Cadmians Choice (56 page)

“Yes, sir.” The majer’s
eyes never left Dainyl, another trait rare in a lander.

“As I told you
earlier, I’ll need three companies to ride north to Tempre under your command,”
Dainyl continued. “There is a possibility that the rebels may have sympathizers
in the administrative center there. You’re confident in Captain Rhystan’s
ability to command the remaining companies?”

“Yes, sir.” There was
the slightest hesitation. “He’s very coolheaded and should have been an
overcaptain before now.”

Dainyl wondered about
the hesitation, yet he could sense no equivocation about the majer’s
endorsement of Rhystan. Something else was at issue. “You still have concerns,
Majer?”

“Our rifles have not
proved adequate against some of the strange flying creatures, I have to admit.”

Dainyl understood
that. Some Talent creatures were barely susceptible to skylances. “There will
not be many of those. There may not be any, but if there are, the casualties
will be light, so long as your men are spread somewhat.”

“That’s what we did
before, but... with large numbers...”

“They’re far more
likely to go for the pteridons and Myrmidons,” Dainyl added. “They would tend
to be drawn to them.”

The majer nodded.

How much did Mykel
understand? Too much, Dainyl feared, yet he might well need the majer in
Tempre—or even later. For that reason alone, it would be better for the majer
to undertake the Tempre mission. If he remained in Hyalt, Fhentyl would certainly
notice. “Oh... if you would tell Captain Rhystan, Myrmidon Captain Fhentyl will
be in command of the Myrmidons remaining here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How soon can you
have your companies on the road to Tempre?”

“In three glasses,
sir, but I’d prefer to leave at dawn tomorrow. That will allow men and mounts
some rest and better organization of supplies, and duties.”

“Dawn tomorrow,
Majer. I will be in touch with you before you reach Tempre, with more detailed
instructions. If, by some chance, I do not, stop at the last way station
outside Tempre on the high road and wait for further orders. Do you have any
questions?”

“How long should we
plan to be away from sources of supply?”

“The ride to Tempre
and four days beyond.”

“Ammunition. Should
we split what we have evenly between companies? Or will one force require more?”

“An even split.”
Dainyl suspected he could get resupplies to Tempre far faster than to Hyalt.

“Is yhere anyyhing
out of the ordinary that we should know?”

“I suspect you
already know, but any forces in black and silver’are not to be trusted, nor
allowed to approach.”

“I had thought so,
sir, but I appreciate the clarification.”

After a moment of
silence, Dainyl was the one to nod. “Good fortune, Majer.” He turned and walked
back to the waiting pteridon, mounting quickly.

Liftoff...

The pteridon was
airborne, circling up to rejoin first squad. Dainyl glanced to the southwest.
Still five pteridons circling, and no sense of building lifeforce that
suggested more lightcannon use.

Mykel watched the pteridon
rise into the late-midafternoon sky. Two things had caught his attention.
First, for the first time since he had known the submarshal, the Myrmidon was
riding a pteridon as the flier. Mykel wasn’t certain what that meant, but he
had the feeling it wasn’t good. Second, one phrase used by the submarshal had
caught his attention—that the compound was held by rebels who opposed “the
Duarch.” Duarch— singular. Was there a war between Duarches erupting? With
weapons like lightcannon and skylances, he sincerely hoped not, that it was
only a minor rebellion, the equivalent of unruly Reillies or Squawts—or, at the
worst, like the arrogant seltyrs of Dramur. Unfortunately, he was getting the
feeling it was worse than that.

