“That’s pretty clear. You saw the steaming river, and that boiling water went a long ways. Elcien, Ludar, and Faitel have been destroyed. How much other destruction there is besides, I don’t know. We certainly can’t do any more here, not until spring, if then, even.” He turned to Rhystan. “Captain, you’ve scouted Borlan.”
“They’ve got a couple of chandleries where we can get more supplies, and the inns aren’t full.”
“We’ll spend tonight there and head out in the morning. Pass the word. They’ve got a quarter glass to mount up and cross the bridge.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rhystan waited until the other officers had left before easing closer to Mykel. “You know more than you’ve said. The ancient?”
Mykel nodded. “It’s not anything I can prove yet, but there’s trouble all over the west of Corus. I don’t think we’ll be getting orders anytime soon.” Maybe not ever.
“That’s why you’re picking Tempre? Or because of the ancient?”
“Both. If things get back more to normal, it makes sense, and I can explain it to the colonel. If they don’t, cities like Tempre will need protection, and there’ll be a place for us.”
Rhystan offered a wry smile. “I’ll make sure the senior squad leaders know.”
“I’ll talk more to all the officers on the ride to Tempre,” Mykel added.
“They’ll understand.”
Mykel hoped so.
As he walked back to where the roan was tied, he could only hope that, somehow, his family had escaped the disaster that had struck Faitel, whatever it had been. But there was a cold numbness inside that told him not to expect too much.
He also hoped fervently that Rachyla had escaped any harm.
96
Early evening seven days later found Third and Fourth Battalions camped at the way station to the west of Krost. Mykel and the officers stood around the dying cookfire. Although the evening was chill, the wind had died away. Overhead, the tiny green disc of Asterta neared the zenith. Selena had set at twilight.
“The alectors are all gone, every last one,” said Loryalt. “That’s what they were saying in Krost.”
“Where did they go?” asked Hamylt. “They couldn’t just disappear.”
“Why not?” countered Culeyt. “That factor in Krost said he watched one turn to dust. All that was left were his clothes.”
“It doesn’t seem right,” murmured Sendryrk.
“It didn’t seem right that a flood destroyed the ironworks and little else,” replied Rhystan. “Or that the entire River Vedra boiled. But it happened.”
“Who’ll need us now?” asked Zendyr.
“Tempre will need us more than ever,” suggested Mykel. “It’s a trade city, and there’s no one to protect it now.”
Rhystan and Culeyt exchanged knowing glances. Chyndylt nodded, while Sendryrk looked from face to face.
“Without the alectors and the Myrmidons, who will protect the factors and the merchants? Brigands and bandits—and insurgents—could almost walk in. We’re going to offer them a deal, a very good deal. We’ll protect Tempre and the surrounding area, at least to Krost and the Vyan Hills, and they’ll pay us.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Hamylt skeptically.
“Because I’ll tell them the alternatives,” Mykel said. “They’ll listen.”
“They’ll listen to you now,” pointed out Rhystan. “But how will you make sure that they keep listening?”
“That’s simple enough. They don’t trust each other. We’ll have to collect a tariff in order to make sure we get paid; so we’ll take charge of all the things the alectors used to do and fund them out of the tariffs. They get to keep making coins, and we keep order and protect them, and it won’t cost them much more than before…and a great deal less than having to raise and train their own army.”
“They won’t like that.”
“They’ll like it a lot better than what else could happen,” suggested Mykel.
“So we’ll be running things…”
“I think the majer will be running things,” said Culeyt, “and we’ll help him. Unless you have a better idea. We’ll do a lot better than having to fight rebel alectors and seltyrs in Dramur, or fighting off those sandwolves in Iron Stem when half the people could have cared less.”
“We’ll have to run road patrols to keep off the brigands, and probably take over supervising the patrollers,” Mykel said. “If we do, we’ll be able to get more recruits.”
“What about the men?” asked Sendryrk. “What if they don’t want to stay?”
