Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  51

  Early on Tridi morning, Mykel sat astride the roan, surveying the walls of the new compound, so far as they had progressed. Behind him, Fifteenth Company was re-forming, after having watered all the mounts from the new stone troughs outside the foundations of the stables that had yet to be built.

  The eastern side wall was complete except for the final capstone course. The western and the rear northern wall had but two or three courses of redstone above the level of the ground, and only the foundations were in place for the southern front wall and main gate. Within the uncompleted compound, the main barracks was the nearest to completion, with roofers setting the reddish gray tiles in place, although none of the interior walls had been completed beyond the main load-bearing beams and supports. He would have liked to have construction ongoing on a paved road to the high road as well, but that would have to wait. There were not enough stoneworkers nor enough stone coming from the quarry.

  Still, the compound construction was proceeding in a satisfactory manner, as was the training of the two new Cadmian companies. Both were working under the supervision of Rhystan and Bhoral at the moment, patrolling and drilling along the south high road that ran east to Syan.

  Mykel glanced westward. He had not slept all that well, with dreams about the ancient soarers, dreams where they were summoning him toward…something, but in those disturbing dreams he never quite got to the point where the soarers were.

  He was also not looking forward to investigating what Troral had reported. While he had thought over the possibilities for a better formation for a company under attack by the small pteridons, the problem was simple enough. He was the only one who seemed able to kill the creatures, and that was clearly a result of whatever talent he had. Yet, too tight a formation and any of the beasts would take out more than a single Cadmian if Mykel failed to stop them. Too loose a formation and Mykel would be less effective. It was also apparent that the creatures were not all that intelligent, or they would have determined that he was the only real threat.

  He turned his mount. “Undercaptain?”

  “Yes, sir. Fifteenth Company stands ready,” replied Fabrytal.

  “Let’s head out.”

  “Fifteenth Company! Forward!”

  Mykel and Fabrytal rode down the gentle slope at the head of the column, with scouts riding out more quickly to take station more than two hundred yards ahead of them. There were no flocks on the grasslands nearby, in part because some of those lands now belonged to the Cadmians—or more properly, to the Marshal of Myrmidons, with oversight by the commanding officer of the First Cadmian Regiment, Mounted Rifles.

  “You think we’ll find anything out there?” asked Fabrytal a quarter glass or so later, after they had turned north on the high road.

  “We’ll find something. I hope it’s traces of brigands or insurgents.”

  “Yes, sir. That makes two of us.”

  There was the slightest haze high in the sky, turning it more silvery, and the sun did not seem quite as intense as it had the past several days. On the other hand, the air was still, without the slightest hint of a breeze.

  Close to a glass later, Mykel reined up short of the two piles of red rocks that, if Troral’s directions had been correct, marked the stead. The lane beyond the rocks was not long, only a hundred yards. At the end of the lane was a small dwelling, no more than ten yards across the front and a third of that in depth. The roof was a patchwork of tiles of differing sizes and shapes, and the walls were of large mud bricks. The outbuildings were even more crudely constructed, windowless and with sections of roof tiles layered and pieced together along with odd-shaped wedges of roofing slate.

  No one was outside, and Mykel could sense nothing untoward, no auras that reminded him of the creatures. He studied the lane itself. There were hoofprints, more than a few, but certainly not a large force. He would have judged ten riders.

  “Sir…” offered Jasakyt, one of the scouts.

  “Yes?”

  “Those aren’t any hoofprints I’ve seen. All the shoes are alike, but they’re not Cadmian shoes. Ours have the twin diamonds.”

  Organized irregulars or insurgents? Mykel didn’t like that at all. “Anything else?”

  “Prints are pretty deep. Deeper ’n ours. Means that they’re carrying gear, or they got bigger mounts or heavier riders, or all three. Can’t tell much beyond that, except the prints are more ’n a day old.”

  “No newer prints?”

  “Just one or two, and the shoes are different.”

  “We might as well see if anyone’s here.”

