Cadmians Choice (38 page)

“What little support
I do have.” Dainyl snorted.

‘That is better than
no support... or active opposition.”

He knew that she was
accurate in that, much as he hated to admit it.

“Where do you think
all those alectors from Ifryn are going?” asked Lystrana. “If large numbers of
strange alectors appeared in Alustre, would there not be reports, one way or
another? You found a number still loyal to Khelaryt there, such as Kaparyk.”

The answer was
obvious, and Dainyl had felt it all along, even if he had not voiced it. “They’re
being sent to Dulka, and perhaps Hyalt. They’ve moved Seventh Company well away
from the Table, and there’s a perfectly good and empty compound adjacent to the
structure that houses the RA and the Table. Alcyna has sent another one of the
translated and replacement Myrmidons—that’s Veluara—there to keep the Myrmidons
in line and away from what’s happening. Most of the undercaptains are junior,
and the only one who voiced any real insight was transferred to Lysia.” He
paused. “Some could be going to other centers where the recorders support
Brekylt, places like Norda.”

“I would suggest
isolated centers as well,” she suggested. “If the renegade alectors can use the
Tables ...”

“They can hide
anywhere,” he finished. That suggested Hyalt might be a problem in the future
as well, as if he weren’t worried enough about Majer Mykel and his Talent.

“What if you
conducted an inspection in force there? With Myrmidons from Lysia?”

“I have the feeling
that sending Myrmidons from Lysia wouldn’t be a good idea. It might be better
to send Fifth Company from Dereka. It’s much farther, but...” Dainyl shook his
head. “That’s not something I could do without Shastylt’s support, or at least
not his opposition.”

“Not now.”

Dainyl understood. He
could certainly plan what needed to be done—and how—and suggest to some of the
eastern companies that some full-company maneuvers might be necessary later in
the year. That would filter eastward, but the vagueness might well keep Alcyna
off balance. Then, he reflected, it could also force her to act earlier. Or she
could take it as a bluff, and that might be best of all.

Mykel looked across
the small mesa-like expanse, a vingt across from northwest to southeast, and
three-quarters of that in depth from northeast to southwest. It was less than a
vingt from the outskirts of Hyalt, and it even had a good spring that fed into
the stream running along the southeastern edge of the lower slopes. Farther to
the southeast was a flock of sheep, with a single herder and two dogs. The
late-morning sun shone out of a clear silver-green sky, and there was but the
barest hint of a breeze from the northwest.

The incline to the
flattened hilltop was modest, rising only ten yards above the grasslands to me
south, and the site was less than half a vingt from the high road north to
Tempre. The one drawback was that there was no road or lane connecting the site
to the high road, but that could be built since the slope was gentle and the
terrain was not that rugged.

Behind Mykel,
Seventeenth Company was reined up in formation. Undercaptain Loryalt was to
Mykel’s left. For the past several days, Mykel had scouted the terrain around
Hyalt, assigning different companies to accompany him.

“Take some work, sir,
but this site looks a lot better than where the old garrison is,” observed
Loryalt.

“It’s near the high
road and not too close to the town. If the town grows, there will still be
space.” Mykel had his doubts about how much Hyalt would grow, but he wanted to
account for that possibility.

“You think it will,
sir?”

“You never can tell.”
Mykel smiled, then added, “We’ve got some patrolling to do. We’ll ride down to
the high road and head north to that first lane west. We haven’t ridden through
that area yet.”

“Yes, sir,” replied
Loryalt.

Mykel took a last
look at the site, far superior to the other possibilities he had viewed, before
turning the roan down the slope,and westward.

“Seventeenth Company!
Forward!”

The company rode
westward. Less than a quarter of a vingt to the north was another flock of
sheep, a small one with less than a score of ewes and half as many lambs. The
herder, an angular but short man with dull gray hair and a grizzled beard,
watched the company for a moment before turning away.

