Cadmians Choice (40 page)
Authors: L. E. Modesitt
“They appeared every
few days for a season, and then they seemed to disappear. I mean, no more
showed up. That was when the marshal told me to have second squad come back
here.”
Dainyl nodded, then
stood. He’d learned what he needed to know, and probably about as much as
Ghasylt actually knew. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl could sense the
captain’s relief as he left the study.
While he wanted to
talk to Shastylt about it immediately, the marshal did not return to
headquarters until late in the afternoon.
Dainyl stepped into
the marshal’s study and closed the door behind himself.
“Yes?” Shastylt
raised his eyebrows.
“We have more wild
translations in Hyalt, and from the report from the Third Battalion, Cadmian
Mounted Rifles, I’d judge that the number is increasing.”
“I don’t recall
discussing that with you, Dainyl,” Shastylt replied mildly.
“I don’t believe that
you did, sir. That was when I was in Dramur, but it wasn’t too hard to figure
it out. The Cadmian majer is reporting more strange creatures, one type looking
like a giant black cat and the other like a small pteridon. He also notes that
the locals say they’re the same as the ones the Myrmidons handled. To me, that
suggests we have a problem with the recorder and alector in Hyalt. Or that the
problem that you resolved before has reemerged.” Dainyl smiled pleasantly,
shields in place, and waited.
In turn, Shastylt
smiled as well. “What do you suggest we do, Submarshal?”
“Before attempting to
come up with any plan, I thought it best to consult with you. You have far
greater knowledge of what has occurred in the past in Hyalt. For me to proceed
without that knowledge would hardly be prudent.”
The marshal nodded. “You
are always prudent, Dainyl. It is one of your better traits.”
Dainyl waited.
Finally, Shastylt
continued. “You may not know that Rhelyn is both the Recorder of Deeds and the local
regional alector in Hyalt. In such a lightly populated area, it was felt that
one alector could handle both duties. His allegiance is to Samist, but he has
always been close to Brekylt. You might also recall that one of the Highest’s
assistants was killed by a wild translation last winter, and the word was that
it was on a translation to Dereka... .”
Dainyl recalled that
Falyna had mentioned something about that, joking that Dainyl might want the
position.
“... That was true
enough, but what was not said was that he was translating to Dereka from the
Table in Hyalt.”
“How many others have
had mishaps that way?”
Shastylt shrugged. “I
could not say. I do know that very few alectors from Elcien now visit Hyalt.”
An ironic smile appeared. ‘There were few enough before, but now there are
virtually none.”
“No one has done
anything?” Dainyl knew the answer, but wanted to judge Shastylt’s reaction.
“What would one do?
And to what end? Hyalt is viewed as too out-of-the-way, and of little interest
to those who do not understand and too dangerous for too little gain by those
who do.”
“If Rhelyn is
building a force of some sort, he could send them through the Table to Ludar or
Alustre.”
“If... that is the
question, but... would you like to take the Table there to verify what might be
happening?”
“Not this moment,”
replied Dainyl. “I would consider it as part of a larger plan—perhaps if a
squad of Myrmidons from Dereka were nearby.”
“Why Dereka?”
“Because I could go
to Dereka and dispatch them from there. If we sent a squad from here, Rhelyn
would know long before they arrived.”
“You might consider
developing a plan along those lines, Submarshal. We may need it.” Shastylt
stood. “Not now, you understand.”
Dainyl was afraid he
did.
Mykel blotted his
forehead as he stood in the late-day shadows of the old garrison’s west wall.
Summer had indeed come to Hyalt, and with it, cloudless days where the white
sun burned down out of the sky with an intensity that reminded Mykel of Dramur,
although the air in Hyalt was drier, so dry that unprotected skin exposed to
the sun for more than half a glass burned and cracked. At least, Mykel’s did,
and that was one reason he stood in the shade. He had another report to write,
and he needed to inspect the stables, such as they were.
Culeyt stood beside
Mykel in the shade. “Hottest day yet.”
“They’ll get hotter.”
