Soarers Choice (19 page)

“That
didn’t have anything to do with the herders and holders. That was between the
alectors and the miners and the local building crafters.”

Mykel
offered a puzzled expression. “I’m not certain I understand what your point is,
Holder Croyalt. There were two significant violations of the Code before Fourth
Battalion was sent, and yet you claim that there were no troubles.”

“The
marshal sent some Myrmidons, and before long, everything was under control. It
was after they left.”

“What
happened then?”

“The
iron miners — the malcontents — they said that it was easier to top the hills
than to tunnel, and they claimed miners had died because of that. The coal
miners said that the lower tunnels were unsafe. All the miners refused to work.
The local Cadmian officer claimed he wasn’t going to shoot men for that.”

“So
he was replaced by Majer Hersiod?”

“That
bastard Hersiod came in, trumped up some sort of trial, and executed the
undercaptain for some charge and then sent the two squad leaders who objected
to his actions off to the mines as malcontents.”

Mykel
managed to avoid wincing.

“Then
he threatened to take over the stead of any outholder who objected.”

“Outholders
are those farther from Iron Stem?”

“More
than ten vingts. So we all avoided Iron
Ste.
much as
we could.” Croyalt snorted. “Soon as Hersiod gets himself killed, we get
another Cadmian battalion.”

“How
did he manage to lose so many men?”

“Stupidity.
Those little rifles you Cadmians use aren’t that effective against sandwolves,
and if you don’t have a lot of men firing at them ...”

Mykel
managed to keep his expression pleasant. Croyalt was implying that the
outholders not only had rifles, which was generally against the Code, but that
their weapons had far more stopping power. “Did Hersiod know you’d developed
bigger bore rifles?”

“How
would he? He never listened to anyone.”

“Does
anyone use them except outholders?”

Croyalt
frowned. “There’s no reason for anyone else to.”

“I
can see that.” Mykel nodded. “How long have you had to deal with the
sandwolves?”

“They’ve
been here as long as there have been outholders. Seems like there have been
more this year and last, but we don’t really keep count.”

“Majer
Hersiod reported that they were attacking livestock of the local holders and
that they were a new threat in the area closer to Iron Stem. Was he mistaken
about that, too?”

Croyalt
tilted his head. “That might be true. Usually the sandwolves avoid people,
unless they can catch them alone.” He grinned. “Could also be that they found
Cadmian patrols easy pickings.”

“Do
you know how Hersiod lost so many men against the miners?”

“He
didn’t. Murderous bastard killed more than half the ones that were gathered out
on the hill. They were just having a meeting. All the killing drew the
sandwolves and the sanders ...” He shook his head. “Don’t want to mess with
sanders. Don’t see many, but you see one, and you head the other way. If you
want to stay alive, anyway. They’ll chase livestock, but not people.”

“How
would you suggest we handle the sandwolves?”

“If
you have to patrol, with lots of men throwing lead.”

“What
else should I know?” Mykel asked. “Besides the fact that my predecessor was
stupid, didn’t listen, and didn’t have the right equipment and tactics?”

Croyalt
grinned once more, then stood. “That’s about it, Majer. Except that you still
ought to leave well enough alone.”

Mykel
stood as well. “The Marshal of Myrmidons ordered us here directly. That means I
can’t very well leave, but I do appreciate your coming in.”

Croyalt
nodded brusquely. “Don’t envy you, Majer. Not at all. Could be a long cold
winter. Good day.” He stepped out of the study.

After
Croyalt left, Mykel began to search through the file cases. It took him half a
glass, but he finally found the record of the court-martial of Undercaptain
Emolart, such as it was. Emolart had been charged with three counts of failure
to carry out the orders of a superior officer, disrespect to a superior, and
striking a senior officer. He’d been shot by a firing squad the night of the
court-martial.

There
was no transcript, and only a brief summary of the alleged events. After having
known Majer Hersiod and almost suffering the same fate as Emolart, except at
the hands of Majer Vaclyn, Mykel had no doubts that Croyalt had been basically
accurate in his assessments.

Mykel
replaced the files and closed the box. He just stood there and looked at the
wall.

