Soarers Choice (73 page)

“You
want to be Duarch, don’t you, Dainyl?” Anger and sadness mixed in Khelaryt’s
words.

“No.
I never aspired to be Duarch. I still do not.”

“And
yet you have destroyed the Duarchy. Why?”

Because
I was trying to save it in the only way I knew how.

“Why?”
demanded Khelaryt. “You must answer for it.”

“Because
you were too weak to save it.”

“Weak?
Without that green abomination you would not have the strength to stand in the
same chamber with me or any other true alector.”

“What
do you intend to do now?” Dainyl asked.

“I
need do nothing. I am the Duarch.” Khelaryt meant every word he spoke.

Dainyl
steeled himself, opening the channels to the well of amber-green beneath
Elcien, letting it pour into him. Take care with what you do.

The
words, seemingly from nowhere, gave Dainyl pause.

“You
cannot stand against a Duarch,” Khelaryt said, smiling winningly. “You will
not.”

Dainyl
struck, with all the power of the web beneath the world, all focused into the
narrowest blade, a tiny spear of infinite power.

For
an instant, Khelaryt looked stunned.

Then
... there was only dust and a set of shimmersilk garments fluttering to the
green marble floor.

Dainyl
stood there, stunned himself, both at what he had done, at the ease of his
action, and at the fact that Khelaryt had been, impressive as he had seemed,
little more than a figurehead, a placeholder, in case the Archon had decided to
move the Master Scepter to Acorus. Was Samist also a placeholder, or had he
been positioned for a stronger role?

After
a time, Dainyl stepped out of the conference room, green light radiating from
him.

Moryn
turned and looked at Dainyl. Then he paled and swallowed. He bowed deeply.

Dainyl
looked hard at the functionary. “The Duarch of Elcien is dead. Announce
mourning. A great alector has died. I will convey the news to the Duarch Samist
personally. Tomorrow, most likely by pteridon, since the Tables are blocked.”

“You
are not claiming ...” stammered Moryn.

“I
am the High Alector of Justice, and for now, I intend to remain so. It. would
be presumptuous and premature to do otherwise.”

Moryn
bowed again as Dainyl walked past him. Dainyl felt as though the Palace had
become a prison, confining him. But then, hadn’t it been just that for
Khelaryt? For that reason alone, even if it were offered, he would not be
Duarch. Behind him he heard Moryn and another voice.

“...
let him leave?”

“...
look at him. You try to stop him if you wish. No one has ever crossed him and
lived ... No one ever will. Not now.”

No
one ever will. Not now. Those words rang in Dainyl’s ears as he walked down the
corridor and out to the waiting coach.

He
looked to the driver. “Myrmidon headquarters, please.”

The
driver did not look in Dainyl’s direction. “Yes, Most High.”

Dainyl
did not bother to correct him as he climbed into the coach.

After
he closed the door and leaned back, a sad smile crossed Dainyl’s face.

Had
Khelaryt always been that way, and Dainyl just hadn’t seen it? Or had losing
the shadowmatch and the power it held unbalanced him? Or had the Archon planned
it all that way from the beginning? The more Dainyl discovered, the less he
knew. And the less sense anything made. Khelaryt’s youngest daughter had given
her life for her father, and it had meant nothing, not so far as Dainyl could
tell. More than thirty Myrmidons and pteridons had perished, and Dainyl wasn’t
certain their loss changed anything.

When
the coach reached Myrmidon headquarters and Dainyl entered the building, he
discovered that Alcyna and all the officers were waiting in the foyer and
around the duty desk. Their eyes fell on him, and not a one looked directly at
him for more than an instant.

Alcyna
looked at Dainyl, then squinted, looking slightly away. “You’re back. You’re
... different. What happened?” Alcyna glanced toward the corridor leading to
her study.

Dainyl
shook his head. “The Duarch is dead. I told the acting chief assistant to
prepare mourning for a Duarch and great alector.”

At
the indrawn breaths from the officers clustered behind the duty desk, Dainyl
paused. “He had failed as Duarch, and he knew it, and he could not accept
that.” That was true enough. Khelaryt had never really tried to defend himself,
not that it would have made any difference, Dainyl knew. He also knew that
Khelaryt had known that as well, but had not wished to admit it.

