Alector's Choice (5 page)

On Duadi, Dainyl had
made a point to be at Myrmidon headquarters for morning muster, since he would
be the only senior officer there. Just before the glass, he stepped out of
headquarters and strode into the courtyard.

“Company! Ready!”

The rankers and the
undercaptains commanding each of the four squads stiffened. The pteridons did
not move, but they seldom did at muster. The compound was more than a vingt
square, not because of the number of Myrmidons but because each pteridon
required its own quarters—and each pteridon square was thirty yards on a side
with a massive perch across the roof. The muster of a Myrmidon company was
impressive, for all that there were only twenty-one pteridons in a company,
since a single company’s pteridons in ground formation took up an oblong a good
hundred fifty yards by a hundred.

DainyFs eyes took in
the nearest pteridon, the one behind Undercaptain Ghanyr. The blue leathery
wings, when folded back against their bodies, were more than ten yards long.
Extended, each wing was nearly twice that. The blue crystal eyes glittered like
gemstones, but gemstones the size of platters. Beneath those eyes that held an
inner darkness and seemed to take in everything and nothing was the long blue
crystalline beak, hard enough to shatter iron. Dainyl’s pteridon—when he had
been an undercaptain—had used its beak to shear an iron bar as thick as his
wrist with one quick snap.

The shimmering gray
saddle was strapped in place at the thickest part of the neck, above the
shoulders that anchored the wings. In the holder attached to each saddle was a
blue metal skylance that, when fully charged with the combination of light and
lifeforce, could spew forth a line of blue fire capable of incinerating a squad
of men in an instant.

Each of the two
comparatively short legs ended in three crystal claws—two opposed by one, so
that a pteridon , could grasp whatever it wanted, or perch in the most unlikely
of locales, since the claws were as hard as the beak.

Three undercaptains
reported their squads ready to fly, with most of third squad absent and
accompanying the marshal.

“Stand easy,” Dainyl
replied.

Only the slightest
easing of posture followed his words.

“The marshal and the
captain are still in Iron Stem. They’re likely to be there a while. I’ll let
you know more as soon as I do. Dismissed to duties.”

As he turned, Dainyl
thought he caught a sense of amusement from one of the pteridons. He’d often
wondered what—and how—they thought. When a rider was injured or killed, the
pteridon returned with the rider. It would not fly again without another
rider—and transferring allegiance to another rider was an elaborate procedure
unless the first rider was dead. I

Pteridons were
Talent-created creatures that tapped the I forces of life and nature, and for
that reason, there were only eight Myrmidon companies in all of Acorus. Still,
eight companies had always been more than enough when a single pteridon and
rider could take out an entire company of mounted rifles in a fraction of a
glass. The number of pteridons was dictated more by the size of Coras and by
the need for rapid communications that did not rely on the fourteen Tables than
by any armed opposition—since there had seldom been any arms raised against the
Duarchy except by infrequent and ill-organized lander and indigen uprisings
over trifles.

Dainyl was headed
back to his study when Zorcylt called out, “Colonel? There’s a message here.”

The senior squad
leader held an envelope sealed in purple. The colonel recognized the seal of
the High Alector of Justice. “It must be for the marshal.”

“No, sir. It has your
name on it.”

Dainyl took the
envelope. “When did this come in?”

“While you were
inspecting the company, sir.”

“Thank you.” Dainyl
headed back to his study. Anything from the Highest—or his assistant—he
intended to read in private. After closing the door, he checked the
Talent-seal— unbroken—and then opened the envelope. The message inside was
brief: “Your presence is requested at the Hall of Justice at the eighth glass
today.”

The seal was that of
the Highest.

Dainyl left his
study, heading back to the duty desk.

“I’ve already
summoned the duty coach, sir,” Zorcylt said.

Less than half a
glass later, Dainyl was striding up the wide golden marble steps of the Hall of
Justice, the morning sun of harvest falling on his back.

