Authors: L. E. Modesitt
Cadmians Choice (31 page)
“I have admired you.
I admire you more, the more I learn.”
“Such a desirable
fate, to be admired by a Cadmian officer and a dagger of the ancients.”
“And respected,
unlike some others who claim they care.”
Rachyla half-turned. “There
are no images of the daggers of the ancients.” She made it as a fiat statement.
“Not anywhere.”
Mykel understood her
change of subject, he feared. “Why might that be?”
“Memorials are for
those who do great deeds. The few daggers who survived tried nothing of import,
and those who attempted more were all discovered by the evil ones and killed.”
“Your history is so cheerful,”
Mykel said dryly. “Do you know any that is more encouraging?”
“For a Cadmian and a
dagger of the ancients? I think not.”
“You have such
promising futures for us both,” he said gently.
“I cannot change what
will be, Majer. You must understand that.”
Mykel thought she had
given the slightest emphasis to the word “I,” but he was not certain.
Rachyla stepped back.
“I must meditate. Herisha must be able to report that I did. Good afternoon,
Majer.”
“Good afternoon, Lady
Rachyla.”
“I am not a Lady of
Dramur.”
“You are, and you
always will be.” Mykel bowed ever so slightly. To me, if to no one else.
She turned and walked
swiftly toward her chaperone, not ever looking back. Mykel watched her for a
time, then finally walked back to where he had tied his mount. He had to
believe that he would see her again, yet Third Battalion would be riding out
well before the next Novdi.
He mounted slowly,
looking toward the memorial park, but Rachyla was nowhere to be seen.
In the end, Dainyl
just appeared at the Hall of Justice early on Londi, prepared to wait for
Zelyert. He did not have to, because the High Alector of Justice was there and
motioned him into his private study. “And where are you headed today, Dainyl?”
“Just to see you,
sir.”
“Oh?”
“Some information has
come to my attention. I never know what you may know, sir,” Dainyl began, “but
there are several matters which, by themselves, would seem insignificant—”
“Dainyl... things are
bad enough without your sounding like Shastylt. Just tell me.”
“The icewolves have
reappeared in the Iron Stem area, and they’re lifeforce predators. Asulet won’t
speculate, but I’m judging he believes the ancients are using them for some
purpose to weaken us. Second, the Duarch’s head of intelligence discovered that
one of Brekylt’s chief engineers was diverting significant resources to
constructing some sort of equipment in Fordall. It might be military equipment,
perhaps forbidden equipment. On his return from reporting to the High Alector
of Engineering and possibly the Duarch of Ludar, he suffered a Table
translation mishap in Ludar with enough power to create a Talent explosion. His
wife immediately—apparently— killed herself with a lightcutter that was never
issued to him or her. Third, even before Zestafyn was killed, the chief
engineer who had been diverting resources died in a pteridon mishap while being
transported to Alustre, and a number of experienced engineers were translated
from Ifryn to Alustre to replace him and the others involved in the
transgression.”
Dainyl could sense
that Zelyert was not all that surprised by the icewolves, or by Zestafyn’s
death. The other occurrences did create a reaction, almost hidden, but not
quite.
“Does Shastylt know
of these?”
“He knows about the
ice-wolves. He was the one who dispatched me to Lyterna to talk to Asulet. They
kill by taking lifeforce, but rifles are effective against them.”
“And the other
matters?” pressed Zelyert.
“They are not
properly within Myrmidon jurisdiction, and I thought you should know.”
The High Alector of
Justice nodded slowly. “You do not trust your own marshal.”
“He is very
preoccupied these days, sir.”
“You are standing
over the translation tube to oblivion, figuratively, of course.” Zelyert’s deep
voice was mild.
“Perhaps, sir, but I
thought such a translation would be less likely once the information was in
your possession, since—”
“Since someone wanted
to keep it from me? Nonsense. Young Zestafyn doubtless wanted to strike some
sort of bargain with those around Samist. He always has been playing both
sides.”
Those words rang
untrue, both in sound and to Dainyl’s Talent-senses, but he just nodded slowly.
“Even if he were not,
that is the way in which it must be handled. Personal venality must be the
cover for now.”
Dainyl doubted that
would convince many, but he wasn’t about to argue.
“It won’t convince
those that know,” Zelyert continued, “but what it will do is suggest that we
are not strong enough to open the matter to the Duarches or the Archon.” His
eyes narrowed. “What else have you discovered?”
