Soarers Choice (78 page)

That
got a round of nods.

“Why
don’t we go to Elcien?” asked Hamylt.

“Because
there isn’t any Elcien,” Mykel replied.

“Because
that ancient told you that?” Hamylt did not quite sneer.

“The
soarers boiled the river and created earthquakes and destroyed the ironworks.
I’m inclined to believe them. In addition, the factors in Krost confirmed that
all the alectors there died.”

“What
about Ludar?”

Mykel
looked hard at Hamylt. “The word is that it’s gone as well. What are you
asking, Hamylt? Are you asking why I’m in charge?”

“I
guess I am.”

“Because
I’ve done a better job. I didn’t get most of Fourth Battalion killed. I didn’t
lose most or all of my company the way a lot of captains have, and I’ve stuck
my own neck — and shoulder — out for my officers and men. Now ... exactly what
have you done?”

“I
just asked.”

“So
did I,” replied Mykel. “I understand when people ask questions about things
they don’t know. I understand when people ask questions when they don’t
understand something. But when someone asks questions to cause trouble, I don’t
like it. I don’t like troublemakers. There’s a reason for that. We’re still two
hundred vingts from Tempre and more than seven hundred from what’s left of
Elcien or Ludar. We have a responsibility to the Cadmians out there.” He
gestured toward the way station. “At the very least, we need to get them to a
place like Tempre, where, if things are falling apart, they can make a choice
that means something. Now ... are you going to cooperate with me and the other
officers? If you’re not, I’ll make an exception. You can walk out of here with
the clothes on your back and your personal gear.” Mykel’s voice was like
i.e.
and he found himself projecting a sense of power.

Hamylt
stepped back. “No, sir. I was out of line. I was worried.”

Mykel
could sense the captain’s fear, and he tried to project reassurance. “We’re all
worried, but sticking together is the best way to get through this. I don’t
want to coerce anyone. I think you all ought to talk it over without me
around.” He offered a smile, then turned and walked away from the way station
out to the west through the calf-high tan grass that scraped gently against his
gray trousers.

He
finally found himself on a rise some hundred yards from the way station,
looking westward in the general direction of Tempre. Had he pressed too hard,
based on what he wanted, and on what the soarer had told him? Didn’t they
understand, that as a force, they could establish themselves in an even better
position than they’d had as Cadmians?

But
was he the right person to lead them?

He
laughed softly. If he weren’t he’d find out quickly enough.

Half
a glass passed before he sensed someone coming through the grass. He turned and
watched as Rhystan neared.

“What
did they decide?” he finally asked.

Rhystan
laughed. “The choice was between flogging Hamylt on the spot or tying him to a
post in the way station and leaving him. Chyndylt told him that if he ever said
a word against you, he wouldn’t wake up the next morning — and that he didn’t
care if they hung him for it. Culeyt asked him if he’d slit his skull and
poured out his brains — or if he really wanted to oppose someone favored by
both the ancients and his men. Even Sendryrk said something about how
casualties had gone way down since you’d taken over, and asked how many
officers he’d known who fought injured and one-armed. Loryalt asked him why he
didn’t want to follow an officer who’d faced down High Alectors for his men and
who’d won doing it.”

“That
doesn’t tell me whether they thought it was a good idea.” Mykel looked to the
older officer.

“Of
course they did. They’re troopers, Majer. Where else are they going to be
troopers? Where else will they find a commander they trust?”

“What
about Hamylt?”

“He’ll
be all right. It was a good thing to get things out in the open. I told him
that. I also told him you don’t hold grudges so long as people do a good job.”

“I
try not to,” Mykel replied.

“You
do better than most, better than I do.” Rhystan paused. “You handle the seltyrs
and traders right, and you could be the Duarch of Tempre, Majer,” suggested
Rhystan.

Mykel
shook his head. “How about just the Protector of Tempre?”

“You
can’t do that and command in the field, you know?”

“Are
you volunteering to be the field commander?” countered Mykel.

