Cadmians Choice (18 page)

Sturyk swallowed
again. “Sir... that is coercion.”

“Overcaptain ... you
cannot have it both ways. I’m perfectly willing to put your objections on the
record, and if I fail, then you will be proven correct.” Mykel smiled. “If you
are not willing to object, then I would like your agreement on record.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel could sense the
palpable dislike emanating from Sturyk. He wished he had learned to be more
politic, but he doubted that anything besides veiled force would ever have
moved Sturyk. Mykel had tried not to sound like Majer Vaclyn, but feared he had
anyway. Was that what happened when officers became battalion commanders? That
they were placed in positions where they had to make demands that seemed
unreasonable to junior officers? He smiled again. “After all, Overcaptain, we’ll
only be here a month, and, I’m sure that Colonel Herolt will be pleased to
learn just how cooperative and supportive you have been.”

“I’m certain we can
work things out, sir.” The dislike behind Sturyk’s professional smile was
replaced by a sense of calculation and caution, feelings that were obvious to
Mykel, yet he knew that he would not have seen and sensed them a year earlier,
certainly not nearly so directly and clearly.

As he left the study,
heading out to find the officers of the trainee companies, he wondered if there
were some way he could not only sense what others felt, but offer them
reassurance... or confidence, in the case of his own officers.

There was still so
much yet to learn, and he feared he would learn too much of it by making
mistakes. His fingers dropped to his belt, just above the concealed dagger—was
he becoming a true dagger of the ancients, as likely to slash himself as
others? Or had he been sent because Colonel Herolt knew all too well the limitations
of Overcaptain Sturyk?

Dainyl crossed the
Myrmidon courtyard in the darkness of early evening on Duadi. He’d indicated he
would be leaving on Tridi. Leaving earlier seemed wiser, especially since he
had no real evidence that would suggest misdeeds by Alcyna or Brekylt—or even
what they might be attempting. After a day and a half of talking to Myrmidons
and checking the records and logs of Seventh Company, what he had discovered
was only what could be inferred by what had not been ordered or undertaken.

There was indeed a
new Myrmidon compound that was almost completed, and it certainly had enough
space for two companies. It was also well to the north of the present compound
and away from the hillier ground—supposedly to allow easier takeoffs and
landings. Yet it was not noticeably larger than the present compound, and the
current Myrmidon post was far more convenient to the Table and in excellent
repair. The current post was higher in the hills and had walls that could be
defended. So why were Brekylt and Alcyna building a new compound?

The flight patterns
were less clear, but still suggestive. Seventh Company had conducted routine
patrols of the river and the port at Tylora, and occasionally even overflown
Sinjin. Parts of the southeastern High Steppes had been watched for grass fires
or other lifeforce damage. Following reports of scattered brigandage, various
squads had periodically patrolled the high roads to Flyr and even the road from
Tylora to Sudya. On two occasions, they had even found brigands. But over a
period of four years, according to the logs and records, there had been no
surveillance or monitoring flights to the north along the eastern flank of the
mountains that comprised the Spine of Corus. Likewise there had been no written
orders from Alcyna— or anyone else—directing the scope of Seventh Company
flight operations.

Dainyl paused before
the door concealing the stairs down to the Table chamber, studying it carefully
before releasing the Talent-lock. Even so, he felt more Talent, just beyond the
door, and linked to the door itself. Rather than open the door immediately, he
extended his Talent-senses beyond. The finest film of Talent lay on the other
side, a web linked to the door and across the corridor—obviously an alarm of some
sort. Whatever was happening in the east involved many of the recorders, if not
all of them—or the recorders were opposed to Dainyl for reasons of their own,
perhaps because he had killed the recorder who had tried to murder him or
because he had learned too much about what they could do with the Tables.

