Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I think the marshal has been forthright. He has done his best to preserve lifeforce and to ensure that Acorus is prepared to receive the Master Scepter. Thank you, Marshal. You may go.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dainyl was more stunned by the total lack of reaction, even hidden, to the Duarch’s statement about the Master Scepter than by his abrupt release. Even so, he bowed slightly and stepped to the door, letting himself out.

  Another pair of alector guards escorted him back to the entry foyer, with its high arched dome. He was more than glad to step out into the rotunda and walk toward the waiting duty coach. What awaited him back at headquarters seemed far more manageable than what faced Khelaryt.

  2

  Under a clear silver-green sky, the late morning sunlight fell across the low rise to the north of Hyalt. From the saddle of the roan, Mykel surveyed the nearly completed Cadmian compound, standing out amid the tannish grasses of the grazing lands to the north. While he’d been occupied in fighting the rebel alectors at Tempre—and then recovering from his injuries—all the walls had been completed, and the paving of the interior was a third done. That included the areas around the gates, which could now be hung and secured in place. Both the barracks and the stables looked finished, on the outside, anyway. Work was beginning on digging out the roadbed south of the gates so that a stone-paved road to the high road could be built once the interior paving was finished.

  “You’ve done wonders, Rhystan.” Mykel turned to the senior captain mounted beside him. The captain’s aura remained a deep brown, so deep it verged on black, but showed no sign of the green streaks that indicated the possibility of possessing the same Talent as Mykel did—and as did almost all alectors. In convalescing, Mykel had finally made the connection between what the soarer had told him a year before and what the one alector at Hyalt had called him in trying to kill him—a wild Talent. The soarer had told him to find his talent, but he hadn’t realized that the alectors’ term for his emerging abilities was Talent.

  “How did you manage it?” Mykel asked.

  Rhystan offered a sheepish grin. “Well, Majer…I kept telling the craftmasters that it wouldn’t be all that long before you got back, and I really didn’t want to have to explain why things weren’t farther along.”

  Mykel forced a smile, and a chuckle. “You’re a scoundrel.” Behind the expression, he was both bemused and appalled. “I suppose Troral pressed you on the blankets?”

  “No, sir. Not once.”

  “How are things going with Cismyr? Do you think he’ll be able to handle the compound once we’re sent back?”

  “He’s been very attentive. He has asked a few questions about you, indirectly.”

  Mykel wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Such as?”

  “Whether you were the son of an ancient?”

  “What?” Mykel shook his head. “My father’s a tiler in Faitel, and my mother was a weaver before they married. Why would he ask that?”

  “One of the Hyaltan Cadmians swears he saw you with an ancient, up on the hillside by the old garrison.” Rhystan raised his eyebrows. “You have to admit, Majer, that more than a few strange things have occurred around you.”

  Mykel had been afraid he’d been observed, but it meant that the ranker who had seen him had some of the same Talent he did. Otherwise, the man would have seen nothing. “Many of them would have happened to you if you’d been in charge.”

  Rhystan laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sir.”

  Mykel shrugged, then smothered a wince. His back was still tender, and doubtless would be for days more. Then, if it hadn’t been for Rachyla, he probably would be in far worse condition—if he were still even alive. Had it been a mistake to give her the dagger of the ancients? What else could he have done? He’d tried kindness, understanding, and she’d still insisted he was her enemy.

  Mykel knew they were somehow tied together, but Rachyla’s attitude had varied from grudging respect to outright hostility, all of it bordered with a large amount of condescension. When he thought about it, Mykel wondered why he cared—except that he had the feeling that she was caught in what amounted to an invisible prison and that she would be a far different person were she not. But was that only wistful thinking?

  Rhystan eased his mount up beside Mykel. “Sir…I haven’t asked, not where anyone could overhear, but what did happen in Tempre? There’s all sorts of rumors from the factors, and the men have picked them up. They said that a building fell on you, and you walked away from the rubble, and that you’d killed two score alectors—the rebels, that is—by yourself.”