He turned slowly,
looking for Bhoral and finally spotting the battalion senior squad leader. “Have
all the companies re-form on this side of the ridge and remount, and the
officers report to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

A quarter of a glass
passed before Mykel looked across the faces of the officers. Only Loryalt was
missing, because Seventeenth Company had taken the quarry and new compound
duties. “We’ve been given new orders, directly from the Submarshal of
Myrmidons. Third Battalion and the two Hyalt companies will be reformed into
two forces. I will be in charge of one, and Captain Rhystan the other....” He
went on to provide an outline of the situation, concluding with, “Since we will
be rotating companies on the picket line, for the remainder of today, and until
relieved at Captain Rhystan’s discretion, Thirteenth Company will assume the
picket and interdiction responsibilities. You will send messengers to report
regularly. Are you clear on your duties, Undercaptain Dyarth?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The remaining
companies of Third Battalion and the two Hyalt companies will form up and
return to the garrison. Sixteenth Company will lead. Officers, dismissed to
your companies.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Rhystan
mustered Sixteenth Company, Mykel recovered both his mount and the ammunition
belt that, he suspected, he would need far more in Tempre than he had thus far
in Hyalt.

Less than half a
glass later, with the sun well past mid-afternoon, three companies of Third
Battalion and the two Hyalt companies rode back toward the high road on their
way back to the garrison. Mykel rode beside Rhystan.

“It’s a war between
alectors, isn’t it, sir?” the captain asked after a time.

“The submarshal hasn’t
said, only that there are rebels, but that’s what it looks like.”

“We could get
squeezed badly if both sides have weapons like those skylances,” Rhystan
pointed out.

“That’s true.” Mykel
shifted his weight in the saddle. His back remained sore, with occasional jolts
of pain through it.

“Do you have any idea
which side is to be preferred?” asked the captain.

“Not really. All I
know is that the submarshal is in charge of putting down this group and that he’s
been foursquare and honorable—and that he had had enough sense to put Dohark in
charge in Dramur and that he saved my ass when Vaclyn wanted to do me in.” Not
to mention saving me from a wound that should have killed me.

“Funny when an
alector is better to you than your own superiors. It makes me wonder what he
wants.”

“I’ve asked myself
that question more than once, Rhystan. I still don’t have a good answer. One
thing is clear. The submarshal doesn’t suffer fools or deception. He can look
right through you and tell if you’re leaving something out or deceiving him.
Don’t even think about trying it.”

“I appreciate that
word of wisdom.” Rhystan’s chuckle was close to grim.

“There’s something
else. The submarshal emphasized that we were not to allow the rebel alectors to
approach closer than fifty yards under any circumstances, and that if we could
not kill them or drive them off, we were to withdraw. He wanted me to make that
point directly to you.”

“You’ve made it. They
must have some sort of weapon or power that is deadly that close. Good thing to
know, I guess.”

“How good, I wonder.”

“Do you know what you’ll
be doing in Tempre? Or how long you’ll be there?”

“Not really. He said
that he wanted to cut off any possibility of supplies from there.”

“We could just block
the roads without sending companies up there.”

“It’s where the
closest other regional alector is,” Mykel said. “I’m wondering if he’s talking
more about things like those lightcannon. We couldn’t stop those on the road.”

“He wants to get
control of them before they get into action?” Rhystan frowned. “But if those
are around, why haven’t we seen them before?”

Mykel was silent for
several moments, thinking. The submarshal had been flying a pteridon alone when
he had returned from the brief fight or skirmish, and he had been carrying the
skylance.

“Sir?”

“I don’t think I ever
told you, Rhystan,” Mykel began slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. “Last
harvest, before we got sent to Dramur, I was taking the sandox coach back from
Faitel to Northa. One of the ancienteers appeared and fired a crossbow bolt at
an alector. The bolt bounced off his clothes—the shiny ones they all wear, at
least in public—but he was staggered. In Dramur, the submarshal broke some
bones when he fell off the pteridon, but the other two Myrmidons were killed.
The other thing was that Dohark told me about an officer he once knew who used
a barrel of gunpowder to blow up some Squawts—I think it was Squawts—and he got
accidentally flamed by a Myrmidon ...”

“Accidentally?”

“Dohark didn’t think
it was an accident, either. Now ... on quarry duty, it took combined fire to
bring down those strange creatures ...”

“I don’t think I see
where you’re going.”

“Why don’t we have
rifles with larger barrels and bigger shells? Why are the only really powerful
weapons on Corus linked to the pteridons?”

“Frig!” The expletive
was low and muttered.

“You see? The
Myrmidons have the only weapons that can kill an alector—or they did until
someone invented or took those lightcannon out of storage.”

