Soarers Choice

ALECTORS
OF ACORUS

KhelarytDuarch
of Elcien

ZelyertHigh
Alector of Justice

ChembrytHigh
Alector of Finance

AlserylHigh
Alector of Transport

SamistDuarch
of Ludar

RuvrynHigh
Alector of Engineering

JalorytHigh
Alector of Trade

ZuthylHigh
Alector of Education

BrekyltHigh
Alector of the East [Alustre]

AsuletSenior
Alector — Lyterna

PaeyltSenior
Engineer — Lyterna

ShastyltFormer
Marshal of Myrmidons

DainylMarshal
of Myrmidons — West [Elcien]

AlcynaSubmarshal
of Myrmidons — East [Alustre]

NoryanMajer
of Myrmidons, deputy to Alcyna

LystranaChief
Assistant to High Alector of Finance

Table
Cities [Recorders of Deeds]

Elcien
[Chastyl]

Ludar
[Puleryt]

Alustre
[Retyl]

Dereka
[Jonyst]

Lysia
[Sulerya]

Lyterna
[Myenfel]

Tempre
[ Chyal]

Hyalt
[Rhelyn]

Soupat
[Nomyelt]

Dulka
[Deturyl]

Norda
[Dubaryt]

Prosp
[Noryst]

Blackstear
[Delari]

Faitel
[Techyl]

Green
towers rise against a setting sun, proud monuments to choices ill-begun, spare
spires of eternal stone to stand and long imprison spirits of the land.

Alectors’
choices fell on friends and foes. They struck with force, righteousness, and
woes. Heeded not good or grace when day was done, and greater powers had turned
stars and sun.

Dainyl
sat behind the wide desk in the large study in headquarters. On the desk were
stacks of reports. To his left on the polished wood was a shorter stack — the
immediate orders he had written for the Myrmidons in an effort to undo the
worst of his predecessor’s plotting. Outside, the morning sunlight of late
harvest warmed the courtyard and the blue-winged pteridons of First Company —
those that were not flying dispatches and undertaking other duties. The solid
granite of the courtyard and the walls sparkled in the bright sun, clean and
crisp.

He’d
permanently reassigned the Seventh Company of Myrmidons to Tempre from Dulka to
keep them from being suborned by Quivaryt, the regional alector in Dulka, and
clearly the tool of Brekylt, the Alector of the East in Alustre. After that had
come the cover letter forwarding copies of Dainyl’s appointment as marshal to
each of the eight Myrmidon companies spread across Corns. Beside those lay the
draft of his report on what he had done to quash the “revolt” in Hyalt and
Tempre. Of course, he couldn’t tell the entire story, because his superior, the
High Alector of Justice, the most honorable Zelyert, had firmly ordered him to
treat the matter as a local revolt, rather than the first thrust of a
conspiracy masterminded by Brekylt. To make matters worse, and more delicate,
Dainyl suspected that Brekylt was being quietly urged on by Samist, the Duarch
of Ludar.

Dainyl
looked up from the various papers and back out through the window at the
nearest pteridon in the courtyard behind the headquarters building, standing on
its wide raised stone square and stretching its blue leathery wings. The long
crystalline beak glittered in the sunlight. After a moment, Dainyl’s eyes
dropped back to the papers before him.

Despite
the proclamation that lay on his table desk and the green-edged gold stars on
the collars of his blue and gray shimmersilk uniform that attested to his rank,
Dainyl still didn’t feel like the Marshal of Myrmidons.

Add
to that the fact that he was dreading the translation trip to Alustre, but the
longer he waited, the more dangerous the situation became, and it wasn’t
something he could delegate. For one thing, he didn’t have anyone to whom he
could delegate the task. He’d been the submarshal in Elcien, and Colonel
Dhenyr, who had been the Myrmidon operations director, had attempted to kill
Dainyl when Dainyl had discovered Dhenyr’s treachery. Dainyl was the only senior
officer left in headquarters. The other submarshal, Alcyna, was stationed in
Alustre, the width of the continent away. For years, she had directed Myrmidon
operations in the east, and she was one of the reasons Dainyl had to go to
Alustre — and before long.

He
took a deep breath and reached for the next document on the top of the taller
pile. In less than a glass, he was due at the Palace of the Duarch in Elcien,
to meet with Duarch Khelaryt to brief him personally on all that had happened
in Hyalt and Tempre. He assumed that he would also be asked for his plans for
the Myrmidons. That possibility worried him far more than explaining the past,
because he doubted that it would be wise to reveal the reasons behind what he
planned until he had a better
i.e.
of what the
Duarch — and those around him — already knew.

Still,
he needed to finish catching up on the other Myrmidon and Cadmian operations,
or as many as he could, before he met with the Duarch. He began to read the
report from Colonel Herolt, commander of the First Regiment, Cadmian Mounted
Rifles.

When
he finished, Dainyl couldn’t help but frown. Except for Second Battalion, every
battalion in the First Regiment was understrength, and the colonel was
reporting that matters were worsening. And why in the Archon’s name had a
battalion been sent to Soupat? The mines there were marginal. At least he
thought so, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask Lystrana. As a chief assistant in the
Palace of the Duarch, his wife might know the trade and finance background.

Slowly,
he got up and headed for the records chamber.

Doselt,
the squad leader in charge of records, then jumped to his feet. “Yes, Marshal?”

“Would
you find me the records of and the orders to the First Cadmian Regiment that
deal with the deployment of its Sixth Battalion to Soupat last season?”

“It
might take a bit, sir.”

“Just
bring them to me. If I’m not here, leave them on the corner of my desk.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Dainyl
moved down the corridor to see if Captain Ghasylt was in his study. Dainyl
needed some help, and he needed it now. Ghasylt might be out in the courtyard —
he spent more time flying or with the pteridons than did many company
commanders. Dainyl was fortunate. The captain was standing by his desk, holding
a report, looking at it quizzically.

