Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  How guilty was he of the same base motives? Desire to prove himself worthy, pride at having become marshal, and contempt of alectors such as Shastylt? Why had he pressed for Lystrana to obtain the position of RA? Because he truly believed Lystrana deserved it and because he worried about the increasing dangers in Elcien or because he had power enough to break the old prejudices against alectresses in high positions?

  His eyes went to the flight stage behind headquarters, outlined in cold sunlight that seemed more like winter than fall. For the moment, it was empty of pteridons.

  That morning, he had not pressed Lystrana on her decision, knowing that asking her would merely make matters worse. She would decide, and she would tell him, probably when he got home. He thought she would decide to accept and go to Dereka, but he was far from certain.

  He turned from the window and settled himself behind his table desk. To his right were copies of the orders Alcyna had hand-carried to Noryan in Alustre. He expected she would return before too long—at least he hoped she would.

  On the left were the latest reports from the Cadmian regiments. He picked up the top report, the one from Colonel Herolt in Elcien, and began to read. The colonel’s prose was even more tortuous than usual, or his own attention was lagging, because even skimming through the words was difficult.

  …Second Battalion, Majer Wekeryt commanding, stands ready for deployment…

  …Third Battalion, Majer Mykel commanding, has reached Iron Stem and has taken over duties previously handled by Fourth Battalion…

  …Fourth Battalion, Captain Hamylt acting in command, remains currently deployed to Iron Stem, under the overall command of Majer Mykel, as ordered by the Marshal of Myrmidons…. Casualties reported to date exceed sixty percent of the battalion’s initial cadre, including Majer Hersiod and two other officers…

  …Fifth Battalion, Captain Josult acting in command, has begun a return from Northport to Elcien for the winter…. As reported earlier, personnel losses extraordinarily heavy, totaling three hundred ten fatalities and twenty-three nonfatal casualties over the entire deployment…

  …Sixth Battalion, Majer Juasyn commanding, remains deployed to Soupat to defend tin and copper mines in the area against Ghourat mountain brigands. Continued scattered skirmishes have resulted in significant casualties, currently totaling sixty-one fatalities and twenty-eight nonfatal casualties…

  After finishing the reports, Dainyl looked up and back out the window at the chill light of afternoon. Even with Second Battalion at full strength, First Regiment, Cadmian Mounted Rifles, was overall only slightly above sixty-five percent of full complement—and that was the status two weeks earlier. He could not imagine how matters could have improved…or that they would.

  Should he have dispatched a Myrmidon squad to Iron Stem once more? He doubted that the Myrmidons would have been any more effective against the ancients than Majer Mykel, and he still had the feeling that he was going to need all the Myrmidons he could muster before long.

  He went from the Cadmian reports to Zernylta’s schedule. There, at least, something had worked out. She’d finally agreed to become the permanent assistant operations officer, with the promotion to captain, and that had removed one headache. She was already far better than Dhenyr had been.

  He had just finished checking over the schedule when Alcyna stepped through his door and closed it behind her. Her face was pale—even for an alectress.

  “Are you all right?” He gestured for her to take a seat.

  “Thank you for asking, Marshal.” Alcyna sank into the chair, then caught herself and straightened. “Are you aware of what’s happening in the Table chambers?”

  “The killing of refugees without skills or abilities needed here?” Dainyl nodded. “Is it happening in Alustre as well?”

  “If anything, it’s worse there. Brekylt’s guards are killing children in arms. I saw that on the translation out.” She shook her head. “I didn’t really even see it. I saw the clothing and asked Retyl. He said that children born on Ifryn were the greatest problem. They’d live the longest and draw the greatest Talent.”

  “Ifryn is collapsing. I don’t see why the Archon hasn’t transferred the Master Scepter. The longer he waits, the worse the chaos will be.”

