Cadmians Choice (47 page)

Across the high road,
to the west, were rolling hills, each line of hills getting higher and drier
until they merged witii the reddish rocks of the foothills to the east side of
the Coast Range. Behind him, to the east, the hills were more like gentle
rises, with slightly more grass than those to the west. There were no huts or
steads in sight anywhere to the north, suggesting mat the regional alector had
prohibited them and allowed only seasonal grazing.

He looked back to the
high road and the approaching wagon, drawn by four draft horses. As it neared,
Mykel noted that the entire high-sided and covered wagon body was painted a
rich brown. On the side panel, painted in yellow, were the words Spyltyr &
Sons, Spirits.

“They can’t have that
many buyers in Hyalt, can they?” asked the captain.

“Probably not, but
they are moving quickly, and the

horses aren’t
lathered. The wagon’s close to empty. They’re probably returning to Syan to buy
brandy and wine there, and they’re carrying just enough to sell to the inns and
taverns in Hyalt, I’d guess. They’ll travel the other side of the square when
they’re full, from Syan to Vyan and then Krost, and then either to Tempre or up
north to the towns on the Vedra. They might be carrying other goods south as
well, maybe spices or shimmersilk, things that are light but valuable.”

“Dreamdust?”

Mykel laughed. “Who
could pay for that here? Or even in Syan?”

“Filthy stuff, but
they must make thousands of golds on it.”

Mykel had no idea
what the profits on the drug might be, only that people seemed to pay far more
for spirits and drugs than for food and clothing. Some people, anyway.

Before long, First
Company was back on the road heading north.

They didn’t reach the
target road until late mid-morning. The narrow road, unlike most farm roads,
ran along the flat top of the gentle rise that angled east-northeast. The
slopes on each side were so gentle and gradual that it was easy to overlook the
fact that the rise was really a long ridge that separated the grasslands south
of it from the even more arid plains to the north. The irregular surface was
barely wide enough for two Cadmians abreast,” riding slowly.

While there was one
set of recent cart wheel ruts on the road, there were no signs of riders or
boots on the sandy soil. The road had been used, but where did it lead? Mykel
looked eastward, where, in the distance, there might be a hamlet at the base of
the ridge to the north, just west of what looked to be a small forest.

Mykel wasn’t certain,
but, every so often, he thought he felt something, a blackness of some kind,
but it seemed to be beneath the road. Was he just imagining it? Ever since
Dramur, he’d been asking that question of himself more and more, yet all too
much of what he would have once called imagination had turned out to be all too
real—if in ways he once never could have predicted.

He blinked. Had the
day gotten darker? He glanced toward the sun, not looking at it directly, but
trying to gauge if the clouds around it had thickened. They had not.

“Rifles ready,” Mykel
ordered, looking at Captain Cismyr, then unsheathing and checking his own
rifle.

“First Company!
Rifles ready!” The captain looked at Mykel, not quite quizzically.

Mykel tried to sense
from where the attack might come—if it came at all.

“ Crack! Although the
sound/feeling jarred Mykel, he could tell no one else heard or felt a thing.

He glanced back over
his shoulder. There, in the western sky, less than a hundred yards behind the
last squad of First Company, were three flying creatures. They were unlike
anything he had ever seen—even those around the quarries or the miniature
pteridons that had attacked Seventeenth Company earlier. Each had the snout of
a miniature sandox, except with a silver-purple horn that gleamed in the
sunlight, and a long and narrow body like that of a snake, but a snake with two
sets of wings similar to those of the miniature pteridons.

“Company! Halt! To
the rear! Full turn! Fire at will!” After the briefest hesitation, Mykel added,
“In the sky above the road!”

“Company! Halt!”
echoed the captain.

The winged snake-oxen
dived toward First Company.

Although he hated
firing over the company, Mykel aimed at the lead creature, concentrating on it,
willing his shot home.

The creature exploded
into a blue and purple fireball and tumbled from the sky into one of the
thicker patches of grass on the south side of the road. Blush flames flared
skyward, along with grayish smoke.

