Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I could crush you.” The statement was arrogantly matter-of-fact.

  “Perhaps you could,” replied Dainyl, although he had his doubts that Zelyert was that much more powerful, “but what is the point of that? Everyone knows you’re powerful. Then who would you find to resolve the difficulties you face?”

  Dainyl could sense Zelyert beginning to gather Talent-strength and he added, “Is that your answer, Zelyert? Destroy me because I have the honesty and audacity to suggest you might be mistaken? Then who will do what you need done? Unlike the others who might replace me, I’m not scheming for your position, and you should be wise enough to see that.”

  “You are an arrogant imbecile.”

  Dainyl laughed. “I’ll admit to arrogance. What alector isn’t, at times? I’ll even admit to making mistakes, but why are you attempting to destroy me? It won’t solve your problems.”

  Zelyert continued to marshal Talent force, as did Dainyl.

  “Destroying a presumptuous subordinate is never wrong.”

  “What do you gain? Either way, you lose. If I defeat you, you lose. If you destroy me, you lose, because there isn’t anyone left who can do what I can, and you will need me and the Myrmidons.” He smiled. “At least, in the near future.”

  Before Zelyert could say more, Dainyl inclined his head. “I have no interest…” He strengthened his shields and took two steps forward, sensing that Zelyert had no intention of listening to reason.

  He was within a yard of Zelyert when he was stopped cold by the sheer ferocity of the barrage of Talent against his shields.

  Dainyl could barely even stand against the bolts of Talent, let alone attack, and he could feel his shields being eroded.

  “You’re nothing,” Zelyert said. “A trace stronger than many alectors, but hardly anything to worry about.”

  The superior brute strength of Zelyert’s Talent pressed Dainyl back, enshrouding his shields with purple. Dainyl interlocked shields within shields, but still found himself being pressed backward, toward the stone wall behind him.

  Another bolt of Talent energy shivered his shields, adding to the purple aura of air in the study.

  Something about the purpleness nagged at Dainyl as he shored up his shields, trying to stand against the onslaught…

  Then, he had it. Talent didn’t have to be purple!

  Dainyl extended a probe to the greenish blackness that lay beneath the Table, not all that far away.

  His shields strengthened, and the pressure against him subsided. Rather his own strength, aided by what he drew from beneath, balanced that of the High Alector.

  “You’re a tool of the ancients…” gasped Zelyert. “Anyone can see it…the green.”

  “I’m no one’s tool.” Dainyl opened the channel wider, allowing more of the greenish Talent-strength to flow into his shields. Then he was the one to step forward, pressing Zelyert backward.

  Zelyert extended his own Talent probe, toward the Table itself.

  Dainyl enveloped it with the greenish black, squeezing it off short of the Table.

  The room exploded into an inferno of unleashed Talent.

  Dainyl hung on to his shields—and the link to the blackish green below. The entire Hall of Justice shuddered…and purple and green darkness slammed into Dainyl, hurling him against the wall.

  Then…there was only darkness.

  64

  For a time, Dainyl lay on the stones of the private study. Every muscle and bone ached. Then, there was chill—cold compresses on his forehead. He managed to open his eyes.

  Adya was kneeling beside him, applying the compress. “You’re alive.”

  “After a fashion,” Dainyl whispered.

  “I didn’t think anyone…” She lifted the compress.

  Dainyl sat up, then slowly stood. Dizzy as he felt, he immediately sat down in the chair before the table. Only then did his eyes go to the High Alector’s garments, lying on the stone floor. Empty.

  “You’re…green,” Adya said.

  “I feel green,” Dainyl offered dryly, although he feared he knew what she meant.

  “Your Talent…it’s more like greenish purple, with some black,” she explained.

  “It’s been like that ever since Hyalt. Rhelyn—he was the RA and the recorder—wounded me with one of the weapons of the ancients.” Dainyl offered a hoarse laugh. “I’ve been tinted green ever since.”

  “They say the ancients…”

  “Their Talent is green. It was a weapon forged by their Talent.”