Two long weeks had passed since Mykel had sent off his last report to the
colonel, and he needed to write and dispatch another, but little had
happened—except for the continual, if intermittent, attacks by the giant cats
at the quarry. So far, none of the Cadmians or quarrymen had been injured, but
Seventeenth Company had lost one mount in the last attack. Mykel had observed
and supervised, as necessary, various exercises and drills where the three more
experienced companies had worked with the Hyalt companies. He had tried to keep
the more strenuous drills earlier in the day, when it was generally cooler.
“I can hardly wait,
sir.”
Both turned as a
wagon pulled up outside the garrison gate posts. Mykel read the sign on the
side—Troral, factor—and blotted his forehead once more before stepping out of
the shade toward the gate.
The council chief
stepped down from the bench seat on the wagon, then turned to the driver. “I
won’t be long.”
Mykel walked toward
the factor and stopped. “Factor Troral.”
“Majer.”
“What can I do for
you?”
“When you arrived,
you talked of insurgents and that sort of thing.” Troral looked hard at Mykel.
“We’d had reports,
but we haven’t found much,” replied the majer.
“One of my men ...
his sister and her husband have a stead out to the northwest. He went out there
yesterday night. No one was there. Part of the roof beams of one of the goat
sheds had burned through and brought down part of the roof, and there were
burned patches of ground, but no sign of anyone. Strange thing is that most of
the flock was still there, and nothing seemed to be missing from the cellars.”
“That is odd.” Mykel
didn’t like that at all. It sounded like the miniature pteridons had attacked
the stead, but he’d have to see to make sure. It had been two days since any
company had been out northwest. Seven companies sounded like more than enough
to patrol at once, especially if he had reduced patrols to individual squads,
but after the incidents in the quarries and on the road, he had the feeling
that the creatures might well overrun a squad—except for those under Rhystan.
Even they would have suffered high losses, and he didn’t like the idea of
losing some of his more experienced troopers to the various creatures.
“When I heard that, I
told him I’d tell you.”
“That sounds like
more than brigands,” offered Mykel. “Where is this stead?”
“If you go north on
the high road, you want to take the first lane west past the hilltop with the
stone corrals— they’re the only ones on the west side of the road. Then you
follow the lane west, oh, a good three vingts until it
forks. You take the
south fork, the one on the left...
Mykel concentrated on
listening, trying to fix the directions in his memory.
“... and there are
two piles of red rocks on each side of the lane that leads to the house. Gerolt’s
staying there with his eldest for now.”
“We’ll head out there
in the morning,” Mykel promised. “If there’s trouble out there, we’d like to
stop it before it gets worse.”
“I’m sure that Gerolt
will appreciate that.”
Mykel wasn’t so sure
about that, especially if whatever company he assigned and accompanied found
bodies. “We’ll do what we can, and I appreciate the information, councilor.”
“Might as well get some
use out of you, Majer.” Troral nodded, then turned and walked back to the
wagon, where he climbed up onto the seat beside the driver.
Mykel turned. He had
to get back to work, late as it was, especially if he was going to take a
company on patrol in the morning.
“You think it’s
irregulars or insurgents, sir?” asked Culeyt.
“I hope so.” But he
had the feeling that what they would find was likely to be anything but
insurgents.
In the meantime, he
had matters to tend to, although he decided to put off writing a report to the
colonel until after the morrow’s patrol. That only made sense, he told himself,
as he headed for the stables, blotting his brow once more.
Early on Tridi
morning, Mykel sat astride the roan, surveying the walls of the new compound,
so far as they had progressed. Behind him, Fifteenm Company was reforming,
after having watered all the mounts from the new stone troughs outside the
foundations of the stables that had yet to be built.
The eastern side wall
was complete except for the final capstone course. The western and the rear
northern wall had but two or three courses of redstone above the level of the
ground, and only die foundations were in place for the southern front wall and
main gate. Within the uncompleted compound, the main barracks was the nearest
to completion, with roofers setting the reddish gray tiles in place, although
none of the interior walls had been completed beyond the main load-bearing
beams and supports. He would have liked to have construction ongoing on a paved
road to the high road as well, but mat would have to wait. There were not
enough stoneworkers nor enough stone coming from the quarry.