  The last part was all too close to the truth, but it wasn’t something Mykel wanted spread about, particularly among his Cadmian rankers. He shook his head. “There was an explosion of some alector device they’d hidden in the lower level of the regional alector’s headquarters. I got flattened by some of the stones. The building is very much intact, except for part of one door and a doorway. Altogether, the three companies did kill close to two score of the rebels, but that took all three companies—and you’ve seen the casualties.”

  Rhystan snorted. “You lost sixty-three men in Tempre out of slightly less than three hundred. Against irregulars and Reillies that would be on the high side, but not by that much. Losing that few against alectors armed with those lightcutters is unbelievable. It takes five to ten shots—unless they’re head shots—just to knock them down.”

  Mykel was grateful Rhystan didn’t mention the other exception besides head shots—that Mykel was doing the shooting. “I kept the men behind stone walls, and the rebel alectors didn’t seem to have much sense of tactics. I don’t think any of them had ever been in a real fight.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then…there was something else.” Mykel frowned. He’d thought of it earlier, and was having trouble recalling what it had been.

  Rhystan waited.

  “Oh…their weapons. They’re all the kind that are designed to kill—usually instantly.”

  “So will a rifle bullet,” replied Rhystan dryly.

  “It’s not the same thing. A Myrmidon fires one of those skylances, and anything in its path is gone, up in flame. With those uniforms that they wear, they’d have to have weapons like that, but how many times do they use them?”

  After a moment, Rhystan nodded. “I see what you mean. All their battles tend to be shorter. Even when they did a siege of the regional alector’s compound here, the actual battle took less than half a day. Most of that was sniping and preparation. The heavy fighting when they broke in was over in less than a glass.”

  “I’m guessing, but I think one reason why we won in Tempre was that…well…they ran out of ammunition. Or whatever passes for ammunition, and there was no one to resupply them.”

  “You realize, Majer, that you’re a very dangerous man to the alectors?”

  “Me?” Mykel had his own ideas as to that, and they concerned his Talent, but he wanted to hear what Rhystan had to say.

  “You’re among the few that know what their vulnerabilities are, and how to fight them successfully. You’ve figured out what weapons we could make that would be effective in taking them out, and at least some of them respect you, and I would not be surprised if some were not afraid of you.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  This time Rhystan shrugged. “The word’s out how you backed down a Myrmidon captain or undercaptain, and how the submarshal of Myrmidons made a special trip to see you when he discovered you were wounded. I don’t know of any time ever when a Myrmidon officer checked on a Cadmian—let alone the number two man in all the Myrmidons.”

  “I’m sure he was only after information.”

  “Fabrytal said that he didn’t ask anything except about your health and how you knew the rebels were rebels—and that was because Fabrytal couldn’t tell him.”

  Mykel shifted his weight in the saddle. “I never thought about it that way.” And he hadn’t. But then, he had not been in the best
of shape when Submarshal Dainyl had sought him out at Rachyla’s. He forced a grin. “You’re just as dangerous. You know everything that I’ve figured out. In fact, some of it you worked out before I did.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Rhystan replied. “That’s one reason why I’d rather remain a captain for a while. No one pays much attention to Cadmian captains—unless their commander is an idiot like Vaclyn…or Hersiod.”

  Although Mykel hadn’t thought about Hersiod for months, Rhystan’s comment jarred his memory. He managed not to swallow. The purpleness that had tinged Hersiod—that was what happened to people who spent much time around alectors. But could that also mean that somehow the alectors had used their abilities on the majer, making him intransigent like Vaclyn had been? Mykel wondered if Vaclyn had been influenced by the alectors. He’d met with them, and he’d said he’d only had a short meeting, but the reports Mykel had gotten had suggested a far longer meeting.

  But why would the alectors influence Cadmian officers?

  “Majer…sir? You have that look again, the one that means trouble.”

