Cadmians Choice (11 page)
Authors: L. E. Modesitt
The sense of anger in
Hersiod darkened. “We are only Cadmians, Mykel. We are not alectors. We serve
at their pleasure. You are a majer at their pleasure. You could be nothing as
quickly. You might keep that in mind.”
“That has been made
extremely clear to me.” Mykel didn’t have to evade or equivocate to say that.
An expression of
surprise flashed across Hersiod’s features, then vanished as if it had never
been. “That is very good to know.”
Mykel rose from his
table. “I hope your day and your training go well.” He nodded and turned.
Hersiod did not offer
a reply.
Mykel left the mess
and started across the courtyard through the mist that had replaced the rain,
heading to meet his captains and undercaptains. Something... something about
Hersiod, about Fourth Battalion, about their being assigned to Iron Stem,
reminded Mykel of Majer Vaclyn, something more than stubbornness and
intransigence. But what?
As he neared the
Third Battalion barracks, the certainty that there was a connection nagged at
Mykel, but he could not identify what it was, no matter how he struggled to
remember and recall.
By Sexdi night,
Dainyl had reviewed every record in the eastern Myrmidon headquarters even
halfway pertinent to his concerns, observed the majority of pteridons and their
squares, and had three more meals with Alcyna—two more than he had desired or
needed, especially since he had learned little more than the fact that Alcyna
was quite talented in revealing nothing that she had not already told Dainyl.
He’d seen nothing that referred to engineering or to road building or
maintenance, but had not expected that he would. He had discovered that,
periodically, she transferred Myrmidons from company to company, far more often
than Tyanylt or he had done in the west, and most of the transfers were not for
reasons related to promotions. They couldn’t be. Promotions were infrequent.
His sleep was less
than untroubled, despite the various precautions he had taken, including a
Talent-alarm on the door to his bedchamber, and he awoke early on Septi
morning. After a quick breakfast, he packed his gear, pulled on his flying
jacket, slung the saddlebags over his shoulder, and walked down the steps to
the courtyard, and through the wind that swirled warm and chill air together
toward the headquarters building. He glanced to the south, where gray clouds
were building, suggesting that the warm rains of mid-spring were indeed on
their way.
Someone must have
seen him carrying his gear, because, by the time he reached the duty desk
inside headquarters to request the coach, Alcyna was walking toward him.
“You’re leaving,
Dainyl?”
He shrugged. “What
can I say? You are remarkably able. Your records and accounts are a marvel, and
you maintain order and discipline without excessive force or over management. l
may note that you tend to transfer Myrmidons more than in the west.”
“That’s because
squads can get too cliquish without regular rotations.”
There was more there,
but Dainyl didn’t have any way to press. “I’ll report that as well. Those kinds
of insights just show your attention to detail, and are the sorts of things
that I’ll be pleased to report to the marshal.”
“I do hope that you
found your tour instructive.” Her smile was polite.
“With your example,
how could it not be?” His smile was warmer than hers, if not by much.
“Do give my warmest
regards to Marshal Shastylt, and enjoy the spring in Elcien.”
“It’s cooler there,
and it will be a while.”
“The coach is
standing by.” Her words were the equivalent of a dismissal.
“Thank you. I hope I
can be as hospitable to you when you come to Elcien.” Dainyl inclined his head,
then turned and walked out to the coach, where Granyn waited.
“To the residence,
sir?”
“The west portico,
Granyn.” Dainyl swung up into the coach and closed the door behind himself.
As he rode toward the
residence, Dainyl considered how little he had learned—and how much less he
trusted either Brekylt or Alcyna. Brekylt’s remarks about gardening might well
have been an indirect invitation for Dainyl to join them in whatever they
planned—or at least an opening to explore such—but Dainyl knew all too well
that following that path would have been too dangerous. He could conceal what
he felt well enough, but he had never been able to counterfeit interest in what
he disliked, distrusted, or detested, and Alcyna and Brekylt were all too skilled
at reading people. He had no doubts that his shortcomings along those lines
were why he was indeed the submarshal and why the Highest and Marshal
Shastylt had sent him
to Alustre. His next stop would be Norda, unannounced, to see what else he
could discover.
When he exited the
coach at the west portico of the residence, he turned to the driver. “The best
to you, Granyn. I hope it’s not too long before you’re flying.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dainyl smiled,
nodded, turned, and walked briskly to the rear corridor and the steps down to
the lower level and the Table chamber.
