Soarers Choice (69 page)

“You
don’t think that’s likely.”

“Not
before full winter sets in.”

Dainyl
nodded. If anyone could deal with the Reillies, Majer Mykel could. But... as he
was learning, sometimes even great ability wasn’t enough. “Anything else?”

“Not
that you don’t already know.” She paused, then said, “Try to get some rest
before you meet the Duarch.”

“I
will. I’ll let you get back to headquarters.”

With
a nod and a brief smile, she rose and made her way from the study.

Dainyl
leaned back in his chair, as much as he could with its straight back, and
closed his eyes, trying to think about what he should say to the Duarch, and
what he should not. He wasn’t certain how long he half thought and half dozed
before there was a knock on the study door.

“Yes?”
His Talent-strength had to be returning, because he could sense Adya beyond.

“The
coach is waiting, Highest.”

Had
he dozed that long? “I’ll be right there.” He stood and stretched. His legs did
feel steadier. He opened the door. Adya was waiting.

“Is
there something I need to do before I go?” he asked.

“Oh,
no, sir.”

Dainyl
laughed. “You wanted to make sure the overtired High Alector did get to the
coach.”

Adya
blushed, the first time Dainyl had seen that.

“I’m
on my way, and thank you.” He turned toward the staircase.

Outside,
before he entered the coach, Dainyl looked up, absently realizing that the sky
was a clear and deep silver-green — as opposed to the clouds he had left behind
in Dereka.

At
the Palace, the seemingly omnipresent and imperturbable Bharyt stepped forward
to greet Dainyl as soon as he stepped through the archway. “This way, sir. The
Duarch will be joining you in the sunroom. He often eats there.” Bharyt turned.

Dainyl
walked beside the functionary. “I imagine matters have been quiet here
recently.”

“For
a Duarch, quiet is often as bad as overt alarm, sir.”

“Sometimes
worse, I’ve found.”

“That
is also possible.”

Bharyt
escorted Dainyl to the very last door on the right side of the corridor,
opening it and gesturing for Dainyl to enter. “The Duarch should be with you
momentarily, sir.”

“Thank
you.” Dainyl walked forward into the chamber, a modest room ten yards by
fifteen, set to take advantage of its position on the southwest corner of the
Palace. The high and wide glass windows to the south overlooked a courtyard garden
and offered a vista across the shore park to the Bay of Ludel. The west windows
overlooked the same garden, but beyond the walls stretched the western section
of Elcien, dwellings and buildings interspersed with trees, none high enough to
block the sweeping view of the city.

Next
to the south window, a table was set for two, with china and crystal and pale
green linens and napkins. On a side table were several bottles of wine.

“Greetings,
Dainyl.”

Dainyl
turned at the warm and hearty words of the Duarch, who had entered by a side
door. “Greetings, sir.” He bowed his head momentarily.

“We
might as well sit.” Khelaryt gestured to the chair at the table that faced
east, while taking the one that faced west.

As
Dainyl seated himself, a steward in pale green appeared, who immediately poured
a colorless wine into the goblets.

“It’s
a Vyan Alte... very subdued but full,” said the Duarch, lifting his goblet.
Dainyl lifted his.

They
drank, and Dainyl had to agree with the Duarch’s assessment.

“The
Vyan Alte is somewhat like you,” Khelaryt said, setting his goblet on the
table. “There’s a great deal more there than is immediately apparent.”

“Should
I be flattered or concerned by that comparison, sir?”

“Perhaps
you should tell me.” Khelaryt leaned back slightly as the steward reappeared
and eased a small plate before him, then another before Dainyl. On it were
three thin circular slices of something white with the slightest hint of tan.
“These are hearts of bosquite. One of the few delicacies from the Dry Coast.” He
speared one and ate it slowly.

Dainyl
followed his example. The bosquite combined fruity and nutty tastes, albeit
with the crunchiness of a not-quite-ripe melon rind. That could have been why
the slices were cut so thin.

“I
saw Captain Lyzetta recently.” Dainyl decided against being too specific. “She
is a good commander, not that I would expect otherwise.”

“I’m
happy to hear that, and I appreciate your letting me know.” Khelaryt sipped his
wine. “You have been absent in recent days, Dainyl, and I have heard some
disturbing news.”

