Soarers Choice (53 page)

A
figure in a splattered coverall turned and walked toward the Cadmians from the
wreckage of what had been the works headquarters building. After a moment,
Mykel recognized the engineer. “Curosyn?”

“The
same, Majer.” His eyes lingered on Mykel’s empty sleeve for but a moment.

“The
earthquake and flood — it did all this?”

“Combine
cracked furnaces, water, steam, molten metal, partly cured coke, and that’s
what you get. It’ll be months, maybe years, before we can put everything back
together. This is a works, not just furnaces. The coking ovens pretty much
exploded, and the furnaces did too after the earthquake cracked them. Molten
metal, coke, limestone — it’s a mess. Some of the coal piles feeding the ovens
caught fire. It may be weeks before some of them burn out. We must have lost a
hundred men from the fire, explosions, and the steam.”

“I’m
sorry to hear that. I don’t imagine there’s much we can do.”

“Just
keeping order was a help. The High Alector of Engineering won’t be happy with
this.” Curosyn gestured toward the devastation. “Excuse me, Majer.”

“We’ll
talk later.” Mykel turned the roan.

As
he rode back to the high road, he could sense the heat at his back.

“We’ll
ride through the town square and then east,” he told Vhanyr.

The
buildings around the square, on slightly higher ground than the works, seemed
largely undamaged, although Mykel could make out several missing shutters on
the inn, and one window with batting or fabric behind the shutters, suggesting
that the glass had broken.

Despite
what Curosyn had said, Mykel had his doubts that the earthquake and flood had
created all the damage. The green Talent flash suggested that the soarers not only
had been involved, but that the destruction had been planned — and possibly
even abetted or enhanced around the ironworks. The destruction in the rest of
Iron
Ste.
had been modest, at least in comparison.
But why the ironworks?

He
hadn’t the faintest idea, and all he could do for the moment was to keep order
and hope that the Reillies and Squawts didn’t move up their attacks on him and
the Cadmians.

Septi
morning found Mykel back behind the small writing desk. Iron
Ste.
was quiet, according to the reports from all the
patrols, although there were still fires in parts of the ironworks, and
probably would be for days. One of Rhystan’s scouts reported that the Reillies
were still gathered south of Wesrigg, but that there were signs that they might
move out before long, and some of those signs were weapons being cleaned.

Mykel
looked at the map spread before him. From where the Reillies were situated,
they could take one of two easily traveled routes, the farm road to Borlan, or
the high road to Iron Stem. If they took the Borlan road, Third Battalion could
take the high road south, and then the cutoff through Sudon to the ridges
overlooking the farm road. The valley there was narrow, and if Fourth Battalion
sealed the road to the north ...

All
that was theoretical, unless the Reillies did decide to attack, rather than
disband and head into the hills to their homes for the winter.

Finally,
one-handed and slowly, he refolded the map. What he ordered the battalions to
do would depend on what the Reillies did. If he were more calculating — like an
alector — he would have just attacked the Reillie encampment, with all the
women and children. Tempting as that was, he felt that he had to let them make
the first move. After that... he shook his head.

He
took out the unsigned letter from Rachyla and laid it on the wood, reading the
few lines carefully once again, although he already knew every word. Should he
reply?

There
was no question about that. The real question was how to frame the reply in a
fashion that only Rachyla would understand fully, since Mykel could hardly
count on his missive reaching her unread.

In
the end, writing his response was physically laborious and required using his
left hand. More than a glass passed before he finished. Then he read it over,
slowly and carefully.

Lady
Rachyla, It has come to my attention that rumors may have circulated as to my
recent injuries. I would have written sooner to assure you and the most
honorable Amaryk that Third Battalion remains in good order and strength
despite a number of strange occurrences in Iron Stem, which include a flood and
an earthquake. These resulted in severe damage to the ironworks, and with the
existing damage to the piers at Dekhron, that may well affect the price and
availability of worked iron for some time, as well as other metals, and
for-coal as well. These facts might be of interest to you and your family,
since they are matters, of substance and affect power.

