Soarers Choice (9 page)

“Majer
... sir ... he’s about the only one I ever heard who thinks that way.”

“You
may be right. We’d better hope nothing happens to him.”

As
they drew nearer to the ruined outbuilding, Mykel could make out black lines
across the sandy soil, and there was still the faintest odor of smoke and
burned wood. Although he saw no bodies, and no crows or other carrion eaters, a
sense of death permeated everything.

Mykel
reined up a good twenty yards from the stone archway that framed the recessed
entry into the cliff. Smoke had stained the stone, and a faint odor of
brimstone lingered. “I’ll want to inspect the tunnels.”

“Yes,
sir. I’ll send a squad out first, just in case.” Fabrytal turned in the saddle.
“First squad, dismount! Rifles ready! Second squad, take their mounts!”

Mykel
did not protest. From what he could sense, there was no one present. Even if there
might be someone undetected by his Talent, that was infrequent, and a single
individual could only inflict limited damage.

“First
squad! Check out the chambers and report!” Fabrytal rode to the side. “Fifth
squad! Rifles ready! Watch for intruders!” Then he rode back and reined up
beside Mykel.

As
they waited, Mykel kept his senses alert, but could only detect Cadmians.

“Do
you have any
i.e.
why the alectors here rebelled
against the Myrmidons, sir?” Fabrytal finally asked.

“No.
That’s not something they tell Cadmian officers.” It likely had to do with
which alectors wanted to control Corus, Mykel reflected, but he still had no
i.e.
which side Submarshal Dainyl was on or whether that
might be the best side. But then, Mykel was having doubts as to whether any
“side” was good for most people.

“When
do you think we’ll get orders from the colonel?”

“It
could be anytime, or it could be weeks.” Mykel grinned. “And, no, I don’t have
any
i.e.
whether we’ll be sent back to Northa or to
some other place.”

“Ah
... yes, sir.”

Another
quarter glass passed before first squad returned and Gendsyr reported. “No one
there, Majer, Undercaptain. There must be hundreds of those silver and black
uniforms in a big hall carved into the stone — and boots and clothes, but
there’s no one in any of the tunnels and chambers. Some places, things are
burned pretty bad. Other places ... there’s not much damage.”

“Thank
you.” Mykel turned to Fabrytal. “I need to check it out.”

“Gendsyr,
a five-man detail to accompany the majer,” ordered Fabrytal.

“Yes,
sir.” The squad leader turned. “Shenylt, Noart...”

Mykel
dismounted and handed the roan’s reins to Bhonat, one of the first squad
members who was not in the detail, then took his rifle from its holder, and
walked toward the archway. As he stepped into the tunnellike entry, he raised
his own shields with as much strength as he could offer them. The only sounds
were those of the hot wind outside and the crunching echo of his boots on the
marble floor tiles. The smell of brimstone was far stronger, so strong that it
must have been overpowering during the attack. Behind him followed the five
rankers.

Once
past the door, swung back to the left in an alcove, he could see a pile of
metallic pieces and parts of a cart — probably the remnants of one of the
light-weapons he had seen earlier. Had it been destroyed in the fighting, or
later?

Another
few yards along was an archway to the right. Mykel stopped and looked through
it into an enormous chamber with a stone ceiling that soared into darkness —
except for a small area that had been a skylight of some sort before it had
been blocked with large stones. The far side of the chamber was filled with
ashes. Along the near side were stacks and stacks of the black and silver
shimmersilk uniforms worn by the rebels, along with other items of clothing —
all folded carelessly — and rows of boots. All had once been worn.

Mykel
turned and continued along the passageway, trying to follow his senses toward a
faint sense of purpleness. The corridor to the left ended abruptly, after a
number of vacant rooms. He retraced his steps and made his way back to the main
underground hallway, lit by the strange crystal lamps in their brass wall
brackets. Since he’d only seen lamps like those in the lower reaches of the
alector’s building in Tempre, he assumed that they were used only by alectors.

