Where the soarer had been clearer, in a way, was when she “spoke” of the web. That web had to be the web of all living things. He concentrated on what his own lifethread/lifecord had been. This time, he could indeed sense it, arching from him into the distance. Yet the soarer had been linked to the darkness below.
Mykel considered. Should he? He did not want to sever his cord. That was death. Even without any warning from the soarer, he knew that. How could he link to the blackness beneath? An additional thread? He began to visualize a new thread, an additional lifethread, growing from him, seeking nourishment from the darkness beneath.
The stars above spun around him, and Asterta seemed to smile coldly down upon him, mockingly—or was it another soarer? His legs trembled, and he put his head down to keep from passing out. The dizziness passed, and he raised his head.
Was it lighter? Had he been unconscious for glasses, until just before dawn? He glanced up to find Asterta, looking more into the western sky, but the moon of the warrior goddess had not moved from the zenith. He looked toward the garrison, making out the sentry, obviously squinting into the darkness in Mykel’s direction.
Good as Mykel’s night vision had been before, now, in the deepness of night, he was seeing as if he looked through the earliest of twilight, or even a cloudy afternoon. When he had first begun to uncover his talents, his night vision had improved markedly, but it had still been night vision. He paused. Was he really “seeing” now? It was more a combination of vision and sensing the lifeforces of everything around him.
He almost dared not to look, but he forced himself to sense his own lifethread.
It was a deeper green, and it no longer arced into the sky, but ran to the blackness beneath the hillside.
Mykel shivered, although the night was far from cold. Slowly, he stood. He replaced the dagger of the ancients in its sheath and then the dagger and sheathe in the hidden belt slot. Then he reached out and lifted the rifle off the stone.
For the moment, he did not wish to think too deeply about what had happened, and what he thought he had done. Instead, as he walked back toward the compound, he reflected on what else he had learned. Rachyla had been right. The alectors did not belong. But how had she and the seltyrs known? Because her grandsire had learned what Mykel was learning and had given away the dagger—the talisman—when he no longer needed it? Or had he given it away in frustration?
The soarer had been clear enough. The alectors were fleeing and had been fleeing a world that was dying, and they and the soarers were enemies. The soarer had not said that Mykel was the enemy—or friend—of either, but that the alectors would destroy him, and Rachyla had said that as well. Yet Submarshal Dainyl had saved him twice. Why? Because he was a useful tool against the rebels? How long could Mykel trust the submarshal?
What could he do to protect himself?
He had just reached the garrison wall when he realized that his back no longer pained him.
72
Dainyl slept less than well, and not because of the way-station pallets, or the field rations, or even the lack of privacy. Twice during the evening he had sensed flashes of green Talent, but so momentary that he had no idea as to their source. The majer? Or one of the ancients? In addition to that concern, he worried about what he had planned. He also worried about what might be happening with Shastylt and Zelyert in his absence, neither of whom he trusted fully. Yet he could see no other real alternatives, not ones without even more dire repercussions.
He was up at dawn on Quinti, checking the pteridon he had acquired and getting reports from the individual members of the squads that had patrolled the area around the regional alector’s compound during the night. None had seen any visible activity.
Then he gathered Fhentyl and the undercaptains—except for Undercaptain Jirana, who was flying in command of fourth squad.
“The rebels are going to try to wait us out. For the next few days, we’ll make occasional passes over the building and the entrance to the cavern tunnels and chambers. That is only after the squad leader assesses the situation. When those passes are made, each Myrmidon is to fire at one of the slits—or openings.”
Fhentyl raised his thin black eyebrows.
“First, it will keep them from stationing those lightcannon directly behind the slits. Second, eventually we’ll melt the openings shut.”
“But…they still have a Table there,” Fhentyl observed.
“That’s true,” Dainyl agreed, “but it limits their ability to use those lightcannon against us. I’ll be here for the next few days to establish what we need to do, but it’s important that you keep up those efforts while I deal with Tempre.”
