Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Four battalions…twenty companies…”

  “And there are four battalions out of Alustre alone. We’re training two more companies here, and Majer Dohark is building up to a battalion in Dramur.”

  Culeyt nodded slowly. “You’re saying that they only handle the worst of things because they have so much to cover.”

  “I’m just guessing, but nothing else makes much sense.”

  “They travel faster than a mount.”

  “That’s true, but it takes two days for one of their pteridons to fly from Elcien to Dramur. That would mean that it would take a full day to fly here from Elcien and almost that from Ludar. And they use them for urgent dispatches as well.”

  Culeyt laughed. “So…it’s the same as always. We get left scraping out the barrel with a short spoon.”

  “Pretty much,” returned Mykel.

  “Why did you join the Cadmians, sir, if I might ask?”

  “I didn’t want to be a tiler or a crafter, and my hands don’t work that way. I’m not smart enough to be an engineer, and the idea of grubbing coins in trade didn’t appeal much either. I couldn’t see spending my whole life in Faitel. What else was there?”

  “Think you would have done it different if you knew what you know now?”

  Mykel laughed. “That’s a fool’s question, Captain. We don’t get that choice. Anyway, all of us could learn from our mistakes, but who’s to say that we just wouldn’t make different ones?” There were so many decisions he’d made that had been unwise, yet would he have learned what he had if he’d always made the “prudent” decision? And even when he had made the “prudent” decision, as in the case of finding Rachyla with a rifle in her cart, that prudence had gotten him into more difficulties than imprudence ever would have.

  “There is that, sir.”

  Mykel just nodded. A man—particularly a Cadmian officer—could go crazy second-guessing himself. He looked ahead toward the walls of the new compound, rising from the flat knoll just ahead. As the roan carried him up the gentle south slope to the front gate area—where the gates had yet to be installed—he could see that the stable walls were nearly complete, and that another group of crafters was beginning to hoist the roof timbers into place on the end of the building where the walls had been completed.

  “Captain…I’m going to check on the crafters. Send a messenger to report to me when you’ve relieved Thirteenth Company.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mykel rode through the unfinished gates, surveying the compound. While the building work was progressing, the ground inside the walls was a churned and rutted mess. An area against the western well less than twenty yards square was all that had been paved. Rather than dismount, he had his mount pick his way across and around the piles of building stone and the stacks of timbers that were set, seemingly at random, throughout the unpaved courtyard.

  Styndal stood just to the west of the unfinished south doorway to the stables, talking to several men.

  Mykel reined up and waited.

  Styndal finally finished and then turned. “Morning, Majer. What can I do for you?”

  Mykel gestured toward the rutted ground. “How long before you finish the stable? I thought you said you could pave some of the courtyard as you went. I checked with Poeldyn. He said there was enough of the stone for paving…”

  “There is indeed, Majer.” Styndal gestured to his right. “It’s stacked there in the northwest corner. What we don’t have are the wagons to bring in the gravel and crushed rock to go under it. The ground here was pasture. Seems hard enough, but even a little water and it turns to a squishy clay. Can’t set stone on that.”

  Mykel nodded. It was just as he’d suspected and feared. “You can only do what you can do. How long before you can get gravel and rock?”

  “We can get some more in two-three days. The teamsters can haul more of the dressed stone than Poeldyn’s stone-workers can cut and dress. So we’ve been alternating.”

  “And the stables?”

  “A week, maybe two. That’s for the building and roof. Stalls and doors and inside walls, three weeks after that. Could be longer.”

  From what Mykel could tell, he wasn’t about to have the compound anywhere close to being finished until late harvest, maybe even midfall after that—or early winter if things went really wrong. No matter what he had planned, something was missing or overlooked or scarce…or took more time.

  “Be a lot longer, Majer, except that times aren’t that good in Hyalt.”

  “The flocks and herds look healthy enough,” ventured Mykel.

  “The herders are losing more animals than they usually do, and it’s drier. Doesn’t count the ones that get carried off by poachers and…other things.”

  “Strange creatures?”

  “Who knows? I’d be thinking it’s poachers, myself, but there aren’t any signs of brigands, and no more dried mutton and beef is showing up in the markets in the cities of the square, and none here. If more were, prices’d be coming down, and not going up. Can’t see where the meat would be going.”

  Mykel nodded. He had an idea where it was going—the same place where the missing horses had gone. That suggested even more that the regional alector was doing something that wasn’t approved by the Marshal of Myrmidons—or by the Duarches. “You can only do what you can, but the sooner the compound is finished, and operating, the happier everyone is likely to be.” He grinned. “I know. There won’t be as many coins for building, but there will be two companies here, instead of one, and that will help everyone.”

  “I can see that, Majer.” Styndal glanced toward the far end of the stable. “If you don’t need me further…”

  “The stable comes first.” Mykel gestured to suggest the craftmaster get on with what had caught his eye.

  Styndal turned, took several steps, and bellowed, “Set it down! Now! The far edge is almost off the stone!”

  Mykel watched as the triangular frame of timbers was lowered gently back down and as Styndal cornered the crane foreman.