  Although Rhystan’s tone was humorous, Mykel could sense the concern behind the humor. “I was wondering if Hersiod spent any time with the Myrmidon marshal.”

  “Of course he did. He and the colonel were briefed personally about the Iron Stem problems.”

  “Can you think of any reason why the Myrmidons would want Hersiod and Vaclyn to act stupidly?”

  Rhystan’s face hardened. “Frig! They both meet with Myrmidons, and they both started acting like ill-tempered asses, instead of the simple asses they were before. I should have seen it!” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t make sense. If the alectors wanted to screw things up, it didn’t work. You and Dohark are far better commanders than Vaclyn was. I’d bet that the senior captain in Fourth Battalion is better than Hersiod.”

  “Who would know that? In the Myrmidons? And whom did they meet with?” countered Mykel. “The submarshal is the one who promoted me and Dohark. Hersiod and Vaclyn met with the marshal…and we had a rebellion of alectors here in Hyalt and in Tempre.”

  “You’re suggesting that the submarshal and the marshal are on different sides, with different agendas?”

  “I don’t know…but it’s something to keep in mind. From what I’ve seen, I’d trust the submarshal more, but I’m not sure any of them are looking out for us.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if any of the senior officers do.”

  “They have their own ideas.” Mykel smiled faintly.

  “And it doesn’t seem to matter what it costs us.”

  “Has that ever changed?”

  “No.” Rhystan studied the compound for several moments before speaking again. “Do you know where we’ll be posted after we finish here?”

  “Unless we get different orders, we report that we’re ready to turn the compound over to Cismyr and Matorak. Then we get specific orders from the colonel as to how we’re to head back to Northa. The way things are going, we may have to ride the whole way.” Mykel snorted. “If we’re lucky, we could ride to Tempre, and take a barge or a boat down the Vedra. That’d make more sense.”

  “Don’t count on it, sir.”

  “I won’t.” Mykel urged the gelding forward. “I need to take a closer look at the compound.”

  3

  Dainyl did not get home until far later than usual, because he’d discussed with Ghasylt the need for another Myrmidon to succeed Wyalt in training as duty driver and flier, as well as catching up on the problems of First Company. Then he had waited for Undercaptain Zernylta to return from her dispatch run from Ludar. Dainyl had asked her to try the position as assistant operations director on a temporary basis—without giving up her pteridon—to see if she would be happy with it.

  She’d agreed, with reservations. “The writing part doesn’t bother me, sir, and I’ve been doing most of First Company’s scheduling for the captain, but…for all the companies?”

  “In practical terms, right now you’d be mainly scheduling First Company, and occasionally Seventh Company out of Tempre.”

  “Tempre, sir?” Zernylta’s black eyebrows lifted.

  “They’ve been transferred there from Dulka. Why don’t you give it a try, and we’ll talk at the end of next week. If it works, you’ll be promoted to captain.”

  Dainyl hadn’t mentioned that she and Ghasylt would be the senior officers in headquarters anytime he was absent—at least until he dealt with Alcyna.

  By the time he left headquarters, he was a good glass and a half late, and he didn’t feel that badly about using the duty coach. It didn’t hurt that Wyalt was cheerful.

  When he walked in the door, Lystrana was waiting in the foyer. Her frown vanished, and the relief in her deep violet eyes was obvious.

  She stepped forward and embraced him. “I was worried. I heard from Chembryt that you’d had to brief the High Alectors and the Duarch. And when you weren’t here…”

  “I had to wait for Zernylta to return from Ludar. I twisted her arm a bit to get her to try being assistant operations director.”

  “There isn’t anyone else, is there?” She took his arm. “Dinner is waiting.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I think I’ll be getting used to it.”

  “How is Kytrana?” His eyes dropped to the slight swelling of her abdomen.

  “She was a bit upset when I got worried. She can sense that.”