Dainyl
nodded toward Alcyna’s study.

Neither
spoke until she closed the door.

“Now...
what do you plan to do?” asked Alcyna.

“We
attempt to reach an agreement with Samist. They destroy the lightcannon, and I
remain as High Alector of Justice, and you become the next High Alector. There
will be a vacancy.”

Her
mouth opened, but she said nothing, closing it. Finally, she spoke. “After all
this ... when you could be Duarch ... and you’d let...”

“What
do you suggest I do?” asked Dainyl. “The only force to balance them is the
Myrmidons. I want Acorus safe for everyone. It won’t be safe for anyone, and it
won’t last long enough with lightcannon and light-rifles everywhere.”

“You’re
the only force. Don’t you see? You’re the only frigging force that can stand
against Samist! You destroyed twenty pteridons. You destroyed the Duarch ...”
Alcyna’s voice died away.

Dainyl
understood. Now ... she feared him, and was truly appalled at the words that
had spilled from her lips.

“No
... we’re the only force,” Dainyl replied quietly. “If anything happens to me —
and it could because no one is indispensable or invulnerable. Khelaryt thought
he was, and so did Zelyert. If anything happens to me,” he repeated, “they
still have to deal with you, and we can set it up so that if anything happens
to you, they’ll still have to deal with Sevasya.”

“When
... how?”

“Tomorrow
morning. If the Tables are still blocked, we’ll take pteridons. Fifth Company,
I’d suggest.”

“I
suggest you go by pteridon regardless. They won’t deal with you. Khelaryt
wouldn’t, would he?”

“No,”
admitted Dainyl. “But I have to try.”

“They’ll
have more lightcannons. Not that it will do them any good.” Alcyna laughed,
softly, bitterly, almost under her breath.

Dainyl
doubted her assessment. Samist would not react as Khelaryt had, nor would
Brekylt. If Dainyl had to lead a battle, it would be worse than what had
happened in the skies south of Elcien. And he was tired. Bone-tired.

Mykel
rode northward, with Fabrytal beside him, and a squad from Fifteenth Company
behind them. The sun had barely cleared the old oaks on the east side of the
narrow lane, and although the sky remained clear, his breath — and that of his
mount — steamed in the shadows cast by the trees.

Another
wave of the unseen purple-black flashed through the skies, or so it seemed to
Mykel. He’d been sensing such flashes for almost a day, but no one else had
noticed them. Was he losing his mind? Was it some sort of delayed poisoning
from his wound? It couldn’t be that. While he would bear scars for the rest of
his life, the wound itself had healed cleanly, even if he had a ways to go in
regaining the strength and mobility in his right arm and shoulder. But purpled
flashes? Was it from something the alectors were doing?

Mykel
glanced back in the direction of the Aerial Plateau, although he could not see
it because of the trees. He felt that it had somehow become amber-green, yet
when he had glimpsed it, the distant ramparts had only appeared dark gray.

“Do
you think it’ll be long before they attack, Majer?” asked Fabrytal. “It is
Decdi.”

“I’m
not sure I’m the one to ask,” replied Mykel, with an ironic laugh. “I thought
they would have attacked long before this, but I doubt they would care whether
it was an end-day or not.”

“They
must have a reason, sir. Everyone has a reason,” suggested Fabrytal. “Sometimes
they believe in the worst ones the most.”

Mykel
smiled at that. Certainly, that was true enough. The seltyrs of Dramur had
almost everything, and yet they’d precipitated a revolt out of a need for ...
what? Wanting to prove that the alectors couldn’t tell them what to do? Wanting
to be able to treat their women like slaves?

Yet
many women, like Rachyla, were far more perceptive than the seltyrs. Thinking
of her, he wondered if she had even gotten his last missive to her. They both
had hopes, but...

He
snorted softly. No matter what the soarers told him about finding or returning
to the one to whom he was tied, it wouldn’t matter much unless he were wealthy
and prosperous — or more powerful than he was ever likely to be.

Mykel
rode without speaking, following the lane along the eastern side of the hills
for nearly a vingt before turning westward through a vale between a pair of
hills. Ahead, at a wide spot beyond the crest of the lane, waited Jasakyt,
Coroden, Culeyt, and Loryalt.

