Cadmians Choice (64 page)

“Thank you, and
convey my thanks to the undercaptain. Fifteenth Company will be joining Second
Company shortly. At some point, so will the Myrmidons.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the squad
leader departed, Mykel turned to Fabrytal. “Muster Fifteenth Company and head
to the compound. Settle them in, and tell them to get some rest. Check the
kitchens and see what supplies they have. And the armory, if they have one, I’ll
be there shortly, after I brief Loryalt and the Myrmidon undercaptain. For the
time being, you and Matorak work out a watch schedule for the compound. All men
in the barracks are to be in standby status, even if they are resting. I’ll
want three-man patrols on the streets around here—four patrols for now. Those
will rotate among the companies at the compound.”

“I’ll take care of
it, sir.”

As Fabrytal began to
issue the orders to Fifteenth Company, Mykel walked back to Hyksant. “We have
the compound secure. I’m reducing the building guard here to one company. The
other two companies will be on standby at the compound, and we’ll have mounted
patrols on the nearby streets and boulevards.”

Hyksant raised his
eyebrows.

“If I hold all my men
here until the submarshal returns—or until he doesn’t—they won’t be able to
respond to anything else. The compound is only a fraction of a glass away by
horse.”

“I see.”

Mykel could tell that
he didn’t. He looked at the Myrmidon officer, his eyes hard on the alector. “I’m
certain that the submarshal could explain the necessity of my actions better
than I am doing, undercaptain, but having men posted in the sun on granite
paving, even with rotations every glass, is extremely wearing. It’s also hard
on their mounts, even keeping them in the shade as much as possible, because we
can’t water them enough. I’d like to have both men and mounts rested for the
trouble that will come in the next few days. I’m certain that the submarshal
will want that also.” He was more than certain that there would indeed be
trouble, of one kind or another.

This time Hyksant
looked away. “As you see fit, Majer.”

Mykel smiled
pleasantly. “I’m doing my best to carry out the submarshal’s orders, as I’m
certain you are.” He stepped back and turned.

Behind him, he could
sense consternation ... or confusion. He wasn’t sure which, only that he’d best
be careful in dealing with Hyksant, who seemed far less understanding of what
faced either the Myrmidons or the Cadmians than the submarshal did.

Without hesitating,
Mykel retrieved his mount and rode to the back of the gray granite building,
making his way to Loryalt.

The undercaptain
stiffened as Mykel reined up. “Sir?”

“It appears as if we’ll
be here far longer than the submarshal had thought. I’ve sent Second Company
and Fifteenth Company to that new compound. Split up your company to cover
front and back, and have a messenger ready to ride in case you need
reinforcement. The companies at the compound will be handling road and street
patrols...”

When Mykel had
finished briefing Loryalt, he turned the mount and began to ride to the
compound, wondering just what he might find there—and how long indeed they
would be in Tempre.

The compound was
close to luxurious by Cadmian standards and so recently completed that Mykel could
smell the varnish and oils. In places along the entry archway, freshly cut
sawdust had drifted into corners.

Mykel had taken one
of the senior officers’ quarters, reserving the largest for the Myrmidon
submarshal— although the bed was far too short and he doubted that Dainyl would
wish to remain there long when he returned, if he returned—and one of the
others for the undercaptain. There were adequate junior officer spaces for
Mykel’s three undercaptains and for the other Myrmidons. In fact, there was enough
space for a full battalion and more. That suggested to Mykel mat the Myrmidons
were facing more than a few rebels. Some chambers in the officer’s area had
never been used, and one whole wing of the barracks had never been occupied,
although there were bunks with mattresses and blankets.

While he was glad to
have decent quarters for his men, Mykel was worried—more than worried. Three
companies and a squad of Myrmidons were scarcely enough to hold a city, even a
small city. Enough to take it, but holding it was another question. He also
still had no idea exactly what the submarshal wanted.