He
walked along the curved corridor, knowing that the Table had to be somewhere
near. He could sense a faint purpleness, but was having trouble determining
from where it was coming. A knot of purple Talent appeared ahead, on his left,
head-high, on what appeared to be a blank stone wall.

Mykel
stopped, turned, and studied the wall.

After
a moment, he tried to recall exactly what he had done in Tempre, the puzzlelike
untwining of the Talent energy. It took him three tries before the knot of
purple force unraveled and then a section of stone slid back, leaving an
opening little more than a yard wide.

“...
how’d he do that?”

Low
as the whisper was, Mykel caught the words. He decided to ignore them. “Stand
by out here.”

He
stepped through the opening into the oblong chamber. Outside of a single black
chest set against one stone wall, and the Table itself, there were no
furnishings in the windowless space. Several sets of clothing lay on the floor,
as if the alectors had died there and vanished. Most had been in silver and
black, but one had worn green shimmersilk trimmed in purple. Mykel stepped
around and over garments and boots.

Five
of the crystal lamps provided a gentle but indirect illumination. There was but
a residual sense of the purpled force buried deep within the Table. While the
surface still held a mirror finish, it felt dead, compared to the Table in
Tempre before Mykel had disabled it.

He
walked around the Table to the chest-high cabinet and pulled out the top
drawer. It was empty, except for stacks of blank paper of various sizes. The
second drawer held purple-trimmed green tunics and trousers. The third held
various writing-related implements — marksticks, pens, styli, blotting powder —
and something else. Mykel lifted the folded item. It felt like stiff fabric,
but unfolded to reveal a map of Corus, in brilliant color on a glossy finish
unlike anything he had seen. He debated returning it, then slipped the map
inside his tunic, and closed the last drawer of the chest.

Then,
he turned back to face the Table. He concentrated, letting everything fall away
from him, trying to sense beneath and beyond the Table. He couldn’t help
smiling as he gained the impression of the wider and deeper blackness that lay
beneath the Table, on top of which rested a narrower purplish mist. Somehow, he
knew, the Tables used the purple tube and the blackness as their basis for what
they did. He also had the feeling that where the soarers appeared had more to
do with the black than the purple, although that was even less certain.

Now
what that understanding gained him he had no idea, but perhaps in time he
would. He nodded, then turned and left the chamber. He left the door open,
since he assumed that the alectors would return before long, and he preferred
to leave as little trace of his own Talent as possible.

“There’s
nothing in there, except a few uniforms and boots. We’ll head back, now. There’s
nothing else we need to see.”

As
he walked back through the tunnel, he half smiled as he picked up the murmurs
behind him.

“...
he knows things ...”

“...
what officers are supposed to do.”

“Not
like that.”

Mykel
felt as though he had found various pieces of a gigantic puzzle composed of
various intricate and strange shapes, but that he had no
i.e.
how to assemble those pieces or what they might look like once he did. Even so,
he felt that it had been important to see the Table in Hyalt, and he definitely
wanted to study the map he had removed — but in private.

On
Duadi morning, less than a glass after morning muster, Captain (acting)
Zernylta stood before Dainyl’s desk in headquarters. Her fingers were slightly
ink-stained, and several strands of her black hair, short as it was, had
drifted down across her forehead. Dainyl had been standing at the window,
looking at the morning clouds outside, when she had appeared. He had turned to
invite her in and had remained on his feet besidd the desk, which he had just
cleared of reports — finally — shortly before she had arrived.

“Sir,
you had said that the High Alector of Engineering would be wanting pteridon
transport for some engineers.”

“He’s
requested more than we can supply from Elcien, I take it.” Dainyl had no doubts
that High Alector Ruvryn would be difficult, not after what Lystrana had told
him and after his own briefing of the High Alector.

“Yes,
sir. He wants three squads for a full week, starting on Sexdi. He says that
they’ll need to transport three tonnes of equipment and supplies and five
engineers, first to Tempre, and then to Hyalt.”

