Cadmians Choice (46 page)

But how could he
create a shield?

What about something
that turned back the glow? He tried to visualize such a barrier and then looked
down.

The greenish light
that he sensed but did not see remained.

Could he combine the
green with a darkness, a blackness, that resembled the aura of most men? This
time, he attempted to weave together the black and green. He looked down, then
chuckled softly. Why was he looking down? He wasn’t really “seeing” the glow,
but sensing it. Yet his mind was interpreting the sensation as if he were, and
what he sensed was more like a sieve of blackness through which streamed rays
of green.

What about using the
blackness to turn the green back?

That didn’t work,
either.

For a time he stood
in the darkness, once more thinking. The green was far stronger than anytfiing
black, and that meant it was the key. What about making the black a framework,
but twisting the green back inward and weaving it together?

As he concentrated
once more, he tried not to dwell on the manifestly illogical impossibility of
what he was doing. After all, it was impossible for men to radiate a greenish
glow that only alectors and a few men could sense.

His forehead beaded
with pinpoints of sweat, and he felt warm all over, but the greenish glow was
gone. He could sense it, but it was contained within himself, not radiating
beyond him. He could also tell that it took a certain effort to maintain that
shield.

He released the
shield with a slow deep breath.

After several deep
breaths and a time of resting, he rebuilt it. Doing so was easier the second
time, and easier still the third time he did so. On the other hand, he was
beginning to feel light-headed. He let go of the shield and sat down on the
bedroll, his back against the rough and stained plaster of the wall.

He’d need
practice—much more practice—before he felt comfortable with the shield.
Still... he had figured out a way to keep himself from being noticed for a
short period of time—at least from a distance. He had his doubts as to whether
his shield would bear scrutiny if an alector were in the same chamber with him.

He felt tired, and
sleepy. He had barely stretched out on the bedroll before his eyes closed. His
last thought was that he hoped he didn’t have to rely on the glow-shield any
time soon.

Despite his
exhaustion from his efforts with the glow-shield, Mykel had slept uneasily and
concealed a yawn as he rode beside Rhystan, out toward the new compound.
Rhystan and Sixteenth Company would be working for a glass or so with the Hyalt
companies in the area to the north of the compound before Rhystan took the
Second Hyalt on patrol to the east later in me morning. Mykel would take the
First Hyalt on patrol north on the high road. He wasn’t about to take them
anywhere to the west. Seventeenth Company was on quarry duty, while Thirteenth
Company was on patrol duty at the new compound. Fifteenth Company was
patrolling the high road to the south and east of Hyalt. Fourteenth Company had
light duty—at the old garrison. “Been quiet lately,” observed Rhystan. “I’d
like it to stay that way.” “You’re looking too worried for that, sir.” “I
probably am,” admitted Mykel, wondering once more if he really should be a
battalion commander. “There are too many things that no one can explain.”

“Suoryt said you sent
off two dispatches last week, at the same time, and you gave one of them to the
alector on the sandox personally.”

“Can’t keep secrets
among Cadmians.” Mykel smiled wryly. “I sent a copy of my report about the missing
holders to the Submarshal of Myrmidons. There were some things at that stead
that bothered me.”

Rhystan waited.

“Some of the burn
marks were the same as the ones when the submarshal took out Vaclyn.” Mykel
kept his voice low. “Those lightcutter sidearms are only issued to colonels and
above, I’ve heard.”

“Could they have been
pteridon skylances?”

“The angles were
wrong.”

“I was afraid you’d
say something like that, sir. You think the creatures have weapons? Or that we
have rogue Myrmidons loose?”

“I don’t think it’s
either,” Mykel replied. “That’s why I wanted the submarshal to know.”

“And why we have four
guards on duty in a town that doesn’t have a lamp lit much after two glasses
past sunset.”

“Something killed the
last garrison, and I’d prefer not to give whoever or whatever it is another
chance. I’ll be happier once we have the walls and gates finished in the new
compound—and the piping from the spring.”

“How long do you
think that will be?”

