Cadmians Choice (34 page)

“I’m taking
Fourteenth Company with me to pay a visit to the council head. You’re in
charge. Sixteenth Company is on standby, in case someone’s unfriendly. The
others are to do what they can to make the garrison temporarily usable. We’ll
need to find a better site for a permanent compound.”

“Much better.”
Rhystan shook his head. “There’s no good way to defend this with just a
company. It’s better than being in the open, but not much.”

“That’s why we need
to get working on building a new compound first—and why I need you to be on
guard.”

“We’ll be here.”
Rhystan nodded.

As Mykel rode back
toward Culeyt, he heard Rhystan’s voice.

“Sixteenth Company!
Listen up!...”

Mykel glanced once
more at the shell of what had been a garrison. He hadn’t ever been certain he’d
use what his father had taught him about building, but it looked like he was
going to wish he’d learned more.

“Fourteenth Company,
ready to ride, sir,” announced Culeyt before Mykel had even finished reining
up.

“Let’s go.”

Fortunately, the
street into the main section of Hyalt was wide enough to ride two abreast, and
still leave room for the scattered pedestrians and infrequent carts and wagons.
Three lanes farther along, Mykel and the company turned south on the high road,
which also served as the main boulevard of the town.

A half vingt south,
they came to the town square.

“Company, halt!”

“Sir?”

‘That looks like the
council building over there.” Mykel pointed to a one-story redstone building
set between a chandlery and a building without any identifying markings. “If
you’d send a scout to inquire ... we’re looking for the head of the town
council.”

“Yes, sir.” Culeyt
turned. “Coroden ...”

While the scout rode
toward the building facing onto the square, Mykel studied the area. The square
itself was a good hundred yards on a side, centered on a golden marble
platform, with a statue of the Duarches set on a pedestal in the middle.
Several yards back from the pedestal was a low redstone wall. As in most towns
and cities in Coras, the roofs were tiled. The walls of the houses and other
buildings were a mixture of stone and masonry, the older structures being of
stone, the newer ones of a sandy red brick. The doors and trim were either
oiled or painted a dull reddish brown.

He could sense the
eyes of several people on the side porch of the inn looking in the direction of
the company. A woman with laundry in a basket on her head hurried across the
edge of the square, turning away from the riders. Mykel couldn’t blame her.

“Sir!” called
Coroden. “This is the goldsmith’s. The council chamber is off the square that
way.”

“You head there, and
we’ll follow,” replied Mykel.

The council chamber
was only a block away, a redstone building larger than the goldsmith’s, with a
roof composed of grayish red tiles, and high windows with open shutters rather
than glassed panes.

Mykel, Culeyt, and
Fourteenth Company waited while Coroden entered the council chamber. He was out
of sight only a few moments before returning.

‘The clerk says that
the head of the council’s not here, sir,” reported Coroden.

“I imagine that he’s
not. Find out where he is and how we get there. And his name.”

“Yes, sir.” Coroden
went back into the building, emerging shortly. “The council head is Troral, and
he’s a wool factor. His place is down two lanes and over a half block, just off
the high road.” The scout remounted.

That made sense to
Mykel. A factor wanted to be close to either a river or a high road.

As the company rode
back toward the inn and past the square, heading southward, most of those on
the side porch of the inn slipped out of sight. Only a bent old woman carrying
a bucket remained. She stared at Mykel.

He met her gaze
evenly, and after a moment, she looked away.

Troral’s factorage
was a modest structure, no more than fifteen yards across the front, and less
than that in depth, although Mykel could see a stable down the side lane past a
battered loading dock. The factor—a narrow-faced and balding man whose
remaining hair was gray and wispy—appeared in the front doorway before Mykel
could dispatch Coroden. He wore a wide canvas apron and said nothing.

“You’re Troral?”

“Yes.” The balding
factor’s answer was wary.

“I’m Majer Mykel,
commanding officer of the Third Battalion. We’re here to rebuild the garrison
and reestablish Cadmian companies here.”

The stocky factor
looked up at Mykel, then at the company that filled the side street. “You’ve
got a lot of troopers here, Majer. Hyalt doesn’t need that much protection.”

