Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “That’s why we need to get working on building a new compound first—and why I need you to be on guard.”

  “We’ll be here.” Rhystan nodded.

  As Mykel rode back toward Culeyt, he heard Rhystan’s voice.

  “Sixteenth Company! Listen up!…”

  Mykel glanced once more at the shell of what had been a garrison. He hadn’t ever been certain he’d use what his father had taught him about building, but it looked like he was going to wish he’d learned more.

  “Fourteenth Company, ready to ride, sir,” announced Culeyt before Mykel had even finished reining up.

  “Let’s go.”

  Fortunately, the street into the main section of Hyalt was wide enough to ride two abreast, and still leave room for the scattered pedestrians and infrequent carts and wagons. Three lanes farther along, Mykel and the company turned south on the high road, which also served as the main boulevard of the town.

  A half vingt south, they came to the town square.

  “Company, halt!”

  “Sir?”

  “That looks like the council building over there.” Mykel pointed to a one-story redstone building set between a chandlery and a building without any identifying markings. “If you’d send a scout to inquire…we’re looking for the head of the town council.”

  “Yes, sir.” Culeyt turned. “Coroden…”

  While the scout rode toward the building facing onto the square, Mykel studied the area. The square itself was a good hundred yards on a side, centered on a golden marble platform, with a statue of the Duarches set on a pedestal in the middle. Several yards back from the pedestal was a low redstone wall. As in most towns and cities in Corus, the roofs were tiled. The walls of the houses and other buildings were a mixture of stone and masonry, the older structures being of stone, the newer ones of a sandy red brick. The doors and trim were either oiled or painted a dull reddish brown.

  He could sense the eyes of several people on the side porch of the inn looking in the direction of the company. A woman with laundry in a basket on her head hurried across the edge of the square, turning away from the riders. Mykel couldn’t blame her.

  “Sir!” called Coroden. “This is the goldsmith’s. The council chamber is off the square that way.”

  “You head there, and we’ll follow,” replied Mykel.

  The council chamber was only a block away, a redstone building larger than the goldsmith’s, with a roof composed of grayish red tiles, and high windows with open shutters rather than glassed panes.

  Mykel, Culeyt, and Fourteenth Company waited while Coroden entered the council chamber. He was out of sight only a few moments before returning.

  “The clerk says that the head of the council’s not here, sir,” reported Coroden.

  “I imagine that he’s not. Find out where he is and how we get there. And his name.”

  “Yes, sir.” Coroden went back into the building, emerging shortly. “The council head is Troral, and he’s a wool factor. His place is down two lanes and over a half block, just off the high road.” The scout remounted.

  That made sense to Mykel. A factor wanted to be close to either a river or a high road.

  As the company rode back toward the inn and past the square, heading southward, most of those on the side porch of the inn slipped out of sight. Only a bent old woman carrying a bucket remained. She stared at Mykel.

  He met her gaze evenly, and after a moment, she looked away.

  Troral’s factorage was a modest structure, no more than fifteen yards across the front, and less than that in depth, although Mykel could see a stable down the side lane past a battered loading dock. The factor—a narrow-faced and balding man whose remaining hair was gray and wispy—appeared in the front doorway before Mykel could dispatch Coroden. He wore a wide canvas apron and said nothing.

  “You’re Troral?”

  “Yes.” The balding factor’s answer was wary.

  “I’m Majer Mykel, commanding officer of the Third Battalion. We’re here to rebuild the garrison and reestablish Cadmian companies here.”

  The stocky factor looked up at Mykel, then at the company that filled the side street. “You’ve got a lot of troopers here, Majer. Hyalt doesn’t need that much protection.”

  “The garrison that was here obviously wasn’t enough,” Mykel pointed out. “What can you tell me about what happened?”

  “There’s not much to say, Majer. I’m sure you’ve been told. One night there was shooting, and the next morning, they were all dead. There were bodies all over. We sent word to the regional alector, and there were Myrmidons here in a few days.”