Above the topmost
step rose the goldenstone pillars of the receiving rotunda, pillars rising
thirty yards to the base of the frieze that extended exactly eighty one yards
from corner to corner. Above the frieze that depicted the aspects of justice
conveyed by the Duarchy, the mansard roof of man sized tiles glittered a hard
metallic green.

The colonel stepped
into the receiving rotunda, where under a glass hence petitioners would
assemble. Overhead, twenty seven yards above, arched a ceiling of pink marble,
so precisely fitted that even an alector with full Talent could have detected
no sign of a joint, or of mortar. Octagonal sections of polished gold and green
marble, joined by the smaller diamond tiles, composed the floor of the
receiving rotunda, each octagonal section of green marble inset with an
eight-pointed star of golden marble.

Another set of
goldenstone pillars separated the receiving rotunda from the main Hall, where
the empty dais on the south wall held the podium of judgment. Dainyl’s boots
glided over the marble in the Hall empty except for him, as he turned left and
continued to a pillar on the south side, behind and to the left of the dais.
There, he paused, then vanished to the sight of those without Talent before
reaching up and turning the light-torch bracket. While that very minimal use of
Talent to conceal himself would not have misled any of the higher alectors, it
was most useful—and required— to keep things hidden in plain view from the
landers and in-digens. As the seemingly solid stone moved to reveal an entry
three yards high and one wide, only a Talented alector would have seen anything
but a solid stone pillar. Beyond the entry was a set of steps lit by
light-torches.

He stepped through
the entry into the warmer air, and the stone closed behind him. For all his
height and heavy muscle, his boots barely whispered on the stone steps. At the
bottom of the long staircase, he turned right along a stonewalled corridor
until he reached the next to last doorway on the north side. There he stopped.
He had only gone any farther a handful of times, and only with the marshal.

“You may enter,
Colonel.” The alector who stood in the chamber was a tall figure with flawless
alabaster skin, even paler than that of the colonel, with the same shimmering
black hair, and deep violet eyes, unlike the deep blue of the colonel’s. The
older alector did not wear a uniform, or the garb used for administration of
justice, but a tunic of brilliant green, trimmed in a deep purple, with
matching trousers.

Dainyl inclined his
head, murmuring politely, “Highest, I am here to serve.”

“As are we all.”
After a moment, the High Alector of Justice continued. “How long has it been
since the first translations to Acorus?”

“The very first?
Slightly more than five hundred years.” Dainyl contained his puzzlement at the
question, one he had certainly not expected.

The High Alector
shook his head. “That is what we have said, although nowhere is that written.
The first fieldmaster struggled onto this soil more than twice that long ago…”

Dainyl kept a
pleasant smile on his face, although he could sense that there was something
wrong with what the High Alector said.

“… Where we stand was
covered with snow for half the year, and the Bay of Ludel was frozen over for
most of that time. He was a lifemaster as well, and made changes to some of the
animals who lived here.” A wry smile crossed his lips. “You do not need to know
all the details now. Suffice it to say that we have labored long and hard to
bring warmth and prosperity and the benefits of Ifryn to this chill world.”

“As we are doing on
Efra, are we not?”

“That is true,
although the task is easier there, because it is naturally warmer.” The High
Alector lifted his hand in a gesture that froze Dainyl’s words. “That is not
for us to discuss now. Your Talents do not lie in translation or life-forming,
but in ensuring the peace here on Acorus.”

“There is a
particular problem, Highest?”

“All problems are
particular, Dainyl. Those who talk of problems in general either fail to
understand or wish to avoid or obscure the issues at hand.”

Dainyl tried not to
stiffen. His words had been spoken as courtesy, not in condescension or in
arrogance. He waited for the High Alector to continue.

“Some of the steers
have grown restless. With all the libraries and schools, some of them have
learned nothing. Left to themselves, they would squabble like spoiled children.
All around them are marvels, and yet they do not see.”

Where? What do you
wish of the Myrmidons or the Cad-mians? Those were the questions Dainyl wanted
to ask. Instead, he inclined his head politely. The High Alector would say what
he wanted in his own time and in great detail.