“The garrison that
was here obviously wasn’t enough,” Mykel pointed out. “What can you tell me
about what happened?”

“There’s not much to
say, Majer. I’m sure you’ve been told. One night there was shooting, and the
next morning, they were all dead. There were bodies all over. We sent word to
the regional alector, and there were Myrmidons here in a few days.”

“No one was shooting
at anyone else?” Mykel had trouble believing Troral’s story. Why would they
need Cadmians? Or was it another case where someone was afraid of what might
happen?

“There hasn’t been a
shot fired here since then.”

What bothered Mykel
even more was the feeling he got that Troral was telling the truth, at least as
he saw it.

“That’s why I wouldn’t
think you’d need so many troopers. Hyalt’s not that well off, but it’s
peaceable.”

“I’m sure it is.”
Mykel smiled politely. “This is just one company. Third Battalion has five, and
there are two Hyalt companies that will remain once we’ve made sure that none
of the irregulars or brigands are left and once the new compound is completed.”

“I see. Regional
alector sent a message saying someone would be coming to rebuild things. We
didn’t expect so many troopers. Bad enough that the alector’s been buying more
provisions in the last season. Drives up prices, and that’s hard on folks. What
would you be wanting of me?”

“I wanted to let you
know why we’re here.” Mykel paused. “I’d also hope that I’d be seeing the heads
of the guilds that handle building early tomorrow.”

“I’m not a
guildmaster—”

“I understand, but I’m
certain you can get the message to them. We will be paying for the
construction, once we select the right site.”

“You’re not
rebuilding...”

“No. That garrison
wasn’t defensible, and it’s too small. We’ll find the site, and then the owner
and the council will put in a reimbursement claim with the regional alector.”

“They won’t pay
enough.”

Mykel kept smiling.
From what he’d seen, the alectors weren’t spendthrifts, but they also didn’t
try to gouge out the last copper the way more than a few merchants and factors
he’d seen did.

“I suppose you have
to do what you must,” grudged Troral. “We all do, and work for less coin than
we’d like is better than none.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “You might be
wanting some blankets and other cloth.”

“We might at that,”
Mykel replied. “Once we’re getting close to having the new compound completed.”
He leaned forward and handed a copy of the proclamation and authorization to
Troral. “That copy is for the council.”

“It might be hard to
build ...”

“I’m certain we’ll
find a way, and that you’ll be of great assistance.” Mykel smiled. “I look
forward to seeing the guildmasters. Early tomorrow.”

Troral nodded in
response. “We’ll do what we can, Majer.”

Mykel inclined his
head, slightly. “A good day to you.” He turned the roan back northward, letting
Culeyt bring Fourteenth Company behind him. Which would be harder, tracking
down insurgents that no one had seen— or would talk about—or building a new
compound? He wasn’t looking forward to either, and, in a way that he couldn’t
describe, he was more than a little concerned with the isolated and
semifortified structures of the regional alector. With that location and
Myrmidons, why had they even needed to call in Cadmians? Or were there more of
the ancient soarers around and the Myrmidons didn’t want to risk pteridons?
Until Dramur, Mykel hadn’t even realized that the creatures could be destroyed.

He wanted to brush
his fingers across his belt, but he knew that the dagger of the ancients was
still there. Was the indestructible dagger somehow a key to the powers that
could destroy a Myrmidon or a pteridon—or just a symbol of that power?

Rachyla’s warnings
seemed far more ominous now that he was in Hyalt than they had in Dramur or
even Southgate.

On Quattri morning, a
good glass and a half before first light, Lystrana stood just inside the door,
holding Dainyl tightly. “Be very careful.”

“I will, but you’re
in as much danger as I am.”

“Not so long as I’m
in the Duarch’s Palace.” She kissed him on the cheek and stepped back.

