“Do you know where the Cadmians came from?” Dainyl didn’t recall any such transfer crossing his desk. He could have checked if he’d been at headquarters, but that would have to wait.
“No, sir. No one said.”
“Why did you think this was strange? Did you think the majer was hiding something?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Klynd replied. “The thing is that in thirty years, we never got extra supplies, not unless we had extra flights or something. Certainly, no one said anything about a new compound. Then, the High Alector of the East visited two times a year ago, and three times last year. I’ve never seen one before. It could be because his son was the RA, but the two of them met with the majer every time. The majer and the RA spent lots of time together. Usually, company commanders only meet occasionally with RAs or High Alectors. After that, there was the trouble in Coren last winter. Sixth Company out of Lyterna was the one first assigned to overfly that. We heard that before Captain Elysara could even get a squad airborne, the Highest of the East went to someone in Lyterna, and next thing we knew, the marshal changed the orders, and we were on the way. Sixth Company could have gotten there a day earlier.”
“Even in winter?”
“You don’t have to fly over the Spine. You take the midvale valley and pick up the river heading east. Unless there’s a storm, it’s an easy flight.”
Dainyl hadn’t known that, but every company had local knowledge. “You were the ones who discovered the timbering against the Code?”
“Wasn’t that much, sir—a patch maybe a quarter vingt on a side. Understood they killed some patrollers over it.”
“Was there any evidence of earlier timbering?”
Klynd shrugged. “Might have been, but not anytime recently. There were two or three patches where the tree growth looked younger, but I’m not a forester.”
Dainyl was getting an even more unsettled feeling. He turned to Sledaryk. “Were you in charge of the overflights at Catyr last winter?”
Sledaryk frowned. “Yes, sir.”
“The initial reports indicated overlogging, followed by rains, a mud dam, more rains, and a flood. Is that correct?”
“Pretty much, sir.”
Dainyl could tell that the undercaptain wasn’t telling everything. “Captain Klynd has suggested he could find just a small bit of overlogging. The area at Catyr had to be much larger for there to be that much flooding. How did you miss the logging?”
“We were never assigned to fly near Catyr. Not for the last two years, maybe longer. Not a single squad, sir. You can check the flight logs, sir. We weren’t told not to fly there, but no one got assigned there.”
Dainyl managed to keep his expression pleasant. What had been going on in Dulka? More important, what had been behind it all? “Was there anywhere else you would have expected to patrol where you didn’t?” His eyes went from one junior officer to the next.
“No, sir.”
“No, sir…”
In the end, even after another glass of questioning and discussion, Dainyl had discovered little more than had been revealed in the responses to his first questions. The squad leaders just didn’t know any more.
He’d be staying in Dulka for the night, perhaps longer. He was too tired to chance another Table translation, not when recorders could apparently attack him during such a trip, brief as it was. He’d also definitely need to set Talent alarms to ensure his sleep wasn’t interrupted fatally. He just hoped he could eat and get some rest before something else went wrong. He had no doubts that it would. He just didn’t know when.
19
Midafternoon on Londi had come and gone before Mykel had Third Battalion settled in the Cadmian compound outside of Southgate on the northeast road. Since he had not seen the post commander yet, he crossed the paved courtyard, trying to ignore the fine reddish sandy soil drifted into corners everywhere. Although he blotted his forehead, the sweat there was more from his own hurrying to ensure everything was in order than from the heat of the day. That might well change by the time late spring arrived. Mykel didn’t want to consider still being in Southgate by full summer. He headed for the small headquarters building set twenty yards inside the south gate, a gate with hinges that shined only where casually visible, and with rust elsewhere else. Mykel doubted it had been tested or closed in years.
The door to the headquarters was ajar, and a patina of fine sandy dust had drifted across the gray tiles of the foyer. Beyond the second archway was an open hall, with two desks, one vacant. At the other sat a senior squad leader who did not look up until Mykel was less than two yards from him.
“Majer Mykel to see the post commander.”
The senior squad leader rose, not quite languidly, eventually assuming a pose approximating attention. “Yes, sir. Overcaptain Sturyk has been expecting you, sir. This way, sir.” His steps toward the commander’s study were as leisurely as his bearing.
The study door was open, and Mykel stepped inside, immediately closing it, and ignoring the momentary frown on the overcaptain’s face. Sturyk had whitish blond hair, threaded with silver. His narrow face was tanned, and his bearing distinguished. He was doubtless at least fifteen years older than Mykel. He rose even more slowly than had the senior squad leader.
“Majer…you are Majer Mykel, sir?”
Mykel could sense the older officer’s consternation at discovering his superior was more than a decade younger. Even Sturyk’s lifeforce thread had contracted slightly. “The same, Overcaptain.”
Sturyk offered a smile, belatedly. “You must excuse me, Majer. When I heard Third Battalion was being sent here, I had assumed I would see Majer Vaclyn. How is he?”
Mykel returned Sturyk’s smile with one he hoped was sympathetic, gesturing for the other officer to resume his seat. “The strain of the campaign in Dramur took a heavy toll on the majer. He began to think everyone was his enemy, and in the end, he even attacked a senior alector.” Mykel settled into the chair across the desk from Sturyk.
