Cadmians Choice (25 page)

The second assumption
is that, since differing geographies and other regional factors give rise to
differences in beliefs and practices, each region’s standards can only be
judged in the context in which they arose. By extension, logic then requires
the presumption that value systems arising out of differences in climate and
locale are equal in their validity, and that no value system is intrinsically
superior or inferior to another. Early history has shown, all too clearly, that
this assumption is demonstrably and egregiously false. When two sets of values
conflict, or are compared, one set will prove superior....

Unfortunately, often
which set of values is “superior” has been determined by which possessor of
values had the greater might and power, rather than upon the ethical considerations
of each. To avoid this, the early Archons investigated the structural basis of
laws and values ...

The bases of any
ethical or administrative standard must rest in fact upon three determinations.
The first determination is whether such a standard is correct. Such correctness
must be determined by asking whether the standard provides the greatest good
for the greatest number in all conceivable circumstances at all times, and
conversely, and of equal importance, that it provides the least harm in all times
and circumstances, even unto those who are powerless.

The second
determination is whether the standard can be implemented both so that it
applies practically and yet falls with equal force upon all, regardless of
their beliefs, their wealth or lack ‘thereof, or their physical
characteristics.

The third
determination is that the total number of standards shall be the absolute
minimum necessary for the maintenance of order.

In oversimplistic
terms, a law must be fair; it must be practical; and it must be able to be
implemented. The same is true of values. They must be fair; they must be
practical; they must be limited in scope to what is necessary for consensus;
and they must be understood and accepted by the vast majority of individuals.

While these principles
are indeed the basis for sensible governing, they are far from accepted as
widely as they should be. As noted earlier, there is a desire, particularly by
steers, to insist that the world or the universe in which a world exists must
have been created, and that such creation requires a supra-intelligent creator,
a deity, if you will. From this flows the assumption that the wisdom of such a
deity, as revealed by a prophet, is the basis of the standards and values of
the believers in that deity, and that any belief system revealed by a deity is
superior to any codified by mere mortals. Yet such believers continue to ignore
the fact that the prophet who revealed the wishes or commandments of the deity
has always been in fact a mortal...

Views of the Highest

Illustra

W.T. 1513

More than a week had
passed since Dainyl had sent off his inquiry to Asulet. He had not received a
response, and so far as he knew, neither had Shastylt. Little else of note had
occurred. The past twenty-five days had been as uneventful as any he could
recall in his years at Myrmidon headquarters. Even the weather in Elcien had
been warm and mild, and on the previous Decdi, he and Lystrana had spent the
afternoon in the Duarch’s Park, just strolling along the stone walks, talking,
and enjoying the spring flowers, the sunlight, and each other.

As he sat in his
Myrmidon study right after morning muster on Tridi, he could not but feel that,
behind all the quiet, something was building. Yet he could find absolutely no
concrete evidence of any sort that would support his feeling.

“Sir?”

Dainyl looked up.
Hasekyt—the duty orderly—stood in his doorway.

“Yes?”

“The marshal would
like to see you, sir.”

Dainyl rose
immediately. When Shastylt summoned anyone through an intermediary, trouble
followed. Tyanylt’s untimely death was a perfect example.

Stopping short of the
halt-open doorway to Shastylt’s study, Dainyl reinforced his shields, then
entered.

Before Dainyl had
taken two steps into the study, Shastylt burst out laughing. “You’re the most observant
submarshal in decades, but I’m not angry with you. Close the door and sit down.”

Dainyl did, but only
relaxed his shields marginally.

“Asulet sent a
response to your inquiry about the new predator. It’s singularly unhelpful. He
states that it’s a matter that needs to be discussed in Lyterna—at our
convenience—and that he’d be happy to see either of us.”

“That doesn’t sound
good.” Dainyl had the feeling he was understating matters, but wanted to hear
what the marshal felt.

