Alector's Choice (44 page)

Lystrana was waiting
in the foyer of their dwelling when Dainyl stepped through the doorway and out
of the snow flurries that had come and gone all day. The warmth of her smile
erased—for those moments—the concerns that had preoccupied him most of the day.
He moved toward her, but she was faster, and had her arms around him before he
could set down his gear.

“I’m so glad you’re
back safely,” she murmured in his ear, still holding him tightly.

“Did you ever doubt
it?”

“Not from you… but
there are stories about those who never leave Lyterna,” Lystrana admitted,
easing back.

“I met some of them.”
Dainyl shook his head sadly. “They do the menial work there. They’re prisoners
in all but name. They have to be the ones who can’t use the Table, though.”

“That means they were
born here.”

“Or thrown through
the long translation tubes blind. That was also done.”

Lystrana’s face froze
for an instant. “It was?”

Dainyl nodded. “I
learned a great deal while I was there.”

“You can tell me
later.” Her head inclined toward the kitchen. “Sentya will have supper ready
before long. We can settle at the table and talk about other things.”

“I’ll take my gear
upstairs and be right back.” He gave her another hug, brushing her smooth
alabaster cheek with his lips, then stepped back and hurried up the stairs.

It took him but a few
moments to hang up his clothing and set his spare boots on their rack.
Everything he brought back was clean, thanks to the very industrious menials of
Lyterna.

A glass of amber wine
stood at his place at the table, with one before Lystrana as well. Once he had
seated himself across from her, she lifted the purple-tinged crystal. He lifted
his as well. There was the faintest ringing cling as the goblets touched.

“To your safe
return.” Her smiling face glowed.

“To all safe
returns.” He was smiling as broadly as she was. He took a sip of the wine,
savoring it. “What is this?”

“It’s something from
Syan. Zestafyn recommended it, and I had Zistele buy some for us. How was the
flight out?”

“The weather was
clear and cold, but we didn’t run into any storms. I’d forgotten just how wide
the grasslands are. It’s almost six hundred vingts from the west side of the
LowerSpineMountains to Lyterna…” Dainyl went on to describe what he had seen on
the flight, and the view of the Vault in the late afternoon.

“Alector… alectress…”
murmured Sentya, standing by the table with two bowls of steaming oarfish
chowder.

“Oh… I’m sorry,
Sentya,” Dainyl said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Sir, I liked hearing
what you saw.”

Dainyl caught a touch
of wistfulness in her voice. It reminded him how fortunate he was to be able to
fly and to see so much of the world. “That may be,” he replied with a laugh,
“but I wouldn’t want your arms to fall asleep while I kept talking.”

The older serving
girl slipped a bowl before Lystrana, then the other before Dainyl.

“Thank you, Sentya,”
said Lystraria.

After the day’s
chill, the chowder was more than welcome, and neither spoke for a time.

“What’s happened at
the palace?” Dainyl finally asked.

“Very little in our
area. We’ve had to transfer additional funds to Alustre and to some of the
regional centers with problems.”

‘Things like the
floods in Catyr?“

Lystrana nodded. “We
can’t pay for the reconstruction costs. The locals will have to do that, but
we’ll have to send in a supervisor to make sure that they don’t cut corners,
and that they do the necessary reforestation. Even so, that puts us farther
behind in growing lifeforce mass.”

“The locals won’t like
bearing the costs.”

“They never do.”
Lystrana took a sip of the wine. “They cause the problem because they want
golds, and they never think of what other difficulties they’re causing. Then
they complain when we insist that they remedy things. They think that you can
keep abusing the world, as if there were no costs at all.”

Zistele appeared and
removed the empty bowls, and Sentya reappeared with two platters. One held
cheriaf, pasta tubes filled with a mixture of minced beef, cheese, spices,
particularly mint, and covered with a golden white sauce. The second platter
held deep poached onions.

Dainyl nodded to his
wife, then served himself after she had. “It’s good to be home.”

“How long can you
stay?”

“I have to leave on
Sexdi morning. The situation in Dramuria is probably worse. We don’t have any
reports, but I don’t see how it could have improved.” He took a bite of the
cheriaf, savoring it. He supposed he should eat the onions, but he couldn’t say
that he looked forward to them with as much relish as he had the cheriaf.