“For now, if anyone asks, tell them that we have to find out whether there is a Duarchy. The rules stay the same until we know. If everything does change, they’ll be told the new rules, and they can make a choice then. Right now, what we’re doing is getting them all closer to wherever their home might be, and doing it a lot safer than on their own. That’s true for all of us.”
That got a round of nods.
“Why don’t we go to Elcien?” asked Hamylt.
“Because there isn’t any Elcien,” Mykel replied.
“Because that ancient told you that?” Hamylt did not quite sneer.
“The soarers boiled the river and created earthquakes and destroyed the ironworks. I’m inclined to believe them. In addition, the factors in Krost confirmed that all the alectors there died.”
“What about Ludar?”
Mykel looked hard at Hamylt. “The word is that it’s gone as well. What are you asking, Hamylt? Are you asking why I’m in charge?”
“I guess I am.”
“Because I’ve done a better job. I didn’t get most of Fourth Battalion killed. I didn’t lose most or all of my company the way a lot of captains have, and I’ve stuck my own neck—and shoulder—out for my officers and men. Now…exactly what have you done?”
“I just asked.”
“So did I,” replied Mykel. “I understand when people ask questions about things they don’t know. I understand when people ask questions when they don’t understand something. But when someone asks questions to cause trouble, I don’t like it. I don’t like troublemakers. There’s a reason for that. We’re still two hundred vingts from Tempre and more than seven hundred from what’s left of Elcien or Ludar. We have a responsibility to the Cadmians out there.” He gestured toward the way station. “At the very least, we need to get them to a place like Tempre, where, if things are falling apart, they can make a choice that means something. Now…are you going to cooperate with me and the other officers? If you’re not, I’ll make an exception. You can walk out of here with the clothes on your back and your personal gear.” Mykel’s voice was like ice, and he found himself projecting a sense of power.
Hamylt stepped back. “No, sir. I was out of line. I was worried.”
Mykel could sense the captain’s fear, and he tried to project reassurance. “We’re all worried, but sticking together is the best way to get through this. I don’t want to coerce anyone. I think you all ought to talk it over without me around.” He offered a smile, then turned and walked away from the way station out to the west through the calf-high tan grass that scraped gently against his gray trousers.
He finally found himself on a rise some hundred yards from the way station, looking westward in the general direction of Tempre. Had he pressed too hard, based on what he wanted, and on what the soarer had told him? Didn’t they understand, that as a force, they could establish themselves in an even better position than they’d had as Cadmians?
But was he the right person to lead them?
He laughed softly. If he weren’t he’d find out quickly enough.
Half a glass passed before he sensed someone coming through the grass. He turned and watched as Rhystan neared.
“What did they decide?” he finally asked.
Rhystan laughed. “The choice was between flogging Hamylt on the spot or tying him to a post in the way station and leaving him. Chyndylt told him that if he ever sa
id a word against you, he wouldn’t wake up the next morning—and that he didn’t care if they hung him for it. Culeyt asked him if he’d slit his skull and poured out his brains—or if he really wanted to oppose someone favored by both the ancients and his men. Even Sendryrk said something about how casualties had gone way down since you’d taken over, and asked how many officers he’d known who fought injured and one-armed. Loryalt asked him why he didn’t want to follow an officer who’d faced down High Alectors for his men and who’d won doing it.”
“That doesn’t tell me whether they thought it was a good idea.” Mykel looked to the older officer.
“Of course they did. They’re troopers, Majer. Where else are they going to be troopers? Where else will they find a commander they trust?”
“What about Hamylt?”
“He’ll be all right. It was a good thing to get things out in the open. I told him that. I also told him you don’t hold grudges so long as people do a good job.”
“I try not to,” Mykel replied.
“You do better than most, better than I do.” Rhystan paused. “You handle the seltyrs and traders right, and you could be the Duarch of Tempre, Majer,” suggested Rhystan.