The two alector
guards stiffened as Dainyl approached, but neither spoke as he released the
Talent-locks and opened the outer door to the foyer leading to the Table
chamber. After closing the outer door, he paused, using his Talent to listen,
but neither guard said a word. Their silence suggested that they’d been alerted
about something. With that in mind, he released the Talent-lock on the inner
door, then eased it open and stepped inside.
The Table chamber was
empty. At least, the part he saw was. He looked at the wall holding die
light-torch bracket with the hidden Talent-lock, but whatever was behind the
wall was shielded from him by the stone itself. After a moment, his saddlebags
over one shoulder, he turned back toward the Table, over which seemed to hang a
Talent-mist.
As he moved closer to
the Table, a pair of long purplish arms formed from the mist, rising from die
silver surface and reaching toward Dainyl. What they were, Dainyl had no idea,
but they exuded menace.
He stepped back.
The arms thickened
and lengthened, separating as if to encircle him.
He unholstered the
lightcutter at his belt and fired at one arm. The blue fire seared though the
right arm, but the arm was unchanged. The surface of the stone on the far side
of the chamber took on a glazed appearance.
Dainyl raised full
Talent-shields, and the arms stopped, halted by the barriers as Dainyl stood
behind his shields.
He had no doubt that
he could have stepped up onto the Table—and perhaps even translated—but he didn’t
think shields were that effective in a translation tube. He didn’t want to
prove that. He also didn’t like the idea of someone using the Table against a
submarshal and getting away with it.
Still... he could feel
the increasing pressure exerted by the arms—clearly drawing strength from the
Table or through it—and he was beginning to sweat with the effort of
maintaining shields.
He cast his
Talent-senses around the chamber, realizing that the hidden door was in fact
open, that it was concealed by the same Talent-cloak as the lock, and that he
had not probed deeply enough. The thinnest line of purple talent ran from the
Table to the doorway.
Dainyl turned toward
that doorway, sensing someone behind the Talent-illusion.
The illusion
vanished, and in the open stone doorway stood an angular alector, clad in green
and black, the colors of a Recorder of Deeds, although Dainyl had never met
one.
A line of
Talent-fire, as hot as anything from a light-cutter, flared toward Dainyl,
sheeting around his shields, but rocking him back a half step. He took a half
step forward, then another.
More Talent-fire
surged from the Recorder of Deeds, and again Dainyl’s shields held, but his
broad forehead was dripping sweat, and the corners of his eyes stung from where
the sweat had run into them.
Dainyl doubted he
could match the other alector in projecting Talent-force, and trying to do so
would only weaken his own shields. But one didn’t have to always use projected
Talent to stop a Talent-wielder. He took two more steps. Another blast of
Talent slammed at Dainyl, but another two steps brought him to where he could
almost have reached out and touched the recorder. He did not.
Instead, he
concentrated on bringing his own shields forward so that, instead of forming a
circle around Dainyl, they formed one around the recorder, a wall that Dainyl
began to contract.
The recorder suddenly
realized what Dainyl had done, and tried to step back, but found himself
encircled, his own shields being squeezed back around him by the greater power
of Dainyl’s.
The sweat streamed
down Dainyl’s face, but he concentrated on contracting the shields around the
other alector, ever more tightly. The recorder’s hands and arms came up, trying
to push back against the encircling force, to no avail. His mouth opened, but
the scream was soundless, lost behind two sets of shields. His face slowly
turned dark crimson.
CRUMPT! Dainyl felt
himself being hurled back across the room, his back slamming into the stone
wall.
His vision turned
black for a long moment, but he struggled through the darkness, somehow
reaching out and steadying himself against the wall with his “good” left arm.
When he could see clearly again, all that remained of the Recorder of Deeds was
fast-vanishing dust, and his lifeforce-treated shimmersilk raiment, crumpled in
the opening to the hidden chambers.
Dainyl’s left leg
ached, with shivers of pain running up and down it. He could tell he hadn’t
rebroken it, but he hadn’t done it much good, either. Absently, he noted that
the purple mist and arms had vanished.
“Zorater!” The call
came from the hidden chambers.
Dainyl was tired, but
he certainly didn’t want to stay in Alustre, not after what had just occurred,
not when his ability to hold shields was diminished. He scooped up the
saddlebags that he had dropped along the way and scrambled to the Table and
onto it, wincing as he did, concentrating on dropping into the blackness
below....
