Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Jonyst cocked his head, just slightly. “There will be more ‘unauthorized’ translations, primarily to the east, and the recorders there will deny them. They will claim that Sulerya and I are either misrepresenting what is happening or lying in order to turn the Duarches against those living east of the Spine of Corus.”

  “There were more than two hundred rebel alectors in Hyalt.”

  “I’m scarcely surprised, Submarshal. I would imagine they represented less than a third of the successful undocumented translations from Ifryn.”

  “Do the Duarches know this?”

  “I’m certain that they do. What would you have them do? Send your Myrmidons out to kill them? Station Myrmidons at every Table and carry every one off to a locked chamber in Lyterna?”

  “Matters must be terrible in Ifryn.” Dainyl already knew they were bad, but he wanted Jonyst’s reaction.

  “Far worse than you can believe from what I have learned in the last week or so. The Archon’s guards and the remaining Myrmidons guard the Tables. Illustra has become a fortress. All of influence and position who can have translated to Efra.”

  “Then it’s been decided that the Master Scepter will go there?”

  “That was decided some years ago. No one told me or announced it, but that is the only conclusion to be drawn.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this to me earlier?”

  “About the Master Scepter? Would you have believed me?” countered Jonyst. “I have no proof, only suppositions, and until Ilerya and Wasen translated here…” He shrugged.

  “They’re from Ifryn?”

  “My new assistants.” The recorder’s smile was weary. “She was an assistant to the recorder in Ruveen. Her husband was a transport clerk. I didn’t ask how they managed access to the Table. What point would there be to it?”

  “None.” Dainyl had known that problems were mounting, but even in his most pessimistic moments, he hadn’t realized that the situation had gotten so bad so quickly.

  “Now that you know, Submarshal, what are you going to do?”

  Dainyl returned the smile of the recorder with one that was doubtless equally weary. “Whatever I can, however I can.” He glanced toward the steps down to the Table. “I’d better start.”

  “Just remember. Trust those closest to you least, except, in your case, for your wife.” Jonyst gestured toward the staircase, then started down the steps.

  Dainyl followed.

  Once in the Table chamber, he noted that the hidden door was closed. “I take it that Yadaryst doesn’t know?”

  “He barely has enough Talent to know where the Table is. He hates translating. He doesn’t often. How he makes it between Tables has mystified people for years.”

  Dainyl had to wonder if the RA were merely adept at concealing his Talent. He’d have to keep that in mind. With a nod, he stepped up onto the Table. He concentrated, focusing on the brilliant white locator that was Elcien almost before he was through the Table…

  …and into the translation tube. Although he thought he sensed another flash of deeper purple, before he could even try to perceive more, he was flashing through the silver-white mist…

  …and standing on the Table in Elcien.

  Chastyl looked up from the end of the Table. “Submarshal.”

  “Recorder. Is the Highest in?”

  “I do not believe so. The Duarch summoned him…something about the Myrmidons overreaching their authority in Hyalt and Tempre, I believe. I don’t believe the marshal was asked. Not yet.” Chastyl offered a guileless smile

  Dainyl returned the smile as he stepped off the Table. “I appreciate the information. If you would inform the High Alector that I am back, and that matters may not be what they seem? I will be in touch with him shortly.”

  “I will be happy to do that, Submarshal. Do you happen to know, by the way, what happened to the Tables in Tempre and Hyalt?”

  “I’m under the impression that rebel alectors supporting RA Fahylt had something to do with the partial destruction of the Table in Tempre, and that matters got out of hand with Recorder Rhelyn in Hyalt. That can happen when you have two hundred unauthorized translations from Ifryn armed with lightcutter sidearms.”

  Chastyl’s eyes widened.

  “There was more going on in Hyalt than met the eye. Rhelyn was thinking bigger than his abilities.” Dainyl opened the door to the anteroom. “Until later.”