Once at the high
road, Mykel and the company turned north along a stretch that held no wagons or
riders except themselves. Nor was there any trace of any recent travel on the
lane that Seventeenth Company took westward from the high road. The lane wound
between low hills above what might have been a creek in wetter times. Although
the hillside on the north side of the road was but lightly wooded, with
scattered junipers and low pines, affording relatively good visibility, Mykel
had Loryalt send the scouts ahead of the main body of the company a good half
vingt.

After another quarter
glass, the road climbed over a low ridge. As Mykel rode to the top of the rise,
he looked to the south, but could not see the regional alector’s complex,
although he knew it had to be only a few vingts away. On the other side of the
ridge, the lane descended into a wide vale filled with scattered bushes and
sparse grass. The tops of the rises on each side of the vale were only three or
four yards above the lane itself.

“Send another set of
scouts to ride the top of the rises.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Mykel had not
seen anything, and there was little cover, he disliked following a low road
without some outriders. In moments, the two scouts were on the rises, riding as
easily across the open terrain as were the Cadmians below them.

“There’s not much out
here, sir,” said Loryalt.

“No. Even the grass
is sparse.” Mykel could see the pair of scouts ahead on a flat stretch of die
lane.

The silver-green sky,
clear as it was, began to darken, yet the white light of the sun did not dim.
Nor were there clouds anywhere. He glanced toward Loryalt.

“Nice day,” observed
the undercaptain. “Not too hot. Not too cold.”

Mykel gave a
perfunctory nod, his head turning, and his eyes scanning the low rise to his
right, then the dale on the left of the dirt lane, men the rise to the left. He
reached for his rifle, taking it from its case and checking once more to make
sure it was fully loaded, although he knew it was.

Crack! The very sound
shivered through Mykel, yet it was not a sound, loud as it felt to him, that
the others experienced. His eyes fixed on a point in midair, a good twenty
yards above the road and almost a hundred to the

west of where he
rode, but well behind the scouts. Blue shapes appeared from nowhere.

“Company halt! Rifles
ready!” Mykel snapped. “Now!” Should he spread the company? He glanced to both
sides of the road. Spreading the troopers would likely only make them more
vulnerable.

“Company halt! Rifles
ready!” Loryalt’s voice held the slightest trace of surprise.

“Look to the west!
Fire on my command!”

At first, Mykel had
thought the score or so of creatures that had appeared were ravens, but no
ravens were that big—or purpled blue. The flying creatures formed into a wedge
that turned eastward, toward Seventeenth Company, and the noonday sun glinted
off metallic blue beaks. They were miniature versions of the pteridons flown by
the Myrmidons.

The flying wedge of
creatures dove toward die Cadmians.

“Fire at will!”

“Fire at will!”
echoed Loryalt

Mykel aimed at the
lead creature of the wedge and willed his shot home. As the bullet struck, the
creature exploded into a ball of blue flame that splattered down on the road
some forty yards ahead.

Shots rose up around
Mykel.

He forced himself to
concentrate on the next flyer. Another ball of flame splattered, this time into
the hillside to his right, far closer. By the time he had fired a third and
fourth time, the creatures were almost on the company.

A mount screamed, and
then a trooper.

The miniature
pteridons swept past, and Mykel reloaded. He could feel the heat from where one
of the downed creatures burned not ten yards from him. He turned in the saddle,
watching as they circled back toward the company, this time coming in from the
south, but too far away for the moment for a decent shot.

He raised his rifle,
then concentrated, firing once, then again. Two of the beasts exploded,
tumbling from the sky. He fired again ... and then reloaded, because the
creatures had not turned away but were climbing as if to begin another diving
attack.

This time three of
the creatures all headed toward Mykel. He forced himself to fire deliberately,
concentrating on one shot after another, ignoring the shots coming from others
in the company.

When the second wave
passed, there were only three of the beasts remaining, and they flew steadily
northward, passing beyond the rise.

“Stand down!
Undercaptain, let me have a report on casualties.” Mykel had no doubts that he
had lost men and mounts.

“Yes, sir.” Loryalt
turned his mount.

Mykel reloaded, even
though he doubted that the flyers would return immediately, and replaced the
rifle in its saddle case. He felt shaky in the saddle, and sweat ran down his
face and the back of his neck. He reached for his water bottle and drank.