Still, the compound
construction was proceeding in a satisfactory manner, as was the training of
the two new Cadmian companies. Both were working under the supervision of
Rhystan and Bhoral high at the moment, patrolling and drilling along the south
road that ran east to Syan.
Mykel glanced
westward. He had not slept all that well, with dreams about the ancient
soarers, dreams where they were summoning him toward ... someming, but in those
disturbing dreams he never quite got to the point where the soarers were.
He was also not
looking forward to investigating what Troral had reported. While he had thought
over the possibilities for a better formation for a company under attack by the
small pteridons, the problem was simple enough. He was the only one who seemed
able to kill the creatures, and that was clearly a result of whatever talent he
had. Yet, too tight a formation and any of the beasts would take out more than
a single Cadmian if Mykel failed to stop mem. Too loose a formation and Mykel
would be less effective. It was also apparent that the creatures were not all
that intelligent, or mey would have determined that he was the only real
threat.
He turned his mount. “Undercaptain?”
“Yes, sir. Fifteenth
Company stands ready,” replied Fabrytal.
“Let’s head out.”
“Fifteenth Company!
Forward!”
Mykel and Fabrytal
rode down the gentle slope at the head of the column, with scouts riding out
more quickly to take station more than two hundred yards ahead of them. There
were no flocks on the grasslands nearby, in part because some of those lands
now belonged to the Cadmians—or more properly, to the Marshal of Myrmidons,
with oversight by the commanding officer of the First Cadmian Regiment, Mounted
Rifles.
“You think we’ll find
anything out there?” asked Fabrytal a quarter glass or so later, after they had
turned north on the high road.
“We’ll find
something. I hope it’s traces of brigands or insurgents.”
“Yes, sir. That makes
two of us.”-
There was the
slightest haze high in the sky, turning it more silvery, and the sun did not
seem quite as intense as it had the past several days. On the other hand, the
air was still, without the slightest hint of a breeze.
Close to a glass
later, Mykel reined up short of the two piles of red rocks that, if Troral’s
directions had been correct, marked the stead. The lane beyond the rocks was
not long, only a hundred yards. At the end of the lane was a small dwelling, no
more than ten yards across the front and a third of that in depth. The roof was
a patchwork of tiles of differing sizes and shapes, and the walls were of large
mud bricks. The outbuildings were even more crudely constructed, windowless and
with sections of roof tiles layered and pieced together along with odd-shaped
wedges of roofing slate.
No one was outside,
and Mykel could sense nothing untoward, no auras that reminded him of the
creatures. He studied the lane itself. There were hoofprints, more than a few,
but certainly not a large force. He would have judged ten riders.
“Sir...” offered
Jasakyt, one of the scouts.
“Yes?”
“Those aren’t any
hoofprints I’ve seen. All the shoes are alike, but they’re not Cadmian shoes.
Ours have the twin diamonds.”
Organized irregulars
or insurgents? Mykel didn’t like that at all. “Anything else?”
“Prints are pretty
deep. Deeper ‘n ours. Means that they’re carrying gear, or they got bigger
mounts or heavier riders, or all three. Can’t tell much beyond that, except the
prints are more ‘n a day old.”
“No newer prints?”
“Just one or two, and
the shoes are different.”
“We might as well see
if anyone’s here.”
“Sir... best I send a
scout in to see,” suggested Fabry-tal.
Mykel had to agree,
if reluctantly. While he felt that Gerolt would not shoot, there was no sense
in giving a spooked herder that chance. He nodded.
The undercaptain
turned in the saddle. “Dyrsak, Senglat... ride in and see if anyone’s there.
Majer would like to talk to them.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the two Cadmians
rode up the lane, a lean man in brown sauntered out from one of the
outbuildings. He stopped and waited for the riders to reach him.