“The water system is
done, and so are the walls, except for the capstones. The gates can’t go up
until the paving stones are in place, and we’re waiting for more stone from the
quarry for that.”

“The mounts will tear
up the courtyard if it’s not paved.”

“Poeldyn says they
can pave it by sections, and we won’t move in until one section is done. We’ll
set up tielines and temporary corrals on a paved section.”

“That should work.
Wouldn’t be any worse than what we’ve got in the old garrison.”

“We’ll also have more
space,” Mykel replied. The compound would still be crowded, because it was only
designed for four companies—twice the permanent complement—but that was an
improvement over an ancient garrison built for two companies.

As he and Rhystan
rode up the packed dirt trail that might someday be the road to the compound,
if Poeldyn’s quarrymen ever cut enough stone, Mykel surveyed the south walls
and the gate area. The heavy iron hinges for the gates had been set in place,
and then reinforced and mortared, but it would be at least several days before
they could bear the weight of the gates. Still, it would far longer than that
before the area around the gates could be paved and the gates installed, but he
definitely wanted to be able to close the compound gates.

As he shifted his
weight in the saddle, Mykel swallowed another yawn. He did need a better night’s
sleep— for about a week—but doubted he was going to get it any time soon. He
turned to Rhystan. “I’m going to talk to the craftmasters. Go ahead with your
training. I’ll join you when I’m done.”

“Yes, sir. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Mykel
continued onward. Behind him, Rhystan ordered the three companies westward and
around the compound walls.

Thirteenth Company’s
second squad was deployed on the flat just below the southern walls of the
compound.

“Majer, sir!” called
Jovanyt, the grizzled squad leader.

“Just headed in to
talk to the craftmaster. Where’s Undercaptain Dyarm?”

“He’s out on the east
side, across the stream, with fourth and fifth squads. Herder was trying to
graze his flock too close to the walls.”

“I’ll see him later.”

“Yes, sir”

Once he was through
the gate-gap in the walls, Mykel rode toward the barracks, then dismounted and
tied the roan to the temporary railing where the single cart horse was
tethered. He walked across the sandy soil that held deep ruts. Rhystan was
definitely right about the need for paving the courtyard, and they’d probably
need broken stone and sand packed down as a base under the paving stones. He’d
have to explain that in a progress report, because the plans didn’t call for anything
like that. Even in building a compound, matters didn’t turn out exactly as
planned.

Styndal stood back
from the main doorway to the barracks. He was talking to a crafter, a carpenter
from the tool belt. “... wall pegs have to be oak ...”

Mykel waited until
the crafter departed before approaching the craftmaster. “Good morning.”

“Such as it is,
Majer. What can I do for you?”

“Is there a tiler
here in Hyalt?”

“A tiler?”

“One who can do
decorative mosaics, one that can be set in the wall above the main door to the
barracks there.”

“Choshyn could do
that, so long as it’s not too complicated.”

Mykel extracted the
hand-drawn design from his uniform tunic. ‘This is the design.”

Styndal took it. “Don’t
see a problem with mat, Majer. Another gold, maybe two. Good thing you told me
now. Another day or so, and it would be costing more.”

“How long before the
barracks are ready?”

“The end of next
week... if your men don’t mind sleeping on the floor. Bunks will be another
week past that. Could be two.”

“They’re sleeping on
the floor where they are,” Mykel pointed out. “What about the stables?”

“Walls are barely
past the foundations. It won’t take as long as the barracks. There’s less
finish work. I’d say another month, what with everything else going on. Could
be into harvest.”

That didn’t surprise
Mykel. “Remember, there will still be work after that.”

Styndal grinned. “You’d
not be getting matters done this fast were there not.”

“I had that feeling,
Craftmaster.”

“You still want the
stone squares done last? And in the back?”

Mykel noted that the
craftmaster had never used the word ‘ ptendon,” or even alluded to the
creatures. “Yes. Pteridons don’t visit Cadmians often, and I’d rather not have
them too close to the barracks or the headquarters building.”