Fhentyl nodded slowly. “What if…others…come from the east?”
“The closest Myrmidon company from the east is in Dulka. With the terrain, they cannot reach here in less than three days, and that would be if they lifted off this morning. I don’t see that happening. Those inside the compound can’t do that much, even with a Table. Not that many alectors can use a Table on a continuing basis.”
“Sir…alectors against alectors? I had never thought to see this.” Fhentyl shut his mouth quickly, as if he’d regretted the words before he had finished uttering them.
“Most of the rebels are dissidents from Ifryn. They’ve taken Hyalt because it’s isolated. How they got here, no one seems to know, but how it occurred isn’t our problem. Keeping the situation from getting out of hand is. If we don’t stop them, they’ll build more of those lightcannon. That will put a greater strain on the world’s lifeforce, not that they seem to care, and we’ll face a longer and harder struggle.” Not that we won’t anyway.
Dainyl also chose not to mention that at least the main door to the outbuilding had been armored with lifeforce. Were the lightcannon and such defensive measures as the door a symptom of why lifeforce growth was slow on Acorus? More likely it was appearing that lifeforce growth hadn’t been that slow, but that some of that growth had been bled off and diverted—and most likely in more places than Hyalt. Who knew or suspected such, and why weren’t they saying anything?
“How could they get away with that?” asked Undercaptain Hyksant.
“If someone bribes a corrupt recorder on Ifryn, and an alector vanishes from Illustra, is anyone there going to try a long translation to Acorus to report it or track the malefactor down? Ifryn won’t last that many more years.” Dainyl could say that, so long as he didn’t mention just how critical the lifeforce diminution was on Ifryn. “It’s a hope for those who fear that they won’t be granted a chance—or those who think they’ll have a much better chance by trying a long translation early. They can claim that they want to help somewhere, and if they believe that, seldom will a recorder go beyond that incomplete truth—not given the dangers with making a long translation. We have few enough alectors here that there’s always some job to be done.”
“But how…”
Dainyl didn’t see who offered the sotto voce comment. “From our point of view, that doesn’t matter. Our problem is simple. We have a rebel group that is clearly bent on squandering lifeforce. We have to stop them before it gets worse.” After the briefest of pauses, he added, “For the next few days, I’ll be flying with first squad.”
“Sir?” asked Fhentyl, his tone somewhere between quizzical and aghast.
“If I don’t, that will put extra work on the others. Besides, I can’t do anything up north until the Cadmians reach Tempre. Also, I need to see exactly what’s happening. I’d be out there as a passenger if I weren’t flying.”
“Yes, sir.” Fhentyl’s voice was glum.
“Try not to worry about it,” Dainyl said, although he realized that no company commander could avoid worrying about his superior being exposed to fire. “It’s my decision, and you can’t do anything about it.”
“I’d rather not have to explain that, sir.” Fhentyl’s tone was almost doleful.
Dainyl laughed, then turned to Hyksant. “I apologize, Undercapta
in, but I will take command of first squad for the interim.”
“Yes, sir.” Hyksant sounded far less unhappy than Fhentyl had.
Less than a glass later, Dainyl led first squad west-southwest toward the regional alector’s compound, early enough in the morning that the low-flying pteridons cast long shadows, often against west-facing shaded slopes. As first squad neared the compound, fourth squad turned from its circular patrol pattern and banked back toward the way-station base.
Dainyl made a complete circuit of the area, then reversed his path, heading to fly wing on Hyksant.
“I’m going in closer. Watch and offer cover if anyone fires.”
“Yes, sir!” the undercaptain called back.
Dainyl decided on a flight path that would offer minimal exposure. By coming over the low mountains to the northwest, barely above the tops of the scattered junipers, and then turning south, he could get a view of any defenses hidden in the rocks, as well as the back side of the single stone structure. The one clear advantage offered by the skylances over the lightcannon was afforded by the pteridons themselves, who functioned not only as flight platforms, but as lifeforce conduits that recharged the lances almost instantaneously. Since both the skylances and the lightcannon had to be based on the same mechanisms, they both required sunlight for continued operation, although they were probably good for a handful of discharges in darkness.
