Alector's Choice (31 page)

Dainyl looked out the
window of the commander’s study, taking in the shadows of a late-winter
afternoon in Dramuria as they stretched across the Cadmian compound. Londi had
come and gone, and Duadi had almost done the same. Quelyt had not yet flown
back from Elcien, and his delayed return suggested that all was not well in
Elcien. Overcaptain Dohark had reported by messenger that most of the patrols
undertaken by the companies of Third Battalion had been uneventful, except that
Seventeenth Company had been attacked by several squads of horsemen with
longbows and arrows and was pursuing them to the north of the western road.

Dainyl had
immediately sent a messenger back to Dohark, suggesting that pursuit to the
west was unwise, except in cases where the horsemen could be clearly cut off.
He hoped that would be sufficient, since so far there had been no sign of any
of the western seltyrs’ horse troopers moving east. Dainyl thought it would
likely be only days, weeks at the most, before that happened. For that reason,
he had also alerted Dohark that the western seltyrs had armed horse troopers
who could be used against the Cadmians.

He still fretted
somewhat about the troopers he and Fa-lyna had overflown. Marshal Shastylt
would have destroyed them. Yet Dainyl didn’t see what good that would have
done. It would only destroy higher-level lifeforce mass, and lead to greater
destruction, while not getting at the basic problem. He laughed softly. If… if
he could ever discover the basic problem.

Then, there was the
problem of the ancients. Much as he had tried, with his own Talent, he had been
unable to recreate—or find, see, or sense—the vision of the world life-mass web
that the soarer had shown him, for that was all that it could have been. The
best he could do was sense, if he concentrated, the purple-pinkness of his own
lifethread for less than a yard from him. Still, that was an improvement. The
prediction that he would perish unless he changed still lurked in the back of
his mind as well Change? How? And why?

“Sir?”

Dainyl looked up to
see Quelyt standing in the open doorway to the study. He stood. “I’m glad to
see you. I worried that they might have pressed you into courier duty
somewhere.”

The Myrmidon laughed
as he stepped into the study. “We did do a message run or two to Ludar, more as
a favor, while we waited.” He extended an envelope. “From the marshal.”

“Any other
dispatches?”

“No, sir.” Then the
ranker grinned. “There is a letter.”

Dainyl shook his
head. “Sometimes, you’re a brigand, Quelyt.”

“Only sometimes,
sir.”

“What’s happening in
Elcien?”

“It’s hard to say,
sir. The other fliers think that the mess in Iron Stem is finally settled, but
there are rumors that someone killed five alectors on the regional staff in
Dereka. They’re missing, anyway, and that’s not good.”

“What else?”

“It was a frigging
cold winter in Elcien, and it’s still cold. Good to get down here.”

“For winter, it’s
been pleasant here.”

“Oh… one other thing,
I almost forgot. A bunch of new alectors showed up in Elcien. Zorclyt said
they’d been translated from Ifryn. Most of them will be sent to Alustre, he
said.”

Why Alustre? Dainyl
wondered. “I believe you mentioned a letter?”

“Yes, sir. The lady
delivered it to me herself, just before we lifted off.” Quelyt handed the colonel
a smaller and thicker envelope.

“Thank you.”

“Do you have any
flying you need done?”

“Nothing immediate.”
Dainyl lifted the dispatch from the marshal. “Unless I have instructions from
the marshal. Fa-lyna took me out on a survey of the west. The seltyrs there are
raising private forces.”

‘Trouble everywhere.“

“It looks that way.”

Quelyt nodded. “We’ll
be ready.”

After the Myrmidon
ranker left, Dainyl closed the study door, and, as he walked toward the desk,
opened the dispatch, again addressed to Colonel Dainyl. The Talent-seal was
untouched. After reading through the third line, he blinked and reread the
words, more slowly.

As Submarshal you can
no longer be spared just to observe what is occurring in Dramur. The High
Alector of Justice has requested that you return to Elcien immediately, with
both pteridons, so that you may be briefed on other matters of vital importance
to the Myrmidons, as well as to all alectors of Acorus. This is a critical
time, and the Highest and I will be calling upon your experience.