The creatures that
had exploded in flame had burned themselves into blackened piles of ashes,
leaving only black greasy splotches on the soil. There were no charred bones or
scales... only the ashy residue of intense fires. All were scattered in a rough
arc around Mykel. He stood in the stirrups and tried to see if there were any
other blackened heaps, but the only others he saw were two larger black pyres,
large enough to have been men and mounts.

He forced the bile
down in his throat as he settled back into the saddle. It took an effort to
keep his fingers from touching his belt or the hidden dagger of the ancients.

While he waited for
Loryalt to return, he rode forward to the nearest blackened spot on the ground.
As with the giant cat, splotches on the grass around where the creature had fallen
had turned black, even beyond the burned area. Slowly, he rode back to the head
of the company, his eyes and feelings still scanning, trying to see if anything
else might appear.

Loryalt reined up
short of Mykel. His face was set, slightly pale. “Sir, Seventeenth Company
reports six casualties, all dead.”

‘Thank you,
Undercaptain. Their bodies?”

“Ah ... no, sir. They
burned to ashes. There’s ... there’s nothing left, sir. Nothing at all.”

“Is there anything we
can do?”

“No ... no, sir.”

“I wish there were.”
Mykel turned the roan. “I think it’s time we headed back to the garrison. We
can let fifth squad lead.” He doubted that they would see any more creatures,
but continuing the patrol would seem far too callous, and, for the moment,
there was little to be gained.

“Seventeenth
Company!...”

Mykel and Loryalt
rode along the shoulder of the road until they reached what had been the rear
of the column, where Loryalt ordered the company forward, with the rearguard
now the forward scouts, and the former scouts bringing up the rear.

A quarter of a glass
passed before Loryalt spoke. “Sir? What were they?”

“I don’t know. They
look like smaller versions of what the Myrmidons fly. I’d judge that they were
the strange creatures that the crafters talked about, but neither one could
tell me anything about what the creatures they knew about actually looked like.”

“They were hard to
bring down. Some of the men said that they hit them three or four times, and
nothing happened.”

“We killed most of
them,” Mykel pointed out, “even if it did take the whole company. I’d like to
find out what they are, though.” Mykel tried to keep the worry out of his
voice. His Cadmians could handle the giant cats, but the miniature pteridons?
So far as he could tell, only his shots had been effective.

“Yes, sir.” Loryalt
was silent for a time.

Mykel continued to
scan the skies and the terrain, wondering how he could possibly be everywhere,
and what would happen if a company ran into the small pteridons when he wasn’t
around. Did the Marshal of Myrmidons know about the creatures? If he did, why
had Cadmians been dispatched, rather than Myrmidons?

He’d need to report
about the creatures quickly, even if no more showed up, although that seemed
rather unlikely.

Mykel shifted his
weight on the mounting block, where he sat in the center courtyard of the old
garrison in the sunlight of late afternoon, his legs crossed, balancing the
oblong of wood that served as a writing desk for the report he needed to
submit. At least, he could send it with the sandox coach that served Hyalt on
Duadi and Sexdi.

Writing the report
was going to be difficult, because he wasn’t about to point out, directly, that
there were no insurgents or irregulars to speak of, not that he hadn’t had
enough difficulty in arranging for the purchase of the land and for the
beginning of construction on the new Cadmian compound, not to mention the
creatures at the quarry. Thankfully, over the preceding week, there had been no
more appearances by the miniature pteridons. Not so thankfully, he was still
having dreams about the soarers, but he could not remember them with more than
a vague sense of events—and a feeling of unease.

Fodder was more
expensive than he had hoped, because most animals around Hyalt were grazed—and
that was scarcely practical for the mounts of Third Battalion. Mutton and lamb
were less expensive, but he suspected that he and the rest of the Cadmians
would tire of that before long. He had arranged for a peasant girl to raise
chickens for the Cadmians, but even chickens took a while to grow. Another
problem had been that, according to the growers, the chandler, and other
merchants, the regional alector had been purchasing far more food and supplies
over the last season or so.