Cadmians Choice (5 page)

“They were
interfering. So I had a squad attack them.”

“The ones lost near
Scien, you mean? The ones lost over the Spine of Corus were on solo flights.”

“If you had Talent
other than shields, Dainyl, you would be formidable. But then, if you did, you
wouldn’t be Shastylt’s submarshal.”

“Did your squad kill
the ancients?”

“In one case, yes. In
the other, we think so. There aren’t very many left, you know, and each one
that we destroy frees more lifeforce for us. I don’t know why the Duarches just
didn’t rid the world of them in the beginning, when they were dying out.”

“I would judge they
felt it was unnecessary. It still probably is.” About that, Dainyl had his
doubts, but wanted to see how she reacted.

Alcyna shrugged. “I
wanted to see what it would take.”

“And ... was it worth
it? To lose two pteridons?”

“No. Not to take out
one ancient, but it was useful to learn they cannot stand up to several
skylances concentrated on thern at once.”

As appalled as he was
at Alcyna’s casual spending of the lost Myrmidons and pteridons, Dainyl could
at least understand her reasoning—and that she was telling the absolute truth,
at least as she saw it... with some reservations.

“There may be hope
for you yet, Dainyl. You don’t even look shocked. You would have been once, you
know.”

Dainyl wasn’t certain
that represented an improvement in his character, but he nodded. “Times and
circumstances change.”

“I’d be happy to turn
all the records of those flights over to you for your inspection.”

“I’m certain that
they reveal nothing that they should not.”

“I imagine your
records of what happened in Dramur don’t, either.”

“How can you say
that?” Dainyl grinned. “They’re absolutely accurate in what they state.”

Alcyna laughed in her
misleadingly warm tone. “We must have a leisurely dinner together, the three of
us. Brekylt is actually in Dulka today and this evening, but I am certain he
would be pleased to have dinner with us tomorrow night. I assume you will be staying
for at least a day or two.”

“I would be pleased
to accept such an invitation. And tomorrow morning, I will take you up on the
suggestion that I peruse the records of the encounters with the ancients,”
replied Dainyl, although he was well aware that Alcyna had not strictly
tendered such an offer. “In the meantime, perhaps one of your undercaptains
could provide me with a guided tour of the headquarters compound this
afternoon. I would not wish to impose upon you unduly.”

“You are so
thoughtful.” Alcyna paused. “Undercaptain Veluara would be pleased to do so,
once you have inspected the senior guest quarters. I will send her there to
meet you.”

“I appreciate that.”
Dainyl recognized the undercaptain’s name as a squad leader in Fourth Company,
but he had seen nothing else on her.

Alcyna rose. “I’ll
walk over to the senior officers’ quarters with you.”

Dainyl stood,
conscious that his left leg was still slightly sore, possibly from the chill of
Table travel, and followed Alcyna.

The corridor outside
her study remained vacant, and not by coincidence, Dainyl was certain, as she
accompanied him back down and through the back archway and double doors.

The flight stage
stood in the rear courtyard—equidistant from the back of the headquarters
building, the front of the pteridon stages, and the quarters. Only half the
pteridons were sunning themselves on the top of their stages, their blue
crystal beaks and talons glinting in the afternoon sun.

“Is one of the
companies deployed, or are you running dispatches?”

“There are two squads
from Third Company temporarily flying out of Norda under Majer Noryan. From
there they can cover the area south of Scien, as well as the Northern Pass. We’ve
had reports of brigands along the pass, but so far no one has lost anything. Another
squad remains at Coren until the High Alector of Justice is satisfied that
situation is fully in control.”

“Will it ever be,
given the greed of landers?” asked Dainyl.

“Enough so that third
squad can return. Possibly within a few weeks.” Alcyna started up the outside
steps to the upper level of the quarters building.

Dainyl followed her
up the stairs and along the railed balcony to the south end of the building.

“You should find
these quite comfortable, far better than the quarters of Cadmian officers in
Dramur.”

“I am certain I will.”

An even warmth flowed
toward Dainyl as Alcyna opened the quarters door.

“I had the duty staff
light the stove in the sitting room,” she said. “It is a brisk day, and Table
travel can be somewhat... chilling.”

