaving a large number of the wounded fending for themselves would. Then, he wasn’t certain anything would have an effect on the Reillies, except killing them all, and he wasn’t willing, prepared, or equipped to undertake butchery of that extent, the late Majer Hersiod’s words notwithstanding.

  Mykel looked down at the rifle. He hadn’t had to fire it—this time.

  87

  Dainyl looked up from the breakfast tray that Lystrana had brought him and that he had finished to the last morsel. “Thank you.” He sat up straighter in the wide bed. “I suppose I’d better get dressed.”

  “You’re not getting dressed—not to go off anywhere. I don’t care if Khelaryt might get assassinated in the next glass, or if Brekylt becomes Archon of Acorus, or if the world is crumbling into dust around us,” stated Lystrana, her voice rising slightly, “you are not going anywhere today. Until you recover your strength, you’re not going anywhere.”

  Dainyl realized she was right. He was too tired to argue, and if he couldn’t do that…“Yes, dearest.”

  Lystrana smiled at him fondly. “If you’re that acquiescent, you may be here a week. You were almost as green as you say the ancients are when you got here last night.”

  “And this morning?”

  “You’re not much better.”

  “Asulet said it wasn’t reversible,” Dainyl admitted.

  “You skipped over that. All you said was that you had to keep it in check.”

  Dainyl couldn’t help frowning. Was that what he had said?

  “Those were your words,” she said.

  “I thought you understood.”

  “I do now.” She paused. “Do you have to use the green Talent?”

  “I wouldn’t be here and alive, weak as I am, if I hadn’t.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “I’ve been traveling the ways of the ancients,” he admitted. “They lie beneath and outside the translation tube, but I don’t have to use a Table. That was necessary, because the recorders in Alustre and Dulka, certainly Ludar, are allies of Brekylt.”

  “I think you’d better tell me just what you’ve been doing.” Lystrana’s voice was firm.

  “It started two days ago, when we discovered that Brekylt had murdered Noryan and Josaryk had mutinied…” Dainyl told her everything, from what had happened in the east, to his discovery and ability to use the web of the ancients, to his conversation with them, and through his attempt to track down Brekylt and his near collapse on the Table in Dereka.

  “It might be easier for everyone,” she said dryly, “if they made you Duarch.”

  “That won’t happen. Before long, everyone will be after me, and Acorus will be awash in lifeforce-destroying weapons—and that’s if the ancients don’t come up with worse. I can’t tell you how much their attitude conveyed how little what I was attempting mattered.”

  “They’re as arrogant as Samist and Brekylt, it sounds like.”

  “It wasn’t arrogance. It was an absolute certainty, combined with an overwhelming sadness. And there was something else, too,” he mused. “I didn’t catch it at the time, but you know how they’ve told me before how I—or we—had to change or perish? Well…now their attitude was more like…we’ve told you, and you haven’t listened, and we’re sorry for you, and please go on and do whatever meaningless task you have in mind.”

  “Do you really think they have that kind of power and ability?” asked Lystrana.

  “I didn’t. Now…I have to wonder.” He took a last sip of the beaker of ale. “I still can’t believe that Samist and his supporters are using lightcannon.”

  “It’s the invulnerability of arrogance. We’re powerful. We’re so powerful that nothing can truly hurt us. That’s the way they think.”

  “But more than a few of them have died.”

  “Of the higher alectors, none except Zelyert,” she pointed out. “And that’s in over a hundred years. They’ve gotten into the habit of believing that it can’t happen to them—or here.”

  “If I could have reached Brekylt…”

  “If you had, and if you’d killed him, the others would have dismissed it as Brekylt’s weakness.” Lystrana glanced to the door. “It’s time for me to go to the hearing.”

  “Hearing?”

  “I’m presiding over a hearing. One of the landholders built a dam on his land that collapsed and flooded a small town east of Aelta. Five indigens were killed. He claims it’s not his fault, even though the stream was listed as one that was not to be channeled or dammed.”<
br />
  “That should be interesting.”

  “I know. It’s almost absurd, when you’ve been trying to preserve the entire world, but life does go on. At least, I have to hope that it does.” Her smile was faint and rueful.

  “I am going to get dressed,” Dainyl said, adding quickly, “but I won’t go anywhere.”

  Lystrana looked at him.

  “I do need to think over some things, and I don’t think well in bed.” He grinned at her.

  She finally smiled back. “I’ll see you later, dearest.”

  Dainyl watched her go, sensing both her aura and that of Kytrana. He wished he were stronger, but there was no help for that, and he was definitely going to have to find ways to accomplish what he wanted—other than by direct force.

  He looked at the empty beaker, then set it and the tray on the table beside the bed. He did need to think—on more than a few things.

  88

  On Sexdi morning, after breakfast, Lystrana shook her head as Dainyl checked the lightcutters and their holsters, then donned his green jacket.

  “You’re still far from recovered,” Lystrana said.

  “I know, but I’m well enough to travel, and Khelaryt needs protection. I’ll see Fhentyl first and have Fifth Company fly to Elcien today. Then I’ll take the Table to Tempre and give the same orders to Seventh Company. After that, I’ll translate to Elcien.”

  “You’re not directly in command,” she pointed out.

  “No, but they won’t want to disobey me, and I’ll merely order them to report to the marshal in Elcien. I’ll be there before they are—”

  Lystrana sighed. “Do all High Alectors start believing they’re invulnerable?”

  “This one certainly doesn’t, but if I don’t show up before long, that will encourage Samist and Brekylt.”

  “Not if they see you in the shape you’re in.”

  “I’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen, won’t I?” Dainyl grinned.