“That the ancients
have increased activities in the north, not all that far from Blackstear.”
‘They would have to
reappear now. Why do you think that is so?”
“I would judge that
they can sense changes in lifeforce and Talent and the increased usage of the
Tables for long translations.”
Zelyert stood. “That
will do for now. You can send me a dispatch on any future developments that
affect the Myrmidons or Cadmians.”
Dainyl rose as well. “Yes,
sir.”
Dainyl was fortunate
to find a carriage outside the Hall of Justice and arrived at Myrmidon
headquarters a quarter glass after morning muster, not that his presence was
usually required, but he’d always felt that senior officers who worked shorter
glasses undermined their own authority and credibility.
Unfortunately, the
calm lasted only until midmorning, when the marshal summoned him, this time
through the duty messenger.
“Why were you in the
Hall of Justice?” asked Shastylt before Dainyl had even closed the door to the
marshal’s study. The senior alector’s voice was silky.
“Because the Highest
wanted to know about the ice-wolves and how they had affected the Cadmians. He
also wanted to know if we had seen any more activity by the ancients.”
“I suppose you had to
tell him?”
“Could I have really
said no to him?”
“At times, you would
do better to avoid him ... if you understand what I mean.”
Dainyl did,
unhappily. “I have spent little time in the hall now that my investigations of
the east and Dereka have been completed.”
“That’s for the best.”
Shastylt paused. “Do we have any newer reports from either Southgate or Iron
Stem?”
“We do, but nothing
has changed. The Cadmians in Iron Stem report killing another of the icewolves,
but matters with the iron works and mines are quiet. The Cadmians will be
leaving Southgate on Tridi to ride to Hyalt with the new Hyalt companies. Third
Battalion will be conducting more training en route. Also, from our Myrmidons,
the recent reports show that we’ve lost no more pteridons or skylances.”
“What is Alcyna
planning?”
“She’s only reporting
that everything is normal— except that, even with the melting snow, Third
Company has had no success in locating the missing Cadmian company.”
“Will they find them,
Submarshal?”
“I would doubt it,
sir.”
“So would I.”
Shastylt looked up. “That will be all.”
“Yes, sir.”
With each passing
week, Dainyl liked less and less the balancing act he was attempting between
Shastylt and Zelyert, especially since he trusted neither. Shastylt he trusted
least, because he felt the marshal’s ambition was far more personal, while
whatever Zelyert was attempting had at least some rationale of a higher
purpose.
But then, he
reflected, either would remove him if it suited the purpose at hand, and
Zelyert was more to be respected than Shastylt.
Mykel stood beside
the roan in the stable, ensuring that the materials he would present to the
Hyalt council were secure. There was a proclamation, a work authorization for
the new compound, and a letter of credit with no specified limit, although
Mykel had been informed that he had best have good reasons if he drew more than
two hundred golds a month. There was also a set of plans, based on those of the
compound at Southgate, if a smaller version. He fastened the saddlebag tight,
and then checked the saddle girths before leading the gelding out of the stall.
After walking his
mount out of the stable into the early-morning light and mounting, Mykel
glanced around the compound. Third Battalion was forming up for the ride to
Hyalt in good order, far more quickly man they had a month before, not that
Mykel had emphasized the inpost formations nearly so much as weapons practice,
combat tactics, and field maneuvers. But there was a definite carryover. The
two Hyalt companies were slower, but better than he had expected, if not yet so
sharp as he had hoped they would be.
He turned the roan,
checking the compound, checking the various companies. Some of the local
Cadmians were watching as well. The dirt and dust he had noted when he arrived
had vanished, and the local Cadmians appeared sharper. He wasn’t certain why,
since he’d never said a word to Overcaptain Sturyk. Was it the power of
example?
He almost snorted.
More likely the power of fear.
Beyond the southwest
corner of the compound lay Southgate, and in the center of the city were the
villas of the seltyrs—and Rachyla. He kept thinking about her— and that was
foolish. He certainly didn’t understand her. She’d volunteered where and when
he could find her, and then she’d made it very clear that her situation—and her
inclination—precluded any future between them. Mykel wasn’t interested in
merely bedding her, and he couldn’t marry her, because she wasn’t about to
marry a mere Cadmian. Nor would her cousin want her to marry anyone. In any
case, a Cadmian officer had no business even thinking about marriage until he
was senior enough and settled enough to be a compound or a regimental
commander.