I
would also convey my best wishes to the most worthy Amaryk and to your aunt,
with my hopes that all of you are well, and that you may all realize your own
deepest hopes in these troubling times.

I
also must apologize for the penmanship of this letter, but because of the
nature of the injuries to my arm, it will be some time before grace returns to
the form of my correspondence, but I have been assured that it will, as surely
as both edges of a good and ancient dagger can cut sharply, yet serve high
purposes for both factors and their families.

He
would have liked to have said more, but he had to assume that anything he sent
would be read. He hoped that the reference to the ironworks and trade would at
least partly mollify Amaryk and Elbaryk, if either did indeed even see the
missive.

He
addressed it to the Chatelaine Rachyla, in care of Amaryk, Factor for the
Seltyr Elbaryk in Tempre. Later in the day, he would ride into town and take
care of getting it sent.

“Sir?”
One of the Fourth Battalion rankers stood in his doorway. “One of the
outholders to see you.”

“Have
him come in, if he will.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Shortly,
the tall and muscled outholder walked into the study.

Out
of courtesy, Mykel stood. “Outholder.”

Croyalt
looked at Mykel, taking in the arm still bound in the sling. “So it’s true, is
it? You took on a Reillie sniper squad and the warleader and took them all
down, and killed him after you took a crossbow bolt?”

“I
didn’t get all the snipers,” Mykel replied.

Croyalt
laughed, a booming sound that filled the small study. Then he asked, “How
many?”

“Five
snipers.”

“Most
Cadmians don’t get one in a career. No wonder they ...” He shook his head.

Mykel
wondered what the outholder had been about to say.

Croyalt
looked squarely at Mykel once more. “I have to congratulate you, if
reluctantly. I am told that you deployed your entire force immediately after
the flood and earthquake to keep order, and that your men took care of looters
and other thieves in the only way that they should be handled.”

“Keeping
order is one of our assigned duties, Outholder Croyalt.”

“So
I’ve been told, but you’re the first from headquarters who seems to understand
that.”

Mykel
waited. He had the feeling that was not why the outholder had come to see him.

“I
also thought you should know that both the Reillies and the Squawts have
declared you a blood enemy of their peoples. They will begin their efforts
against you and your forces on Decdi.”

Mykel
smiled. “I’m sorry for them, then.”

“Sorry
for them? They must number four times your force.”

“All
that means is that four times as many will die, and there’s no need for it.”

“Majer
... maybe not for you, there’s no need for it, but for them, they live for
fighting. You and the alectors want to turn them into upland farmers or
growers, or foresters or whatever. They do those things to support themselves
until it’s time to go into battle.”

“Most
of them don’t make good Cadmians. We’ve tried.”

“Of
course they don’t,” snorted Croyalt. “They’re not soldiers. They’re warriors.”

What
could Mykel say to that? The world didn’t need warriors. Even as he was
beginning to understand the need for soldiers, he saw no need for the kinds of
people Croyalt called warriors. What was the point of fighting for the sake of
fighting, whatever the rationale?

“They
fight for honor, and to prove their bravery,” Croyalt added.

“I
hear what you say, Outholder, and I do appreciate your explanation. But I think
it’s a poor excuse for a man who has to prove bravery by killing anything,
whether it be an animal or another man. We may have to slaughter animals to
eat, and I may have to kill Reillies and insurgents and sandwolves to keep
order and protect those who cannot protect themselves, but I see no honor in
the act of killing anything, even if it is necessary.”

Croyalt
opened his mouth, then closed it.

Mykel
waited for a moment, then added, “I do thank you for coming, and for the
information about the Reillies and the Squawts. I don’t mean to offend you, and
I trust you will take my words as a statement of what I believe and not as an
attack upon you.”

