Soarers Choice (59 page)

“I
am certain he will be as pleased as I am. It has been decades since the High
Alector of Justice has been here.”

That
did surprise Dainyl.

“Viora?
The Highest should have an escort. Would you?”

Viora
led him out of the Table chamber and along the narrow corridor to the steps
carved out of stone that rose to the main gallery east of the Council Hall and
past the grand pteridon battle scene mural that had become more and more
prophetic in the past months. After two more turns, Viora and Dainyl were in
the gallery with the niches that held ancient specimens of life — and the spare
pteridons.

Viora
halted at the first door, half-open to Asulet’s study. “He should be here in a
moment, Highest.”

“How
long have you been here?”

“Long
enough that I’ve lost count. It’s not as though it matters as much here.”

Dainyl
couldn’t see living for decades in a place where one seldom saw the sun, and
not unless one made a special effort.

Asulet
appeared from a side corridor and walked toward them. He wore nondescript gray
garments, and as he neared, Dainyl detected the faint hint of an odor not
totally pleasant.

“Dainyl,
while I am delighted to see you, you would have to arrive while I was working
on the environmental systems, the less pleasant side of them, in fact.” He
gestured for Dainyl to enter the study.

Dainyl
followed, closing the door behind him after entering the windowless, oak-paneled
study. Asulet walked to the wide table desk of ancient oak and sank into one of
the two oak armchairs.

Dainyl
took the other chair. For the first time since he had met Asulet, he could
actually sense weariness. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“I
am. After centuries, the years do add up, I have to admit.” Asulet took a slow
breath.

“I
apologize, but I had thought you should be apprised of several things, and I
also thought I should pay my respects — as High Alector of Justice — before
matters become even more complex.”

Asulet
smiled. “I forgot to offer my felicitations. Congratulations on becoming High
Alector. You’ve worked at keeping the green in check — but not hard enough.”

“With
the ancients active everywhere ... that’s been difficult.” He paused. “What
would happen...” He stopped. “You’d said that the ancients weren’t that
different from pteridons and other Talent creatures, but are they that
different from us?”

“You’re
worried about the green taking over and making you an ancient?” Asulet laughed.

Dainyl
flushed. “Put that way, it sounds stupid.”

The
older alector frowned. “The ancients, from what I’ve been able to determine,
are close to pure Talent, but not totally. Pteridons are close to the ancients
in the proportion of Talent composition, as opposed to lifeforce. We are far
less so, even the most Talented of us.” He shrugged. “Probably someone like you
has enough Talent that the Talent side of your being might be equivalent to the
amount of Talent in an ancient, but you’d lose the more physical lifeforce side
of what you are. That’s assuming anyone could even make such a transformation.
It certainly couldn’t happen naturally. I’ve already told you what could happen
if you get too green. Even so, the green Talent alone wouldn’t change you. It
might make other alectors wary.”

“I
have made Zelyert more than a little wary.”

“I
presume he attacked you?”

“He
did. He said that I was presumptuous ...” Dainyl paused. “Did you know that the
Duarches are no longer shadowmatched?”

“Has
the Archon announced where the Master Scepter is destined?”

“No,
but enough evidence has appeared that it became clear to both of the Duarches
that the decision has already been made to transfer it to Efra.”

“And
the Duarches have not been replaced by wardens?” Asulet raised his eyebrows.

“I
doubt the Archon knows that the Duarches know. Besides, with all the Tables
guarded, exactly how would he enforce that?”

“You
had a hand in it, didn’t you?”

“Zelyert
pushed me into a situation where I had the choice of revealing it within weeks
or telling Khelaryt immediately. I chose the time, rather than letting
circumstances choose it.”

“I’m
surprised you’re still with us.”

“I
almost wasn’t. He shredded my shields and threw me into his bookshelves — and
then sent me as an urgent envoy to Samist.”

“Who
was relieved, I imagine.”

“Exactly.”

“Then
Zelyert had to try to remove you himself, since the Duarches didn’t.” Asulet
fingered his long chin. “Most interesting. What do you want from me?”