“A group of steers,
and perhaps even some from the older lander lines, are plotting a revolt in
Dramuria. Marshal Shastylt has indicated such to you.” The older ifrit looked
to the younger officer.

“He left a brief
message, sir. I have not seen any reports.”

“The report from
Majer Herryf went to the marshal and the Submarshal. This majer would have two
companies of Myrmidons patrolling the skies of Dramur. The marshal and I
decided that you should evaluate the situation without reference to the report.
That way you can confirm or modify the majer’s views independently. It seems
unlikely that a few unhappy steers could suddenly generate a revolt with any
local support. What do you think of that possibility?”

“I would share that
feeling, but if there is to be an insurrection, Dramur would seem a likely
locale. The city garrison is small, and the harbor more easily defended. They
are isolated from the high roads and Tables and thus cannot see all the
benefits that accrue to them. There’s been no recent history of hardship there,
and they do not know how well off they are. Also, if the uprising fails, the
rebels could flee to the MurianMountains. The cliffs there would be difficult
for the Cadmians to attack without taking significant casualties. The canyons
are narrow enough that we could not use the pteridons to the fullest
advantage.”

“You speak as though
you knew about this.”

Dainyl felt the
lifeforce pressure of the High Alector, but his own shields were more than
adequate. “I have heard nothing. I’m not a liaison to the recorders of deeds,
High-est, and neither the marshal nor Alector Zestafyn has passed any
intelligence to me. I merely speculate on the basis of what I know about
Dramur.” He’d certainly flown over it enough in years past, and it could not
have changed that much in the five or so years since he had last been there.

The High Alector
nodded brusquely, his deep set purple eyes remaining cold. “As you know,
lifeforce conditions upon Ifryn will reach the point of accelerated diminishing
returns within the next thirty years.” He snorted once. “That may be too
optimistic, but the High Fieldmaster would prefer not to risk a full body
translation anytime soon. Any resistance by the local steers must be quelled,
and with as little knowledge passing among the steers as possible, particularly
among the more educated and trained landers.”

“I understand.”
Dainyl comprehended all too well. Both worlds—Acorus and Efra—were competing to
see which would hold the Master Scepter of Life, and thus succeed Ifryn as the
Ifrit capital under the Archon who ruled all alectors. Whichever did would
receive the more Talented alectors from Ifryn and would become the better world
upon which to live. By their nature, the more intelligent steers had always
caused trouble. There was no help for it, not when intelligence was linked to
strength of lifeforce. The High Fieldmasters would excuse minor uprisings and
incidents as to be expected, but a large organized revolt in Dramuria could
easily prejudice him against making Acorus the successor to Ifryn. “The High
Fieldmasters…”

The ifrit in green
laughed, long, melodiously. “Drecorat wants matters as uneventful as possible.
All high fieldmasters have felt the same way. They care little about what is
right or just. He once told me that there is no such thing as inherent ‘right’
or justice among all the worlds of the universe. The universe does not care.
Its rules reward survival—and power. If you would have what you call justice,
you must have the strength and the will to create it and to enforce it.” The
High Alector looked hard at Dainyl. “We must show that strength and will.”

“As always.” Dainyl
would have liked a hint of what the Highest wanted in more concrete terms.

The older alector
smiled, a hard and condescending expression. “We have already established
grandeur and beauty and grace here. We have created peerless art, where there
was none before. Out of mud and squalor we have built such, and it must not be
undermined.”

Left unspoken was the
understanding of the price a world paid for such grandeur and beauty. “What
would you have the Myrmidons do, Highest?”

“The Myrmidons?
Nothing. I would have sent Submar-shal Tyanylt, but… he felt otherwise. You are
the acting Submarshal, and the task falls to you. This appears to be a matter
involving steers, and it should be handled by steers—except for you and two
Myrmidons of your choice. They will take you to Dramuria. You will be there as
my representative and to observe how the Cadmian battalion handles the
situation.”