There was also
something else about the compound nagging at him, something that should have
been obvious, so obvious that when he realized it, he would reproach himself
for stupidity. But, as he looked around the quarters in which he stood, taking
in the large bed, the wardrobe, and the well-crafted writing desk, he could not
identify the source of his misgivings.

After leaving his
gear in the quarters he had taken, ignoring the dress uniforms of the majer who
presumably had been the one Mykel had killed in the dawn massacre, Mykel
stepped out onto the covered balcony and then hurried down the stone steps to
find Fabrytal.

His eyes took in the
dressed granite stones of the compound buildings, and the well-fitted windows
... and he stopped ... dead.

“You’re an idiot,
Mykel...” he murmured. Spontaneous rebellions did not have the time to design,
construct, and complete well-planned stone-walled compounds. Nor did they have the
time to produce hundreds of uniforms, or obtain hundreds of weapons. Whatever
had been going on had been planned for some time. But why hadn’t the alectors
seen it?

He shook his head.
Because some alectors were indeed behind it, doubtless powerful ones, and that
indicated that a great deal was at stake. A very great deal, and he and his
Cadmians were caught right in the middle.

For the moment, he
had no choices ... but he needed to keep alert to all the implications.

He glanced from where
he stood in the main inner courtyard to the southeast corner where Fabrytal was
talking with Undercaptain Matorak, then resumed his progress toward the two.
Both officers turned as Mykel approached.

“Sir.”

“Did you find any
stragglers here?”

“No, sir. Even the
cooks had gone,” Matorak replied.

“What about supplies?”

“They left pretty
much everything. There’s plenty of staples—flour, lard, even a bunch of cheese
wheels, and close to ten barrels of ale and lager.”

“Good. What about
gear left behind? Have you put all their gear in the empty storeroom?”

“Yes, sir.” Fabrytal
paused. “If I might ask, sir...”

“Some of them lived.
They might like it back, once we depart. I’d prefer we not be thieves or
pillagers.”

“I thought that, but
some of the men ... they were rebelling ...”

“We don’t know how
long we’ll be here.” Mykel paused, then added, “Or if we’ll have to stay here
or get sent back here in the future.” As for rebelling, it’s only a rebellion
if they ‘re not successful. “What about fodder for the mounts? Is there any
grain?”

“Not so much as we’d
like, but there’s enough for a week, I’d guess,” replied Matorak.

“I shouldn’t have to
say this, but no one leaves the compound, except on duty or patrol. We don’t
know what’s happened to all the people in that building, or if there were more
troopers sent somewhere else.”

“Any more word on how
long we’ll be here?” asked Fabry tal.

“If we don’t get any
new orders, three more days. If we do, we could ride out tomorrow, or two
seasons from now.” Mykel smiled. “That’s being a Cadmian.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be here in the
compound, inspecting what we have to work with. If any messages come in, find
me at once.”

Both undercaptains
nodded.

Mykel turned. He
needed to inspect the compound quickly. Perhaps it would tell him something
more, although he had his doubts about that.

Dainyl woke up
sometime in the night, dark enough in the small chamber that it was dim even
for his night sight. He was cold, although several thin and filmy blankets had
been placed over him, and he now lay on a thin pad that seemed to provide some
warmth, enough that he was not shivering. He sat up slowly, fighting dizziness,
and discovering that on the tiny bed was a tray holding a large apple, a bunch
of grapes, a wedge of yellow cheese, and a small loaf of dark bread. There was
also a solid cylindrical glass filled with something that looked and smelled
like ale. In the corner of the room, almost under the window was what looked to
be a chamber pot. He did not recall it being there earlier.

Without hesitation,
he took a sip of the unfamiliar ale first, then sampled a piece of me bread.
Then he alternated eating bites of the omer items on the tray. He left not even
crumbs, and by the time he had drained the last of the ale, the dizziness had
largely vanished.