  He hurried up the hidden steps and out through the south door from the Hall of Justice. He was sweating slightly, despite the late summer fog off the bay, by the time he had hailed a hacker and was on his way to Myrmidon headquarters. He opened the flying jacket, but did not remove it.

  When the carriage stopped outside the Myrmidon gates, Dainyl quickly handed the driver half a silver and walked swiftly through the gates toward the headquarters building.

  “Submarshal, sir! We didn’t expect you,” offered Undercaptain Chelysta, clearly the day’s duty officer.

  “Is the marshal in? Alone?”

  “Yes, sir. He came in very early.”

  “Good.” Dainyl turned and headed for Shastylt’s study. He opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind him.

  The marshal turned from the window, his pleasant smile covering cold determination. “I’m surprised that you even bothered to return, Dainyl.”

  Dainyl couldn’t say he was even faintly surprised at Shastylt’s attitude—or the full shields he held.

  “And it’s obvious you’ve even been consorting with the ancients. Shameful…”

  “Consorting?” For an instant, Dainyl was puzzled. Then he laughed. “That’s the Talent residue of the weapon Rhelyn used to try to kill me. It was a sword created by the ancients to kill alectors. Where he found it, I have no idea.”

  Shastylt had been about to speak, but paused, as if stunned by Dainyl’s words, the only time Dainyl could recall the marshal being speechless, even momentarily.

  “In any event, I thought it might be easier this way.”

  “Easier? You delude yourself, just as Tyanylt did.”

  “To find out what you had in mind, I meant. I always knew you would only do what benefited you. The only question was how my disposing of Rhelyn and Patronyl would further your plans.”

  “My plans? I am supporting the Duarches. You’re the one who has been the rebel. Going off and co-opting innocent Myrmidons in a effort to wipe out or discredit a rival. You really didn’t think you could get away with that, did you?”

  “Zelyert won’t accept that, you know.”

  “He won’t have any choice, not when Brekylt reports that you and Alcyna were planning a coup. If she deposes him, of course, you will have been in league with Brekylt.”

  “It doesn’t matter in the slightest to you, does it? Whether Ifryn is falling apart, or alectors are scheming to create their own lands here on Acorus, no matter what the costs?”

  “They’ll all fail. They don’t understand. It’s too bad that you’re one of the few that does.”

  Dainyl nodded and stepped toward Shastylt. “What about the ancients?”

  “They’re not a problem, not really. They were useful to encourage the production of the special weapons.”

  “I see. All hail the Duarches Brekylt and Shastylt.”

  “Why not? Khelaryt and Samist won’t ever see that Acorus can’t take an influx of worthless Ifrits. Besides, the Archon has already made his decision to transfer the Master Scepter to Efra, and that means Khelaryt and Samist will have to be replaced, sooner or later.”

  “What do you propose to do with all those who will be sent here before—and after—the Master Scepter is transferred to Efra?”

  “We will make it clear that life here is difficult except for those with skills. Those who have them will be willing to attempt the long translation.”

  Dainyl could see the logic behind the approach, as well as Shastylt’s unspoken willingness to do away with those who offered little…or those who might get in his wa
y.

  He took another step forward, reinforcing his own shields.

  “You think too highly of yourself, Dainyl.” Pure Talent blasted from the marshal.

  Dainyl let it sheet around his shields, as he drew both lightcutters.

  “You poor fool. All shields and no offense. You could never be marshal or anything else, were I not behind you.”

  The next Talent-blast was enough to rock Dainyl, but not breach his shields. “Besides, how would you explain lightcutter burns on my tunic? That would suggest very foul play, Dainyl.” Another Talent-flare slammed Dainyl’s shields.

  Dainyl felt himself smiling. “You wanted Myrmidon to fight Myrmidon, didn’t you? You wanted factions within the Myrmidons. You even picked me, so that when you revealed I had committed treachery, it would destroy the ideals and the spirit of the Myrmidons.”

  A third Talent-blast showed no diminution of Shastylt’s abilities.

