Alector's Choice (41 page)

Mykel committed the
directions to memory, but added, “You’ll lead the way.”

“Yes sir. Figured
that, too.”

Another glass passed,
quietly, as Fifteenth Company fol-owed the scouts down the southeast road and
circled away Tom Fynhaven Estate, only to return to the lane bordering the
casaran orchards on the south.

“Company! Halt!”
Mykel ordered. “First and second squads, follow me. Stand by.” He rode back
along the column until he reached third squad, where Bhoral rode with Dhyndylt.

“Bhoral, fifth squad
will hold just short of the lane. I want you to ride back to Vhanyr, and
explain that. Hold here with them. You’ll need to reform the squads as they
leave the orchard, so that we can move out immediately. We’ll head west on the
lane.”

“Yes sir.”

“Chyndylt, third
squad will take position a hundred yards south of first and second squads in a
double staggered firing line abreast in the trees…” Mykel then rode back to
Dravadyl and explained what he wanted from fourth squad.

After that, he
returned to first squad. “Follow me. Quiet riding.” He turned the chestnut
through the opening in the low stone wall, a wall low enough that a mount could
jump, if necessary, and headed northward. The rows of casaran trees were well
tended, and the spaces just wide enough for a rider. Occasionally, Mykel had to
duck his head. Once he had to ride back to position fourth squad, but Chyndylt
had no trouble with third squad.

Less than a quarter
glass had passed when he reined up, close to thirty yards back from the end of
the orchard. He had to duck to see through the last trees, toward the
outbuildings and the villa beyond.

No one was on the
field where Jasakyt had reported seeing men playing a game. Several bluecoats
lounged against the corral. None even looked in the direction of the orchard.
Mykel could see others walking or standing near the tan-nish tents short of the
barracks. He turned to Gendsyr. “We’ll move in fast, come to a firing line, and
take out anyone who’s standing there. If no one else shows up, shoot a few of
the mounts.”

“Sir?” asked Gendsyr,
his voice low.

“We need to get them
stirred up so they’ll come out in a hurry. Pass the word,” Mykel said, in a low
voice. “When I start to fire, everyone does, and if their men and a lot of
mounts don’t go down, then some of our men will die. It’s that simple.” Mykel
lifted his rifle, waiting for Gendsyr to pass the word. He didn’t want to shoot
the horses. It wasn’t their fault, but facing possibly as many as fifteen
companies in the days and weeks ahead he had to do something to cut down the
odds—any way he could. Besides, the horses were wealth as well, and it wouldn’t
hurt to bleed the seltyrs in every way possible.

“Ready, sir?” Gendsyr
finally said, easing his mount up near Mykel.

Mykel nodded.
“Forward!”

He urged the chestnut
through the last thirty yards of the casaran orchard, then across the open
space toward the corral, the tielines, and the space between the tents and shed
barracks.

As he reined up less
than twenty yards from a startled bluecoat, he ordered, “Squads! Firing line on
me! Fire!” His rifle came up.

The stunned bluecoat
looked up. Mykel forced himself to im and will the bullet home.

Crack!

The trooper’s death
stabbed at him, and he pushed it way, aiming at a second bluecoat.

Shouts and yells
began to rise, but troopers still peered out of the tents, and several streamed
out into the open, hearing but undertones. After a few shots, screams came rom
the tethered mounts as well as those in the corral. Two or three handfuls of
bluecoats finally came rushing out of the stables and sheds. Perhaps half had
weapons in hand, but looked dazed.

Mykel kept firing, as
coolly as he could, then reloaded, absently, he realized that he’d seen none of
the officers or quad leaders. With that thought, he looked toward the ilia.

Two men in what
looked to be dress uniforms—one in green and one in blue—were running toward
the barracks nd stables. One held a rifle.

Mykel shifted his aim
to the one with the rifle, then consentrated and squeezed the trigger. The
captain went down face first. The second officer threw himself to the ground
and rolled sideways.

A horn sounded, and
more bluecoats appeared. A number had made it to the stable sheds. Mykel
smiled.

“First, second
squads!” he ordered, “Withdraw! Withdraw!” His eyes swept the area as he
wheeled the chestnut, from what he could tell, twenty bodies lay sprawled
across he area, perhaps more.

