Cadmians Choice (20 page)

“That may be.”
Sulerya grinned. “I am glad you’re not like your mother.”

Dainyl didn’t bother
to conceal the wince. “You’ve met her?”

“Once. That was a
number of years ago, long before you joined the Myrmidons.”

Dainyl decided not to
say more for the moment. His mother had always had a way of making an
impression, not always one useful to Dainyl.

The duty officer
bolted upright as the two entered the small, one-story stone structure. “Submarshal,
sir! Recorder.”

“We’re here to see
the captain, Ghedyn,” offered the recorder.

“Yes, sirs,” replied
the Myrmidon. “She’s in her study.”

Sulerya turned left
and led Dainyl to the second doorway. It was open.

“Sevasya ... one of
your superiors arrived while I was on duty.” A mischievous smile followed
Sulerya’s words. “So I escorted him here. I’m certain you two have Myrmidonish
business to discuss, and I will leave you in his capable hands.”

Dainyl—not totally
pleased with that introduction— stepped into the study with a smile, still
holding his shields.

Before he could
speak, Sulerya added, “If I’m not in the chamber when you return, Dainyl, wait
a moment. I may have more information for you.” With that, she closed the study
door, leaving the two Myrmidons alone.

Captain Sevasya was
broad shouldered, and taller than Dainyl—one of the few alectors or alectresses
of such height besides the Duarch Khelaryt. She also radiated Talent, much as
her father did, even as her black eyes appraised him.

“Submarshal Dainyl,
how good to see you.” She smiled, exuding warmth—but with cool confidence
behind it.

“It’s good to see
you, Captain. It’s especially refreshing to arrive here welcomed.”

“Are you here because
you support Asulet, or my father?” She delivered the question, bluntly phrased,
with the same warmth.

“I’m not certain whom
I should support, except that it won’t be Brekylt or Alcyna,” he replied dryly.

“You sound somewhat
skeptical, Submarshal.”

“There are times for
that, especially when dealing with the Duarch’s daughter.”

“And when little is
as it once seemed?” Sevasya’s eyebrows arched.

“I’m not sure the
past was ever what anyone thought.”

“How might I help
you?”

“Any information you
have on actions Brekylt and Alcyna have taken against the Marshal, the Highest
of Justice, or your father would be useful.” Dainyl took the chair across from
her table desk.

Sevasya sat as well,
an amused smile still in place. “Isn’t that the problem, sir? I can point to no
single action that would confirm that they have planned any adverse actions
against any of their superiors. Oh ... there are individuals who have suffered
mishaps, and those who have died. There have been unusual transfers of
personnel. In no case is there any link to the Highest of the East that could
not be supported as a justifiable act in the course of duty.”

Dainyl waited, a
pleasant smile upon his face.

“There’s no doubt
that they plan some sort of treachery, as you well know. But to remove them—or
for them to suffer a mishap—without some form of proof would have large numbers
of faithful alectors in the east rising against the Duarchy—or whoever was
perceived as its agent. Right now, you are the one suspected of being that
agent.”

That wasn’t exactly a
surprise to Dainyl, but her words still sent a chill through him. “What do you
suggest I do, then, Captain?”

“Finish your
inspection tour, and wait until an opportunity arises. It will, because Brekylt
will have to act in order to gain whatever power or control he desires. It won’t
happen immediately, however. If you do nothing upon your return to Elcien,
except to issue a report extolling the state of readiness in the east, that will
confound them.”

“What about visiting
Dereka ... and those insignificant other difficulties facing me?” Dainyl
offered the question dryly.

Sevasya laughed. “Submarshal,
sir, I am quite certain you will manage, as you have all along. Visiting Dereka
should pose no problems, now that Colonel Dhenyr serves in Elcien as your
replacement.”

“Do you think he had
anything to do with removing firelances, say, in order to weaken Fifth Company?”

“I doubt he had
anything to do with that. With other matters, yes, but handling firelances
under those conditions would require Talent and initiative, and he was selected
for lack of such.” Sevasya’s voice was both warm and ironic. “Especially after
his predecessor showed that lack of obvious Talent did not necessarily preclude
initiative and effectiveness.”

