Authors: L. E. Modesitt
Cadmians Choice (59 page)
“Night watches weren’t
a problem for you, then?”
“No, sir. I like the
night. So do you, do you not?”
“At times.” Had
Matorak seen Mykel with the soarer?
“They say you are a
dagger of the ancients, sir.” Matorak’s eyes were politely expressionless.
“What is said and
what is are often two different things,” Mykel replied. “Even when they are the
same, the words do not convey the reality.” He really didn’t want to admit or
deny the appellation.
“In the desert, words
are a waste of water. In the ocean, speech will drown one.”
Mykel laughed.
On Decdi morning,
like every other morning since arriving in Hyalt, Dainyl was up before dawn.
After he had dressed and eaten, he slipped out of the way station, carrying his
small bag of personal gear. As the sky lightened from purple-green to
green-tinged silver, he looked to the north and the waiting pteridons, and then
at the sky. A cooler breeze blew from the northeast, carrying behind it clouds,
lower than he would have liked, but high enough for first squad to follow the
high road north to Tempre.
The previous days of
patrols over the rebel compound had proved far less eventful than the first
day, since it had become clear to the besieged rebels that any use of a lightcannon
resulted in its destruction. Still, the first day had cost Fifth Company two
Myrmidons, in addition to Dyrmant’s death. While Dainyl should have anticipated
it, the Talent strength of the alector who had met him outside the regional
compound had shocked him. Not that someone had that level of Talent, but that
an alector of that ability could be so easily spared.
Or had the dead
alector just been arrogant, thinking that no mere Myrmidon possessed equal or
stronger Talent? Either way, Dainyl reflected, it meant that he would have to
deal with either great arrogance among Brekylt’s and Rhelyn’s rebels or great
Talent—if not both.
It was for the best,
although he had not planned it that way, that he had not immediately attempted
to transfer Dyrmant’s pteridon to Brytra, who was now flying with first squad.
Definitely a fiery introduction for the young alectress in becoming a flier.
After that first day,
the compound had shown little overt activity, except for occasional quick
light-blasts, designed more to keep the Myrmidons from venturing too close. In
return, Fifth Company had used skylances to seal more of the slit ports, and in
response, the rebels created more, if slowly.
Dainyl turned as
Fhentyl approached.
“Good morning,
Submarshal.”
“Good morning. We’ll
be lifting off shortly.”
“Will one squad be
enough, sir?” asked Fhentyl. “Things have been more quiet here.”
“For now,” agreed
Dainyl. “That worries me.”
“You think that the
rebels are planning something.”
Dainyl nodded. He was
certain of that, but exactly what they might do he had no idea, except that it
was likely to be deadly. He just wished he hadn’t had to wait so long for the
Cadmians to reach Tempre, but he needed ground forces to get into the
administrative center—and the Table chamber—in Tempre. From what Lystrana had
been able to discover, even more resources had been diverted, including some to
Tempre. Tempre was a less isolated locale for alectors, and that might mean
that there were no lightcannon there—or fewer. That also meant that Majer Mykel
might face more of a locally raised and trained armed force than Dainyl had
originally planned, which was another reason why Dainyl had finally decided on
sending three companies and the majer, rather than two under Captain Rhystan,
as he had first considered.
“They might try some
form of shielded vehicle,” he said slowly to Fhentyl, “like a small sandox
coach, for the lightcannon. Aim for the wheels, if that happens. If they do
something like that, have the Cadmians retreat. They can’t stand against those
weapons. One way or another,” Dainyl continued, “the rebels will attempt to
break out, probably tomorrow or the next day. Be ready for it. Don’t accept any
surrenders. They have the equivalent of high alectors in there, and if any of
you get close to them, you’ll end up either doing what they want or dead.”
“Sir?” Fhentyl
stiffened.
“You heard me,
Captain. I’m thinking of your health and survival. They’ll do about anything to
gain control of the pteridons, and that includes treachery and murder. That’s
why you are not to land there under any circumstances.” Dainyl paused. “Why do
you think I’m here in person, and why I had to be the one to attempt to see the
regional alector?”
