He glanced back over his shoulder. There, in the western sky, less than a hundred yards behind the last squad of First Company, were three flying creatures. They were unlike anything he had ever seen—even those around the quarries or the miniature pteridons that had attacked Seventeenth Company earlier. Each had the snout of a miniature sandox, except with a silver-purple horn that gleamed in the sunlight, and a long and narrow body like that of a snake, but a snake with two sets of wings similar to those of the miniature pteridons.
“Company! Halt! To the rear! Full turn! Fire at will!” After the briefest hesitation, Mykel added, “In the sky above the road!”
“Company! Halt!” echoed the captain.
The winged snake-oxen dived toward First Company.
Although he hated firing over the company, Mykel aimed at the lead creature, concentrating on it, willing his shot home.
The creature exploded into a blue and purple fireball and tumbled from the sky into one of the thicker patches of grass on the south side of the road. Blush flames flared skyward, along with grayish smoke.
The rankers began to fire, if belatedly. Several shots struck the other creatures, seemingly without effect.
Concentrating on the second creature, Mykel fired, and it, too, dropped from the silver-green sky, striking the road within two or three yards of the rearguard that had become the vanguard with the company’s reversal of direction.
Mykel’s third shot was true enough, but the creature burst into bluish flame and pinwheeled sideways before bursting into the same bluish flame and slamming into the mount of a Cadmian ranker in fourth squad. Before either Mykel or Cismyr could issue an order, his mate tried to help the ranker from his doomed mount.
The two were far too slow, and both men—and both mounts—flared into intense oily bluish flame.
Mykel stood in the stirrups. “Keep clear of the blue flame! Keep clear of the blue flame.”
“Frigging creatures!” Cismyr swore under his breath.
Mykel rode back along the side of the narrow road, knowing there was little he could do, but also knowing that the men needed the gesture. As he rode, he reloaded, although his senses told him that there were no more creatures nearby.
The two officers reined up short of the burning pyre.
Mykel swallowed hard, trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat, forcing himself to get past the reaction from the odor of burning flesh. Several of the troopers had not been able to, and others looked yellowish green.
As before, not even ashes remained when the fires burned out, just black patches of ground where nothing grew—and where nothing would for some time, Mykel suspected.
“Sir?” asked Cismyr.
“There’s nothing we can do for them.” Should he finish the patrol? He couldn’t break off every patrol whenever the strange creatures appeared. In some ways, he regretted that he had with Seventeenth Company after the attack of miniature pteridons. That had been a bad example. “We have a patrol to finish.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain swallowed. “First Company! To the rear, full turn! Forward!”
The two officers rode on the shoulder past the rankers until they were once more at the head of the column, if behind the scouts. They rode silently for a good half glass. Mykel surveyed the grasslands, and the sky, but saw and sensed nothing—except a few scattered flocks of sheep and the small hamlet ahead.
“It was a good thing there were only three,” Cismyr finally said.
“Yes,” Mykel agreed. “Seventeenth Company faced something like half a score.”
“Half a score?”
Mykel nodded. “You can ask Undercaptain Loryalt about it when you get a chance.” He didn’t want to say much more, particularly since he had a very uneasy feeling about what had just happened.
The strange creatures at the quarry could be killed by anyone—provided enough bullets struck them. But only Mykel’s shots seemed to be able to bring down the flying monsters. Yet the ones that flew had only attacked companies Mykel had accompanied. At least, so far.
59
On Decdi, Mykel had given all the companies, with the exception of the duty squads and companies, a full stand-down day and town leave in Hyalt for those not on duty—and the admonition that anyone who abused that leave or caused trouble would answer to him personally. Outside of three rankers who passed out and missed muster on Londi and then had to be carted back, there were no reports of trouble. Mykel sent all three to the quarry to serve as laborers for the stone-cutters for a week.
Londi turned out much the same as any other day, if slightly cooler, because of heavy low clouds that promised rain…and did not provide any. The intermittent breezes swirled dust into the air everywhere, and at times, Mykel could only see a few vingts, even from the knoll-like mesa of the new compound.
Dyarth and Thirteenth Company had quarry duty—and reported no sign of any of the cat creatures, nor did any of the road patrols encounter either brigands or flying creatures. Troral sent a note to Mykel to inform him that the two hundred ten blankets for the Hyalt companies would be arriving on the Sexdi a week hence—well before the bunks and mattresses would be ready.
After returning to the old garrison with Fourteenth Company slightly before sunset, Mykel and his men ate local produce and mutton scarcely better than field rations. After supper, Mykel received evening reports.
Later, after drafting his own daily report, he inspected the garrison and the night guards two glasses after sunset, and then retired to his chamber. There, he pulled off his boots, but did not disrobe. Sitting on his bedroll, he leaned back against the rough-plastered bricks. When would his dispatch with the information about the strange alectors reach the submarshal? More important, what, if anything, would the submarshal do? And if the Myrmidons did nothing, what should Mykel do? What could he do? Just avoid the northwest close to the regional alector’s compound? But what if the regional alector requested his presence?
