Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

Delari stood. “Let’s go up above. You at least need to take a quick look at Blackstear, such as it is.” She pulled a heavy jacket off a wall peg, so bulky that it made Dainyl’s flying jacket look thin.

  Dainyl followed her up a long set of wide stone steps and then back along a stone-walled corridor. Light flooded in from high clerestory windows, but the air remained chill.

  “Here’s the north portico. You can get the best view from here.” Delari opened the heavy oak door.

  As soon as he stepped out onto the portico, despite the sunlight, Dainyl understood why Blackstear wasn’t a popular destination. The Table building stood on a low hill, with the portico facing north. A narrow stone road wound down from the building toward the river to the northwest. Only two piers and a single warehouse stood in the small harbor where river and ocean met. Less than a score of dwellings and shops clustered behind pier warehouse. To the east of the Temple building a forest of evergreens stretched into the distance. The ground under the evergreens was covered with snow that looked to be waist-deep. Directly north of the portico stretched a vingt or so of open tundra, showing heaps of snow in places. Beyond that, Dainyl could see the iron gray waters of the ocean, and farther to the north, a line of white he supposed was ice. A bitter but light wind blew out of the northeast.

  Despite the heavy flying jacket, he shivered. “How long have you been here?”

  “Twenty years.” She grinned. “I do use the Table a lot to visit Sulerya. The warmth in Lysia helps, and the translation tubes aren’t any colder than Blackstear in the winter.”

  “There really isn’t much here.”

  “There wouldn’t be anything if the grid stability didn’t require a Table here.”

  Dainyl could see that.

  After a few moments more, he turned. “I’ve seen enough.”

  “You don’t want to visit the harbor?”

  He didn’t miss the glint in her eyes. “No, thank you. Blackstear is worth a short visit, if only to remind one of how much we take for granted…but I don’t need to see the harbor to gain that appreciation.”

  After Delari closed and sealed the door, Dainyl followed her back down to the Table chamber.

  He was back in Myrmidon headquarters in Elcien by the first glass of the afternoon. Once more, he looked for Zelyert, but the High Alector of Justice was not in, and Dainyl hurried back to headquarters.

  He had only just settled behind his desk and picked up the first of yet another stack of reports when the marshal stood in his doorway.

  “Sir?”

  “You were gone this morning.” Shastylt glared.

  “You were busy, sir. I took a quick trip to Blackstear.”

  “Why did you go to Blackstear? Just to see it?”

  “I haven’t been there. That’s true, but I went to see if the recorder or her assistants had noted any actions by the ancients.”

  “In Blackstear?” Despite Shastylt’s dubious tone, the marshal closed the study door.

  “The ancients like cold areas—and high ones. The land is much higher leading up to the Black Cliffs. And it’s cold. We can’t check places like the Aerlal Plateau, but I thought it was worth a glass or two to talk to the recorder there.”

  “What did you discover?”

  “There are people and livestock missing. Some of the Reillies are complaining. There’s unexplained Talent use.”

  Shastylt frowned, then nodded. “It is a ley node, and high there.”

  Dainyl had no idea what he meant by a ley node and waited for his superior to continue.

  Shastylt did not and looked at Dainyl.

  “Do you still think they’re concentrated somewhere on the Aerlal Plateau?” Dainyl finally asked.

  “There, or high in the Spine of Corus.”

  “If they do have a redoubt or something up in the Aerlal Plateau,” asked Dainyl, “how could we even bring an attack against them?”

  “For the moment, we would have to wait, and attack when they enter our lands. As the lifemass on Acorus grows and the air warms, we can employ the road-building wagons and cut a highway from the south, from, say, Deforya, one by which we can send the Cadmians against them.”

  “I have my doubts that rifles would be effective.” That was as much as Dainyl could say without revealing his own experiences.

  “We would have to equip them with some variation of lightcutters, and the casualties would be high. More troubling is the strategy that it appears they are developing.”

  Dainyl had an idea, but decided against saying it outright. “Using attacks against Myrmidons and pteridons to require us to draw more on the lifewebs?”