Shastylt snorted. “The
last time he sent a message like that was years back, just before the Vedra
flooded and wiped out good portions of Dekhron and Salaan.”

“When do you want me
to leave?”

“Half a glass ago.
Matters are quiet here, but they won’t stay that way, and I’d like you to find
out what he’ll tell you and get back as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Less than a quarter
of a glass later, Dainyl was in the duty coach headed for the Hall of Justice.
He had grabbed his flying jacket, although the day was warm enough that he would
not be needing it, except for the Table translation. Once at the Hall, largely
deserted so early in the morning, he made his way into the underground warren
beneath the public spaces.

One of Zelyert’s
assistants peered at him quickly, then nodded and returned to her small study
as Dainyl removed the Talent-lock on the outer foyer door. The inner chamber
was empty when he entered it and stepped onto the square blackish silver
surface of the Table.

He concentrated...

... letting the
blackness rise around him, trying to center his attention on the pink locator
wedge that was Lyterna.

Yet almost
immediately, he could sense the heavy pinkish purpleness—and then the purpled
arms reaching for him. There was not a single set of arms, but two; they seemed
to block the translation tube in all directions.

Dainyl reinforced his
shields, feeling the heat build within his body, even as the chill from outside
tried to leach away strength and volition.

He began to search. .
. what about the amber green lines? Dainyl had sensed them before, if briefly.
As the purple arms drew nearer, he cast out a Talent-probe, trying to visualize
it as amber-green, rather than purple. He stretched, seeking the amber-green
somewhere beyond the translation tube, a tube that felt endless in all
directions, for all that he knew and sensed that it was not.

The purpled arms drew
closer, forming a web contracting around him.

A hint of that
amber-green he sought appeared somewhere above, and he grasped for it with all
the Talent-strength he possessed. His body convulsed, as if dozens of bullets
had struck him simultaneously. Then all his being felt as though he were being
twisted into convoluted segments, then stretched the entire length of the
translation tube.

For a moment, the
briefest of instants.. . he was surrounded by golden green... and a single
winged ancient, even more hazily present than when he had last beheld one of
them, studied him with fine greenish Talent-probes.

He thought he sensed
a thought....

You have not changed
enough

Dainyl debated not
answering, then forced a thought at the ancient. How should I change?

You must become of
the world, not separate from it.

How did one become of
the world, besides living and working—and loving—in it?

Before Dainyl could
formulate another thought, he was back in the darkness and chill of the
translation tube . .. hurtling toward the pink locator wedge of Lyterna. All
too soon the silvered pink barrier appeared and he found himself flung through
it. Silver shattered, and lines of pain ripped down his arms.

He rolled across the
table as though he’d been pitched like a ball through the tube, barely getting
his arms out in time to stop himself from falling off the Table.

The man who stood and
gaped at him openmouthed was clearly not the recorder, but one of his
assistants. Dainyl could sense the residue of purpleness, suggesting that the
younger alector had been at least partly involved in trying to trap Dainyl in
the translation tube.

Dainyl quickly
regained his feet and strengthened his shields. “Which of Myenfel’s assistants
are you?” After he spoke, he realized he did not feel quite so cold as usual.
Bruised, but not cold.

“Ah ...” There was a
pause, then a reluctant admission. “Choranyt, sir.”

“Choranyt.” Dainyl
nodded. “I’m here to see Asulet, at his request. Do you know where he might be
at the moment?”

“No, sir. I really
don’t. He might be ... where he usually is?”

“The museum ... or
his ... ?” Dainyl realized he’d never know what to call the area where Asulet
worked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll find him.” The
submarshal left the Table chamber, trying to recall the directions back to the
museum.

In time, a good
quarter of a glass, he found himself standing before the recessed niche that
held a pteridon, its lifeforce held in abeyance.

Then he heard steps coming
from his left, and he turned, his shields at full strength.

“I must admit I did
not expect so prompt a response to my dispatch,” offered the silver-haired
Asulet.

