“Do you know why we’re being sent there, when all the action’s here?”
Mykel grinned at the undercaptain. “No…I don’t know exactly why we’re being dispatched to Tempre. We’ll get orders once we’re near there. I have the feeling we won’t lack for action, though.” Unfortunately.
“You think the Squawts have crossed the river…or they might?”
“That’s unlikely, but we’ll find out around Novdi or Decdi.”
Loryalt rode up, followed by Matorak.
“Seventeenth Company, ready to ride.”
“Second Company, ready to ride. Wagons ready to roll.”
“Thank you.” Mykel nodded to Fabrytal. “Fifteenth Company, lead the way. You have the scouts.”
“Yes, sir.” The undercaptain stood in the stirrups. “Scouts out! Fifteenth Company! Forward!”
As his three companies rode along the high road northward out of Hyalt, Mykel kept looking to the west. He could not see the First Hyalt, on picket duty, but he did see five pteridons headed southwest, presumably to relieve those circling around the regional alector’s compound.
While he knew in his thoughts that all beings struggled for power and control, he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of power was involved with the alectors’ rebellion. They certainly controlled the world, and they lived well. His lips quirked, and he shook his head.
He’d have to use the time on the ride north, both to continue training and sharpening the skills of the three companies, but also putting into practice what he’d learned from the ancient soarer and from observing the submarshal—assuming that he could. He pushed the doubts away. If those two could master greater control of the forces that suffused the world, surely he could gain some better control.
Once they were well clear of Hyalt, Mykel dropped back to ride with Undercaptain Matorak. He’d spent less time than he probably should have with the undercaptain and what time he had spent had been largely devoted to training and instruction.
Matorak was one of the darker-skinned Cadmian officers, and a good ten years older than Mykel, a former ranker who had been squad leader, and then a senior squad leader, before being promoted to undercaptain. His lifethread was sandy golden brown and stretched to the southeast.
“Can you tell me any more about this deployment, sir?”
“There’s a problem in Tempre. Once we near the city, we’ll be joined by some of the Myrmidons and given more detailed orders.” Mykel smiled pleasantly. “The submarshal hasn’t chosen to provide more information yet.”
Matorak nodded slowly, not questioning.
“Why did you join the Cadmians?” asked Mykel.
“As a boy, I decided I did not wish to grow desert nuts and work in the quarries dragging out the golden marble. When I could, I walked to Soupat and waited for the Cadmian recruiter. The Cadmians from Southgate come once a year.”
“Is growing the nuts that difficult?”
“One must make sure that nothing grows near the nut tree. Even the slightest sprig of green in the soil will attract the giant crickets, and they will strip the trees. The apprentice growers must sleep in the groves every night in the spring. They must sleep lightly and wake when the crickets hum. My brother killed a hundred crickets one night. He was beaten because he missed two of them, and they ate the flowers on one tree. I thought I would rather work in the quarries until my cousin’s leg was crushed between two slabs of marble. My father said that I was ungrateful, and that I would die alone in a far country.” Matorak laughed. “I said nothing, but I thought that was better than dying young in my own land.”
“I can see why you became a Cadmian,” Mykel said. “What is the desert like near Soupat?”
“In the day, it is like the ovens my mother used to bake bread. Everyone sleeps in the late afternoon. We ate late in the evening, and slept for four glasses so that we could get up and work just before dawn.”
“Night watches weren’t a problem for you, then?”
“No, sir. I like the night. So do you, do you not?”
“At times.” Had Matorak seen Mykel with the soarer?
“They say you are a dagger of the ancients, sir.” Matorak’s eyes were politely expressionless.
“What is said and what is are often two different things,” Mykel replied. “Even when they are the same, the words do not convey the reality.” He really didn’t want to admit or deny the appellation.
“In the desert, words are a waste of water. In the ocean, speech will drown one.”
Mykel laughed.
74
On Decdi morning, like every other morning since arriving in Hyalt, Dainyl was up before dawn. After he had dressed and eaten, he slipped out of the way station, carrying his small bag of personal gear. As the sky lightened from purple-green to green-tinged silver, he looked to the north and the waiting pteridons, and then at the sky. A cooler breeze blew from the northeast, carrying behind it clouds, lower than he would have liked, but high enough for first squad to follow the high road north to Tempre.
The previous days of patrols over the rebel compound had proved far less eventful than the first day, since it had become clear to the besieged rebels that any use of a lightcannon resulted in its destruction. Still, the first day had cost Fifth Company two Myrmidons, in addition to Dyrmant’s death. While Dainyl should have anticipated it, the Talent strength of the alector who had met him outside the regional compound had shocked him. Not that someone had that level of Talent, but that an alector of that ability could be so easily spared.