“You are very
thoughtful.” Thoughtful—and forewarned by someone of exactly when to expect a
traveling submarshal, and that notice had to have been through a Table.

“Undercaptain Veluara
will be here shortly. If you discover anything that needs my attention, don’t hesitate
to ask me.”

“From what I have
already seen, Alcyna, I doubt that there will be any need to bring anything to
your personal attention.”

Once Alcyna departed,
Dainyl walked through the quarters, taking in the sitting room with the wide
window that offered a view of the flight stage, the rear of headquarters, and
the greenish waters of the sound beyond the bluff. A wide table desk was set
against an inside wall, with a settee and two armchairs positioned so that the
heat of the black porcelain stove radiated to all three.

The bedchamber
contained an enormous triple-width bed, a chest that would have swallowed
without difficulty ten times what Dainyl had brought in his saddlebags.

Again, he observed
that all the furniture was either black or silver, or some combination of both.
He also noted that his spare uniform had been hung in the oversized armoire,
and his toiletries laid out in the bathchamber. His Talent senses suggested
that nothing had been altered or searched at length.

After washing up, he
returned to the sitting room and settled into one of the armchairs to soak up
the warmth while waiting for the undercaptain to appear.

Through the window he
could see one of the Duarches’ sea vessels headed southeast down the center of
the sound toward the ocean. His first impressions suggested that, outwardly,
everything was as it should be, and that meant that Alcyna and Brekylt had gone
to great lengths to conceal whatever they had in mind.

Was he imagining
that?

He shook his head.

Under the bright
midmoming sun of Tridi—on the warmest day of early spring so far—Mykel shifted
his weight in the saddle of the roan. His fingers dropped to his belt, barely
brushing the hidden sheath that held the dagger of the ancients—that miniature
blade that was not only older, but tougher and harder than any steel forged by
men or alectors on Acorus. Mykel had done his best to dismiss the legend that
it bore a curse for its possessor, and the belief that the curse and dagger
could be released only when the dagger was accepted as a gift by one’s worst
enemy—one’s worst good-hearted enemy at that.

His lips curled. He
hadn’t realized he’d been that hated when he’d accepted the dagger from the
chandler in Jyoha. He hadn’t paid for it, now that he recalled what had
happened. The chandler had accepted his coins only as a gift to the hungry
children of the village. Not that he had felt cursed, not any more than any
Cadmian officer, at least. Besides, in a strange way, the dagger reminded him
of Rachyla, although he doubted he would ever see the seltyr’s green-eyed
daughter again. She certainly would not wish to see him, and he doubted he
would soon return to Dramur.

He shook his head,
then watched from the low rise as Seventeenth Company’s third squad rode along
a dirt track that resembled all too many roads in the more remote areas of
Coras.

“Third squad! On the
guide! Firing line to the left! Firing line to the left!” The high-voiced order
came from Esceld, the stolid but young squad leader.

The trooper riding
guide turned left and halted at the angle that presented the best firing
position for the battered straw targets set on stands a hundred yards to the
south.

The squad’s response
was ragged at best.

“Third squad! Fire!”

Instead of a volley
that should have been almost synchronized, the rifle reports were even more
ragged than the line of twenty-one mounts.

“Stand easy!” ordered
Esceld, looking to the older and more grizzled figure mounted to his right.

“Don’t fumble with
your pieces!” ordered Bhoral. “You rein up in a firing line, with your weapons
ready. You fool around with your piece, and Reillies and irregulars will give
you your own plot of land.”

As he listened to the
battalion senior squad leader address Loryalt’s third squad, Mykel concealed a
grin—and the exasperation beneath. After seeing the problems the undercaptain
was having with Seventeenth Company, Mykel had sent Bhoral to help the
undercaptain’s squad leaders with training.

“Spemat! You want to
die now?” continued Bhoral. “You keep that up, and I won’t wait for some
Reillie to plug you. That’s if your mates don’t get you first.”

The angular redhead
flushed and stiffened, but kept his eyes on the straw targets set on the
hillside to the south.

“You think any
irregulars are going to wait while you figure out which end of the rifle is the
stock and where die trigger is?” demanded Bhoral.

“Third squad! Column
by twos! Forward!” ordered Esceld.