  Her mouth opened. “The records say…”

  “What do they say, Adya?” Dainyl forced himself to be patient. He needed time to recover, and he didn’t need anyone upset.

  “The green alector…” She stammered. “I don’t recall. I only heard the Highest mention it once. He said something about it being a time of danger for everyone.”

  Dainyl had a good idea that Zelyert had said much more. He also doubted that Adya would tell him. Not at the moment. “Zelyert was angry even before I returned from Dereka. Do you know why?”

  “No, sir. He’d been at the Palace, and he was short-tempered when he returned. He didn’t say why. He told Dalyrt that he’d have to take the petitions in the Hall today. The way he said it no one wanted to ask why.”

  “He was in Ludar yesterday. What sort of mood was he in when he came back?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir. He came back after I left for the day. Dalyrt was the one who had to wait.”

  Dainyl was still light-headed, although he could feel some Talent-strength returning. “Could I persuade you to get me something to eat and drink?”

  “Yes, sir. I can do that.”

  Her acquiescence was frightening, almost as though she couldn’t wait to leave the study.

  Dainyl took a deep breath. He had to get his thoughts together. He supposed he needed to tell Khelaryt. But what could he, what should he tell the Duarch? And was it wise to appear Talent-tinged in green in the Palace?

  Could he conceal some of the green? Turn it inside, and leave the purple outside?

  He concentrated, attempting not to change what he was, but only the outward radiation of the mixed Talent he seemed to embody. By the time he finished, he was even more light-headed, and he lowered his head into his hands for several moments, straightening up only when he sensed Adya returning.

  “You’re looking much better, sir. Most of the green’s faded. Not all, but most.” She carried a wooden tray, on which were a small loaf, a wedge of white cheese, and a beaker.

  “I’d think it should fade over time.” Dainyl was beginning to have doubts about that. Exactly what had been in the weapon Rhelyn had used? Or had the ancients’ healing of him made him more susceptible to showing the green? It couldn’t just have been the result of his recent drawing on the black-green Talent. He’d had a tinge of green before.

  Dainyl ate the entire loaf of bread and the cheese and drank the whole beaker of cider. He did feel more clearheaded when he finished, and far better than he ought to have, given what he’d been through.

  Adya stood waiting, as if fearful of leaving.

  Dainyl didn’t even know the protocol for seeing the Duarch. In the past, he had only responded to requests and sent reports, but what had happened merited more than a report, and it couldn’t wait, especially if what he feared might be happening.

  “Adya, is the Highest’s coach here?”

  “Yes, sir. I think so.”

  “I’ll need a ride to the Palace.”

  “Let me check, sir.”

  No sooner had Adya scurried off again than Chastyl appeared in the doorway. “Might I come in?”

  Dainyl nodded.

  The recorder’s eyes dropped to the shimmersilk garments still on the floor, then he looked at Dainyl, clearly comparing the marshal’s plain blue and gray shimmersilk uniform to the richer raiment of the late High Alector. “Ah…who…will you…?”

  “I have no idea, Chastyl. I asked Adya to find the coa
ch so that I could report Zelyert’s unfortunate death to the Duarch.”

  “You…intend to do that personally, sir?” The recorder’s tone suggested the lack of wisdom in such a course.

  “How else? If the Duarch finds my self-defense unacceptable, what would be the point of telling him indirectly? Indirection has never been my strength, Chastyl.”

  “Ah…no, sir. I’ve observed that.”

  “What should I know, Chastyl? You had something to tell me, I’d wager.”

  Chastyl’s eyes dropped once more to the garments that had been Zelyert’s, as if the recorder could not believe what had happened. “Ah…yes, sir…I think, sir. You’d mentioned that you’d thought that the Highest had gone to Ludar. He did, but he was furious when he returned, the kind of anger he walled away, but so great not even his Talent could hide it.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “No, sir. When he left the Table, he said, ‘Beware those who know everything and understand nothing.’ That was all, except for one thing. Almost as an afterthought, he added, ‘The marshal knows nothing, yet understands almost everything. That makes him all the more dangerous.’ After what’s happened, I thought it might make sense to you.”