The chill jolted his
overheated and tired frame, so much that for a long, if timeless, moment, the
black chill of the translation tube enfolded him. Where should he go ? He’d
intended on traveling to Norda. Should he? Returning to Elcien might raise too
many questions. At the moment, no one would really know what happened, but if
he appeared in Elcien the marshal might well ask too many questions. No. Better
to carry on what he had planned... somehow.
He cast his
Talent-line out, seeking the green locator wedge, bordered in purple, that was
Norda. The Talent-line and the locator wedge touched, and Dainyl could sense
himself closer, but the chill surrounding him seemed more intense than on his
last journey. Because he’d been overheated, or because he was tired?
He concentrated on
the greenness of Norda, sensing it grow ever nearer. Then, just as he felt he
was about to reach the Table... a line of golden green appeared, as if beside
him .. . and then vanished. . . or retreated, he thought, before vanishing. At
that moment, the barrier sprayed away from him... .
He stood on yet
another Table.
Two alectors stood
before the opening to the hidden chamber—did all Table chambers have them? One
began to form a Talent probe, one with flame.
Dainyl projected a
shield that slammed into the alector’s hand, throwing him into the stone wall
behind him.
The recorder beside
the fallen alector raised a hand in greeting. “Submarshal! We didn’t expect
you. My assistant was too hasty. He was worried about a wild translation. We’ve
had a number of them recently, and one only a few days ago, although it arrived
dead, but it has been disconcerting. I apologize for his carelessness.”
The stunned alector
shook his head. “My apologies, sir... I am so sorry. I thought... I was worried
about a wild translation.”
He was sorry, Dainyl
sensed, but not for mistaking Dainyl, but for failing to catch the submarshal
off-guard.
“Sometimes mistakes
happen,” Dainyl replied. “You’re fortunate I sensed it in time.” He smiled
coldly. “Most fortunate.”
The alector
swallowed.
“I’m Kasyst,
Submarshal Dainyl. How could we help you?”
“I’m here to see
Majer Noryan and the Myrmidons.” “Yes, sir. They’re actually billeted in the
adjoining compound, sir. It’s but a hundred yards. I would offer a coach, but
we don’t have one.”
“I’ll manage.” Dainyl
kept his shields in place as he moved toward the archway leading to a foyer
from the chamber. Unlike the other Table chambers he had visited, there seemed
to be only one actual door.
As he passed through
the archway from the Table chamber, he could hear Kasyst’s low words to his
assistant.
“... causal use of
power ... one of them could turn you into dust...”
“... Myrmidon officer
... not a High Alector...” “A submarshal, and might as well be a High Alector.”
Dainyl didn’t exactly feel like a High Alector, although Asulet had said
something along those lines. In any case, he needed to find Majer Noryan. He
wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. Not the way matters had been going so
far. He also wondered what the golden green had been, almost the same shade and
feeling as the ancient soarer he had encountered in Dramur. Were they trying to
attack through the Table grid? Or did their mirror portals work in the same
fashion as did a Table?
Dainyl had slung his
saddlebags over his shoulder and walked up the long narrow steps to a door on
the ground level of the regional administration building. The door was
Talent-locked and shielded. Dainyl shielded himself as he emerged in a back
hallway, but the corridor was both empty and unguarded. After rebuilding the
Talent-lock, he made his way to the nearest exit, a single oak door that opened
onto a redstone-paved courtyard.
Despite the bright
sunlight of early morning—the local time was two glasses earlier than in
Alustre, Dainyl reminded himself—the wind was winterlike and gusting when he
began to cross the courtyard, and he was glad for the flight jacket.
He was still a good
thirty yards from the first pteridon square—there were only a handful, since
Norda held only a Cadmian battalion on a regular basis and seldom hosted
Myrmidons for long—when a Myrmidon ranker came hurrying toward him, then
abruptly stopped.
“Submarshal?”
“Submarshal Dainyl
from Elcien.”
“Yes, sir. You’re
here to see Majer Noryan?”
Dainyl nodded.
“He’s in the Cadmian
headquarters, sir. It’s this way. Good thing you’re so early. He’s going to
take second squad on a recon run along the north road.”
Dainyl followed the
ranker to a study at one end of the one-story redstone structure. Inside,
Noryan stood with two undercaptains. He had obviously commandeered the largest
study in the building, and from the smaller lander-sized furnishings, had
doubtless displaced the Cadmian majer who commanded the Eighth Battalion,
Mounted Rifles.