“Absolutely.
It’s got to be better than being a captain or a majer.”

“You’ll
need a title. How about ‘Colonel’?”

“How
about ‘Arms Commander’?”

“That’s
a good title.” Mykel laughed. So did Rhystan.

In
the late evening, Dainyl sat in the kitchen of the deserted quarters of the
abandoned RA’s complex. When the locals had begun to plunder the main building,
they had seen him, and left him alone. Then, some of the local landholders had
taken charge and posted their guards, again avoiding him, as he had avoided
them. That would not last much longer, he knew, but what remained in the
quarters was all that he had left of Lystrana — and Kytrana — for all that he
had searched.

It
had been almost a week since the world had changed. He had traveled the webs of
the ancients, and discovered that Ludar had been destroyed, and that the stone
isle on which Elcien had been built had sunk so far into the Bay of Ludar that
only the tips of the towers remained above the water. Most of Faitel had been
destroyed, possibly because of the lightcannon that had been built there.
Lyterna was deserted, except for the upper sections, sealed behind some sort of
barrier he could not penetrate. He had roamed the streets of Dereka, using his
Talent as concealment, but he had found no sign of Lystrana there, either — nor
in the abandoned Myrmidon compound.

Nowhere
had he found signs of alectors, nor of pteridons.

Yet...
he knew that he would have known if she had died. But was that knowledge
rational? Or was he deluding himself, hanging on to hope that had no basis in
reality?

Soon,
he would have to venture forth. That he knew. But he would not until he had to.

A
green radiance spilled around him, and he stood... turning.

A
soarer appeared, carrying a bundle. Dainyl could sense not just the soarer but
another lifeforce. Take her...

“Take
who?” The alector who was now lander, who had been a High Alector of Justice,
looked at what the soarer carried — a child.

She
is your daughter. You, the few who linked to this world and changed, and the
handful of landers with Talent must make sure that she and the children like
her live and prosper. They are the only hope for the future.

“My
daughter? Kytrana died. She and Lystrana died.” The words were cold, angry.
“What you did killed them.” He wasn’t sure, but he had to know.

We
did not. She did not die from the change, but there was not enough lifeforce
for her and the child. Not to remain as you do. The soarer looked at him
evenly.

Dainyl
knew. After a moment, he asked, “She did this ... knowing ... ?

She
loved you and this world enough to give you a daughter. Her child and her
child’s children must come to learn what you know — and more. When the barriers
fall, the Efrans will return, and we will not be here to help those children of
your children’s children.

“How
could that be? You defeated them ...”

We
did not defeat them except on this world. We made it so that they could not
draw their lifeforce from this world. We have blocked their long tubes between
worlds. For now. It cost us most dearly. There are some handfuls of us
remaining, but thousands of us died so that the world would not.

Take
your daughter. Care for her.

“How
can I care ... ?”

Leave
here. Go to the Iron Valleys. Do not use the webs with your daughter. When you
reach the Iron Valleys, find the nightsheep. They should suit you, who were
once a herder of men. You will learn how the nightsheep can sustain you. Now...
take your daughter.

Dainyl
extended his arms.

The
infant looked up at him with eyes greener than the lifeforce of a soarer. The
fuzz that covered her head was gray — dark gray, like his.

When
he looked up, the soarer had vanished.

He
looked down at Kytrana, for it was his daughter, with the same lifeforce for
which he had searched. Tears streamed down his face. He had lost... so much ...
but not everything. He had Kytrana ... and an unspoken promise.

He
would find his way to the Iron Valleys. He could not stay in Dereka, for all
too many reasons, not the least of which was that the soarer had told him to
leave. One thing he had learned — far too late — was disregarding the ancients
was most unwise.

After
Third and Fourth Battalions had taken possession of the compound that had once
held the Alector’s Guard, and later the Myrmidons, Mykel had immediately
established road patrols and had paid a friendly visit to the small
headquarters of the local patrollers, with an armed squad mounted outside. He
had also made certain that Amaryk’s villa was safe, and had ridden by several
times, although he had not seen Rachyla.