Why
had the previous marshal wanted both Hersiod and Vaclyn to do stupid things? It
was as if he’d wanted to destroy the effectiveness of the Cadmians. But for
what reason? If Rachyla were right, that the Cadmians were the alectors’ sheep
dogs, what purpose was served by destroying them?

Then,
too, there were the outholders. They were breaking the Code with their heavier
rifles. But Croyalt had been telling the truth about the sandwolves, and that
meant that the outholders had been using heavy rifles against the sandwolves
for generations — despite Hersiod’s report that the sandwolves were a “new”
predator.

Had
the alectors ignored the Code-breaking? Or had the outholders kept it secret?
Had there been some sort of tacit agreement? Had the alectors decided to break
that agreement, or had they only just discovered what the outholders had been
doing? Given the Talent skills of the alectors and their Tables, Mykel doubted
that the heavy rifles had been unknown to all alectors.

Then,
there were the questions surrounding the miners. From what Mykel had discovered
so far, over the past two years, the miners — mainly malcontents sentenced to
terms in the iron and coal mines — had been forced to work longer and harder
for reasons that no one had spelled out anywhere. More had died, so many that
the survivors had risked death to try to change matters, except... if Croyalt
happened to be correct, Hersiod had decided on his own to teach them a lesson.
That didn’t make sense, either, because dead miners didn’t mine anything.

Uneasy
as he had been before, Mykel was feeling even more so with every glass he spent
in Iron Stem.

Midmorning
on Londi found Dainyl in the Hall of Justice, sitting across the small table
from the High Alector.

“I
must say, Dainyl, that your handling of the Third Cadmian Battalion is
masterful,” Zelyert observed with a broad smile. “You did not let them return
to Elcien, but immediately dispatched them to Iron Stem. That way, there is far
less chance of contamination once matters are resolved.”

“That
seemed to make the most sense.” How much did Zelyert know? “I did worry about
them realizing their effectiveness in dealing with the rebels in Tempre.”

“Shastylt
would never have considered that. He had a tendency to underestimate all those
below him — as you well know.”

“I’ve
discovered that some of the Cadmian officers are quite resourceful,” Dainyl
temporized. “That can resolve immediate difficulties, but...” He shrugged.

“Exactly.
There is a balance involved. We need resourceful monitors to control the
steers, but monitors who understand and accept that they are indeed our
monitors, working under our guidance.” The High Alector of Justice smiled
coolly. “What do you intend to do with Majer Mykel?”

“Nothing
— not until I find out what really is happening in the Iron Valleys. He is most
resourceful. Everything I have seen suggests that the ancients are planning
something there. It is in his self-interest to oppose whatever they have in
mind. I would prefer using him rather than hazarding Myrmidons, or removing
them from Elcien, especially since there are indications of growing ... mutual
interest between Ruvryn, Brekylt, and the Duarch Samist.”

“Do
you think Submarshal Noryan will follow you and Submarshal Alcyna, or High
Alector Brekylt — in a case of divided loyalties, shall we say?”

“That
will depend on the circumstances. Noryan is a very direct officer.”

“You
know he is not who everyone thinks he is, yet you think he will oppose
Brekylt?”

Not
only had Dainyl never mentioned Majer Mykel’s abilities to Zelyert, but he had
also never revealed Noryan’s false identity to anyone besides Lystrana except
to Shastylt and Captain Sevasya. As Khelaryt’s daughter, Sevasya was highly
unlikely to have told Zelyert, and Shastylt was dead. Although Dainyl couldn’t
have verified it in any way, he doubted that Shastylt would have told Zelyert
about Noryan. “I don’t know. Under certain circumstances, it might be
possible.” Dainyl offered an ironic smile. “I’m not counting on such. That is
one reason why Seventh Company has been relocated to Tempre.”

“That
was another good move. It limits the scope of Brekylt’s possible influence.”
Zelyert steepled his long fingers. “Still... I think you should give a full
account of the latest developments to the Duarch directly. I’ve made
arrangements for you to see him tomorrow morning, at the third glass of
morning.”