  “No one was shooting at anyone else?” Mykel had trouble believing Troral’s story. Why would they need Cadmians? Or was it another case where someone was afraid of what might happen?

  “There hasn’t been a shot fired here since then.”

  What bothered Mykel even more was the feeling he got that Troral was telling the truth, at least as he saw it.

  “That’s why I wouldn’t think you’d need so many troopers. Hyalt’s not that well off, but it’s peaceable.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Mykel smiled politely. “This is just one company. Third Battalion has five, and there are two Hyalt companies that will remain once we’ve made sure that none of the irregulars or brigands are left and once the new compound is completed.”

  “I see. Regional alector sent a message saying someone would be coming to rebuild things. We didn’t expect so many troopers. Bad enough that the alector’s been buying more provisions in the last season. Drives up prices, and that’s hard on folks. What would you be wanting of me?”

  “I wanted to let you know why we’re here.” Mykel paused. “I’d also hope that I’d be seeing the heads of the guilds that handle building early tomorrow.”

  “I’m not a guildmaster—”

  “I understand, but I’m certain you can get the message to them. We will be paying for the construction, once we select the right site.”

  “You’re not rebuilding…”

  “No. That garrison wasn’t defensible, and it’s too small. We’ll find the site, and then the owner and the council will put in a reimbursement claim with the regional alector.”

  “They won’t pay enough.”

  Mykel kept smiling. From what he’d seen, the alectors weren’t spend-thrifts, but they also didn’t try to gouge out the last copper the way more than a few merchants and factors he’d seen did.

  “I suppose you have to do what you must,” grudged Troral. “We all do, and work for less coin than we’d like is better than none.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “You might be wanting some blankets and other cloth.”

  “We might at that,” Mykel replied. “Once we’re getting close to having the new compound completed.” He leaned forward and handed a copy of the proclamation and authorization to Troral. “That copy is for the council.”

  “It might be hard to build…”

  “I’m certain we’ll find a way, and that you’ll be of great assistance.” Mykel smiled. “I look forward to seeing the guildmasters. Early tomorrow.”

  Troral nodded in response. “We’ll do what we can, Majer.”

  Mykel inclined his head, slightly. “A good day to you.” He turned the roan back northward, letting Culeyt bring Fourteenth Company behind him. Which would be harder, tracking down insurgents that no one had seen—or would talk about—or building a new compound? He wasn’t looking forward to either, and, in a way that he couldn’t describe, he was more than a little concerned with the isolated and semifortified structures of the regional alector. With that location and Myrmidons, why had they even needed to call in Cadmians? Or were there more of the ancient soarers around and the Myrmidons didn’t want to risk pteridons? Until Dramur, Mykel hadn’t even realized that the creatures could be destroyed.

  He wanted to brush his fingers across his belt, but he knew that the dagger of the ancients was still there. Was the indestructible dagger so
mehow a key to the powers that could destroy a Myrmidon or a pteridon—or just a symbol of that power?

  Rachyla’s warnings seemed far more ominous now that he was in Hyalt than they had in Dramur or even Southgate.

  42

  On Quattri morning, a good glass and a half before first light, Lystrana stood just inside the door, holding Dainyl tightly. “Be very careful.”

  “I will, but you’re in as much danger as I am.”

  “Not so long as I’m in the Duarch’s Palace.” She kissed him on the cheek and stepped back.

  Dainyl had his doubts about that, but there was little he could do, and Lystrana was as Talented as he was, if not more so, and certainly more experienced in intrigue. With a brief last smile, he stepped out into the darkness. In moments, he was walking briskly along the boulevard toward the Hall of Justice. The faintest hints of fog swirled off the bay and across the isle of Elcien, although they would vanish with the morning sun. Selena, showing but a crescent, was low in the darkness of the western sky, and while the green disc that was Asterta hung just high enough in the east to be visible over the roofs of Elcien.