  “That’s what he wants. Here on Acorus, anyway. Isn’t it obvious? Rather than telling people that they have no hope, he provides false hope. It’s clear that the recorders on Ifryn have been ordered to let hundreds of Ifrits try to translate here. It could be even a thousand. Who knows how many are perishing in the long tubes between worlds? They’re told to come here and warned that they’ll be killed on sight if they emerge on Efra. That way, the Archon doesn’t have to spend the resources to enforce order on Ifryn. It also allows a more orderly translation to Efra and bleeds Ifryn to the last to allow lifeforce to build or not decline on Efra…”

  Dainyl swallowed. He should have seen that. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to see it.

  “You look truly appalled, Marshal.”

  “I am. I know the lifeforce requirements here and on Efra, and we cannot take but a fraction of those Ifrits living on Ifryn, but…” He was the one to shake his head. “Knowing something and seeing the results of what you know are not the same. Yet…I don’t know what else can be done.” He gestured in the general direction of the Palace of the Duarch. “I asked Khelaryt about the guards and the rules, and he pointed out that letting everyone come would destroy Acorus in a few years. He didn’t say how many, but I tried to work it out. Less than twenty years—that was what my calculations showed.”

  “There’s no good answer, it seems.”

  “Except to use lifeforce more sparingly in the future,” Dainyl suggested.

  “How would you propose to implement that?” Alcyna asked dryly. “How many more alectors would the Duarches have to kill to make that work? How would we maintain control over the steers without using lifeforce, either through the pteridons or the Tables or the other technologies that elevate us above them?”

  “That’s a good question,” temporized Dainyl.

  Alcyna laughed harshly. “You don’t have an answer to that, either.”

  Dainyl shrugged. He didn’t, and there was no point in saying that he did. “How did Noryan take the orders?”

  “Like a good submarshal. He did suggest that he deploy Josaryk first, and then follow with Third Company to Norda in a week or so. I thought that was acceptable. Was it?”

  Dainyl had wanted Noryan away from Alustre as soon as possible, but Alcyna had been there, and had a better feel for matters. “If you thought so, it’s probably for the best that way.”

  “We talked it over. Brekylt is arming all his personal guard with lightcutters, and he has over two hundred in Alustre alone. Even Noryan is concerned. Pulling both companies at once might push Brekylt into acting immediately, and the Myrmidons do have families there. There’s no way to move all of them.”

  “Once the companies are gone, he could only use the families for retribution, and that wouldn’t give him control—just more determined enemies.”

  “I’d have to agree. Brekylt’s out for power, and alienating other alectors, even lowly ones, won’t add to his control.” She smiled, faintly. “One of Retyl’s assistants let something slip. He wanted to know if the messenger from Ludar had returned. I didn’t look back, and I don’t think they know I heard.”

  “So Samist or his High Alectors are dealing with Brekylt.”

  “More directly since he has been freed of the shadowmatch.”

  Had that been a mistake? Should he have waited? Dainyl still didn’t know. There was so much he didn’t know, even now, Marshal of Myrmidons or not.

  34

  Lystrana was standing in the foyer when Dainyl stepped out of the cold wind and closed the door behind him. He stepped forward and put his arms around her. For a time, they clung to each other.

  Then Lystrana stepped back. “I translated to Ludar this afternoon. You knew I would, didn�
�t you?” Her voice was low, subdued.

  “I had thought you might,” replied Dainyl cautiously, “but it was your choice.”

  “I was in the Table chamber in the Hall of Justice, getting ready to translate. They killed a father and his daughter. Even Chastyl had tears in his eyes.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “It’s inexcusable! The Archon is sending people here with false hope, just to make it easier for him and his cronies. Acorus can’t take them, and he knows it. He has to know it.”

  “That wasn’t why you decided. It might have made it easier.” His smile was lopsided. “Or harder.”

  “You. That was why I decided. You risked everything to ask for that. You wouldn’t do it if it didn’t feel right. And for Kytrana, too.”

  “But does it feel right to you?” Dainyl asked.

  Lystrana nodded. “Especially now. The translation upset Kytrana, especially coming back. She was afraid.”