“I
thought you should know. Any insight, any advice would be welcome.”

“You
seem to have done well enough without it.” Asulet smiled.

“That
was the easy part, I think,” replied Dainyl. “Will the Archon really attempt to
send wardens or forces here?”

“It’s
never been tried before. In the past, the transfer has gone from one world to
another, without a third world being involved. The problem was that the Archon
and those closest to him have been through three such transfers, and the
lifeforce demands have gotten greater with each.”

“The
Archon felt two worlds were necessary.” Dainyl paused. “It was all a farce,
wasn’t it? Acorus was never intended to receive the Master Scepter.”

“Perhaps
later, if a better world could not be found after Efra.”

Dainyl
sat silently for a time. Finally, he spoke. “Did you know that?”

“I
was never told. No one was, so far as I know. But those of us with more open
minds, or those who were out of favor, we were the ones sent here, and we had a
much harder time of it. There were years when no one translated from Ifryn
here.”

Dainyl
shook his head. “It all seems ... not exactly pointless, but what difference
does it make if Brekylt creates his own Duarchy in the east?”

“Would
you want someone like Rhelyn using lifeforce weapons and squandering the
future? Brekylt would have even fewer compunctions than he did.”

“So
the best course is to support Khelaryt?”

“Have
you ever doubted that?”

Dainyl
had, especially after meeting Samist, who had seemed reasonable, but... the
Duarch of Ludar clearly supported Ruvryn, who was anything but reasonable, and
Dainyl had come to distrust those he had met who served Samist. “It seems like
choosing the lesser of evils.”

“Much
of life presents that choice.” A sadness permeated the elder alector’s voice.
“We do what we can. I can’t offer you much more insight than that, and you seem
to know more about what is happening than do I.”

“I’d
better get back to Elcien.”

Asulet
rose from his armchair. “Give my best to Lystrana. It’s about time her
abilities were recognized. How is she finding Dereka?”

“Cold
... but she’s ... reluctantly glad to be there.” Dainyl stood as well. How had
Asulet known of Lystrana’s appointment, but not about how she had received it?
Of course, the Duarches announced appointments, but not what was behind them.

“It’s
a good place for her to be now, and she’ll make a good regional alector.”

“I
thought so.”

“You
were right. You’d best be returning, though.”

“I
suppose so.” Dainyl nodded and turned.

In
the end, as he walked back to the Table chamber, he had to wonder where the
certainty in his life had gone. Little more than a year earlier, he’d been a
Myrmidon colonel with a clear view of the world and the future. Now...

Mykel
stood on the porch of the inn in Sudon, waiting for one of the rankers to bring
his mount. He’d always preferred to saddle and groom his horse, but trying to
do so now would have been difficult — and foolhardy. He still was uncomfortable
in relying on others, perhaps because he wasn’t certain he had a good feel for
the balance between what was wise and necessary and what was arrogance and an
abuse of position. For a battalion commander to insist on doing too much
personally was stupid, but so was flaunting power, and easy as it was to say
those words, Mykel had seen too many officers slide into arrogance.

He
glanced at the sky. The clouds were lower, but seemed thinner, and the wind had
shifted so that it blew more strongly and warmly from the southwest. If the
warmth continued, some of the side lanes and less-traveled back roads would
turn into quagmires, and that could prove a problem.

Murthyt
— the senior squad leader from Sixteenth Company — and a ranker Mykel didn’t
immediately recognize rode up to the front of the Red Pony, with Mykel’s mount
between them.

“Here
you are, Majer.”

“Thank
you, Murthyt.”

“Vakyn
did the hard work, sir.”

Mykel
smiled. “Thank you, Vakyn.” He mounted, one-handed and awkwardly, then settled
himself in the saddle before riding out into the square and reining up.
“Officers front!”

Rhystan
was the first to ride up, followed by Dyarth. Shortly, the other three joined
them.

