Soarers Choice (50 page)

“Yes,
sir,” replied Chastyl.

Adya
said nothing, but the disapproval in her face mirrored her internal feelings.
Apparently, she and Chastyl felt that High Alectors were only supposed to use
the Tables to travel to and from Elcien and Ludar.

Dainyl
concentrated on the darkness beneath the Table and felt himself sliding through
the silvered surface of the Table and into the coolness below ...

...
where he found that his perception of the translation tube alternated between
two views. One timeless instant, the tube appeared narrow and solid, its “walls
“ deep purple, the next instant, little more than a misty and insubstantial
cylinder perched parasitically upon a deeper greenish black extension — almost
an underground high road, one that was part of the rock and yet separate from
it.

Reaching
out with a Talent probe that appeared as much green as purple, he linked to the
crimson-gold locator that was Dereka. As soon as the link was complete, he
flashed through the faintest mist of silver and golden red.

He
stood on the Table in Dereka, belatedly realizing that he had not even checked
on the purple flashes or on the amber-green creation of the ancients, whatever
and wherever it might be.

The
five guards stationed around the Table leaned forward, although they did not
raise their lightcutters.

“Highest?”
Jonyst’s eyes widened, and he bowed. “Highest... might I ask?”

“High
Alector Zelyert met an untimely end. He attacked a loyal subordinate for no
reason other than the subordinate’s effectiveness. The Duarch was pleased to
offer me the position.”

“I
see. Congratulations.” The recorder inclined his head slightly, and Dainyl
could see that Jonyst’s hair had gotten more of the streaks of brilliant white.
As the recorder straightened, Dainyl also noted that his face had become even
more haggard.

Dainyl
stepped off the Table. “A moment, if you would.” He nodded to the staircase,
gesturing for the recorder to go first.

When
they were in the library on the next level, Dainyl glanced around. Although
there were papers on two of the tables, no one else appeared in the room.

“Jonyst...
you’re wearing yourself out. Can’t your assistants help?”

The
recorder shook his head. “Ilerya and Wasen are helping as much as they can, but
someone has to monitor the guards, and that leaves Whelyne and me. Otherwise,
they’d let anyone translate here.” He lowered his voice. “Except those who
would be most useful.”

“The
ones who can help you or Acorus?”

“Yes,
Highest.”

“If
you must use a title, just use ‘sir,’“ Dainyl said tiredly.

“I’ve
been High Alector for less than a day, and ...” He decided against saying what
he might have. “I’m not much for titles based on position, rather than
accomplishment or ability.”

“You
never were.”

“Have
you noticed anything new or different about the Tables or the translations?”

“We’re
still getting fewer long translations, and the majority of them are wild.”

That
made an unfortunate kind of sense to Dainyl.

“It
can’t be that long before the Archon acts,” the recorder suggested.

“I’ve
thought that before, but I think he’ll squeeze as much lifeforce out of Ifryn
as he can, and that may take longer.”

Jonyst
raised his eyebrows. “Your predecessor would not have said that.”

“I
know. I’m less indirect, and it may be my undoing.” With barely a hesitation,
Dainyl went on. “Is it possible to borrow your coach and driver for a short
ride?”

Jonyst
smiled. “A High Alector who asks and means it is welcome to all that I can
supply. Mostly.”

Dainyl
smiled in return. “That last word shows you’re a wise and cautious alector.”

“Cautious.
Were I wise, I’d no longer be a recorder.”

“I’m
glad you are. I’ll see you or Whelyne in the morning.” With those words, and a
smile, Dainyl turned and headed for the ramps to the lower level and the main
entrance.

Guersa
stared as Dainyl approached the coach.

“Guersa
... not that much has changed. The Duarch only promoted me.”

“Ah
... yes, sir ... I mean ... I’ve never driven ... a High Alector...”

He
opened the coach door. “There’s a first time for everything. I’d just like to
see my -wife.”

“Yes,
sir. We can do that.”

As
he stepped inside the coach, he heard her murmur, “High Alector in Dereka ...”