After a last glance
at third squad-, Mykel turned his mount and eased the roan toward the next
hill, where Fifteenth Company and Sixteenth Company were practicing
marksmanship against weighted sand-glass targets that sprang up from irregular
positions. Neither company needed that much maneuvering practice, and Mykel
hadn’t been that pleased with the marksmanship of any of the companies in
Dramur—not when it turned out that he’d accounted for almost a quarter of all
the casualties inflicted on the seltyrs’ troops by Fifteenth Company.

As he rode over the
low hillock to the next terrain maneuvering area, Mykel heard the sound of rifles.
Before he had ridden another hundred yards, the firing died away.

Rhystan turned his
mount and rode to meet Mykel.

The two reined up
well back of Sixteenth Company.

Mykel could hear the
voice of Murthyt—the company senior squad leader.

“Remember. You get a
moment when no one’s firing, and you reload, even if you got a shell or two in
the magazine. Might not get a chance later.”

“His voice carries,”
Rhystan said. “Farther than mine.”

“How are they doing?”

“Better than when we
were preparing for Dramur, Majer.” Rhystan offered a tight smile. “Some of them
are actually hitting the targets consistently.”

“I’m glad to hear
that. Sixteenth Company will have to take the lead. I’ll be counting on you
especially.” Mykel was stating the obvious, but he’d learned that what he’d
often thought obvious wasn’t always to others. “How is Fabrytal doing?”

“He’ll be fine. He
needs experience, but he’s solid, and he’s got a good senior squad leader in
Chyndylt.” Rhys tan paused, then asked, “How bad do you think it’ll be? Compared
to Dramur?”

“Better and worse.
The irregulars probably won’t have the kind of equipment and mounts the seltyrs’
companies did, but the ones that are left have survived an attack by the
Myrmidons. They were good enough to wipe out the local garrison. The colonel
said it was small and not very well commanded.”

“I can’t say I
understand.”

“That they didn’t
send a battalion with the Myrmidons? I don’t, either, except that I don’t think
they like to mix us. Maybe they worry about the Myrmidons using the skylances
on us.” Mykel frowned. “I got the impression that they thought the Myrmidons
had eliminated the problem.”

“Without troops on
the ground? It doesn’t work that way. Not for long, and then we’ve got to pick
up the pieces later, when the locals think it ought to have been solved, and
the rebels or brigands are better prepared.”

Mykel laughed,
ruefully. “Something like that is always the problem. By the time anyone
realizes it’s a problem and we get sent...”

“Like Dramur,”
affirmed Rhystan. “Will we have to patrol until they start shooting the way it
was there?”

“Not from what the
colonel’s said, and unless things change, I’ll be the senior officer.”

“That’ll be good.”
Rhystan paused. “Ah ...”

“Yes?” Mykel had a
good idea what Rhystan had in mind, but he wasn’t completely sure. So he
waited.

“You led Fifteenth
Company from the front, Majer ...”

Mykel laughed again,
with warmth and amusement. “You’re being very tactful, Rhystan. I take it that
you feel such tactics are not appropriate for battalion commanders?”

“No, sir. We might
get stuck with another Majer Vaclyn. Or I might get stuck doing it.”

“You’d do fine, but I’d
rather not hand you command that way, and I hear what you’re saying.”

“That could be hard
for you, sir, seeing as you’re the best shot in the battalion.”

Mykel grinned. “I
didn’t say I wouldn’t use my rifle, Captain. I’ll try not to use it from the
front.”

“I won’t argue with
that, sir.” Rhystan laughed softly. “I might remind you, though.”

Mykel hoped Rhystan
didn’t have to, because, if the captain did, one way or another matters would
not be what either of them wished. He just smiled. “I’m going to check on
Fifteenth Company. You don’t need me looking over your shoulder. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel eased the roan
along the dirt track, thoughts swirling through his mind, the same thoughts he’d
had for weeks. He’d been in the Cadmians for ten years, and he’d never seen—or
heard of—as much action and unrest as had happened in the last two years. He’d
never encountered an ancient before, nor had he ever heard of anyone who had.
Yet less than two seasons ago, one had talked to him, insisting that he find
his talent to see beyond his eyes or he would perish. That was unprecedented.
So was the destruction of two pteridons by the ancients, and the fact that
Myrmidon Submarshal Dainyl had avoided explaining the true cause of their
destruction.