“Greetings, Majer,”
offered Dainyl.
Noryan was huge, even
for an alector, almost as large physically as Khelaryt, the Duarch of Elcien,
close to three yards in height with shoulders to match, and a square head set
on a thick neck. He turned and blinked as his eyes took in the stars on Dainyl’s
collar. “Submarshal, sir. I can’t say that we expected you this morning.”
“I’m making a number
of unannounced visits, pursuant to the marshal’s orders.” Dainyl’s words
represented only a slight extension of the marshal’s instructions.
“We’d heard that you
would be in Alustre, sir, but no one mentioned ...”
“They weren’t told.”
Dainyl smiled. “I understand you’ll be taking a squad on a recon flight
shortly.”
“That was the plan,
sir.”
“Still searching for
the missing Cadmian company?”
“Yes, sir. We’re also
looking for other signs.”
“Then I’ll take only
a part of a glass of your time, and you can get on with your recon.”
Noryan glanced to the
two undercaptains. “Carloya, have second squad hold for me. Veltuk ... go ahead
with the northwest ran as we discussed.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two inclined
their heads politely, and murmured, “Submarshal, sir,” as they eased past
Dainyl.
Dainyl closed the
door after they left.
“How might I help
you, sir?” Noryan’s smile offered an expression somewhere between politeness
and worry.
Dainyl was impressed
by the other’s shields, because he detected very little other emotion. “We’ve
had a number of incidents with the ancients, Majer, and yours was the most
recent. Your report was brief and to the point, a good Myrmidon report, but I
thought it might be worthwhile to hear if, on reflection, you might have
recalled something else.”
‘There wasn’t much
else to recall, sir. The old creature took out two of my rankers. We didn’t
even attack them. We were looking for those missing Cadmians. Kagayan saw something,
and he turned toward it. Zuluya was flying wing on him and followed. The
creature hit them both with something. None of us saw anything but a flash of
green. Next thing I knew, both pteridons and riders were pyres on the ice below
the cliff.”
“Did they have their
skylances at the ready?”
“Always do here in
the north. The indigens here have rifles. They’ll shoot at anything that
moves—or they would if they didn’t know we’d flame them on the spot.”
“I take it that the
sudden appearance—or reappearance—of the ancients at this time was as much a
surprise to you as it was to Submarshal Alcyna, although I understand she had a
strategy.”
Noryan laughed,
ruefully. “The submarshal... she was the one who’d given me standing orders on
how to deal with the ancients if they ever showed up. I’d told her that they
were orders I’d never need.”
Dainyl’s Talent told
him that the majer was telling the truth as he’d seen it... and that Noryan was
letting Dainyl see that. But Alcyna had given Noryan standing orders about the
ancients? Not orders on the spot? “I imagine many of us had thought that. The
submarshal was more perceptive. Do you recall when she first talked to you
about them?”
“Had to have been
sometime last harvest, maybe earlier. She didn’t emphasize it that much. She
just said that there had been some strange sightings, and there might be an
ancient or two left. She suggested that they were powerful and that one
skylance, or even two, might not do much to stop them.” Noryan shrugged.
“What happened after your
squads all fired?”
“Just what I
reported, sir. There was a flare of green light. It looked like shards of green
glass flying everywhere for a moment, but we never found anything. There was a
circle of melted rock on the bluff. No one’s seen any of the creatures since. I’m
just guessing, but there probably aren’t too many of them left anywhere on
Corus.”
“There never were
very many,” suggested Dainyl. “Was there any sort of structure near where they
attacked? A shelter or a cave?”
“We did close
flybys—the snow’s too deep to land safely there. We didn’t see a sign of
anything, and there wasn’t anything there last harvest before the snows began.”
“I assume that the ‘other
signs’ you’re looking for on the recon are signs of the ancients.”
“Yes, sir. Or any tracks
by locals that might link them to the ancients.”
Dainyl had wondered
that himself when the ancient appearances had begun in Dramur. Has there been
any sign of any indigens nearby where the ancients appeared?”
“No sign of anyone
...”
At the end of another
quarter glass, Dainyl knew no more than he had after the first few questions he’d
asked. He smiled. “I’ve taken enough of your time.”
“I wish I could have
told you more, but that’s what happened.”