“You
should have, sir. The High Alector of Engineering has been building and
distributing more lightcannon since I last mentioned this to you. The Alector
of the East and most of his close supporters have left Alustre.” Dainyl finished
the appetizer.

The
steward replaced the plates with small and delicate cups of steaming soup.

Khelaryt
picked up the cup in a hand that dwarfed the delicate porcelain and sipped the
soup.

Dainyl
enjoyed the seed-gourd bisque far more than the bosquite.

“I
assume you have responded to these events. Exactly how, might I ask?”

How?
Besides nearly getting myself killed? “I personally destroyed at least one
lightcannon in Dulka and removed the Recorder of Deeds in Alustre after he
admitted his support of Brekylt against you. Majer Sevasya is now acting
submarshal of the Myrmidons and has both Fourth and Sixth Companies firmly
under her control in Lysia. Both Fifth and Seventh Companies are already flying
here to reinforce First Company.”

“You
did not inform me of these?”

“I
was somewhat injured, Highest, and only returned from my efforts this morning.
Had I not been invited here, you would have had a request for me to brief you
by now.”

“How
did you like the bisque?”

“Very
much,” replied Dainyl.

“It’s
one of my favorites.” Khelaryt paused as the steward removed the cups and
placed a plate before each alector, each holding a juvenile oarfish glazed with
lemon-citron. Then he cut a section of the fish with his fork and ate it,
clearly savoring the oarfish.

Dainyl
took a smaller bite. The glaze was excellent, mellow and tangy simultaneously,
but he’d had more than enough fish in his tour at Sinjin, although that had
been decades earlier.

“Duarch
Samist has sent a dispatch saying that unfriendly forces had destroyed a large
section of the RA’s complex in Dulka,” Khelaryt said mildly, “and asking if I
knew anything about it. How would you suggest I respond?”

Dainyl
ate another small bite of oarfish before speaking. “You could reply that the
forces were only unfriendly to those who oppose the continuation of the Duarchy
as it is now constituted, and that the destruction was the result of the
explosion of a lightcannon employed against those loyal to you and the
Duarchy.”

Khelaryt
laughed. “That is true... if not exactly in the fashion that Samist would
appreciate.” After his last bite of oarfish, he asked, “Were there other
lightcannon in Dulka?”

Dainyl
finished his own fish before replying. “I would judge so, although I was forced
to withdraw before confirming that.”

“You
... withdraw?”

“Some
lightcannon are too powerful for the most powerful of alectors, and I am not
one of them.”

“If
you are not, I would wish to know who such individuals might be.”

“You,
sir, are clearly one.”

“You’re
sounding like Zelyert, Dainyl.”

“I
would not wish to do so, but you are the most powerful of alectors that I
know.”

The
steward removed the fish plates, replacing them with larger platters holding
chiafra — mint-minced beef mixed with creamed white cheese and parsley, rolled
in thin pastry tubes and covered with an almond sauce — accompanied by spears
of something green and jellied-looking. Then he replaced the goblets and poured
a maroon-reddish wine into each new goblet.

Dainyl
couldn’t help but look hard at the jellied spears.

“Those
are jellied prickle — it’s a lander delicacy,” Khelaryt offered.

While
Dainyl had always liked chiafra, he personally preferred it with a richer brown
sauce. As for the prickle, it tasted like a combination of rancid oil and
sawdust, delicacy or not.

“Tell
me, Dainyl. What is your best judgment as to what will happen next?”

“I
believe we’re getting very near to the time when the Archon will transfer the
Master Scepter. Brekylt has begun to move forces westward, perhaps in support
of Duarch Samist.”

Following
Khelaryt’s example, Dainyl sipped the red wine.

“Why
do you believe the transfer is imminent?”

“Because
wild translations have dropped considerably and because the recorders have been
reporting strange fluctuations of a type they’ve never known before from the
Tables.” Dainyl took another bite of the chiafra. He wasn’t about to eat any
more of the prickle.

“That
could be coincidence.”

“That
is always possible,” Dainyl conceded.

“Your
actions suggest you believe the danger is here in the west, yet Brekylt’s power
lies in the east.”