Mykel shook his head. “How about just the Protector of Tempre?”
“You can’t do that and command in the field, you know?”
“Are you volunteering to be the field commander?” countered Mykel.
“Absolutely. It’s got to be better than being a captain or a majer.”
“You’ll need a title. How about ‘Colonel’?”
“How about ‘Arms Commander’?”
“That’s a good title.” Mykel laughed.
So did Rhystan.
97
In the late evening, Dainyl sat in the kitchen of the deserted quarters of the abandoned RA’s complex. When the locals had begun to plunder the main building, they had seen him, and left him alone. Then, some of the local landholders had taken charge and posted their guards, again avoiding him, as he had avoided them. That would not last much longer, he knew, but what remained in the quarters was all that he had left of Lystrana—and Kytrana—for all that he had searched.
It had been almost a week since the world had changed. He had traveled the webs of the ancients, and discovered that Ludar had been destroyed, and that the stone isle on which Elcien had been built had sunk so far into the Bay of Ludar that only the tips of the towers remained above the water. Most of Faitel had been destroyed, possibly because of the lightcannon that had been built there. Lyterna was deserted, except for the upper sections, sealed behind some sort of barrier he could not penetrate. He had roamed the streets of Dereka, using his Talent as concealment, but he had found no sign of Lystrana there, either—nor in the abandoned Myrmidon compound.
Nowhere had he found signs of alectors, nor of pteridons.
Yet…he knew that he would have known if she had died. But was that knowledge rational? Or was he deluding himself, hanging on to hope that had no basis in reality?
Soon, he would have to venture forth. That he knew. But he would not until he had to.
A green radiance spilled around him, and he stood…turning.
A soarer appeared, carrying a bundle. Dainyl could sense not just the soarer but another lifeforce.
Take her…
“Take who?” The alector who was now lander, who had been a High Alector of Justice, looked at what the soarer carried—a child.
She is your daughter. You, the few who linked to this world and changed, and the handful of landers with Talent must make sure that she and the children like her live and prosper. They are the only hope for the future.
“My daughter? Kytrana died. She and Lystrana died.” The words were cold, angry. “What you did killed them.” He wasn’t sure, but he had to know.
We did not. She did not die from the change, but there was not enough lifeforce for her and the child. Not to remain as you do. The soarer looked at him evenly.
Dainyl knew. After a moment, he asked, “She did this…knowing…?
She loved you and this world enough to give you a daughter. Her child and her child’s children must come to learn what you know—and more. When the barriers fall, the Efrans will return, and we will not be here to help those children of your children’s children.
“How could that be? You defeated them…”
We did not defeat them except on this world. We made it so that they could not draw their lifeforce from this world. We have blocked their long tubes between worlds. For now. It cost us most dearly. There are some handfuls of us remaining, but thousands of us died so that the world would not.
Take your daughter. Care for her.
“How can I care…?”
Leave here. Go to the Iron Valleys. Do not use the webs with your daughter. When you reach the Iron Valleys, find the nightsheep. They should suit you, who were once a herder of men. You will learn how the nightsheep can sustain you. Now…take your daughter.
Dainyl extended his arms.
The infant looked up at him with eyes greener than the lifeforce of a soarer. The fuzz that covered her head was gray—dark gray, like his.
When he looked up, the soarer had vanished.
He looked down at Kytrana, for it was his daughter, with the same lifeforce for which he had searched. Tears streamed down his face. He had lost…so much…but not everything. He had Kytrana…and an unspoken promise.
He would find his way to the Iron Valleys. He could not stay in Dereka, for all too many reasons, not the least of which was that the soarer had told him to leave. One thing he had learned—far too late—was disregarding the ancients was most unwise.
98
After Third and Fourth Battalions had taken possession of the compound that had once held the Alector’s Guard, and later the Myrmidons, Mykel had immediately established road patrols and had paid a friendly visit to the small headquarters of the local patrollers, with an armed squad mounted outside. He had also made certain that Amaryk’s villa was safe, and had ridden by several times, although he had not seen Rachyla.