“That seems to be the
case all over Corus.”

“You don’t think it’s
coincidence?”

“I admit to some
doubt,” replied Lystrana.

“That makes two of
us.”

They shared a smile.

“Do you think that
the snow will affect the apple tree in back?” asked Lystrana.

“It hasn’t flowered
yet…”

After that, they said
little beyond pleasantries while they ate.

After they finished,
Lystrana stood. “Let’s go to the sitting room. It’s more comfortable.” She
walked to the sideboard, where she poured two small snifters of the golden
brandy. She handed one to Dainyl and seated herself in one of the corner
chairs, holding her snifter so level that the brandy barely moved.

Dainyl doubted he
could do that, and set his brandy on the side table before sitting. “You think
the weather will turn springlike before long?”

“About the time you
leave.” A mischievous smile appeared on her face.

Once the girls had
finished clearing the dinner and retired to their quarters for the evening,
Lystrana looked at her husband. “I’d like to hear about Lyterna.”

“I’m not certain
where to begin.” Dainyl took a sip of the golden brandy. “Asulet met me. I
never really talked to anyone else, except in passing or in trivialities. He is
the High Alector of Life form Creation, in practical terms, even if he doesn’t
have the title…” Dainyl went on to explain all that had happened, and all that
Asulet had conveyed to him. “… he as much as warned me not to trust High
Alector Zelyert.”

“You’ve known that
all along.”

“Zelyert and the
marshal have an agenda, and Dramur is tied into it. I’d thought it was mostly
Dramur, but I’m getting the feeling that is only a portion of it.”

“Do you think the
Highest wants to be Duarch?”

“No. I think he wants
to control the Duarches, but it’s not just about power. At least, I don’t think
so, but that could be because I’d like to ascribe higher motives to them.”

“You’re the number
two officer in the Myrmidons, and you still have ideals.”

At her sardonic tone,
Dainyl laughed, but his laugh faded as he thought about Asulet.

“You have that look,
the thoughtful one.”

“I was thinking about
Asulet. There was a sadness behind his words. One thing he said truly disturbed
me, after I had a chance to think about it. He said that we had lost so much,
that once his predecessors could mold the very cells of the body, but that he
and the others working to build lifemass here on Acorus had been forced into
combining and modifying cells.”

Lystrana nodded.

“You don’t seem
surprised,” Dainyl said.

“I hadn’t thought of
it that way, but it makes sense. The archives reference the numbers of alectors
on Aciafra—”

“The world before
Ifryn?”

‘Two before Ifryn.
There was Aciafra, then Inefra, then Ifryn,“ Lystrana explained. ”When I first
saw it, I thought someone had made an error in transcription. The reference was
to more than twenty thousand alectors who would need to be translated.“

“Twenty thousand?”

“Slightly less than
ten thousand made the translation to Inefra, and somewhere around seven
thousand made the translation to Ifryn.”

“If we’ve lost that
many alectors to translation…” mused Dainyl.

“More likely both
through translations and between translation. We have to have lost knowledge.
Only a few volumes can be carried by each alector who makes the translation.”

“There’s something
very wrong here,” protested Dainyl. “If we’re losing so many alectors, and so
much knowledge, why are we restricting the number of children we have?”

“Did you know that
there aren’t any illustrations or descriptions of Aciafra? Or even of Inefra?
Not one. I’ve always wanted to ask why, but there’s never been anyone I trusted
to ask.”

Dainyl caught the
amused and intellectual expression in her eyes. “What else?”

“There was a
reference to a mortality table. Just one. I couldn’t find the table or the
data, or any other references to it.”

“Mortality table? But
that suggests that alectors died, that many died…”

“Exactly. We don’t
die often now, but that takes more lifeforce…”

Dainyl took another
sip of the golden brandy, thinking. “We’re each taking far more lifeforce. Is
that just to extend our lives or because we’re more and more removed from
wherever we started?”

“I don’t know. It
could be, but I don’t think so. I think it’s also about power and comfort. Do
we really need all the things that drain lifeforce? The eternastone highways
and buildings? The pteridons? The personal shields used by those with Talent?”

“They all help
increase life force,” he pointed out. “I saw what Acorus was once like, and
Asulet wasn’t lying about that. Without what he and the early life-formers did,
Acorus would be cold and dying, if not dead.”