The captain relaxed
slightly, but not all the way.
Dainyl didn’t blame
him.
“I never thought...”
“Neither did any of
us,” Dainyl replied gently. “But we’re the ones who have to deal with it. Now
... I need to be going. Best of fortune, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dainyl offered a
smile and lifted the gear bag he carried, then strode across the trampled grass
and dirt north of the way station toward first squad.
Undercaptain Hyksant
stood waiting by his pteridon as Dainyl approached. “First squad, ready to fly,
sir.”
“Thank you,
Undercaptain. Stand by.” Dainyl slipped his gear into the harness bag behind
the saddle and swung up onto the pteridon.
“Lift off!” Lift
off... straight north, gentle climb to two hundred yards . ..
The pteridon
complied, as did the othier four, one bearing the newest Myrmidon flier.
Mykel and his three
companies reached the way station south of Tempre late on Novdi, just after
sunset. All along the road, he’d made an effort to replicate the sort of shield
that he’d sensed with Submarshal Dainyl. He thought he was doing better at it,
but how would he know? Still, he had to do something before he outlived his
usefulness to the submarshal. That was clear from what both Rachyla and the
soarer had told him.
The station was
located on the north-south high road a good five vingts north of the intersection
between the north-south high road from Hyalt to Tempre and the east-west high
road that ran from Hafin on the west coast all the way through the South Pass
of the Spine of Corus to Flyr in Lustrea. A low hill behind the station to the
east rose less than fifteen yards above the top of the waystation roof. As
befitted a major way station, there was a spring, a stable, a corral, and a
main building. None were adequate to deal with close to three hundred Cadmians
and their mounts, but it was the best to be had.
Because Mykel had
felt uneasy about his position, especially without orders from the submarshal,
he had posted scouts several vingts away from the waystation along the high
road in both directions, with reliefs scheduled as part of the watch rotation.
Well before dawn on
Decdi, he was awakened.
“Sir...” reported
Jasakyt, “There are two, maybe three, companies of troopers riding this way
from Tempre. They’re not Cadmians.” His lips crinkled into a smile. “Hard to
tell in the dark, but it looks like fancy uniforms, too.”
Mykel was already
pulling on his boots and his tunic. “Just troopers? No wagons? Carts? Baggage?”
“No, sir.”
“How far were they,
and how fast were they riding?”
“Three vingts when I
left. They weren’t pushing it. I’d say a quarter to a half glass before they
get here.”
“Battalion! Form up!
To horse!” Mykel turned to Jasakyt. “Head back out. No more than half a vingt.
Report back when you see them.”
Jasakyt nodded and
headed off.
“Fabrytal! Here!”
“Sir?” The
undercaptain appeared, still pulling on his tunic.
“Form up Fifteenth
Company by squads, staggered firing lines, rifles ready. On the flat east of
the road, just north of the waystation.”
“Sir?” asked
Fabrytal.
“How likely is it
that three companies of strange troopers would decide to take a leisurely ride
before dawn on a Decdi morning?”
“When you put it that
way ...”
“Go! Form up
Fifteenth Company as ordered.”
Fabrytal left at
close to a run.
“Loryalt! Matorak! To
me.”
Loryalt appeared
first, followed by the Hyaltan undercaptain.
“Loryalt, we’ve got
mounted troopers headed this way. I want Seventeenth Company formed up, ready
to ride, on the back of the north side of the hill behind the way station. Keep
out of sight, but have a scout in position to observe. Once the firing starts,
you’re to sweep out to the north and cut off any retreat. Give yourself enough
space so that you can ride out, stagger the company into a firing line and rake
them with at least two volleys before you go after them with sabres. Three
volleys or more, if they don’t react. Pass the orders to your squad leaders
once you form up so they know the plan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Head out now. You’ve
got the farthest to go.” Mykel turned in the dimness to Matorak. “I want you to
set up your company on the south side of the way station. Keep them close
together and station them so that no one can be seen by anyone coming south on
the high road. Once the firing starts, you’re to use the same tactics as
Seventeenth Company. Charge out straight, hold the road on the south side. Come
to a firing line and rake them. Two volleys. Keep firing at them until they
look like they’ll charge—or until I order a charge. Or Undercaptain Fabrytal
does. And tell your squad leaders’
“Yes, sir.”