He’d been practicing trying to conceal his aura, but even with what he’d managed, he doubted that concealment would be that effective in close quarters.
A flash of amber-green appeared from somewhere. Danger…danger approaches…After those few words, any sense of the amber-green vanished.
Mykel bolted upright. That had been a clear message from the soarer, or one of them, but he had no sense of a continuing ancient presence, and that was as disturbing as the brief message itself. He pulled on his boots and then took out his rifle. After hesitating a moment, he pulled on the ammunition belt.
Then he slipped out of his doorless space and along the darkened inner wall of the garrison courtyard. The night was quiet, with only the sounds of various insects, and occasional low voices from the far side of the courtyard where several rankers crouched in the corner playing bones—the circle lit by the smallest of lamps. Even though gambling in quarters was technically forbidden, Mykel had allowed small games for low stakes by the simple expedient of showing up any time he sensed large wagers and confiscating the winnings. He’d turned the winnings over to Bhoral, who as battalion senior squad leader was effectively quartermaster as well, with instructions to use them for dried fruit and other items of which the troops seldom got as much as they would have liked.
Mykel paused. Somewhere on the slope to the northwest, he could sense two alectors. The pinkish-purple auras were unmistakable.
He crossed the courtyard, letting his boots sound on the stone. “It’s about time to turn in, I think.”
The light vanished, amid low mumbles.
“Just get a twin single…make the point…Majer shows up…”
“…don’t complain…could have taken the coins…sometimes he’s so quiet you don’t even hear him…”
“Yes, sir!” called out one of the Cadmian rankers.
Mykel couldn’t help smiling, but that lasted only a moment as he walked toward the small west gate. He needed to get outside the walls. It could be that the pair were only scouting, but he doubted
that, not with a warning from the soarer. Still…he wanted to see what they had in mind before he acted.
“Sir?” The gate guard was Saluft, from Sixteenth Company, as were all the guards that night, but Saluft was one of the few troopers from Soupat.
“I’m going out. Keep a sharp eye.” Mykel did his best to cloak his aura before he stepped through the brick archway that had once held an iron grate-gate.
“Yes, sir.”
As Mykel stood beside the brick wall on the west end of the garrison, from which all too much plaster had peeled away, from what he had earlier seen, the two alectors were still a good hundred yards away, moving slowly, but steadily, toward the garrison from the north. He slipped westward through the darkness.
“…something out here…” Low as they had been murmured, the words carried to Mykel. He couldn’t believe that the two were talking, even in whispers.
“…rather take out the whole garrison…”
“…can’t do that…just find the one. A few others won’t matter…but not any more…”
Mykel kept moving until he was actually to the southwest of the pair and close to some of the jumbled boulders near the hill crest. Then he released the aura shield.
“…there he goes! Must have sensed us…”
The pair turned back westward, moving up the slope.
Mykel dropped behind a large boulder and rebuilt the shield, such as it was.
“Where did he go?”
“He must be somewhere here, hiding behind something.”
Holding his rifle, Mykel held the shields, waiting, wanting them to get a little closer.
“…know a little something, like the last one, and they get cocky…think they’re better than they are…”
“…just better steers…There!”
Mykel ducked, just before brilliant blue light slammed into the stone above him. His back was sprayed with a rain of fire that burned through his tunic. For a moment, he just froze, before forcing himself into a firing position, aiming, and concentrating, willing the two shots home—as head shots.
A flare of blue so quick that it couldn’t have been seen unless he’d been looking was the only response, but the pinkish-purple auras faded…and then vanished.
Lines of fire cascaded down Mykel’s back as he straightened and began to walk toward where the two alectors had been.
“Majer! Sir? Are you all right?”
“Just hold your post, Saluft,” Mykel called back. Even speaking was an effort. He kept walking. Although he was convinced that the pair of strange alectors were dead, he still could sense something remaining.
To cross the fifty yards between the melted rock and the dead alectors felt like it took a good glass, although it was probably only a fraction of that. In the darkness, despite his night vision…he could see nothing except two piles of clothes, and a pair of weapons that looked similar to the lightcutter that Submarshal Dainyl had used on Majer Vaclyn.
The uniforms were the source of the faint aura. Mykel squatted. He had the feeling that bending would intensify the pain in his back. A shock ran through his fingers as he picked up the black tunic that shimmered with its own light in the dark. The material was like the dagger of the ancients—imbued with life, although it felt as if it had been dipped or twisted through pinkish-purple. Was that why knives and bullets didn’t penetrate their uniforms?
His back felt like it had been flayed, but he forced himself to fold the uniforms into a bulky bundle, with the lightcutters inside. He slipped the bundle inside the front of his tunic, wincing as the fabric of his tunic tightened across his back.
That left boots and belts.
“Sir?”
“I’ll be back in a moment, Saluft.”
Mykel picked up one pair of boots and carried them far enough toward the rocks that he could throw them—underhanded—into the jumble of stones. He repeated the process with the second pair, and then with the belts.
By then his back was an even greater mass of fire.
He turned and trudged toward the west gate.