“You can’t offer more
than what you know.” Dainyl stepped back and opened the door. “By the way,” he
asked from the half-open door of the study, “who is the majer in command of the
Cadmian battalion?”
“Ferank. He’s using
one of the studies on the other side of the hall.”
“Thank you. The best
on your recon. I hope you have some success in finding out what happened to the
Cadmians.”
“We may not ever
know. The locals say that people have been vanishing here for centuries. They
won’t go into the higher hills, won’t even travel some of the lower ones except
in groups.” Noryan laughed. “There’s nothing there, except maybe an old
building or two. The weather’s bad enough to account for all of the
disappearances. They find bodies and bones every spring, sometimes even in the
summer. You can get snow and hail in the high hills in midsummer.” He moved
away from where he stood beside the undersized desk. “I’d best be getting out
to the squad.”
“I won’t keep you
longer.”
Once Noryan had
departed, Dainyl located Ferank two doors away on the other side of the hall.
In appearance, the Cadmian majer was far different from Noryan. The lander was,
railthin, blond, with watery blue eyes, and bolted to his feet at Dainyl’s
appearance in the doorway.
“Submarshal, sir,
what can I do for you?”
“I was just passing
through, Majer, and wanted to get your thoughts about a few things.” As he
closed the door and moved into the chamber, Dainyl remained standing. If he had
to sit in one of the low chairs set before the
table desk in the
small study, he’d be uncomfortable in moments.
“Yes, sir. About
what, sir?”
“I’d be interested in
hearing what you know about the missing mounted rifle company.”
“I’ve been reporting
all I know, sir.” Ferank’s brows wrinkled in puzzlement.
“I’m certain you did,
but I’d like to hear it in your words directly from you.”
“Well... sir, you
know that we’ve kept two companies in Scien. It’s been that way since the time
I entered service. They say that the winters have been getting warmer, but I
was born there, and I never saw that. They seemed as cold as ever. Whatever the
reason, late this past fall we got orders from the colonel in Alustre—that’s
Colonel Ubarak—to consolidate the whole battalion here in Norda. I ordered
Thirty-third Company here immediately, with Thirty-fourth Company to follow the
next week.
‘Thirty-fourth
Company left Scien on Londi. No one ever saw them again, and the early winter
storm didn’t hit until Septi. They should have been in Pystra by Quinti. By
Sexdi at the latest. I had no word, and when one of Majer Noryan’s squads
stopped here to overnight I asked about a possible recon to see what happened.
They couldn’t do one then because of some trouble in Coren. I sent back scouts,
but they found no traces. When the Myrmidons could fly over the road, they didn’t
find anything either.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a trace, sir.
Not a scrap of equipment, not a trace of flesh or bone. The road between Scien
and Pystra is pretty barren, too. There’s not much in the way of trees, except
scrub. Even the hills are low, except for the one set of ridges where I heard
they lost some pteridons. After that, it snowed so much that the whole highway’s
buried. It usually is earlier than it was this year.”
“Is there any record
of companies or squads being lost along the north road before?”
“No, sir. Not in any
of the records we have, and they go back almost a century. I checked.”
That fact did not
reassure Dainyl in the slightest. “Have any steps been taken to replace the
company?”
“We’ve recruited
about half of those we need locally, and we’re supposed to get some veterans to
leaven the company within the next two weeks. It’s hard because we have to keep
the hill folk in line in the summers, and the people around Norda have
relatives among them.”
“What’s the problem
with the hill folk?”
“The usual. They want
to timber too much of the land, and there aren’t enough trees here anyway. They
don’t want to build with stone or brick—it’s too much work. Lately, they’ve
been using mesh nets in fishing the lakes, and overfishing. They complain that
the Code of the Duarches has rules that are too strict and unsuited to the
north. If the district patrollers go out alone, they get shot at. So we have to
make sweeps and send the ones we pick up to the road camps. They’re no good at
the nature camps; they kill more trees than they plant...”
Dainyl listened
patiently.
After leaving the
majer, Dainyl spent the remainder of the day walking through the Cadmian
compound, talking to both rankers and squad leaders. He doubted he’d learned
too much from it, except that there was more resentment about the Code of the
Duarches in the east than was ever reported to the marshal, or, at least, than
he had seen in any reports.
It was past sunset
when he returned to the Table chamber, and the chamber itself was empty. The
door to the hidden chambers was closed, but he would leave that aspect of
matters ... for the moment.