Soarers Choice (74 page)

“Yes,
sir.” Alcyna raised her arm in acknowledgment, then raised her voice. “Bear
off! Bear off! The Highest will bear the truce flag in. Pass it back!”

Dainyl
began a gentle descent from a thousand yards, reaching five hundred at the
point where he crossed the northern boundary of Ludar, on the north side where
the city truly began, when a beam of deep blue flared upward from the
Engineering Hall. While he could not prove it, Dainyl suspected that Ruvryn, or
Paelyt, or their engineers had designed that particular lightcannon and perhaps
all those in Ludar to draw from the Table under almost any circumstances, just
as the invaders in Hyalt had.

After
reinforcing his shields, Dainyl tried to lift the truce banner higher as he
descended even farther, to less than three hundred yards above the ground.

Yet
another blast flared upward, this time clearly in his direction, despite the
long white banner that had to be clearly visible from the Engineering Hall.

He
was less than half a vingt away when the third blast came within yards. He
could sense the ripping of lifeforce from somewhere — but through the Table.
Extending a Talent probe, he tried to study the Engineering Hall, but could
only sense the purple miasma centered on where the Table was. The lightcannon
had fired from beyond the
e.g.
of that.

Did
he want to keep trying to persuade them to talk? His eyes angled back toward
the truce banner.

Another
bolt of lifeforce energy slammed against the
e.g.
of
his shields. Dainyl dropped the truce banner, letting it flutter toward the
ground. Samist, Brekylt, and Alseryl had attacked Elcien without provocation or
warning, and now they did not even wish to talk, as they continued to use
weapons that would lay waste to Acorus long before its time.

Down
... and right... just above the water. The pteridon complied, half furling its
long leathery wings and dropping like the predator it was toward the winter
blue-gray waters of the bay.

Dainyl
hoped he could deal with the lightcannon. No one else would even have a chance
against a weapon like that, possibly even more powerful than the ones of the
day before — or of the one in Hyalt. He would have little enough chance if the
blue blasts struck him and his shields directly.

Once
he was but ten yards above the water, Dainyl made a complete course reversal,
turning back to the southeast on a heading centered on the Engineering Hall. He
glanced back to the northeast, where the other pteridons circled, well out of
the range of the lightcannon. With relief at not having to worry about them for
the moment, he eased out the skylance, and at the same time began to probe for
the ancients’ web. It had to be near the Table.

Finding
that blackish green web took longer than he had thought it would, for it was
deeper beneath the soil and rock. He was almost at the
e.g.
of the bay, north of the piers that had held the oceangoing ships of the
Duarchy days before, when he finally located and Talent-linked to the web.

The
pteridon swept between the twin green towers at each end of the long causeway,
from which the piers jutted out into the bay, and toward the Engineering Hall.

He
was less than half a vingt away from the Hall and the lightcannon when
light-rifles began to fire at him. His shields, boosted and bolstered by the
lifeforce/Talent of the ancients, frayed slightly at the edges, but were more
than adequate.

In
quick bursts, he triggered the lance, taking out each light-rifle whose energy
he could sense, but he was almost over the Hall — and he could not sense the
lightcannon, not until he was past it.

Banking
the pteridon right, toward the Palace, he could sense an enormous buildup of
energy behind him.

Down
... as low as possible!

The
pteridon skimmed across the gardens, its wings seemingly spans above the
bushes, and its wingtips occasionally cutting through the ends of tree limbs.

SSSSsssssss!

The
deep purple-blue energy that seared through the air passed less than two yards
above his head, and less than half that above the pteridon’s crest.

Around
the Palace ... keep low.

More
light-rifles began to fire as he swung around the Palace, but Dainyl ignored
them as he completed the turn and headed back for the Hall — less than three
hundred yards away.

He
immediately triggered the lance, focusing it on the stone terrace on the south
side where he knew the lightcannon was mounted, pouring Talent force into that
narrow beam.

Right!
Steep bank!

