“My shields were stronger than their Talent. Call it a test of endurance. In the end, I used the lightcutter.”
“Brekylt won’t believe the report, you know?”
“I’m certain he won’t. But I doubt he’ll want attention called to the irregularities in a region administered by his son.”
Zelyert laughed, softly. “You’re correct there, but he is a deadly enemy. He will be after you.”
As if he were not already, thought Dainyl. “Wasn’t that the point of sending me, sir? The diligent, not-that-bright submarshal with heavy shields and not too much else?”
Zelyert’s second laugh was louder, and contained a greater sense of amusement. “Your Talent may not be what it could be, Dainyl, but the diligent exterior masks an observant interior. Do you wish to continue this…investigation?”
“I cannot see much of an alternative, sir. There’s little enough evidence of what Brekylt intends—or even what his intentions are. I believe they’re harmful to the Myrmidons and the Duarchy, but there’s no real proof of that. Even if I stopped now, he’d remain an enemy. The only way out of the mess is through it.”
“Spoken like a true Myrmidon.” Zelyert rose. “I look forward to seeing what comes of your efforts.” He paused. “I’m certain you know this, but I would suggest you not place any great trust in any officers in the east.”
Dainyl stood. “Yes, sir.” He meant to place no great trust in any senior Myrmidon officers or High Alectors anywhere.
21
The greatest fault of those an alector governs is their failure to see themselves as they are. An alector cannot allow himself the luxury of self-deception, whatever the possible rationale or cause. Most alectors understand this, and it is reinforced by our codes and our institutions, and those who do not are less worthy than the steers whose lives we direct, for we should know better.
Yet true self-knowledge is rare indeed among steers, for their actions and their self-identity are inseparably intertwined. A steer will rationalize himself into believing an action that is against his own self-interest is for his good and the good of others in order to maintain his self-image. He will avoid actions to improve himself and his self-image, merely to maintain the image he holds of himself.
For this reason, an alector who must administer activities and programs that affect the well-being of the self-deluding masses—comprising flawed alectors and the vast majority of steers—cannot ever assume that those masses will understand what is truly in their self-interest. Therefore, do not ever rely upon those who are governed to understand the rationale for the decisions that must be made and implemented.
At the same time, a conscientious alector must resist the temptation to behave arrogantly, to declare by word or action that there is no reason to explain one’s decisions and actions. For there are those few who do understand. Also, despite their self-delusion, all but the most ignorant of the masses can appreciate the effort and the thought behind a well-presented explanation, even one with which they do not agree.
Arrogance is always the downfall of those in power, even of alectors, and even the most self-deluded of the masses will rejoice to see an arrogant administrator brought low….
Views of the Highest
Illustra
W.T. 1513
22
Dainyl had not even attempted to return to Myrmidon headquarters on Tridi evening, but went straight home. He and Lystrana had enjoyed dinner and then retired to their chambers. While they had discussed Dainyl’s adventures, neither could add much insight to what he had experienced, and, eventually, they slept.
Quattri morning, well before dawn, found Dainyl standing before the Table in the Hall of Justice. He’d actually enjoyed the long walk from his house to the Hall, and was glad he’d arrived before the Highest had appeared.
He smiled wryly, then stepped onto the Table, wearing his flying jacket, but carrying nothing. He concentrated, letting himself drop downward…
…into the darkness, seeking the orange-yellow locator of Lysia, his senses alert for any trace of the purplish arms or anything else untoward.
In the endless yet equally close distance, he could perceive the orange-yellow, but the locator seemed to be tinged with certain overshades of…pinkish purple, overlaid with silver. None of the other locators had such overshades, he realized, but as he focused on the locator wedge that was Lysia, the overshades vanished.
He extended a line of Talent toward the locator.
As he did, he sensed, seemingly flanking him, but outside the deep-purpled darkness of the translation tube, blackness—pure blackness—within which flashed an globe of amber-golden-green.
For a moment, he just tried to sense the greenish Talent, for it had to be something of the ancient soarers, their system of portals and mirrors, but the green vanished, although the deeper blackness did not. But had the green vanished? Or was that deeper blackness shaded with green?
He felt colder, chill, and dropped his explorations of whatever he might have sensed, concentrating on Talent-linking with the Table at Lysia.
The yellow-orange rushed toward him, and he flashed through the silver barrier, unseen shards spraying out from him.
A single step sufficed for him to gain his balance on the Table. His entire uniform was covered with a thin layer of frost, one that did not turn to mist or sublime away immediately, so that he was cloaked in a personal fog for several moments.
His Talent-senses indicated that the chamber was empty, but his hand still sought the butt of his sidearm, even as he reinforced his shields. The doorway to the hidden chamber that adjoined most of the Table chambers slid open. Dainyl stepped forward and off the Table.
The recorder who stood in the opening of the usually hidden doorway smiled, an expression both humorous and ironic. “Rather an impressive entrance, Submarshal, if chilling.” The doorway closed behind her, leaving the two alectors alone in the chamber.
“Just chilling,” replied Dainyl. A female recorder? He hadn’t realized that there were any.
