Cadmians Choice (54 page)

“That depends on what
you want from us.”

“Perhaps nothing. At
most, I would need your men to pick off anyone fleeing north and east. It may
not come to that today, but if it does, I’d rather not have anyone escaping.”

“Six companies,”
replied Mykel. “Just over the crest of the hill. I’d leave one for existing
duties, and to serve as reserves.”

“That will do. How
long will it take for you to get in position?”

“A glass and a half
from now. Two, if you want certainty. We’ll ride out the high road and then
head west on the first dirt road west past the hilltop with the stone corrals.
You should be able to see that from the air.”

“Two glasses from
when I leave the garrison. I’ll ride back with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl sensed that
the majer was less than perfectly pleased with the idea, pleasant as his
acquiescence had been.

For the first few
yards, neither officer spoke, and the only sounds were those of the hoofs of
the squad preceding them, and the company following. Dainyl realized something
else disturbing—the majer was studying him, observing his shields and Talent.
Dainyl wasn’t quite certain if Mykel was learning much, but the thought of a
lander having that understanding and Talent was chilling. For the first time,
he truly understood why Zelyert was concerned about Talented landers. Yet...
for his own self-preservation, for now, he needed the majer.

“Majer, what haven’t
you told me?” Dainyl finally asked.

Mykel laughed,
ironically. “A great deal, Submarshal, but much of it consists of the rather
boring details of attempting to train semi-trained recruits and build a true
compound in a town where the principal concern seems to be how many golds the
craftmasters can milk from the Marshal of Myrmidons. I’ve told you most of what
has happened, either now or in the reports. The only thing affecting the
Cadmians that I haven’t mentioned is that one company was attacked by a
different set of flying

monsters—a cross
between miniature sandoxes with horns and small pteridons. There were only
three, but we lost men.”

“Where did this take
place?”

“On the ridge road to
the closest hamlet nearby. It heads east off the high road, some ten vingts
norm of Hyalt.”

“Is that the only
other attack by flying creatures?”

“Besides those I
already reported? Yes.”

“Have you had any
messages or contact from the regional alector?”

“No, sir. Not a
message. Not a word.”

“How long before the
new compound will be complete?”

Mykel shook his head.
“If all goes well, sometime in harvest. If it goes as I expect, by midfall.”

Dainyl almost laughed
at the young majer’s realistic attitude, far more like that of a Myrmidon than
of a Cadmian. Ahead, he could see the gateless opening to the ruined garrison,
and beyond, men and mounts. He still needed to brief the majer on what he
expected from the Third Battalion.

Although his face
held a polite smile, Mykel watched warily as Submarshal Dainyl swung into the
second saddle on the pteridon, behind the smaller Myrmidon flyer. What the
submarshal had in mind for Third Battalion—even if a full Myrmidon company
would be handling any direct attacks—was likely to create more than a few
casualties, especially if the rebel alectors had many of the firelance weapons.

He had not wished so
close a meeting with any alector, not that he had had any choice at all. Still,
he had used the closeness to observe the alector’s shields. Had the submarshal
noted that? In all likelihood, he had, but how else could Mykel leam? The
submarshal already knew what talents Mykel had, and he had a need for Mykel—for
now. That need would not last, and Mykel had best be prepared—somehow—before he
was no longer necessary.

At the same time, he
had been disconcerted by the alector’s showing up in the middle of the
court-martial. Mykel could only hope he had handled the situation well, but
knowing how evil Sacyrt was at heart had made it difficult. The ranker had
enjoyed killing the local bravo and assaulting the woman—yet the bravo would
have killed Sacyrt. If only the idiot had left it at that, or just taken his
pleasure with the woman without hurting her or resisting the patrollers and his
own mates ...

The pteridon spread
its wings—then suddenly was in the air, and climbing away to the northeast.

Mykel had sensed a
burst of purple from the creature, energy of some sort, as it had launched
itself. Was that how the creatures flew? Yet how did they channel that force
into flying? Was it something like the way the ancients soared?

“Majer?” Rhystan’s
voice was low, deferential.