When
he settled onto the bench seat, he realized that only in coaches had he been
alone since he had left breakfast that morning. Would every day as a High
Alector be like that?

The
sun was dropping behind the Upper Spine Mountains when Guersa brought the coach
to a halt outside the RA’s quarters.

“Will
you need me in the morning, sir?”

“I
think not, but thank you.” Dainyl nodded politely, then turned and walked up
the stone steps. To the fading sound of hoofs on stone as the coach pulled
away, he tugged the bellpull.

After
several moments, Jylena opened the door, and like Guersa, stared for a long
moment through the grillwork.

“I
was promoted,” Dainyl said dryly. “I’m still married to the regional alector.”

“Oh
... yes, sir...” She released the lock on the grill door.

Dainyl
had not even taken two steps into the small foyer when Lystrana appeared, clad
in an outfit similar to what she had worn the day before, except the colors
were reversed with the vest of light green and the trousers and tunic of the
rich blue.

She
stopped and looked at him, then smiled. Her eyes were sad.

Dainyl
eased forward and put his arms around her. “It’s all right.”

Jylena
had finished closing the doors and eased away down the right side corridor.

Lystrana
stepped back, still holding his hands. “He attacked you, didn’t he?”

“You
saw it coming?”

“I
thought it might, but not yet. You’re getting more powerful, dearest.” She
frowned. “You’ve also got more green about you. It was fading.” She glanced
around. “Dinner will be the two of us this evening. Why don’t we go to the
study? I had them plan for later.”

Dainyl
offered her his arm. As they walked, he let his Talent sense Kytrana, a growing
Talent presence. He worried about her, and about Lystrana. Alectors’ children,
for all their strength, needed every moment of their eight months within their
mothers.

“I
could sense that,” Lystrana said. “I’m fine.”

“Can
I help it if I worry? Wouldn’t you?”

“At
times I worry enough for both of us, dearest.” When she stepped into the study
— a small room with only two narrow windows, but with an entire wall of
bookshelves, half empty — Lystrana stepped away from him. “Do you like the
garments?”

“You
look good in them, but you always do.”

“Your
mother sent several sets by sandox. They arrived yesterday. She even sent a
short letter, admonishing me to stay away from Tables from here on in.”

“I’d
agree with her,” Dainyl replied, “and we don’t often.”

“I
like yours, too.” Lystrana grinned. “They aren’t typical for a High Alector
...”

“They’re
more traditional. Bharyt found some for me, and I liked these better than what
Zelyert was wearing.”

“That’s
because they’re far more like a uniform, and you’ll always be a Myrmidon, no
matter what happens.” Dainyl wouldn’t have contested that. “There’s something
else. The green — it’s now part of your Talent, and it’s even stronger within
you. How did that happen?” Lystrana settled onto the short settee to the left
of the floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcase.

“When
Zelyert attacked me ...” Dainyl stopped. “I think I’d better start from the
beginning. After breakfast, I inspected Fifth Company and then took the Table
to Elcien ...” He went on to describe the events of the day, including how he
had been forced to call up the green Talent from beneath the Table, all the way
through to his arrival in Dereka.

“Your
ability to use the ancients’ form of Talent... it can’t be just because of the
wound from Rhelyn’s weapon,” she said.

“I
think it’s partly that, and partly because they healed me.” He moistened his
lips. “I also have the feeling that all really Talented alectors could do it.
Otherwise, why would the ancients have been telling us that we have to change?”

“I
don’t like that at all.”

“Neither
do I. I’d rather not talk about it anymore. I don’t know that there’s anything
more to be said, anyway. I’m looking forward to dinner, and I’m happy that you
don’t have any company tonight — except Kytrana.”

“So
am I.” Lystrana smiled.

Mykel
sat behind the writing desk in the dilapidated study of the run-down garrison
in Iron Stem. His shoulder was sore. He was tired, and it was still a glass
before midmorning.

For
an instant, a flash of green — Talent-green — seemed to surround him, but it
was gone almost before he.had recognized it. Then ... from somewhere came a
deep and distant rumble, not one that he heard with his ears, but one that he
perceived.

“Loryalt!”
he snapped.