He studied the web
for a time, noting that single strands ran from the web and the door, melding
into a larger strand that ran along the top of the corridor and down the steps.
Using his own Talent, he created miniature shields, very delicately, to
immobilize the unseen— but clearly sensed—purple threads leading to that
telltale strand. Only then did he gently use his Talent to rearrange the web so
that he could open the door and step through.

Leaving the miniature
shields in place, he made his way down the steps and then to the right toward
the Table chamber. He found no more Talent-webs, but in the dimness of the
Table chamber, in addition to the Talent-purple glow of the Table itself, he
could sense that the Table was somehow more energized.

He took a deep
breath, then stepped onto the Table and concentrated, dropping into ...

. .. the chill
darkness of the translation tube. “Above” him he could sense the formation of
the purple arms, but he linked immediately with the brilliant white locator of
Elcien. Again, he had the illusion of the locator hurtling through the darkness
at him until the silver-white barrier shattered.

Dainyl stood on the
Table in Elcien, breathing heavily, mist forming on his flight jacket and then
dispersing. He stepped off the Table, alert for any manifestation from it, but
he could sense none, and, after releasing the first Talent-lock, he stepped
from the chamber into the foyer beyond. He had no sooner emerged from the foyer
and replaced the second Talent-lock, when High Alector Zelyert appeared in the
outer corridor.

“Sir,” offered
Dainyl, slightly surprised at seeing Zelyert so late in the day, although it
was before sunset.

“Dainyl... Shastylt
thought you might be returning before the end-days, if only for a brief
respite.”

“Yes, sir. I had
planned to travel out again in the morning.” Dainyl had no desire to talk to
Zelyert, but prudence was more than called for.

“I will take but a
few moments of your time.” Zelyert gestured toward his private study and
turned, expecting Dainyl to follow.

He did, closing the
study door behind him.

The High Alector of
Justice seated himself. “Shastylt has not reported on your activities....”

Seating himself,
Dainyl replied, “That is doubtless because I have not completed my
investigations and have not made a report to him, sir.”

“What have you
discovered?”

“There were no
overflights of the Catyr area—the one that was overlogged and flooded this
winter—for close to four years. There were no orders not to fly there, just
orders to fly everywhere else.”

“When I arrived at
Dulka, I went to pay my respects to the regional alector. You may have already
heard what occurred.”

“There was a report
that the Myrmidon majer mere attacked the RA, and that you arrived only at the
end. It’s too bad you weren’t a bit sooner, Submarshal.” Zelyert’s tone was
mild.

“That was the
official report, and the way it should remain,” Dainyl replied. “I might add
that the RA was Brekylt’s son, and that the majer and he were very close
friends. I might also add that Brekylt has paid a number of visits to Dulka in
the past years, more than to any other Myrmidon post, and that Dulka has been
receiving supplies slightly in excess of its needs on a continuing basis since
Kelbryt had become the regional alector. The Cadmian compound was enlarged, and
there is a new Myrmion compound nearly completed, but it is farther from the
Table and in a less defensible position.”

“At times, we do need
new compounds,” Zelyert said mildly. “I was told that the winds around the old
compound were erratic and dangerous.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I take it that they
both attacked you,” Zelyert said. “How did you prevail?”

“My shields were
stronger than their Talent. Call it a test of endurance. In the end, I used the
lightcutter.”

“Brekylt won’t
believe the report, you know?”

“I’m certain he won’t.
But I doubt he’ll want attention called to the irregularities in a region
administered by his son.”

Zelyert laughed,
softly. “You’re correct there, but he is a deadly enemy. He will be after you.”

As if he were not
already, thought Dainyl. “Wasn’t that the point of sending me, sir? The
diligent, not-that-bright submarshal with heavy shields and not too much else?”

A greater sense of
amusement. “Your Talent may not be what it could be, Dainyl, but the diligent
exterior masks an observant interior. Do you wish to continue this ...
investigation?”

“I cannot see much of
an alternative, sir. There’s little enough evidence of what Brekylt intends—or
even what his intentions are. I believe they’re harmful to the Myrmidons and
the Duarchy, but there’s no real proof of that. Even if I stopped now, he’d
remain an enemy. The only way out of the mess is through it.”

