Soarers Choice (10 page)

He
had best get to Lyterna — and return — quickly, before some other trouble
appeared, and before Alcyna arrived on Septi. In fact, there was no reason not
to go within the glass — right after he signed the concurrence Zernylta was
drafting.

Because
everything took longer than he’d anticipated, Dainyl did not leave headquarters
for close to a glass and a half. By then the clouds had darkened, and a light
rain was falling, turning the stone-paved streets liquid silver as the duty
coach carried him to the Hall of Justice.

When
he got out of the coach he ordered Wyalt back to headquarters, since he had no
i.e.
how long he would be in Lyterna and since the driver
would be needed to carry Zernylta’s messages to the Palace and the Hall of
Justice.

“You
sure, sir?”

“I’m
sure. I’ll see you later.”

Dainyl
had to be more circumspect in entering the lower chambers, using his Talent
earlier to conceal himself as he crossed the main hall where Zelyert himself
was on the dais receiving petitions from unhappy landers and indigens. Few
decisions of local justicers would be changed, Dainyl knew, but there was
always the chance that an injustice had in fact occurred.

When
he reached the Table chamber, the guards nodded. Dainyl nodded back to
Tregaryt.

“Do
you expect to return today, Marshal?” asked Chastyl.

“I
do, but...” Dainyl shrugged. The recorder nodded knowingly.

Dainyl
stepped up onto the Table, squared his shoulders, and concentrated on the
purpled darkness beneath, sliding through the mirrored surface easily and ...

...
into the chill beneath. Unlike his last translation, the tube was still. Dainyl
thought he could sense hints of greenish ripples around the hazy perimeter of
the tube, but he concentrated on the pink wedge locator that was Lyterna... and
found himself hurling through the silvered-pink barrier...

...
and standing on the Table in Lyterna.

Myenfel
— the Recorder of Deeds for Lyterna — stood watching him. Beside Myenfel were
two white-haired alectors in gray — both with lightcutters and concentrating on
the Table.

“Is
every Table in Acorus guarded, Myenfel?” asked Dainyl as he stepped off the
Table and onto the marble-tiled floor.

“So
far as I know, Marshal. Several recorders have had to request alectors be added
to their staffs.”

“Places
like Prosp and Blackstear?”

The
recorder nodded. “Now that your Seventh Company is in Tempre, once a new
regional alector is appointed and the Table is repaired, you may be requested
to supply Table guards there.” His voice turned dry. “Particularly since there
are so few alectors remaining in Tempre.”

“I
doubt that the new RA would wish to employ any such as those who died in
Tempre,” Dainyl said.

“That
might depend on whom the Duarch Samist appoints.”

Myenfel
had a point. Dainyl was more convinced than ever that Samist and Brekylt were
working together against Khelaryt. “I’m here to see Asulet.”

“He
said to expect you. Can you find your way?”

“By
now I had best be able to.” Dainyl smiled, then turned toward the door.

The
stonewalled corridor outside was empty, but well lit by the lighttorches on the
wall. At times, Dainyl found himself amazed that all of Lyterna had been carved
out of solid rock literally hundreds of generations earlier — yet it did not look
ancient. He began to walk more quickly, along the corridor to the first
cross-corridor toward the stone staircase to the next level.

At
that moment, a hidden doorway on the left opened, and an alector garbed in gray
and black stepped out and waited as Dainyl approached. His uncharacteristic
gray eyes radiated friendliness, as did his Talent. Beneath the outward
friendliness was the cold precision of a lightcannon. “Marshal Dainyl. I had
heard you came to Lyterna often. I do not believe we have met. I’m Paeylt.”

“The
engineering master? I’ve heard much of you and your skill.” Dainyl stopped and
nodded politely. He also maintained his Talent shields while assessing those of
the engineer — strong, but apparently not quite so strong as his own. Still...

“Really?
Those are among the more flattering words I’ve heard in years.” Paeylt’s voice
was a warm, soothing baritone.

“I
doubt anyone would slight your skills as a master engineer or as a planner of
cities.”