“We could talk about
this until it rains on the DryCoast, or until indigens obtain Talent. Is there
anything we can do about it tonight?”

Dainyl took another
sip of the brandy. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t even know what I could
do tomorrow or next week, except to straighten out the mess in Dramur—if I even
can. There’s certainly no one I can talk to about it, except you.”

“Then,” said Lystrana
as she set down her brandy. “We’ll have to think about it. Later. Much later.”

Dainyl left his
brandy on the table and stood, extending his hands to his wife.

The Fifteenth Company
scouts Mykel had sent out on Duadi had discovered a disturbing pattern. Most of
the western seltyrs had withdrawn from the area around Dramuria and appeared to
be consolidating their forces to the north. One of the few still-isolated
forces was the one bluecoat company at Weslyn Estate to the southwest of
Dramuria.

Mykel would have
liked to pursue that company on Tridi, before it could rejoin the others, but
Bhoral had advised against it, suggesting both men and mounts needed another
day of rest. So Mykel had persuaded Dohark to send Fourteenth Company scouts
out on Tridi. Those scouts had ridden back late in the afternoon, reporting
that the bluecoats had set up a more or less permanent camp at the estate.
Mykel decided Fifteenth Company could ride to the area the next day and find
some way to ambush or otherwise catch the bluecoats unaware.

Fifteenth Company
rode out through the west gates at dawn on Quattri morning. Mykel had drawn
field rations for his men, rather than wait for the mess cooks and the later
meal. Although there was a brisk wind out of the northeast at his back, he
could see no clouds and no other sign of rain to come.

Should he really be
trying to pick off another seltyr com-pany? Yet, what else could he do? Sit
with the other companies in the compound and wait for an attack? Or wait and do
nothing as the seltyrs took over all of Dramur? The other four companies could
certainly defend the walled compound against anything the seltyrs could
mount—and it was unlikely that an attack would come soon, in any event since
many of the bluecoats were more than a day’s ride away.

Still… as he led
Fifteenth Company south through Dra-muria, Mykel worried.

As early as they
passed through the town, there were folk out and about, but not many, and the
streets were mostly empty and quiet. Of those who were on the streets, all
seemed to avoid looking at the Cadmians. That was another aspect of Dramur
Mykel didn’t understand. Even after only a season or so, it was clear to him
that only the Cadmian presence had kept the seltyrs from taking over Dramuria.
The guano mine and trade kept Dramuria alive and independent of the seltyrs, and
the Cadmians kept the trade and the mine from being controlled by the seltyrs.
Yet the people of Dramuria didn’t seem to care much for the Cadmians.

On the southwest side
of Dramuria, there were more people out, many of them working on the shallow
irrigation ditches that ran through both the few fields and the many casaran
orchards. Others were hoeing up various weeds from both the orchards and the
fields.

A glass and a half
after riding out, the company stopped for a ration and water break, in an area
shaded by one of the ever-present casaran orchards. By a glass past noon,
Fifteenth Company was less than three vingts from Weslyn Estate, beside a
woodlot with a small stream, and Mykel had called a halt for another ration and
water break, then sent out the scouts to see what, if anything, had changed at
the seltyr’s estate.

Mykel had dismounted
and watered the chestnut and stood beside his mount in the shade. Even in early
spring the sun in Dramur was warm. All he could do, for the mo-ment, was wait
for the scouts, try to think up alternate tactics… and worry.

“You think the
bluecoats’ll still be there?” asked Bhoral.

“I don’t know. They
should have moved out days ago, but they were there yesterday.”

“What do you have in
mind, sir?”

“There are hills to
the northwest, and the orchards run up and over the hills. The trees are
planted in rows up the hillside. We’ll ride down those rows. We can get within
a third of a vingt of where the bluecoats are set up without being seen.”

“Like that other
estate?”

“Mostly.” That
bothered Mykel as well. If Bhoral could tell what he was going to do, so could
the seltyr’s officers.

Dhozynt was the first
scout to return, less than half a glass later. His report was brief. “Nothing
to the east of the place, sir. No tracks on the road.”

“Nothing at all
headed toward us?”

“No, sir.”

“What about the
estate?”