  “You always saw more than others…but not…enough.”

  Dainyl was more than ready for the pulsed blasts of Talent, designed to vibrate shields enough that the holder lost control. He merely angled his shields slightly and let the vibrations reverberate back at the study walls and windows. The half-open window behind the marshal rattled in its casement.

  Shastylt changed tactics, gathering a massive concentration of Talent-force.

  In that instant, Dainyl channeled most of his shield energy into a lance that jabbed a minute aperture in the marshal’s shield. At that moment, he fired both sidearms and funneled the energy into a needle, aimed straight through the aperture at Shastylt’s forehead.

  The marshal’s eyes barely widened before he fell forward onto the circular blue and gray rug that bore the Myrmidon colors.

  Dainyl holstered the sidearms, then blotted his forehead. He stood waiting until the marshal’s body vanished into fine ashes and dust, and, in turn, until they, too, vanished. There were no lightcutter marks on tunic, trousers, or boots.

  After several moments, he heard bootsteps heading toward the door. He turned. “You can come in, Colonel.”

  Dhenyr stepped into the study. His eyes flicked from the empty Myrmidon uniform on the carpet to Dainyl and back to the carpet.

  “The marshal’s heart stopped. I think the surprise of my return was too much for him.” Dainyl looked at the colonel. “I’m requesting your immediate resignation. I assume you’d prefer that to a court-martial for treason.”

  “Treason?” Dhenyr laughed.

  Dainyl sensed the hollowness of the laughter and waited.

  “Treason? For what?”

  “Altering reports. Passing information to those who shouldn’t have it. I’m sure I’ll find more now that I’ve been away for a month.”

  The colonel’s lightcutter was in his hand.

  Dainyl barely broke a sweat in crushing the breath out of Dhenyr with his shields.

  Once more he waited until the colonel’s physical body vanished. The process took longer because the colonel was far younger than Shastylt had been. Then Dainyl went to the study door and stepped into the corridor.

  “Duty officer!”

  Chelysta hurried down the hallway.

  Dainyl stepped back and gestured to the study. “Undercaptain…we have a problem. I was discussing the rebels with the marshal. I had discovered that Colonel Dhenyr had been offering them information and that he had altered records. The marshal asked me to summon the colonel. When he was confronted with the evidence, the colonel went wild with his sidearm and tried to attack us both. When it was all over…” Dainyl gestured to the uniforms on the floor.

  “I’m sorry about the marshal, sir. The colonel left us cold, but the marshal, he was a Myrmidon. I am so sorry….”

  “So am I.” And Dainyl was, for many reasons.

  After a time, he looked at Chelysta. “You’re the duty officer. If you would draft a report on this…unfortunate…deplorable…situation, I’ll go over it and review it with you when I return. I need to inform the High Alector of what happened immediately and in person.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He should know.” Dainyl shook his head slowly. “I don’t think this could have come at a worse time.”

  “No, sir. But at least the colonel didn’t get you both.”

  “I was fortunate. I just wish we’d seen all this coming. I wish the marshal had.” That, too, Dainyl did wish, but Shastylt had not seen that the results of his plotting could only have had one end—even if he had been successful in removing Dainyl.

  For all his desire to report to Zelyert before matters got even worse, it was close to a half glass later before Dainyl took the duty coach to the Hall of Justice.

  As if he had been expecting Dainyl, Zelyert stood outside his small study.

  The High Alector of Justice beckoned for Dainyl to enter. Dainyl did, closing the door behind him.

  Zelyert did not seat himself, but offered a cautious smile. “I wasn’t certain who I would see, you or Shastylt. How is the marshal?”

  “Colonel Dhenyr attacked us. I was fortunate enough to survive. The marshal wasn’t, perhaps because of the shock at my return.”

  “I wouldn’t have foreseen matters turning out so, but I can’t say that I’m surprised,” mused Zelyert.

  “How much do you know?”

  “My dear Dainyl—or Marshal, now, I suppose—whatever do you mean?”

