Soarers Choice (3 page)

“Does
anyone have any questions?” asked the Duarch.

“I
presume the Myrmidons will supply immediate transport for Table engineers from
Faitel and Ludar,” Ruvryn stated bluntly.

“Second
Company in Ludar should be able to transport any engineers from Ludar, and
First Company will transport those from Faitel. As soon as you inform me of the
numbers and any limited supplies, we will make arrangements.”

“You
should have those within the next few days, Marshal.”

Chembryt
smiled at Dainyl.

Dainyl
could sense the thrust coming, but not at him.

“You
had mentioned that the alector rebels in Hyalt possessed lightcannon,” began
Chembryt, “that the alector rebels in Tempre had Myrmidon-type hand sidearms,
and that the mounted rifles of the former RA in Tempre had Cadmian rifles. Did
you verify this?”

“Yes,
sir. The lightcannon killed three Myrmidons from Fifth Company, and two
pteridons and two Myrmidons from Seventh Company. The lightcutter sidearms were
collected and are now under seal and custody of the High Alector of Justice.
The Cadmians took custody of the rifles. I personally inspected all three types
of weapons.”

“Do
you have any ideas as to their sources?” Chembryt did not even glance toward
Ruvryn.

“The
rifles were identical, in every particular, with the exception of serial
numbers, with the Cadmian weapons. There is no doubt that they were
manufactured either in Faitel or Fordall, but I have no way of knowing which it
might be. As for the other weapons, I lack the engineering skills to determine
where they may have been built or originated, save that there were no
facilities at either Hyalt or Tempre where that could have been accomplished.”

“Thank
you.”

Ruvryn
did not smile as he looked at Dainyl. “Marshal... were you aware that
proceeding without written orders from Marshal Shastylt or the High Alector of
Justice verges on breaking the Code, and that could have created an even
greater instability and loss of lifeforce?”

“I
had thought of that, sir. But I was ordered to do so, and insubordination is
definitely against the Code.”

After
the brevity of Dainyl’s reply, there was silence, but only for a moment, when
Alseryl coughed slightly.

“I
don’t believe you mentioned exactly how many rebel alectors there were,
Marshal.”

“We
can’t be absolutely certain how many there were, because some may have escaped,
one way or another. We did find the remains of more than three hundred.”

“Three
hundred. You killed three hundred alectors?”

“Yes,
sir. My orders were to put down the revolt. When I attempted to visit RA
Rhelyn, even before I could dismount from the pteridon, we were attacked. There
was never any attempt to communicate with us, and they refused to consider
surrendering.”

“That
was in Hyalt. What about Tempre?”

“What
were the casualties among the mounted rifle companies of the so-called
Alector’s Guard?”

“Did
you attempt to avoid the initial conflict between Fifth and Seventh Companies?”

Dainyl
answered questions for another quarter glass before the Duarch raised a hand.

“I
think the marshal has been forthright. He has done his best to preserve lifeforce
and to ensure that Acorus is prepared to receive the Master Scepter. Thank you,
Marshal. You may go.”

“Yes,
sir.” Dainyl was more stunned by the total lack of reaction, even hidden, to
the Duarch’s statement about the Master Scepter than by his abrupt release.
Even so, he bowed slightly and stepped to the door, letting himself out.

Another
pair of alector guards escorted him back to the entry foyer, with its high
arched dome. He was more than glad to step out into the rotunda and walk toward
the waiting duty coach. What awaited him back at headquarters seemed far more
manageable than what faced Khelaryt.

Under
a clear silver-green sky, the late morning sunlight fell across the low rise to
the north of Hyalt. From the saddle of the roan, Mykel surveyed the nearly
completed Cadmian compound, standing out amid the tannish grasses of the
grazing lands to the north. While he’d been occupied in fighting the rebel
alectors at Tempre — and then recovering from his injuries — all the walls had been
completed, and the paving of the interior was a third done. That included the
areas around the gates, which could now be hung and secured in place. Both the
barracks and the stables looked finished, on the outside, anyway. Work was
beginning on digging out the roadbed south of the gates so that a stone-paved
road to the high road could be built once the interior paving was finished.

