Cadmians Choice (71 page)

He could sense the
dismay from the Myrmidons.

“The Duarches do not
take rebellion lightly, especially from alectors,” Dainyl said, using what
little Talent-force he had left to project coldness and authority. “Neither do
I. It’s a waste of resources and lifeforce.” After a moment, he added, “If you
would mount, Under-captains, and follow me.”

Dainyl concentrated.
Lift off... northeast... to the way station. As the tireless pteridon burst
skyward, his legs were trembling, and his vision tended to blur, but he couldn’t
afford to show weakness. Not yet.

Mykel rose before
dawn on Octdi. He hadn’t slept well, and he was worried. He’d heard nothing
from the submarshal, and no alectors had appeared, not that he’d expected them
immediately. Quinti and Sexdi had been slightly cooler than the previous days,
but a warm wind had begun to blow out of the south late on Septi, and that
promised a far warmer Octdi.

Beginning on Quinti,
Mykel’s scouts had noted riders in blue, especially on the hilltops to the
north and west of the regional alector’s compound—and some were physically
large enough to be alectors—but they rode off before the scouts could get close
enough to find out more. The fact that they vanished suggested that they were
indeed alectors.

Mykel sought out
Undercaptain Matorak even before he headed to the mess to eat, because, as duty
company on Octdi, Second Hyalt also provided the inside guards for the
still-vacant regional alector’s gray granite building. He found the
undercaptain outside the stables.

“Yes, sir?”

“Marorak, we’re going
to change the way we guard those doors. The ones inside the building. If anyone
should come up the doors from below in force, the guards are in a poor
position. There’s nowhere to go and no cover.”

“That’s true, sir.
What do you have in mind?”

“Post one of them at
the southwest corner where the corridors intersect. From there, he can see if
anyone comes up the steps from below. Post the second on the west side of the
entry foyer. That way, the one observing the doorway can relay what he sees to
the one in the entry foyer, and the second guard can immediately inform you or
the squad leader right outside. If those who arrive are alectors, tell the
guards to withdraw to the outside without informing the alectors. If you get
that word, have your men mounted and ready to ride here so that we can turn
over the complex quickly. Make sure you pull the squad from the rear, the north
side, immediately. If there’s trouble, there won’t be enough cover back there.”

“If they’re not
alectors?”

“Then tell them that
the building is off-limits until an alector representing the regional alector arrives.
If anyone starts shooting, then take positions and defend yourselves. Those
stone walls in front might provide good cover.”

“You’re expecting
trouble, sir?”

“I hope not, but if
there is, you need to be prepared. If, and I hope it doesn’t happen, you have
to defend yourself against rebel alectors, remember that those clothes of
theirs stop bullets, but they don’t totally stop the impact. If they get hit
enough, they will go down.”

Matorak nodded
slowly.

“I know,” Mykel said
softly. “It isn’t the best position, but that’s part of being a Cadmian.”

Matorak offered a
twisted smile. “It still beats growing nuts or quarrying marble.”

“Or laying tiles,”
returned Mykel.

They both
laughed—briefly.

Uneasy as he felt,
after leaving Matorak, Mykel decided to saddle the roan, then eat. On his way
back from the stable to the mess, he glanced at the sky to the south, already
hazy. Although the sun was barely up, the air was as warm as it usually, had
been in midmorning.

Breakfast was
overdone mutton strips with egg toast, and some apricots. There was lukewarm
cider, a welcome change from ale, and Mykel drank two mugs, as he sat there by
himself, thinking. He just hoped he could turn the buildings back over to an
alector and move his companies out of Tempre as quickly as possible. The less
he had to do with alectors, the better. That still left the problems with the
submarshal, but, for whatever reason, he’d left Mykel alone so far.

So far. Rachyla might
well be right, that Dainyl had a use for Mykel that wasn’t in Mykel’s interest,
and that use was probably why he was still in Tempre. He shook his head. He
just wanted to get out of the city in a way where he wouldn’t be actually
directly disobeying orders.

Finally, he stood,
getting ready to leave when Fabrytal walked in, followed by a ranker, who, as
soon as he saw Mykel, hurried toward me majer.