“There’s a gate with
two guards in green. From where I was, I couldn’t tell much more. That whole
side is those nut trees. Can’t see the buildings from there, and the road’s so
open that I couldn’t cross it without them seeing me.”

The second scout back
was Gerant, and his report was similar. “No sign of anything on the south
lanes, sir. Not a track.”

Sendyl followed
Gerant. “They’ve been doing maneuvers and training on the fields to the north
of the villa and grounds. Not today. No dust in the air. Not a bit, and I
couldn’t see anyone out on the grounds, except a few retainers. Some of the
tents are gone, too.”

Had they moved out?
There were no tracks to the east, south, or north. Mykel decided to wait for
Jasakyt.

The third squad scout
was the last to return, nearly a glass later. He rode right up to Mykel. “Sir!
They’ve pulled out. They’ve headed west.”

“How do you know?”

“From the tracks in
the northwest lane, sir. Not all that long ago, no more than two glasses, I’d
wager. They weren’t riding that hard, though. The whole place looks deserted,
except maybe for some retainers here and there.”

Mykel’s guts
tightened. He mounted the chestnut and stood in the stirrups. “Squad leaders to
the front!”

He waited uneasily
for the five to gather. As soon as they rode up, he looked over the five men
for a long moment before speaking. “The bluecoats have pulled out, heading
west. We’re headed back to the compound.”

“You don’t want to
follow them, sir?” asked Vhanyr.

“Like Seventeenth
Company did? I think not.” It was all too likely someone among the seltyrs
wanted to ambush Fifteenth Company, and he didn’t want to pursue, as
outnumbered as Third Battalion was. “There’s a time to fight, and this isn’t
it. We’ll head out immediately.”

He needed to check
the maps, but he wasn’t about to travel back the same way they had ridden in.
That was one precaution he intended to take, even if it meant riding over some
seltyr’s fields to get to another road or lane.

“Company! Forward!”

Mykel wanted
Fifteenth Company off the road they were on as soon as practicable. Even so, he
did not breathe that much easier. The less direct route only meant crossing the
corners of two fields and riding down the center of one unkempt casaran
orchard.

Between the not quite
so direct route and Mykel’s caution in not getting the mounts overtired on the
return, the sun had already dropped behind the MurianMountains as Fifteenth
Company rode eastward toward the compound. A light breeze carried the faintest
hint of a most unpleasant odor to Mykel as he led Fifteenth Company toward the
closed gates of the compound.

“It’s Fifteenth
Company! They’re back!” That came from the guards on the gate towers, and Mykel
caught a tone of relief. He didn’t like that at all.

The gates opened,
just halfway, and closed quickly behind the last riders of fifth squad.

Once inside, as he
rode toward the stables, Mykel studied the compound courtyard. The few troopers
he saw moved slowly, and carts—filled with canvas-covered shapes— seemed to be
everywhere. The sickening odor was stronger within the walls. What had happened
in less than a full day? An attack of some sort? He didn’t see any wounded.
Disease didn’t strike in a matter of glasses, not to create that many bodies in
so short a time.

A ranker hurried on
foot toward Mykel, staggering slightly as he did. “Captain Mykel! The
overcaptain needs to see you soonest, sir! Right now!”

Mykel reined up and
dismounted. He handed the chestnut’s reins to Bhoral. “Have the squad leaders
stand by after they’ve settled the men. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel followed the
ranker to the headquarters building and the study that Dohark had taken over,
at least while the colonel was gone.

The overcaptain sat
behind the desk. In the light of the single light-torch, his face looked
faintly green, or perhaps yellow-green, and his eyes were red-rimmed. “Good to
see you back.”

“What happened?”

“We’ve been poisoned.
Had to be in the morning meal. A good third of the men are dead. That includes
both Mersyt’s and half of Benjyr’s company. How are your men?”

“They’re fine. I drew
field rations this morning.”

“Lucky you.”

“We just didn’t want
any more fish for breakfast.” Mykel refrained from pointing out that luck
hadn’t always been with Fifteenth Company. “Do you know how it happened?”

“One of the cooks is
missing. He was the one in charge of breakfast. None of the others know
anything.”

“What about the
officers?”

“Everyone’s been
sick, but not so badly. I don’t know about Majer Herryf. He didn’t come in this
morning.”

“He hasn’t been
staying at the compound?”