  “Sir…best I send a scout in to see,” suggested Fabrytal.

  Mykel had to agree, if reluctantly. While he felt that Gerolt would not shoot, there was no sense in giving a spooked herder that chance. He nodded.

  The undercaptain turned in the saddle. “Dyrsak, Senglat…ride in and see if anyone’s there. Majer would like to talk to them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the two Cadmians rode up the lane, a lean man in brown sauntered out from one of the outbuildings. He stopped and waited for the riders to reach him.

  Mykel waited and watched until Senglat raised his hand and waved. “Wait here with the company,” he told Fabrytal. “I’ll ask about watering the mounts after I talk with him.” If need be, Mykel could insist, but he preferred to ask. He eased the roan forward, down the narrow lane toward the two Cadmians and Gerolt.

  As Troral had said, four blackened patches had seared the ground and structures, especially just beside the front door to the dwelling and at one corner of an outbuilding. The patches on the ground were long and thin, more like black streaks or lines. Mykel looked more closely at the outbuilding. In places, the surface of the mud bricks had turned shiny, almost glassy, and above that area the roof beams had burned through. A third of the roof had collapsed into the small building.

  Mykel reined up short of the man in brown. “I’m Majer Mykel. Troral asked us to come out.”

  “Gerolt.” The man’s face was weathered and lined, and streaks of gray ran through his long hair and short, but ragged beard. His heavily scuffed boots bore leather patches of a lighter shade.

  “Have you seen any sign of your sister or her husband?” asked Mykel.

  “No. Except he was running from something. His boot tracks were far apart. They ended just short of the goat barn there.”

  “Mind if I look.”

  “Help yourself.”

  Mykel rode slowly toward the building with the blackened corner and partly collapsed roof. As Gerolt had said, there were boot prints—and the prints ended in a larger black spot. Mykel had been afraid of that. He turned to Gerolt. “Troral said that not much was missing.”

  “Depends on what you mean. Maybe three, four goats and a lamb and ewe don’t sound like much to him. They were a lot to Sis.”

  “Have you seen anyone else?”

  “Haven’t seen anyone, except you. Did see something glowing over the hills to the southwest afore it got full dark last night,” Gerolt said slowly. “Thought it might have been fire. Went away too quick for that. Didn’t smell smoke. Wasn’t about to go looking.”

  “You haven’t seen any strange tracks?”

  “Told you. Haven’t seen nothing….”

  Mykel asked several more questions, but Gerolt could provide no other information, and Mykel had the strong feeling that the man was telling the truth.

  In the end, Mykel secured permission to water the mounts. After all the mounts were watered, Mykel and Fifteenth Company headed back southwest, in the general direction where Gerolt had said he’d seen the glow over the hills.

  “What do you think, sir?” asked Fabrytal, riding on Mykel’s right. “Could it be those flying things?”

  “It’s possible.” Mykel doubted it. The blackened spots left by the pteridon-like creatures had all been more oval or circular, and the fires hadn’t been hot enough to turn particles of sand into glass.

  “W
hat could it be?”

  Mykel shrugged. He had an idea, and he didn’t like it at all. “We’ll have to see.”

  Just past midday, Mykel called for a halt on a flat area to the north of the second line of hills to the southwest of the stead where he had talked to Gerolt. Beyond the first line of hills had only been a swale a vingt or so across filled with the sparse grass that was turning from the green of late spring to the gold of summer—before it dried completely in the arid heat of late summer and harvest. The second line of hills held scattered junipers and bushes and rose higher than the first. Beyond the junipers was another set of hills, rocky and more rugged, and those were close to where the regional alector’s compound was located, from what Mykel’s memory and maps indicated.

  Mykel had halted because men and mounts could use the rest. He would have liked water for the horses, but water wasn’t all that plentiful around Hyalt. He had also ordered a stop because he could sense a faint reddish purpleness beyond the juniper-scattered hilltop. That feeling was similar to what he associated with alectors—or at least what he had sensed aboard ship. Whether it was emanating from just over the hilltop or from the more distant regional alector’s compound he could not tell, but there was no reason not to look into it.