Within
moments, the undercaptain stood in the study doorway.

“Put
everyone here at the garrison in combat duty status. Immediately. Have them
saddle their mounts and stand by for orders.” According to the schedule, only
Sixteenth and Fourteenth Companies were out on patrol. “In the courtyard.”

“Yes,
sir. Any other orders?”

“Not
yet. I’ll know more in a bit.” You hope you know more.

Loryalt
hurried off. “Muster for ride-out! All companies!”

Mykel
had certainly felt and sensed something, and that it meant trouble. If it
didn’t, he could always claim he wanted to see how fast the battalion
responded. That would be better, embarrassing as it might be to him personally,
than the unnamed danger he sensed was about to strike Iron Stem. It had
something to do with the soarers. At least, he thought it did.

For
a time, he sat there, but could not think of what more he should be
anticipating. Then he began to hear mounts and men out in the courtyard.
Finally, because sitting and thinking was doing him little good, Mykel stood
and struggled into his riding jacket one-handed, fastening it over the arm in
the bound sling, leaving that sleeve empty. Then he walked quickly toward the
courtyard. He was opening the door when the ground began to tremble.

He
staggered for a moment, then ran into the center of the courtyard. “Away from
the buildings! Get away from the buildings.”

While
the buildings swayed, and several windows broke, and an. old shutter crashed to
the stones, in several moments the shaking of the earth stopped. Lazy flakes of
snow drifted out of the gray sky, so at odds with the feeling of doom that he
sensed, even after the apparent earthquake.

“Majer,
sir!” Loryalt rode toward him followed by the other four officers.

Mykel
surveyed them. “Fabrytal. Fifteenth Company is to patrol the area around the
ironworks. Shoot anyone who doesn’t obey, and anyone who looks like he’s
looting.”

“Looting,
sir?”

“This
earthquake and whatever else has happened might have wrecked houses or even the
ironworks. Those orders are for all companies. Loryalt, Seventeenth Company has
the area around the town square. Dyarth, you’ve got the area to the east of the
square. Hamylt, you and Fourth Battalion have the area north of the ironworks
and around the garrison. Leave two squads here in case someone gets ideas.”

“Yes,
sir.;’

“All
of you send back scouts with reports of what you find.”

The
chorus of “Yes, sir” was ragged, but firm.

“Go!”
Mykel wanted to ride out to get a better view of what had happened. Instead, he
forced himself to walk to the front of the headquarters building. There, he
stood outside, watching as the companies rode out.

“Sir?”

Mykel
turned to see a ranker bringing a tall stool with a back. He didn’t know the
man, but thought he had to be from Fourth Battalion.

“If
you’re going to wait here, sir, this might help.”

Mykel
couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you.”

He
set the stool under the eaves that formed a slight roofed area over the front
entrance and settled down to wait.

In
less than a quarter glass, a mount galloped back toward the gates, then slowed
to a walk as the ranker guided the horse into the garrison. Mykel recognized
the Cadmian — Jasakyt, the lead scout from Fifteenth Company.

“Jasakyt!
Over here!” called Mykel.

The
scout turned the chestnut toward the majer, finally reining up less than three
yards from Mykel, who had stood and stepped forward. “Sir ... the dam for the
ironworks must have burst. There’s water half a yard deep in places around the
ironworks. Some of the furnaces exploded, it looks like. A few of the houses
are burning. Before I left, the company had to shoot some of the mals from the
ironworks.”

“Tell
Undercaptain Fabrytal that he’s to keep order at all costs. The water will
subside before long, and there will be more looters then. Tell him he can break
the company into half squads, but no smaller.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“If
anything changes, especially for the worse, I’ll need to know.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“On
your way ... and thank you.” After Jasakyt rode out, Mykel walked out to the
gates, now guarded by a squad from Fourth Company.

“Sir!”

“I’m
just looking.” Mykel took several more steps, until he was partway into the
high road, then looked south toward the center of Iron Stem. Through the
intermittent snow, he could see several patches of orangish red, but the
distance and the snow blocked any clear view. After a moment, he turned and
walked back to his self-appointed post.