“Oh, dear. He was such a perfectionist. I can see where that could happen.”
Vaclyn had been a perfectionist about the wrong things, but Mykel wasn’t about to get into that. “I ended up with the field command there, and was confirmed as the commander of Third Battalion by the Submarshal of Myrmidons and by Colonel Herolt.”
“For such experience, you wear your years well, Majer.”
“I entered service young, Overcaptain, and I’ve seen my share of action.” Mykel smiled more professionally. “Since I didn’t see you when we arrived, I thought I would find you and let you know the details of my mission and the requirements that it will place on you and the Cadmians here.”
“I’ve already made the adjoining study available for you, sir. It’s the same size as this one. They’re the largest in headquarters, and the visiting barracks and stables were made ready last week.”
“I saw that, and we appreciate that. What about the two companies of trainees?”
“The last of them arrived on Novdi. They’re quartered in the trainee barracks in the southwest corner.”
“What can you tell me about them?”
Sturyk shrugged. “Recruits are hard to get in Southgate. Cadmian duty is regarded as barely a step above being a deckhand on the most decrepit of fishing boats or being a day laborer in the granite quarries to the north. Half are minor malefactors—petty theft and the like—and the other half are desperate in one way or the other. You’ve got two or three decent squad leaders, and a fresh captain and a barely promoted undercaptain. Both of them are honest and originally came from the Hyalt region, but not from Hyalt itself. They were detached from other companies and sent here.”
Mykel hadn’t expected any better. He did hope that the two officers were not only honest, but competent. “We only have a month before we ride out, and that means a full training schedule Londi through Novdi, starting tomorrow—”
“Ah…Majer…”
“Yes?” replied Mykel.
> “We…ah…there are no duties on Novdi, except for the duty squads, of course. That has always been the policy in Southgate.”
Mykel understood, in yet another way, why he had been sent. He was likely to have problems in getting Sturyk’s active cooperation without some form of coercion. The compound commander had a routine, and it doubtless worked well for the garrison and policing duties generally assigned.
“Overcaptain, I’m certain your policies have worked well for the situation here, but I’ve been tasked with a difficult situation that requires whipping less than raw recruits into a semblance of Cadmians, and that will require nine days a week, perhaps all ten.”
“The policy here has been longstanding, Majer. I’m sure you understand the difficulties involved in changing—”
“I’m not ordering a direct change in your policies,” Mykel replied politely, “only in those areas where Third Battalion requires support.”
“Majer…” Sturyk shrugged helplessly.
“Having all of Novdi in a nonduty status may be the longstanding Southgate policy,” said Mykel evenly, “but that is not what is set forth in the regulations. At the very least, Novdi morning is a duty period, and we will be using Novdi, perhaps even Decdi, as necessary, in order to have these men ready in the time required by Colonel Herolt and by the Marshal of Myrmidons.”
“That timetable, sir, I fear, is unrealistic.”
“It may well be, Overcaptain Sturyk.” Mykel smiled pleasantly. “Would you like to write up a report and submit it to me stating why the timetable is unrealistic?”
Sturyk’s petulant frown vanished as he swallowed. “I think not, sir.”
“Then I will report to Colonel Herolt that you believe we can meet the timetable, if we use Novdis for training. I’d like a brief note from you agreeing with me.”
Sturyk swallowed again. “Sir…that is coercion.”
“Overcaptain…you cannot have it both ways. I’m perfectly willing to put your objections on the record, and if I fail, then you will be proven correct.” Mykel smiled. “If you are not willing to object, then I would like your agreement on record.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mykel could sense the palpable dislike emanating from Sturyk. He wished he had learned to be more politic, but he doubted that anything besides veiled force would ever have moved Sturyk. Mykel had tried not to sound like Majer Vaclyn, but feared he had anyway. Was that what happened when officers became battalion commanders? That they were placed in positions where they had to make demands that seemed unreasonable to junior officers? He smiled again. “After all, Overcaptain, we’ll only be here a month, and, I’m sure that Colonel Herolt will be pleased to learn just how cooperative and supportive you have been.”
“I’m certain we can work things out, sir.” The dislike behind Sturyk’s professional smile was replaced by a sense of calculation and caution, feelings that were obvious to Mykel, yet he knew that he would not have seen and sensed them a year earlier, certainly not nearly so directly and clearly.
As he left the study, heading out to find the officers of the trainee companies, he wondered if there were some way he could not only sense what others felt, but offer them reassurance…or confidence, in the case of his own officers.
There was still so much yet to learn, and he feared he would learn too much of it by making mistakes. His fingers dropped to his belt, just above the concealed dagger—was he becoming a true dagger of the ancients, as likely to slash himself as others? Or had he been sent because Colonel Herolt knew all too well the limitations of Overcaptain Sturyk?
