Cadmians Choice (48 page)

A flare of blue so
quick that it couldn’t have been seen unless he’d been looking was the only
response, but the pinkish-purple auras faded ... and then vanished.

Lines of fire
cascaded down Mykel’s back as he straightened and began to walk toward where
the two alectors had been.

“Majer! Sir? Are you
all right?”

“Just hold your post,
Saluft,” Mykel called back. Even speaking was an effort. He kept walking.
Although he was convinced that the pair of strange alectors were dead, he still
could sense something remaining.

To cross the fifty
yards between the melted rock and the dead alectors felt like it took a good
glass, although it was probably only a fraction of that. In the darkness,
despite his night vision ... he could see nothing except two piles of clothes,
and a pair of weapons that looked similar to the lightcutter that Submarshal
Dainyl had used on Majer Vaclyn.

The uniforms were the
source of the faint aura. Mykel squatted. He had the feeling that bending would
intensify the pain in his back. A shock ran through his fingers as he picked up
the black tunic that shimmered with its own light in the dark. The material was
like the dagger of the ancients—imbued with life, although it felt as if it had
been dipped or twisted through pinkish-purple. Was that why knives and bullets
didn’t penetrate their uniforms?

His back felt like it
had been flayed, but he forced himself to fold the uniforms into a bulky
bundle, with the lightcutters inside. He slipped the bundle inside the front of
his tunic, wincing as the fabric of his tunic tightened across his back.

That left boots and
belts.

“Sir?”

“I’ll be back in a
moment, Saluft.”

Mykel picked up one
pair of boots and carried them far enough toward the rocks that he could throw
them— underhanded—into the jumble of stones. He repeated the process with the
second pair, and then with the belts.

By then his back was
an even greater mass of fire.

He turned and trudged
toward the west gate.

“Sir,” offered the
sentry as Mykel approached. “There was a blue flash. What was it?”

“Lightning, I think.”
Mykel had to force the words out. “It melted some of the rocks and burned me...
my back.” He held the rifle before him to conceal the bulges in the front of
his tunic.

Saluft stepped back,
and Mykel made his way through the archway.

He was halfway across
the courtyard when Rhystan appeared.

“Majer? The sentries
alerted me ...”

“I heard something
... think I got my back burned with lightning... melted some rock there. I’ll
need someone to dress my back. If you would have them come to my quarters ...”

“Lightning ... it is
cloudy, but I thought I heard shots, not thunder.”

“Saluft saw the
flash,” Mykel said. “The sounds you heard must have been the crack of the
lightning.”

“I’ll get Systryn. He’s
as good as we’ve got. I’ll be right back.”

Mykel forced himself
to his small space, where he knelt and managed to get the uniforms and the
lightcutters hidden under his bedroll. He managed to get thie ammunition belt
off, but couldn’t lift his arms quite high enough to strip off his tunic. So he
lit the small lamp and waited.

The two arrived
within moments.

“I’m going to need
some help getting the tunic off.”

Mykel almost passed
out as Rhystan and Systryn peeled off the tunic.

“You’d better sit
down, sir,” suggested Rhystan.

Mykel knelt on the
bedroll. Sitting cross-legged would have just added to his discomfort.

“There are lumps of
stone here, sir,” offered the ranker. “They’re ... melted... and part of the
uniform is charred. There’s only one deep burn, though.”

“Just clean things up
and dress the wounds,” Mykel said dryly.

The cleaning and
dressing took more than half a glass, and was one of the less pleasant
experiences Mykel had undergone—if not nearly so bad as being shot and nearly
dying in Dramur.

Rhystan said nothing
until Systryn had left. Then he looked at Mykel. “I thought you weren’t going
to scout things out by yourself.”

“I didn’t think
getting some air was scouting. I had my rifle.”

“Mykel... can you
tell me what is really going on? Sir?”

Could he? What could
he tell Rhystan? Finally, he cleared his throat. “You know the strange
creatures?”

“I think we’re all
familiar with them, sir.”