The
weapon itself exploded into a shower of metal and crystal, killing the alectors
who had been firing it, but some sort of insulation had blocked and diverted
the boosted skylance beam from the storage crystals and the link to the Table.
Still, his attack had stripped away most of the Talent camouflage.

The
pteridon straightened out on an easterly heading, and Dainyl waited several
moments before turning back toward the Engineering Hall. When he did, from a
vingt away he could see two more lightcannon, both mounted on the north
terrace, but one on the east end and the other on the west. Each was sending
occasional bolts of dark blue light toward the Myrmidons. Since the Myrmidons
were well north of Ludar, those bolts were only a warning — and more wasted
lifeforce energy.

If
he didn’t shut down the lightcannon, it would make little difference who “won,”
because everyone would lose.

On
his third approach to the Engineering Hall, Dainyl concentrated on linking to
the energy of the web well beneath Ludar. The pteridon was barely clearing the
low trees and the topiary of the Duarch’s gardens as it swept toward the north
terrace and the lightcannon.

More
light-rifle fire centered on Dainyl, and a blast of blue force passed so close
overhead that the heat and power shook the pteridon. Dainyl’s shields were
strained, and sweat threatened to run into his eyes.

He
aimed the skylance, not at the lightcannon’s discharge formulator, but at the
heavy cable at its base, a cable he could not see, but only sense with his
Talent, for all the energy it carried. Then he triggered it, pouring energy
from the pteridon and from the amber-green in the depths, guiding it with his
Talent.

Left!
Hard!... Keep low.

The
pteridon made more of a sweeping turn than a steep bank, but it couldn’t bank
more steeply, not without digging a wingtip into shrubbery or trimmed lawn of
the gardens only yards beneath them. Dainyl kept pouring energy into the cable.

CRUMMPTTT!

As
the pteridon was being hurled toward the ground, Dainyl threw all his own
Talent and whatever else he could draw into shields and protection. In addition
to his own shields, for a moment, he was surrounded in amber-green.

Then
he was rolling across a stretch of lawn, ending up with his back against a hedge.

Link
to the web! Link yourself to the web, or you will die.

Dainyl
rolled away from the hedge and struggled to his knees. That was an effort
because the very ground beneath his feet was swaying, and a deep set of groans
issued from deep within the earth itself. He turned his head, and then his
body, trying to see where the soarer was who had spoken.

One
of the ancients hovered beside him, but she was not facing him but the pteridon
that had struck the ground almost a hundred yards away and was struggling to
right itself with what looked to be a broken wing. Dainyl had never seen an
injured pteridon.

An
intense line of brilliant amber-green flared from the ancient to the pteridon,
so bright that Dainyl blinked and then closed his eyes momentarily against the
glare. The green vanished, and a pillar of blue flame flared upward, so hot and
intense that Dainyl threw up both arms to shield his face.

In
moments, the flame had vanished, leaving only a circular blackened patch in the
expanse of grass — and ashes where a tree and another section of the hedge had
been.

A
pteridon gone — like that.

Dainyl
staggered to his feet, turning to the soarer, who seemed to be fading.

Link
or die... That message carried both an imperative and sadness.

Then
she was gone, as if she had never been there, as if she had died and never
existed. That was what Dainyl felt.

He
looked northward, into the sky, his mouth open. More than a score of ancients
had appeared in the midday sky, hovering, each one close to a pteridon and
Myrmidon. Dainyl knew what was going to happen.

He
turned, looking for another pteridon, for anything, for some way to stop the
coming carnage in the sky.

The
sky exploded in blue flashes.

He
had not taken a dozen steps before the sky was empty — both of pteridons and of
ancients — and a wave of what he could only describe as death and sadness swept
over him. In an instant, less than an instant, the ancients had destroyed
thirty-nine pteridons.

He
shuddered.