“We’ll
ride out to the east side of the valley and form on the ridge, immediately
behind the trees on each side,” Mykel announced. “Sixteenth Company will take
the low hill at the north end, just over the crest and out of sight. Fourteenth
Company will take the high ground on the southeast end. No one is to begin
firing until Sixteenth Company does. Is that clear?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Good.
Let’s ride out.”

The
officers rode back to their companies, all but Rhystan, since Sixteenth Company
led the column.

Mykel
and Rhystan rode side by side on the narrow road westward out of Sudon. The
provisions and ammunition wagons were next to last, but with Fifteenth Company
bringing up the rear behind them. Mykel thought that the Reillies could arrive
in the valley by a glass before midday if they pressed, but it was more likely
to be early afternoon. Still, he didn’t want to be caught off guard, and he
didn’t want to press the mounts.

A
good half glass passed before Rhystan spoke. “You’re quiet this morning, sir.
Do you think they’ll follow the road?”

“With
Reillies, who knows? If they do stay with the road, we’ll be positioned on
higher ground and set so that they can’t flank us. If they don’t, either
they’ll go more west, and we won’t see them, or they’ll be in the woods and in
the deeper snow on lower ground.” That was the best plan that Mykel had been
able to develop.

“You’re
thinking that position will matter with them?”

“There’s
close to sixty vingts between the valley and Borlan. If we can crush them
early, that’s for the best. I’m trying to set it up so that even if we don’t
get a decisive battle, they’ll take heavy casualties trying to come to grips
with us.”

“Won’t
they back off?”

“They
might.” Mykel grinned sardonically. “But they won’t be able to get my head and
blood unless they close with us.”

“You
think the Squawts have joined up yet?”

“No.”
Mykel had the feeling that the Squawts would let the Reillies take casualties
for a while before joining battle. “But I could be wrong.”

“About
that, I’d agree, sir.”

“What
don’t you agree with, Rhystan?” Mykel kept his tone light.

“I
have trouble with the
i.e.
that they’re all so upset
at your killing their leader that they’ll ride out in early winter just to try
to kill you in return. We’ve got better arms and better training and more
ammunition, and they’ve almost never won a big battle against us.”

“They
think they did. They believe that they destroyed half of Fourth Battalion. Why
should another battalion be any different? Besides, they seem to like to
fight.”

Rhystan
shook his head. “My head tells me that, but my feelings have a hard time
understanding.”

“It
was that way in Dramur, too. I never could understand why the seltyrs risked
everything when they already had almost everything.” Because of Rachyla, he
could understand, even feel, that people did feel and act that way. He still
had trouble understanding why they did.

More
than a glass went by before Mykel called a halt at the top of the gentle
downgrade into the valley — more like a vale little more than a vingt wide at
the bottom with a narrow stream, its edges frosted in
i.e.
meandering through the bottomland.

He
turned to Rhystan. “Make sure that you don’t leave any obvious tracks.”

“We
can manage that, Majer.” Rhystan turned. “Sixteenth Company! Forward!”

Mykel
eased the roan to the south side of the road, angling behind the copse of trees
that overlooked the valley.

“Fourteenth
Company! Forward!” Culeyt nodded to Mykel as he rode past, leading his company
toward the rise at the southeastern end of the valley — overlooking the road to
Borlan.

Mykel
watched and said little as Seventeenth Company wound its way to the south and
downhill to the lowest section of trees overlooking the road. Thirteenth and
Fifteenth Companies set up slightly behind him, shielded from the road below by
the trees.

It
was close to a glass before midday when Bhoral rode up to Mykel, who had long
since dismounted and tied the roan to a low and thick limb of a fir.

“Sir!
We’ve got the scout reports from Captain Rhystan. Sixteenth Company is in
position. They’ve seen Reillie outriders, but not the main force.”

“Thank
you, Bhoral.” Mykel took a swallow from his water bottle, then walked forward
toward the
e.g.
of the woods overlooking the
southwest-facing snow-dotted meadow. Across the valley, more like a vale, was
another meadow between the trees, but since it faced north and was shaded
largely by the towering pines, the snow was drifted and knee deep in places.