“They’ve been hiding
that for years.”

“And I’d suggest you
don’t say much about it, or we might suffer the same fate as that Captain
Dohark told me about.”

‘This is getting much
worse than Dramur.”

“I’m not so sure,”
countered Mykel. “We haven’t lost nearly so many men or officers.”

“No yet, but Dramur
didn’t start out that badly, either.”

Rhystan was right
about that, Mykel had to admit.

“There’s one other
thing,” Mykel ventured.

“Just one?”

“The new compound.
You’ll have to keep watch on Troral and the mastercrafters. And don’t let
Troral deliver those blankets. He’ll try as soon as I’m gone.”

“He’s the kind that
gives factors a bad name.”

“I’d rather deal with
him than the seltyrs. So would you.”

‘That’s like deciding
between Reillies and Squawts.”

Mykel glanced ahead.
The high road was still a good vingt ahead to the east.

“Which companies will
you take, sir?”

“I’ll leave you
Fourteenth Company, Thirteenth Company, and First Hyalt. Culeyt and Fourteenth
Company and your Sixteenth Company are solid. Bhoral will stay with you as
battalion senior squad leader. I’ll take Fifteenth, Seventeenth, and the Second
Hyalt.”

“You’re certain?”

“I can do some
training on the way,” Mykel replied. “If anything happens here, you’ll need two
solid companies. Cismyr isn’t bad, and Dyarth will follow any orders you give.
Just make them clear.”

Rhystan laughed.

“We’ll leave at dawn
tomorrow. It will take that long to sort out the provisions and the ammunition.
We will take most of the wagons, and you’ll have to arrange with Troral for
more supplies. I’ll have to write up some sort of authorization for you to draw
against the letters of credit, and we’ll have to go over that later, before I
leave.”

There were more than
a few matters that had to be resolved. Mykel was just glad that he’d made
efforts to keep Rhystan informed. At the moment, he wished he’d done more. He
also had to wonder about two other nagging matters. Why did the submarshal
insist on Mykel’s being the one to command the force going to Tempre? Because
he knew Mykel was effective against alectors? Or for some reason even less
favorable to Mykel?

And why was Rachyla
in Tempre? Was that coincidence?

Mykel didn’t believe
in coincidence, especially since most coincidences he’d encountered turned out
for the worse. But he didn’t have a better answer... not yet.

Mykel had tried to
lie down and rest once he’d worked out the arrangements for splitting Third
Battalion. By then, it was a good three glasses past sunset. For all the strain
of the past several days and his own lack of sleep, with the pain in his back,
he couldn’t even doze. He’d never slept all that well on his stomach, and he
couldn’t help worrying about the days to come. Just what exactly did the
submarshal want from him and the Cadmi-ans? Why was he having them ride away
from where the rebels were? Or was there yet another rebel force in Tempre?
Finally, he pulled his boots back on and picked up his rifle.

The courtyard was
quiet, and Mykel avoided the quiet bones game in the southwest corner, making
his way through the darkness to the west gate.

“Sir?”

“I’m going out.”
Mykel walked out past the sentry stationed in the archway of the west gate of
the old garrison and started up the slope to the jumble of redstone and rock.
The only sounds were those of his boots and the intermittent sounds of insects.
The full green disc of Asterta shone down from almost directly overhead, while
Selena showed but the thinnest crescent in the eastern sky, barely above the
horizon.

Mykel appreciated the
cooler night air—cooler only in comparison to the stifling heat of the late
afternoon—but his eyes strayed to the west, although he could see no lights.
Still, at sunset a squad of pteridons had still been circling the area around
the regional alector’s compound.

He came to a halt
short of the most rugged section of the hilltop, then half-sat, half-leaned on
a redstone boulder that still retained some warmth. He set the rifle across the
stone. Letting his thoughts and senses drift, he attempted to gather some
feeling as to whether one of the soarers might be nearby. All he could sense
was a distant blackness, something that lay beneath the hillside, with
apparently less substance than mist, yet which radiated east and west deep
beneath the surface of the hill.

There was no sign of
one of the ancients.