Soarers Choice (56 page)

Mykel
had never heard of quarasote. “What’s that?”

“It’s
a spiny bush that grows in the colder and drier places, mostly near the base of
the plateau, but there’s some almost everywhere. The older branches will cut
through leather, and just about anything else. The scrats eat the seeds, but
not much else besides nightsheep will browse on the shoots. Even they prefer
the new growth. There’s not much quarasote here. That’s why we usually don’t
see them here.” Croyalt smiled. “You’re fortunate. Not many outsiders do.”

“They’re
dangerous. I saw one gut a sandwolf.”

“That’s
why we leave them alone. They don’t attack unless provoked.”

“Where
did they come from?”

“They’ve
always been around, but they usually stick close to the plateau. This is as far
west as I’ve seen them.” The outholder studied Mykel, seemingly taking in his
still-injured arm. “You’re riding patrols with the Reillies and Squawts likely
to come after you in two days?”

“All
the more reason to do so, while we can. There were reports of more attacks on
the flocks of the inholders.”

Croyalt
snorted. “They always want someone else to do the hard work of protecting them.
They leave the town, and most of them are helpless.”

Mykel
sensed that the holder’s contempt was far stronger than his words. “Some people
are like that.”

“So
they are, Majer.” Croyalt nodded briskly. “We need to be moving, and I imagine
you do as well. Good day.” The holder eased his mount off the lane, as did the
four behind him, three men, and a blond woman who looked like Croyalt, except
that she reminded Mykel of a soarer as well, although she was almost as tall as
Croyalt and Mykel could sense no overt Talent in her. Still, her aura was so
dark it might as well have been black, and there were definite streaks of green
in it.

Once
Thirteenth Company was riding again, more to the southeast, Mykel could make
out a holding, with a large house and outbuildings, well to the east. Ahead was
a lane leading off the road they were taking that presumably led to the
holding. Mykel wondered if it was Croyalt’s, or if the outholder had been
visiting someone. Sooner or later, he’d find out, he supposed.

In
the meantime, he needed to see if he could determine a better way to use his
Talent on the bullets and weapons of his men — or at least those close to him.
He’d fired a rifle one-handed a few times, but that wasn’t a good plan for an
officer who was charged with commanding a battalion — especially one who might
be facing forces twice his in number before long.

The
air still had a metallic feel, and the wind was stronger — and colder.

Dainyl
was in the coach at a quarter past the first glass of the afternoon, heading
toward the Palace for his meeting with the High Alector of Transport. Once
more, he stepped out on the lower level, but this time he headed to the
northwest corner of the Palace.

As
he entered the paneled outer study, Dainyl could see immediately that Alseryl’s
spaces were effectively the mirror image of Chembryt’s.

The
alector assistant seated behind the small desk jumped to his feet. “Highest,
High Alector Alseryl is expecting you.” He took two steps to the door and
rapped. “High Alector Dainyl.” After a moment, he opened the door, bowing and
stepping back.

“Thank
you.” Dainyl maintained full shields when he stepped into the study.

The
assistant closed the door as Dainyl crossed the green and gold marble floor.

Alseryl’s
study was also paneled in golden oak, with crimson-trimmed deep blue hangings
framing the single window, except the window was on the left. The oblong table
desk held four neat stacks of papers. An oak armchair was set at each corner of
the inner side of the table desk, while the third was behind the desk, centered
on the painting of the Palace — one that showed the Palace from the south,
clearly in full summer. There were no bookcases.

Alseryl
stood directly behind the table desk, using it as a barrier between him and
Dainyl. His welcoming nod was less than perfunctory.

“I
appreciate your taking the time to see me,” offered Dainyl.

“I
could do no less.” Alseryl seated himself.

Dainyl
took the chair closest to the window, moving it slightly so that Alseryl would
also be looking toward the window when he faced Dainyl.

“I
am normally most politic, Dainyl. You might call it indirect, but among High
Alectors, indirection will usually suffice. With you, I cannot be certain of
that, not with your ... background. So I will be less indirect, much as that
pains me.” Alseryl smiled.