In less than a few days, the majority of the scattered brigandage on the roads near Tempre had vanished. Mykel knew that the brigands had only moved farther away, but in time, he had plans to deal with that as well.
The travelers and refugees who dribbled into Tempre confirmed what the soarer had told him, but there was no news from as far away as Southgate or the towns of the north—or Dereka or Alustre in the east—and nothing more about Faitel. In all cities nearer to Tempre where there had been alectors, nothing remained except empty shimmersilk garments and boots.
A week later, Mykel had sent out invitations to all of the seltyrs and large factors in Tempre, requesting their presence on the following Duadi in the large conference room of the structure that had once been the headquarters of the regional alector. Each invitation had been delivered by two squads of armed Cadmians.
He had not heard from Rachyla, nor had he expected that he would, much as he might have hoped to, but he forced himself to bide his time as he readied for his “proposal” to the seltyrs and factors. He wanted to be in the greatest position of strength possible in dealing with Amaryk, since he was Rachyla’s de facto guardian.
While Mykel still had trouble lifting his arm above his shoulder, even before Duadi he was able to move around without the sling, and he made a practice of riding through Tempre with only a pair of Cadmians accompanying him.
When Duadi came, he stood by the conference-room door and greeted each man who entered. When it appeared that no others would appear, he nodded to the two Cadmians, who closed the double doors to the oak-paneled room. Mykel moved to the low dais at one end, from which he’d had all chairs and the low table removed. Then he turned and surveyed the seltyrs and, in some cases, their representatives. He’d already noted those who had not appeared. He would have to call on them personally. One way or another, they would agree.
“I invited you all here to formal
ize what I have already been doing in Tempre, and that is providing order and keeping the peace. In simple terms, I am proposing that you accept my role as Protector of Tempre and that we develop and agree to the structure and the tariffs necessary to fund it…” Mykel talked for a quarter glass. Then he waited.
“Aren’t you being terribly presumptuous?” That came from Gheort, Seltyr Asadyl’s heir second, beside whom sat young Amaryk—Rachyla’s cousin of sorts, for whom she was chatelaine.
“I’d suggest that I’m being terribly practical. The alectors are gone. So are the Myrmidons and pteridons. All that remains are their garments and boots. There has been no sign of any living alector in almost a month. But there are more and more reports of brigands in the areas we have not patrolled. Do you have the coins and the expertise to train a force able to protect you? Less than a month ago, we destroyed a force of over two thousand Reillies bound on sacking Borlan. Could any of you manage that? Without us, they will be back.”
“Why should we accept an arrangement such as yours? We’ve languished too long under the alectors,” pointed out another seltyr.
“There are several reasons,” replied Mykel reasonably. “First, it makes sense. Second, you really don’t have a choice, not one that won’t cost you personally and disastrously.” He smiled and held up a hand, projecting absolute power and assurance. “Hear me out. Here are some of the reasons this makes sense. None of you trust each other, not for long, and not when coins are at stake, and you’d end up spending your coins fighting each other. I’m not interested in being a trader. In fact, I’m interested in all of you prospering, because a city or a land doesn’t run without tariffs, and one cannot collect tariffs from the poor. Likewise, the more prosperous you are, the less of your total earnings need to be tariffed. If you were to attempt to maintain the peace and order without me, it would cost you far more, and that’s even if you could avoid fighting each other. I may not be so old as some of you, but I’ve been in enough lands to know what works and what does not. In addition, by having an armed force in place, and one composed of battle-trained veterans, you will discourage anyone from taking advantage of you. By accepting a Protector of Tempre, you will be setting up the framework that will allow an area where you can trade with far less fear of brigands or loss to raiders and one that will expand as others see the advantage.”
Soarer's Choice Page 59