Now… if some of them
followed…

A hundred yards into
the orchard, Mykel reined up and pulled the chestnut beside a casaran tree, one
adjacent to the one behind which Chyndylt remained, mounted. The remainder of
first and second squads rode past, not pell-mell, but at a quick trot, under
control. Dust roiled up and around the trees, and Mykel stifled a cough.

The third squad
leader shot an inquiring look to the captain. Mykel nodded, then pointed.

Before that long, a
thin line of riders in blue appeared, moving at a quick walk.

Mykel waited until
they were less than twenty yards away before he ordered, “Open fire! Fire at
will!”

More bodies fell, and
the riders turned and fell back.

“Third squad,
withdraw!”

Mykel rode back
toward the lane, but slowed as he neared fourth squad. “Dravadyl! Fourth squad!
Withdraw and reform! Withdraw and reform.” Whatever the bluecoats did, they
weren’t going to ride blindly any farther into the orchard. Fifteenth Company
had done what it could for the day.

Mykel rode to the
lane, then stood in the stirrups. “Bhoral! Forward! I’ll check the rear!”

“Fifteenth Company!
Forward.”

Once he was certain
all his men had cleared the orchard, he rode at the rear for a good vingt and a
half until it appeared likely that the bluecoats—or their hosts—were not on
their tail. Then he checked with each squad leader as he rode forward toward
the van.

He finally pulled his
mount in beside Bhoral. “We got between thirty and forty. We lost one man, two
wounded. Neither too serious.”

“One dead, two
wounded,” Bhoral said, his voice flat.

“Let’s ride ahead a
bit,” Mykel said quietly. “Alone.”

The captain didn’t
say anything until they were well away from first squad. “You don’t like what
we’re doing, Bhoral.” Mykel paused. “Do you?”

“I can’t say as I do,
sir.”

“There are somewhere
between eight and fifteen companies of men armed with Cadmian rifles in the
eastern part of Dramur. Right now, they’re not well organized. Their men really
aren’t used to fighting, not with real bullets, and they haven’t figured out
that if they massed everyone and swept down toward the compound, we’d have real
trouble.”

“The Myrmidons—”

“They’ve been gone
for a solid week, and we have no idea when they’ll be back. Or if they’ll be
back.” Mykel paused. “Bhoral… just how do you think the seltyrs got hold of
over a thousand Cadmian rifles?”

“Sir?”

“Either the Myrmidons
got betrayed by other alectors, or we got betrayed by the Myrmidons. Take your
pick.”

For a long moment,
the senior squad leader was silent.

“Either way, we can’t
count on much support. It might come tomorrow. It might come next week. It
might not come.”

“You’ve known this?”

“Only since last
night,” Mykel temporized. He didn’t know it for certain, and he’d suspected it
for longer, but Bhoral had to understand, or the company wouldn’t be worth a
frigging lame mount over the days ahead. “I don’t want the men knowing all
that. If anyone asks, tell them that the Myrmidons have big problems elsewhere.
That much is certainly true, and that’s why we were sent, and why we don’t have
any pteridon support right now, and why we can’t count on it.”

“Put that way, sir, I
don’t suppose we have much choice.”

“No. We don’t.” Not
any choice that Mykel could see, at least. If the seltyrs ever got organized,
Third Battalion was dead. Mykel’s task was to keep them from getting organized.
Any way he could.

Dainyl’s lessons in
Lytema began right after breakfast on Decdi when he followed Asulet down the
steps from the upper level and then inward from the Council Chamber through yet
another square arch. They walked a hundred yards down a stone corridor until
they reached a wall on which was a relief sculpture that was also a mural, the
brilliant and varied colors shimmering forth from the stone itself, rather than
having been painted over the marble. Yet the wall appeared to have been carved
from a single block of stone, with no lines that revealed joints.

Twenty Myrmidons flew
in formation, each of the enforcers of justice seated upon his blue-winged
pteridon, each pteridon flying below high clouds, and each Myrmidon carrying a
blue metal skylance. From each lance, a ray of blue light flared down upon the
ranks of an army drawn up upon the grasslands, the yellow-blue flames created
by those rays consuming the soldiers of that massive army.

“The mural is
marvelous,” observed Dainyl, “although I’m surprised to see it here. There were
a few such battles as those upon Ifryn, but not here.”

“Tradition is always
valuable, and a visual representation always outlasts the stories.”

“That is so.” Yet
Dainyl could not help but wonder what someone might read into the mural in
years to come.