In addition, we need
to consult on how best to handle the future of Dramur. Our scattered
observations suggest that matters are not as you were led to believe and that a
more unified long-term strategy is necessary…

So far as Dainyl
could tell, there had never been any strategy, just a vague set of orders to
Third Battalion to do what was necessary to get rid of a few rebels. He kept
reading.

Delegate
responsibilities and duties as you must, and plan for a minimum absence of two
full weeks.

Just as he was
beginning to get some idea of the scope of the problems in Dramur, he was being
recalled for consultations and strategy development? Why hadn’t anyone
developed a strategy before? Or had they, and it hadn’t worked? Or was it
working, and was Dainyl being recalled to make sure that he didn’t upset what
the marshal and the Highest had in mind? Yet the tone of the dispatch was
neither derogatory nor threatening, and it did convey urgency, and it referred
to him as the Submarshal.

Dainyl set down the
dispatch on the desk and opened the envelope from Lystrana. The Talent-seal was
unbroken.

Dearest,

The seasons do
stretch out, and with spring not too far away, I wish that you were here in
Elcien with me. The days have been long, and especially on the many nights that
I have worked late, it would have been so comforting to come home and to see
you…

Late nights mean
troubles, and the kinds of troubles Lystrana dared not put into a letter, even
one she had handed directly to Quelyt.

Almost a score of
alectors have arrived from Ifryn in recent weeks, and a number are Table
engineers who were sent to the High Alector of Engineering in Lu-dar. I
overheard talk about the need for greater grid stability, and you know what
that may portend…

Dainyl understood all
too well. The Archon had determined that translations to Acorus and Efra had to
increase significantly. Such a decision meant either the lifeforce mass on
Ifryn was decreasing more rapidly than planned, or the Archon’s control was
once more threatened.

… Now that iron and
coal production in Iron Stem have resumed…

Resumed? They had
stopped entirely? No wonder the marshal had always been out in Iron Stem.

… and the
manufactories in Faitel have been able to move toward reestablishing full
production, I have had to recalculate so many figures in the Duarches’
accounts, and that has taken many long hours. I fear that too late a spring
will also affect the year’s crops, and that will change the revenue projections
and the scope of major engineering projects possible…

Major engineering
projects? What was going on in Elcien?

As always, I hope
that it will not be too long before you can return, if only briefly, for my
heart is empty when you are gone.

While the last words
might have sounded flowery, Dainyl knew that they were anything but vacant
phases. Without each other, life had less meaning for both of them.

Despite the warmth
and affection wrapped around the veiled warnings, her letter disturbed him far
more than did the marshal’s dispatch. Together, they suggested that matters in
Elcien were anything but favorable.

He refolded her
letter and slipped it inside his tunic, then headed out of the study to tell
the two Myrmidons that they would leave at dawn. After that, he would need to
brief Ma-jer Herryf and write a letter of instructions to Overcaptain Dohark.

The two days of
flying north to Elcien were long and cold, including the stopover in Southgate.
For the last hundred vingts, the air was turbulent, with a bitter headwind, and
among the more unpleasant flights Dainyl had made, but part of the discomfort
might have been that being a passenger was always worse than being the flier.

As Falyna turned her
pteridon due east for the final ten vingts over the Bay of Ludel toward Elcien,
Dainyl glanced down at the waters below, choppy and cold gray, with whitecaps
clearly visible from five hundred yards up. Above, high gray clouds obscured
the late-afternoon sun. To the north, dark gray clouds were building into a
wall advancing inexorably on the capital isle, and to the northeast the higher
peaks of the CoastRange were solidly coated with white. Even the lower hills to
the west of those peaks were heavily splotched with snow.

As they neared
Elcien, Dainyl saw that a miasma of fog and smoke had settled over the isle.
Only the outlines of the walls and buildings of the Myrmidon compound were
visible as Falyna’s pteridon spread its wings into a flare and settled onto the
landing stage.

With a certain amount
of relief, Dainyl set his boots on the graystones of the courtyard outside
Myrmidon headquarters. The wind—icy in comparison to Dramuria— gusted around
him as he unfastened his gear from behind me second saddle and slung it over
his shoulder.

As Quelyt and his
pteridon landed, Dainyl turned to Fa-lyna. “Thank you. Good landing, especially
in these conditions.”

“Comes with the task,
sir.”

They both smiled.