“There’s an alector
in blue at the place, sir, and he wants to see the head Cadmian. Undercaptain
said he looks mean, sir.”

Mykel looked to
Fabrytal, who had moved toward Mykel when he had heard the message. “You and
Loryalt form up everyone, out front, rifles ready. As soon as you’re formed up,
ride to join me and Second Hyalt.” He looked to the ranker. “You head back and
tell Undercaptain Matorak I’m on my way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me for a
moment,” Mykel ordered Fabrytal, as he hurried out of the mess, back toward the
stables. “When you and Loryalt join us, you set up more on the west, and
Loryalt on the east. I don’t want someone sneaking out the back, not with their
weapons, and outflanking us. I told Matorak to pull his men from the rear
directly behind the building, because there’s no cover there, but you two can
rake it from cover on the sides. The last thing—I told Matorak this
already—about firing at rebel alectors. Did he pass it on?”

“Yes, sir. Their
clothes stop the bullets, but not the impact.”

“Make sure Loryalt
and your men know it, too.” Mykel was almost running as he crossed the center
courtyard.

“Yes, sir.” Fabrytal
cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but...”

“How do I know this?
Part of it’s experience. I saw an alector take a crossbow bolt last year, and
it knocked him down, and I could tell he was hurt. Part of it I learned from
others.”

“Was that why ... ?
Sorry, sir.” Fabrytal flushed. “I need to get the men ready.”

“The lady Rachyla?
Yes.” Mykel turned toward the stable without looking back.

Fabrytal bellowed out
his orders. “Fifteenth Company! Mount up! On the double! Loryalt! Same for
Seventeenth Company!”

“Seventeenth Company!
Mount up!...”

Mykel hurried into
the stable. Once there, he led out the roan, checked his rifle, then unpacked
the ammunition belt and slung it place. Only then did he mount.

As he rode out
through the granite gates, turning westward on the boulevard, heading toward the
complex, he looked to his right at the granite building, still amazed that the
regional alector had constructed such a compound without the knowledge and
approval of the Myrmidon Submarshal. Or had Dainyl known and had he just waited
to act for reasons of his own? With alectors, it was clear, often one could not
tell.

The hot south wind
whipped the Cadmian banner that Mykel had ordered placed on the flag staff in
the center of the south wall. He’d had the Alector’s Guard banner folded for
delivery to the submarshal when—and if—he returned.

Despite the gusts of
hot wind, or because of it, the gardens on Mykel’s left seemed limp and wilted
as he rode past them.

He nodded to himself
as he neared the compound. Most of Second Company, while mounted, had moved out
of the plaza immediately before the alector’s headquarters and stood ranked
behind the front stone walls. Matorak remained waiting, standing beside his
mount, less than fifteen yards from the front entry to the building. Three
Cadmians flanked him. Mykel eased his rifle from its holder, but rested it
across his legs, as he rode toward Matorak.

The undercaptain
turned his head momentarily, as if to make sure it was Mykel.

“Undercaptain,” Mykel
said loudly. “I’ll handle this. Return to your company.”

Matorak looked up and
back at Mykel, surprised at the harshness in the majer’s voice.

“Get everyone out of
here, back behind the wall.” Mykel mouthed the words, not even daring to speak
them. He knew how acute the hearing of some alectors could be.

A hint of an
understanding glint appeared in the under-captain’s eyes, but his voice was as
cold as Mykel’s had been. “Yes, sir.”

Matorak had barely
vaulted into the saddle and begun to ride away when an alector stepped out from
behind one of the four columns at the top of the steps up to the building.
While the color of his tunic was the same blue and gold as the Alector’s Guard
had worn, the fabric was the treated shimmersilk that all alectors apparently
wore.

Who are you?”

“Majer Mykel,
commanding, Third Battalion, Cadmian Mounted Rifles.”

“Why are you here?”
The alector’s voice carried contempt and anger.

“The Submarshal of
Myrmidons ordered us to guard the area until the regional alector or a
designated representative returned,” replied Mykel politely.

“There was no need of
that. Alector Fahylt had his own forces. What happened to them?”

Mykel tensed. How was
he supposed to answer that? “I was not aware that any regional forces were
authorized to any regional alector.” He could sense more alectors moving out
from the building and behind the pillars at the top of the steps. “Are you the
designated representative of the regional alector?”

“You don’t ask
questions, steer. You obey without question.”

Besides his
unbelievable arrogance, there was something else different about this alector,
although Mykel couldn’t immediately place it. What he did understand was that
the alector would take offense at anything he uttered and that Mykel wasn’t
getting out of Tempre without a fight. Rather than say anything, he waited, his
rifle across his knees. He also tried to strengthen what shields he had, yet
keep them hidden. Matorak and his men needed more time.

“Answer me, steer.”

“What would you like
me to say? I wasn’t aware that you asked me anything. I had only asked if you
were designated by the Duarches to resume administration.”

“What happened to the
Alector’s Guard—if you happen to know?”

Mykel didn’t care for
the continued evasion of his question about the alector’s authority, but he
replied, “They rode away after we arrived in Tempre.” That was true enough in
its own way.

Mykel could sense
that there were ten alectors behind the pillars.

The one who had been
speaking lifted a hand weapon, one Mykel recognized as similar, if not
identical, to the submarshal’s sidearm. “Do you know what this is, steer? Do
you know what it will do?”

“It appears to be a
Myrmidon officer’s sidearm. I wasn’t aware that those were given to
administrative alectors.”

“You are too insolent
to remain alive—”

Before the alector
finished his words, Mykel’s rifle was up and aimed. He squeezed the trigger and
willed the bullet home.

The bluish lightbeam
from the sidearm slashed into the stone as the arrogant alector’s body toppled
forward.

“Take cover!” Mykel
ordered. “Rifles ready!” He turned his mount, urging the gelding across the
plaza, and trying to hold what shields he had, hoping that the surprise of his
attack would gain him a few moments.

“Talent steer! Kill
him!”

One lightbeam flashed
by Mykel, so close he could feel the heat, but only one, as he turned the roan
sharply behind the stone wall and vaulted from the saddle.

“Fire at will!” he
ordered, lifting his own rifle again.

For several moments,
lightbeams flashed from the stone pillars as alectors ducked out and aimed
their sidearms.

What could Mykel do
now? The alectors behind the pillars had as much as admitted that they were
rebels. He could hear the hoofs of the other two companies, headed down the
boulevard toward them. He turned, looking for Matorak, not seeing him, but
locating a squad leader. “Squad leader! Here!”

The darker-skinned
and wiry subofficer hurried toward Mykel, careful to keep his head below the
top of the wall. “Sir?”

“Send someone out to
meet the other two companies. He can go on foot and use cover. They need to
carry out their orders without exposing themselves to direct fire from the
front of the building.”

“Yes, sir. Fylankar!
Front! Orders from the majer ...”

Mykel turned his
concentration back to the building, easing up just enough to aim the rifle over
the top of the wall, concentrating on where he knew one of the rebel alectors
was. He squeezed the trigger.

Another body sprawled
out onto the stone steps.

Knowing that the
rebel alectors would return fire immediately, Mykel shouted, “Second Company, heads
down!” Still, he was ready for the next head to peer out from behind a pillar.
He fired, twice, before the second bullet hit, then dropped completely below
the wall, where he reloaded, watching as the blue lightbeams coruscated above.
With each lightblast came the odor of melting and burning stone.

The screams of a
badly burned mount shrilled through the morning air. Mykel should have ordered
the mounts farther back, but he hadn’t thought that so many of the alectors
would have had such sidearms. Until today, the submarshal was the only alector
he’d ever seen with one.

When the flurry of
lightbeams died way, Mykel eased westward along the wall, still out of sight,
past nearly a half squad of Second Hyalt, before he peered just above the wall.
He thought he could sense six or seven alectors behind the pillars.

Slowly, he eased his
rifle up, and fired twice more, men ducked back down.

“Heads down!”

Yet another set of
lightbeams flared, but Mykel had the sense that the flashes were fewer, and the
discharges weaker.