  Dainyl had no idea how an unborn child would be afraid, but it had to be something that intruded upon their daughter’s growing Talent. Could she sense the turmoil in the tubes? Or the green streaks and flashes that were the ancients? “These days, sometimes I’m afraid.”

  “I said I’d go to Dereka immediately. I can use the quarters in the regional headquarters until I find something else.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Quinti morning. I don’t want to make any more translations after that anytime soon. With Kytrana, once I’m there, I can plead pregnancy. I don’t think that will bother Samist, or Khelaryt.”

  “Did you tell Chembryt?”

  “He seemed resigned. He said I deserved it. He did ask if whoever he selected as a new chief assistant could come to consult with me.” Lystrana smiled. “I agreed to that.”

  “Did anything else…happen?”

  “Khelaryt sent me a note congratulating me. He even put a phrase in it requesting that I exert my influence to keep you from moving the Myrmidon headquarters to Dereka.”

  “That’s safe enough. He knows I wouldn’t.” Dainyl shook his head. “I’ll be happier when you’re settled.”

  “I do have one favor to ask, dearest.”

  “What is that?”

  “You translate with me, so that you can carry everything I’ll need.”

  Dainyl repressed a frown, although he knew Lystrana would sense his concern anyway. “You’re as worried as I am.”

  “The next month, the next several months, will be very dangerous.”

  Dainyl had come to believe that, and certainly he and Lystrana had talked about it, but she had said little before tonight. “Is that because of the Table chamber?”

  She shook her head, then nodded. “More because of what’s happening there, and the fact that no one is even considering it in the Palace. I mentioned it to Chembryt. His response was that it was regrettable, but that none of them had wished to chance the long translation when almost anyone was allowed to make it.”

  “That was never true. Alectors still had to obtain permission.” He stopped. “The rationalization, the willful ignorance of what’s happening—that’s what you meant.”

  She nodded again. “Enough. We can talk later. We shouldn’t be talking here, anyway, even in whispers. Dinner should be ready.” She held out her hand.

  Dainyl took it, then offered his arm.

  35

  A good half glass before sunrise on Quattri, Mykel seated himself in the small officers’ mess and took the first sip of a cider that was bitter and turning. The egg toast was brown and already congealing into a leathery mass.

  “Majer! Sir!” Wyorst—the duty squad leader from Fourteenth Company—stood in the mess doorway. “Sir…Captain Culeyt would like to see you, sir. He’s out by the north gates. Fifty yards to the north, by the green tower.”

  Mykel rose quickly. Culeyt wasn’t one to waste his time. “Did he say why, Wyorst?”

  “No, sir. He said to get the majer.”

  Mykel hurried out of the mess and across the paving of the courtyard through an icy wind. In the gray-shaded light that preceded dawn, he saw Culeyt standing to the east of the eternastone pavement beside the dry ditch for drainage from the high road, but one that had never held water in the time Third Battalion had been in Iron Stem. With the captain was a town patroller, in brown and gray. Both were looking down at the ditch.

  Culeyt turned as Mykel approached. “Sir. I thought you’d want to know.” He gestured toward the figure lying in the ditch faceup.

  Mykel looked down at the almost innocent face of the young ranker, then at the blood-smeared tunic with the slash across the abdomen, and a deeper thrust up under the ribs.

  “Kersion didn’t report back last night, and Wyorst couldn’t find anyone who knew where he’d been. Some of his squadmates said he’d left early, wanted to get some sleep.” Culeyt shook his head. “He’d have been better staying and drinking with them.”

  The hard-faced town patroller looked at Mykel. “Look close at the dust. Someone dragged him here from maybe around the gates.”

  Mykel looked at Culeyt. “Did anyone report anything last night?”

  “No, sir. I checked that when Wyorst reported Kersion missing.”

  “I’d like to see whoever was on guard duty last night right after we finish here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mykel turned back to the patroller. “What do you think happened?”