“There are other
creatures like them, and some of them look like men from a distance. I haven’t
wanted to say much because the last thing I want is for the men to be shooting
at anything that looks like a man. That’s all we’d need here. I have to wonder
if something like that was what got the garrison here. That’s why I’ve ordered
so many sentries at night.”

“What does that have
to do with your back?”

“I wish I could tell
you. All I know was that I had the feeling that something might be outside. I
went out to see, and there was a flash of light, as bright as lightning, and
the rock beside me melted.”

“Is that the official
explanation?”

“It’s also the only
explanation so far,” Mykel replied with an ironic laugh.

Rhystan shook his
head. “Only you, sir. You start out your career by getting shot in the ass,
then get knifed by your own commander, and burned by lightning outside your own
garrison. I’m not so certain that it’s not safer for you to be in real combat.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Get some sleep, sir,
if you can.” Rhystan stepped back, offered a concerned smile, and then
departed.

As Mykel lay face
down on his bedroll, too tired to move, and in too much pain to sleep, he
thought over the situation. He had no illusions about what had happened.
Rhystan knew that more was involved, but he’d make sure everyone knew the “official”
version. If someone found the boots and belts... if it happened to be
scroungers from the town, no one would even connect the incidents. If some
ranker did, the odds were that he’d try to sell them in town and make a few
coppers and keep it quiet. There might be barracks talk, but there was always
barracks talk.

That was the least of
Mykel’s problems. He could only hope that it wouldn’t be too long before the
submarshal got his message and did somediing. Then, despite what the soarer had
said, Mykel didn’t believe that all alectors were out against him and the
Cadmians, but most of them might well be out after him if they discovered he
had the same kind of talent as the alectors did.

He just didn’t know
what more he could do not to be discovered, short of deserting, and, if he did
that, what protection would his men have if more of the flying creatures
appeared? Deserting would also have everyone looking for him, including the
Myrmidons, and trying to escape from pteridons wasn’t exactly recommended.
Still... he’d best be ready to leave at a moment’s notice if it looked like
there was no other option. But he didn’t like the idea.

Mykel forced himself
to get up at his normal time. Getting his undertunic and tunic on was almost
impossible, but he managed, although he had to blot his forehead when he
finished. He had just about finished his breakfast of too-dry mutton and eggs
that were brown from overcooking when Rhystan appeared.

“Majer, sir... how
are you feeling this morning?”

“Sore and stiff,
Rhystan, but better than last night.” Actually, Mykel wasn’t sure that he was.
While his back didn’t feel like a fiery mass of pain, it throbbed, and he had
not slept well at all.

“I was wondering if
you wouldn’t mind taking a short walk with me, sir. I was up earlier, and I
discovered a few things....”

Mykel managed a
polite smile. He had no doubts what Rhystan had discovered. “Then we should
take a walk, while it’s still early and cool. Up the slope, you think?”

“That might be best,
sir.” Rhystan’s voice was cool, cold even.

The two officers
walked across the courtyard and then out through the west gate. The sentry,
whose name Mykel didn’t recall immediately, stepped back wordlessly. Mykel let
Rhystan lead the way up the gentle slope.

Finally, the captain
stopped and pointed to the large chunk of sandstone with a glassy surface. “The
stone melted on the side. Lightning doesn’t strike sideways, from what I know.”
He gestured toward the larger jumble of stone upslope and west. “I found two
pairs of boots in the rocks there.”

“That could happen.
They might have been left there from when the garrison was taken,” Mykel said
mildly.

“Those boots weren’t
Cadmian issue, sir.”

“No, they weren’t.”
Mykel half-sat, half-leaned on the edge of one of the irregular chunks of
reddish sandstone, glad that the day was hazy enough that the sun wasn’t
glaring out of the east.

“They looked like
alector boots, and that’s a different question entirely, Majer.” Rhystan’s
voice was polite, but hard. “And that melted stone looks like the ground looked
in Dramur when the submarshal took out Vaclyn.”

Mykel could feel the
tension in the other officer. He took a long breath. “It’s not what it seems or
you think. I’ve been trying to keep all this quiet. I was hoping that nothing
would happen before Submarshal Dainyl got my last dispatch.”