He
dropped it on the table. “Sir?”

“Ghasylt...
you know that we have no operations director...”

“Yes,
sir.” Ghasylt swallowed. “No, sir-”

“No,
sir?” Dainyl couldn’t help smiling.

“I’m
a flier, sir. I can’t do operations and scheduling and paperwork.”

“Your
reports are excellent,” Dainyl pointed out.

“That’s
because I don’t do them. Undercaptain Zernylta does. She has for years.”

Dainyl
laughed. “I might steal her, then.”

“She
writes well, sir. I’d hate to lose her, but she’d do better than I would.”

“Where
is she?”

“She’s
on the dispatch run from Ludar. She won’t be back until late.”

“Would
you leave word that I would like to see her?”

“Yes,
sir.” Ghasylt sounded disconsolate.

“If
she works out, she won’t get jumped three ranks to colonel,” Dainyl said.
“She’ll be a captain and assistant operations director.” Of course, there might
not be an operations director for a while, but Dainyl needed the job done. “And
you could still make majer... without doing much paperwork.” He grinned. “If
you can find another undercaptain who can write.”

“Ghanyr’s
not bad. Chelysta’s nearly as good as Zernylta, but don’t steal her. She’s the
best squad leader in the air.”

Dainyl
made a mental note to jot that down when he got back to his study. He could
never tell when he might need another good company commander. He’d also have to
check on Ghasylt. He might be able to promote him to majer anyway. The
commanding officer of the Elcien company probably ought to be one, and Dainyl
needed a good flying commander and loyalty as much as he needed an operations
officer. “I appreciate the information, and even more, I appreciate your
honesty and loyalty. These days, it means a great deal.”

Although
Ghasylt’s expression remained politely attentive, Dainyl sensed the concealed
surprise — and gratitude.

“We
need to talk, before too long, about what may lie ahead for you and First
Company.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Dainyl
nodded, then turned and headed back toward his study. He didn’t make it.

“The
duty coach is ready, sir!” That was Undercaptain Yuasylt, the duty officer.

“I’ll
be there in a moment.” Dainyl paused. There was nothing he really needed in his
study. He turned and headed toward the archway to the front entrance.

Outside,
waiting with the coach, was Wyalt. As always, the duty driver had a smile on
his face when Dainyl strode out of headquarters. “Good morning, Marshal.”

“Good
morning, Wyalt. The Duarch’s Palace.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Dainyl
stepped up into the coach and closed the door.

Once
the coach began to move, he concentrated on how best to brief the Duarch. Some
of that would depend on whether Khelaryt wanted a private briefing or one that
included other High Alectors.

As
the duty coach neared the Duarch’s Palace, Dainyl looked out at Elcien, a city
built on an isle, of stone and tile and gardens and trees, orderly and vibrant,
with stonewalled dwellings set on tree-lined streets, shops with their perfect
tile roofs set around market squares that held everything produced on Acorus.
Goods shipped from across the world flowed from the wharves and docks on the southern
shore into endless warehouses and to everyone in Elcien, alectors and landers
alike.

His
eyes lingered on the twin green towers flanking the Palace, soaring into the
silver-green sky, gleaming and glittering in the midmorning sunlight,
symbolically crowning the accomplishments of the alectors of Acorus, who had
turned a freezing and dying world into a place of life and achievement. Even as
he marveled at the towers, Dainyl recalled the words of the ancient soarer. You
must change, or you will die. That seemed so unlikely, yet the ancient had been
so certain ... and so melancholy in saying those words.

The
coach slowed and came to a halt under the portico at the main entrance to the
Duarch’s Palace. Dainyl stepped out.

“I’ll
be waiting for you, sir,” Wyalt called down from the driver’s seat.

Dainyl
almost told him to return to headquarters because others might need him, but
cut off the words before he spoke. There wasn’t anyone there who would need the
coach, not without a submarshal or an operations director. “Thank you. I don’t
know how long I’ll be.”

“I’ll
be here, sir.”

Dainyl
made his way in through the archway, past the pair of guards armed with
lightcutter sidearms. He did not recall the slender alector who met him inside
the main foyer of the Palace, although his face was vaguely familiar, but it
was clear that the functionary knew Dainyl.

“Marshal,
the Duarch is ready to see you. If you would accompany me.” He turned down the
high-ceilinged hallway, flanked by goldenstone marble columns that led to the
east wing of the Palace.

The
hall was floored with the traditional octagonal tiles of green marble, linked
by smaller diamond tiles of gold marble, and dark green velvet hangings between
the goldenstone columns were trimmed in gold. The sound of Dainyl’s boots
hitting the octagonal and diamond-shaped marble floor tiles was lost in the
expanse of the corridor.

Near
the end of the corridor, the alector turned to his right and knocked on a door.
After the briefest of moments, he opened it, and motioned for Dainyl to enter,
then followed the marshal into the chamber. It was the same small library, six
yards wide and twelve in length, where Dainyl had met with the Duarch on the
one previous occasion he had briefed Khelaryt. The inside walls held oak shelves
filled with volumes, while the outside wall contained smaller sections of
shelves. The narrow floor-to-ceiling windows between the built-in bookcases
overlooked the southern sunken garden.

The
Duarch rose from behind his desk. This time, unlike the last, it was almost
empty, instead of being stacked high with books. Standing, he was an immense
presence, close to three yards tall, with shimmering black hair and deep violet
eyes dominating his alabaster face. He radiated Talent.

“Thank
you, Bharyt.” The Duarch’s voice was deep but warm. He turned from the aide to
Dainyl and gestured to a chair set across the wide desk from him. “Please,
Marshal.”