In the dimness, Mykel
could see the unspoken questions in Matorak’s face. “They’re not Cadmians, and
they only think they’ve been trained. They can’t have been in much of a fight,
and they have no idea of what our volleys will do to them. They’ll break.”
Matorak hurried off,
and Mykel followed almost at a run. Even so, he was mounted and beside Fabrytal
as Fifteenth Company formed up on the flat area on the east side of the road
just north of the way station. In the east, the sky was just beginning to
lighten.
“Sir? Where are the
other companies going?”
“Seventeenth is
headed a bit north behind the hill. Second will be concealed behind the
waystation. I want them close, but out of sight.” What Mykel wasn’t saying was
that he was counting on the strange troopers to assume that he would not fire
first. He wouldn’t—not until he had a sign that the troopers were hostile,
although he couldn’t imagine otherwise on an end-day morning. If the troopers
came in firing, that was another question, but Fifteenth Company was drawn up
in firing order.
There were other
questions as well. Who had created three companies of mounted troopers, and how
had they known Mykel was there? Who was sending them against Cadmians and why?
Had something happened to the submarshal? Or was the information about Mykel’s
Cadmians something discovered by the mysterious Tables?
Mykel shook his head.
None of that really mattered for the moment. What mattered was how he handled
the troopers. Still, as he sat on the roan waiting, he concentrated on trying
to strengthen the shield/concealment around himself.
The sky had lightened
into a dark greenish gray when the first ranks of the oncoming troopers
appeared on the high road, the click of hoofs on stone echoing through the
dimness.
Mykel could sense a
certain surprise from somewhere.
Then the column
halted, still on the road, a good fifty yards to the north of Fifteenth
Company.
Mykel smiled, grimly,
then called out? “Who goes there?”
“Who are you?” A
figure rode out a few yards from the five-man vanguard, all too close to the
main body.
“Fifteenth Company,
Third Battalion, Cadmian Mounted Rifles,” Mykel replied, letting his voice
carry. “Who are you?”
“The Alector’s Guard
of Tempre—charged with maintaining order in and around Tempre.”
Mykel waited,
studying the officer with both eyes and senses.
“There is no need for
a Cadmian presence near Tempre. Regional Alector Fahylt has everything under
control.”
“Captain,” Mykel
stated, “that is not what our orders stated.”
“Majer, Majer Kersyd.
I’m afraid that you must be mistaken, Captain.”
Mykel ignored the
snub. “I’m a little confused. The Cadmian Mounted Rifles are charged with
maintaining order and subduing rebels and insurrections. We have the freedom of
the roads as necessary. Exactly what is the Alector’s Guard?”
“There are no
Cadmians here. There have never been any, and with the growing Squawt threat to
the north, the regional alector formed the Guard—”
“Has the Guard ever
fought the Squawts?”
“The Guard is here to
prevent that necessity.”
Mykel sensed the
growing unease of the majer. “I see. And what if we insist on proceeding to
Tempre?”
“I am afraid we
cannot allow that.”
“Cannot allow?”
questioned Mykel. “You would stop a Cadmian command under the orders of the
Marshal of Myrmidons?” With cold certainty, he could sense someone aiming at
him.
He jerked aside in
the saddle, but even so, something half-twisted him, almost yanking him off the
roan. He straightened, and his own rifle came up in a single movement, and he
fired, willing the shot home. The Guard majer did not even have the chance to
look surprised
“Fifteenth Company!
Fire at will!” Mykel ordered.
The Cadmians got off
three volleys before even scattered rifle shots were offered by the Alector’s
Guard. From both the north and south, Mykel could sense and hear the hoofbeats
of the horses of the other two companies. Following their orders, if slightly
later than Mykel would have liked, Seventeenth Company swept up the road from
the south, while Second Company swung out and swept down from the north.
Mykel dropped two
squad leaders, and an undercaptain. More shots, if scattered, began to fly
around him. He kept firing, then reloaded.