Dainyl
disliked the expression, because it conveyed trust, honesty, and concern, and
behind the smile were none of those.

“First,
I can see that your Talent carries a tinge of green, and that is not normally
acceptable for an alector, much less a High Alector, let alone the High Alector
of Justice. I can understand the regrettable nature of the injury, and the
service performed, but green is green, especially in these times.”

“True
enough,” countered Dainyl, “but both Duarches are aware of the injury and its
causes, and the green that resulted has not greatly troubled either.”

Those
words created a momentary, if hidden consternation, but Alseryl smiled quickly.
“I am glad to hear that. As you may know, High Alector Zelyert had great
concerns about the future of Acorus, and about the need for a strong framework
to ensure that we do not become a mere tool of the Archon or a dumping ground
for those who have fallen out of favor in Illustra. You have already
demonstrated that you are cut from the same shimmersilk as Zelyert in the
matter of restricting long translations by those who would weaken Acorus and
shorten the years of useful lifeforce.” Alseryl smiled once more, this time
condescendingly.

Dainyl
nodded. “I believe I have.”

“In
the other matter, however, your actions, however well intended, have proved
less than satisfactory in assuring a framework on which we may build a strong
Acorus.”

Dainyl
had a strong suspicion where Alseryl was heading, but he offered a frown meant
to convey worry and concern. “I am glad you are being direct, Alseryl, because
I had thought my actions were totally in line with preserving the Duarches.”

“It
has come to my attention that you informed both Duarches of the pending
transfer of the Master Scepter to Efra. In doing so, you reduced the Talent
force available to each. Could you explain how reducing the power of the
Duarches strengthens Acorus?”

Alseryl
couldn’t be that stupid. That meant more was at stake. “As you well know,
Alseryl,” Dainyl replied, “I am a Myrmidon, and I have spent all of my adult
life as one, or preparing to be one. In dealing with conflicts and opponents, a
Myrmidon learns that there are many kinds of strength. An alector who has
massive Talent, but who is unable to use that strength except as another
wishes, is often weaker than one with lesser Talent and more flexibility.

“The
shadowmatches prevented either Duarch from considering what might be the best
course for Acorus were the Master Scepter not to be transferred here. My goal
was not to weaken either Duarch, but to give them greater applied strength to
deal with the difficulties ahead. In fact, whether you were aware of this or
not, Zelyert was pressing me to reveal the transfer to Khelaryt for some time
before I did.” Dainyl let the truth of that escape.

For
a moment, just a moment, Alseryl was silent. “I find that hard to believe,
despite your apparent honesty, but perhaps that is because of the greenish
tinge to your Talent, a tinge always associated with wildness and rebellion in
the past, although you certainly have been the model Myrmidon for many decades,
always serving, following orders effectively, and never questioning the reasons
behind those orders.”

While
keeping his shields fully in place, Dainyl had been absorbing the Talent
impressions of the chamber. He observed that there was a Talent concentration
behind an apparent boss in the crown molding at the top of the paneled wall
that held the painting of the Palace, and that power was similar to what he had
sensed with Rhelyn’s portable lightcannon. Doubtless it was aimed at him — or
whoever was seated before the desk. It was positioned high enough and the
chairs were set far enough back that the energy would not threaten Alseryl.

“Any
alector who has perception is cautious when caution is merited. I have observed
that some who had the greatest reasons to be loyal have not been so, and some
who seemed less supportive of the Duarches have been far more loyal. Seldom is
what one sees all of what is.”

“The
truth goes beyond mere vision. That is true.” Alseryl nodded.

“So
does reality, and what is includes more than what many would call the truth.”

“For
an alector reputed to be direct, your words are somewhat obscure, Dainyl.”

“All
I was suggesting is that each individual’s
i.e.
of
truth does not usually encompass all of reality.” Dainyl shrugged. “Although
many have claimed that knowing the truth will set a thinking being free, I’ve
found that such ‘truths’ reflect a selective vision of the world. Selective
visions restrict freedom of action, and such restrictions also reduce an alector’s
capabilities.”

