“That is true,” replied Dainyl. “Yet Majer Herryf cannot explain who these rebels are and where they might be, only that an excessive number of prisoners at the mine are escaping.”
“If that is the case, Colonel, why are we here? Escaping prisoners do not make a rebellion.”
“You may well be right, Majer. That is why we are both here. If there is no rebellion, you and your men will be able to spend the fall and winter in a warmer locale, and I will be able to report to the marshal that Majer Herryf was excessively worried.” There was something about the majer, something… almost Talent-connected, yet the majer had no Talent. Dainyl would have to observe that as well.
“You’re suggesting that there is a problem?” asked Vaclyn.
“I am suggesting nothing,” Dainyl pointed out. “I have been here only a few days longer than you have. Majer Herryf has been here much longer.”
Vaclyn frowned, then spoke. “Colonel… you are a Myrmidon, and some of your fliers were seen overflying the hills north of the mines. Is there any information that you can share with us?” Vaclyn’s voice was polite, but there was still anger behind it, if more subdued.
“So far, Majer, information has been hard to come by. What we have discovered is that an unknown number of Cadmian issue rifles have reached the rebel miners, and that other goods have been smuggled into Dramur. The smugglers have used the cove on the eastern shore some twenty-five vingts north of here, and whatever those goods happened to be, they were transported westward along a narrow path that leads toward the area north of the mine where there may be a number of escaped miners who are armed. So far, they have not attacked any Cadmian units. The plantation growers to the north have been raided, but apparently for food, and not in large numbers.”
“Sounds more like Majer Herryf wants us to nip something in the bud,” speculated Vaclyn. “Might not be so bad as if we’d been later.” He looked directly at Dainyl again. “Is there anything you need from us?”
“Not at the moment. I just stopped to pay my respects and to let you know why I was here.” Dainyl offered a polite smile. “I will let you know of anything else that might prove helpful.”
As Dainyl left the study, he caught a few fragments of the words exchanged by the rankers in the outer corridor.
“… that’s a Myrmidon colonel…”
“… trouble for the majer…”
“… makes enough for himself…”
Dainyl concealed an internal wince at the last words. The last thing anyone needed in Dramur was a Cadmian officer prone to mistakes—and what he had overheard suggested he was saddled with two. He just hoped that the ranker was more disgruntled than accurate.
22
On Quattri, just after dawn, Mykel was holding a mug of ale, knowing he had to drink something. He’d had the choice of wine, boiled water, or ale. He had taken the ale, and wondered if he shouldn’t have chosen water, or even the cheap wine. Before him was a platter of fried fish and fried apple bananas. He wasn’t certain either qualified as breakfast.
“There he is! Always early to eat!” Dohark’s voice carried through the small stone-walled mess.
Mykel looked up. Dohark and Kuertyl were headed for the table he’d staked out in the corner, both with platters and mugs in their hands. They sat down across from him.
“You’re just looking at the food?” asked Dohark.
“I’m not sure it is food,” replied Mykel dryly. “Not for breakfast.”
“Don’t want to go hungry now,” said the older captain.
“I’ll eat it.” Mykel would eat what was available. He just didn’t have to like it.
“What’s your schedule?” asked Dohark.
“Fifteenth is moving north tomorrow, a good day’s ride. Could be longer. We get to look at a trail that the rebels are using. What about you?”
“Like you, tomorrow. We’re going to squat around some cove, hope that some smugglers show up with contraband. At least, it ought to be cool, right off the ocean.” Dohark turned to the fresh-faced Kuertyl. “What about Thirteenth?”
“We’re supposed to patrol the road from the plantations in the west.” Kuertyl shrugged, then took a sip of the ale. “It’s not bad. The ale, I mean.”
Mykel had already taken a swallow. He’d had worse, but not for breakfast.
“You hear that a Myrmidon colonel came to see the ma-jer yesterday?” asked Kuertyl.
“Any idea why?” asked Dohark.
“Word is that the colonel is just here watching,” replied the young captain.