  “That’s a sign of Talent. Were you like that?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I certainly wasn’t,” he replied with a laugh, reaching out and tousling her shimmering black hair, cut short, just above her elegant neck.

  The sun was so low in the west that while the sky was still light, both the dining room and the sunroom were shadowed by the courtyard walls. Both Zistele and Sentya—the blond lander serving girls—were already setting the platters on the table when Lystrana and Dainyl entered the room.

  He looked through the archway into the sunroom and to the courtyard beyond, with its garden and fountain, then turned to the girls. “Do we have any ale?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Sentya. “Would you like some?”

  “Please.” Dainyl sat slowly.

  “Your stomach is a little uneasy?” Lystrana settled herself across from him.

  He nodded. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I hope the fowl isn’t too dry. There is a cream sauce. I had Zistele make it to go with the noodles.”

  “You didn’t get home all that early yourself, did you?”

  She grinned at him. “No. We had some problems. I’ll tell you later…when you tell me about your day.”

  “Here is your ale, sir.” Sentya placed a pitcher and beaker on the table, not quite beside the pitcher of cider for Lystrana.

  “Thank you so much.” Dainyl served Lystrana and then himself. He took two small swallows of ale before he began to eat.

  “The weather has been wonderful. I hope it stays this warm into fall.”

  “So do I,” he replied.

  As was their custom, neither talked of their work while they ate, nor until they retired to their bedchamber on the upper level—and the girls had gone to their quarters on the lower level.

  Lystrana had slipped into a gown and robe and stretched out on the large bed while Dainyl slowly disrobed and hung up his blue and gray shimmersilk uniform.

  “How did it go with Khelaryt?”

  “I briefed him first, and gave a shorter presentation to the three High Alectors. I don’t know why Ruvryn was there. He didn’t look that happy, and he asked a few sharp questions.”

  “He was there because he’d been summoned by both Khelaryt and my Highest about more irregularities in the engineering accounts. I’ll tell you about them when you’re done.”

  “I was a little nervous. I’ve briefed the Duarch before—once—but never any of the High Alectors, except Zelyert—and he wasn’t there.”

  “I’m sur
e he felt he knew what you had to say.”

  “He knows more than I said, and he may not have wanted to reveal anything.” Dainyl paused. “It’s worse than I thought. Everyone just nodded at the story of the limited revolt. It’s as though no one wants to admit that there’s a bigger problem. At the end, Khelaryt commended me for limiting lifeforce losses and my efforts to make sure that the Master Scepter comes to Acorus.” He shook his head. “I really thought he understood that it’s effectively been decided that it’s going to Efra. But it’s as if all the High Alectors know, and not a single one of them will point that out to him.”

  “Would you?”

  “With his Talent-strength? That would be dangerous, but…they’ve all worked with him for years and years. With the shadowmatch conditioning, I don’t think he can ask the right questions. And all those around him know it, and unless there’s something else I don’t know, they don’t want to tell him what he doesn’t want to hear.”

  “Did you really expect it to be much different, dearest?”

  “No…not about them not wanting to tell him unpleasant news, but I had thought he could entertain the idea that the Master Scepter would not come to Acorus.” Dainyl sighed, then offered a wry smile. “But it’s clear he cannot even do that.” After a moment, he added, “I can’t believe how much Talent he has.”

  “That’s why he’s Duarch. With the way everyone plots and schemes, no one without that kind of strength could survive.”

  That certainly made sense. “Oh…I had another question. What do you know about the copper and tin mines around Soupat? I’d always thought they were marginal.”

  Lystrana inclined her head, concentrating for a moment. “They’re not the most productive, but there’s been more demand for copper in the west from the engineers for work in Faitel. Why did you want to know?”

  “One of Shastylt’s last acts, while I was in Hyalt, was to deploy a Cadmian battalion there to protect the mines against mountain brigands. There’s nothing in the records to indicate why.”

  “I don’t know about that. I do know that Ruvryn was insistent that he needed more production, especially of copper.”