Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Low in the western sky, he could barely make out the half disc of the larger moon, Selena, more golden near the horizon. The green moon—Asterta, the one some called the warrior moon or the moon of misery—had set glasses earlier, well before dawn.

  He turned, his eyes taking in the nearer of the two green towers, a cylinder with a pointed tip that soared more than a hundred yards into the silver-green sky. Between the two towers were the major piers for the boats and barges that traveled the river carrying everything—the steel pigs and dreamdust from Iron Stem, the wines from the Vyan Hills, and the grains and livestock from the fertile rolling plains between Krost and Borlan. All of it came down the Vedra to Faitel, where the iron was off loaded for the artisans and engineers, and what was not off-loaded went first to Elcien, then south through the Bay of Ludel to Ludar.

  Downstream and to the west of Faitel were the shipyards, and upstream and east of the center of the city were the ironworks and the golden walled compounds of the engineers’ and artisans’ guilds. If Ludar could be called the artistic heart of Corus, and Elcien the spirit and intelligence, then Faitel was where art and spirit were forged and almost everything of great value was fabricated—from the bronzed coaches pulled by the sandoxes to the great ships that had conquered the oceans.

  Mykel’s reveries were brought to a halt by the double chime of the bell that announced that the coach to Elcien was coming. He looked eastward as the sandoxes turned into the concourse on the north side of the platform. There were two—each more than four times the size of a draft horse—with even more massive shoulders, and scales that shimmered purplish blue. The deep set eyes were golden brown ovals, with pupils blacker than a starless night. In the middle of the broad forehead was a single triangular scale a good ten times the size of the less distinct purplish scales that covered every span of the sandox. The sandoxes were harnessed to a modified cross rig with wide black straps and leather-sheathed chains.

  Behind the pair were the bronze sheathed transport coaches, each nine yards long. The forward coach was split into two sections, the front compartment for alectors, with wider and well cushioned seats, and a rear section with far less luxurious seating. The second coach contained a single compartment, all standard seating. The drivers’ seat high on the front of the first coach had ample space for the two alectors who controlled the sandoxes and the coach, and was provided cover from sunlight and weather by curved bronzelike metallic roof sheet.

  Just as the sandoxes and coaches slowed to a halt, there was a shout from the river side of the concourse platform. Mykel turned, as did the two women to his left, and the pair of Cadmian rankers to his right.

  A man jumped onto the top of the stone railing of the western platform and leveled a weapon—an ancient crossbow—at the nearest alector. Before Mykel had taken more than a single step, the bearded figure had fired, and the quarrel slammed into the shoulder of the alector, spinning him half around. Before Mykel took a third step, the alector on the forward coach had lifted his light knife. A bluish beam struck the bearded man, and his entire figure flared into blue yellow flame. Within instants, a blackened body pitched off the railing.

  Mykel’s mouth opened as he realized the crossbow quarrel had bounced off the alector’s shoulder. He had the feeling that the alector was in a fair amount of pain, but he couldn’t have said why. Still, from such close range, the bolt should have gone through the alector. Absently, he recalled what his father had said. Arrows bouncing off alectors didn’t seem so far fetched, after what he had just seen. But how did they do that? Was their skin that tough? Or were those shiny clothes special? Or both?

  His lips quirked. He wasn’t likely to find out. Not anytime soon.

  The concourse bell rang rapidly, and Cadmians in the uniforms of the road patrols appeared from the station west of the concourse. Within moments, the charred figure had been lifted into a handcart and pushed away. The injured alector had vanished.

  “Never seen anything like that,” muttered one of the rankers beside Mykel.

  “Maybe one of those Ancienteers,” replied the other.

  “Thought they just hid away in the peaks and stuff.”

  “Crazy folk, never know what they’ll do.”

  Mykel agreed with that, especially about some of the strange cults that had appeared in the outlying lands of some regions, like the Iron Valleys, North Lustrea, Deforya, aad the higher mountains in the southern part of the Coast Range. He’d hadn’t heard much about the Ancienteers, except as a group that worshipped the vanished ancients. His grandfather had once said that the true ancients were beautiful women with wings who were colder than ice. They didn’t sound like anything Mykel wanted to worship.