“You and Quelyt will
have to check on when we head back, but it won’t be for a week at the very
earliest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Dainyl turned
and walked swiftly across the courtyard and into the headquarters building.
Zorclyt was waiting for him.

“Is the marshal
around?” asked Dainyl.

“The marshal is with
the Highest, sir,” replied the senior squad leader. “He left word that, if you
arrived this afternoon or this evening, you were free to do what you wished and
that he would see you here in the morning a glass after muster.” Zorclyt
grinned. “Oh… you can use the duty coach to take you home.”

“I appreciate that.”
Dainyl lifted his gear, light, since he’d left much in Dramuria, and headed for
the main entrance and the coach waiting outside. He did not need another
invitation.

By the time the coach
reached the entrance to his house, fat and wet flakes of snow had begun to
drift down out of the wall of clouds just to the north of the city.

“Thank you!” he
called to Convyl, one of the youngest Myrmidons without a pteridon assignment,
and thus one of those saddled with coach duties.

“You’re more than
welcome, sir.”

Dainyl opened the
door and stepped inside, closing it behind him against the snow that was
beginning to intensify.

One of the
housegirls—Zistele—jumped back from where she had been sweeping—desultorily—the
tiles in the entry foyer. “Colonel, sir!”

“I’m back for a time.
Is Lystrana here?”

“No, sir. She said
she might be home earlier today, but she’s not here yet.”

Dainyl set his gear
on the bottom step of the stairs to the upper level. “Is there—”

He broke off as the
door opened behind him, and he turned.

Lystrana smiled
broadly as she looked at Dainyl standing there in his shimmering blue riding
jacket. She took two quick steps.

The embrace was long
and warm.

“I had heard that you
might be recalled for consultations,” she said, finally breaking away from him.

For a long moment, he
just looked at her, taking in her violet eyes, her clear alabaster skin, and
the black hair that seemed to hold an energy all its own.

“I’m happy to see
you, but I’m not pleased at the recall,” he replied.

She raised a single
eyebrow.

He laughed.

“We both need to eat.
Even bread and cheese,” she said. “You’re looking tired.”

“You look wonderful.”

“I might, but I’m
famished.” Lystrana turned her head. “Sentya?”

“Yes, alectress?”

“If you would set out
some bread and cheese on the table in the kitchen? And some of the red wine?
The Vyan Grande?” Lystrana turned back to her husband. “It’s warmer there.”

“It’s almost ready,
alectress,” answered Zistele.

Arm in arm, the two
walked into the kitchen, where

Sentya had set out a
basket of bread still warm enough from the oven that Dainyl could feel the
heat. Zistele had placed a tray on the smaller kitchen table. On it were three
different wedges of cheese. After pouring the wine, Sentya slipped out of the
kitchen, following the younger serving girl.

“Another long day?”
asked Dainyl as he seated himself, glad to be where chairs were of proper
height and breadth.

“They’ve all been
long. I’ll tell you later…” She inclined her head toward the front of the
house.

Dainyl nodded. He
broke off a chunk of the still-warm bread and took a mouthful, following it
with a small wedge of cheese, then a sip from the purple-tinged crystal goblet.

“How are things going
for you?” Lystrana asked.

“Not all that well,”
he admitted. “I can’t help but feel that there wouldn’t have been all this
unrest in Dramur if the Cadmians hadn’t been sent there.” He sipped the wine
slowly, enjoying the taste, as well as the warmth of the kitchen, boosted by
the still-heated stove.

“That makes sense,”
Lystrana replied. “It has often been a technique used by the High Alector of
Justice. They look at places where there is some unrest and likely to be more.
Then they provoke violence before the perpetrators can become well organized.”

“What am I doing
there, then?”

“You are there to
make sure that matters don’t get out of hand. The technique is proved, from
what I’ve been able to discover, but it is also dangerous.”

“Did you know this
before I left?”

Lystrana shook her
head. “After your letter, I went into the archives. I also made some
suggestions to Zestafyn, and his reactions confirmed my suspicions. It’s
nothing we could prove, dearest, but I’m convinced that is what is Planned for
Dramur.”

“But why?”

She shrugged. “I
don’t know. I was hoping that what you could tell me might help in finding out
why.”

“I can tell you more
than you want to know… about many things.”

“Later.” A broad
smile crossed her face. “Later.”