Alector's Choice (42 page)

By the second glass
of the afternoon on Londi, Fifteenth Company was set up behind a stone fence,
and in the trees of a woodlot a half vingt north of the main entrance to
Khalmyn Estate—the home of the eastern seltyr Sheludjyr. For the first day of
spring, the day was warm. The white sun cast shadows from the casaran trees to
the west onto the shoulder of the road, but was high enough that Mykel did not
have to squint when he looked westward.

Blocking the road was
an overturned wagon with a Cad-mian uniform tunic lying in the dirt beside a
rifle. There were gouges and hoofprints in the road, and the wagon was missing
a wheel. The site was some two hundred yards to the north of a gentle curve in
the road just sharp enough that a rider could not see the wagon until he had
ridden to the end of the curved section.

From the trees, Mykel
surveyed the scene. Then he looked at the stone fence five yards in front of
him, set several yards back from the shoulder of the road. Second squad was
deployed on foot, each man crouching close behind the stones, concealed from
those on the road.

Mykel glanced to the
south. He could barely hear the sound of hoofs on the dry road, the occasional
murmur of voices of the oncoming companies of rebels. While he was certain he
and his men were well concealed, for the ambush to be most effective, the
column of riders—one company of greencoats and one of bluecoats—needed to get
within forty yards of the wagon. He’d debated about the diversion, but had
decided to use it, because, with the center of the road blocked, the men riding
into the ambush would be more likely to turn back or bunch up around the wagon.
He’d also placed more of fourth and fifth squads in the trees in the middle of
the curve, so that they would be in a position to fire at any troopers turning
and trying to flee.

Mykel continued to
wait. Sweat oozed down his back. The sound of hoofs slowly grew louder, as did
the voices. Then the first outriders appeared, coming around the last , section
of the curve. Neither seemed to notice the wagon until they were only about a
hundred yards from it.

“There’s a wagon
overturned!” called one.

Words were shouted
back, but Mykel could not make them out.

Both riders continued
toward the wagon, until they were less than thirty yards from it. Then one
reined in, and the other continued northward. He reined in just short of the
wagon.

“It’s empty. Lost a
wheel, looks like. Wait! There’s a tunic here—and a rifle.” The outrider
straightened in the saddle. “Someone left a rifle. Good rifle, too.”

By then, the first
squad of the oncoming troopers was through the turn and on the straight section
of the road toward the wagon.

“Empty wagon and
rifle!” the second outrider called back. “Wagon’s missing a wheel!”

Mykel waited, hoping
that the column would keep moving forward.

The leading riders of
the first squad had just passed Mykel when the captain riding in the front
ordered, “Column! Halt!” He rode forward toward the wagon.

As Mykel had planned,
the front of the column slowed, then stopped, while the later riders failed to
hear the orders—or did not react as quickly. The spacing between the squads of
greencoats narrowed, then vanished. Mykel couldn’t tell what was happening
farther back to the south, but the seltyr’s troopers were about as close as
they were likely to get.

“Fire!” ordered
Mykel, aiming at the captain in green near the front of the column.

Crack! Crack! Crack!…
The initial shots came from out of the trees, where the other squads were
arrayed, because they did not have to reveal themselves to fire.

The green captain
pitched forward in the saddle.

The next volley came
from the stone fence and second squad.

“Return fire!” came a
command from somewhere, but few of the riders on the road heard it or heeded it
immediately.

One squad leader
repeated the order, and had his own rifle out. Mykel aimed and fired, willing
his shot home. The squad leader dropped. Mykel kept firing, deliberately,
dropping a man with almost every shot. Then he leaned back behind the
short-needled pine to reload.

Some of the
greencoats bolted northward, but they had to slow to get around the wagon. More
were hit, some wounded in arms or legs, others slumping in their saddles or
toppling onto the road,

Mykel winced as one
second squad trooper slumped over the wall. He turned and fired on a group of
greencoats that had formed into a rough line and were firing at second squad.
Three went down before the other three wheeled their mounts and withdrew.