Dainyl had his doubts
about that, but there was little he could do, and Lystrana was as Talented as
he was, if not more so, and certainly more experienced in intrigue. With a
brief last smile, he stepped out into the darkness. In moments, he was walking
briskly along the boulevard toward the Hall of Justice. The faintest hints of
fog swirled off the bay and across the isle of Elcien, although they would vanish
with the morning sun. Selena, showing but a crescent, was low in the darkness
of the western sky, and while the green disc that was Asterta hung just high
enough in the east to be visible over the roofs of Elcien.

Zelyert had
effectively ordered Dainyl to confine himself to Myrmidon and Cadmian affairs,
and Dainyl intended to do so. He just intended to handle some of those matters
in Lysia.

As he had planned,
there was only one assistant in the concealed lower chambers of the Hall of
Justice, and the young alector nodded politely at the submarshal as Dainyl made
his way to the Table chamber.

After carefully
replacing the Talent-locks, he stepped onto the Table.

The darkness beneath
seemed less black and overpowering, if as chill. Even as he linked to the
orange and yellow locator that was Lysia, Dainyl kept his Talent-senses
exploring the pure blackness beyond the distinct purpled confines of the
translation tube.

The translation
tube—or the space in which he traveled—seemed to curve, almost to buck, several
times. That was something Dainyl hadn’t experienced before, but he concentrated
on the locator. Still, within his brief transit, he sensed a half score of the
quick green flashes that signified ancients. Why so many?

Then the silvered
orange and yellow parted away from him more like mist than shards.

He stood on the Table
in Lysia.

As he stepped down,
the hidden doorway parted, and Sulerya stepped out. She had deep circles under
her bloodshot eyes, and her short black hair was dull and disarranged. “Submarshal...
it felt like you. I wasn’t certain. I’m glad you made it.”

“Glad? What happened?”
asked Dainyl. “You look exhausted.”

“Idiots! Brekylt’s
recorders ... I don’t know what they did, but yesterday the entire grid nearly
collapsed. The word is that Kasyst was killed in the backlash.”

Kasyst? Why was the
name familiar? Dainyl raised his eyebrows. “Kasyst?”

“The recorder at
Norda.”

“Oh ... him.”

“You know him?”

“His assistant tried
to shoot me as a wild Talent. That was the explanation, anyway. I couldn’t very
well accuse him of lying.” Especially not then.

“What exactly did you
have to do with it, Submarshal? You’re not exactly surprised.”

Dainyl shrugged. ‘They
tried to trap me between Tables again when I headed back to Elcien from
Lyterna. My shields were adequate.”

“Again? They’re
greater idiots than I thought possible. They’d destroy— She broke ott her
words. “Why are you such a danger to them?”

“I wish I knew.
Others must know what I know. You certainly do. So does your father. Sevasya
and Khelaryt have to know some of what I know and more besides. Shastylt and
Zelyert know a great deal. These days, I don’t control anything, not really.”

“All that is true.”
Sulerya’s attempt at a smile came out as a tired grimace. “But I don’t see
Brekylt and his recorders attacking them.”

“When did any of them
recently translate anywhere except to Ludar? Why do you think that Zelyert and
Shastylt are sending me places?”

“Why are you letting
them?”

“I could avoid some
of the translations,” Dainyl admitted, “but I don’t see any way out of the
difficulties except by discovering exactly what Brekylt and Alcyna have in
mind—and being able to prove it.”

“They must think that
you could. Can you?”

“Not yet, but that’s
one reason I’m here. I need to talk to Sevasya and some of her senior officers
and rankers.”

“She’s around this
morning. I saw her earlier.” Sulerya paused. “You won’t mind if I don’t escort
you this time?”

“You’re worried about
the Table grid?”

“Most of the
adjustments and compensations have to be made here or in Dereka. That’s the way
the system was designed. I think we have it stabilized, but...”

“Until you’re certain
everything is stable, you don’t want to be far away,” Dainyl finished.

She nodded.

“I can find my way. I
hope matters remain calm, though.”

“So do I.”

Dainyl nodded,
turned, and made his way out through the doors, still unguarded, and up the
staircase. The courtyard beyond was bathed in hazy morning light, and the heat
was like a steamy shower. Even Dainyl blotted his forehead after a score of steps
across the paved court yard toward the small stone building that held Eighth
Company headquarters.