“Dereka is the
closest Myrmidon company to Lyterna,” mused Dainyl.

“It is, and I’m very
fond of both Captain Elysara and Captain Fhentyl. You might find the visit to
Dereka enjoyable, even informative, sir.”

That answered another
question, even as it raised a third. “Why?”

“I’m certain I couldn’t
say, sir, but it is the oldest city on Acorus.”

In short, Dainyl
should go, and the Duarch’s daughter, whether she was technically under his
command or not, wasn’t about to say why ... or much more about anything.

He stood. “I would
very much appreciate it if you would give me a tour of Eighth Company.”

“I’d be delighted,
Submarshal, and everyone will be pleased to meet you.”

Those words were
genuine, and heartfelt, and that disturbed Dainyl as well, although he could
not have said exactly why.

With a smile, he
opened the study door and stepped into the corridor, waiting for the captain.

Slightly past
midmoming on Quinti, Mykel reined up next to Bhoral as the third squad of the First
Hyalt Company wheeled into a firing line, a very ragged firing line. Some of
the troopers seemed uncomfortable, if not unsteady, in the saddle. Most had
never been on a mount a week earlier, and that meant extra time in teaching
them about horses. Mykel couldn’t begrudge that. He’d needed that instruction
years back.

For a time, he
watched as the squad continued to practice standard mounted maneuvers. Then he
turned to the battalion senior squad leader. “They’re improving. It’s slow, but
even as soon as it is, I can see some improvement. You’re getting results,
especially with what you have to work with.”

Bhoral gave a faint
smile. “They’re beginning to realize that they can do something, and that they’ll
get regular rations and pay. A good lot of ‘em never have.”

That was true of all
too many of the locally raised Cadmian forces, Mykel had come to realize, and
why he and Third Battalion were in Southgate. “How are matters working out with
getting supplies?”

“After the first day
or so, all of a sudden, we stopped having problems. Couldn’t say why, but I’m
not complaining.”

“Good. Still... be as
pleasant as possible.”

“I’ve laid that on
heavy with the squad leaders. They know.” Bhoral gave a creased smile. “Hope
you don’t mind that I told ‘em what you said to the officers.”

“No. It holds true
for all of us.” All Mykel had said to his officers was that no one was to treat
anyone in the compound with disrespect. If they had a problem, they were to
bring it to him. He’d only had to go to the over-captain once, and that was to
explain the need for extra fodder and water because of the longer use of the
mounts. Fodder was a problem because the area around Southgate wasn’t all that
fertile, not compared with other areas supporting Cadmian mounted companies.

“I’m going to see how
the combat squad-on-squad drills are going.” Mykel nodded to Bhoral and then
eased the roan around the north edge of the main drill field to the east side.
There, Fourteenth Company’s squads were taking on the squads of Second Hyalt
Company, using rattan sabres.

Again, Mykel reined
up, this time beside Captain Culeyt. Once more, he watched for a time, before
saying anything.

“What do you think?”

“Sir... half of them
still think a sabre’s an axe.”

“Many of us did at
one time,” Mykel said with a laugh. “They’re looking better. It’ll help your
men, too.”

“The recruits aren’t
any threat.”

“No,” Mykel replied, “but
when your men have to explain what they’re doing, and then keep doing it, it
reinforces their skills.” He grinned. “But... to make sure they don’t get
sloppy, tell them that they’ll be running a drill with the rattan sabres
against Sixteenth Company the day after tomorrow.”

“Sir? Sixteenth
Company?”

“You’re the one who
just said that the Hyaltans were no threat.”

“Yes, sir.” Culeyt shook
his head.

Mykel continued his
rounds of observation for another two glasses, before riding back to the
compound, where he unsaddled the roan and brushed him out before he walked back
to the headquarters building.

He settled behind the
battered wooden table desk in the study provided for his use—he didn’t really
think of it as his—and began to write. He’d decided to make more changes in the
training schedule, based on what he’d observed, deciding to beef up the
individual weapons training. Some of the unit maneuvering training could be
incorporated into the ride to Hyalt, but doing that with weapons would have
been far more difficult— and time-consuming.