Within moments, the
road was empty of mounted blue-coats and greencoats, with only the wounded and
dead and at least a half score of mounts milling around.

“Cease fire! Cease
fire!” Mykel ordered.

He mounted the
chestnut and moved out through one of the openings in the stone wall. “Second
squad, mount up!”

“First squad, round
up the loose mounts!” Then he rode back southward toward the curve in the road.
He had to pick his way around the bodies. At a rough count, there were probably
close to sixty, all told.

“Fourth and fifth
squads! Mount up and reform! Gather the rifles and ammunition. Leave their
wounded.”

He turned the
chestnut back northward.

When he neared the
wagon, he could see that Gendsyr’s men had managed to get control of more than
a half score of the rebel mounts. Several of the second squad rankers were strapping
and tying the rifles they had covered to the captured horses. Others had
dragged the wagon clear of the road. Mykel looked back, and saw that Bhoral and
fourth and fifth squads were formed up and riding northward toward Mykel.

“Squads one, two, and
three, mount up! We need to get riding.” While Mykel doubted that the routed
rebels would immediately return, he wanted to get moving before they had a
chance to regroup and return. If he had had a full battalion at his command, he
might well have pursued and captured or eliminated the two rebel companies
entirely.

Once Fifteenth
Company was riding in good order northward, with both scouts and outriders
ahead, and after Mykel had gotten the casualty reports from the squad leaders,
he turned the chestnut and rode back to find Bhoral.

“Sir,” acknowledged
the senior squad leader, as Mykel eased his mount beside him.

“We didn’t do too
badly,” Mykel said. “Two dead and two wounded.”

Bhoral looked at
Mykel. “Captain… they didn’t even know what happened.”

“No.” Mykel felt
disturbed about that, but he didn’t see that he had that much choice.

“It won’t be too long
before they catch on.”

“Probably not, but if
we can take on two or three more companies this way, we won’t have to worry
about being outnumbered.” Equally important, from Mykel’s point of view, was
his hope that the rebel squad leaders and rankers would come to fear the
Cadmians.

Dainyl stood in a
stone-walled chamber. Two sets of double light-torches set five yards apart in
bronze brackets on each side wall provided all the illumination. The only
furnishing in the chamber was a black oak chest slightly over a yard in height
and set against the north wall, equidistant between the light-torches. Nothing
was rested on the chest’s shimmering black surface. The sole apparent entry and
exit to the Table chamber was through a square arch at the west end of the
chamber. There was no door attached to the archway, and a set of stone steps
led upward from the chamber. In the center of the chamber was a square stone
pedestal that extended a yard above the stone floor. The stone appeared black
but did not reflect any illumination from the light-torches. Each side of the
tablelike pedestal was three yards in length. The walls and ceiling were all of
polished red-stone, and outside of the light-torches, the stone pedestal, and
the single chest, the chamber contained no other furnishings or decorations.

Asulet gestured to
the stone pedestal. “That is a Table. It does not look terribly prepossessing,
but used properly, it is a tool of immeasurable value. Look at it closely, not
only with your eyes but with your Talent.”

Dainyl studied the
stone pedestal, slowly, carefully. After i moment, he realized that there was a
purple glow suffus-ng the Table and emanating from it.

“The Table is
actually closer to a cube,” Asulet added. “It attends well below the floor.”

“It’s not solid, is
it?”

The older alector
smiled. “It is, and it isn’t. The outer ayers are a form of stone. The interior
contains certain crystals in a matrix. Once placed and linked to the grid, the
natrix is extremely stable—unless one attempts to move he Table. It could last
for thousands of years, if not longer.”

“And if someone tries
to move it?”

“You wouldn’t want to
be anywhere near. The Table stores energy from every use. This Table has been
in use for a long time, although it doesn’t get as much use now as do the
Tables in Elcien and Ludar.”

“Would it explode?”

