Soarers Choice (16 page)

Alcyna
was silent for several moments. Then she said, “You’ve been studying the
ancients, haven’t you?”

“As
I can,” Dainyl replied. That was certainly truthful, if misleading. He stood.
“Whenever you find out what’s happened to Sixth Battalion, let me know.”

Alcyna
nodded.

Dainyl
smiled pleasantly, then turned and left her study.

When
Third Battalion had arrived in Tempre late on Novdi afternoon, Captain Lyzetta
had immediately informed Mykel that the River Vedra was running too high and
too turbulently for safe barge transport for the battalion, but that the water
levels were expected to drop to near normal within the next few days. For that
reason, Third Battalion would be staying at the compound with Seventh Company.
Certainly, there was enough space. The compound had been built to hold more
than a battalion of Alector’s Guards, and a Myrmidon company only had
twenty-one alectors, and the pteridons did not use the stables.

Even
so, Mykel didn’t like the
i.e.
of spending too much
time around the captain. She did not have the Talent-strength that Submarshal —
Marshal, Mykel corrected himself — Dainyl had, but Mykel suspected she was
every bit as sharp. Still, there was little enough he could do about it.

On
Londi, a glass after morning muster, Mykel crossed the compound courtyard, the
cool breeze out of the northwest ruffling hair that needed to be cut. He’d just
completed an informal inspection of the stables and the barracks and was
enjoying the hazy sunshine and cooler weather in Tempre, a relief after the hot
harvest days in Hyalt.

“Majer!”
called Captain Lyzetta, stepping into view several yards ahead of him.

“Captain,”
returned Mykel pleasantly, tightening his shields and walking toward the tall
alectress, stopping a yard or so short of her.

“I
thought you would like to know that it’s likely the river will return to close
to normal levels within the next two days. Our scouts have observed that the
rains have stopped and the stream levels to the east are dropping quickly.
Submarshal Alcyna sent word that you should expect to embark on the barges at
noon on Tridi.”

“Thank
you. I’m glad to know that.” Mykel had no
i.e.
who Submarshal
Alcyna was, except that the name indicated an alectress was Dainyl’s successor
as Myrmidon submarshal. “We’ve appreciated your hospitality while we’ve been
delayed.”

The
captain smiled. “You were the one who turned the compound over to us in such
excellent condition.”

“We
did the best we could on short notice.”

“It
was appreciated. Our move to Tempre was also on rather short notice.” She
paused, then asked, “You were with the marshal in Dramur, weren’t you?”

“All
of Third Battalion was, Captain.”

“How
did the difficulties in Tempre compare to those in Dramur?”

Mykel
smiled, as pleasantly as he could. “You can’t compare them. They were very
different deployments. In Dramur we faced large numbers of local troopers, who
had been hidden from both Cadmian and alector authorities, as well as a number
of escaped rebellious miners. All had Cadmian rifles obtained in a manner
against the Code. The actual fighting went on for close to two seasons. We were
outnumbered, but better trained. The real fighting in Hyalt and Tempre was very
brief. In Hyalt, Third Battalion was only slightly involved, primarily for
scouting and perimeter patrols. In Tempre, we were attacked by a group of
mounted guards who were of equal numbers and weapons. Their training was inferior,
and we prevailed. Later, when we were guarding the regional complex”- — Mykel
nodded to the west — “we were attacked by rebel alectors with superior weapons
but lesser numbers. We lost two squads in less than several glasses, but we had
position, marksmanship, and numbers, and more ammunition, and in the end we
reclaimed the building for the rightful administrators.”

“We
have not seen any trace of those armed Alector’s Guards,” Lyzetta said. “Could
you tell me why that might be?”

“We
killed over two-thirds of them, and the others scattered. Since having such a
Guard is against the Code, and since the regional alector who created them did
not return, I imagine that none of us will see the survivors. Not in uniform.”

“Did
you surprise them? Is it not unusual to gain such an overwhelming victory with
equally sized forces?”

“Actually,
Captain, they attempted a predawn attack. Most of my men were sleeping. We had
less than half a glass notice.”