In
less than a few days, the majority of the scattered brigandage on the roads
near Tempre had vanished. Mykel knew that the brigands had only moved farther
away, but in time, he had plans to deal with that as well.

The
travelers and refugees who dribbled into Tempre confirmed what the soarer had
told him, but there was no news from as far away as Southgate or the towns of
the north — or Dereka or Alustre in the east — and nothing more about Faitel.
In all cities nearer to Tempre where there had been alectors, nothing remained
except empty shimmersilk garments and boots.

A
week later, Mykel had sent out invitations to all of the seltyrs and large
factors in Tempre, requesting their presence on the following Duadi in the
large conference room of the structure that had once been the headquarters of
the regional alector. Each invitation had been delivered by two squads of armed
Cadmians.

He
had not heard from Rachyla, nor had he expected that he would, much as he might
have hoped to, but he forced himself to bide his time as he readied for his
“proposal” to the seltyrs and factors. He wanted to be in the greatest position
of strength possible in dealing with Amaryk, since he was Rachyla’s de facto
guardian.

While
Mykel still had trouble lifting his arm above his shoulder, even before Duadi
he was able to move around without the sling, and he made a practice of riding
through Tempre with only a pair of Cadmians accompanying him.

When
Duadi came, he stood by the conference-room door and greeted each man who
entered. When it appeared that no others would appear, he nodded to the two
Cadmians, who closed the double doors to the oak-paneled room. Mykel moved to
the low dais at one end, from which he’d had all chairs and the low table
removed. Then he turned and surveyed the seltyrs and, in some cases, their
representatives. He’d already noted those who had not appeared. He would have
to call on them personally. One way or another, they would agree.

“I
invited you all here to formalize what I have already been doing in Tempre, and
that is providing order and keeping the peace. In simple terms, I am proposing
that you accept my role as Protector of Tempre and that we develop and agree to
the structure and the tariffs necessary to fund it...” Mykel talked for a
quarter glass. Then he waited.

“Aren’t
you being terribly presumptuous?” That came from Gheort, Seltyr Asadyl’s heir
second, beside whom sat young Amaryk — Rachyla’s cousin of sorts, for whom she
was chatelaine.

“I’d
suggest that I’m being terribly practical. The alectors are gone. So are the
Myrmidons and pteridons. All that remains are their garments and boots. There
has been no sign of any living alector in almost a month. But there are more
and more reports of brigands in the areas we have not patrolled.

“Do
you have the coins and the expertise to train a force able to protect you? Less
than a month ago, we destroyed a force of over two thousand Reillies bound on sacking
Borlan. Could any of you manage that? Without us, they will be back.”

“Why
should we accept an arrangement such as yours? We’ve languished too long under
the alectors,” pointed out another seltyr.

“There
are several reasons,” replied Mykel reasonably. “First, it makes sense. Second,
you really don’t have a choice, not one that won’t cost you personally and
disastrously.” He smiled and held up a hand, projecting absolute power and
assurance. “Hear me out. Here are some of the reasons this makes sense. None of
you trust each other, not for long, and not when coins are at stake, and you’d
end up spending your coins fighting each other. I’m not interested in being a
trader. In fact, I’m interested in all of you prospering, because a city or a
land doesn’t run without tariffs, and one cannot collect tariffs from the poor.
Likewise, the more prosperous you are, the less of your total earnings need to
be tariffed. If you were to attempt to maintain the peace and order without me,
it would cost you far more, and that’s even if you could avoid fighting each
other. I may not be so old as some of you, but I’ve been in enough lands to
know what works and what does not. In addition, by having an armed force in
place, and one composed of battle-trained veterans, you will discourage anyone
from taking advantage of you. By accepting a Protector of Tempre, you will be
setting up the framework that will allow an area where you can trade with far
less fear of brigands or loss to raiders and one that will expand as others see
the advantage.”