  “Exactly. If we are required to draw on the lifeweb for shields, that will reduce the lifeforce available before it can be built into a higher and self-sustaining capacity.”

  Left unsaid was the point that too little lifeforce would certainly mean that the Master Scepter would have to be transferred to Efra, rather than Acorus.

  “Did you find out anything else?”

  “No, sir.” Dainyl smiled wryly. “Except how cold it is in Blackstear.”

  “Have we had any more reports from the Cadmians about Iron Stem or Hyalt?”

  “One more predator in Iron Stem. It killed some herders, but the Cadmians took care of it. Third Battalion is still training the new troops in Southgate.”

  “If anything happens, let me know. I’m off to the Hall of Justice.” Shastylt turned, opened the door, and departed leaving Dainyl to his reports—before he began reviewing Dhenyr’s first attempt at a logistics projection for the coming seasons.

  34

  In the dimness of dawn, Mykel walked to the mirror in his quarters. He had not slept all that well, thinking as he had about Rachyla—and about what she had said. Had he changed that much in the season since he had last seen her? Had she? Or had his emerging ability to sense the auras of people merely revealed more of who and what she was?

  He’d never heard of a “dagger of the ancients” before going to Dramur, much less encountered one of the ancient soarers. He’d never heard of anyone who had met one. He had a better idea what the soarer had meant by developing his talent, but no real guidance on how he should. The sole advice on that had come from Rachyla, who had told him that the alectors would destroy him if they ever discovered he was a dagger of the ancients. He’d half-dismissed that at first. Now, especially after traveling on the alectors’ ship and sensing what lay within it, he had the definite feeling she’d been right, although he couldn’t have explained why in any logical fashion.

  He also could not help but wonder how a dagger of the ancients had found its way to Rachyla’s grandsire. From what she had hinted, it had been his undoing in some fashion, and she felt the dagger would do the same to Mykel.

  Standing in the cool morning air, he looked at himself—a taller-than-average lander, with a broad forehead under short and fine blond hair, light green eyes, moderately wide shoulders, and short-fingered hands with large palms. His chest still showed a pinkish scar where he’d been shot, a wound that should have been fatal, but had not been.

  Did the mirror show or reflect auras?

  He tried to sense what his own aura might be, but the mirror revealed nothing. The only impression he felt was one of darkness surrounding himself. Did he have an aura as black as Rachyla’s? Or was he imagining things?

  Finally, he shrugged. He certainly had no way to tell what his aura was like, not that was reliable, anyway.

  He finished dressing, and stepped outside onto the balcony of the senior officers’ quarters. There, for a quarter glass, he stood in the long shadows of sunrise, watching as rankers crossed the paved courtyard, trying to sense their auras. While he had noted auras in passing, he had not taken the time to just watch before. He had difficulty in discerning any aura at all if a ranker was much more than twenty yards away, although there were some few whose auras were clear from twice that distance. He had watched for only a short time before he realized that people with
black auras had to be rare. He sensed not a single one anywhere close to as dark as Rachyla’s, and only one ranker whose aura betrayed even a trace of black. None showed the flashes of green.

  He also suspected that auras indicated something about the lands where people were born, because the majority of rankers from the Southgate Cadmians had auras centered in “color” around a tannish yellow, while the majority of those from Third Battalion bore shades of browns, ranging from reddish brown to golden brown. He still had not sensed any more of the pinkish purple shade shown by the navigator’s mate—or by Hersiod. Could that coloration result from being close to the alectors? Certainly the mate was, but why would Hersiod show such coloration? Or could that have been a result from the time he and Colonel Herolt had been briefed by the Myrmidon officer? Yet the colonel hadn’t carried the pinkish overshade.

  Although he would have liked to confirm more of what he had observed, he needed to eat and prepare for the long day ahead. He walked down the narrow steps to the courtyard and hurried toward the officers’ small mess.

  Two local Cadmians stiffened as he approached.

  “Carry on.” Mykel smiled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Behind him, he caught a few words.