The difference between the weapons meant, Dainyl hoped, that during the day the lightcannon could not be used as often as the skylances, particularly if the compound remained largely sealed behind stone. For that reason, among others, he wanted to make a flight pass over the area before too much full sunlight fell on the compound.
Down…down and right…into the turn…lower…just above the trees. Now! Hard right and due south!
Holding his skylance at the ready, Dainyl drew on what lifeforce he could, and strengthened his personal shields just before he swept over the last of the trees and into the open air just above the cliffs. As he had suspected, a lightcannon had been set up amid the rocks to the north of the complex under the mountain. Two alectors turned, trying to swivel their weapon to bring it to bear on him.
He triggered his lance. The blue-white flame flashed true toward the lightcannon.
A wave of white energy flared skyward, but Dainyl and his pteridon had already passed over where the lightcannon had been.
Suddenly, light blazed around him, so much that he could not see or sense, and his shields barely held.
Up…left…tight turn…
The angle of the turn carried Dainyl and his pteridon far enough west that the higher and rocky sections of the cliffs blocked the second blast from the lightcannon. Still, he was shaking from the effort of holding lifeforce shields, and he let the pteridon continue a gentle climb westward, releasing his shields and trying to recover some strength. A few moments more under attack, and he and probably the pteridon would have been dust sifting down through the hazy afternoon sky.
He glanced back, noting that the remaining circling pteridons of first squad had returned fire. He squinted. One pteridon was circling higher, grasping a skylance in one claw. The pteridon was flyerless.
Dainyl needed to make another attack, for the simple reason that he was one of the few Myrmidons with personal shields strong enough even to get close to the lightcannon near the clifftop. From what he’d sensed, it was far more powerful than the others, and he didn’t want any more casualties among the Myrmidons than necessary.
To make another attack run, he needed even less exposure, and to fire his skylance first. From what he could tell, the weapon was mounted directly above the cliffside entrance, concealed somewhere in the redstone boulders. He had concentrated on the first site he had seen, and he should have been looking farther ahead. That had been stupid.
Then again, when had any Myrmidons fought against lightcannon? He shook his head, both at his stupidity, and to clear his eyes.
Right…and lower…
The pteridon made a descending right-hand turn, and Dainyl straightened on a course fixed directly on the occasional light blasts that flashed skyward from the top of the cliff section of the compound. He edged his course line slightly right, so that he would clear the edge of the cliff just slightly to the south of where the lightcannon was positioned.
Lower…barely above the trees…just past the edge and hard left.
Dainyl had the skylance ready once more. He triggered it as the pteridon dived clear of the rocky ledge, adjusting his aim toward the concentration of energy that marked the lightcannon hidden behind an aperture a yard wide.
The skylance beam slashed into the half-hidden weapon.
Hard left…up…just above the trees.
Stones and stone fragments exploded skyward, and more stones and boulders cascaded down from the cliff.
Despite the cool air flowing past him, Dainyl was damp all over. Inside his flying gloves, his hands were wet. He replaced the skylance in its sheath for a moment, and allowed himself a brief moment to stretch slightly while the pteridon began a climbing right-hand turn skyward. Then he lifted one hand and then the other, turning each hand into the wind to let the cool air help dry them. Then he reclaimed the skylance.
As he gained altitude, he could see that a thinning cloud of rock dust rose from where there had been what amounted to a lightcannon port.
As he circled back, Dainyl surveyed the area once more, looking for other possibly hidden weapons. He could sense no other energy concentration, but he didn’t doubt that there would be others before too long.
His eyes lifted to the flyerless pteridon. The creature would follow the squad back, indeed, follow the squad until another rider was assigned.