“Lyterna is also
called the Vault of the Ages—for many reasons.” Asulet turned, and a section of
the wall silently swung back, revealing a passageway.

“Lead on,
Submarshal.”

Dainyl stepped
through the oblong opening a yard and a half wide and three high, followed by
the older alector. Once the two had passed, the stones closed behind them,
silently, massive as they were, and the two walked in dimness lit only by
intermittent light-torches mounted on the walls.

Dainyl could feel
grit under his boots. “Not a great deal of maintenance here lately,” he
observed, still puzzling over what might lie ahead—and how it related to his
dispatch to Lyterna by the Highest.

“We do what we can.
This section is a museum, open only to those with a need to know. Museums,
especially those that are hidden, are seldom high in the allocating of
resources.”

At the end of a
marble walled passage—the stones there also without seams—the two emerged in a
vast hall. Dainyl glanced up at the smooth stone ceiling twenty yards above.

The older alector
cleared his throat, then spoke. “Each of these recesses holds something of
value, of one sort or another, frozen, in more ways than one, through time. You
should study each, and take your time in doing so. The first you will
recognize.”

Dainyl turned his
attention to the right wall, unadorned blue-tinged marble, within which were
set at regular intervals a series of recesses, each roughly ten yards wide.
Each recess was a yard deep and ended in a flat sheet of what appeared to be
blue crystal. The crystal rose ten yards, but the space between the top of the
crystal and the ceiling was empty.

Sensing the other’s
expectation, Dainyl moved forward until he stood before the flat crystal. The
crystal had looked far darker when he had been standing back, but closer, it
was almost clear, and but lightly shaded with the merest hint of blue. Farther
back in the solid blue crystalline mist, embedded within it, was a shape—that
of a pteridon, its blue leathery wings folded back, its long cruel blue crystal
beak slightly parted, as if it had just landed. The blue crystal eyes also
glittered and held that dark sentience common to all pteridons. Set just below
the thick neck and above the shoulders that anchored the wings was the saddle
of a Myrmidon.

“One of the first
pteridons? How have you been able to preserve it? It looks so lifelike.”

“It is one of the
first. It is as alive as any of those on Acorus.”

“It’s alive?”

“Very much so. The
crystals beneath each recess interact with the lifefields to suspend them. Very
simple, but it took much work. They’ll be the last things to fail if it comes
to that.”

Dainyl bowed his head
in respect. “My deepest apologies, Most Highest.”

“I’m not a Highest.
Never was. Just a biologist trying to get things to work out… and they have.”
The older alector smiled. “Mostly, anyway.”

“If you turned them
off… ?”

“They would be ready
to fly. It would take a few days to charge the lance.”

Dainyl shook his
head. He had certainly not expected this in Lyterna. “Are these set aside for
an emergency? Because no more can be created?”

“Exactly. Outside of
Lyterna, the only alectors who know of them are the high alectors and the Marshal
and Submar-shal of Myrmidons.”

“Are there any more?”

“Just these twenty.
That should be more than enough.”

Asulet moved farther
back, passing the other recesses with pteridons. “Farther along, past the
pteridons, each recess holds something from the past, each from farther back in
time.”

When Asulet finally
stopped and gestured, Dainyl stepped forward until he once more stood just
short of the flat crystal. There, Dainyl studied the shambling apelike figure,
caught in midstride. “Was that what the indigens looked like after the
seedings?”

“That is one of the
first indigens. I preserved him myself.”

“Like the pteridons,
if you turned the crystals off… ?”

“The poor thing would
be frightened and try to run.” Asulet sniffed. “Timid sorts, really. Took years
to breed in more aggressiveness. We needed that to get the expansion and the
ability to herd. Cattle, very important sources of methane. They came from the
aurochs, the cattle did.”

“If… you turned the
crystals off, could you turn them back on?”

“Oh, yes. Several
times. Once or twice we have had to replace things. The switches are Talent
hidden, on the right.”

Dainyl extended his
Talent and let it sweep over the hidden controls, verifying what Asulet had
said.

“Now here, this is
what the grasslands looked like just before we released the indigens.”

Before looking at the
next recess, Dainyl turned to the older alector. “How… how did you… could you…
?”

“In essence, we mixed
together the smallest components—parts of cells, if you will—taken from
ourselves, from samples of steers on Ifryn, and from one of the life forms
existing here. We kept at it until it worked. It was hard on us, and harder on
the brood mothers.”