The rankers began to
fire, if belatedly. Several shots struck the other creatures, seemingly without
effect.

Concentrating on the
second creature, Mykel fired, and it, too, dropped from the silver-green sky,
striking the road within two or three yards of the rearguard that had become
the vanguard with the company’s reversal of direction.

Mykel’s third shot
was true enough, but the creature burst into bluish flame and pinwheeled
sideways before bursting into the same bluish flame and slamming into the mount
of a Cadmian ranker in fourth squad. Before either Mykel or Cismyr could issue
an order, his mate tried to help the ranker from his doomed mount.

The two were far too
slow, and both men—and both mounts—flared into intense oily bluish flame.

Mykel stood in the
stirrups. “Keep clear of the blue flame! Keep clear of the blue flame.”

“Frigging creatures!”
Cismyr swore under his breath.

Mykel rode back along
the side of the narrow road, knowing there was little he could do, but also
knowing that the men needed the gesture. As he rode, he reloaded, although his
senses told him that there were no more creatures nearby.

The two officers
reined up short of the burning pyre.

Mykel swallowed hard,
trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat, forcing himself to get past
the reaction from the odor of burning flesh. Several of the troopers had not
been able to, and others looked yellowish green.

As before, not even
ashes remained when the fires burned out, just black patches of ground where
nothing grew—and where nothing would for some time, Mykel suspected.

“Sir?” asked Cismyr.

“There’s noming we
can do for them.” Should he finish the patrol? He couldn’t break off every
patrol whenever the strange creatures appeared. In some ways, he regretted that
he had with Seventeenth Company after the attack of miniature pteridons. That
had been a bad example. “We have a patrol to finish.”

“Yes, sir.” The
captain swallowed. “First Company! To the rear, full turn! Forward!”

The two officers rode
on the shoulder past the rankers until they were once more at the head of the
column, if behind the scouts. They rode silently for a good half glass. Mykel
surveyed the grasslands, and the sky, but saw and sensed nothing—except a few
scattered flocks of sheep and the small hamlet ahead.

“It was a good thing
there were only three,” Cismyr finally said.

“Yes,” Mykel agreed. “Seventeenth
Company faced something like half a score.”

“Half a score?”

Mykel nodded. “You
can ask Undercaptain Loryalt about it when you get a chance.” He didn’t want to
say much more, particularly since he had a very uneasy feeling about what had
just happened.

The strange creatures
at the quarry could be killed by anyone—provided enough bullets struck them.
But only Mykel’s shots seemed to be able to bring down the flying monsters. Yet
the ones that flew had only attacked companies Mykel had accompanied. At least,
so far.

On Decdi, Mykel had
given all the companies, with the exception of the duty squads and companies, a
full stand-down day and town leave in Hyalt for those not on duty—and the
admonition that anyone who abused that leave or caused trouble would answer to
him personally. Outside of three rankers who passed out and missed muster on
Londi and then had to be carted back, there were no reports of trouble. Mykel
sent all three to the quarry to serve as laborers for the stone-cutters for a
week.

Londi turned out much
the same as any other day, if slightly cooler, because of heavy low clouds that
promised rain ... and did not provide any. The intermittent breezes swirled
dust into the air everywhere, and at times, Mykel could only see a few vingts,
even from the knolllike mesa of the new compound.

Dyarth and Thirteenth
Company had quarry duty—and reported no sign of any of the cat creatures, nor
did any of the road patrols encounter either brigands or flying creatures. Troral
sent a note to Mykel to inform him that the two hundred ten blankets for the
Hyalt companies would be arriving on the Sexdi a week hence—well before the
bunks and mattresses would be ready.

After returning to
the old garrison with Fourteenth Company slightly before sunset, Mykel and his
men ate local produce and mutton scarcely better than field rations. After
supper, Mykel received evening reports.