“Vaclyn needs watching. Always has.” Dohark laughed and turned to Mykel. “You remember that business east of Klamat—”
“That’s over,” Mykel said easily. He didn’t want to remember it. Vaclyn had wanted a frontal charge by Mykel’s whole company on a handful of Reillies dug in behind a timber barricade. Mykel had pretended not to have heard the order and taken a squad over a rise and started firing from the side. The Reillies had surrendered within moments. Even after that, the colonel had left the majer in command of the battalion, but Mykel had figured that was because the majer had managed to hide the fact that he’d given a stupid order. What Mykel didn’t understand was how the majer kept getting away with less than brilliant decisions—or was it just that his captains and senior squad leaders bailed him out? And no one really cared how the task got done, just so long as it did without too many casualties?
‘True enough, and it’s not like we can do anything…“
Mykel looked hard at Dohark, and the older captain stopped.
“Get carried away sometimes,” Dohark said.
“You were saying?” prompted Kuertyl, who hadn’t known about the incident because he’d been an undercap-tain with the Second Battalion at the time.
“Old history,” said Mykel. “Very old—”
“All history’s old,” interrupted Heransyr, the captain in command of Seventeenth Company, a smallish officer, with deep-set hazel eyes, whose uniforms never seemed to show a crease. “That’s why it’s history. Mind if I join you?”
“Please do,” suggested Mykel, before looking back at Kuertyl. “What else can you tell us about the colonel?”
“Colonel?” asked Heransyr.
“The Myrmidon colonel who’s here,” explained Mykel. “What about him, Kuertyl?”
Kuertyl glanced at Dohark, who ignored the look, then finally spoke. “He’s big, like all the alectors. One of the locals told me he’d been out flying all around the mountains, even in the storms a couple days back. They said one of the rebels took a shot at him when he was out riding, and the bullet bounced off him, and he rode out and caught the rebel without even using a weapon. He just looked at the fellow, and he dropped over dead.”
“I’m sure he did,” replied Dohark. “Just dropped over dead because someone looked at him. They got lances that turn people into torches, but I never heard of someone dropping dead without a weapon being used.”
“With alectors, you never know,” suggested Heransyr. “They are alectors.”
Dohark looked at Mykel. Mykel smothered a smile at Heransyr’s knowing tone.
Kuertyl finished taking a long pull of ale before answering. “Anyway… that’s what one of the squad leaders said. He was there. The colonel’s been meeting with the mine director, and with that Majer Herryf, and with important folks in the town.”
“Frig…” muttered Dohark.
Kuertyl turned to the older captain.
“Look, Kuertyl,” Dohark said slowly. “He’s a Myrmidon colonel. That’s means he outranks every Cadmian officer. There probably aren’t five Myrmidons that outrank him. He’s down here talking to everyone? Dramur’s a nothing place, except for bat shit. So why are we here? Why is he here? Something stinks, and it’s not just bat shit.”
“Something they don’t want a lot of people to know about,” suggested Mykel. “We’re here in the normal rotation, and we don’t have any Myrmidons around.” He gave a crooked grin. “Not off
icially. Just a couple to ferry the colonel around. Except that they’re checking out the mountains and the mine from the air?”
“Oh,” said Kuertyl.
Even Heransyr’s knowing smile faded.
“So don’t think this is just a set of routine patrols,” added Dohark. “You could get real familiar with unfamiliar dirt here, and that merchant’s daughter in Faitel’d have to find another handsome captain.”
Kuertyl flushed, ever so slightly.
“It might not be that bad,” said Mykel, “but until we know that, better be really careful.”
Dohark rose. “I think it’s time for an unannounced gear inspection.”
Mykel smiled. “Not a bad idea. I’ll let you start.” The word would get around, and then he’d follow up with Fifteenth Company.
