L. E. Modesitt - Corean Chronicles 4 - Alector's Choice.pdf

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ALECTOR’S CHOICE
(The Fourth Book of the Corean Chronicles)
By
L E. Modesitt, Jr
For Ree and Renn Zaphiropoulos
Proud towers rise to challenge sea and sky, Green needles that capture
the dullest eye, and palaces and halls with columns strong and true with
glory, song, and pleasures for the few.
So seemly are those soaring spires That few remember the fierce
desires and fewer still the price Acorus pays for each alector’s unending
days.
Yet towers unseen in the higher chill, hold ancients with a different will,
who also ask a price, more long delayed, but still upon your living spirits
laid.
Landers, which fate and bargain will you take? Which deadly
compromise is left to make?
1
Colonel Dainyl looked down at the stack of reports on his desk. He was
almost afraid to take his eyes off them. The moment he looked away, more
reports appeared. He knew that wasn’t so, but it was the way things felt.
Although he was the number four Myrmidon officer on Acorus, when he
studied all the reports, he felt more like a glorified lander clerk.
He pushed the resentment aside. He’d had his years as a flying officer,
more than most Myrmidons, and he’d been rewarded for long and faithful
service. He could have easily been one of the rankers who spent decades or
longer in service, yet who never became more than a squad leader or an
undercaptain—if that.
He brushed back a lock of shimmering black hair, hair that needed to
be trimmed, he reminded himself, and glanced toward the window that
looked out on the headquarters courtyard. There, on the raised stage, a
 
pteridon had just landed, folding back its long blue leathery wings. The
Myrmidon rider vaulted from the saddle and handed the dispatch case to
the headquarters duty squad leader. So early in the morning, it had to be
the incoming daily message run from Ludar.
For a moment, Dainyl just watched the ranker and pteridon. Then he
looked down at the report he had been reading—the quintal operations
report from the Seventh Myrmidon Company at Dulka.
At the sound of boots on marble, he looked up once more, this time
toward the open study door that allowed him a view, such as it was, of the
main corridor of Myrmidon headquarters. Submarshal Tyanylt walked
quickly past Dainyl’s open door toward the one remaining study on the
corridor—that of Marshal Shastylt.
Dainyl could sense… something, and Tyanylt looked determined—or
worried. That was unusual for any alector, and especially for Tyanylt, who
never showed emotion other than a calm pleasantness—even when Dainyl
used Talent-senses, although Dainyl had always been careful only to use
those senses to receive.
Not that there was anything that Dainyl could have done to alleviate
Tyanylt’s worries. The submarshal was his direct superior and had always
maintained a certain reserve, more so than the usual for an alector.
Tyanylt was well respected, and well connected to both the Duarch of
Elcien and the Duarch of Ludar—and to the high alectors who surrounded
both Duarchs.
The colonel forced his attention back to the report, noting that Majer
Faerylt had cited the loss of a skylance and the receipt of a replacement
from Lyterna. Dainyl paused, then reread the section. How could a
Myrmidon have lost a skylance without losing both rider and pteridon?
That had not happened in centuries. He jotted down a note to ask for a
fuller explanation.
As he turned to the section summarizing Seventh Company’s flights for
the last two-month quint, the slightest flash of purpleness—something
sensed by his Talent, not seen by his eyes—flared before Dainyl.
Almost without thought, he was on his feet and out of his study, nearly
running toward the marshal’s closed doorway. He came to a halt outside
the door, but he could sense nothing through the heavy wood. Usually, he
 
