Cadmians Choice (51 page)

“Captain . . . I’m
going to check on the crafters. Send a messenger to report to me when you’ve
relieved Thirteenth Company.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel rode through
the unfinished gates, surveying the compound. While the building work was
progressing, the ground inside the walls was a churned and rutted mess. An area
against the western well less than twenty yards square was all that had been
paved. Rather than dismount, he had his mount pick his way across and around
the piles of building stone and the stacks of timbers that were set, seemingly
at random, throughout the unpaved courtyard.

Styndal stood just to
the west of the unfinished south doorway to the stables, talking to several
men.

Mykel reined up and
waited.

Styndal finally
finished and then turned. “Morning, Majer. What can I do for you?”

Mykel gestured toward
the rutted ground. “How long before you finish the stable? I thought you said
you could pave some of the courtyard as you went. I checked with Poeldyn. He
said there was enough of the stone for paving...”

“There is indeed,
Majer.” Styndal gestured to his right. “It’s stacked there in the northwest
corner. What we don’t have are the wagons to bring in the gravel and crushed
rock to go under it. The ground here was pasture. Seems hard enough, but even a
little water and it turns to a squishy clay. Can’t set stone on that.”

Mykel nodded. It was
just as he’d suspected and feared. “You can only do what you can do. How long
before you can get gravel and rock?”

“We can get some more
in two-three days. The teamsters can haul more of the dressed stone than
Poeldyn’s stone-workers can cut and dress. So we’ve been alternating.”

“And the stables?”

“A week, maybe two.
That’s for the building and roof. Stalls and doors and inside walls, three
weeks after that. Could be longer.”

From what Mykel could
tell, he wasn’t about to have the compound anywhere close to being finished
until late harvest, maybe even midfall after that—or early winter if things
went really wrong. No matter what he had planned, something was missing or
overlooked or scarce ... or took more time.

“Be a lot longer,
Majer, except that times aren’t that good in Hyalt.”

“The flocks and herds
look healthy enough,” ventured Mykel.

“The herders are
losing more animals than they usually do, and it’s drier. Doesn’t count the
ones that get carried off by poachers and ... other things.”

“Strange creatures?”

“Who knows? I’d be
thinking it’s poachers, myself, but there aren’t any signs of brigands, and no
more dried mutton and beef is showing up in the markets in the cities of the
square, and none here. If more were, prices’d be coming down, and not going up.
Can’t see where the meat would be going.”

Mykel nodded. He had
an idea where it was going— the same place where the missing horses had gone.
That suggested even more that the regional alector was doing something that
wasn’t approved by the Marshal of Myrmidons—or by the Duarches. “You can only
do what you can, but the sooner the compound is finished, and operating, the
happier everyone is likely to be.” He grinned. “I know. There won’t be as many
coins for building, but there will be two companies here, instead of one, and
that will help everyone.”

“I can see that,
Majer.” Styndal glanced toward the far end of the stable. “If you don’t need me
further...”

“The stable comes
first.” Mykel gestured to suggest the craftmaster get on with what had caught
his eye.

Styndal turned, took
several steps, and bellowed, “Set it down! Now! The far edge is almost off the
stone!”

Mykel watched as the
triangular frame of timbers was lowered gently back down and as Styndal
cornered the crane foreman.

“... do that again,
and you’ll be lucky to be gathering gravel in the quarry ...”

The majer hid a wry
smile. It didn’t seem to matter. There was always someone cutting corners. He
guided the roan toward the small paved area of the compound, then reined up
short. From his closer vantage point, he could see where the ground had been
dug away at the edges and where a crushed rock base had been placed, filled
with sand and finer gravel, and then tamped down.

The sound of a wagon
rose above the sounds of construction. Mykel turned his mount and rode toward
the south gate. He waited for Troral to reach him.

“Majer,” began
Troral, once the factor had halted his cart. “I thought I’d find you out here.
I got word that your blankets’ll be here next week.”

“You’ll have to hold
them until the barracks are ready,” Mykel replied.

“I’ll have to pay the
factors in Dekhron,” Troral said, “or send them back.”