  “Undercaptain.”

  “Sir?”

  “Hold the company here. I’m going up the hill to check something. If you’d detail two men to accompany me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fabrytal’s crisp response disguised his puzzlement. “Jasakyt, Olfyn…forward!”

  Mykel concealed a smile. Fabrytal had picked Jasakyt because the scout had worked with Mykel before. Olfyn was far more fresh-faced, one of the latest replacements to Fifteenth Company before Third Battalion had left Elcien.

  “We’re going to ride up the hill. Olfyn, you’ll be stationed halfway up, and Jasakyt will take position just short of the top.”

  “Yes, sir,” murmured both rankers.

  Mykel eased the roan off the road and started across the grassland. From a distance, the ground appeared to be unbroken tan and green, but when Mykel glanced down, he could see patches of red-sandy soil between the clumps of grass.

  After they had covered a hundred yards and started up the gentle slope, Mykel glanced at the older scout, whose face bore a look of fatalistic resignation. “Jasakyt, why the long face?”

  “Just thinking, sir.”

  “Thinking that you don’t want this to be like Dramur?”

  “I’d hope not, sir.”

  Just past the midway point on the slope, Mykel turned to the younger Cadmian. “Olfyn, you hold here, right over by that tree.” He gestured to a juniper that was little taller than the head of a mounted Cadmian.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jasakyt and Mykel continued riding up the rise, avoiding the few rocks that protruded from the grass and sandy ground, and turning as necessary to avoid the scattered low brush and infrequent junipers. As they rode, Mykel could sense the growing strength of the purpleness on the far side of the hill.

  “Right here.” Mykel reined up beside another larger juniper, far enough below the hillcrest that he could not see over it—or that whoever or whatever was on the other side could not see him. He dismounted and handed the roan’s reins to Jasakyt, then took his rifle from its case.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but shouldn’t I…”

  “Not this time, Jasakyt. I hope I won’t be long.”

  As Mykel headed up the last part of the hill, he could hear the scout murmur, “…worse ’n Dramur, maybe.”

  As he neared the crest, he realized that he could have ridden farther, because the top was flat and extended another fifty yards before sloping down. While Mykel could see the top of the regional alector’s building and upper part of the structure carved out of the redstone cliff behind it, the width of the hill blocked his view of the nearer valley south of him. The feeling of purpleness had grown ever stronger, and he moved more deliberately, changing his approach to take advantage of the scrub and low junipers.

  When he finally reached the south side of the ridge, he settled behind the trunk of a juniper. For several moments, he just looked out. From what he could determine, at the base of the ridge was a group of men in shimmering silver uniforms, trimmed in black, with black trousers. They stood behind a cart that held a tripodal framework. Farther to the east, mounts were tethered to a line fastened between two junipers.

  A line of light flared from the tripod and struck the side of an embankment carved from the lower part of the hill by a stream in wetter times. Mykel squinted. He wasn’t certain if there happened to be a target set before the embankment. Were they firing the device at something or just calibrating it? And who were they?

  The feeling of the purpleness was overwhelming, but he needed to know more. If he scuttled away now, what could he say or report? That he thought he’d seen strange troopers with a strange weapon?

  He studied the hillside below, mentally charting a path that would bring him to a section of the lower ridge that overlooked the cart and tripod. Then, he slipped from behind the juniper and moved downhill and behind some brush, keeping low the entire time. From what he could tell, none of those below even looked up. From the brush he crept to behind another juniper, and then farther downhill behind more brush, all the time careful to keep his rifle from hitting the scattered clumps of grass or open stretches of sandy soil.

  Mykel paused to catch his breath. From where he was, a good hundred yards below where he had started, he had a better view of the troopers below. Both his feelings and his eyes confirmed that the uniformed figures were alectors, and at least one was a woman. There was not just one target, but a line of crude man-shaped figures set up before the sandy embankment with three blackened patches on the embankment behind where previous targets had stood. Purplish energy pulsed around the oblong shape at the top of the tripod, from which protruded a short crystalline barrel.