could sense something.
“Sir?” he called. “Are you all right?”
There was no answer.
“Sir?”
With still no answer, Dainyl opened the study door, his hand ready to
grab his holstered sidearm as he stepped into the chamber, closing the
door behind him. Marshal Shastylt lay half-sprawled on the floor beside
his wide desk. Several papers lay strewn on the green marble floor, as if
the marshal’s hand had knocked them from the desk as he had fallen.
Once inside the study, Dainyl could sense the marshal’s lifeforce—weak,
but steady—and that he was breathing. Submarshal Tyanylt was not
breathing. As Dainyl watched, his lifeforce and aura finished fading, then
vanished. Within moments, all that remained on the smooth green marble
floor of the study were Tyanylt’s uniform, sidearm, and boots.
Dainyl swallowed. While he’d seen more than a few Cad-mians, and
other landers and indigens, die over the years, he had only seen a handful
of Myrmidons die, their bodies vanishing into dust nearly instantly—in
accidents and once after a death sentence for gross negligence—but he’d
never seen a high-ranking Myrmidon or alector die. That just didn’t
happen, and certainly not in the Myrmidon marshal’s study.
The marshal groaned, faintly, and Dainyl immediately knelt. He could
sense no broken bones or severe internal injuries. So he gently turned the
marshal onto his back and waited.
Within several moments, the marshal’s lifeforce had purpled into
greater strength, and his breathing was steadier. Shortly, his eyes opened.
Dainyl helped him to his feet. With his shimmering black hair, unaging
alabaster face, and violet eyes, the marshal looked no different from any of
the other most senior alec-tors, save that he was a span or so taller than
Dainyl’s two and a half yards. Shastylt’s eyes flickered to the clothing and
boots on the floor. His lips tightened slightly, but he said nothing as
Dainyl helped him into the chair.
Dainyl waited while the marshal caught his breath.
 
“Has anyone else been in here?” Shastylt finally asked.
“No, sir. I sensed something, and when no one answered, I came in and
closed the door behind me.”
The marshal nodded slowly, his deep violet eyes fixing on Dainyl.
Neither alector spoke.
Dainyl waited, holding his Talent shields, not certain how the marshal
might react.
“You do understand, Dainyl?”
“Yes, sir.” Dainyl understood all too well. In whatever had transpired
before he entered, Tyanylt had crossed the marshal—and paid the price.
“You have always been cautiously decisive. That is a good
characteristic.” He swallowed, then coughed, straightening in the chair.
“You may not know this, but the submar-shal was several decades older
than I.”
There was no reason Dainyl would have known. Alectors never showed
their age, holding the same appearance from early adulthood until death,
until that time when they could -no longer hold their lifeforce.
“He was deeply concerned about some trends he was seeing all across
Corus, and he could see that his lifeforce was failing.”
Dainyl knew that the marshal was lying, and that Shastylt knew that
Dainyl recognized that. The colonel nodded. “I just felt something and
knew something had happened.”
Shastylt cleared his throat. “Tyanylt and I have both known that Acorus
faces a transition in the next few years, one that will change everything.”
Every alector knew that. Ifryn was failing, as its lifeforce was drained
away, and in the next decade the Archon of Ifryn—based on the
recommendation of the Highest Fieldmaster—would have to choose where
to transfer the master scepter, either to Acorus or Efra. That choice would
decide the fate of two worlds. “That choice does not have to be made that
soon, does it, sir?”
 
“Preparations must be made, one way or another, and how those
preparations are handled may also affect the choice.” Shastylt reached out
and lifted the goblet of water on the corner of the desk, taking a small
swallow. “Submar-shal Tyanylt felt most strongly about the decisions
made by our High Alector of Justice. Tyanylt reported his concerns to the
Highest, and was told that, while he had identified some valid problems,
plans would have to go forth as outlined, especially since Submarshal
Alcyna in Alustre had no such concerns. Not many are allowed to question
the Highest. None are allowed to refuse the Highest.”
Since the Myrmidons’ prime function was to ensure and enforce justice,
the High Alector of Justice on Acorus was effectively the director of all
Myrmidon activities. For a submarshal to refuse his duties… Dainyl shook
his head. He could understand a submarshal’s resigning. It had not
happened often, but there were precedents. But to refuse without
resigning?
“I see you understand.”
“Enough, sir.” It was all too clear that, in the contest of wills and
lifeforce between the marshal and the submarshal, the marshal had
prevailed. Dainyl also understood that it would be foolhardy to oppose
both the Highest and the marshal.
“A most cautious response. That is fitting for these times.” Shastylt
glanced to the uniform on the floor. ‘There will be a week of mourning for
the death of the submarshal. He served Ifryn, the Archon, and the
Duarches long and well, but life-force fails even the most powerful in time.
I will have to meet with the Highest to determine how he wishes to
proceed.“
“Yes, sir.”
“For the moment, you will remain as director of operations and
maintenance, as before.” Shastylt smiled, an expression not so much of
triumph as one that showed the relief of someone who had successfully
passed a great trial. “That will be all, Colonel.”
Dainyl nodded respectfully.
“If you would summon the duty officer on your way out?”
 

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