  Zelyert had effectively ordered Dainyl to confine himself to Myrmidon and Cadmian affairs, and Dainyl intended to do so. He just intended to handle some of those matters in Lysia.

  As he had planned, there was only one assistant in the concealed lower chambers of the Hall of Justice, and the young alector nodded politely at the submarshal as Dainyl made his way to the Table chamber.

  After carefully replacing the Talent-locks, he stepped onto the Table.

  The darkness beneath seemed less black and overpowering, if as chill. Even as he linked to the orange and yellow locator that was Lysia, Dainyl kept his Talent-senses exploring the pure blackness beyond the distinct purpled confines of the translation tube.

  The translation tube—or the space in which he traveled—seemed to curve, almost to buck, several times. That was something Dainyl hadn’t experienced before, but he concentrated on the locator. Still, within his brief transit, he sensed a half score of the quick green flashes that signified ancients. Why so many?

  Then the silvered orange and yellow parted away from him more like mist than shards.

  He stood on the Table in Lysia.

  As he stepped down, the hidden doorway parted, and Sulerya stepped out. She had deep circles under her bloodshot eyes, and her short black hair was dull and disarranged. “Submarshal…it felt like you. I wasn’t certain. I’m glad you made it.”

  “Glad? What happened?” asked Dainyl. “You look exhausted.”

  “Idiots! Brekylt’s recorders…I don’t know what they did, but yesterday the entire grid nearly collapsed. The word is that Kasyst was killed in the backlash.”

  Kasyst? Why was the name familiar? Dainyl raised his eyebrows. “Kasyst?”

  “The recorder at Norda.”

  “Oh…him.”

  “You know him?”

  “His assistant tried to shoot me as a wild Talent. That was the explanation, anyway. I couldn’t very well accuse him of lying.” Especially not then.

  “What exactly did you have to do with it, Submarshal? You’re not exactly surprised.”

  Dainyl shrugged. “They tried to trap me between Tables again when I headed back to Elcien from Lyterna. My shields were adequate.”

  “Again? They’re greater idiots than I thought possible. They’d destroy—” She broke off her words. “Why are you such a danger to them?”

  “I wish I knew. Others must know what I know. You certainly do. So does your father. Sevasya and Khelaryt have to know some of what I know and more besides. Shastylt and Zelyert know a great deal. These days, I don’t control anything, not really.”

  “All that is true.” Sulerya’s attempt at a smile came out as a tired grimace. “But I don’t see Brekylt and his recorders attacking them.”

  “When did any of them recently translate anywhere except to Ludar? Why do you think that Zelyert and Shastylt are sending me places?”

  “Why are you letting them?”

  “I could avoid some of the translations,” Dainyl admitted, “but I don’t see any way out of the difficulties except by discovering exactly what Brekylt and Alcyna have in mind—and being able to prove it.”

  “They must think that you could. Can you?”

  “Not yet, but that’s one reason I’m here. I need to talk to Sevasya and some of her senior officers and rankers.”

  “She’s around this morning. I saw her earlier.” Sulerya paused. “You won’t mind if I don’t escort you this time?”

  “You’re worried about the Table grid?”

  “Most of the adjustments and compensations have to be made here or in Dereka. That’s the way the system was designed. I think we have it stabilized, but…”

  “Until you’re certain everything is stable, you don’t want to be far away,” Dainyl finished.

  She nodded.

  “I can find my way. I hope matters remain calm, though.”

  “So do I.”

  Dainyl nodded, turned, and made his way out through the doors, still unguarded, and up the staircase. The courtyard beyond was bathed in hazy morning light, and the heat was like a steamy shower. Even Dainyl blotted his forehead after a score of steps across the paved courtyard toward the small stone building that held Eighth Company headquarters.

  “Submarshal, sir! Welcome back to Lysia.” The duty officer was on his feet as soon as he saw Dainyl.

  “Is the captain in?”

  “Yes, sir. That way, sir. Second door.”