“Oh ... sorry. I was
thinking.”

“Can you tell me what
the submarshal wants, sir?” asked Rhystan. “I didn’t wish to intrude....”

“I appreciate that.”
Mykel straightened. “We need to get all companies ready, except Seventeenth. We’ll
ride out immediately, to take a position to the north of the Regional Alector’s
compound. We’re to provide a perimeter guard.” He sensed Rhystan’s concern and
explained, “The submarshal confirmed that there are rebel forces—”

“He told me that
while the squad was forming up to escort him down to the square. He didn’t say
who they were.”

“Whoever it is that
holds the regional alector’s compound is rebelling. The submarshal wouldn’t
admit they’re alectors, either, but we know that they are, and he’s brought an
entire company of Myrmidons.”

“He didn’t want to
say because it’s a matter of pride, you think?” asked Rhystan.

“Probably. Alectors
are supposed to be perfect.”

Rhystan shook his
head slowly. “So they’re going to attack?”

“That’s how it looks.
Now ... Seventeenth Company will have to take over guard duties at both the
compound and the quarry. Culeyt and Fourteenth Company will have to turn quarry
duty to two squads of Seventeenth Company and join us as they can. We’ll pick
up the Hyalt companies and Thirteenth Company on the way. I’ll ride with you
and brief you on some other possibilities.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel turned his
mount into the courtyard. The last thing he wanted to do was provide a
picket-line guard against alectors armed with the equivalent of skylances, but
he couldn’t very well refuse a direct command from the submarshal of Myrmidons.
He took a deep breath. Just get things moving. You can think about the details
on the ride.

“Officers! Forward!”

In less than a
quarter glass, Third Battalion—except for Seventeenth Company—had begun to ride
out from the old garrison.

Once the column was
on the high road, riding northward beyond the outskirts of Hyalt in good order,
Mykel and Rhystan rode just behind the vanguard squad. Shortly before,
Thirteenth Company and First and Second Hyalt Companies had joined them from
the compound.

Mykel had folded the
extra ammunition belt into his saddlebags, but had decided against wearing it
for now. He hoped he wouldn’t need it at all.

After a time, he
turned to the captain. “For all that the submarshal told me, there’s a lot
there that he didn’t.”

“We discovered that
in Dramur, sir.”

Mykel frowned.
Twinges of pain ran down his back, and he shifted in the saddle, trying to
lessen the combination of stiffness and discomfort. Handling the flogging
himself had taken more energy than he’d realized. “He was worried. He didn’t
say a single word about the court-martial.”

“Sounds like he is
worried. He was interested in the one in Dramur. Why would any alector rebel?
They’ve got everything they need.”

“They may be
alectors,” replied Mykel, “but they’re not all equal, and there’s always
someone who’s not satisfied or who wants more power, or who thinks he can do it
better. I don’t think alectors are any different about things like that. They
seem to be more interested in power than golds. So maybe that’s another reason.”

“They don’t need
golds.”

“I suppose not, but I’ve
seen the seltyrs and factors who have more gold than they’d ever need
scrabbling for more.”

“Different faults,”
Rhystan replied dryly. “Neither’s admirable.”

Mykel had to agree
with that.

“Besides providing a
covering fire or flank support, or whatever it is, what else does the
submarshal want? Did he say?”

Mykel nodded. Ahead
he could see the hilltop witii the stone corrals. “He’s thinking about
splitting the battalion. You may have to decide who will take command of
Sixteenth Company. If he does, the submarshal will put you in charge of the
force remaining here. I suggested you be promoted to overcaptain. He looked
like he might agree, but he didn’t say.”

“There’s a lot he isn’t
saying.”

“Is that any
different from Dramur?” Mykel’s tone was ironic.

“Where are the rest
of his pteridons? He can’t handle all those alectors with just two.”

“He has an entire
company somewhere nearby. He didn’t want to alert the rebels. We’re to take up
positions along that road north of where I discovered them. The hill there
offers concealment and cover against their weapons. We may not have to do
anything immediately, but that’s the plan for today.”