Lyzetta
nodded politely. “I won’t keep you. Good day, Majer.” She stepped back.

“Good
day.” Mykel was equally polite and pleasant, then continued across the
courtyard to his quarters, where he intended to finish his report to Colonel
Herolt because the sandox coach came through Tempre on Duadi morning.

As
he made his way to the visiting officers’ quarters, Mykel pondered about the
alectress captain. He could sense that she was intensely curious about him, as
well as extremely wary and polite, and that she seemed to study him. He had not
felt any Talent probes, but she merely might be waiting to catch him off guard.

Once
back in his quarters, he used the small writing desk to finish a brief report
to the colonel, brief because, fortunately, the battalion had seen no action.
After that, he found his eyes going to the narrow window and his thoughts
elsewhere.

Should
he pay a call on Rachyla? How could he, after giving her the dagger of the
ancients? Yet... He shook his head. One fact was simple. He wanted to see her.
The other fact was that he didn’t know what to do about her. He’d gone over
their previous conversations and meetings, and it seemed as if she held two
entirely different views of him. At times, she had been pleasant and at other
times, sardonic and distant. Yet she had been truly concerned when he had been
wounded, both in Dramur and Tempre, much as she had tried to conceal that
concern.

Or
was he seeing what he wanted to see?

What
man did not?

Still,
he had duties to see to, and he wanted to check on exactly how the battalion
would be taken on the barges and what supplies would be necessary. Since
Lyzetta had not known those details, he would have to ride to the piers and
talk to the piermaster, or to someone there.

Finding
out what he needed, in addition to arranging for equipment and other items, and
finding a factor who would honor his letter of credit, took most of the rest of
the duty day. Then he had spent another glass working out the arrangements for
logistics with Bhoral, who, as battalion senior squad leader, had the duty of
coordinating logistics.

Because
Third Battalion was not heading back to Elcien, he wrote a quick letter to his
parents, explaining that he was headed to Iron Stem. That would cost him a half
silver to get delivered, but they would certainly pass the word to his brother
and sister, although Sesalia was doubtless occupied with her five children. As
for Viencet, who knew what he might be doing now that he’d finished his formal
schooling?

Mykel
feared that Viencet would continue to try to avoid real work, while finding
excuses, and blaming others, as he had all too often in the past.

After
that, even while he was telling himself he was being a fool, he finally rode
out of the compound once more, taking the roan southwest along the Silk Road.

The
guards at the gate to Amaryk’s villa glanced at him, at his uniform. Then one
spoke. “You’re Majer Mykel?”

Mykel
merely nodded as they opened, the gates. He rode down the narrow drive to the
courtyard off the small rotunda. There the doorman with the double daggers at
his waist immediately tugged on the bellpull before Mykel announced himself and
dismounted, walking up the steps to the small covered rotunda, but stopping
well short of the doorman.

Shortly,
the door opened, but only a fraction, although Mykel caught enough of a glimpse
to know that Rachyla was behind the heavy oak door.

“Majer
Mykel, Chatelaine,” murmured the doorman.

After
another moment, Rachyla stepped out, just beyond the archway. She wore dark
gray trousers and vest, and a deep green shimmersilk shirt whose color matched
that of her eyes.

“I
had thought not to see you again, Majer. You did declare me your enemy ... as I
recall from our last meeting.”

Mykel
bowed and smiled politely. “Lady Rachyla, I never said you were my enemy. I
recognized that you held me as your enemy. That was an accession to your views,
a reluctant one, not a statement of mine.”

“For
a Cadmian officer, you are eloquent.” For the briefest of moments, Rachyla
hesitated before she continued. “There is little more to say, then. I’m sorry
you traveled all the way from Hyalt for nothing.”

“I
was sent to Tempre en route elsewhere. Third Battalion is being dispatched to
the Iron Valleys.”

“By
the great and glorious submarshal or by your own colonel?”

“Submarshal
Dainyl has now become Marshal of Myrmidons. How that occurred, I have no idea,
but the orders came from him.”