“With force enough to
collapse the chamber.” Asulet stepped toward the Table, resting a hand on one
edge. “Traveling on Acorus is just a local translation, taking the tubes to go
from one Table to another. Using the Tables or any translation tube is all
mental. It requires the use of Talent and mental vision and positioning to go
through the barriers and to find a locator marking another Table, then to break
out. Each Table has its own location vector, and every alector sees the shape
of the locators slightly differently. Some see the locators as arrows, others
as mathematical vector symbols, and still others as triangles.”

“What do I do?” asked
Dainyl.

“You step onto the
Table, and think about the blackness beneath. You should feel yourself falling
into darkness, as cold as anything you have ever felt. Around you, your Talent
should show you the various locator arrows. They should seem nearer or farther
away by their size, although that is not always a good guide. That is why you
should know the color of the locator. Each Table has a different color. The
Table here in Lyterna is pink. The one in Elcien is white.”

“Is there a map?”

“Somewhere, but it’s
better just to learn the colors.”

“Could I go to Ifryn
as well through the Table? By mistake?”

“You’d have to make
that mistake on purpose. The long translation tunnels are large purplish tubes,
and they feel far away. You can’t sense the locators on Ifryn from here, just
as alectors using the Tables on Ifryn cannot sense ours.” Asulet looked sternly
at Dainyl. “No matter how experienced you may become with the Tables here,
there is always a risk to a long translation. It is a risk not worth taking if
you’re already here on Acorus.”

Dainyl understood the
unspoken message. Ifryn was dying as too many alectors and too many uses bled
the world’s lifeforce away, and what was the use of risking his life to travel
to a dying world?

“There is some risk
the first time you use a Table,” the older alector admitted. “Once you master
the technique, then there’s virtually no risk to travel to any of the other
thirteen Tables on Acorus.”

Dainyl wasn’t certain
he wanted to try the Table just yet. “What about using the Table to see
things?”

“That’s a different
technique, and you shouldn’t try that until you’ve mastered traveling.”

“I’ve heard that a
Table can’t show anything created through Talent or anyone who can use Talent.
Is that true?”

“Generally speaking,
yes. An experienced recorder can still often determine what an alector with
Talent is doing by watching the surroundings.”

“What about seeing
what has already happened?”

“Events fade.
Insignificant events, those which do not lpact the lifemass, are impossible to
recall with a Table

Lthin glasses,
certainly within a day. Others… it depends

1 who is involved,
where, when, and the ability of the corder or whoever is using the Table. Never
more than a eek, I understand.“

From what Dainyl
could sense, Asulet was telling the nth as he knew it.

“Enough of that for
now,” said the older alector. “You need to try the Table.”

Dainyl looked at the
Table, and the purple glow, visible nly through his Talent, seemed almost
ominous. “Is there aything else I should know? Where should I go?” Asulet’s
istructions seemed sketchy at best.

“I can’t tell you
more, because a Table has to be experienced. Even if I stepped onto the Table
with you, the moment we dropped into the dark and cold, you’d be on your own.
It is a total solitary experience and you either master it on your own… or you
don’t. You’ll have to decide our own destination. The easiest Table to
translate to seems to be Tempre. Its locator is a bright blue.” Asulet smiled.
“Just step onto the Table and concentrate. When you get to Tempre, wait a while
to warm up before you come back.”

The Submarshal
stepped up to the Table and brushed it with his fingers. The surface was cool
to the touch, but not chilled. Looked at from the side, there was a mirrorlike
finish to the surface. He bent over the Table, seeing his own reflection.

Then he took a half
step back, studying the Table once more before he half stepped, half jumped,
onto it. The surface felt as hard as stone, and there was a chill that seeped
through his boots, even though the Table had not been cold to his touch.

Concentrate on the
blackness. Asulet had said. Dainyl reached out with his Talent to the Table,
and below it, where he sensed a well of darkness. He could feel it rising
around him…

Dainyl found himself
in turbulent river of purplish blackness, a darkness that buffeted and battered
him. Yet he was carried nowhere, much as he felt as though he were caught in an
underground river. Bitter chill penetrated every span of his body, sweeping
through his garments as if he wore nothing. Instantly, he felt colder than he
had in winter at Eastice. He could see nothing. He tried to lift his arms, but
they would not move.