  “…Crelyot saw him on the range…never missed…”

  “…doesn’t put up with sowshit…”

  “…Delast overheard…majer’s lived through wounds’d kill an alector…”

  How had that gotten around? Mykel had never said anything, but some of the rankers from Fifteenth Company might have. He frowned. Was his hearing better—or was he just more aware?

  When Mykel entered the mess, Rhystan looked up from where he sat at one of the three tables. Loryalt, Dyarth, and Fabrytal were seated in the corner table. All three avoided looking at Mykel as he walked toward Rhystan.

  “You mind if I join you?” Mykel knew Rhystan wouldn’t and couldn’t object, but he still felt he should ask.

  “No, sir.”

  Mykel sat down on the other side of the small table. Within moments, the Cadmian orderly had set a platter and a mug before him. Mykel’s eyes dropped to the platter—fried goat, some slices of a soft white cheese, slices of quince that had been preserved in something acidic, and over-toasted bread.

  “It gets to you, doesn’t it”

  Mykel laughed. “I manage not to think about it until I get here.”

  “…don’t know how he can…” The murmur was from Loryalt, but Mykel ignored it.

  “How was that ball the other night?” asked Rhystan.

  “I was as out of place as a Squawt at a Reillie wedding.” Mykel took a swallow of the cider, except that it was cider cut with the same fruit juice he hadn’t recognized from the first—and had decided not to ask about. Still, it was better than ale in the morning. “I think the least costly gown worn by any of the women would have taken more than a year’s pay. Make that two years’ pay. I had to dance with some of the unmarried women—that’s what the custom is…”

  “A great trial, I’m sure.”

  “Dancing wasn’t, I’ll admit. But you have to ask their parent or their escort. One little snot—he was the brother of the young woman—called me an undercaptain.” Mykel had almost said “captain,” but decided the exaggeration was more politic. “Another young woman said that one dance was enough.”

  Rhystan shook his head. “I was already getting the feeling that they don’t like Cadmians.”

  “Oh…they like us well enough, just so long as we stay in our compounds and only appear when called. Like well-trained guards.” Mykel took a bite of the goat. He still didn’t like it, but that was what there was to eat.

  “That’s always the way it is. Worse here than Dramur, I think.”

  “Yes and no.” Mykel paused. “In Dramur, no one wanted us around. I’m not so sure that they looked down on us so much. Here, we’re welcome to spend blood and sweat to protect them, but not to get too close.”

  “It could be.” Rhystan sounded doubtful.

  Mykel looked to Loryalt. “How is Sacyrt fitting in with Seventeenth Company?”

  “Sacyrt? Oh…the one from Second Battalion. He’s a cold one, but he’s been keeping in line. Keeps to himself, Clastyn says.”

  “That’s probably for the best.” Mykel still worried about the ranker—his dark aura had held such reddish ugly streaks—but he couldn’t do much except suggest that the undercaptain and his squad leaders keep an eye on the man.

  Loryalt frowned, but didn’t reply.

  After a moment, Rhystan spoke. “It’s too hot here. Be glad when we head out. Are you still looking at next Tridi?”

  “If we don’t get rain or worse.”

  “Rain? What’s that?” Rhystan snorted.

  “It’s what falls from the clouds in the winter here. That’s what they tell me.” Mykel had to force himself to eat the soft and slimy cheese. “You’re scheduled for drills against the First Hyalt this morning. Bhoral’s worried that some of the troublemakers there are getting too high an opinion of themselves.”

  “They probably are. Their last drills were against Thirteenth Company. You want us to press them?”

  Mykel nodded. “Fifteenth Company will do the same against Second Hyalt.”

  “I suppose tomorrow, we’ll go against Thirteenth?” Rhystan raised his eyebrows.

  “Seventeenth. Fifteenth will go against Thirteenth.”

  Mykel could sense the unease among the undercaptains, and that was good, because some of them had inflated ideas of how well their men were performing.

  Rhystan, his back to the undercaptains, grinned at Mykel.