“Brood mothers?”

“Ulasya was one of
them. Those condemned on Ifyrn were allowed a second chance here. For her
services, she has every comfort Lyterna has to offer. She is a server by
choice. She says that she can meet people that way.”

Dainyl turned his
eyes on the next recess. The greenish grass was sparse, with open patches of
dirt and sand, and he could see a grass snake, clearly stalking some rodent.

Slowly, he made his
way down the line of preserved exhibits.

“This was what it
looked like after the first three hundred years,” explained Asulet, gesturing
to a scene that showed a snowy tundra with grayish flowers protruding from an
icy expanse. “That is a summer scene, by the way.”

The last recess
showed a pool surrounded by snow and ice, a faint hint of steam rising from it.
The only vegetation seemed to be lichens on the rocks closest to the water.

“That was what it was
like in full summer when we began.”

Even with the crystal
field, the chill seemed to reach out and sink into Dainyl’s very bones. He
shivered.

“That was also close
to the equator,” added Asulet. “This world would never have developed life, not
our kind of life, without our efforts.”

“I thought it did
have life. What about the so-called ancients?”

“They were dying out
back then. It was getting too cold for them, and there wasn’t enough lifeforce.
They’re no different from us, really. They need lifeforces to exist, and they
weren’t getting enough. Their only city was Dereka…”

“That was theirs?”

“We had to rebuild
it, but it was abandoned before we ever made full-body translations to Acorus.”

“How… If there wasn’t
intelligent life to build a Table?”

Asulet laughed,
harshly. “Blind translations are possible. I know. The success rate is less
than five percent. It took five hundred to get the first forty of us here,
carrying what little we could, and there were only twenty alive when we cobbled
together the first receptor Table.”

Dainyl turned and
looked into Asulet’s violet eyes, a violet so deep that it was almost black. He
couldn’t imagine attempting that kind of blind translation.

“I was brilliant—and
arrogant, Submarshal. Much like you. I paid, and so will you.”

“I’m scarcely
brilliant,” Dainyl protested. “It has taken me more years than most to become a
Submarshal.”

Asulet laughed. “You
may deceive Marshal Shastylt, because he is far more arrogant than either of
us, and the arrogant too often see what they wish to see in their subordinates.
You may even deceive Zelyert. You cannot deceive me. I would venture to say
that your progress has been slow because you do not see things in quite the
same fashion as most other alectors. It has also been slow because you have
recognized that quality within yourself, and it has made you most cautious.
Your shields are among the strongest I have seen, and you show no sign of
Talent. That is not possible. That can only mean great Talent, and the ability
to listen with both Talent and ears.”

Dainyl managed to
keep a pleasant smile upon his face. “You’re most complimentary, but I’m afraid
you do me too much honor.”

Asulet laughed easily
once more. “I have little interest in who becomes the Marshal of Myrmidons, or
the High Alector of Justice. My interest is in seeing Acorus blossom. It will
not blossom if too much intellect and Talent, and too much lifeforce, are spent
in determining who rules. Already, we run close to the ragged edge. Each time
we move to a new world, a little more is lost. More knowledge, more
understanding, is lost because some of the brightest are lost, one way or
another. Once we could fashion the very cells of our being. Here, we managed to
mix together cells to create the life we needed, and that took long years. I
have tried to impart my knowledge to a score of those who have come here to
learn, and not one has learned all that I have to share. Always, the question
is how can that knowledge be used for power. And so, with each transfer of the
master scepter, there is more arrogance, more squandering of lifeforce, and
fewer alectors. It cannot continue, or we will not continue. That is why I look
for strong and cautious alectors. They can be far bolder when necessary and
seldom waste energies.” Asulet paused. “Do you know why you have seen this?” He
gestured back toward the crystal recesses.

“I doubt I understand
all of it, but you are suggesting that life has a much more fragile hold on
Acorus than most alectors imagine, and that the effort taken to allow life is
far greater than anyone can acknowledge, and has taken far longer than we are
told.”

“Exactly.”

“How long?”

“Almost five thousand
years.”

“You…?”

Asulet laughed. “I
did not live all those years. Many were spent in those recesses, once we set
them up. We alternated for centuries, tens of centuries.”

Dainyl looked to the
frozen recess, then back to the older alector. He could sense the absolute
truth of the other’s words, and that chilled him more than the cold of the
preserved past.