Paeylt
laughed, also warmly. “Already, I see why you are Marshal of Myrmidons.”

“I
was fortunate.” And he had been, if not in the manner the words connoted.

“Indeed
you were, but you are more than that, and you will have to be even more,
especially bearing the shade of the ancients.” He paused. “I assume you are
here to see Asulet, and I will not keep you, but I did wish to see you for
myself.” After a polite nod, he stepped back into the doorway.

The
stone door slid shut, silently, but not before Dainyl got a quick glimpse of a
large space filled with equipment he could not recognize or identify in the
time before the opening closed. He continued along the narrow corridor until he
reached the staircase up to the main gallery east of the so-called Council
Hall. From there he walked past the grand pteridon mural of a battle scene that
never had been — not until a few weeks ago, hundreds, if not thousands of years
after the mural had been painted. Two more turns, and another narrow hallway
carried Dainyl out into the gallery holding the niches with the ancient
specimens of life on Acorus — and the spare pteridons — all preserved in time
against a future need.

Dainyl
turned right and made his way to the first door.

Asulet
was waiting in his oak-paneled, windowless study, with its entire wall of
bookshelves and the painting — or plan — of Dereka as it had been planned to
have been built, with twin green towers.

“I
thought you might be here today.” The elder alector stood beside a wide table
desk of ancient oak. He gestured to one of the two oak armchairs, while taking
the other.

“I
only received your message this morning.” As Dainyl sat, he could feel the
airflow from the wall air ducts.

“Would
that others took my communications with such care and haste,” Asulet began. “While
I would be among the first to offer my congratulations, Marshal, your success
indicates the perilous situation in which we alectors of Acorus find ourselves,
as well as the perilous situation that faces you personally.”

Dainyl
suspected he knew what Asulet meant, but decided to let the elder alector
explain. But when Asulet did not speak, Dainyl asked, “That a Myrmidon
perceived to have so little Talent is marshal?”

“You
have disabused those with any intelligence of the
i.e.
that you are weak in Talent. No, I was referring to the fact that you now carry
the tinge of the ancients.”

“The
green? That was Rhelyn’s doing. He attacked me with one of the weapons of the
ancients.” Dainyl went on to explain, finishing up with, “... and it seems to
be fading.”

“That
never fades. At best you can keep it in check.” The older alector shook his
head. “You may be strong enough to do so, but you must watch yourself all the
time, in how you use your Talent and for what.”

“Why
is the green such a danger?”

“When
one becomes totally green, one ceases to be an alector, and ...” Asulet
shrugged.

While
Dainyl thought he understood what Asulet meant, he could see other
possibilities. “An ancient? Could an alector truly become one?”

“That,
to my knowledge, has never occurred.” Asulet frowned, then fingered his chin,
as if debating how much more to say. “All intelligent life that lives on the
same world must, by nature, share physical similarities, and more than that.
The ancients appear to be more like pteridons in that they are Talent
creatures, if of a differing kind of Talent. It might be possible to transform
an alector into an ancient. Certainly, Table travel can twist the less Talented
into all manner of Talent creatures.” He shrugged. “But who would wish such? I
was referring more to the danger of becoming less of an alector.”

That
was what Danyl had surmised, but the other question had intrigued him because
of what he had already experienced among the ancients.

“Another
and greater peril faces us all. For now, in order to preserve what we have
created, we must guard the Tables day and night to keep from being swamped.”

“What
else can be done? It is clear to all who can see that the Master Scepter will
shortly be transferred to Efra, and yet Khelaryt cannot see that.”

“No
... he cannot,” said Asulet sadly, “for many reasons.”

“Why
doesn’t anyone tell him?”

“Did
you?”

“No
... I didn’t realize he didn’t know — or couldn’t accept that knowledge until I
was in a situation where I could not say anything. Why doesn’t anyone tell him?”

“Because
once he is forced to admit that Acorus will not receive the Master Scepter, he
loses much of his power, and divided as the High Alectors are, they do not wish
to see even greater conflicts break out.”

Greater
conflicts?