“You’ve
done wonders, Rhystan.” Mykel turned to the senior captain mounted beside him.
The captain’s aura remained a deep brown, so deep it verged on black, but
showed no sign of the green streaks that indicated the possibility of
possessing the same Talent as Mykel did — and as did almost all alectors. In
convalescing, Mykel had finally made the connection between what the soarer had
told him a year before and what the one alector at Hyalt had called him in
trying to kill him — a wild Talent. The soarer had told him to find his talent,
but he hadn’t realized that the alectors’ term for his emerging abilities was
Talent.

“How
did you manage it?” Mykel asked.

Rhystan
offered a sheepish grin. “Well, Majer... I kept telling the craftmasters that
it wouldn’t be all that long before you got back, and I really didn’t want to
have to explain why things weren’t farther along.”

Mykel
forced a smile, and a chuckle. “You’re a scoundrel.” Behind the expression, he
was both bemused and appalled. “I suppose Troral pressed you on the blankets?”

“No,
sir. Not once.”

“How
are things going with Cismyr? Do you think he’ll be able to handle the compound
once we’re sent back?”

“He’s
been very attentive. He has asked a few questions about you, indirectly.”

Mykel
wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Such as?”

“Whether
you were the son of an ancient?”

“What?”
Mykel shook his head. “My father’s a tiler in Faitel, and my mother was a
weaver before they married. Why would he ask that?”

“One
of the Hyaltan Cadmians swears he saw you with an ancient, up on the hillside
by the old garrison.” Rhystan raised his eyebrows. “You have to admit, Majer,
that more than a few strange things have occurred around you.”

Mykel
had been afraid he’d been observed, but it meant that the ranker who had seen
him had some of the same Talent he did. Otherwise, the man would have seen
nothing. “Many of them would have happened to you if you’d been in charge.”

Rhystan
laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sir.”

Mykel
shrugged, then smothered a wince. His back was still tender, and doubtless
would be for days more. Then, if it hadn’t been for Rachyla, he probably would
be in far worse condition — if he were still even alive. Had it been a mistake
to give her the dagger of the ancients? What else could he have done? He’d
tried kindness, understanding, and she’d still insisted he was her enemy.

Mykel
knew they were somehow tied together, but Rachyla’s attitude had varied from
grudging respect to outright hostility, all of it bordered with a large amount
of condescension. When he thought about it, Mykel wondered why he cared —
except that he had the feeling that she was caught in what amounted to an
invisible prison and that she would be a far different person were she not. But
was that only wistful thinking?

Rhystan
eased his mount up beside Mykel. “Sir... I haven’t asked, not where anyone
could overhear, but what did happen in Tempre? There’s all sorts of rumors from
the factors, and the men have picked them up. They said that a building fell on
you, and you walked away from the rubble, and that you’d killed two score
alectors — the rebels, that is — by yourself.”

The
last part was all too close to the truth, but it wasn’t something Mykel wanted
spread about, particularly among his Cadmian rankers. He shook his head. “There
was an explosion of some alector device they’d hidden in the lower level of the
regional alector’s headquarters. I got flattened by some of the stones. The
building is very much intact, except for part of one door and a doorway.
Altogether, the three companies did kill close to two score of the rebels, but
that took all three companies — and you’ve seen the casualties.”

Rhystan
snorted. “You lost sixty-three men in Tempre out of slightly less than three
hundred. Against irregulars and Reillies that would be on the high side, but
not by that much. Losing that few against alectors armed with those
lightcutters is unbelievable. It takes five to ten shots — unless they’re head
shots — just to knock them down.”

Mykel
was grateful Rhystan didn’t mention the other exception besides head shots —
that Mykel was doing the shooting. “I kept the men behind stone walls, and the
rebel alectors didn’t seem to have much sense of tactics. I don’t think any of
them had ever been in a real fight.”

“Probably
not.”

“Then
... there was something else.” Mykel frowned. He’d thought of it earlier, and
was having trouble recalling what it had been.

Rhystan
waited.

“Oh
... their weapons. They’re all the kind that are designed to kill — usually
instantly.”