“Your shields are also impressive. You will pardon me if I do not attempt to test them.” The recorder was slender, a good head shorter than Dainyl, and wore dark green trousers and tunic, unadorned, although the tunic was short-sleeved. Her boots were black, and her eyes were green, unusual for an alector.
“I’d prefer that you didn’t,” Dainyl replied.
“A rather unfortunate series of events has occurred following a number of your translations, Submarshal.”
Dainyl shrugged. “That may be. The results were not of my choosing. I would have preferred totally uneventful translations.” He continued to study the recorder.
“Asulet suggested the same.” The recorder grinned. “By the way, I’m Sulerya. I’m his daughter.”
Dainyl was not surprised that the senior alector in Lyterna had placed his daughter well, but Asulet had never mentioned her. “Might I ask why you seem more cordial than your peers?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I was the first, and for a time, the only female recorder. Total nepotism. My father insisted on it. Since he doesn’t insist often, and since he is, in fact, effectively the duarch of Lyterna, no one wanted to cross him.”
Sulerya’s words and feelings rang totally true to Dainyl.
His shields still up, he decided to press. “You know that Brekylt and Alcyna are sending messages to others in Lyterna?”
“It’s no secret there that Paeylt wishes to make changes my father opposes. That’s one reason why he has been unable to rest for the past three centuries.”
Dainyl had no idea who Paeylt was.
“Why can’t your father…deal with Paeylt?”
“He controls the engineering facilities there. Father holds the environmental facilities and support services. No one else has the expertise of either. It is a delicate balance. Failure of either would destroy Lyterna, and the destruction of Lyterna would create a downward spiral in lifeforce all across Acorus.”
�
�So they are locked in a stalemate, and Paeylt is younger and will use time to force your father?”
“That is his hope.”
“What do you—and your father—expect of me?”
“Father was quite explicit.” Sulerya offered a rueful smile. “He told me not to harm you, to answer your questions honestly, but not to oppose actively the other recorders or the Highest of the East.”
“He’s playing a deep game.” And one that might just be hard on a certain submarshal, Dainyl reflected silently.
“It’s the only game that offers hope.”
“Can you explain why?”
“Yes.”
“Then would you, since you’re supposed to answer my questions honestly?”
“Perhaps we should adjourn to my private study?”
“The hidden one?”
She nodded.
“Who knows about those, besides the recorders and their assistants?”
“The High Alectors—mostly. The marshal. Some of your predecessors did. Tyanylt did not.”
The stone doorway reopened, and Dainyl followed Sulerya through, noting carefully the Talent-mechanism. Sulerya’s Talent was as deft as her father’s as she closed the hidden entrance.
Her study was smaller even than the space Dainyl had occupied as a colonel, and held but a black chest, set against one wall, a writing table, and three wooden chairs. The single wall hanging was a pen and ink drawing of a seaport—Lysia. She closed the study door, took one chair, and waited for Dainyl to seat himself.
“In return for answers,” Sulerya began, “Father and I ask one stipulation.”
“What might that be?” asked Dainyl warily.
“That you report nothing you learn from us until you can verify it from your own observations.”
Dainyl paused. “There must be a reason for that, beyond protecting you two. I doubt Asulet needs protection, and I’d wager you’ve found ways to protect yourself.”
“It’s to protect you.”
Dainyl needed to think about that for a moment. “It’s also another form of assurance for you and your father. I become another player, and that expands the complexity, and keeps Zelyert, the Duarches, and Brekylt and Alcyna from acting even more precipitously.” He laughed softly. “That’s assuming I survive. Realistically, I don’t have a choice.”
“That’s true.”
“I’ll abide by the stipulation.”
“Father said you would. He said you’re one of the last truly honorable Myrmidons.”
Not only was that assessment frightening, but Dainyl also recognized the direct play on his own sense of honor. “An appeal to my vanity as well.”
“Of course…and your honor, of which there is too little in these desperate days.”
“Let’s start there,” Dainyl said. “Why are these desperate days?”
“You know as well as anyone. There’s not enough lifeforce mass to support all those who wish to translate here from Ifryn. Zelyert is trying to create situations that depict Acorus as far less desirable. What he doesn’t understand is that such depictions will only assure that the least honorable and most desperate Ifrits on Ifryn will attempt the long translation here. The others will use their influence and position to translate to Efra.”
That, unfortunately, made sense to Dainyl. “Surely he sees that.”
“I’m certain he does, but he sees no alternative. The mass of hangers-on around the Archon are Talent-rich and poor in all practical skills. If the Master Scepter is located here and too many of them followed, they could swallow all the excess lifeforce on Acorus and turn all alectors into beings with lifespans shorter than those of the indigens. The Duarch of Elcien has worked to persuade the Archon to send more alectors with technical abilities before those on Ifryn perceive how short time is there. He has had some success, especially in obtaining Table and translation engineers, and a handful of biologists and life-form specialists.”
“Where does Brekylt fit into this? He opposes Zelyert, but is he backing the Duarch of Elcien?”