“Worse than Dramur,”
affirmed Rhystan glumly.

“It could be.” Mykel
shrugged—and wished he hadn’t as his back protested. “It might not be.”

“By the way, sir...
what happened with the court-martial?”

“Sacyrt was guilty of
abandonment of duty, assaulting the woman, resisting authority, and assaulting
a Cadmian. Thirty lashes and immediate dismissal.”

“Not murder?”

“The man tried to
extort coins and then attacked him with a knife.”

“Sacyrt will
remember. He’s not the type to forget.”

“When he recovers,
and if he lives.” Mykel’s voice was bleak.

“Where is he?”

“I left him in the
dust in the square. Immediate dismissal means immediate.”

“The locals will kill
him.”

Mykel shook his head.
‘They might take pity on him. Someone might, anyway.”

“You can be hard,
sir.”

“The woman will never
look the same, and Siliast may never recover full strength in that arm. The men
need to know that sort of behavior isn’t acceptable to me.” He paused. “Someone
always tries the new commander, and even if they don’t deliberately, everyone
watches to see how he reacts.”

“You administered the
lashes?”

“Who else?”

Rhystan nodded
slowly. “You could.”

Mykel thought that an
odd comment, but did not pursue it. Was Rhystan saying that Mykel could wield
the lash because he had led from the front? Or because he was a new battalion commander?
Or both?

“What sort of spacing
would you suggest?” he finally asked Rhystan.

“You said that they
had weapons like skylances. I’d have them on the ground, just out of sight,
over the crest of the hill, until we know whether we’re needed. Then put them
in prone position, a little less than two yards apart, every other man three
yards back. You’d have two lines, then, and one could keep firing, while the
other advanced or retreated.”

“That’s a thin line,
and we’d only be covering about a vingt,” mused Mykel. “Still, we’re supposed
to be picking up stragglers, not facing an attack. There’s a bit of a gully
below on the southeast side, and that would give us time to reform. They don’t
have that many mounts and no pteridons.” He nodded. “Maybe a little tighter—a
yard and a half. That still will give us a front of half a vingt.”

“Do you know what the
submarshaPs going to do?”

“He’s going in as if
it’s a normal visit, or whatever he does. Bait... I think.”

“Thought Cadmians
were the only ones who did that.”

“I’m not sure he’s a
typical alector.” But then, how would I know? Mykel looked ahead. “Left on the
lane heading west, past the corrals! Pass it up!”

“Left ahead!...”

As the column turned
onto the lane, Mykel glanced back into the sky to the northeast. So far, no
sign of the pteridons, but he didn’t expect them for another glass. He watched
the road, but the sandy soil was heavy enough that what dust there was rose
less than a yard, just enough to coat the mounts’ fetlocks and lower legs and
Cadmians’ boots.

Slightly less than
two glasses after the battalion had left the old garrison, a glass past midday,
the six companies were stationed on the back side of the uneven hills to the
north and east of the regional alector’s compound. They were gathered in squads,
resting in whatever shade there was until ordered into firing positions.

Mykel had dismounted
and made his way across the flatter crest of the hill in the center of his line
of companies. He lay just beyond the crest on the southern side, stretched behind
an irregularly shaped juniper, surveying the hillside below and the terrain
between the hill and the Regional Alector’s compound. He had left the
ammunition belt behind, with the fourth squad of Fifteenth Company, the group
that would be flanking him in the center of the line.

The wind had
switched, and intermittent hot gusts of dry air out of the south lifted and
swirled sand and fragments of dried vegetation, then dropped them randomly. The
low haziness that had hugged the southern horizon had climbed steadily toward
the zenith as the day had warmed, until the entire southern half of the sky
held a faint whitish silver cast. The later afternoon would be hot, a true
summer day in Hyalt.

Reddish ground and
scattered grass, now mostly summer tan, stretched from the base of the hill to
the compound a vingt or so southeast of the base of the hill. Unlike before,
there were no signs of any troopers. Mykel couldn’t even see any sentries
posted outside either the entrance to the freestanding stone building or to the
archway carved into the redstone cliff.