Dainyl
almost protested. Not that much had happened since he had last briefed the Duarch.
“What else would you like me to convey?”

The
High Alector offered a deep, warm, and rumbling chuckle. “Any reaction the
Duarch might have, especially to the ... positioning of Seventh Company.”

“If
he has one, sir.”

“That
will be a reaction as well. You might also mention that the number of attempted
long translations from Ifryn is continuing to increase.”

Although
Zelyert’s words suggested Dainyl had an option, it was clear that the High
Alector wanted Dainyl to deliver the general news about the long translations
before Zelyert provided actual numbers. That meant the increased numbers were
very bad. “Should I know actual figures?”

“You
continually amaze me, Dainyl. I don’t know whether that’s always good. No”. You
shouldn’t, and I won’t tell you. Khelaryt could read any deception on your
part.”

With
the amount of Talent the Duarch possessed, Dainyl knew that was certainly true.

“One
other thing,” said Zelyert. “How long before the ancients act?”

Dainyl
hadn’t the faintest idea, although it would not be that long, and would depend
on the timing of the transfer of the Master Scepter. “I have no indication. You
might have a better
i.e.
than I do.”

“They
cannot know when the Scepter will be transferred. So ... it is likely to be
sometime after that.”

Dainyl
nodded. “What will happen to the translation tubes to Ifryn?”

“The
one linking the Master Scepter to the dual scepters will shift from Ifryn to
Efra. The one between Efra and Ifryn will vanish.”

That
made an unfortunate kind of sense.

“And
... what will happen on Ifryn?”

“With
the higher lifeforce dwindling, most alectors remaining there will soon die.
The few that survive will wish they had not. The less intelligent indigens will
revert to their sources. Other life on the world will survive, but it will not
be fit for intelligence for eons, if ever.”

The
thought of all the glorious cities on Ifryn standing as lifeless monuments,
slowly decaying as even the lifeforce in the eternastone bled away, chilled
Dainyl.

“We
cannot dwell upon the past, Marshal. We can only build the future.”

But
what kind of a future, and who was really building it?

“Yes,
sir.” Dainyl smiled politely.

Under
a cool noonday sun that filtered down through a hazy fall sky, Mykel rode
westward along the narrow stock trail that arced gradually toward the southeast
through the low rolling hills that held spiky bushes and intermittent clumps of
irongrass. Undercaptain Loryalt rode beside him and Seventeenth Company behind
them, with four scouts half a vingt ahead. For the past four days, he’d gone on
patrols with various Third Battalion companies, without even a glimpse of the
fearsome sandwolves. All he’d seen besides the livestock of the local inholders
were the smaller local animals like the grayjays and the rodentlike scrats.

Mykel
wondered if he should have spent more time at the garrison. But then, despite
what Croyalt had said about there being no real problem outside of Iron Stem,
Mykel had definite concerns about predators that had wiped out half a
battalion.

As
he rode, he was all too conscious of the massive ramparts of the Aerial Plateau
rising to the east, even more impressive when he considered that they were some
thirty vingts away. A wall against the sunrise, he reflected, or perhaps one to
hold back night. He’d heard how the stone cliffs rose some six thousand yards
near-vertically, but hearing and seeing were two different things.

“Hate
to try to climb those,” offered Loryalt; gesturing eastward.

“I
don’t think you could, not if all the sides are that sheer.” Mykel stiffened in
the saddle. He sensed something — a grayish violet and then a reddish violet
that seemed to come and go — but what he felt came from behind the column. Were
the sandwolves stalking the last squad?

“Rifles
ready,” Mykel ordered, turning to Loryalt and adding in a lower voice, “You’re
in command here. I’m heading to the rear of the column.”

“Rifles
ready!” echoed the undercaptain. “Pass it back.” After a moment, he asked, “Do
you know what kind of trouble?”

“Not
yet.” Mykel turned the roan out to the right, avoiding the prickly-looking
bushes whose lower shoots could rip through flesh and leather, and then began
to ride back west, paralleling the column. He eased his rifle from the holder.

“Trouble
... Majer’s got that look ...”