Mykel refrained from
sighing. “I told you that we couldn’t use them until the barracks were ready.”

“I couldn’t guarantee
delivery without a firm date before harvest. I told you that.”

“Half when they get
here, half when the barracks are done.”

“You’re a hard man,
Majer.”

“You’re a far better
factor than I am, Troral.” Mykel laughed. “I’m living in a single room without
windows or doors, and you’ve got a far nicer place, I’d say.”

“Six parts out of
ten,” pressed the factor.

“I can only draw so
much. You know that. If I can’t draw enough to keep construction going, it will
be even longer before I’ll need the blankets—and you’ll lose on that end.”

“Then I will have to
trust to your good faith, Majer.” The factor offered a doleful smile.

“We both do what we
can.”

“That would be true.”
Troral stepped away from the cart and extended a heavy parchment envelope to
Mykel. “You have acquaintances in high places, it seems.”

Mykel tried not to
frown as he leaned forward and took the envelope. The heavy paper—or
parchment—was stiff in his fingers. The outer envelope bore an ornate seal
above the name: Seltyr Elbaryk.

Mykel felt a cold
chill, despite the warmth of the morning. Why would the seltyr be sending him a
message? Had something happened to Rachyla? Or was she being married off to
someone somewhere to get her out of the way?

“Majer... are you one
... ?” Troral broke off the words abruptly.

Mykel understood. At
times, the younger sons of those with wealth were sent to the Cadmians—but
generally to a company on the far side of Corus from their family. “No. I’m
not, but I’ve had some dealings with the seltyr’s family.” Not all of them
pleasant.

Troral eyed Mykel
speculatively.

“And not in the
matter of coins, Factor Troral.”

Troral looked away,
but did not move.

The second envelope
held his name and assignment: Majer Mykel, Commanding, Third Battalion, Cadmian
Mounted Rifles.

The outside of the
third envelope was blank. Mykel opened it.

This is to inform you
that Rachyla, a favored cousin of the Seltyr Elbaryk, and Herisha, the highly
honored sister of her mother, will be serving in Tempre as the seltyr’s
resident chatelaines for Herisha’s nephew Amaryk. Amaryk is the seltyr’s
factoring representative in Tempre for the family’s new factorage there....

There was no
signature, but the handwriting was elegant. It was Rachyla’s.

The announcement was
a message. There was no doubt of that, or of the less than veiled sarcasm in
the wording. Mykel wasn’t quite sure what that message might be. Was it merely
an announcement? A veiled suggestion that he might be welcome to call on her in
Tempre? The last time they had talked, in Southgate, her tone had been anything
but encouraging.

“How did this come to
you?” Mykel asked.

“With the post and
the messages from other factors.”

Rachyla doubtless had
slipped the missive in with other announcements—or Herisha had. The impersonal
nature of the words suggested that she was not sure it would not be found or
read by others, although Mykel had the sense that the seal had not been broken
or altered when he had received it.

“Seltyr Elbaryk is a
powerful factor, Majer,” Troral announced.

“I discovered that in
Southgate, Troral. His palace is rather ... impressive.” Mykel offered a smile.
“Thank you for delivering the message. Do I owe you for it?”

“Ah...”

“A half silver?”

“That’s usual,”
admitted the factor.

Mykel sensed the
reluctant honesty. He fished out the coin and extended it.

“Thank you.” Troral
inclined his head. “I need to see Styndal as well.”

Mykel moved the roan
into the shadow on the west end of the newly completed wall. There he read the
short announcement again. The words meant little more than they had the first
time. He remained in the saddle, still thinking about why Rachyla had sent such
a message.

Less than a tenth of
a glass passed before the sound of hoofs distracted him. A Cadmian in uniform
was riding quickly up the slope, moving at a quick trot.

“Majer! Sir!” The
rider reined up less than two yards from Mykel.

“What is it?”

“Undercaptain
Loryalt, sir, thought you might like to know ...” The Cadmian paused to cough
and clear his throat. “One of the men off-duty, he got into real trouble in
Hyalt.”

Sacyrt, Mykel
thought, but he refrained from asking. “What sort of trouble?”

