Soarers Choice (24 page)

“That’s
because he was setting you up to reveal the Master Scepter’s fate later, and
your acting too soon spoiled some scheme of his.”

“He
doesn’t like my seeing through him and telling him.”

“No
one likes that, Dainyl.”

“Even
wives?”

“Especially
wives. What was Khelaryt’s reaction?”

“Absolute
rage. Even somewhat restrained, he almost shredded my shields, and he threw me
into the wall. Then he recovered and sent me off to tell Samist, with my
weakened shields and all. When I got there Samist was playing the violin, and
playing it well. That surprised me. I’ve never met him personally, and I’d
never thought of him as a musician. Then, when I told him, he wasn’t nearly so
upset as Khelaryt had been. It was as though he had expected it all along.”

“That’s
the way he has been acting — or letting those who serve him act.”

Dainyl
took yet another mouthful of the casserole, some bread, and then another sip of
the wine. “Good wine.”

“I’m
glad you like it. I wish I could have more than a sip or two.” She broke off
some of the bread. “Samist thanked you and sent you back? That was it?”

“Ah
... actually, he even asked what favor he could grant me. I asked about the RA
of Tempre. He demurred, but offered Dereka.”

“Do
you really want to be an RA?”

“I
asked for you.”

“What!
Are you ... why would you even think that? Why did you think that we should
leave Elcien for a Talent-impoverished place like Dereka?”

“Because,
as I said, matters have gone from bad to worse...”

“But
Dereka? Why? Why there?”

“As
I told you, I tried to bargain for Tempre for you, but Samist said that wasn’t
possible.”

“You
still haven’t answered why you want to leave Elcien.”

“I
don’t, and I’d still have to be Marshal of Myrmidons, but I can get to Dereka
easily enough by Table. I’m worried about what’s likely to happen.”

“You
want to shove me out into the high and cold hinterlands?”

“You
don’t have to accept,” Dainyl said. “You have until Septi to decide.”

“Four
days to decide whether to change everything?”

“You’d
see less of my mother.”

“Dainyl...”

“There
haven’t been any alectresses who have been RAs. You deserve it more than
anyone.”

“And
I won’t get it except through you?”

What
could he say to that? “You might. I wanted to hurry things.”

“You
don’t think so. Not really.” She set down the wine goblet that had held less
than a finger of the white and looked at him. “I know. You’re trying to help.
You want my abilities recognized.”

“And
you want them recognized without my help,” he said quietly. “Then refuse. Blame
me for being impulsive.”

“It’s
not that simple.”

“Nothing
ever is. If you decline, people will say that you’re afraid you can’t handle
it. If you accept, they’ll say that you got it because of me. Others will say
that it’s about time your abilities were recognized, and some of them will say
that it’s a shame that it didn’t happen sooner. I don’t think any of that is
the question.”

“Oh?”

Dainyl
ignored the anger beneath her calmness. “I’ve listened to you for more than
thirty years. I’ve changed what I could and tried to modify what I could not.
Most of Elcien knows I would not be where I am without you. I can’t provide
that kind of help to you, not in the way you did. I did have the chance to
provide this. Tell me what the difference is. In either case, neither of us
would be where we are without the other.” He looked at her, evenly, directly.

“It
doesn’t feel the same.”

“It’s
not. You helped me in little bits for years. That’s harder, and it’s more work,
and you’ll never get the credit you deserve.”

“Dainyl...
why do you want me out of Elcien?”

He
forced himself to look directly at Lystrana. “I’m worried. I don’t think it’s
going to be safe, and I can’t give you reasons, or tell you why or how. I don’t
know. All I do know is that we’re getting more and more refugees, and they’re
shooting them, like rodents, or... Have you been in a Table chamber lately?”

“Not
for nearly two weeks.”

“Every
one has at least four and sometimes six guards. They have orders to execute
anyone without a pass, or skills, or pregnant alectresses. In the last two
days, they’ve killed close to fifteen refugees here in Elcien. That doesn’t
count wild translations.”