23
Beginning on Sexdi, Mykel and Fifteenth Company spent four days under a bright sun that was more like summer than fall, riding westward along the stream valley that held a trail supposedly used by smugglers. The only way to see what was on the trail was to ride it, and Ma-jer Vaclyn had chosen Fifteenth Company for that duty. After battling the thorny brush olives, the heat, and the damp, they found no recent traces of smugglers.
Then, after they completed a last sweep of the valley on Decdi, the majer ordered them back to the Cadmian com-pound, where they had Londi for some recuperation. On Duadi, they rode north thirty vingts to patrol a twenty-vingt section of road—ten vingts on each side of a small town scarcely larger than a hamlet called Enstyla. The road, in a winding fashion, eventually made its way south to Dramuria.
The company was housed in an empty barn that had once been used for cattle—until the losses from the nightwasps had made it far too unprofitable for the grower to continue. Now he was getting a few silvers for the use of the barn and well.
“This town is the one where the growers around it have been complaining about raids,” Majer Vaclyn had told Mykel. “See what you can do, either to find out if they’ve really been raided, or to stop the raids. If you can’t capture the raiders, shoot them. But make sure that they’re raiders and not locals.”
On Tridi, just before midmorning, Mykel rode northward at the head of fifth squad, along a part of the road that ran through grassland that showed as much clay as grass. As on the previous days, the sky was mostly clear, with a hint of clouds building over the peaks to the west. No animals were grazing in the nearby fields, and probably had not in a while, since the scattered tufts and clumps of grass were nearly calf high. The fields were not fenced, and it had been a good vingt since the squad had passed a cot.
Mykel alternated riding with the squads, since each squad was handling a different section of the road. As he shifted his weight in the saddle, he had to wonder how patrolling roads would stop raids. The raiders weren’t exactly going to ride up and down the roads announcing their intentions, and those who did use the roads would look like anyone else who belonged there.
Still… Mykel was a Cadmian officer, and there were times when he just had to follow orders and try not to make a stupid mistake doing so.
Ahead, coming up a long gentle rise from lowlands that held trees, there was a wagon creaking toward fifth squad, an old wagon that seemed to sag in the middle, pulled by a single swaybacked horse.
Mykel moved the chestnut to the head of the squad and eased out in front of the squad, just slightly, moving toward the wagon and the two men on the bench seat. The driver flicked the reins, pulled them back, and the wagon slowed to a crawl, then a stop.
Both men looked at Mykel, and the squad behind him, but neither spoke.
Mykel concentrated on the teamster, after a quick study of the younger man seated beside the bearded driver. “Have you seen any folks up here that don’t belong here?”
The teamster kept the reins in his right hand, but tilted back the tattered and wide-brimmed woven frond hat with his left. Then he spat to the side of the wagon away from Mykel. “You’re the first folks we’ve seen since we set out.”
“Not just this morning. Over the past few days.”
“You Cadmians are looking in the wrong place. All those escaped prisoners are in the hills north of the mine.” The man’s words were even, with a touch of anger behind them, but they didn’t feel right to the captain:
“I don’t recall mentioning escaped prisoners,” Mykel said politely. “We also know that someone has been smuggling as well. You might have seen them.”
“Told you. We haven’t seen anyone.”
“We’d heard reports that some of the escapees might have moved eastward… might be lifting a little food here and there.” Mykel looked squarely at the teamster.
“Well… Captain. Now, I can’t say that there might not have been a few things missing here and there, but how could anyone tell whether it’s from shamblers sneaking up here or a loose prisoner or two?”
“I imagine you couldn’t,” replied Mykel with an easy smile. “If you do find out, we’d like to know. Either way, you’d be able to keep more of what you grow if we could catch them.”
“On the roads?” The teamster laughed. “Not sow-eared likely!”
Mykel eased the chestnut back and gestured for the squad to let the wagon pass. As the wagon rolled southward, Mykel strained to hear what the younger man was saying.
“… not like that banty rooster yesterday…”
“… got to watch ‘em all… just ’cause he talks nice, don’t mean nothing…”
Mykel had to wonder whom the teamster had run into the day before. Dohark certainly wasn’t banty. It could have been Kuertyl—or maybe Heransyr, with his elevated notion of his own importance.