“Seems
strange not to see Captain Rhystan,” said Fabrytal.

“He’ll
do fine holding the bridge.” If the Reillies ever get around to it.

Shortly,
Mykel reined up beside the group, then looked to the scouts. “What are they
doing now?”

“They’ve
got some big ceremony going, sir,” reported Jasakyt.

“Another
one?”

“This
one’s different... seriouslike. No beer, no wine. Solemn.”

Put
that way, Mykel liked the picture even less. “Any sign of mounts being readied
to ride out?”

“They’ve
got grindstones out, and they’re sharpening those big blades of theirs,” added
Coroden.

“That
sounds like tomorrow,” offered Culeyt.

Loryalt
nodded.

Mykel
looked at the Borlan road on the far side of the valley, beyond the swampy
ground bordering the stream, then to Culeyt. “You’ll be here. If they stay on
the Borlan road, don’t engage them. Don’t fire a single shot.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“If
they do come this way against you, you’ll have to hold them, at least until we
can swing up the road and hit them from the south.”

Culeyt
nodded. “We can do that.”

“If
they don’t come at you or if you turn them back and they follow the road toward
Borlan” — Mykel gestured to the south — “I want you to swing in behind them,
but not too close, not so that they stop and fight you. It’s only two vingts
from here to the bridge causeway, and I think once they see the open bridge
they’ll move on toward it and Borlan.”

Mykel
certainly hoped so. He hadn’t been pleased to find the lane that might offer
another route for the hill people. It hadn’t been on any of the maps, and yet
it was traveled enough that it had been around for a long time.

He
should have known better than to trust maps, but then, there were more than a
few things he should have known better about — like chasing down Reillies
single-handed, or falling in love with a seltyr’s daughter.

Dainyl
and Alcyna lifted off from the Myrmidon headquarters at dawn on Decdi, and
still the Hall of Justice was suffused in Talent force, with pulsations of
purple and black all too apparent to Dainyl. Somewhere in the depths, as well,
Dainyl had sensed the amber-green of the ancients, implacable and distant, yet
somehow nearer and stronger. Or was that just his imagination, playing on his
fears?

He
doubted that, because even Alcyna had looked away from the Hall as they climbed
out, carried southward by the , wide-winged and tireless pteridons. Behind them
flew the thirty-seven remaining pteridons of First, Fifth, and Seventh
Companies. Strapped into a second lanceholder, on the left side of the
pteridon’s thick neck, was a white banner of truce, to indicate that Dainyl
wanted to talk.

The
waters of the Bay of Ludel were a hard blue-gray, seemingly without waves. The
wind was little more than a light breeze, although the air was chill enough to
remind Dainyl that it was winter, despite the cloudless sky.

By
late midmorning, after three glasses of steady flight under a silver-green sky
that now bore a hazy sheen, Dainyl could make out the dome of the Engineering
Hall in Ludar to the south. A thousand yards beneath the wings of the pteridons
ran the great high road — empty of riders, sandoxen, or wagons. On most Decdis,
the high road carried only sparse traffic, but there was usually some. Today,
there was none. Several vingts to the west of the high road was the Bay of
Ludel, which extended some three vingts to the south of the west side of Ludar.
The great piers were empty of all vessels.

Dainyl
had not taken notice of it before, although he had not overflown Ludar that
often, and not for years, but the Engineering Hall was on a low ridge, one
perhaps not even noticeable from the ground, that was the southeasternmost
extension of the rocky hills forming much of the western boundary of the bay.
Immediately south of the Engineering Hall was the long structure of the Palace
of the Duarch of Ludar. Once more, Dainyl could not help but smile at the domes
and curves of Ludar, and the green gardens and trees, the beauty of a city well
planned — and its construction well executed. The streets and boulevards
surrounding the Engineering Hall and the Palace were empty as well.

Dainyl
reached forward and pulled out the white flag and unfurled it, a banner a good
yard wide and three long, large enough to be seen from a distance, bracing it
against the holder. Then he called to Alcyna, “I’ll lead the way with this.
Have everyone else stand off! They’ll have lightcannon, and they’ll fire if
everyone follows me.”