Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes, sir.” Dainyl nodded and departed.

  Less than half a glass later, he walked down the subterranean corridor beneath the Hall of Justice toward the Table chamber. Outside of a single assistant, he saw no one in the hidden warrens. Nor did he sense anyone else.

  The Table chamber was also empty, and he stepped up onto the Table, his shields ready for anything—he hoped—as he concentrated and dropped through the Table and…

  …into the chill purple darkness. He immediately concentrated on finding the pink locator wedge that was Lyterna and Talent-linking to it. As he felt the distant Table moving toward him, he continued to be alert for any signs of trouble—and for amber-green flashes in the deeper blackness beyond the translation tube.

  He thought he sensed one such flash before the silvered-pink barrier at Lyterna shattered into its insubstantial and vanishing Talent-shards.

  Standing on the dark Table, he strengthened his shields. He had not worn his flying jacket, not with the warmth of the day in Elcien, and the frost boiled off the shimmersilk of his uniform tunic as he stepped off the Table in Elcien,

  Myenfel was the one who waited for Dainyl. “I trust you had no difficulties, Submarshal.”

  “None at all, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

  Myenfel only nodded in response, then gestured. A gray-haired and frail-looking alector appeared. “Eshart will take you to Asulet. It’s likely to be quicker that way.”

  “Thank you.”

  Myenfel offered a brief smile, then nodded to the gray-haired alector.

  Eshart said not a word, but immediately headed out of the Table chamber and down the long light-torch-lit corridor, then up a narrow staircase, and along the main gallery east of the so-called Council Hall, and past the grand pteridon mural of a scene that never was. It was a scene Dainyl also hoped he never would see—and hadn’t thought at all possible until the events of the past season.

  Another series of twists and turns and a narrow hallway—almost a tunnel—brought Dainyl out in a wider corridor he recognized, since, to his left, he could see the niches that held the ancient examples of Acorus—and the spare pteridons—preserved in time against a future need. Eshart turned right and then stopped at the first door—open.

  “Come in, Dainyl.” Asulet’s voice issued from within the chamber. “Please close the door.”

  Dainyl stepped into the room, closing the door, and found himself in a study paneled in wood of a deep golden shade—or was it oak that had aged centuries? He took a moment to survey the chamber, since he’d never been in Asulet’s study before. Bookshelves comprised one entire wall, and every space was full. A line of wooden cases was stacked against the back wall, under a painting of Dereka—or a Dereka that was meant to have been, because the image held twin green towers. The wide table desk was also of ancient oak, as were the two wooden armchairs before it, and the upholstered chair behind it. As with all chambers within the underground structure, there were the light-torches, the air ducts and returns—and no windows.

  Asulet stood at the corner of the desk. “Are you finished cataloguing all that I have here, Dainyl?”

  “I doubt that I ever could, sir. Even if I could, I wouldn’t understand a fraction of it.”

  “At least you know that. Sit down.”

  Dainyl waited until Asulet eased his gaunt frame into the chair behind the desk before taking a seat.

  “You arrived quickly, as usual.”

  “Matters are quiet. I doubt that they will remain so, but Shastylt says that I worry too much.”

  “As if he does not.” Asulet leaned forward. “There are two matters I would like to discuss with you, Dainyl. The first one deals with the predators. The icewolves feed on lifeforce, as you know. What you may not know is that there was another lifeforce predator, far more deadly, that also feeds on lifeforce. Its rough form is that of an indigen. Although it appears slightly smaller, it is quite strong, and its skin is rock-hard and tannish. It may sparkle in the light at times—”

  “Do you have one preserved here?”

  “No. They are more intelligent, and very rare. We were never able to capture one. One fieldmaster insisted that he saw one sink into the ground instantly, but no one else saw that happen, and there are no other records that support the claim. There are enough records and other evidence to support the existence of this predator. Like us, when they die, nothing long remains, but even without lifeforce-treated shimmersilk, their skin is almost impervious.”

  “You think they may be reappearing also?”

  “I think a few have always been around, but with the reappearance of the icewolves, there may be more of them.”

  “Why would they be more of a problem than the icewolves? Or can’t they be killed with standard weapons?”

  “It’s difficult to stop them with a standard Cadmian rifle. A skylance or a lightcutter will suffice—if one gets a direct blast. I’d suggested rifles of larger caliber in the beginning, but the engineers insisted that was unnecessary. The Duarches also didn’t want rifles with excessive power in widespread usage, and they didn’t want to create the idea that weapons used by indigens could come with larger barrels and cartridges. They felt a single rifle model would discourage firearms…invention.”

  And cannon, Dainyl thought. “So the Cadmians should be warned and told that only concentrated fire is effective?”

  “I would suggest waiting until there are reports of such creatures—if there are. They may not reappear. I thought you and the marshal should know about the possibility.”

  “Thank you. If they should reappear, we’ll have some idea of how to respond.”

  “I would hope so. The second matter is a report from Sulerya. The number of translations—and wild translations—has increased to a level that we would not expect for several years, yet there are no reports of these translations. My own measurements show a greater lifeforce drain.”