Sluggishly, as if his
thinking had been slowed by the chill, he remembered to reach out with his
Talent, to try to find the locators. After what felt like glasses, he began to
discern several narrow wedges, colored wedges. One hovered above him, a bright
pink-purple. Another wedge of bright blue seemed closer than all the others
except for the pink. Beyond, somewhere in the blackness and chill, he could
sense wedges of color—crimson-gold, amber, brilliant yellow, green, gray…
Beyond, in a sense he could not have explained, stretched a deep and distant
purple-black wedge. The sense of distance was so overpowering that Dainyl felt
almost nauseated.

What was he supposed
to do? To concentrate on using his Talent to move himself toward one of the
wedges—the bright blue wedge.

He concentrated…
trying to focus on the blue, so near, and yet not so close as it seemed,
seeking to bring himself to it, before the chill of wherever he was slowed his
thinking so much that he could no longer use his Talent.

He sensed no
movement, nothing.

He had to do
something before he ceased to exist, or turned into a brainless wild
translation—but what?

Could he link himself
to that blue wedge that was Tem-pre? He attempted to cast out a Talent line,
and a thin line of purple flowed from him, a line of Talent-energy that
connected with the blue wedge. Abruptly, with a swift pulsation, he felt
himself flowing through the chill darkness, hurtling oward the blue, a blue
that turned silver and shattered iround him.

Dainyl had to take
two quick steps to get his balance before he caught himself. Once more, he
stood on a Table, this time in another windowless chamber. His entire body
shivered, much as he would have willed it otherwise, and jven his legs
quivered, feeling weak. Frost appeared on tüs uniform then vanished, melting as
quickly as it had appeared.

Dainyl eased himself
off the Table. Unlike the Table chamber in Lyterna, the chamber was empty. The
single entrance was a narrow square arch, in which a solid oak door was
set—closed. There was not a single hanging on the walls, formed of fitted
stone, rather than carved out of the rock itself, nor a single furnishing in
the chamber.

Dainyl opened the
door. Outside, stationed on each side of the arch, were two alectors, both
wearing the blue-and-gray Myrmidon uniforms. The Myrmidon ranker on the right
had his hand on the hilt of a lightning edged short sword, the weapon used for
guard duty inside buildings. As his eyes took in the uniform and the stars on
Dainyl’s collar, the Myrmidon relaxed. “Submarshal, sir?”

“Just looking
around,” Dainyl replied. “This is Tempre, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”
Puzzlement appeared in the other’s eyes.

“Good. Thank you.”
Dainyl closed the door behind him and walked into the corridor, turning right,
since he saw some sort of light in that direction. Behind him, he could pick up
the murmurs between the two.

“… said only the ones
with stars, Submarshal and marshal, and the high alectors…”

“… what’s behind the
door…”

“… don’t know, and
Furtryl said I’d better never ask, and never look…”

Dainyl kept walking.
After fifty yards, he came to a circular stone staircase. Did he want to go up?
He decided against it—Asulet was waiting—and walked back to the Table chamber.

Neither guard said a
word as he opened the door to the Table chamber and closed it behind him.

He looked at the
Table, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the black stone surface,
concentrating on the blackness below. As he dropped through the Table, this
time, he was aware of silverness spraying away from him.

Again, the chill
purple blackness enfolded him, but this time, he was already focusing on
finding a pink-purple wedge. He fumbled for a moment before Talent-linking to
the pinkish wedge. Silver sprayed away from him…

He stood on the Table
at Lyterna.

Asulet smiled.
“Congratulations, Submarshal. You are now qualified to be considered as a High
Alector.”

Dainyl stepped off
the Table. That made sense in a way. “At least, the Highest and Marshal
Shastylt won’t have to look for another Submarshal.”

“Not until you become
marshal; then it will be your problem.”

That was likely to be
many, many year’s away, if ever. Dainyl still recalled all too vividly what had
happened to Tyanylt and how no one had ever mentioned his name again, even to
Lystrana, once he had crossed the marshal and the Highest.