“His
base of power lies in the east,” replied Dainyl. “Outside of Lysia, though, his
support there is so strong that he has no fear of losing it. In addition, it is
clear that Ruvryn and the engineers support him. Given that, it may even be
that Samist supports him... or that he may be doing Samist’s bidding.”

“That
is a serious charge. You are as much as saying that Samist will attack me.”

“Yes,
sir. I am.”

“Is
that why your wife is in Dereka, Dainyl?” Khelaryt’s voice was smooth.

Dainyl
was not deceived, sensing the anger behind it. “Not exactly, sir. Long before I
became even marshal, I was worried about conflicts in the west. I also wished
my wife’s abilities to be rewarded, and you may recall that I mentioned the
extent of those abilities.”

“That
you did,” grudged Khelaryt.

“I
might also add that I am here, and I have never shied from danger.”

“There
is that.”

“And
she is carrying a child.”

“All
that would be mere rationalization in other alectors, Dainyl, but even suspicious
as a Duarch must be, I concede your loyalty, if only from the injuries and
risks you have taken. Will you return to Dereka tonight?”

“Certainly
not tonight. It is unlikely I will travel to Dereka often, if at all, until
these matters are resolved.”

Khelaryt
nodded, and Dainyl could sense a certain satisfaction behind the pleasant
facade.

“You
will definitely enjoy the dessert,” the Duarch said. “It is an old favorite of
mine as well. Did I tell you that once I fancied that I could have been the
best pastry chef in Illustra?”

“I
can’t say that I’m surprised, sir.” Dainyl smiled politely.

Khelaryt
had the information he wanted, whatever it had been, perhaps only a
confirmation of Dainyl’s loyalty, and little more of import would be said or
asked, for which Dainyl was grateful, although he would certainly remain on his
guard.

Dainyl
slept uneasily. On Octdi night, he’d debated returning to Dereka, but he’d
decided against it because his Talent-strength was returning, and he had the
feeling that traveling the Tables — or the ancients’ web — might not only
reduce his strength but also provoke some sort of attack that would only weaken
him and leave him less able for the inevitable attack on Elcien by Brekylt and
Samist.

On
Novdi morning, he woke before dawn, drenched in sweat. He’d had dreams of
battles, with pteridons fighting pteridons and lightcannon turning the sky into
a web of crisscrossing lines of blue flame, of ancients taking an oversized
beaker and pouring green fluids down his throat until he burst... and of
amber-green barriers walling off the sun itself and soarers hovering around him
chanting, “Change or die ... change or die.”

Still,
after a shower and a breakfast of
eg.
toast and ale,
he felt better physically. In fact, for all of the disturbance of his dreams,
he felt that he was close to full Talent-strength.

He
did find a hacker and was at the Hall of Justice well before anyone, except for
those on duty in the Table chamber. Once in his study, he went over the latest
reports from Alcyna. Her Myrmidon scouts had reported seeing, from a distance,
a number of pteridons in the air around Ludar. Two of the Duarches’ massive
seagoing vessels had been at the piers in Ludar on Septi. Since those vessels
were under the control of Alseryl, and since no one had seen Alseryl for
several days, that suggested that the High Alector of Transport had allied
himself with Samist.

Dainyl
had not mentioned the possible alliance, but on Octdi morning he had sent a
message to Khelaryt noting the ships’ location and Alseryl’s absence. There had
been no response throughout Octdi, and none was waiting at the Hall of Justice.
In fact, Dainyl had received no communication of any sort from the Duarch since
their private lunch meeting.

Just
because Dainyl thought Samist, Brekylt, Ruvryn, and Alseryl were planning an
attack on Elcien — or on Khelaryt himself — Dainyl couldn’t very well order an
attack on Ludar. He had no real proof of anything except that Ruvryn’s
engineers had built lightcannon and that Brekylt and the RAs in his area of
administrative oversight had used them.

He
was still wrestling with what he could order besides patrols’and observations
when he sensed Chastyl outside his study door. “You can come in, Chastyl.”

The
recorder opened the door and stepped into the study, closing the door behind
him. “Sir ... I’ve been noting something. It might mean something, and it might
not.”