What was certain was that the patrols were going to be long, and hot, and that they were going to upset some people. Yet, if he didn’t patrol, Majer Vaclyn and the Myrmidon colonel would be unhappy with a certain captain.
Mykel turned the chestnut back northward.
24
On Quattri and Quinti, the squads of Fifteenth Company had patrolled the road north and south of Enstyla. Each morning, Mykel made sure to tell his squad leaders to emphasize courtesy and politeness if they did stop anyone. On Sexdi, his morning briefing was no different.
“Everyone is sir or madam, and you are terribly sorry to stop them. You are checking for contraband weapons and asking if they have seen anyone who looks out of place,” he had told each squad leader. “Treat them like they were your aunts or uncles, with politeness, but with firmness.”
Mykel had chosen to patrol with third squad, on the northernmost section of the road assigned to Fifteenth Company, and he rode northward beside Chyndylt, the third squad leader. Sexdi was cooler than the previous days. Even in late morning, a wind blew from the northwest, making the day pleasantly breezy—the first such since they had arrived in Dramur.
“Glad you’re with us today,” said Chyndylt. “Hope we get this kind of weather every time you’re patrolling with us.”
“It should get cooler as we get farther into fall and winter,” replied Mykel.
“We could use some cold. Never thought I’d say that after the winter up in Blackstear.” Chyndylt laughed.
Both Cadmians stopped talking as a one-horse cart turned from a side lane on the west side of the road half a vingt north of Mykel and headed down the rutted clay toward third squad.
“Couple of women,” observed Chyndylt as the cart neared.
Mykel scanned the road to the left, but could see nothing through the widely spaced casaran nut trees. “We might as well say good day to them.”
“The younger one does look sort of pretty, sir.”
Not only did she look attractive, Mykel realized, but there was something about her that went beyond the physical. He forced himself back to the duty at hand, smiling ruefully. “I don’t think she’ll be looking on us with any favor, Chyndylt.” He kept riding until he was within thirty yards of the cart.
The younger woman—dark-haired and wearing a pale green long-sleeved
shirt, dark gray trousers, and a darker gray vest—was driving. She showed no sign of wanting to stop as the cart continued down the middle of the road.
“Just when are you going to clear the road?” she called out, her voice conveying irritation, yet without being shrill.
“After you stop, madam, and we exchange a few words,” replied Mykel politely.
With a sigh visible from a good twenty yards away, the driver jerked the cart to a halt. The horse snorted. The gray-haired woman sitting to the left of the driver said not a word.
Mykel reined up beside the cart horse, in a position where he could grab the leads, if necessary. “I am sorry to ask you to stop, madam, but we’ve been assigned here to patrol the road. Have you seen anyone who doesn’t belong here, someone who might have escaped from the mine?” He smiled politely at the woman, who looked to be younger than he was.
“There aren’t people like that around here. Not around our estate.” The driver’s green eyes hardened. “Now… will you let us pass, trooper?”
“Captain, madam, Captain Mykel, Fifteenth Company.” Mykel eased his mount forward toward the cart and the driver. Outwardly, she showed no sign of nervousness, but he could sense it all the same. That could be just because she’d been stopped by twenty-two men. That would make any woman nervous. But it didn’t feel like that to Mykel. “We’re also looking for contraband weapons.”
“Weapons, Captain? What would two women be doing with weapons?” The driver eased herself, almost imperceptibly, toward the side of the cart closest to Mykel.
“Madam, anyone could be carrying weapons.‘’ He reined up beside the cart, his eyes dropping to the space under the driver’s seat. ”Like that rifle you’re trying to hide.“
“Rifle?”
‘The one you moved your trouser leg to cover,“ Mykel said dryly. ”Chyndylt, please cover these ladies while I look at their weapon.“ He looked to the driver. ”I’d appreciate it if you would move over. I’d rather leave you alone.“
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