  “The wild translations…isn’t there quite a range? I heard about one—after it was killed, it didn’t disintegrate. The body just remained there like a lander’s. How could something like that happen?”

  Asulet fingered his chin. “That has happened once or twice. My best judgment is that the alector panicked and tried to become part of Acorus while still in translation.”

  “Is that possible? Becoming part of Acorus?”

  “Oh, yes. Even you or I could do it, if we didn’t try it in a translation tube, but it wouldn’t be a very good idea. It takes an enormous amount of Talent, and, in the end, we’d be more like Talented landers—smaller, weaker, and possibly even less intelligent.”

  “You speak with authority. I assume someone tried it, then?”

  “Poor Turbryt did. So long ago that you don’t want to know. He couldn’t figure a way to change back, and he was desperate enough to try the long translation.” Asulet shook his head. “He ended up as a wild translation on Ifryn, and…”

  Dainyl winced. After a moment of silence, he spoke quickly. “All the successful translations from Ifryn are going to Alustre or other Tables in the east? Besides Lysia?”

  “That appears to be the case, but not entirely. There are also more going to Hyalt.”

  “They’re not being reported to the Duarches?”

  “I could not say, but it appears unlikely that Khelaryt knows about them. Zelyert would not, and I would not be amiss to his knowing, but do not seek him out. He likes to feel that he is the one discovering and controlling.”

  That made sense and fit with what Dainyl had observed.

  “Oh, Dainyl…I might add that you’ve become more Talented. It won’t be long before Zelyert notices, if he hasn’t already. Shastylt probably won’t notice, because he tends to shut out things that don’t accord with his views, and he doesn’t think people ever change.”

  “What do you suggest I do?”

  “Whatever you can—like all of us. That’s all I had.” Asulet’s smile was both warm and wintry. “I assume you can find y
our way back to the Table.”

  Dainyl smiled. “I think so. Give my best to Sulerya, if you see her.”

  “That I will, and my best wishes to Lystrana.”

  Dainyl rose, bowed slightly, and departed. It seemed strange that he had traveled halfway across Corus for such a short conversation—except that what Asulet had said was not something that either he or Dainyl would have wanted in writing.

  As he walked back, he saw only two older menial alectors in the corridors, and the Table chamber was empty.

  Once in the chamber, without hesitation, he stepped onto the Table and concentrated.

  In the darkness of the translation tube, he could sense a web of purple “ahead”…somehow linked to Elcien or the tube pathway between the two. It felt as though it were looking for him, or that whatever lay behind it was doing so.

  Could he translate somewhere else—Blackstear—and then make a second translation? What if he did? Would that stop the webmaker? Or would he find yet another web “before” him?

  He certainly didn’t want to try what he had done the last time. Getting involved with the ancients was dangerous and likely to get more so. Yet he had to do something. The chill was seeping into him.

  He extended a line of Talent.

  The weblike barrier strained toward him, colder even than the chill darkness around him, drawing him toward it. He could sense that it was designed to suck out his very lifeforce.

  Another one appeared “behind” him.

  The ancients had said that he could change. He didn’t want to change, especially after what Asulet had just told him, but the ancient’s words implied he might be able to do some things as they did. What if he changed just his Talent-force?

  Trying to focus his thoughts and Talent in the enervating chill, he concentrated on replicating the sense of greenish Talent he’d seen from the ancients. A line of yellow appeared.

  Dainyl needed more green, and he concentrated on amber and green. What resulted was something amber-greenish lying over purple pink. He could barely think—but he thrust it forward, trying to create a link to the blackness and green outside the purple darkness of the translation tube.

  Brilliant purple-pinkness coruscated all around him, and, if he could have, he would have closed his eyes, but the brilliance seared through him, blinding even his Talent-senses.

  His teeth wanted to chatter, and his body to spasm with the frigidity around him, but when he could again sense what lay around him, the webs had vanished.

  A series of green points flashed around him, and then vanished.

  His Talent-link with Elcien was shaky, but he firmed it up and then flashed through the white-silver barrier.

  His legs shook, and he half-staggered off the Table, then leaned against it, gasping and shuddering.

  The entire Table chamber darkened, as if the light-torches had dimmed. Dainyl glanced at them, but the darkness hadn’t come from them. Another wave of darkness dimmed the chamber, lasting longer than the first.

  Sulerya had said that using Talent energies in the tubes between Tables was dangerous. Had his defenses caused what was happening?

  A third and briefer wave of darkness emanated from the Table. Dainyl waited a time, but there was no more darkness. Finally, he straightened and made his way from the chamber through the outer foyer and into the outer corridor. He replaced the outer Talent-lock and turned, more than ready to head back to headquarters, although he felt more like going home and sleeping.

  “Traveling again, Submarshal? Where?” Zelyert stood several yards down the corridor, smiling, although there was little warmth in the expression.

  “Lyterna. Asulet had some information—”

  “He’s always interesting. You can spare a moment, can’t you?” Zelyert motioned for Dainyl to follow him.

  Since the Highest’s question was a command, Dainyl entered the small private study, careful to close the door behind him. Since Zelyert remained standing, so did Dainyl. Tired as he was, he was careful to maintain full shields.