“That’s
hundreds across Corus. That’s terrible. It’s ...” She shook her head.

“Khelaryt
says there’s no choice. Without the killings, in something like three weeks
we’d be at the optimum lifeforce-carrying capacity of the entire world.”

“I
know ... but it’s different when you think of real people dying.”

“When
I talked to her months back, Sulerya pointed out something else. Every Ifrit
translating from Ifryn takes four times the lifeforce of those born on Acorus.
So every refugee means three fewer children that can be born here, or that much
less time before we exhaust this world. That means that the refugee situation
is going to get worse. Then there are the ancients. I can’t forget the way the
one told me that unless we changed we would perish. It wasn’t a threat, or a
promise, but a wistful and sad certainty.”

Lystrana
looked oddly at him.

“What?”

“I
can’t help but feel that you’re tied in some way to them, and not just because
of the wound you got from their ancient weapon and their healing of you. Except
they wouldn’t have healed you without a reason.”

“I
know that. They want me to change, to somehow become...”

“It’s
more than that.”

It
doubtless was, but Dainyl couldn’t do anything about it. “There’s another
thing. It’s already getting dangerous to use a Table. That bothers me. You’d
have to use a Table to get to Ludar to accept the position and then come back
and then translate to Dereka.”

“I’m
not escaping Tables one way or another. Chembryt wants me to go to Alustre at
the end of next week. He’s still worried about the overages in the Engineering
accounts.”

Dainyl
winced. “Brekylt might not do anything by then.”

“Let
me sleep on it, dearest.”

Dainyl
couldn’t disagree with that, especially since he could sense that she was truly
torn between Dereka and Elcien.

Dainyl
picked up the slender volume from the corner of the desk, turning it in his
hands. He’d made it a practice to read Views of the Highest regularly, if only
so that he could quote from it when appropriate. Yet... the more he read, the
more he felt that appropriate as much of what those views might be, the
alectors he knew observed the wisdom more by ignoring it.

He
flipped through several pages before stopping and taking in several lines.

Just
as the laws of the universe are simplest in explaining the everyday functions
of the worlds we administer, so are the motivations of steers and alectors. The
most common motivations are desire, pride, and contempt. Desire can be
praiseworthy when it serves honest ambition, as can pride when it fuels the
need for worthy accomplishment, but both have their unworthy sides, as seen in
political machinations among alectors and unbridled greed for goods and wealth
among steers. Moreover, those who exhibit these deplorable perversions of
motivation are often impelled to hide their unworthiness from themselves by
burying it within a welter of complexity....

How
guilty was he of the same base motives? Desire to prove himself worthy, pride
at having become marshal, and contempt of alectors such as Shastylt? Why had he
pressed for Lystrana to obtain the position of RA? Because he truly believed
Lystrana deserved it and because he worried about the increasing dangers in
Elcien or because he had power enough to break the old prejudices against
alectresses in high positions?

His
eyes went to the flight stage behind headquarters, outlined in cold sunlight
that seemed more like winter than fall. For the moment, it was empty of
pteridons.

That
morning, he had not pressed Lystrana on her decision, knowing that asking her
would merely make matters worse. She would decide, and she would tell him,
probably when he got home. He thought she would decide to accept and go to
Dereka, but he was far from certain.

He
turned from the window and settled himself behind his table desk! To his right
were copies of the orders Alcyna had hand-carried to Noryan in Alustre. He
expected she would return before too long — at least he hoped she would.

On
the left were the latest reports from the Cadmian regiments. He picked up the
top report, the one from Colonel Herolt in Elcien, and began to read. The
colonel’s prose was even more tortuous than usual, or his own attention was
lagging, because even skimming through the words was difficult.

...
Second Battalion, Majer Wekeryt commanding, stands ready for deployment...

...
Third Battalion, Majer Mykel commanding, has reached Iron
Ste.
and has taken over duties previously handled by Fourth Battalion ...