20
Dainyl crossed the Myrmidon courtyard in the darkness of early evening on Duadi. He’d indicated he would be leaving on Tridi. Leaving earlier seemed wiser, especially since he had no real evidence that would suggest misdeeds by Alcyna or Brekylt—or even what they might be attempting. After a day and a half of talking to Myrmidons and checking the records and logs of Seventh Company, what he had discovered was only what could be inferred by what had not been ordered or undertaken.
There was indeed a new Myrmidon compound that was almost completed, and it certainly had enough space for two companies. It was also well to the north of the present compound and away from the hillier ground—supposedly to allow easier takeoffs and landings. Yet it was not noticeably larger than the present compound, and the current Myrmidon post was far more convenient to the Table and in excellent repair. The current post was higher in the hills and had walls that could be defended. So why were Brekylt and Alcyna building a new compound?
The flight patterns were less clear, but still suggestive. Seventh Company had conducted routine patrols of the river and the port at Tylora, and occasionally even overflown Sinjin. Parts of the southeastern High Steppes had been watched for grass fires or other lifeforce damage. Following reports of scattered brigandage, various squads had periodically patrolled the high roads to Flyr and even the road from Tylora to Sudya. On two occasions, they had even found brigands. But over a period of four years, according to the logs and records, there had been no surveillance or monitoring flights to the north along the eastern flank of the mountains that comprised the Spine of Corus. Likewise there had been no written orders from Alcyna—or anyone else—directing the scope of Seventh Company flight operations.
Dainyl paused before the door concealing the stairs down to the Table chamber, studying it carefully before releasing the Talent-lock. Even so, he felt more Talent, just beyond the door, and linked to the door itself. Rather than open the door immediately, he extended his Talent-senses beyond. The finest film of Talent lay on the other side, a web linked to the door and across the corridor—obviously an alarm of some sort. Whatever was happening in the east involved many of the recorders, if not all of them—or the recorders were opposed to Dainyl for reasons of their own, perhaps because he had killed the recorder who had tried to murder him or because he had learned too much about what they could do with the Tables.
He studied the web for a time, noting that single strands ran from the web and the door, melding into a larger strand that ran along the top of the corridor and down the steps. Using his own Talent, he created miniature shields, very delicately, to immobilize the unseen—but clearly sensed—purple threads leading to that telltale strand. Only then did he gently use his Talent to rearrange the web so that he could open the door and step through.
Leaving the miniature shields in place, he made his way down the steps and then to the right toward the Table chamber. He found no more Talent-webs, but in the dimness of the Table chamber, in addition to the Talent-purple glow of the Table itself, he could sense that the Table was somehow more energized.
He took a deep breath, then stepped onto the Table and concentrated, dropping into…
…the chill darkness of the translation tube. “Above” him he could sense the formation of the purple arms, but he linked immediately with the brilliant white locator of Elcien. Again, he had the illusion of the locator hurtling through the darkness at him until the silver-white barrier shattered.
Dainyl stood on the Table in Elcien, breathing heavily, mist forming on his flight jacket and then dispersing. He stepped off the Table, alert for any manifestation from it, but he could sense none, and, after releasing the first Talent-lock, he stepped from the chamber into the foyer beyond. He had no sooner emerged from the foyer and replaced the second Talent-lock, when High Alector Zelyert appeared in the outer corridor.
“Sir,” offered Dainyl, slightly surprised at seeing Zelyert so late in the day, although it was before sunset.
“Dainyl…Shastylt thought you might be returning before the end-days, if only for a brief respite.”
“Yes, sir. I had planned to travel out again in the morning.” Dainyl had no desire to talk to Zelyert, but prudence was more than called for.
“I will take but a few moments of your time.” Zelyert gestured toward his private study and turned, expecting Dainyl to follow.
He did, closing the s
tudy door behind him.
The High Alector of Justice seated himself. “Shastylt has not reported on your activities….”
Seating himself, Dainyl replied, “That is doubtless because I have not completed my investigations and have not made a report to him, sir.”
“What have you discovered?”
“There were no overflights of the Catyr area—the one that was over-logged and flooded this winter—for close to four years. There were no orders not to fly there, just orders to fly everywhere else.”
Zelyert nodded. “You think this has some link to Brekylt?”
“When I arrived at Dulka, I went to pay my respects to the regional alector. You may have already heard what occurred.”
“There was a report that the Myrmidon majer there attacked the RA, and that you arrived only at the end. It’s too bad you weren’t a bit sooner, Submarshal.” Zelyert’s tone was mild.
“That was the official report, and the way it should remain,” Dainyl replied. “I might add that the RA was Brekylt’s son, and that the majer and he were very close friends. I might also add that Brekylt has paid a number of visits to Dulka in the past years, more than to any other Myrmidon post, and that Dulka has been receiving supplies slightly in excess of its needs on a continuing basis since Kelbryt had become the regional alector. The Cadmian compound was enlarged, and there is a new Myrmidon compound nearly completed, but it is farther from the Table and in a less defensible position.”
“At times, we do need new compounds,” Zelyert said mildly. “I was told that the winds around the old compound were erratic and dangerous.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I take it that they both attacked you,” Zelyert said. “How did you prevail?”
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