“We thought it best
to come immediately.”

“We? Or you?”

“The marshal did not
dispute my suggestion.”

“If he’s wise, he won’t,”
replied Asulet. “How was your journey? Sulerya said that you’ve had some
difficulties.”

“I had a rather
undignified arrival,” admitted Dainyl. “I rolled out of the translation tube.”

The silver-haired
alector raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, waiting.

“Someone tried to
trap me when I translated from Elcien here. There were two sets of those purple
arms, one in front of me, and one behind. When I arrived on the Table here, one
of Myenfel’s assistants was in the Table chamber. He’d been using the Table for
something.”

“Which assistant?”

“Choranyt.”

“I’d expect something
like that from him. How did you manage to evade the trap?”

“I’m not exactly
sure,” replied Dainyl. “Except I dodged the arms by slipping outside the tube.”

“That can be
extraordinarily dangerous. Most alectors who try that end up as wild
translations.”

“I had the feeling
that, if I didn’t do something, I’d end up dead.”

“That was their
intent.”

“Whose intent?”

“Paeylt’s and Brekylt’s.
I assume that Sulerya told you about Paeylt.”

“Not much, except
that he opposes you and has his own supporters here in Lyterna and elsewhere,
and seems to be allied with Brekylt and Alcyna.”

“That’s all you need
to know at the moment.” Asulet turned. “If you would come this way?”

Dainyl followed the
elder alector through several narrow redstone-walled corridors and through two
more concealed stone doorways until they stood in another open space, this one
also with niches in the walls.

Asulet gestured to
the blue-tinted niche. “Observe.”

Dainyl stepped
forward and studied the creature frozen in life and time. For just an instant,
he thought it might be a huge black-coated shaggy dog, with a body three yards
in length. But the creature’s entire posture screamed that it was a hunter. The
smaller teeth in the large jaw were

razor-snarp, ana the
long crystal tangs exuded menace. So did the greenish yellow eyes. The long
legs and large paws suggested a creature at home in winter chill.

“That’s your
predator.”

“You captured this one?”

Asulet shook his
head. “Majer Hersiod had a carcass sent to us as soon as they felled one. It
arrived in rather poor condition, but the identification was easy enough to
make. It’s an ice-wolf. This one has been here since ... for a very long time.”

“Then they’re native?
From the time of the ancients?”

“No. Not exactly.
Several of them appeared in the early years, but they died off from starvation.
None has been seen in more than a thousand years.”

“Maybe there were
just too few to be noticed,” suggested Dainyl.

“They’re not normal
predators. They prey on lifeforce.”

“You’re suggesting
that the ancients created or bred them?”

“Or preserved them
until they could survive,” added Asulet.

“We’re seeing more
ancients. We’ve lost pteridons for the first time, and now these ... creatures.”
Dainyl didn’t like the implications, not at all. “What can we do, besides kill
them?”

“For the moment, that
seems the best course. But I thought you—and Shastylt and Zelyert—should know.
Especially Zelyert.”

“Do Brekylt and
Alcyna know?”

“They will. There’s
really no way to keep it quiet for long. Sooner or later one of the creatures
will be observed in the colder and higher reaches of the east.”

“You think it came
from the Aerial Plateau?”

“Where else is high
and cold near Iron Stem?”

“Why now?”

“I do not know. I
could speculate, but speculating where the ancients are concerned has always
been fraught with danger and inaccuracy. So I will not.”

“Is there anything
else you would suggest’/*’

“Don’t get close to
one.”

“Are they as
dangerous as an ancient?”

“Oh, no. They can be
killed by standard weapons. They’re a far greater danger to livestock and
herders ... or landers or indigens traveling isolated areas alone.”

Dainyl almost
repeated a variation of his question about why the creatures had reappeared
after such a long absence, but another look at Asulet convinced him that the
elder alector would only say what he had said, and would not take well to
repeated questioning, especially from someone junior to him.