“Spoken like a true
Myrmidon.” Zelyert rose. “I look forward to seeing what comes of your efforts.”
He paused. “I’m certain you know this, but I would suggest you not place any
great trust in any officers in the east.”

Dainyl stood. “Yes,
sir.” He meant to place no great trust in any senior Myrmidon officers or High
Alectors anywhere.

The greatest fault of
those an alector governs is their failure to see themselves as they are. An
alector cannot allow himself the luxury of self-deception, whatever the
possible rationale or cause. Most alectors understand this, and it is reinforced
by our codes and our institutions, and those who do not are less worthy than
the steers whose lives we direct, for we should know better.

Yet true
self-knowledge is rare indeed among steers, for their actions and their
self-identity are inseparably intertwined. A steer will rationalize himself
into believing an action that is against his own self-interest is for his good
and the good of others in order to maintain his self-image. He will avoid
actions to improve himself and his self-image, merely to maintain the image he
holds of himself. For this reason, an alector wnu uiu.->l auuumnu activities
and programs that affect the well-being of the self-deluding masses—comprising
flawed alectors and the vast majority of steers—cannot ever assume that those
masses will understand what is truly in their self-interest. Therefore, do not
ever rely upon those who are governed to understand the rationale for the
decisions that must be made and implemented.

At the same time, a
conscientious alector must resist the temptation to behave arrogantly, to
declare by word or action that there is no reason to explain one’s decisions
and actions. For there are those few who do understand. Also, despite their
self-delusion, all but the most ignorant of the masses can appreciate the
effort and the thought behind a well-presented explanation, even one with which
they do not agree.

Arrogance is always
the downfall of those in power, even of alectors, and even the most
self-deluded of the masses will rejoice to see an arrogant administrator
brought low....

Views of the Highest

Illustra

W.T. 1513

Dainyl had not even
attempted to return to Myrmidon headquarters on Tridi evening, but went
straight home. He and Lystrana had enjoyed dinner and then retired to their
chambers. While they had discussed Dainyl’s adventures, neither could add much
insight to what he had experienced, and, eventually, they slept.

Quattri morning, well
before dawn, found Dainyl standing before the Table in the Hall of Justice. He’d
actually

**.ij wxj^j^v* uii/
iv/115 wait Hum iuo nvjud^ iu uic nan, and was glad he’d arrived before the
Highest had appeared.

He smiled wryly, then
stepped onto the Table, wearing his flying jacket, but carrying nothing. He
concentrated, letting himself drop downward ...

... into the
darkness, seeking the orange-yellow locator of Lysia, his senses alert for any
trace of the purplish arms or anything else untoward.

In the endless yet
equally close distance, he could perceive the orange-yellow, but the locator
seemed to be tinged with certain overshades of... pinkish purple, overlaid with
silver. None of the other locators had such overshades, he realized, but as he
focused on the locator wedge that was Lysia, the overshades vanished.

He extended a line of
Talent toward the locator.

As he did, he sensed,
seemingly flanking him, but outside the deep-purpled darkness of the
translation tube, blackness—pure blackness—within which flashed a globe of
amber-golden-green.

For a moment, he just
tried to sense the greenish Talent, for it had to be something of the ancient
soarers, their system of portals and mirrors, but the green vanished, although
the deeper blackness did not. But had the green vanished? Or was that deeper
blackness shaded with green ?

He felt colder,
chill, and dropped his explorations of whatever he might have sensed,
concentrating on Talent-linking with the Table at Lysia.

The yellow-orange
rushed toward him, and he flashed through the silver barrier, unseen shards
spraying out from him.

A single step
sufficed for him to gain his balance on the Table. His entire uniform was
covered with a thin layer of frost, one that did not turn to mist or sublime
away immediately, so that he was cloaked in a personal fog for several moments.