Beneath
him, coming from the web of the ancients, was that menacing cold and
amber-green force that he had been sensing through his Table travel for months,
looming over Ludar, as if it were a massive wall of rock ready to crush the
city — yet it was rising from beneath Ludar. At the same time, the shuddering and
shaking of the earth did not die away, but became stronger, the vibrations
quicker and more intense, so much so that Dainyl had a difficult time
maintaining his footing on the manicured lawn of the Duarch’s garden.

He
turned back southward, looking at the massive oblong structure that was the
Palace of the Duarch, as the entire building began to vibrate — and to sink
into the very ground.

Abruptly,
he felt weak, disoriented, as if he were going to collapse. What was happening?

The
purpleness that had shrouded the Engineering Hall and the Table contracted,
writhing against something, then exploded outward into a fine mist that seemed
to evaporate like fog.

Dainyl
swallowed inadvertently and forced what little Talent he seemed to have left,
and it was all green, toward the web beneath, trying to link with it before he
lost all consciousness.

Yet
making that connection seemed impossible, as if each time he reached forth to
link the web twisted away from him.

Faint
stars flashed before his eyes, and his legs felt like jelly, almost unable to
support him.

Around
him, the rumbling increased, and the ground no longer shook, but began to
heave, sections of the turf rippling until the lawn looked like a green ocean.
Dainyl staggered, trying to maintain his footing, even as he could sense an
enormous pressure within the Engineering Hall.

The
Table! All the energy within it was about to explode.

Lystrana
... Kytrana ... he had to get to them, to Dereka.

With
a last effort, he pressed his link to the web, letting himself be suffused in
amber-green, and feeling himself sink downward, even as the Table and the
Engineering Hall exploded in a deafening roar.

Downward
... through an amber-green that no longer felt so menacing, toward the web
itself ...

As
Culeyt had predicted, the entire mass of Squawts and Reillies began to ride out
of their encampment at dawn on Decdi. Before long, according to the scouts,
they were riding — or flowing — down the Borlan road toward the bridge. Mykel
had moved the three companies he had with him into the prearranged positions,
while he took up a vantage point in the center of the companies, concealed over
the crest of several grassy knolls to the east of the flat bluffs, less than
half a vingt from the Borlan road. The section of road directly to the west of
Mykel was also about half a vingt to the north of the causeway approaching the
bridge, a graceful arched eternastone structure wide enough for two wagons
abreast, or five riders comfortably.

In
the early chill, Mykel was grateful that the low morning sun offered some
slight warmth on his back as he waited beside the roan for the next set of
reports from the scouts. After, a time, he readjusted the sling on his right
arm. He’d taken to not wearing it for short periods every day, but he was
likely to be in the saddle for a long time in the day ahead. Fabrytal stood
beside Mykel.

After
a time, the undercaptain cleared his throat. “Sir?”

“Yes,
Fabrytal?”

“You
know the ground was shaking early this morning just before dawn?”

“I
know. I felt it.” Not only had Mykel felt it, but he’d also sensed a wave of
green Talent, seemingly radiating from the Aerial Plateau, or at least from
that direction. “It lasted for more than a quarter glass.” The earthquake — or
whatever it had been — had felt much like the one that had leveled the
ironworks earlier. What else had the ancient soarers done? Would it affect the
battle ahead? How?

Mykel
couldn’t help but worry about the River Vedra, so much so that while the
Cadmians were forming up, he’d ridden to the
e.g.
of
the bluffs to check the water level. The river had been no higher — or lower —
than the day before. Since the bluffs were a good thirty yards above the river,
Mykel felt slightly reassured. But only slightly. Still, it seemed unlikely if
not impossible that enough water could flow down the Vedra to wash over the top
of the bluffs, particularly since the volume of water would flood the lower
land to the east on the south side of the river west of Dekhron and be lost
long before it reached Borlan. For all that, where the soarers were concerned,
Mykel had learned not to discount anything. Something was going to happen.

He
smiled ruefully. That didn’t mean it would happen to him. He wasn’t exactly the
center of the world for either the ancients or the alectors. “Sometimes those
things happen. We’re on high ground here.”