Less than half a
glass later, he looked up to a knock on the half-open door. “Yes?”

“Overcaptain Sturyk
would ask a moment of your time, Majer.” The squad leader was far more precise
and respectful than he had been when Mykel had first introduced himself. “If
you would not mind?”

“That would be fine.”

Mykel had barely set
down the pen before Sturyk appeared, and he stood. “Overcaptain.”

“Majer. You’ve been
so involved with your training that I thought I had best catch you when I
could, sir. If this is convenient?”

“This is fine.” Mykel
gestured toward the chairs in front of the table.

“Oh, no, sir. This
will only take a moment.” Sturyk paused. “Before that... It’s said that you
acquired ... a certain appellation ... as a result of your efforts in Dramur,
Majer, sir. I would not wish to pry ...”

Was that why there
had suddenly been such a change in attitude and so much cooperation? Mykel
offered a smile he hoped was ironic, or wry, or self-deprecating. “I’ve been
told that I did acquire a name—one having to do with ancient knives that cut
the user as deeply as the one attacked. It wasn’t something I sought.”

“That explains much.
There have only been a handful of men called daggers of the ancients.” Sturyk
shook his head. “I do not envy you, Majer. Both the ancients and the alectors
will try to break you.” The overcaptain forced a smile. “That was not why I requested
a moment of your time.” He extended an envelope. “I must explain. That is an
invitation. Every spring, just before summer, the Council of Southgate holds a
ball, a dance, if you will. As a matter of courtesy, the commander of the
compound and any senior officers in residence are always invited.”

A ball was the last
thing Mykel felt like attending. He tried not to show that feeling as he took
the envelope, of heavy parchment, and sealed in deep blue wax. He did not open
it.

“I realize that you’re
working hard, sir, but I fear...”

“They pay for the
compound’s expenses, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel could see the
relief on Sturyk’s face. “I’ll be there, but I’ll have to be in uniform.”

The overcaptain
chuckled. “That’s what they want. It will be formal, and everyone will say a
few words about how much they appreciate your coming, but it’s as much to show
that they’re on speaking terms with the Cadmians as anything else. This year...
they’ll appreciate it more, because you’re not married, and that means you can
talk and dance with their eligible daughters.”

“I doubt they’d want
a Cadmian for a husband,” Mykel pointed out, thinking of Rachyla.

“Of course not, but
they’ll feel very wicked in having met you, especially ...” Sturyk’s words
trailed off.

“Does everyone in
Southgate know?”

“No, sir. Only a few,
but, by the time of the ball...”

Mykel wanted to
groan. He couldn’t dance, except a few folk dances his sister had taught him
years before, and he was going to be on exhibit as the dangerous “dagger of the
ancients.” How many other aspects of command were there that he had no idea of
and had yet to face?

“It should be very
interesting.” He managed a smile.

“It’s likely to be
very long, sir. My wife dreads it, but it is one of the responsibilities that accompany
command here.” Sturyk managed a long-suffering smile.

That expression was
convincing enough that Mykel actually believed Sturyk’s words. Had Mykel not
been in Dramur—and experienced the condescension and near-contempt of the
seltyrs there—he might not have.

“That’s all, sir.”
Sturyk nodded. “By your leave?”

“Thank you.”

Mykel did not open
the envelope until he stood alone in the study. Then he broke the seal and
extracted the heavy card, reading it slowly. “The Council of Southgate requests
the honor of the presence of Majer Mykel, Commanding, Third Cadmian Battalion,
Mounted Rifles ...”

He shook his head. At
least, he had almost four weeks before he had to worry about that. A ball, for
the Duarches’ sake!

Dainyl returned to
headquarters late on Quattri. Sulerya had provided no more information and had
told him that finding out what she had in mind would take longer than she had
thought. When he reached Elcien, Dainyl saw neither the marshal nor Lystrana
that night. She had left a note at their home explaining that she’d be spending
the night in Ludar because she and the High Alector of Finance had an
early-morning meeting with the Duarch of Ludar to apprise him of some “irregularities”
in the engineering accounts in the east.