Dainyl
frowned. He had his doubts whether Ruvryn’s engineers needed all that
equipment, but he couldn’t very well question an engineer about engineering
equipment, especially when he wasn’t supposed to know about Table maintenance
and internal operations — and when he’d been the real cause of the failure of
the Table in Hyalt. He still wondered what had caused the Table failure in
Tempre, but pushed that aside to consider Ruvryn’s “request.”

For
long distances, a hundredweight was generally the most a pteridon could carry
without extreme lifeforce use. At ten hundredweight to a tonne, that amounted
to thirty round-trips from either Faitel or Ludar, and a day each way for each
trip. If some of the equipment had to go to Tempre first and then to Hyalt, or
the other way around, that could add another ten or fifteen trips.

“He
can have one squad from here — either second or fourth — and two from Seventh
Company in Tempre, whichever ones Captain Lyzetta thinks will do best.”

“Seventh
Company isn’t all that heavily tasked, sir. I have been giving them the long
runs to Dereka and Lyterna, but...”

“I
understand, but remember, Seventh Company is short three pteridons. If you need
to, you can bring in one of Seventh Company’s squads for dispatch runs from
here, but I want one of First Company’s squads there supporting the engineers,
and I want a full report on what they’re asked to do.”

“I’d
say fourth squad then, sir.”

Dainyl
had thought that might have been her recommendation, based on what Ghasylt had
told him earlier. “Write up a concurrence on those terms, and I’ll look it
over, and sign it. Then you’ll need to send a dispatch to Captain Lyzetta.
We’ll need to know where they want the pteridons on Sexdi, and we’ll need to
know no later than tomorrow night. Someone may ask why, and the answer is
because Tempre has no Table, and we’ll need to fly a dispatch there, and that
takes a day, and a day to fly to where they want the equipment picked up. So
every day they delay in telling us past tomorrow is a day later before they can
start.”

“Sir
... ?”

“Yes,
Captain, there are some assistants to High Alectors who honestly do not think
such matters through. They’re used to instant travel by Table, and it doesn’t
occur to them that logistics take more time. You wouldn’t think it, but...”
Dainyl shrugged. “Write up the concurrence for me to sign first. Then work on
the other dispatches and the supporting details.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Oh
... how are we coming on getting the transfers from the sandoxen drivers to
Seventh Company?”

“Two
of them are in Tempre. Two more should be detached before long, but the chief
assistant to the High Alector of Transport said to tell you that it will be hard
to get any more for another few months. Usually, the Myrmidons only need five
or six new fliers every year.”

Dainyl
was well aware of that — and the fact that his operations against the rebels in
Hyalt and Tempre had resulted in the loss of more than that in the last few
weeks alone.

“Be
nice. Tell her we understand. Also tell her that I said times are changing and
that we’ll likely be needing more this year.”

Zernylta
smiled. “Yes, sir.”

After
she had left, Dainyl turned back and looked out the window to watch one of the
dispatch pteridons land on the flight stage in the courtyard. The clouds were
moderately high and not too dark. Over the end-days, nothing had happened.
Dainyl corrected himself — no news of anything happening had reached him. He
and Lystrana had enjoyed the time together, although it had rained most of
Decdi, foreshadowing the cold rains of fall, and the snows that would follow
the icy rain all too soon.

He
turned at the knock.

“Marshal?”
Wyalt, acting as duty messenger within headquarters, stood at Dainyl’s study
door, holding an envelope. “This came in for you on the dispatch run.”

Dainyl
took the envelope. “Thank you.”

“Yes,
sir.” Wyalt bowed, turned, and departed.

The
envelope bore Dainyl’s name and title. He opened it and began to read.

Congratulations,
Marshal. We wish you the best.

The
creature about which you wrote is best discussed here in Lyterna, at your
convenience. We look forward to seeing you whenever you appear.

The
signature was Asulet’s.

Dainyl
smiled. As time went by, Asulet’s mannerism of insisting that any information
Dainyl needed required a trip to Lyterna was tending toward becoming wearing —
except that Asulet dared not leave Lyterna, not while his rival Paeylt waited
for him to make an error. And some of the information Dainyl had learned from
Asulet was not to be entrusted to ink.