  The boarding bell rang, a quick triplet, and Mykel eased a silver from one of the slots on the inside of his belt before moving toward the steps down to the embarking area.

  The two Cadmian road patrollers on the mounting steps scarcely looked at Mykel as he handed his silver to the attendant and stepped through the open door and into the coach. He settled into a window seat three rows back. As in all of the coach compartments, save the forward section for alectors, there were four narrow oak seats, two on each side of a center aisle. With the thin seat cushion, they were almost comfortable on a long journey. Almost.

  Mykel noted an attractive woman in dark blue, hoping she would take the seat beside him. Before he could offer, a squarish man wearing a brown tunic and matching boots eased into the seat. “Sorry, Captain, but there’s not that much room.”

  “There never is,” replied Mykel politely, guessing that the man was some sort of factor.

  A single long chime sounded, and the attendant closed the coach door. Mykel glanced around the coach. Most of the thirty-two seats were taken, although the attractive brunette was sitting alone. With the slightest jolt, the coach began to move. Before long, the sandoxes had the coach up to speed and coolish air flowed through the louvers forward and overhead.

  With nearly three hours ahead of him for the seventy odd vingt journey, Mykel surveyed the river, taking in the barges being towed upstream by the steam tugs on the inner causeway. An ocean freighter—he could tell that because it did not have the sails of a coaster nor the narrower beam and shallower draft of a river craft—forged downstream. Above the bridge flew the pennant of the Duarchy, two crossed scepters, both metallic blue, not quite identical, set in a sharp eight pointed, brilliant green star.

  “Strange business there on the platform,” offered the man seated beside Mykel. “You ever see anything like that before?”

  The captain turned from the window. “No. I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

  “I meant the arrow bouncing off the alector. I’ve seen crazies before.” He paused. “Makes you think. Maybe there are reasons we don’t know why they’re alectors… besides they’re being big and tall.” After another pause, he smiled. “I’m Floriset, crop factor.”

  “Mykel, captain, Fifteenth Cadmian.”

  “Wouldn’t want your job these days. Everywhere you look, there’s another bunch that thinks they can do things better than the Duarchs.” Floriset shook his head. “You seen much action against them?”

  “In the north Westerhills against the Reillies last year.”

  “Tough, they said.”

  “Not that tough. We didn’t need to call in the Myrmidons, the way they did in Soupat.” Mykel laughed, quickly asking, “How is your business?”

  “Some days are good. Some aren’t. Had a mild spring, with rain in most places, and a bit more rain through the summer. Good hot late summer and a dry early harvest Makes it hard.”

  “That sounds good,” offered Mykel, “not bad.”

  “Too good. Bumper crops all over the place, especially in wheat corn. That’ll drive the prices down. Be hard on the farmers way to the east Might speculate in some land there. The factor laughed. Just have to buy as much as I can and hope next year’s weather’s worse.”

  “Did the Reilli
es make things hard last year?”

  “Hard on folks to the north, but I’d laid in more stocks, and when the prices went up after they burned the granaries in Harmony, I made a few extra silvers.”

  “More like a few hundred, I’d wager,” suggested Mykel.

  “A few.” The factor grinned, but for a moment. “Works the other way at times, too. Couple years back, I’d figured that the short drought would last another year. Was wrong about that, and had to unload stocks as I could. Storage charges woulda eaten me alive, otherwise. Took a loss of more than a half copper a bushel.” He shook his head. “Like to have done that one over again.”

  “Life’s like that,” Mykel replied.

  “It is indeed, but you can’t help wishing.”

  Mykel nodded, then leaned back and closed his eyes. It would be a long ride, and he could use the rest.

  8

  When Mykel finished the two vingt walk from concourse platform at the river station to the gates of Cadmian headquarters, he was perspiring, and glad he’d taken no gear home with him. He could have taken a carriage for hire from the station, but he’d seen no point in spending a silver, not on a pleasant day when he did not have to report until muster on the next morning.

  The last quarter vingt—five hundred yards—before the open stone gates at the end of the stone-paved avenue was clear of dwellings, just an open hillside between the northern edge of the less than attractive town of Northa and the walls of the Cadmian headquarters. The compound was set at the base of the hills that rose northeast of the river and footed the Coast Range itself, with walls that ran almost a vingt on each side.

  In contrast, the Myrmidon headquarters compound was far smaller than the Cadmian headquarters and was situated on the west end of the isle of Elcien itself, facing into the generally prevailing winds. That made it easier for the pteridons to lift off, or so Mykel had been told, although he’d never seen one of the blue winged fliers up close, but only from below as they soared in and out of Elcien, often casting shadows across those below.

  The two rankers on guard duty stiffened as Mykel walked toward them.

  “Captain Mykel…”

  “Always back early…”

  “Good day,” he said warmly. “Anything unusual, Cheant?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.” Mykel smiled, a cheerful expression that also indicated that he knew none of the rankers would have told him anything—not out in the open. Cheant’s guilty look suggested that more than a few things had occurred during Mykel’s furlough, none likely to be good.

  As he crossed the paved courtyard on the west side of the compound, striding toward the junior officers’ quarters, he caught sight of another captain hurrying toward him. “Kuertyl!”

  “Back early, I see.” The younger captain’s eyes did not quite meet Mykel’s level gaze.

  “Always.”

  “You never carry anything, either.”

  “Not when I visit my parents. No point in it. I wear the uniform traveling and old clothes while I’m there.” His eyes fixed on the younger officer. “Cheant was on gate duty. He had that look. What’s in the wind?”

  “No one’s said anything.”

  Mykel cleared his throat and waited.

  “Word is that something happened in Dramur. No one’s saying anything, but a Myrmidon officer came in on Novdi, landed his pteridon right beside the headquarters. Swerkyl had to go find the colonel and Majer Vaclyn. The alector spent a good glass with the two of them, then another glass or more with the majer. Then he flew off. Swerkyl says he heard the words Dramur and Dramuria, and Third Battalion. Then the majer went to his target range and practiced with those throwing knives of his.”

  “That means he wants to kill someone,” reflected Mykel. “You sure it’s Third Battalion?”

  “Swerkyl wasn’t sure, but it’s got to be us. We’re next on the deployment schedule. Our companies are the only ones at full strength and ready to deploy.”

  “Figures… Anything else about Dramur?”

  “No. Not yet” Kuertyl added quickly, “Did you hear about Scien? They’re closing the post No one knows why. The companies there are being reassigned.”

  “Should have been closed years ago. It’s at the end of nowhere. Colder there than at Blackstear in full winter.” Mykel grinned at the younger captain. “You should be glad. They can’t send you there when you foul up your next assignment”

  “Or you,” riposted Kuertyl.

  “I never foul up.” Mykel laughed.

  “I have to meet with Majer Vaclyn in half a glass—”

  “On end day? Is this about Dramur?”

  “Wish it were. We didn’t do so well in squad on squad training last week. You’d better watch out when he comes to you.” Kuertyl turned and hurried toward the headquarters building.

  Mykel frowned. He wasn’t surprised that Kuertyl hadn’t done that well, but it worried him that Vaclyn was meeting with officers on end day, especially after practicing with the throwing knives. That was never a good sign, and it suggested that the colonel was not only pushing to get the companies ready to leave, but less than happy with readiness. Dramur? That was all too hot, almost as bad as places like Sinjin and Soupat.

  Mykel walked more deliberately toward the officers’ quarters.

  9

  One of Dainyl’s few luxuries was taking a carriage from the house to the Myrmidon headquarters on the west end of Elcien. Lystrana had calculated it, and paying the three coppers each way was far cheaper than having a personal carriage. A hacker named Barodyn had taken advantage of Dainyl’s modest self indulgence and waited outside every working morning.

  When Dainyl stepped out of through the gates of the front courtyard, Barodyn leaned back in his seat and swung the coach door open. “Good morning, Colonel, sir.”

  “Good morning.” Dainyl offered a smile as he climbed into the coach and closed the door. He didn’t say another word as the hacker eased the coach away from the mounting block.

  Nor did Barodyn.

  After two turns, and an arc around the public gardens of the Duarch, the coach was headed west on the Boulevard.

  There was only one, down the middle of the isle from the bridge in the east to the gates at the Myrmidon compound at the west end of the isle.

  Dainyl looked back at the gardens, with their precisely trimmed hedges and stone paths, with the fountains, and the topiary of all manner of creatures, including a lifelike pteridon and a long hedge sculpted into the likeness of two san-doxes and a set of transport coaches.

  A woman—an alector—and a child walked through the gates of the garden. Dainyl frowned. He should know them. There weren’t that many children allowed, only a handful every year, depending on the reports from Lyterna. Still, the woman didn’t look familiar.

  His eyes moved to the Palace of the Duarch ahead to his left, south of the boulevard, opposite the Hall of Justice. The golden eternastone glowed in the morning light, and the two towers were green pointed cylinders that almost melded with the silver green sky to the west.

  Dainyl smiled. Built on an island of solid stone, Elcien was indeed a marvel—from the perfectly paved boulevard and streets, the stone dwellings and their tile roofs, the shops and market squares that held everything produced on Acorus, the docks and warehouses where vessels from across the world disgorged their goods, and, of course, the Palace of the Duarch. Even the air smelled fresh, coming from the south, and pleasantly moist.

  Past the center of Elcien, to the west of the palace, were the trade quarter—on the southwest—and the residence quarter for those merchants who could afford it. Beyond them was Dainyl’s destination. The low bluff on the west end of the isle of Elcien that held the Myrmidon compound was separated from the rest of the city by a graystone wall four yards high, with but a single set of gates. The gates were open and unguarded, as were those at all Myrmidon compounds. Because all alectors had some degree of Talent—if minimal in the case of many rankers, courier
s, and low staff—anyone not belonging would be sensed instantly, and few indigens or landers wished to take twenty lashes for being in the wrong place.

  The hacker reined up outside the gates. “Colonel Alector, sir?”

  As he stepped out, Dainyl handed over the two coppers, plus an extra copper.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As Barodyn turned the coach for hire back toward the trade quarter, Dainyl walked quickly through the gates and toward the headquarters building, a square structure no more than twenty yards on a side and but a single story in height. The sole Myrmidon in the receiving area was the staff senior squad leader, Zorcylt.

  “Good morning, Colonel.”

  “Good morning, Zorcylt. Is the marshal in yet?”

  “No, sir. He and Captain Ghasylt are on their way back to Iron Stem.”

  “Iron Stem? Again?”

  “Yes, sir. He left two messages on your desk. There’s been more trouble there, but he didn’t say what.”

  Dainyl wasn’t looking forward to the messages. He offered a grin. “You have any ideas?”

  “Well, sir… I did hear something about the coal mines there. That was all.”

  “What squad has the duty?”

  “Second, sir. Undercaptain Yuasylt. All five have reported and stand ready, sir.”

  “Are we expecting any dispatches from the palace for the morning flight?”

  “No, sir. The message banner is white.”

  “Do we have a report on inbound shipping?”

  “No, sir. Vorosylt lifted off almost half a glass ago, but it’s a quartering wind, and maybe a headwind beyond the straits.”

  Dainyl nodded. That left three fliers—Yuasylt and two others—from the duty squad for any other dispatches or surveillance work. In many ways, he missed flying, but he didn’t miss the glass upon glass that he would have been away from Lystrana. “I’ll be in my study.”

  The colonel walked down the corridor to the doorway just short of the one to the marshal’s spaces. Once inside his own study, he closed the door. Rather than settle behind his desk, he picked up the top envelope. The light dusting of Talent across the seal had not been tampered with. A faint smile crossed his thin lips as he released the Talent seal and opened the envelope. He began to read.