“No. His patron is the Duarch of Ludar, and both he and Samist believe that the Master Scepter should come to Acorus—without the Archon and his hangers-on. They have not said so, but their plans have. They have also persuaded the Archon to translate a number of ambitious younger engineers. They have gone to Alustre—Fordall, in practice. There are others, as well, but we cannot track them once they leave the Table chambers, and the recorders where they have appeared have not been helpful.”
“The engineers and the recorders—they seek total control of the Tables and translation tubes?”
Sulerya smiled. “Shastylt underestimates you.”
“I’m not sure about that. I’m wondering if he’s setting me up against Zelyert to clear his own path to being High Alector. Then he could either dispose of me, or make me marshal, as suits his needs.”
“He could be. That would be incredibly foolish.”
“Are you the only recorder not supporting Brekylt and the Duarch of Ludar?”
“No. Chastyl in Elcien is Zelyert’s creature. That’s why you never see him. Then there’s Delari. She’s the recorder in Blackstear, and, of course, Myenfel in Lyterna is loyal to father. Except for Lysia, all the other recorders east of the Spine strongly support Brekylt. Ludar belongs to Samist, and so do Hyalt and Faitel. Jonyst in Dereka stands alone, but he would not oppose Father, and he is honorable. The others cooperate with those backing Brekylt and Samist, but their support is tacit or coerced through various measures.”
“Such as?”
“Patronyl in Tempre would prefer to support Father, but not Khelaryt, and his family resides in Alustre. Nomyelt in Soupat has an un-Talented son who is a squad leader in the palace guard at Ludar. That sort of thing.”
Dainyl mentally counted. Three recorders backed Asulet; one backed Zelyert; seven backed Brekylt and Samist, two others went along with them, while one was independent, whatever that might mean. “How many supporters have the Duarch of Elcien and your father lost to the recorders recently?”
“Not that many. Most Table travelers have strong shields.”
Dainyl decided to let the mention of the attacks inside the translation tubes wait for a bit. “Just who is Paeylt? Beyond opposing your father?”
“He’s the head engineer in Lyterna. He designed and laid out the larger cities, except Southgate. Father had Arylan plan Southgate as an indigen and lander port, and Dramuria, of course.”
“Of course?” Dainyl wanted to shake his head.
“He felt that there ought to be areas where the landers and indigens had more freedom. He wanted to see if that resulted in faster and more efficient lifeforce growth, but they had to be isolated, so that, if they became too destructive of lifeforce, they could be controlled.”
“Did it?”
Sulerya shrugged. “It worked in Dramur, but not in Southgate.”
“What about the western isles?”
“That was tried. Putting Tables there would have stressed the world too much. The lack of Tables and the distance meant there was no oversight and supervision. Predictably, the indigens destroyed the ecology within a few hundred years. When the Archon found out, he was less than pleased. The survivors were either destroyed or relocated. The isles were reseeded with unsentient fauna and supporting flora.”
“You obviously control the Table here, but what about the Myrmidons?”
“Captain Sevasya is Khelaryt’s daughter. He insisted she command here, and she’s one of the oldest Myrmidon captains. Alcyna and Brekylt have not involved her. Instead, they transfer the Myrmidons most loyal to the Duarch of Elcien here, as well as the occasional troublemaker.”
Dainyl had known all along that there was far more than he knew taking place, but he now realized just how ignorant he had been. How much more should he trust Sulerya? Did he have any real choice if he wanted to survive? “How does a recorder create the purple Talent-arms? Through the Table?”
“Yes. It ta
kes experience and practice.”
“I’ve been attacked by them three times—twice in the translation tubes.”
She frowned. “That’s not good.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Dainyl said dryly.
“That’s not what I meant. Feeding that kind of energy back into the links and the grid could set up a nasty energy feedback system. Conceivably, it could funnel lifeforce right out of the whole world, or destabilize the grid. It could also destroy the user.”
That meant someone wanted Dainyl dead very badly—or one of the junior recorders was far too eager to do Brekylt’s bidding…if not both. Unless it wasn’t a recorder, reflected Dainyl. “Could it be someone else using a Table?”
“Any highly Talented alector could use a Table for that—given enough practice and experience—but who else would have the access and experience?” She paused. “It could be that Brekylt has suborned an assistant to one of the older recorders.”
“Without warning them of the dangers?”
Sulerya laughed. “Brekylt has never been known for undue concerns for his followers, despite his seeming warmth.”
That certainly fit with what Dainyl had observed. “Could that destroy the tubes? Especially the long links to Ifryn? Without excessive loss of lifeforce?”
Sulerya cocked her head, as if thinking. Finally, she replied. “It’s possible, but cutting the links, without moving the Master Scepter here, would sever the lifelinks of every alector as matters now stand.”
Dainyl nodded. “You’re on speaking terms with the other recorders, aren’t you? Or message terms, anyway?”
“You want me to point out that these attacks have been made and the dangers?”
“I don’t see how it could hurt. If it doesn’t reduce the attempts, we’re no worse off, and the fact that you’ve been told about them indicates that at least some of the victims have escaped, which might suggest ineffectual tactics with high risks for everyone.”
“I can try.” She smiled. “I’ll walk over to the Myrmidon headquarters with you. Sevasya should be there this morning. She’ll be glad to see you.”
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