  35

  Just past midday on Novdi, less than a glass after he had returned from Myrmidon headquarters, Dainyl looked out the sunroom windows at the gray skies and drizzle. Novdi was usually only a half day of duty, and matters had been so quiet that he’d felt perfectly justified in leaving sharply at noon, especially since Lystrana had worked late the night before and dropped into bed exhausted—both from a last-moment review of shipbuilding accounts and from an overactive unborn daughter’s antics of the night before. Since Shastylt had left headquarters by midmorning, there was no point in staying any longer than normal.

  He turned as he sensed Lystrana’s approach. “I’d hoped it would be warm and sunny.”

  “I know. So had I.”

  Dainyl glanced back at the clouds.

  “Jeluyne’s exhibition is this afternoon in the lower hall of the Duarch’s Palace,” Lystrana ventured. “It’s the last day. The quartet will be playing, too. After that we could have something to eat at Eanthyro’s. We could give the girls the rest of today off, and all of tomorrow.”

  “Are these her paintings of Elcien and Ludar?” asked Dainyl warily. Jeluyne was an older alectress who was a friend of his mother.

  “They’re supposedly quite good. Khelaryt has selected one for his permanent gallery.”

  “I’m sure that they’re excellent. She’s an outstanding artist.”

  “If we see your mother there, we won’t have to call on her so soon.”

  Dainyl could sense the humor behind his wife’s words. “We might as well. I haven’t been to many of the recent social events, and it would be nice to eat out.”

  “I’ll tell the girls, and I’ll be ready in less than a quarter glass.” Lystrana smiled and hurried off.

  It was more like half a glass later, at a time when there was a lull in the rain, when Dainyl stepped outside and put up the banner indicating the desire for a carriage. Zistele and Sentya had already left, hurrying off to the eastern market square, the one favored by the younger landers and indigens. Dainyl and Lystrana stood in the foyer, the door ajar so that they could watch for a carriage.

  Since they were going to the Duarch’s Palace, if not for a formal event, Dainyl wore his blue and gray dress uniform. Lystrana wore gray shimmersilk trousers with a blue shirt and a dark gray vest, both slightly looser than Dainyl knew she would have preferre
d, although her childbearing status was not yet that visible.

  “It’s too quiet,” he mused.

  “You’ve been saying that for days.”

  “I have, and I know that Brekylt hasn’t stopped whatever he’s plotting.”

  “Probably not.” Lystrana paused. “Oh, I didn’t have a chance to tell you last night. We got a dispatch yesterday that Rensyl suffered a fall from a pteridon when he was being taken from Fordall to Alustre. His creative accounting is being remedied. One other engineer was involved. He was executed, and a team of experienced engineers have translated from Ifryn to replace and enhance the expertise of the engineering force in the east.”

  “Convenient.” Dainyl paused. “Engineers from Ifryn, not from Ludar or Faitel?”

  “I thought that was interesting.”

  “It suggests that Brekylt has the support of someone highly placed there.”

  “The Archon wouldn’t go against the Duarches. I can’t see that.”

  “But he might go around them,” suggested Dainyl. “Or, if it’s his idea, he could have told Samist. If not, who knows who it could be? What did your Highest say?”

  “He didn’t say anything, but he’s worried. He went and saw Khelaryt, but he didn’t look any happier when he returned. He did say that Zestafyn had already been sent to Ludar. I’d prepared some material about it, and I think he sent it with Zestafyn. That was one of the reasons I was late getting home.”

  “Khelaryt’s worried, then.”

  “Concerned, anyway.”

  At that moment, a covered carriage pulled up outside. Dainyl hurried out through the drizzle that had resumed and held the carriage door for Lystrana. He looked up at the gray-haired hacker. “The Duarch’s Palace. The north entrance.”

  “North entrance, yes, sir.”

  The hoofs of the carriage horse were louder in the rain, and neither Dainyl nor Lystrana said anything on the ride. When they stepped out of the carriage, they were the only ones entering the palace, but that might have just been chance. They made their way under the covered portico and through the lower archway, past the Duarch’s guards, and into the lower great hall of the palace.