“No. He says that
he’s from Dramuria, and that if he stays here, it will cause too much fear in
the town.”

“You think he’s in
trouble?”

“He is, or we are, or
both.”

“What was poisoned?
The fish?” That seemed most likely to Mykel, since it tasted bad, even under
the best of conditions.

“Who knows?” Dohark’s
face twisted momentarily. “Fifteenth Company needs to take charge of the guards
tonight.”

“I’ll take care of
it. What about food?”

“We’re using field
rations. I’ve got those guarded. The water comes direct from springs…”

When he and the
overcaptain had finished a quick outline of what Fifteenth Company needed to
do, Mykel left the study, and headquarters, crossing the courtyard quickly and
hurrying toward the stables.

All five squad
leaders were waiting, with Bhoral. The questions began before Mykel even
reached the six Cadmians.

“How come… dead
troopers everywhere…”

“What happened? They
got bodies everywhere. Some sort of plague…”

Mykel held up his
hand, and there was quiet. “One of the cooks poisoned breakfast. He’s vanished.
The overcaptain thinks a third of the Cadmians are dead. We’ll be eating off
the field rations. They’re under guard. No one feels worth sowshit. So we have
to take over compound guard duty.”

“We just rode all
day…” began Gendsyr.

“Most of the Cadmians
who survived can’t hold a rifle yet,” Mykel said firmly. “Do you want to trust
them to guard you against ten companies of bluecoats?” His eyes knifed through
each squad leader in turn.

No one spoke.

“Now… we’ll rotate
squads. First watch—first squad takes the gates and walls. Second watch—second
squad. Third squad will take the morning watch. After that, I’ll let you know.”

After arranging the
sudden duty rosters, Mykel walked over to the officer’s cell. There was but one
ranker there, and he sat slumped on a stool.

“Sir?”

“How’s the prisoner?”

“Don’t know, sir.
Only me here, and no way to check.”

“I’ll check. You
watch.”

“Yes, sir.” The
Cadmian trooper sounded too tired to argue.

There was no sound
from inside the cell as the guard unlocked and opened the door, or as Mykel
stepped inside. .

Rachyla was stretched
out on the cot. She did not move when the door closed behind Mykel, but even in
the dim light, he could see she was breathing.

“Lady Rachyla?”

She turned her head,
slowly. “It… would… be… you.”

Her face was
greenish, or yellowish. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it certainly
wasn’t her normal color. He could almost sense the miasma of sickness—or
poison— that shrouded her form—a greenish pink, it seemed. He blinked. Had he
really seen that?

“… so thirsty…”

There was water in
the pitcher on the desk, and he poured it into the cup, then bent and held it
while she drank. ji

After drinking, she
lay on her side, looking at him. “Do… you poison all your… prisoners, Captain?”
Each word was labored.

“No. Someone poisoned
everyone who ate breakfast. There are bodies all over the compound.”

“You… look… fine.”

“We left before
breakfast this morning.”

Her lips curved into
a parody of a smile. “… fortune of cursed one… dagger of the ancients…”

That made little
sense to Mykel, but he didn’t pursue it. “How are you feeling? I mean… I know
you feel terrible… but better or worse lately?”

“Better… worse
fortune… no sense… dying twice.”

“You won’t die here.”
Mykel spoke without thinking.

“Your… promise?”

Mykel had been caught
off guard by her condition, but he wasn’t that green or stupid. “I can’t
promise anything. You know that.”

“You… said…”

“That’s a prediction,
not a promise.” He held the cup. “You need to drink more.”

Her face twisted, the
way Dohark’s had, but she said nothing. Several moments later, she drank. Mykel
finally took back the cup, nearly empty.

“What is… happening?”

“A third of the
Cadmians are dead. Eight companies of bluecoats are here in the east. The
Myrmidons haven’t returned, and neither has the majer in charge of the
compound.”

“Majer Herryf. None
of the seltyrs… care for him. He will not be back.”

“How do you know
that?”

“I know… people.” Her
eyes flickered, as if she were having trouble keeping them open.

“Are you… is
something the matter?”

“I am tired. Good
night, Captain.” She closed her eyes.

Mykel watched for a
time, but her breathing seemed stronger. Finally, he rapped on the cell door.
She did not stir as he left.