Rhystan nodded
slowly, but he was still tense. “Was that the report that went on the sandox
coach?”

“I sent the regular
report to Colonel Herolt and a copy directly to the submarshal. When we go
back, you can read the copy I kept. The same kind of burns and melting had
happened at that stead to the northwest. Fabrytal took my word that they were
from the flying creatures. We followed the traces, and I did go scout alone.
You can ask him if you want. I didn’t find creatures. What I found was alectors
wearing strange uniforms—black and silver— practicing with weapons like the
lightcutters, except they were mounted on carts and tripods, and they were more
powerful.”

“They could be
another alector force, one we don’t know about.”

“They could be, but
they weren’t. Not one that reports to the Marshal of Myrmidons. If they did,
why did they kill the two holders?” Mykel had another question, one he wasn’t
about to utter, and that was why the Myrmidons, if they did have the vaunted
Tables, didn’t know about the rebel alectors. “And then there was the squad
leader in the garrison here. Poeldyn or Styndal said that he got burned up, but
the others got shot or stabbed, but he was the one who had a talent for hitting
what he aimed at.”

Rhystan stood there
silently.

“The other thing is
that Troral was telling me that the regional alector has been purchasing a
great deal more in the way of supplies in the last season or so. Now ... if
this alector force happens to be on our side, with those kinds of weapons, why are
we here?”

“You’re suggesting an
alector rebellion. That’s ...”

“Unthinkable?” Mykel
laughed, harshly. “Then take the other alternative. It’s not a rebellion. If it’s
not a rebellion, why was the garrison slaughtered? And by whom? We haven’t
found a trace of any force that could have possibly done it.”

“I’d rather not
consider what you’re suggesting, sir.”

“I don’t care what
you’d rather not consider,” Mykel struggled to keep from snapping. “The fact is
that we’ve got a strange alector force that probably killed the first garrison,
and definitely killed the two holders. If they’re friendly, what were two of
them doing scouting the garrison here, and firing at me? Have I ever done
anything that wasn’t in the best interests of the Cadmians?”

After a moment,
Rhystan shook his head. “No... you’ve risked more than any officer I know. But
why ... ?”

Mykel would have
liked to have shrugged. It would have hurt too much. “I don’t know. I wish I
did. That’s why I sent a special dispatch to the submarshal. I don’t want us
caught between two groups of alectors.”

“Do you think he’ll
do anything?”

“They don’t like to
waste things, and they don’t want Cadmians shooting at alectors. I’ve seen
enough to know that, especially. Even if we’re dispensable, I don’t think the
marshal would knowingly put us in a situation where we might have to fire at
alectors. Given that, I don’t think they know.”

“That makes the most
sense of what you’ve said. What do we do now?”

“We keep doing what
we have been. Keeping the patrols away from where those alectors are
practicing, avoiding the regional alector, and trying to get the new compound
finished as fast as possible.” And hoping that Submarshal Dainyl will act
sooner rather than later. .. before it’s too late.

Mykel rose carefully.
“Unless you have anything else, let’s walk back. You need to read the dispatch
I sent. Right now, I’d prefer that you keep this to yourself. Unless something
happens to me, and then tell Culeyt.”

“I can see why ...
but the men are talking ...” Rhystan paused. “They’ve always talked, though,
about one thing and another.”

“Poeldyn said that
this hill was unlucky, that strange things happened here. Let that get out.
Suggest that it’s another reason why we’re relocating to the new compound.”

“That would work, if
nothing else happens. Maybe, even if it does.”

Mykel glanced
southward. “There should have been mounts, or something. I didn’t see or hear
any last night.”

‘There were tracks.
Four mounts.”

“Frig....” Mykel
shook his head. “That just proves it.”

“My thought as well,
sir.” Rhystan paused. “Why didn’t they send more men?”

“They don’t have that
many mounts—probably just the ones they stole from the garrison.” Mykel wanted
to shake his head. Of course.... that was why they’d attacked the garrison. In
an isolated town like Hyalt, where else would they get horses without it being
noticed? Blame it on the strange creatures or local looters. Who would ever
suspect the regional alector?