Soarers Choice (67 page)

“It
was the least I could do.” Her perfect violet eyes showed concern.

Dainyl
could sense the deeper worry. “I just need rest. Quivaryt... he had a
lightcannon of the roadcutting kind. They tried to use it against me.” Even
those few words left him lightheaded, yet he knew he hadn’t taken any physical
injuries, not beyond some bruises, anyway.

Lystrana
didn’t bother to hide her feelings. “That’s ... awful. It’s appalling. They
suck lifeforce from everywhere.”

“Lightcannon
and light-rifles ... they’re showing up everywhere. They should know better.”

“They
should.” She eased a tray in front of him. “You need to eat. You had almost no
lifeforce when you got to Dereka.” She handed him a beaker of ale. “Start with
this.”

He
sipped it slowly, then stopped. “How did you know?”

“Jonyst
sent his assistant to tell me. They got worried after they saw you.”

“I
hope I didn’t disrupt your afternoon.”

“Keep
drinking. No ... it was already late. Even Jylena noticed how pale you are. She
said you were so pale you were green.”

“I
suppose I am.” He took another sip of the ale. “No matter what I do ...”

“And
the soup in the cup.”

“Yes,
dearest.” After setting down the beaker on the tray and sipping some of the
soup, he said, “I think Brekylt must already be in Ludar. He’s left Alustre,
and I don’t think he was in Dulka.”

“There’s
not much you can do about that. Not in your condition. Besides, if the
Myrmidons are needed, you have a marshal in Elcien to command them.”

“I’ll
be better tomorrow.”

“I’m
sure you will be,” she said soothingly. “You just need rest and nourishment.
Please drink some more.”

Lightheaded
as he was, Dainyl could still recognize the placating tone. He went back to the
ale.

“And
a little cheese.” She slipped a small sliver into his mouth after he’d taken
another swallow of the ale.

“They’ll
destroy Acorus to rule it for but a few years,” he added, realizing his words
were not as logical as he would have liked. “You know what I mean.”

“I
do.” She picked up the beaker of ale and held it so he ; could grasp it. “You
need to drink more — and have some of this.” She eased something into his
mouth.

He
chewed the morsel of what felt like pate. “Not bad.”

“Some
more.” Lystrana eased more of the pate into his mouth.

“It
won’t be that long before the Archon transfers the Master Scepter, and they’re
squabbling — “

“You
can’t do anything about it, dearest, unless you eat and rest and get stronger.”

While
her words made sense, Dainyl couldn’t help but say, “I don’t have time to wait
to get stronger.” He yawned.

“You
need a good night’s sleep.”

That
was a good idea, but there was so much he had to do, so very much.

“Just
rest...” Lystrana’s voice was soothing. He closed his eyes.

In
the grayness before dawn, Mykel stood in the corner of the shed and loosened
the sling. He tried to lift his arm. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and lines of
pain shot across his chest, but he could lift it a span or more. The day
before, nothing had happened. Had his momentary link to the darkness helped
speed healing? That might be, and there might be other things his Talent would
allow him to do ... but those didn’t seem too helpful at the moment when he was
responsible for two battalions and had to stop over a thousand Reillies and
Squawts from killing him and his men, not to mention from sacking Borlan.

He
stepped out of the shed into the chill air, carrying his gear. Someone had
groomed and saddled the roan, for which he was grateful, and tied it to the
nearest fence post. Fastening his gear behind the saddle was time-consuming,
but easier than it had been. He mounted as quickly as he could and rode toward
the barn where the battalion’s companies were forming up. There, he reined up
beside Bhoral.

“Morning,
sir. The scouts aren’t back yet,” offered Bhoral.

“Let
me know.” Mykel rode toward Rhystan, who turned in the saddle and looked
closely at Mykel, then nodded.

“You’re
inspecting me like you might a new mount,” Mykel observed.

“Yes,
sir. I’m glad to see you’re looking better.”

Mykel
laughed. “I’m happy to know that I pass inspection. How are the men?”

“They’re
happy. The night was cold, the ground hard, but they got to fill their
bellies.”

Mykel
couldn’t help but smile at Rhystan’s wry assessment. “Good.” He eased the roan
along toward Seventeenth Company and Loryalt.