...
Fourth Battalion, Captain Hamylt acting in command, remains currently deployed
to Iron Stem, under the overall command of Majer Mykel, as ordered by the
Marshal of Myrmidons.... Casualties reported to date exceed sixty percent of
the battalion’s initial cadre, including Majer Hersiod and two other officers
...

...
Fifth Battalion, Captain Josult acting in command, has begun a return from
Northport to Elcien for the winter....

As
reported earlier, personnel losses extraordinarily heavy, totaling three
hundred ten fatalities and twenty-three nonfatal casualties over the entire
deployment...

...
Sixth Battalion, Majer Juasyn commanding, remains deployed to Soupat to defend
tin and copper mines in the area against Ghourat mountain brigands. Continued
scattered skirmishes have resulted in significant casualties, currently
totaling sixty-one fatalities and twenty-eight nonfatal casualties ...

After
finishing the reports, Dainyl looked up and back out the window at the chill
light of afternoon. Even with Second Battalion at full strength, First
Regiment, Cadmian Mounted Rifles, was overall only slightly above sixty-five
percent of full complement — and that was the status two weeks earlier. He
could not imagine how matters could have improved ... or that they would.

Should
he have dispatched a Myrmidon squad to Iron
Ste.
once more? He doubted that the Myrmidons would have been any more effective
against the ancients than Majer Mykel, and he still had the feeling that he was
going to need all the Myrmidons he could muster before long.

He
went from the Cadmian reports to Zernylta’s schedule. There, at least,
something had worked out. She’d finally agreed to become the permanent
assistant operations officer, with the promotion to captain, and that had
removed one headache. She was already far better than Dhenyr had been.

He
had just finished checking over the schedule when Alcyna stepped through his
door and closed it behind her. Her face was pale — even for an alectress.

“Are
you all right?” He gestured for her to take a seat.

“Thank
you for asking, Marshal.” Alcyna sank into the chair, then caught herself and
straightened. “Are you aware of what’s happening in the Table chambers?”

“The
killing of refugees without skills or abilities needed here?” Dainyl nodded.
“Is it happening in Alustre as well?”

“If
anything, it’s worse there. Brekylt’s guards are killing children in arms. I
saw that on the translation out.” She shook her head. “I didn’t really even see
it. I saw the clothing and asked Retyl. He said that children born on Ifryn
were the greatest problem. They’d live the longest and draw the greatest
Talent.”

“Ifryn
is collapsing. I don’t see why the Archon hasn’t transferred the Master
Scepter. The longer he waits, the worse the chaos will be.”

“That’s
what he wants. Here on Acorus, anyway. Isn’t it obvious? Rather than telling
people that they have no hope, he provides false hope. It’s clear that the
recorders on Ifryn have been ordered to let hundreds of Ifrits try to translate
here. It could be even a thousand. Who knows how many are perishing in the long
tubes between worlds? They’re told to come here and warned that they’ll be killed
on sight if they emerge on Efra. That way, the Archon doesn’t have to spend the
resources to enforce order on Ifryn. It also allows a more orderly translation
to Efra and bleeds Ifryn to the last to allow lifeforce to build or not decline
on Efra ...”

Dainyl
swallowed. He should have seen that. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to see it.

“You
look truly appalled, Marshal.”

“I
am. I know the lifeforce requirements here and on Efra, and we cannot take but
a fraction of those Ifrits living on Ifryn, but...” He was the one to shake his
head. “Knowing something and seeing the results of what you know are not the
same. Yet... I don’t know what else can be done.” He gestured in the general
direction of the Palace of the Duarch. “I asked Khelaryt about the guards and the
rules, and he pointed out that letting everyone come would destroy Acorus in a
few years. He didn’t say how many, but I tried to work it out. Less than twenty
years — that was what my calculations showed.”

“There’s
no good answer, it seems.”

“Except
to use lifeforce more sparingly in the future,” Dainyl suggested.

“How
would you propose to implement that?” Alcyna asked dryly. “How many more
alectors would the Duarches have to kill to make that work? How would we
maintain control over the steers without using lifeforce, either through the
pteridons or the Tables or the other technologies that elevate us above them?”