Corean 4 Alector's Choice Modesitt, LE

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.All of it came down the Vedra to Faitel, where the iron was off loaded for the artisans and engineers, and what was not off-loaded went first to Elcien, then south through the Bay of Ludel to Ludar.Downstream and to the west of Faitel were the shipyards, and upstream and east of the center of the city were the ironworks and the golden walled compounds of the engineers’ and artisans’ guilds.If Ludar could be called the artistic heart of Corus, and Elcien the spirit and intelligence, then Faitel was where art and spirit were forged and almost everything of great value was fabricated—from the bronzed coaches pulled by the sandoxes to the great ships that had conquered the oceans.Mykel’s reveries were brought to a halt by the double chime of the bell that announced that the coach to Elcien was coming.He looked eastward as the sandoxes turned into the concourse on the north side of the platform.There were two—each more than four times the size of a draft horse—with even more massive shoulders, and scales that shimmered purplish blue.The deep set eyes were golden brown ovals, with pupils blacker than a starless night.In the middle of the broad forehead was a single triangular scale a good ten times the size of the less distinct purplish scales that covered every span of the sandox.The sandoxes were harnessed to a modified cross rig with wide black straps and leather-sheathed chains.Behind the pair were the bronze sheathed transport coaches, each nine yards long.The forward coach was split into two sections, the front compartment for alectors, with wider and well cushioned seats, and a rear section with far less luxurious seating.The second coach contained a single compartment, all standard seating.The drivers’ seat high on the front of the first coach had ample space for the two alectors who controlled the sandoxes and the coach, and was provided cover from sunlight and weather by curved bronzelike metallic roof sheet.Just as the sandoxes and coaches slowed to a halt, there was a shout from the river side of the concourse platform.Mykel turned, as did the two women to his left, and the pair of Cadmian rankers to his right.A man jumped onto the top of the stone railing of the western platform and leveled a weapon—an ancient crossbow—at the nearest alector.Before Mykel had taken more than a single step, the bearded figure had fired, and the quarrel slammed into the shoulder of the alector, spinning him half around.Before Mykel took a third step, the alector on the forward coach had lifted his light knife.A bluish beam struck the bearded man, and his entire figure flared into blue yellow flame.Within instants, a blackened body pitched off the railing.Mykel’s mouth opened as he realized the crossbow quarrel had bounced off the alector’s shoulder.He had the feeling that the alector was in a fair amount of pain, but he couldn’t have said why.Still, from such close range, the bolt should have gone through the alector.Absently, he recalled what his father had said.Arrows bouncing off alectors didn’t seem so far fetched, after what he had just seen.But how did they do that? Was their skin that tough? Or were those shiny clothes special? Or both?His lips quirked.He wasn’t likely to find out.Not anytime soon.The concourse bell rang rapidly, and Cadmians in the uniforms of the road patrols appeared from the station west of the concourse.Within moments, the charred figure had been lifted into a handcart and pushed away.The injured alector had vanished.“Never seen anything like that,” muttered one of the rankers beside Mykel.“Maybe one of those Ancienteers,” replied the other.“Thought they just hid away in the peaks and stuff.”“Crazy folk, never know what they’ll do.”Mykel agreed with that, especially about some of the strange cults that had appeared in the outlying lands of some regions, like the Iron Valleys, North Lustrea, Deforya, aad the higher mountains in the southern part of the Coast Range.He’d hadn’t heard much about the Ancienteers, except as a group that worshipped the vanished ancients.His grandfather had once said that the true ancients were beautiful women with wings who were colder than ice.They didn’t sound like anything Mykel wanted to worship.The boarding bell rang, a quick triplet, and Mykel eased a silver from one of the slots on the inside of his belt before moving toward the steps down to the embarking area.The two Cadmian road patrollers on the mounting steps scarcely looked at Mykel as he handed his silver to the attendant and stepped through the open door and into the coach.He settled into a window seat three rows back.As in all of the coach compartments, save the forward section for alectors, there were four narrow oak seats, two on each side of a center aisle.With the thin seat cushion, they were almost comfortable on a long journey.Almost.Mykel noted an attractive woman in dark blue, hoping she would take the seat beside him.Before he could offer, a squarish man wearing a brown tunic and matching boots eased into the seat.“Sorry, Captain, but there’s not that much room.”“There never is,” replied Mykel politely, guessing that the man was some sort of factor.A single long chime sounded, and the attendant closed the coach door.Mykel glanced around the coach.Most of the thirty-two seats were taken, although the attractive brunette was sitting alone.With the slightest jolt, the coach began to move.Before long, the sandoxes had the coach up to speed and coolish air flowed through the louvers forward and overhead.With nearly three hours ahead of him for the seventy odd vingt journey, Mykel surveyed the river, taking in the barges being towed upstream by the steam tugs on the inner causeway.An ocean freighter—he could tell that because it did not have the sails of a coaster nor the narrower beam and shallower draft of a river craft—forged downstream [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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