  “Simple enough, Majer. The dusters’ll do anything for coin. It’s a couple of silvers for a little sniff. Your boy didn’t let him off, one of them anyway. Wrenched the knife away from him and slashed his throat and wrist. He made it another two hundred yards north, still trying to get out to pay for another sniff. Found him by the road. Someone came along and robbed him, too. Later, probably.”

  That Kersion had made the duster pay was no consolation to Mykel.

  “I’ll take care of it from here, sir,” said Culeyt. “I thought you should see.”

  Mykel nodded. “I’ll be in my study. I’ll see the duty guards once you round them up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mykel walked back to the compound. He couldn’t believe that the guards hadn’t heard something, and if two dusters were involved, why would one drag Kersion’s body away while the other one was dying. The surviving duster might have wanted what little remained in Kersion’s wallet, but Mykel still had trouble believing that a duster cold enough to leave a companion to die would have cooperated in the first place. Where dreamdust and dusters were involved, anything might be possible…but he wanted to hear what the guards had to say.

  Rhystan was waiting outside Mykel’s study. “I just heard about Kersion.”

  Mykel gestured. The two walked into the small study.

  Rhystan closed the thin door, so old that all the panels were cracked.

  “There’s something strange about this,” Mykel said. “I asked Culeyt to round up the guards who were on duty last night. They should have reported something. They didn’t.”

  “Ah…I think they were from the garrison here, sir. They’ve been handling gate duty. It seemed only fair, with our men taking the casualties.”

  “From now on, one of ours with one of theirs. I’ll tell the other officers.” Mykel sighed.

  “Are you going to put the town off-limits?”

  “Do you think I should? We’ve already warned them about the women. I don’t like the idea of keeping them cooped up here. That’s trouble of another kind. I’d like to require them to go in pairs, at least. Will that work?”

  “It might,” Rhystan replied. “Especially if you tell them that you’ll restrict everyone for a week for every time you find out that someone went out alone.”

  “I’d like to try that.”

  Rhystan nodded. “You going to eat?”

  “Not till later. Go ahead.”

  With a nod the senior captain opened the door and left, closing it behind him. Mykel walked to the desk and picked up the duty rosters, leafing through them. />
  “Sir?” Culeyt’s voice came through the thin door.

  Mykel stood, walked to the door, and opened it.

  Two Cadmians Mykel did not recognize—clearly from the local detachment—stood before Culeyt.

  “Shymal.” Culeyt inclined his head to the brown-haired taller Cadmian. “Frejyl.” The second Cadmian was not quite rotund and far older, his black hair shot with gray.

  “Captain, I’d like to talk with each one separately. I’ll start with Shymal.”

  “We’ll wait down the corridor, sir.” Culeyt clearly understood what Mykel wanted.

  Mykel gestured for the younger ranker to enter. “Take a seat, Shymal.” After closing the door, Mykel slipped behind the small desk and seated himself.

  The thin-faced ranker sat. His eyes did not meet Mykel’s.

  “You were on duty for the four glasses before midnight?”

  “Yes, sir.” Shymal shifted his weight in the hard wooden chair. “Me and Frejyl.”

  “Most of the men come back just before the eighth glass, don’t they?”

  “Guess so, sir. I mean, that’s when they’re supposed to be back, two glasses before midnight.”

  “Did you hear or see anything strange before that?”

  “It’s pretty quiet, sir, least until a quarter before the glass.”

  Mykel could sense Shymal’s unease. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “Sir?”

  “About what happened. You’re not sure about it, but something did happen. When did it happen?” Mykel waited.

  The ranker looked at the floor planks, worn and battered under the latest coat of oil and wax. “Didn’t think it was all that much, sir. A couple of fellows were talking. Far enough away that you couldn’t see. Just heard it. Frejyl told me to wait. He’d go over and quiet them down. He was gone for a while. Not long, less than a quarter glass. He said it was two dusters, and he got them on their way.”