Or had the dead alector just been arrogant, thinking that no mere Myrmidon possessed equal or stronger Talent? Either way, Dainyl reflected, it meant that he would have to deal with either great arrogance among Brekylt’s and Rhelyn’s rebels or great Talent—if not both.
It was for the best, although he had not planned it that way, that he had not immediately attempted to transfer Dyrmant’s pteridon to Brytra, who was now flying with first squad. Definitely a fiery introduction for the young alectress in becoming a flier.
After that first day, the compound had shown little overt activity, except for occasional quick light-blasts, designed more to keep the Myrmidons from venturing too close. In return, Fifth Company had used skylances to seal more of the slit ports, and in response, the rebels created more, if slowly.
Dainyl turned as Fhentyl approached.
“Good morning, Submarshal.”
“Good morning. We’ll be lifting off shortly.”
“Will one squad be enough, sir?” asked Fhentyl. “Things have been more quiet here.”
“For now,” agreed Dainyl. “That worries me.”
“You think that the rebels are planning something.”
Dainyl nodded. He was certain of that, but exactly what they might do he had no idea, except that it was likely to be deadly. He just wished he hadn’t had to wait so long for the Cadmians to reach Tempre, but he needed ground forces to get into the administrative center—and the Table chamber—in Tempre. From what Lystrana had been able to discover, even more resources had been diverted, including some to Tempre. Tempre was a less isolated locale for alectors, and that might mean that there were no lightcannon there—or fewer. That also meant that Majer Mykel might face more of a locally raised and trained armed force than Dainyl had originally planned, which was another reason why Dainyl had finally decided on sending three companies and the majer, rather than two under Captain Rhystan, as he had first considered.
“They might try some form of shielded vehicle,” he said slowly to Fhentyl, “like a small sandox coach, for the lightcannon. Aim for the wheels, that happens. If they do something like that, have the Cadmians retreat. They can’t stand against those weapons. One way or another,” Dainyl continued, “the rebels will attempt to break out, probably tomorrow or the next day. Be ready for it. Don’t accept any surrenders. They have the equivalent of high alectors in there, and if any of you get close to them, you’ll end up either doing what they want or dead.
”
“Sir?” Fhentyl stiffened.
“You heard me, Captain. I’m thinking of your health and survival. They’ll do about anything to gain control of the pteridons, and that includes treachery and murder. That’s why you are not to land there under any circumstances.” Dainyl paused. “Why do you think I’m here in person, and why I had to be the one to attempt to see the regional alector?”
The captain relaxed slightly, but not all the way.
Dainyl didn’t blame him.
“I never thought…”
“Neither did any of us,” Dainyl replied gently. “But we’re the ones who have to deal with it. Now…I need to be going. Best of fortune, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dainyl offered a smile and lifted the gear bag he carried, then strode across the trampled grass and dirt north of the way station toward first squad.
Undercaptain Hyksant stood waiting by his pteridon as Dainyl approached. “First squad, ready to fly, sir.”
“Thank you, Undercaptain. Stand by.” Dainyl slipped his gear into the harness bag behind the saddle and swung up onto the pteridon.
“Lift off!” Lift off…straight north, gentle climb to two hundred yards…
The pteridon complied, as did the other four, one bearing the newest Myrmidon flier.
75
Mykel and his three companies reached the way station south of Tempre late on Novdi, just after sunset. All along the road, he’d made an effort to replicate the sort of shield that he’d sensed with Submarshal Dainyl. He thought he was doing better at it, but how would he know? Still, he had to do something before he outlived his usefulness to the submarshal. That was clear from what both Rachyla and the soarer had told him.
The station was located on the north-south high road a good five vingts north of the intersection between the north-south high road from Hyalt to Tempre and the east-west high road that ran from Hafin on the west coast all the way through the South Pass of the Spine of Corus to Flyr in Lustrea. A low hill behind the station to the east rose less than fifteen yards above the top of the waystation roof. As befitted a major way station, there was a spring, a stable, a corral, and a main building. None were adequate to deal with close to three hundred Cadmians and their mounts, but it was the best to be had.
Because Mykel had felt uneasy about his position, especially without orders from the submarshal, he had posted scouts several vingts away from the waystation along the high road in both directions, with reliefs scheduled as part of the watch rotation.
Well before dawn on Decdi, he was awakened.
“Sir…” reported Jasakyt, “There are two, maybe three, companies of troopers riding this way from Tempre. They’re not Cadmians.” His lips crinkled into a smile. “Hard to tell in the dark, but it looks like fancy uniforms, too.”
Mykel was already pulling on his boots and his tunic. “Just troopers? No wagons? Carts? