Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Dainyl followed—and stopped.

  The space was close to fifty yards across, with a high-arched dome cut out of the very rock, soaring to nearly twenty yards overhead. Double goldenstone columns circled the chamber, set at intervals of six yards, and reaching from their pediments to a frieze ten yards above the shimmering green and gold marble floor. The green marble frieze was less than a half a yard in height. On its face had been carved a repeating design of pteridons and sandoxes. The wall space between the columns and beneath the narrow frieze had been faced with creamy white marble. Each set of double columns was flanked by lighter green hangings that dropped from the base of the frieze to just above the polished marble of the floor.

  Overhead was the domed ceiling, inset with the same creamy white marble tiles, edged with green marble. The lines of green marble converged, ending at a circle of green surrounding and filling the apex of the dome. In the center of the green was the gold, eight-pointed star. The dining l hall was illuminated by light-torches set in ornate bronze brackets on the goldenstone pillars.

  There was a full score of tables arranged in the quarter of the chamber opposite the entry archway. So large was the space that the tables seemed well apart from each other.

  “Once there were more of us living here,” added Asulet. “That was when Acorus was too chill for half the year.”

  Four circular stands, each six yards across and a yard and a half high, were set equidistant from each other, lost in the openness of the otherwise unused space under the dome.

  Dainyl glanced at the nearest stand, realizing it held the model of a city. “That’s Ludar.”

  “Exactly, and the others are Elcien, Alustre, and Dereka.”

  “As they are now or as they were planned?”

  “As they were planned. The models are close to five hundred years old. There are a few differences between the plans and the final construction, but not many. Those differences are largely because of geographic peculiarities of which we were unaware at the time.”

  “I would never have…” Dainyl left his words hanging, not sure what he could have said.

  “You will think better after you have eaten.” With a smile, the older alector led the way to a table on the left side of the assemblage.

  Dainyl noted that only eight of the tables were occupied. They seated themselves, and a server immediately appeared, a silver-haired alectress who looked to Asulet and bowed, then waited.

  “What do you have tonight, Ulasya?”

  “We have prairie fowl stewed and spiced in golden brandy, then finished on the grill over hot coals. We have an auroch filet, marinated in Nordan winter wine, then seared, and poached with gharo root; and we have golden noodles with fried oarfish.”

  “I’ll have the filet.” Asulet nodded to Dainyl.

  “The prairie fowl.”

  “And a carafe of the Vyan Grande as well.”

  After the server slipped away, Asulet looked at the younger alector. “We may not have the best of vistas here, but we still have excellent fare.”

  Before either said more, the server returned with two crystal goblets, tinted slightly purple, and a crystal carafe filled with the ruby vintage. Without speaking, she departed as quickly as she had arrived.

  “As a Myrmidon who began as the lowest of the low, then became a flier, then an officer, and now Submarshal, you have seen most of Acorus, have you not?”

  “It is clear I have seen most of what is visible, sir.”

  “Sir?” Asulet arched his eyebrows.

  “At the least, you must be one of the senior lifemasters. I should have realized earlier.”

  Asulet laughed his easy laugh. “You were not told.” He filled his goblet halfway, men Dainyl’s.

  “No, sir.”

  “That’s one of Zelyert’s little games. Sometimes, they aren’t so harmless. He should have read the Views of the Highest more closely, but that is for another time. As a matter of fact, I am the senior lifemaster.” Asulet sipped the wine. “Good vintage. They always haven’t been.”

  “The High Alector of Lifemasters.”

  “That title does not exist, but something like that. I don’t like being called ‘sir.’ It makes me feel even older than I am. You have shown more respect without the honorrfics than many have with them. I’d prefer that. Try your wine.”

  “That won’t be difficult…” Dainyl almost added the “sir.” He did take a sip of the Vyan Grande, and as Asulet had suggested, it was good.

  “You have seen most of Acorus—Corus, anyway, not that there’s that much besides the frozen continent that spreads across most of the south pole and the volcanic island chains in the western ocean. That’s a misnomer, too. Those in Alustre call it the eastern ocean, those in Ludar and Elcien the western ocean, but it’s the same ocean. Some of the western islands are large, larger than Dramur, but the volcanoes made them unsuitable, especially for placing the scepters.”

  Placing the scepters? The Dual Scepters? “I understand that the scepters are necessary for the Tables to function properly…” Dainyl hoped the hint would be enough.

  “Young Dainyl—and you are young, for all your years, at least to an ancient like me—the scepters are necessary for the Tables to function at all. They had to be placed in certain locales in order to create the stresses necessary for us to create the local translation tubes.”

  “But… if they were necessary… how did we even get here?”

  “That is a good question, and one that I cannot answer in depth, because it is not my field. However…” Asulet drew out the word. “… a massive spear of lifeforce was used to throw a tube or a link to Acorus. Through that link poured alectors, with what crystals and tools they could carry, until enough survived to create the first Table. That solidified the link with Ifyrn. Then came the Dual Scepters, linked, of course, to the master scepter, and they were carried to different locales until the stress patterns were stabilized. Two more Tables were built at those locations, and then, within a few years, the remainder were created and linked to the grid.”

  “Could more be added?”

  “Yes, but it wouldn’t be wise. Each Table drains lifeforce from the world itself. All is a balancing act.” Asulet stopped as the server set a platter before each of them, and then a smaller plate with various sliced fruits arranged in an asymmetrical pattern. “We should eat while the fare is still warm.”

  Dainyl waited for Asulet to take the first bite, then cut a slice of the fowl and ate it—perhaps one of the better fowl dishes he had ever had. The golden rice-grass was just firm enough without being elastic.

  “Enough of Lyterna for now. I’ll have your head turning in two directions by tomorrow night. Tell me about Elcien, or anything else out beyond Lyterna—but not military events. I read all the reports from the high alectors. Have you heard any new musical compositions? Read any new poems?”

  Dainyl got the message, although he wondered whether those reports really reflected what was in fact happening. “I haven’t heard a concert for several months. The last was a chamber concert at the palace in Elcien…”

  The rest of the evening was pleasant, accompanied by good food, and told Dainyl little more about Lyterna or why he was there.

  When, a good two glasses later, Dainyl stepped back into his temporary quarters, it was more than clear that someone had been there.

  He saw the uniform he had worn on the flight to Lyterna, and his flying jacket, both spotless and hung in the armoire, its doors left open to let him know that they had been cleaned.

  As he undressed and prepared for bed, he smiled sadly, thinking of the old alector in gray.

  73

  A pall of smoke hung over the compound on Decdi morning, pungent and acrid, as Mykel and Rhystan walked from the mess toward the headquarters building under a hazy gray sky. The sun had barely climbed out of the ocean and was trying to fight its way through the clouds, showing little more than a bright patch amid the gray.

  “Still look
s like winter,” observed Rhystan.

  “It is,” replied Mykel, “the last day of winter.”

  “Worst mess we’ve been in,” said the older officer. “You think they’ll attack here?”

  “Sometime, if we don’t stop them first.”

  “With three companies, Mykel?”

  Put that way, Mykel reflected, the situation didn’t sound all that hopeful. He decided to say nothing, at least until they heard what Dohark had to tell them. When the two captains reached the study that had belonged to the local majer, Dohark was pacing back and forth. He stopped and motioned them inside. Mykel shut the door.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Dohark. “Majer Her-ryf’s not around. He told me he wouldn’t be. Nothing happens on Decdi in Dramur.” The overcaptain shook his head. “Friggin‘ idiot. He wouldn’t listen to me. Who knows? Maybe he’s right.” He took a long deep breath and leaned against the desk but did not sit down.

  Neither did either captain.

  “The western seltyrs have moved their troopers out of the valleys to the west. They’re scattering into the east here. There look to be three companies to the south of Dramuria, and four or five to the north and east. They haven’t burned any more cots or houses. There’s been no fighting or attacks in any of the towns outside of Dramuria.”

  “Did the scouts take a look at the estates of the eastern seltyrs?” asked Mykel.

  “I don’t have any reports on them.” Dohark looked at the younger captain. “Why don’t you just say what you have in mind, Mykel?”

  “I’m just guessing, sir, but the only cots burned were on the outskirts of Dramuria, and they’ve only attacked Cad-mians. Maybe the attacks aren’t against the eastern seltyrs at all, but against Dramuria and us. I’d wager that the golds from the guano don’t go to the seltyrs.”

  “Some of the eastern seltyrs get a little, I’ve been told,” replied Dohark. “The westerners don’t get any. The guilds and the crafters in Dramuria put up the golds to open the mine, and to build the road—some sort of pooled thing, and they have to pay off lenders in Elcien. What’s left goes to the guilds and the council and the eastern seltyrs who put up the coins.”

  Mykel would have wagered that Seltyr Ubarjyr had been one of those.

  “What are you getting at?” asked Dohark.

  “The seltyrs who aren’t getting anything from the mine are the ones we’ll be fighting.”

  “You don’t know that,” pointed out Dohark.

  “No, sir. I could be wrong, but why else would they be here? The western seltyrs and the easterners don’t get along that well. There has to be something in it for them.”

  “We don’t know what that is,” replied Dohark.

  Mykel decided not to say more. Dohark either believed him or didn’t.

  “What does Majer Herryf plan to do?” asked Rhystan.

  “Nothing. He says that he warned the marshal and that he has but two companies, but they can hold the compound against ten times that number, if the seltyrs are foolish enough to attack.” Dohark snorted. “Besides, today is Decdi, and nothing will happen on Decdi.”

  “Why don’t we turn the tables on them?” asked Mykel.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Tracking and hitting them with ambushes and shoot and run. Like the Reillies did.”

  “After what’s happened, you think that will work?”

  “The only time I’ve lost more than a few men is when I’ve been forced to be in one place or another, sir.”

  Dohark nodded slowly. “You’re volunteering Fifteenth Company to keep the seltyrs off-balance while the seriousness of the situation sinks in to Majer Herryf and the colonels?”

  “It might be better said that we can only afford to send out one company at a time to do this, and Fifteenth Company was the one chosen.”

  Dohark laughed. “When do you want to go?”

  “I don’t. I just don’t like the alternatives. But… today. No one does anything on Decdi.”

  Rhystan looked at Mykel. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

  “Probably not,” Mykel lied. He knew very well. He also knew the seltyrs would only get better with time—if they were given the chance. He didn’t want to give them that chance.

  “You might end up as an overcaptain,” Dohark said. “Most likely, you’ll end up dead.”

  Mykel had the feeling that he’d more likely end up dead by doing nothing. He did not say so, but just waited, a pleasant expression on his face.

  “If that’s what you want to do… go ahead. At this point, you can’t make things worse.”

  Left unspoken was the statement that Mykel would delay, at the least, any attack on the compound and the other companies.

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Rhystan.

  “We need to look to the compound’s defenses,” replied Dohark. “I don’t want to find out that there’s some secret way in or that the east or west gates don’t work because they haven’t been used in years.”

  “If you don’t need me…” offered Mykel.

  “You can go.” Dohark laughed, half sardonically and half sadly. “I’m glad I don’t have to tell you not to make foolish head on attacks.”

  Mykel bowed, and left, making his way to the barracks, then to the stables, when he learned that was where Bhoral had gone. The senior squad leader was standing outside the stable, talking to one of the ostlers, as Mykel crossed the courtyard.

  Bhoral said a last word to the man, who hurried into the stable, and turned to Mykel. “What’s the news, sir?”

  “Do you want the bad news or the worse news?” countered Mykel. “We’ve got something like eight companies of horse troopers from the west around here. That’s in addition to whatever the eastern seltyrs have. The Myrmidons have big problems elsewhere, and we don’t know when they’ll be back. The good news is that we’re going to do something about it.”

  “Sir? Against eight companies?”

  Mykel smiled. “The westerners have split up their companies all over the place. How many men did we lose in destroying those bluecoats on Octdi?”

  “Just a few,” admitted Bhoral.

  “How many would we lose if they all got together and attacked?”

  “More.”

  “We need to get to them the way we did before and whittle them down before they unite. We’ll ride out in a glass,” Mykel said. “I need to check the maps and reports a last time.”

  “Yes, sir.” The senior squad leader sounded anything but happy.

  After leaving Bhoral, Mykel made his way back to headquarters, where he went over the reports and maps Dohark had received. Dohark handed them to him and left with Rhystan to inspect the compound. Mykel went through the stack as carefully as he could quickly, taking notes. One thing stood out. A single company of bluecoats had ridden just north of the compound, then due east to one of the larger estates in the east on the coast—Fynhaven.

  Mykel wagered that the coastal estate held another company—of greencoats. Since they were both closer than any of the others, Fifteenth Company might as well look into Fynhaven. He took some of the maps—and his notes—and headed back to the stable, stopping by his quarters for his rifle and a riding jacket, and the armory for more ammunition.

  When Mykel reached the stables, Bhoral was standing beside his mount adjusting the saddlebags. The senior squad leader still looked glum. “Hazy out there. Might rain. Hate to be riding in the rain.”

  “If it rains, we’ll change our plans,” Mykel said. “Is the company ready?”

  “In a few moments, sir.”

  Mykel walked into the stables. By the time he saddled the chestnut, with his gear in place, including extra ammunition in his saddlebags, and led his mount out into the courtyard, Fifteenth Company was forming up. Mykel listened, trying to pick up what was being said.

  “… riding out on Decdi…”

  “… had to be us…”

  “… don’t fight a friggin‘ war
on a crafter’s calendar…”

  Mykel smiled at those words and swung up into the saddle with workmanlike skill, if not grace. In less than a quarter glass, Fifteenth Company was heading out the east gates of the compound, with Mykel riding just forward of first squad with Gendsyr. Bhoral rode with Chyndylt at the head of third squad.

  “Where are we headed, sir?” asked Gendsyr.

  “East, to an estate called Fynhaven. We’re going to take out another company of bluecoats, and maybe some green-coats as well.”

  “Are they expecting us?”

  “I hope not.” Mykel laughed. “No one does anything on Decdi.”

  The words brought a momentary smile to Gendsyr’s face.

  They had ridden slightly more than two glasses, heading first east, then north and east once more, when Gerant came riding back from his scouting to report to Mykel. The scout pulled his mount in beside the captain, but they both kept riding.

  “About a half vingt ahead, there’s another crossroad, and it heads southeast. Wider, too, with shoulders and stone walls,” the scout reported. “Lots of tracks on the road. Not in the past few glasses, but in the last day.”

  “That should be the road to Fynhaven. It’s another four vingts along that road. We’ll take a break when we get to the road. See what you and the others can find out, but try not to be seen. We’ll wait there for a while.”

  In less than a quarter glass, Fifteenth Company halted in good order just short of the larger southeast road.

  “Make sure everyone drinks and takes whatever breaks hey need,” Mykel told Bhoral and the squad leaders.

  While he waited for the scouts, he studied the maps igain. Fynhaven was the closest estate to the Cadmian compound, and from what he could tell, one of the larger ones in the east.

  A half glass later, as Mykel saw the first of the scouts returning, he ordered the squad leaders forward. He dismounted, handing the chestnut’s reins to Aloryt, one of Jendsyr’s rankers, and waited until the squad leaders and scouts had gathered around him on foot. Then he drew a rough map of lanes and the road with a stick. “Is this right?” He looked to the scouts.