“That
sounds perilously close to rejecting the views and guidance of the Duarches and
the Archon in favor of your own predilections.”

“I
must not have made myself clear, Alseryl. The more one perceives, the more
ability one has to carry out the policies of the Archon and the Duarches.” Or
to understand why they should not be carried out.

“That
is an intriguing observation.”

“How
have you found working with the other High Alectors?” asked Dainyl. “I have yet
to even meet Jaloryt and Zuthyl.”

“We
all share the concerns of the Duarches and the Archon. Jaloryt is faced with
the unenviable task of making sure that the pursuit of golds in trade by the
steers does not reduce the world’s lifeforce. Zuthyl has his difficulties as
well.”

“What
of you? Have the problems with the South Pass required great adjustments in the
sandox routes?”

“Some
adjustments, but not great ones. The greatest difficulty has been, as I am
certain Marshal Alcyna has conveyed to you, the increased requirement for Myrmidon
trainees from our sandox drivers and assistant drivers. It seems rather strange
that the requirements have increased so dramatically recently, coincidentally,
as it were, with two new marshals.”

“They
have increased dramatically,” Dainyl replied, “but the increase resulted from
higher casualties, and those casualties, as I am certain you are aware,
resulted from the increased activity of the ancients and from the late Rhelyn’s
attempt to use unauthorized translations to attempt to create an independent Duarchy
in Hyalt. Of course, Brekylt’s misreading of the situation compounded matters
as well, but that has been resolved for the time being.”

“Oh?”

“The
Alector of the East and I had a lengthy conversation several weeks ago, and he
understands quite thoroughly my views and my support of the Duarch Khelaryt.”

“I
am glad to hear of that support.”

“My
support of the Duarch has never been in question.” Dainyl smiled. “But then,
I’m sure you understand that.”

“That
is true. Khelaryt is fortunate to have a High Alector of Justice so devoted and
supportive.”

“Is
that not the duty of a High Alector?”

“It
is indeed.” Alseryl smiled once more. “And it has been a pleasure to learn how
seriously you take that duty.” He rose, almost languidly.

“As
it has been for me, to hear your words and observations.” Dainyl stood and
inclined his head just slightly. “Until later.”

He
could feel Alseryl’s eyes on his back as he left the paneled study.

While
he walked down the columned Palace corridor, out toward the waiting coach,
Dainyl had no doubts as to where Aseryl stood, and that was with Ruvryn and
Samist, even though Aseryl reported directly to Khelaryt. The hidden
lightcannon in Alseryl’s study suggested strongly that Aseryl was allied to
Ruvryn and had been for some time.

He
didn’t know whether to hope that the Archon moved the Master Scepter soon or
whether it would be best if he had more time. He shook his head. Just what
could he do until they acted?

Outside
the headquarters building, intermittent gusts of wind rattled the narrow window
of the study where Mykel sat, studying the map spread across a writing table
desk small enough that both ends of the map drooped over the sides of the desk.
Although it was close to midafternoon, Mykel had been studying the maps since
early on Novdi morning, trying to develop a better sense of how to use the
roads and terrain to trap the Reillies and the Squawts.

Rhystan
appeared in the doorway. “Sir, Jasakyt has just ridden in. He’s got news about
the Reillies. They’re getting ready to move.” The captain paused. “What about
the other scouts?”

“They’re
farther west and south. I can’t say when they’ll be back. Gather the officers
in the mess. Jasakyt can tell us all at once. We’ll have to brief Loryalt when
he returns.”

Rhystan
nodded, then left.

Mykel
stood and rolled up the large map, one-handed and awkwardly, before tucking it
under his left arm and leaving the study. Croyalt had been right, not that
Mykel had doubted the outholder, but the fact that such information was
widespread meant that any failure by Mykel and the Cadmians would spark even
greater insurgency in the west of Coras. With the regiment significantly
understrength, the last thing the Cadmians needed was to fight more insurgents.