  “I’ll have to think about that. I appreciate your letting me know.” Dainyl had the feeling he did in fact understand. That suggested even more that he needed to talk to Khelaryt before anyone else did.

  “If that’s all, sir, I’d better be returning to the Table.”

  “I won’t keep you. Thank you.” Dainyl managed a smile he hoped was pleasant as Chastyl inclined his head and backed out of the study.

  As though she had been waiting in the corridor, which she had been, Adya stepped into the doorway. “The coach is ready for you, sir.”

  “I appreciate your finding that out for me.” Dainyl stood and walked deliberately to the inner stairs and up them.

  A cold mist filled the air and continued to seep out of the low-lying clouds as Dainyl left the Hall of Justice and walked down the wide stone steps to the waiting coach.

  “To the Palace, sir?”

  “The Duarch’s entrance, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dainyl climbed into the coach. Was he the imbecile Zelyert had suggested, or merely foolhardy, as Chastyl had hinted? Neither, he tried to convince himself. Fleeing or delaying would only make matters worse, not only for him, but for Lystrana and Kytrana.

  The coach ride was short, and in fact, Dainyl could have walked the distance, but somehow walking up to the Palace did not seem to fit the occasion—and riding was quicker, if not by that much. He stepped out of the coach onto the wide marble mounting block.

  “Would you like me to wait, sir?” asked the driver.

  “I’d appreciate that.” With the mist thickening, Dainyl glanced from the Palace to the north, where a wall of gray bore down on Elcien, the first of many winter fogs, he suspected. Then he turned and strode through the archway and past the pair of guards armed with lightcutter sidearms. As he had suspected, Bharyt appeared almost immediately.

  “Marshal Dainyl…” The functionary’s forehead creased into a puzzled frown. “I do not recall…”

  “I was not summoned, nor do I have an appointment, Bharyt. I’m here to see the Duarch on a matter of great urgency.”

  “Might I tell him in general terms?” asked the slender alector, his words more suggestion than question.

  “This time, no. I’d also suggest that you would not wish to be the one to do so,” Dainyl replied.

  Bharyt stood for a moment, then nodded. “I will tell him that you’re here, sir.”

  Dainyl watched as the other alector turned and made his way along the corridor flanked by goldenstone marble columns, goldenstone doubtless quarried generations upon generations earlier in Soupat. Bharyt vanished through one of the doors, then, after several moments, reappeared and walked swiftly back until he faced Dainyl.

  “He will see you.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he followed the functionary, Dainyl’s boots clicked on the green and gold marble tiles, a sound muted somewhat by the gold-trimmed dark green velvet hangings. As they neared the library, Bharyt stepped back and motioned to the door. “You may go in.”

  Dainyl opened the door, stepped into the library, and closed the door behind him. He was well aware of the finality of the metallic click of the latch.

  The Duarch was not seated at his desk, but stood before the oak shelves on the inside walls, as though he had just replaced one of the leather-bound volumes. Standing, he remained a towering presence, but his shimmering black hair was disarrayed, and there were circles under the deep violet eyes. While the Duarch still radiated Talent, Dainyl noted that now that the shadowmatch was gone, Khelaryt’s Talent seemed only slightly more impressive than Zelyert’s had.

  On the Duarch’s desk was a single large crystal, absolutely clear. Beyond the desk and crystal, through the narrow floor-to-ceiling windows on the outer walls, the sunken garden looked gray, half-veiled by the mist that was rapidly being replaced by a full-fledged fog.

  “Sir.” Dainyl bowed, then straightened, waiting.

  “You haven’t seen the crystal before, have you? It’s useful for turning malign Talent energies against the user…or for identifying strange energies. As you know, it was not necessary…earlier.” Khelaryt smiled, warmly, although the warmth was even more superficial than on their past meetings. “You have an urgent message?”

  “More like unfortunate news, sir. On my return from Dereka, after I had inspected and briefed Fifth Company, High Alector Zelyert summoned me to his private study, charged me with incompetence, and then attacked me.”