  “…do that again, and you’ll be lucky to be gathering gravel in the quarry…”

  The majer hid a wry smile. It didn’t seem to matter. There was always someone cutting corners. He guided the roan toward the small paved area of the compound, then reined up short. From his closer vantage point, he could see where the ground had been dug away at the edges and where a crushed rock base had been placed, filled with sand and finer gravel, and then tamped down.

  The sound of a wagon rose above the sounds of construction. Mykel turned his mount and rode toward the south gate. He waited for Troral to reach him.

  “Majer,” began Troral, once the factor had halted his cart. “I thought I’d find you out here. I got word that your blankets’ll be here next week.”

  “You’ll have to hold them until the barracks are ready,” Mykel replied.

  “I’ll have to pay the factors in Dekhron,” Troral said, “or send them back.”

  Mykel refrained from sighing. “I told you that we couldn’t use them until the barracks were ready.”

  “I couldn’t guarantee delivery without a firm date before harvest. I told you that.”

  “Half when they get here, half when the barracks are done.”

  “You’re a hard man, Majer.”

  “You’re a far better factor than I am, Troral.” Mykel laughed. “I’m living in a single room without windows or doors, and you’ve got a far nicer place, I’d say.”

  “Six parts out of ten,” pressed the factor.

  “I can only draw so much. You know that. If I can’t draw enough to keep construction going, it will be even longer before I’ll need the blankets—and you’ll lose on that end.”

  “Then I will have to trust to your good faith, Majer.” The factor offered a doleful smile.

  “We both do what we can.”

  “That would be true.” Troral stepped away from the cart and extended a heavy parchment envelope to Mykel. “You have acquai
ntances in high places, it seems.”

  Mykel tried not to frown as he leaned forward and took the envelope. The heavy paper—or parchment—was stiff in his fingers. The outer envelope bore an ornate seal above the name: Seltyr Elbaryk.

  Mykel felt a cold chill, despite the warmth of the morning. Why would the seltyr be sending him a message? Had something happened to Rachyla? Or was she being married off to someone somewhere to get her out of the way?

  “Majer…are you one…?” Troral broke off the words abruptly.

  Mykel understood. At times, the younger sons of those with wealth were sent to the Cadmians—but generally to a company on the far side of Corus from their family. “No. I’m not, but I’ve had some dealings with the seltyr’s family.” Not all of them pleasant.

  Troral eyed Mykel speculatively.

  “And not in the matter of coins, Factor Troral.”

  Troral looked away, but did not move.

  The second envelope held his name and assignment: Majer Mykel, Commanding, Third Battalion, Cadmian Mounted Rifles.

  The outside of the third envelope was blank. Mykel opened it.

  This is to inform you that Rachyla, a favored cousin of the Seltyr Elbaryk, and Herisha, the highly honored sister of her mother, will be serving as in Tempre as the seltyr’s resident chatelaines for Herisha’s nephew Amaryk. Amaryk is the seltyr’s factoring representative in Tempre for the family’s new factorage there….

  There was no signature, but the handwriting was elegant. It was Rachyla’s.

  The announcement was a message. There was no doubt of that, or of the less than veiled sarcasm in the wording. Mykel wasn’t quite sure what that message might be. Was it merely an announcement? A veiled suggestion that he might be welcome to call on her in Tempre? The last time they had talked, in Southgate, her tone had been anything but encouraging.

  “How did this come to you?” Mykel asked.

  “With the post and the messages from other factors.”

  Rachyla doubtless had slipped the missive in with other announcements—or Herisha had. The impersonal nature of the words suggested that she was not sure it would not be found or read by others, although Mykel had the sense that the seal had not been broken or altered when he had received it.

  “Seltyr Elbaryk is a powerful factor, Majer,” Troral announced.

  “I discovered that in Southgate, Troral. His palace is rather…impressive.” Mykel offered a smile. “Thank you for delivering the message. Do I owe you for it?”

  “Ah…”

  “A half silver?”

  “That’s usual,” admitted the factor.

  Mykel sensed the reluctant honesty. He fished out the coin and extended it.

  “Thank you.” Troral inclined his head. “I need to see Styndal as well.”

  Mykel moved the road into the shadow on the west end of the newly completed wall. There he read the short announcement again. The words meant little more than they had the first time. He remained in the saddle, still thinking about why Rachyla had sent such a message.

  Less than a tenth of a glass passed before the sound of hoofs distracted him. A Cadmian in uniform was riding quickly up the slope, moving at a quick trot.

  “Majer! Sir!” The rider reined up less than two yards from Mykel.

  “What is it?”

  “Undercaptain Loryalt, sir, thought you might like to know…” The Cadmian paused to cough and clear his throat. “One of the men off-duty, he got into real trouble in Hyalt.”

  Sacyrt, Mykel thought, but he refrained from asking. “What sort of trouble?”

  “He took a fancy to a tavern wench last night and made off with her. Her man discovered it and went after him. He killed him.”

  “Who killed whom?” asked Mykel.

  “Oh, it was Sacyrt, and he killed the local. Took half the duty squad to bring him back. He broke Siliast’s arm.”