He stood, slowly and
carefully, and walked to the window. Chill radiated from it. Looking out into
the darkness at the stars, he saw more stars than he had ever observed, each an
unvarying point of light. Not a one twinkled the way the stars did anywhere
else he had been in Acorus, but then, he’d never been up on the Aerial Plateau
before. So far as he knew, no alector had been.

How did the ancients
live in such cold, let alone build cities? What sort of tools did they use? Did
they even use tools?

The questions that
inundated him vanished as the door opened and an ancient appeared in a glow of
amber and green that provided light but no warmth. This soarer did not display
any marked difference from the others he had encountered, but the essence of
her being radiated great age.

You asked why we had
saved you. We did not save you. You reached us unaided. We have kept you from
dying.

“Why?”

Allowing you to die
would serve no useful purpose. While you live, you may yet see.

“See what?” Dainyl
was all too conscious of unspoken assumptions behind the “words” of the
ancient.

How the world
lifeforces tie together. How all worlds have such ties.

“Why is seeing this
so important?”

A sense of a shrug
came to Dainyl. To the world, it is not important. What will be, will be. To
you, it will be far more vital.

Vital? “What if I do
not see? What if I do not act? What then?”

Like all of your
kind, you will die, for you will have no ties to any world. Any being must be
part of a world.

Dainyl understood
that. “Why is it important enough to you that I change and live?”

Because you are not
so different from those you term steers as you believe. Because you and they
must share... ????....

Dainyl could not
understand the phrase she used, although he felt it meant some sort of energy
linkage.

Without that, they
will perish, for not enough of them possess it. Without them, you will perish.

“Why do you care?”
Dainyl doubted that the ancients were acting altruistically. No beings ever
did. Every thinking creature acted in what it perceived as its own interest.

No world should die
before its time. It is not necessary.

He wanted to snort at
that. “I would think that you would like to see us gone?”

No. This world would
have died before its time without you. For that, we owe you. For our restraint,
you owe us. You will not acknowledge that restraint. That is why you must
change, so that you will not be like the others.

“I don’t know how to
change.” More important, he wasn’t certain he wanted to, either.

You have been shown.
Enough. The cold finality behind those words declared the futility of pursuing
more questions there.

“How long have I been
here? When can I leave?”

You have been here
two days. Sleep tonight, and you will leave tomorrow. If you rest well.

Two days? He glanced
down at his arm, realizing that the dressing had been changed.

You are strong. The
lifespear seldom fails to kill any who are not of the world. Even so, you are
not strong enough to survive what will be unless you change. A sense of regret,
or sadness, followed her words.

Without another
word—or thought—she slipped away from him, and the door closed.

This time, he did
sense the tightly focused green Talent. The force of that Talent was modest,
but the control precise.

Two days? But he
could leave tomorrow.

The ancient’s words
conveyed a certainty about the destruction, not of the world, but of all
alectors who would not “change,” as she and the other soarer had conveyed it.
Was it simply finding a way to link himself directly to Acorus, rather than
through the Master Scepter? What would that do to an alector? From what he
knew, it would certainly reduce his strength, perhaps a great deal more.

He tried to push
those thoughts away. He was an alector, an Ifrit out of Ifryn, for all that he
had been born on Acorus.

He doubted that he
could ever get back to sleep, but he had to try. Slowly, he walked back to the
pad and blankets and lowered himself onto the pad and arranged the blankets.

Surprisingly, his
eyes closed immediately.

With the sun came
wakefulness for Dainyl, but no ancient arrived, nor did any more food. It must
have been a good two glasses after that before the door opened, and an ancient
hovered outside. Although all of the ancient soarers shared the same
appearance, at least to Dainyl, she was far younger than the one who had met
with him the day previous.

The... portal is in
the next chamber.

He followed her out
into a foyer. There were no steps up or down, just circular openings in both
the stone floor and ceiling. There was also a door, open to a second chamber.
Dainyl entered the room. The ancient trailed him. The room was almost identical
to the one in which he had been confined, except that set into the amber green
stone floor was one of the silver mirrors.