  Khelaryt nodded slowly. “Since you are here, and he is not, the outcome is obvious. I cannot say that I am surprised that he would act so. I am mildly astonished at the outcome. You apparently have some abilities beyond the apparent.”

  Dainyl decided to ignore that point. “I have also learned that he has been traveling to Ludar and that he has been in rather close touch with High Alector Ruvryn. You are doubtless aware of that, but you may not be aware that even more Cadmian rifles manufactured in Faitel have turned up, this time in the hands of the mountain brigands to the southwest of Soupat, and that Ruvryn has apparently attempted to blame a delay in copper shipments on the events in Soupat. He also charged me with delaying tin shipments when he had already closed the mines some time earlier. At least, those were the offenses which Zelyert laid at my feet.”

  Khelaryt had not been watching Dainyl, but the crystal, which had turned a misty green from its previous clear color.

  “Very interesting. Your Talent is mixed, as if you were part ancient and part alector. That cannot be, of course. There are warnings about green alectors…”

  “You know the reason for that, sir. When I was wounded in Hyalt…”

  “That is certainly part of the reason, Dainyl. Tell me. Do you wish to be Duarch? High Alector of Justice?”

  “No, sir. I have no desire to be Duarch. I’m too direct, and I know too little. Lystrana would be far better at it than I.”

  Khelaryt glanced at the crystal, clear once more. “My daughters have been in touch recently. They both have sent the same message. Both urge me to trust you and to use you as necessary. On the other hand, every single High Alector, except Chembryt, distrusts you. Who should I believe?”

  “Yourself, sir. Others can only advise you, and all have their own interests at heart.”

  “And you do not?”

  “I have my own interests as well, sir. I’d like to think that they are far less injurious to you and to the fate of Acorus.”

  “What are your interests, Dainyl? To be High Alector of Justice?”

  “I had not thought of that until this morning, sir, after I was forced to deal with Zelyert.” Dainyl smiled apologetically. “He accused me of being an imbecile and arrogant. I suppose that I am ignorant and arrogant, because my feeling has always been that the duty
of the High Alector of Justice is to be just and because I believe that I certainly could handle the duties of being High Alector of Justice at least as well as Zelyert did.”

  “What would you do if I did not name you High Alector?”

  “Continue to do my best as Marshal of Myrmidons. Resign if you requested it.”

  Khelaryt laughed ruefully. “Zelyert was the imbecile…or the arrogant one. You are one of the loyal ones. You did not seek Shastylt’s title and responsibilities. You only sought to do what you thought best. In the end, that made you a threat to both of them. That has all too often been the case.” He laughed again. “As matters now stand, I am the only one to whom you do not pose a threat.” Khelaryt paused, frowning.

  Dainyl managed to keep a pleasant expression on his face as he realized that despite the Duarch’s words, Khelaryt was concerned about Dainyl being a threat.

  “In time, anyone can be a threat, but your loyalty says much about you,” the Duarch continued. “I believe you understand that as well. But you cannot remain as Marshal of Myrmidons.”

  “Sir?”

  “There is no one among the High Alectors who is strong enough to be your superior, Dainyl. We are not exactly blessed with an abundance of alectors with ability and great Talent.” Khelaryt frowned again. “The green sheen to your Talent poses another problem, but for the moment, we will avoid that problem by noting that you will be occupied in learning your new duties as High Alector of Justice. During that time, meet with Alseryl and Chembryt personally, so that they will have no reason to bring up the issue of green-tinged Talent before me. You will also need to brief your successor as marshal. I assume that Submarshal Alcyna meets your requirements.”

  “There is no one else qualified, sir.” Dainyl was having difficulty in grasping Khelaryt’s matter-of-fact handling of what had happened. He also had no idea who could become the next submarshal.

  “That seems to be the situation facing both of us, High Alector of Justice.” Khelaryt added, “It has always been difficult to find those with both integrity and ability. So often those with the greatest ability lack integrity and those with integrity lack imagination.”