  SSSSS…. A line of blue fire seared across the brush above Mykel’s head.

  He flattened himself, trying to locate the source of the weapon that reminded him of the lightcutter sidearm used by Submarshal Dainyl. In instants, he could see a uniformed alector less than a hundred yards away, downhill and to his right. The alector stood beside a juniper, scarcely bothering to conceal himself.

  Another line of blue fire flared, this time almost singeing Mykel’s shoulder, so close that he could feel the heat.

  “Wild Talent! Or an ancient!”

  Mykel wasn’t about to have a bunch of strange alector troops after him or his company—not with those weapons. He lifted his rifle, turning and aiming for a head shot. He’d seen what happened when crossbow bolts and bullets struck the uniforms and shimmering clothes of alectors. He squeezed the trigger evenly, firmly, concentrating and willing the shot home.

  The alector dropped, his weapon tumbling from his hand.

  Several of the other uniformed alectors turned. Mykel moved sideways, still on his stomach, and brought his rifle to bear on the tripod, and once more aimed and fired, concentrating and willing the shot home, directing it at the source of the energy.

  Soundlessly, brilliant white light flared across the hillside, light so intense that Mykel was blind for several moments, and his eyes burned and watered. As his sight returned, first in sections, with gaps in his vision, he made out an area twenty yards across that had been seared black. The two remaining alector troopers were a pair who had been standing beside the horses, and they clutched at their faces. Of the others there was no sign at all.

  Keeping low, Mykel scrambled and scuttled back over the hillcrest. Once he was on the flat top of the ridge, he didn’t bother to crouch, but moved at a slow run toward the north side. Just before he reached the point where Jasakyt could see him, he slowed to a swift walk.

  “Sir! You all right?” called Jasakyt.

  “I’m fine.” Mykel’s eyes burned, and his vision was blurry, but he counted himself lucky at that. His fingers trembled sli
ghtly as he stopped to reload the rifle before he sheathed it, and he had to make an effort to mount.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, sir? What was that light?”

  “One of those strange creatures exploded,” Mykel replied. “Then some more did. It was bright enough that it was hard to see for a bit. For the time, though, we won’t have to worry about them.” What he said wasn’t a total lie. There had been strange creatures and an explosion, and they wouldn’t have to worry for now. What would happen later was another question, but he wasn’t about to explain exactly what happened, not until he had a chance to think things through. He settled himself in the saddle and turned the roan downslope.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir,” said Jasakyt once he had pulled his mount alongside Mykel’s, “I’m thinking this could be worse than Dramur.”

  “It could be, or it might not. We’ll still have to see.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jasakyt’s polite response carried a tone of great doubt.

  Mykel laughed. What else could he do? “You may be right, Jasakyt, but do they ever deploy us for something easy?”

  “No, sir. But sometimes you hope.”

  When they reached Olfyn, the younger scout looked to Jasakyt and then Mykel.

  “More of those creatures,” Mykel said. “We don’t have to worry for now.”

  The two scouts trailed Mykel, letting him get farther ahead, until Olfyn murmured to Jasakyt, “What…did he do?”

  “You don’t ask, and you don’t tell anyone…majer’s saved more asses by putting his on the line. Good commanders…hard to come by…”

  Mykel smiled ironically. Just how long could he keep that reputation? Especially with alectors in strange uniforms and strange weapons appearing? What was he supposed to do? Should he just ignore it? If he did, and the strange alector engineers or troopers were part of what had been reported as an insurgency, then not warning someone could mean a disastrous attack for which no one would be prepared, with huge losses. If that happened, not only would far too many Cadmians and others be killed, but his own future would be problematical, and that was if he even survived. Yet he couldn’t report too much to Colonel Herolt, and by the time the colonel relayed the report to the Marshal of Myrmidons…