“That
is not all that surprising. I would suggest that he has yet another task for
you. An unpleasant and difficult one. You are a useful tool, Majer. It is too
bad that you cannot be more than that.”

“We
all do what we can with what we have, Lady — “

“I
have told you that salutation is incorrect and improper.”

“Since
you hold me as your enemy, Lady, I believe I can address you as I see fit, so
long as the salutation is one of respect, and I do believe that ‘Lady’ conveys
respect. I have always respected you, although that is not why I am here. I
thought it might be of some minor interest to you to know that we will be
taking barges to Dekhron, once the river flows finish subsiding.”

“Are
you then off to slaughter more innocents, Majer?”

“If
there is to be slaughter, it will not be of innocents. More than half of Fourth
Battalion has already been destroyed.”

“How
fortunate for you that the marshal needs your services, Majer.” Rachyla’s voice
remained cool.

“As
you once observed to me, Lady, while one lives, there is always hope of
improvement.”

“Hope
is a slender reed, Majer. It is best employed with children, who do not know
that the faults, the status, and the reputation of their parents can often
blight an otherwise bright future.”

“Children
have the right to their own future, and that does not always rest on their
parents.” Mykel wondered why he bothered ... except there was an undercurrent
behind Rachyla’s words, one he had not identified.

“Perhaps
in the north, Majer, but not in Dramur or Southgate, or even in Tempre. There,
and here, position counts for more than ability or ambition. Or hope.”

“But
hope bends with winds that will destroy more rigid trees.”

“Even
you will not rely upon hope alone, Majer. Do not declare bootless hope and
empty words.”

“Neither
my words nor my hope are empty.” Mykel inclined his head politely. “Nor are
yours, for all your deference to the past.” He had to break through that
coolness.

“You
would speak to my hopes, now, Majer?”

“How
could I not?”

“Do
you not think that I might find that presumptuous?” She raised her eyebrows.

“You
might indeed, but my presumptions are out of concern and respect. They always
have been, despite your words and denials.”

“I
will admit that even with the restrictions placed on you in your position as a
comparatively junior Cadmian officer, you have behaved with honor and respect,
Majer. I might wish that circumstances were different, but as a landless
daughter of a dead seltyr, I can only grant you respect.”

That
was a major concession, Mykel realized. He inclined his head in reply. “For
now, Lady, I can ask no more. Again, I would thank you for your past kindness
in restoring me to health.”

“That
was the least I could do for one who was an honorable enemy of my father.” The
faintest smile crossed Rachyla’s lips. “You had best return to your duties,
Majer. Perhaps I will see you again. Say, when you become a colonel.”

Mykel
wasn’t about to accept that limitation. “The future will bring what it will,
Lady, to both of us.”

“That
may be, Majer, but mastering the future is difficult and requires more than
hope. Great power and substance are required. As of the present, you have
neither.” Her deep green eyes fixed on him, almost challenging.

“As
of the present,” Mykel acknowledged. “As of the present.”

She
nodded. “Then, there is little more to be said.” She extended her hand, as if
in dismissal. “I will wish you safe travels.”

Mykel’s
fingers touched hers, lightly. He could sense ... something. Fire? Hope? His
fingers squeezed hers, ever so gently.

Hers
tightened around his, almost imperceptibly, trembling, before she withdrew her
hand. “Good day, Majer.”

“I
will not keep you. Good day, Lady Rachyla.” He bowed again, then turned and
walked back down the steps, where he untied his horse, and mounted.

Rachyla
still stood outside the archway, but said nothing. Her eyes were bright.

Mykel
inclined his head to her a last time, then eased the roan around and rode back
up the narrow drive. He could feel her eyes on him, as well as another pair —
those of Amaryk? With the factor watching, he dared not glance back. Even the
hand touching could have endangered her.

He
had conveyed his feelings. That he knew, but could he ever do more? What would
it take to free her from her family in a way acceptable to her... and them? She
had made, it clear that she would not trade the prison of privilege for the
prison of poverty — or what would be poverty to her.