In
the end, the entire battalion moved out half a glass before sunrise, riding for
more than a glass on the Borlan road, a packed clay track that would turn to a
quagmire in heavy rain. The road wound through a wide valley filled with
stub-bled fields and meadows whose grasses had been cut, leaving a short
tannish thatch. Occasional apple and plumapple orchards dotted the low hills.
As the sun rose into a clear silver-green winter sky, the air warmed enough
that the breath of men and mounts no longer steamed, and a slightly warmer
breeze blew out of the southwest.

Mykel
watched the road as well as the higher hills to the west. More than a vingt
ahead, on the western side of the road, was a heavily wooded hillside. Mykel
glanced at it, then glanced back. Even though he sensed no Talent emanations,
there might be men there. He turned in the saddle. “Bhoral!”

“Sir!”
The battalion squad leader rode forward.

“Send
out some scouts and some men to check out the forest on the hill up there — the
one on the right side. Just half a squad. I want them to go at least a hundred
yards in a line abreast, and I want them close enough to see each other. If
they run into Reillies, they’re to withdraw.”

“Yes,
sir!”

The
Cadmians rode forward of the battalion and toward the wooded area that had
drawn his attention. No one shot at the ten Cadmians as they neared the woods
and then spread into a line abreast and started into the trees. Mykel kept
watching, as did Rhystan and Bhoral.

A
single shot echoed down the road from the wooded area, followed by several
more. Shortly, a handful of Cadmians rode out of the trees, and turned their
mounts back toward the company. Hundreds of mounted insurgents poured out of
the forest, and swept along the road, northward toward the main body of the
battalion.

Mykel
turned his mount, standing in the stirrups. “Sixteenth Company! Wide front,
staggered firing line! Centered on the road! Fourteenth Company! On the right,
wide front...”

By
the time Mykel finished both bellowing orders and sending Bhoral and his
messengers to pass them along to the companies in the rear, Rhystan already had
Sixteenth Company in position, and Fabrytal had Fifteenth Company on the left,
and Culeyt had Fourteenth on the right, both angled forward slightly to allow
somewhat of a cross fire. Seventeenth Company was behind the center, and
Thirteenth was moving forward onto the higher ground off the road to the east,
from where they could rake the Reillies if they continued their attack.

By
now the Reillies were less than half a vingt away.

Rhystan
rode up to Mykel. “Majer...”

“Since
I’m not that good with a rifle right now, you’d appreciate it if I didn’t make
a target of myself in the front rank?” Mykel knew Rhystan had a point. “I’ll
move back a rank or two, but I need to see.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Mykel
could detect the relief in the captain’s voice and bearing as Rhystan turned
his mount back south to face the oncoming Reillies. Mykel eased his mount back
into the formation of Sixteenth Company so that there were two staggered ranks
before him.

“Rifles
ready!” Mykel ordered. “Hold your fire!”

When
the Reillies reached a point two hundred yards out from the Cadmian formation,
Thirteenth Company opened fire — as ordered. Reillies and Squawts began to fall,
but the losses barely slowed the charge.

The
Reillies formed a tight spearhead of riders aimed at the center of the Cadmians
— and at Mykel. He could sense the faintest of Talent probes, clearly trying to
fix his location. What sort of beliefs were they when people insisted that only
their leaders could use certain abilities and when they were determined to
destroy anyone else who showed such abilities? He laughed, low enough that only
he could hear the sound. The alectors believed that way, as did the Reillies,
and probably, were Talent widely enough spread among landers, so would they.

He
forced himself to wait until the Reillies were only about seventy-five yards
away before standing in the stirrups and ordering, “Open tire! Fire at will!”

Mykel
dropped back into the saddle. He hadn’t wanted to be a target, but he had
wanted the orders heard. Besides, the Reillies seemed to know where he was
anyway.

Under
the withering fire, Reillies and mounts dropped, and other mounts fell over the
fallen. And still, the hill riders kept coming. Mykel slipped his rifle out of
its case and laid it across his thighs. If necessary, he could get off a good
shot or two, one-armed or not.