  Dainyl snorted. “Shastylt had this idea that he and Brekylt would claim that Alcyna and I were attempting a coup. They are or were positioning themselves to be the next Duarches after it became clear that the Master Scepter was destined for Efra.”

  “I was aware that he had some such in mind. So did Khelaryt. It was better to see how far he got. And who might stop him.”

  “What do you have in mind now?”

  “Nothing.” Zelyert smiled. “Of course, you might be interested to know that Submarshal Alcyna and Majer Noryan have sent a message expressing their concern about the instability of Marshal Shastylt and requesting that I look into his dispatch of you to discipline a regional alector and his staff.”

  “Two regional alectors. Fahylt fled to Ludar.”

  “Yes, I heard that he attempted a translation. Most unfortunate. He arrived as a wild translation and was flamed down. The Tables can be quite unstable at times. Did you know that both the Tables in Hyalt and Tempre are not functioning?”

  “Rhelyn was responsible for the failure of his Table. That I knew. One of the reasons it took me longer to return was that the rebel alectors in Tempre destroyed a section of the Table when they were attempting to flee the Myrmidons and Cadmians.”

  “You dispatched Cadmians against alectors?”

  “No, sir. While I was dealing with Hyalt, I discovered that Fahylt had thrown in with Rhelyn. I split my forces and went to Tempre, along with half the Cadmians. Fahylt had created an Alector’s Guard with landers and indigens. He also had a force of alectors, although I did not discover that until later. He even built a stone compound for the Alector’s Guard. They tried a dawn ambush of the Cadmians….” Dainyl went on to provide a summary of what had happened after that, omitting all references to the ancients and concluding with “…and when the rebel alectors returned, they attacked the Cadmians with contraband lightcutters. I collected those, and they’re being sent to you under seal from Dereka. The Cadmians suffered significant losses, but managed to hold their own until the rebels ran out of power for their weapons. The Cadmians killed some, and some were killed by whatever they did to the Table.”

  “So…Rhelyn had more than two hundred alectors, and Fahylt had more than thirty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zelyert shook his head. “You are resourceful, Dainyl. Now that you are marshal, what do you have in mind?”

  “I wasn’t aware that I was, sir.”

  “Who else would I appoint? You wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice, but you’ve proved to be too tenacious for anyone to suggest anyone else. You’re a shade
too honorable, Dainyl, and stronger than most would prefer.” Zelyert reached back and picked up something from the desk. “You might as well put these on. They’re marshal’s stars. The Myrmidons cannot be without a commander, not for a moment.”

  “You had those ready.”

  “I suspected. I also felt that Shastylt would not be able to bear the thought that you could resolve problems he didn’t want resolved.”

  “I know. He picked me because he was looking for someone to whom few would object and who could not possibly block his plans.”

  Zelyert laughed. It was not a pleasant sound, cheerful and hearty as it seemed. “And what do you think of me?”

  Dainyl had already thought that inquiry might be coming. “You always knew that the Master Scepter would not come here. So did Khelaryt and Samist. The question became how to deal with the situation. Samist and Brekylt wanted to encourage long translations from Ifryn to certain alectors who would support them in building their power. Translated alectors draw more lifeforce than those born here. You must know that. So you’re behind whatever measures I undertook that reduced those numbers, but it’s not something that you or Khelaryt can acknowledge.” Dainyl cleared his throat, not because it was dry, but because he was missing something and needed a moment to think. He had it! “You let Alcyna and Brekylt build those forces because, that way, you knew where all those alectors were, and…” Dainyl let the words trail off, watching the High Alector.

  “You didn’t answer the question, I don’t believe.”

  “You have grave doubts that a peaceful or successful transition of the Master Scepter to Efra will be possible, and you realized that a secondary status for Acorus would create further unrest, plotting, and instability, and you will do whatever is necessary to minimize the chaos. Absolutely whatever,” Dainyl added.