“He took a fancy to a
tavern wench last night and made off with her. Her man discovered it and went
after him. He killed him.”

“Who killed whom?”
asked Mykel.

“Oh, it was Sacyrt,
and he killed the local. Took half the duty squad to bring him back. He broke
Siliast’s arm.”

“Wait here for me. I’ll
be right back.”

Mykel found Troral
and Styndal next to the north wall. He thought they were arguing, but both
stopped and turned as he rode up.

Mykel reined up and
addressed Troral. “We have a problem. I wanted to inform you, as head of the
council, that one of my rankers apparently murdered a man in Hyalt. I’m
returning to find out what happened. We will be conducting a court-martial,
probably tomorrow or the next day.”

“Majer... told you
that you brought too many men.”

“That wasn’t my
decision, Factor Troral. I have to follow my orders. If my man is guilty, he
will pay, and there will be recompense.” Mykel’s words came out like ice. “I
wanted you to hear it from me, and to know that I do not take this lightly.”

“I thank you, Majer.”
Troral’s words were as cold as Mykel’s.

Mykel turned the
roan.

“... told him, I did
...” That was Troral.

“You heard him. Majer
has to follow orders. You hear the way he talked? That fellow’s guilty ...
wouldn’t want to be in his boots ...”

“Maybe not... shouldn’t
have been here. Didn’t need all those Cadmians ...”

Mykel kept riding
toward the north gate. He needed to tell Culeyt before he headed back to Hyalt.
As he rode toward the captain, Mykel reflected that it was too bad Sacyrt
couldn’t have been one of those killed when the miniature pteridons had
attacked Seventeenth Company, but it seemed like that sort of thing never
happened to the troublemakers. Mykel kept a wry grin to himself—Majer Vaclyn
had doubtless thought the same about Mykel. Sometimes, it was all a matter of
viewpoint.

Early as the day was,
he wasn’t looking forward to what he had to do—and he had more than a season
left before the compound would be completed, and who knew what troubles would
come of the strange creatures and alectors?

The Fifth Myrmidon
Company flew almost due west from Dereka following the pass created by the
ancient high road that eventually led to Dekhron. Dainyl called a halt at
midmorning, when he sighted the small lake in the hills to the west of the more
rugged slopes, an oval of gray-blue, with a long flat stone ridge on its west
side, the natural dam that had created the lake. Between the ridge and the
meadow to the southwest, there was enough flat space for the full company,
although the wildflowers and grass would take some punishment from so many
pteridons and Myrmidons.

Once the company was
down, Dainyl drew Fhentyl aside.

“Captain, Fifth Company
has been chosen for a difficult task.”

“I had that idea,
sir.”

“The regional alector
in Hyalt has been building a force of renegade alectors, and some are armed
with sky-lances powered, not by pteridons, but by special carts.”

“There have been rumors
... but those were about the east...”

“There seems to be a
connection,” Dainyl admitted. “In any event, we’ll be setting down tonight
about twenty vingts north of Hyalt. There’s a way station there. Tomorrow
morning, I’ll need two pteridons to fly to Hyalt early to meet with the Cadmian
majer there. On my return, first squad will accompany me to the regional
alector’s compound, as if on a normal inspection. The remainder of the company
will follow, with a separation of several vingts, flying as low as possible to
remain out of sight.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll have to see.
There are several possibilities. First, they could attempt to attack the
pteridons. Or they could attempt to invite me in for some treachery. Or they
could hole up in their redoubt.”

“Redoubt?” questioned
the Myrmidon captain.

“Much of the regional
alector’s space is actually carved into a mountainside. I believe it is one of
the earlier Table locations. That may be why the rebels picked this locale.”

“You don’t expect
them to surrender?”

“That is rather
unlikely. The kind of weaponry that they have developed is forbidden. The
creation of an additional armed force without the permission of the duarches is
a crime against them and the Archon. Most likely, they will refuse us entry, or
seem to grant it and men attempt some form of treachery. If that is the case,
then you and three squads of Fifth Company, as well as part of the Cadmian
Battalion, will have to contain them while I undertake other actions.”