  “What did he officially tell you?” asked the High Alector of Justice.

  “He fears that there is another of the lifeforce predators loose. It’s likely to become more of a problem.”

  “Oh…the sander things. I’ve read the reports on them. They could be a problem for the Cadmians. Their rifles don’t have enough impact power to break their outer skin. Does he really think they’ll reappear?”

  “He thinks that the icewolves are the first step.”

  Zelyert nodded. “He’s usually right about those things.”

  “You’ve had more experience with him, sir, but it seems that way to me.”

  “Why did he really want you there?”

  Dainyl didn’t even debate denying that Asulet had another reason. “He’s worried. He’s gotten information that large numbers of wild translations are taking place. Based on that, he thinks that other successful translations from Ifryn are taking place. The alectors who are making the translations aren’t arriving in the places where he or you could track them, though.”

  “I thought it might be something like that. Did he tell you not to tell me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He’s learned something, at least. What do you intend to do about it?”

  “I don’t know that it’s something that is my task, sir, but I haven’t had time to consider it. I don’t think translating to Alustre would tell me anything.”

  “It wouldn’t, and it would be futile, and dangerous, not to mention that it doesn’t have anything to do with your duties. For the time being, Dainyl, I suggest you deal with Myrmidon and Cadmian matters.”

  “I have been, sir.”

  “I know, and I suggest it remain that way, and that it be clear to everyone that you are doing so.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Dainyl?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You’re very wise not to try to deceive me.”

  “I wouldn’t even think it, sir.”

  “That’s the mark of a good marshal…or submarshal.” Zelyert smiled. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

  Dainyl made his way out and up through the concealed stairs and though the Hall of Justice. He still had to report on the sander creatures to Shastylt, and he wasn’t at all happy with Zelyert’s parting words.

  41

  “Not exactly the best spot for a compound,” observed Culeyt.

  Mykel and the captain had reined up on the low rise overlooking a rubble-strewn set of buildings and a wall roughly fifty yards square. Rather, the outside dimensions were fifty yards. One section of buildings had collapsed. The remainder had clearly been pillaged, with no windows, no glass, no doors. Over the too-low wall, Mykel could see dirt-covered paving stones in the center of the small garrison. Less than fifty yards separated the ruined garrison from the two-yard-high weathered brick walls of the loading yard of an abandoned factor’s warehouse. What remained of the warehouse was little enough—stone cornerposts, a few charred timbers, and shattered roof tiles. By comparison, the compound buildings had fared relatively better.

  “No. You could heap up earthworks here or even timber barricades and fire down. They didn’t expect anyone to attack them. Not when they built it, anyway. It’s more like an overgrown town patroller station.”

  “Looks like someone looted it,” added Bhoral, from where he had reined up behind the two officers.

  “I’m certain they did. We’ll camp here until we get things squared away, but this is no place for a real compound.” Mykel turned his mount. “Captain, Fourteenth Company will accompany me. Bhoral, pass the word that the others are to do what they can here for temporary quarters. Sixteenth Company will stand by, ready to ride, until I get back. I’ll tell Captain Rhystan myself.”

  Mykel rode farther up the hillside to the low crest. From there he could survey Hyalt and some of the surrounding area. The town lay east of the rise on which the garrison had been built, with the high road dividing i
t so that a third lay west of the road, and two-thirds to the east. The larger dwellings in the town were situated on a raised flat stretch of land slightly to the northeast of the town square. At the south end of the town, the road turned eastward, just north of the narrow creek that wound to the south-east. From the maps, he knew that that stretch of road connected Hyalt and Syan, some two hundred and fifty vingts east.

  He turned in the saddle, looking out over the hills to the west, covered with a mixture of grass and junipers, with occasional low pines. He frowned as he noted, farther to the west, a redstone structure apparently carved into the side of a bluff. A single freestanding redstone building was situated out from the bluff, and a low stone wall set off both structures from the surrounding rolling grasslands. A stone road ran from there toward Hyalt.

  After a moment, he nodded. That had to be where the regional alector was located, but he wondered why the compound was set so far from the town itself. Then he shrugged. That was probably for the best. He wasn’t certain he wanted to be close to any alectors.

  At that thought, his fingers brushed his belt, and he could sense the faint green force emanating from the concealed dagger of the ancients.

  He rode down the slope toward Sixteenth Company and Rhystan.

  “You find it, sir?” asked Rhystan.

  “Find what?” Mykel grinned.

  “Whatever it was.” Rhystan grinned back.

  “The alectors’ local headquarters are out to the west. Part of it’s tunneled into a cliff. Seems odd. Everywhere else, they’re close to the center of things.”

  “Everything about this place seems strange.”

  “I’m taking Fourteenth Company with me to pay a visit to the council head. You’re in charge. Sixteenth Company is on standby, in case someone’s unfriendly. The others are to do what they can to make the garrison temporarily usable. We’ll need to find a better site for a permanent compound.”

  “Much better.” Rhystan shook his head. “There’s no good way to defend this with just a company. It’s better than being in the open, but not much.”