“That
is why he favors you,” Asulet went on. “You kept the revolt small and crushed
it.” His eyes glinted, but Dainyl wasn’t certain whether the expression was
humor or something else, and he could not Talent-read what the old alector
felt. “How you did so is a mystery and should remain so. Those who seek to
overthrow the existing way are always more awed by what they cannot
understand.”

“At
times. At other times, they merely ignore it.”

“Like
Paeylt. I understand he deigned to greet you.”

Dainyl
should have felt surprise, he supposed, but he did not. “You watch him
closely.”

“I
have him watched. For the moment, that is best.” Asulet cleared his throat.
“First... the creature you wrote about. It is another animal out of the past,
and its presence in the Iron Valleys bespeaks change. It grazes on plants that
are rather rare — quarasote, we called them. They actually take up quartz into
their shoots. When grown, these bushes are sharp enough to rip through leather.
The nightsheep usually graze in the area of the ice sands. That’s why few
alectors even know about them. They can only be controlled by Talent, and their
horns are sharp enough to cut through even thin sheets of metal. They’re
inedible, of course, because of the quartz and mineral intake. They tend not to
be aggressive unless strongly provoked. Something must have pushed them south.
That is far more troublesome than the creatures themselves, although I would
not advise indigens or landers to approach them closely.”

“Because
only Talent can control them?”

“Exactly.
I’d judge that the ancients are behind this, but why I could not say.”

“You’re
telling me because Zelyert would ignore the signs and Khelaryt can do little.”

Asulet
laughed gently. “Sulerya thinks highly of you, and each time I speak with you I
see why.”

“I
think highly of your daughter.”

“There
is another matter, as well,” Asulet said after a moment of silence. “That is
the growing cooperation between Paeylt and Ruvryn. As relatives, they once
exhibited some rivalry, but that has now passed.”

Just
as Dainyl thought he had some inkling of who was plotting with whom, someone
else came up, not that it was surprising, he reflected, that two disgruntled
engineers might conspire for mutual benefit.

“Paeylt
has decided he cannot oust you from here or gain control of Lyterna directly,”
volunteered Dainyl. “So he is passing information to Ruvryn, or to engineers
that work for him. Is that it?”

“You
knew of this?”

“No.
But it fits. Shastylt mentioned special weapons being fabricated at Faitel.
With what you have said, I have to question whether he was part of that
alliance.”

“That
is possible. I had not heard of that complication. Shastylt did say weapons?”

“He
did.”

“Too
much deviousness always leads to ruin. You might remember that, Dainyl.”

“I
will.” Dainyl had already discovered that. “What else is Paeylt plotting?”

“He
thinks he should be the Duarch of Ludar, but he would be willing to let Samist
remain as Duarch of Elcien.”

“Why
can’t anyone think about holding Acorus together until after the succession of
the Master Scepter takes place, and then worry about who has power?”

“Because,”
Asulet replied dryly, “whoever is ready to take power immediately after the
transfer is likely to keep it.”

“Is
that because of what will happen when the transfer takes place?”

Asulet
nodded.

“What
will happen?”

“Both
Duarches will have their powers limited, if it does not happen sooner for other
reasons.”

“How
... ?”

“That
I cannot say, but it will happen.” Asulet rose. “I should not have said even
that, but you are trustworthy and should know such. You probably need to get
back to Elcien, Marshal.”

Dainyl
stood. Once more, the older alector had said what he would say, and nothing
Dainyl could do would be likely to elicit more information. “Thank you, Senior
Alector.”

“My
thanks to you.”

Dainyl
felt watched as he retraced his route back to the Table chamber, and he
wondered if there happened to be any High Alector who was not involved in plots
and schemes of some sort. Probably not, because those who were not initially
involved would have had to build their own alliances and allies to protect
themselves, as he had with Asulet and Sulerya — and Lystrana, of course.
Zelyert might not be an enemy, but Dainyl certainly couldn’t count the High
Alector of Justice as an ally, either.

He
stepped through the door of the Table chamber, closing it behind himself, and
checking the chamber, which still held the recorder and the two older guards in
gray, then approached the Table.