“So
will a rifle bullet,” replied Rhystan dryly.

“It’s
not the same thing. A Myrmidon fires one of those skylances, and anything in
its path is gone, up in flame. With those uniforms that they wear, they’d have
to have weapons like that, but how many times do they use them?”

After
a moment, Rhystan nodded. “I see what you mean. All their battles tend to be
shorter. Even when they did a siege of the regional alector’s compound here,
the actual battle took less than half a day. Most of that was sniping and
preparation. The heavy fighting when they broke in was over in less than a
glass.”

“I’m
guessing, but I think one reason why we won in Tempre was that... well... they
ran out of ammunition. Or whatever passes for ammunition, and there was no one
to resupply them.”

“You
realize, Majer, that you’re a very dangerous man to the alectors?”

“Me?”
Mykel had his own ideas as to that, and they concerned his Talent, but he
wanted to hear what Rhystan had to say.

“You’re
among the few that know what their vulnerabilities are, and how to fight them
successfully. You’ve figured out what weapons we could make that would be
effective in taking them out, and at least some of them respect you, and I
would not be surprised if some were not afraid of you.”

“That’s
absurd.”

This
time Rhystan shrugged. “The word’s out how you backed down a Myrmidon captain
or undercaptain, and how the submarshal of Myrmidons made a special trip to see
you when he discovered you were wounded. I don’t know of any time ever when a
Myrmidon officer checked on a Cadmian — let alone the number two man in all the
Myrmidons.”

“I’m
sure he was only after information.”

“Fabrytal
said that he didn’t ask anything except about your health and how you knew the
rebels were rebels — and that was because Fabrytal couldn’t tell him.”

Mykel
shifted his weight in the saddle. “I never thought about it that way.” And he
hadn’t. But then, he had not been in the best of shape when Submarshal Dainyl
had sought him out at Rachyla’s. He forced a grin. “You’re just as dangerous.
You know everything that I’ve figured out. In fact, some of it you worked out
before I did.”

“I’ve
thought of that,” Rhystan replied. “That’s one reason why I’d rather remain a
captain for a while. No one pays much attention to Cadmian captains — unless
their commander is an idiot like Vaclyn ... or Hersiod.”

Although
Mykel hadn’t thought about Hersiod for months, Rhystan’s comment jarred his
memory. He managed not to swallow. The purpleness that had tinged Hersiod —
that was what happened to people who spent much time around alectors. But could
that also mean that somehow the alectors had used their abilities on the majer,
making him intransigent like Vaclyn had been? Mykel wondered if Vaclyn had been
influenced by the alectors. He’d met with them, and he’d said he’d only had a
short meeting, but the reports Mykel had gotten had suggested a far longer
meeting.

But
why would the alectors influence Cadmian officers?

“Majer
... sir? You have that look again, the one that means trouble.”

Although
Rhystan’s tone was humorous, Mykel could sense the concern behind the humor. “I
was wondering if Hersiod spent any time with the Myrmidon marshal.”

“Of
course he did. He and the colonel were briefed personally about the Iron
Ste.
problems.”

“Can
you think of any reason why the Myrmidons would want Hersiod and Vaclyn to act
stupidly?”

Rhystan’s
face hardened. “Frig! They both meet with Myrmidons, and they both started
acting like ill-tempered asses, instead of the simple asses they were before. I
should have seen it!” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t make sense. If the
alectors wanted to screw things up, it didn’t work. You and Dohark are far
better commanders than Vaclyn was. I’d bet that the senior captain in Fourth
Battalion is better than Hersiod.”

“Who
would know that? In the Myrmidons? And whom did they meet with?” countered
Mykel. “The submarshal is the one who promoted me and Dohark. Hersiod and
Vaclyn met with the marshal... and we had a rebellion of alectors here in Hyalt
and in Tempre.”

“You’re
suggesting that the submarshal and the marshal are on different sides, with
different agendas?”

“I
don’t know ... but it’s something to keep in mind. From what I’ve seen, I’d
trust the submarshal more, but I’m not sure any of them are looking out for
us.”