Later, after drafting
his own daily report, he inspected the garrison and the night guards two
glasses after sunset, and then retired to his chamber. There, he pulled off his
boots, but did not disrobe. Sitting on his bedroll, he leaned back against the
rough-plastered bricks. When would his dispatch with the information about the
strange alectors reach the submarshal? More important, what, if anything, would
the submarshal do? And if the Myrmidons did nothing, what should Mykel do? What
could he do? Just avoid the northwest close to the regional alector’s compound?
But what if the regional alector requested his presence?

He’d been practicing
trying to conceal his aura, but even with what he’d managed, he doubted that
concealment would be that effective in close quarters.

A flash of
amber-green appeared from somewhere.
Danger. .. danger
approaches
... After those few words, any sense of the amber-green
vanished.

Mykel bolted upright.
That had been a clear message from the soarer, or one of them, but he had no
sense of a continuing ancient presence, and that was as disturbing as the brief
message itself. He pulled on his boots and then took out his rifle. After
hesitating a moment, he pulled on the ammunition belt.

Then he slipped out
of his doorless space and along the darkened inner wall of the garrison
courtyard. The night was quiet, with only the sounds of various insects, and
occasional low voices from the far side of the courtyard where several rankers
crouched in the corner playing bones—the circle lit by the smallest of lamps.
Even though gambling in quarters was technically forbidden, Mykel had allowed small
games for low stakes by the simple expedient of showing up any time he sensed
large wagers and confiscating the winnings. He’d turned the winnings over to
Bhoral, who as battalion senior squad leader was effectively quartermaster as
well, with instructions to use them for dried fruit and other items of which
the troops seldom got as much as they would have liked.

Mykel paused.
Somewhere on the slope to the northwest, he could sense two alectors. The
pinkish-purple auras were unmistakable.

He crossed the
courtyard, letting his boots sound on the stone. “It’s about time to turn in, I
think.”

The light vanished,
amid low mumbles.

“Just get a twin
single ... make the point... Majer shows up ...”

“... don’t complain
... could have taken the coins ... sometimes he’s so quiet you don’t even hear
him ...”

“Yes, sir!” called
out one of the Cadmian rankers.

Mykel couldn’t help
smiling, but that lasted only a moment as he walked toward the small west gate.
He needed to get outside the walls. It could be that the pair were only
scouting, but he doubted that, not with a warning from the soarer. Still... he
wanted to see what they had in mind before he acted.

“Sir?” The gate guard
was Saluft, from Sixteenth Company, as were all the guards that night, but
Saluft was one of the few troopers from Soupat.

“I’m going out. Keep
a sharp eye.” Mykel did his best to cloak his aura before he stepped through
the brick archway that had once held an iron grate-gate.

“Yes, sir.”

As Mykel stood beside
the brick wall on the west end of the garrison, from which all too much plaster
had peeled away, from what he had earlier seen, the two alectors were still a
good hundred yards away, moving slowly, but steadily, toward the garrison from
the north. He slipped westward through the darkness.

“... something out
here ...” Low as they had been murmured, the words carried to Mykel. He couldn’t
believe that the two were talking, even in whispers.

“... rather take out
the whole garrison ...”

“... can’t do that...
just find the one. A few others won’t matter... but not any more ...”

Mykel kept moving
until he was actually to the southwest of the pair and close to some of the
jumbled boulders near the hill crest. Then he released the aura shield.

“... there he goes!
Must have sensed us ...”

The pair turned back
westward, moving up the slope.

Mykel dropped behind
a large boulder and rebuilt the shield, such as it was.

“Where did he go?”

“He must be somewhere
here, hiding behind something.”

Holding his rifle,
Mykel held the shields, waiting, wanting them to get a little closer.

“... know a little
something, like the last one, and they get cocky ... think they’re better than
they are ...”

“... just better
steers ... There!”

Mykel ducked, just
before brilliant blue light slammed into the stone above him. His back was
sprayed with a rain of fire that burned through his tunic. For a moment, he
just froze, before forcing himself into a firing position, aiming, and
concentrating, willing the two shots home— as head shots.