“Pretty small for
headquarters.”

“This is a small
outpost for Cadmians.”

Styndal just nodded.

After finishing with
Styndal, Mykel made a slow and careful inspection of the compound, starting
with the new barracks, and winding up with the outside walls. Everything
looked—and felt—as it should. He returned to the roan and led the gelding to
the water trough and let him drink before he finally mounted.

He’d just ridden out
the gap in the walls that would be the smaller north gate when he saw
Undercaptain Dyarth riding toward him. He glanced farther north, where Rhystan
and the two Hyalt captains were practicing full-company maneuvers, then back to
Dyarth, who was turning his mount to ride alongside Mykel.

“Herders!” Dyarm
snorted. “Begging your pardon, Majer. He claimed that he’d always grazed here.
He didn’t see why he couldn’t now. We weren’t using the grass, and he hated to
see good grass go to waste. There’s so little of it.”

“He’s right about
that. Around here, anyway,” Mykel pointed out. “What did you tell him?”

“Just what you told
us. That the land for a half vingt out from the compound walls belongs to the
Cadmians and the Marshal of Myrmidons and that the grass is for our mounts. He
didn’t like it, but he understood the business about the mounts.”

“How are your men
taking to guard duty here at night?”

“Most of them prefer
it. They say that they can get more sleep—those not on duty, I mean, and it’s
cooler here.”

“Good.” Mykel nodded.
“I’m going to be taking the First Hyalt out on road patrol. You’ll be in charge
here once Captain Rhystan leaves.” That was obvious, but Mykel wanted to
reinforce it.

“Yes, sir.” Dyarth’s
head bobbed up and down, before he abruptly caught himself, and grinned
sheepishly.

With a smile, Mykel
turned the roan back northward toward the flat where the three companies were
forming up into road order.

Captain Cismyr rode
forward to meet Mykel. The captain had the olive skin that distinguished many
of those born and raised in the warmer south of Acorus, along with dark brown
hair and eyes. His aura, Mykel noted to himself, was a rich brownish-yellow.

“Majer, First Company
stands ready.”

Mykel replied with a
nod. “We’re going to take the high road north for about five vingts, to the
farm road that heads eastward ...” He’d briefed Cismyr earlier, but he’d found
that it always helped to reconfirm such details. “... the patrol has several
purposes. First, it’s to establish the Cadmian presence here and to pick up any
brigands we might run across. It’s also part of making sure you and your men
are familiar with all the lanes and roads—or at least as many as we can find
before you’re on your own... and to do it with a large force until we have a
better handle on what areas require more men and what require fewer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s head out.”

“First Company!
Scouts forward!”

Mykel rode beside
Cismyr, observing as the captain ordered the company westward to the high road
and then northward.

They had been riding
the high road for a quarter glass when a large wagon appeared on the road
horizon, more than a vingt ahead of the scouts. One of the scouts rode back
toward the company, pulling his mount around to ride beside the captain.

“Spirit wagon, sirs.
Wide enough to take more than half the road.”

Mykel said nothing,
waiting.

Cismyr surveyed the
road, then nodded. “We’ll pull the company off the road on that low rise ahead.
The men won’t mind a breather. The mounts won’t either.” He looked to Mykel. “Unless
you have another idea, sir?”

“No. It’s usually
better not to string a company out in single file, and you won’t have much
support from the merchants and locals if you force their wagons off the road
for routine patrols.” Mykel had seen Majer Vaclyn do that a few times, and he’d
never seen the reasoning behind it. But then, that was just another example of
one of the reasons why Vaclyn was dead.

After the company
reached the low rise and drew up in formation, Mykel eased the roan to the
higher side of the rise, from where he could get a better view of the
surrounding terrain. The captain followed his example.

Despite the high and
hazy silver clouds, the morning was already hot, and Mykel was sweating enough
that his uniform was sticking to his shoulders and upper back. He blotted his
forehead and then took a swallow from one of his two water bottles. Dramur had
taught him that one wasn’t enough.