  “Wait here for me. I’ll be right back.”

  Mykel found Troral and Styndal next to the north wall. He thought they were arguing, but both stopped and turned as he rode up.

  Mykel reined up and addressed Troral. “We have a problem. I wanted to inform you, as head of the council, that one of my rankers apparently murdered a man in Hyalt. I’m returning to find out what happened. We will be conducting a court-martial, probably tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Majer…told you that you brought too many men.”

  “That wasn’t my decision, Factor Troral. I have to follow my orders. If my man is guilty, he will pay, and there will be recompense.” Mykel’s words came out like ice. “I wanted you to hear it from me, and to know that I do not take this lightly.”

  “I thank you, Majer.” Troral’s words were as cold as Mykel’s.

  Mykel turned the roan.

  “…told him, I did…” That was Troral.

  “You heard him. Majer has to follow orders. You hear the way he talked? That fellow’s guilty…wouldn’t want to be in his boots…”

  “Maybe not…shouldn’t have been here. Didn’t need all those Cadmians…”

  Mykel kept riding toward the north gate. He needed to tell Culeyt before he headed back to Hyalt. As he rode toward the captain, Mykel reflected that it was too bad Sacyrt couldn’t have been one of those killed when the miniature pteridons had attacked Seventeenth Company, but it seemed like that sort of thing never happened to the troublemakers. Mykel kept a wry grin to himself—Majer Vaclyn had doubtless thought the same about Mykel. Sometimes, it was all a matter of viewpoint.

  Early as the day was, he wasn’t looking forward to what he had to do—and he had more than a season left before the compound would be completed, and who knew what troubles would come of the strange creatures and alectors?

  65

  The Fifth Myrmidon Company flew almost due west from Dereka following the pass created by the ancient high road that eventually led to Dekhron. Dainyl called a halt at midmorning, when he sighted the small lake in the hills to the west of the more rugged slopes, an oval of gray-blue, with a long flat stone ridge on its west side, the natural dam that had created the lake. Between the ridge and the meadow to the southwest, there was enough flat space for the full company, although the wildflowers and grass would take some punishment from so many pteridons and Myrmidons.

  Once the company was down, Dainyl drew Fhentyl aside.

  “Captain, Fifth Company has been chosen for a difficult task.”

  “I had that idea, sir.”

  “The regional alector in Hyalt has been building a force of renegade alectors, and some are armed with skylances powered, not by pteridons, but by special carts.”

  “There have been rumors…but those were about the east…”

  “There seems to be a connection,” Dainyl admitted. “In any event, we’ll be setting down tonight about twenty vingts north of Hyalt. There’s a way station there. Tomorrow morning, I’ll need two pteridons to fly to Hyalt early to meet with the Cadmian majer there. On my return, first squad will accompany me to the regional alector’s compound, as if on a normal inspection. The remainder of the company will follow, with a separation of several vingts, flying as low as possible to remain out of sight.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll have to see. There are several possibilities. First, they could attempt to attack the pteridons. Or they could attempt to invite me in for some treachery. Or they could hole up in their redoubt.”

  “Redoubt?” questioned the Myrmidon captain.

  “Much of the regional alector’s space is actually carved into a mountainside. I believe it is one of the earlier Table locations. That may be why the rebels picked this locale.”

  “You don’t expect them to surrender?”

  “That is rather unlikely. The kind of weaponry that they have developed is forbidden. The creation of an additional armed force without the permission of the duarches is a crime against them and the Archon. Most likely, they will refuse us entry, or seem to grant it and then attempt some form of tre
achery. If that is the case, then you and three squads of Fifth Company, as well as part of the Cadmian Battalion, will have to contain them while I undertake other actions.”

  Fhentyl nodded, less than happily.

  “Also, the renegades will likely be wearing uniforms of silver and black.”

  “Like those in the east?”

  “The colors are the same. I don’t know about the design. Now…if those weapons are brought out, your Myrmidons will need to aim at the carts. That’s where the power supplies are. We’ll go over all of this tonight, and again tomorrow, after I meet with the Cadmian majer.” Dainyl paused, then gestured. “If you’d gather the officers, Fhentyl.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Fhentyl hurried off, Dainyl considered what he had said. Too little information, and subordinates didn’t know enough to act effectively. Too much, and most were confused. Deciding how much was always the problem.

  Within moments, Fhentyl returned with the undercaptains.

  “Captain…Undercaptains,” Dainyl began, “we’re headed for an operation in Hyalt. We’ll be stopping short of Hyalt tonight. There appears to be a group of rebel alectors who have taken over the regional alector’s headquarters in Hyalt, and we will have to handle this with both force and delicacy. We don’t believe that they’re aware that we yet know the situation, but if we appear in force, that will certainly show that. That’s why we won’t fly all the way to Hyalt today, and why we will have a two-part plan tomorrow.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I’ll brief you in more detail tonight, but I wanted to let you know what you’re facing.” He smiled, wryly. “Especially since I promised to tell you at the first stop after leaving Dereka. As soon as you tell your squads, we’ll be lifting off again.”