Mykel felt a crooked
smile cross his lips. Telling himself that was all very good, but he wasn’t
doing very well at listening to himself.
Overcaptain Sturyk
walked from the headquarters building toward Mykel, who waited for the older
officer.
Sturyk stopped
several yards from Mykel and looked up. “I see you’re ready to move out.”
“Less than a quarter
glass, I’d say.”
“I just wanted to
wish you well, Majer.”
“Thank you. You’ve
provided solid support for Third Battalion, and I conveyed that to Colonel
Herolt in my last dispatch report.”
Sturyk smiled. “I
appreciated the copy, sir.”
“Sometimes a record
helps, as I’m certain you’ve found.”
“Yes, sir. Do you
know when you’ll be returning? Or how long you’ll stay on the return?”
Mykel shook his head.
“That all depends on our success in Hyalt and how long it takes. How we return
to Elcien— that’s up to the colonel or the marshal. They may order us somewhere
else, rather than back through Southgate.”
“You’re welcome here,
anytime. The best of fortune, Majer.”
“Thank you. And to
you.” Mykel could see that the battalion was formed up, and he rode the score
of yards into position to receive the muster report from Bhoral.
“Third Battalion, all
present and ready to ride, sir. First and Second Hyalt Companies, present and
ready to ride.”
“Thank you.” He
nodded to Bhoral. “Let’s go.”
“Battalion ...
forward, by companies ...”
Mykel eased the roan
forward. Thirteenth Company would lead for the first glass, and he’d ride with
Under-captain Dyarth.
The sound of hoofs on
stone, the occasional squeaking of the supply wagons, and occasional commands
were the loudest sounds that marked Third Battalion’s departure from the
compound. Mykel did not actually join up with Thirteenth Company until just
outside the gates.
“Good morning,
Dyarth.” Mykel moved his mount in on the left of die junior officer.
“Good morning, sir.
Looks like it’s going to be a hot ride.”
“It probably will be
until we get past Zalt. After that the land is higher, and we might get rains
in the Coast Range. That’ll be a while, though.” Even on the high roads, and
carrying their own rations, it would take at least five days to reach the way
station at Zalt. A full week beyond Zalt lay Tempre, and then another five days
to Hyalt. All that assumed good weather and no troubles with brigands or the
supply wagons.
Mykel doubted that
everything would be trouble-free, although he’d had the wagons inspected and
had insisted on spare draft horses.
Neither officer
spoke, except for orders to the company and battalion, until they were on the
high road. The sun was still low in the eastern sky, and Mykel was glad that
they were headed northeast, rather than due east and directly into the sun.
“Sir?” ventured
Dyarth. “Southgate... the people there ... they were pleasant enough, but not
like in Arwyn or Harmony or even up in Klamat.”
“Are you suggesting
that they were more interested in our rankers’ coin than in their person?”
Mykel asked.
“It did seem that
way. Was Dramur like that?”
“Worse, I’d say.
People shot at us there.”
“More than the
Reillies or Squawts?”
“Yes. Majer Vacyln
lost two entire companies to those kinds of attacks.” Mykel wasn’t about to
take responsibility for those casualties, not when the late majer had ignored
his advice.
“What do you think
about Hyalt?”
“I don’t know. I’ve
tried to get more information, but no one seems to have much.” That bothered
Mykel as much as anything.
Less than a glass to
the northeast of the last dwellings that could be properly said to be part of
Southgate itself, rather than cots or huts—or estate villas overlooking the
grasslands—the road began to slope downward on a gentle but definite grade into
a wide and shallow valley. The grass that grew, while showing spring green, was
definitely sparse. There were no cots or huts in the valley, and Mykel did not
see any goats or sheep—or cattle.
“Poor land,” observed
Dyarth. “Leastwise, they’re not overgrazing it.”
“I imagine the
alectors would have something to say if they did.”
‘That’s true.”
Half a glass later,
Mykel looked back. From where he rode, it appeared as if the higher ground on
which South-gate had been built might once have been an island or a peninsula,
but he hadn’t looked at the area around the harbor that closely. Certainly, the
lower terrain through which Third Battalion rode was less fertile than the
higher ground, and the opposite was usually the case. He could recall his
cousins talking about how bottomland was so much richer—and how often the
alectors restricted what they could do with it.
He glanced at the
high road ahead, stretching endlessly ahead, straight as a rifle barrel.