The
outholder nodded slowly. “You just might be right in pitying the Squawts and
Reillies.” He smiled, an expression that Mykel’s Talent interpreted as one
embodying elements of sadness and chagrin. “I’ll be seeing you, Majer.”

“Until
then, Outholder.”

Mykel
did not settle back into his chair for several moments.

There
were far fewer petitioners in the upper Hall of Justice on Septi, and Dainyl
and Patrylon finished well before noon.

“Word
gets out quickly,” Dainyl said once they were headed down to the lower level.

“The
number of petitioners will go up again next week, sir,” replied the younger
alector. “There are those who have studied what you have said, and they will
bring petitions crafted along those lines.”

That
hardly appealed to Dainyl. “I suppose Dalyrt should accompany me one of these
times, so that he knows how I judge.”

“He
has studied my notes, but that is a matter for each High Alector to decide,
sir.”

“Notes
help, but experience is invaluable,” Dainyl replied with a laugh. “It’s also
more costly.”

Patrylon
nodded.

Dainyl
could tell that the young alector did not exactly agree. Like many of the
assistants to High Alectors, Patrylon believed that knowledge and Talent would
suffice in any situation. The two certainly granted an alector an advantage,
but if Dainyl had not been through his experiences with the ancients, he would
have died at least twice already. He wasn’t about to mention those, but most of
the High Alectors had the same mind-set as Patrylon, and the only real
experience they had was in maneuvering around the Palaces of the Duarches, the
Hall of Justice, and the Engineering Hall. Sometimes, he wondered if he had
that much more, but whatever he had was greater than the others, and certainly
more recent.

“Will
you be receiving petitions on Duadi, sir?”

“I
assume so, but anything could happen between now and then.” Especially since
his orders to Noryan should have arrived on Londi — if they arrived. If they
didn’t, that would also create problems, if of a different nature.

When
they reached the lower corridor, Dainyl said, “I need to see the recorder.
You’ll take care of sending the changes in those decisions to the affected
alectors?”

“Yes,
sir.”

Leaving
Patrylon, Dainyl slipped into the Table chamber. Chastyl hurried over. “Yes,
sir?”

“I
noted something yesterday morning, just before we heard petitions. It might have
been connected with the Table. Did anything unusual happen?”

The
recorder frowned. “There was something. It was like a Talent wave in the
translation tubes, but it was momentary, and none of the other recorders have
reported anything.”

“I
wondered.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“The
arrangement with the Table in Blackstear?”

Dainyl
thought for a moment. “It will have to remain as it is. The Myrmidons don’t
have enough pteridons to ferry guards up there, and there’s no other way to get
them there in winter. I’ll keep reviewing that, though, and I appreciate your
bringing it up.”

“Yes,
sir. Thank you.”

“Thank
you, Chastyl.” Dainyl offered a smile before slipping out through the small
foyer and returning to the small private study. He left the door ajar and sat
down behind the table desk.

He
needed to consider exactly what issues he wished to bring up with Chembryt...
and how. He also needed to convey, indirectly and firmly, that he stood behind
Khelaryt. Dainyl wasn’t that supportive of Khelaryt’s views on the Cadmians, but
given what Dainyl had seen of Brekylt and his methods, and Ruvryn, he didn’t
have any alternative to backing Khelaryt.

Less
than a glass later, he was in the coach — his official coach as the High
Alector of Justice — on his way to the Palace to meet with Chembryt.

The
coach came to a stop at the lower level of the north wing of the Palace. Dainyl
stepped out, feeling almost underground with the columns and stone rising above
him into the upper levels. He walked through the columns to the lower archway,
past the two guards with their jagged shortswords, rather than lightcutters — a
clear sign that the lower level was not considered as vital as other levels of
the Palace. While they stiffened as he walked past, their inspection and
interest was clearly cursory.

Chembryt’s
study was in the northeast corner, and a single assistant sat in the outer
study.

“Highest...
he is expecting you.” The eyes of the young alectress remained slightly
downcast as she stepped toward the paneled golden oak door and opened it.