Dainyl frowned. He’d lost two Myrmidons in as many days, and that was more than he’d lost in all the years that he’d been a company commander.
73
Mykel awoke slightly before dawn on Quinti, surprised that he did not feel any pain in his back, only a small amount of stiffness. From what he could tell, whatever else the soarer had done, she had speeded the healing. Or had his linking more directly to the world done that? Or both? Why the soarer might heal him, if she had, was another question, but he wasn’t about to turn down such a gift. He dressed quickly, packing his gear and carrying it out to his mount in the half-ruined stable. After checking with the company commanders of his command, the one heading out to Tempre, he made his way to the long room that served as a communal mess, where he had cheese, hard bread, and dried mutton, washed down with the local watered wine, which was weak and close to vinegar. As always, of late, he remained alone.
As Mykel left and headed for the courtyard, Rhystan appeared. “You look better this morning, sir.”
“I feel better. A good night’s sleep helps.” Mykel had to admit that he felt better—physically, at least. Using his improved senses, he studied the captain. Rhystan’s aura was darker than that of most people, a deeper brown. Mykel suspected that, in time, he might even be able to tell where people had been born. If he had that time to learn.
“You’re about ready to head out?”
“They’re forming up now,” Mykel replied.
“I wish you well in Tempre, sir.”
“The same to you, here.” Mykel shook his head, then went on. “If you have to deal with the rebels, there are a few things to keep in mind. First, as I told you last night, those shiny uniforms are a form of armor that stops bullets, but multiple impacts will bruise them, sometimes badly, I’d judge. Still, up close, head shots are more effective. Second, the tripod weapons need power from the carts. I’d try concentrated fire against the carts. If they explode, they’ll take out any rebels nearby.”
Rhystan cleared his throat, gently. “I don’t believe you mentioned how to take out the tripod weapons, sir.”
“It could be that I didn’t. The carts do explode if enough bullets hit them.” Mykel wasn’t certain how he knew that, but he felt he was right.
&
nbsp; “You didn’t mention that to the submarshal, did you?”
“I did mention the weapons. I thought he would know their capabilities.”
“For so direct an officer, sir, you…” Rhystan broke off and shook his head.
“Now it’s your turn, Rhystan. Never tell an untruth. Never conceal what a superior already knows. But choose carefully when and how you let him know what he doesn’t know and doesn’t want to.” Mykel laughed, briefly, and not quite harshly. “As you know, I can speak directly to the dangers of telling senior officers what they don’t wish to hear.”
Rhystan smiled, faintly.
“You’ll do what you think best. We all do. Events decide whether our judgments were accurate, and sometimes, accurate judgments are more fatal than inaccurate ones.”
“You’re rather cynical this morning.”
“It comes with improving health.” Mykel smiled. “I need to be riding out. I did recommend you get promoted. I hope it happens. I also hope you have an uneventful picket duty.”
“So do I, sir. Good fortune in Tempe.”
“Thank you. We’ll need it.” We’ll need more than that. Mykel turned and headed back to the courtyard and his mount.
Undercaptain Fabrytal rode up to within a yard of Mykel almost as soon as the majer appeared in the courtyard. “Fifteenth Company stands ready to ride, sir.”
“Clear the courtyard, then, and form up outside the gate.”
“Yes, sir.” The undercaptain turned his mount. “Fifteenth Company, forward. Re-form beyond the gates.”
Mykel mounted quickly and rejoined Fabrytal outside the garrison, as he waited for reports from Loryalt and Matorak.
“How long a ride to Tempre, sir?” asked Fabrytal.
“Four days, I’d judge, but it could be more if we ride into bad weather.”
“What’s Tempre like?”
“I’ve never been there. I’ve seen it from the north side of the Vedra. It’s a trading city. It’s smaller than Elcien or Faitel, but it’s got two of the green towers and a river port. There’s no Cadmian compound there. We’ve got two companies in Krost. Those are the closest that I know about.”
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