  “Thank you.” Dainyl had remembered, but appreciated the directions.

  Sevasya was standing beside her desk. A slow smile crossed her wide face. “Submarshal. Two visits in less than a season. What can we do for you?”

  Dainyl didn’t bother to close the door. Not yet.

  “I’m attempting to clarify some matters. You didn’t take over here until after Noryan was transferred to Alustre, did you?”

  “No. It was a year later.” The smile faded.

  “Is there anyone still here in the company who was? If there are, I’d like to speak to them.”

  “I think Undercaptain Juanyl was, but I’d have to check, and maybe Aisenyt. You know that Submarshal Alcyna has tended to require more rotation than in the west?”

  “I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that Eighth Company is more stable than the others.”

  “For the last five years or so, that’s true. If you’d like to follow me, sir.”

  Dainyl followed Sevasya down the corridor two doors to the small file room.

  “This will take a moment.” She opened the topmost of the second row of file cases, flipping through the jackets inside. “Date of service…arrival…”

  Dainyl smiled and waited.

  Less than a quarter glass later, the captain straightened and turned. “I was right. Juanyl was here then. So far as I can see, he’s the only one.”

  “Is he here this morning?”

  “Everyone is. We try not to fly on days that are this hot and damp, except very early in the morning, or just before sunset. His collateral duty is maintenance officer.” She replaced the dossier and closed the file box. “Do you want to talk to him now?”

  “That would be best.” Dainyl cleared his throat. “After Undercaptain Juanyl, I’d also like to talk to Undercaptain Sledaryk.”

  “He’s only been here a few weeks.”

  “I know. It’s about what happened in Dulka after I visited there. But, if we could see Juanyl first…”

  “This way.” Sevasya turned, and the two walked back down the corridor, out the rear doorway of the headquarters building, and across the courtyard. They found the undercaptain in a small room, looking at a set of plans. Juanyl was a midsized alector, a half head shorter than Dainyl. His skin wasn’t alabaster white, but bore a tinge of almond, perhaps because of the years of flying service.

  “Captain…Submarshal, sir. I was checking the drain plan
s. With last week’s rain, we had some problems…”

  “Juanyl, the submarshal would like a few words with you.” Sevasya looked to Dainyl.

  “There’s nothing secret about this, Captain. I’d hoped you’d stay.”

  She nodded.

  Dainyl turned to the older Myrmidon. “I’ve been trying to find Myrmidons who knew Majer Noryan before he went to Alustre. I know that was years ago…”

  “Twelve years, sir, to the season.”

  “What can you tell me about his early times in the Myrmidons?”

  “Well, sir…I can tell you this. I never thought he’d be more than a career ranker, sir. Maybe not even that. He was the company driver for three years. Good with horses, and shy with people. He was always nervous, and thin. Never said that much, and looked sort of strange if anyone told a joke, like he didn’t understand. Majer Alcyna, she was the one who said things would change, and I guess she was right.”

  “Were those her words?” asked Dainyl.

  “That was a long time back, sir, but as I recall, what she said was that times were changing and that even Noryan had a role to play. Sort of smiled when she said that.”

  Dainyl could imagine Alcyna saying that, especially if he happened to be right about what had happened and was continuing to happen. He could sense Sevasya stiffening inside her relaxed exterior.

  “Is there anything else you can remember? Did he have any special abilities?”

  “Except with the horses…and even the pteridons, I can’t say that he did. Often wondered if he felt more comfortable with them. I don’t think he ever risked either animal on anything. Don’t think he could have, but…that was then.”

  “Did he ever have any close friends here?”

  “No that I know. He was a translation orphan, fostered north of here. Wasn’t close to his foster parents, even though they schooled him. Both of them died in an accident of some sort, maybe six months after he went to Alustre. It could have been less.”

  “How well did he speak?”

  Juanyl chuckled. “Who would know? I never heard him say much more than ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘No, sir.’”