“Sir,” offered the sentry as Mykel approached, “There was a blue flash. What was it?”
“Lightning, I think.” Mykel had to force the words out. “It melted some of the rocks and burned me…my back.” He held the rifle before him to conceal the bulges in the front of his tunic.
Saluft stepped back, and Mykel made his way through the archway.
He was halfway across the courtyard when Rhystan appeared.
“Majer? The sentries alerted me…”
“I heard something…think I got my back burned with lightning…melted some rock there. I’ll need someone to dress my back. If you would have them come to my quarters…”
“Lightning…it is cloudy, but I thought I heard shots, not thunder.”
“Saluft saw the flash,” Mykel said. “The sounds you heard must have been the crack of the lightning.”
“I’ll get Systryn. He’s as good as we’ve got. I’ll be right back.”
Mykel forced himself to his small space, where he knelt and managed to get the uniforms and the lightcutters hidden under his bedroll. He managed to get the ammunition belt off, but couldn’t lift his arms quite high enough to strip off his tunic. So he lit the small lamp and waited.
The two arrived within moments.
“I’m going to need some help getting the tunic off.”
Mykel almost passed out as Rhystan and Systryn peeled off the tunic.
“You’d better sit down, sir,” suggested Rhystan.
Mykel knelt on the bedroll. Sitting cross-legged would have just added to his discomfort.
“There are lumps of stone here, sir,” offered the ranker. “They’re…melted…and part of the uniform is charred. There’s only one deep burn, though.”
“Just clean things up and dress the wounds,” Mykel said dryly.
The cleaning and dressing took more than half a glass, and was one of the less pleasant experiences Mykel had undergone—if not nearly so bad as being shot and nearly dying in Dramur.
Rhystan said nothing until Systryn had left. Then he looked at Mykel. “I thought you weren’t going to scout things out by yourself.”
“I didn’t think getting some air was scouting. I had my rifle.”
“Mykel…can you tell me what is really going on? Sir?”
Could he? What could he tell Rhystan? Finally, he cleared his throat. “You know the strange creatures?”
“I think we’re all familiar with them, sir.”
“There are other creatures like them, and some of them look like men from a distance. I haven’t wanted to say much because the last thing I want is for the men to be shooting at anything that looks like a man. That’s all we’d need here. I have to wonder if something like that was what got the garrison here. That’s why I’ve ordered so many sentries at night.”
“What does that have to do with your back?”
“I wish I could tell you. All I know was that I had the feeling that something might be outside. I went out to see, and there was a flash of light, as bright as lightning, and the rock beside me melted.”
“Is that the official explanation?”
“It’s also the only explanation so far,” Mykel replied with an ironic laugh.
Rhystan shook his head. “Only you, sir. You start out your career by getting shot in the ass, then get knifed by your own commander, and burned by lightning outside your own garrison. I’m not so certain that it’s not safer for you to be in real combat.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
“Get some sleep, sir, if you can.” Rhystan stepped back, offered a concerned smile, and then departed.
As Mykel lay face down on his bedroll, too tired to move, and in too much pain to sleep, he thought over the situation. He had no illusions about what had happened. Rhystan knew that more was involved, but he’d make sure everyone knew the “official” version. If someone found the boots and belts…if it happened to be scroungers from the
town, no one would even connect the incidents. If some ranker did, the odds were that he’d try to sell them in town and make a few coppers and keep it quiet. There might be barracks talk, but there was always barracks talk.
That was the least of Mykel’s problems. He could only hope that it wouldn’t be too long before the submarshal got his message and did something. Then, despite what the soarer had said, Mykel didn’t believe that all alectors were out against him and the Cadmians, but most of them might well be out after him if they discovered he had the same kind of talent as the alectors did.
He just didn’t know what more he could do not to be discovered, short of deserting, and, if he did that, what protection would his men have if more of the flying creatures appeared? Deserting would also have everyone looking for him, including the Myrmidons, and trying to escape from pteridons wasn’t exactly recommended. Still…he’d best be ready to leave at a moment’s notice if it looked like there was no other option. But he didn’t like the idea.
60
Mykel forced himself to get up at his normal time. Getting his undertunic and tunic on was almost impossible, but he managed, although he had to blot his forehead when he finished. He had just about finished his breakfast of too-dry mutton and eggs that were brown from overcooking when Rhystan appeared.
“Majer, sir…how are you feeling this morning?”
“Sore and stiff, Rhystan, but better than last night.” Actually, Mykel wasn’t sure that he was. While his back didn’t feel like a fiery mass of pain, it throbbed, and he had not slept well at all.
“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking a short walk with me, sir. I was up earlier, and I discovered a few things….”
Mykel managed a polite smile. He had no doubts what Rhystan had discovered. “Then we should take a walk, while it’s still early and cool. Up the slope, you think?”
“That might be best, sir.” Rhystan’s voice was cool, cold even.
The two officers walked across the courtyard and then out through the west gate. The sentry, whose name Mykel didn’t recall immediately, stepped back wordlessly. Mykel let Rhystan lead the way up the gentle slope.
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