Of
the attackers’ first wave, less than a score reached the battalion’s first rank.
Half of those were cut down before they could bring their oversized blades to
bear. A handful of Cadmians had to use sabres, but in moments there were no
more Reillies within twenty yards.

“Battalion!
Reload! Now!” The order was probably unnecessary, but some might need the
reminder.

The
thunder of hoofs increased as another wave of hill riders pounded toward Third
Battalion. Once more the concentrated fire from the Cadmians ripped through the
Reillies.

Over
the haze of dust and smoke, Mykel could tell that Dyarth had brought Thirteenth
Company closer to the road, where they continued to deliver a punishing cross
fire at the trailing section of the Reillie attack.

This
time, the Reillies turned, veering toward the west, and riding through a low
vale between hills, avoiding any of the roads or lanes.

In
less than a quarter glass, Third Battalion remained alone on the Borlan road.

Mykel
rode forward, easing the roan through the ranks of Sixteenth Company. He only
saw a handful of wounded and one empty saddle, but that was only one squad. The
road to the south was littered with the bodies of men and mounts, and Mykel
reined up, trying to survey the carnage, as well as get a rough count of the
Reillie casualties. He guessed there were well over a hundred dead and wounded,
just on the road.

Bhoral
rode up beside the majer. “What about their wounded?”

“Take
their rifles and ammunition — and the good mounts. Shoot anyone who resists,
but leave the others alone.” Mykel didn’t feel particularly merciful. From what
he could tell, killing Reillies didn’t make an impression. Perhaps leaving a
large number of the wounded fending for themselves would. Then, he wasn’t
certain anything would have an effect on the Reillies, except killing them all,
and he wasn’t willing, prepared, or equipped to undertake butchery of that
extent, the late Majer Hersiod’s words notwithstanding.

Mykel
looked down at the rifle. He hadn’t had to fire it — this time.

Dainyl
looked up from the breakfast tray that Lystrana had brought him and that he had
finished to the last morsel. “Thank you.” He sat up straighter in the wide bed.
“I suppose I’d better get dressed.”

“You’re
not getting dressed — not to go off anywhere. I don’t care if Khelaryt might
get assassinated in the next glass, or if Brekylt becomes Archon of Acorus, or
if the world is crumbling into dust around us,” stated Lystrana, her voice
rising slightly, “you are not going anywhere today. Until you recover your
strength, you’re not going anywhere.”

Dainyl
realized she was right. He was too tired to argue, and if he couldn’t do
that... “Yes, dearest.”

Lystrana
smiled at him fondly. “If you’re that acquiescent, you may be here a week. You
were almost as green as you say the ancients are when you got here last night.”

“And
this morning?”

“You’re
not much better.”

“Asulet
said it wasn’t reversible,” Dainyl admitted.

“You
skipped over that. All you said was that you had to keep it in check.”

Dainyl
couldn’t help frowning. Was that what he had said? “Those were your words,” she
said. “I thought you understood.”

“I
do now.” She paused. “Do you have to use the green Talent?”

“I
wouldn’t be here and alive, weak as I am, if I hadn’t.”

“I
was afraid of that.”

“I’ve
been traveling the ways of the ancients,” he admitted. “They lie beneath and
outside the translation tube, but I don’t have to use a Table; That was
necessary, because the recorders in Alustre and Dulka, certainly Ludar, are
allies of Brekylt.”

“I
think you’d better tell me just what you’ve been doing.” Lystrana’s voice was
firm.

“It
started two days ago, when we discovered that Brekylt had murdered Noryan and
Josaryk had mutinied ...” Dainyl told her everything, from what had happened in
the east, to his discovery and ability to use the web of the ancients, to his
conversation with them, and through his attempt to track down Brekylt and his
near collapse on the Table in Dereka.

“It
might be easier for everyone,” she said dryly, “if they made you Duarch.”

“That
won’t happen. Before long, everyone will be after me, and Acorus will be awash
in lifeforce-destroying weapons — and that’s if the ancients don’t come up with
worse. I can’t tell you how much their attitude conveyed how little what I was
attempting mattered.”

“They’re
as arrogant as Samist and Brekylt, it sounds like.”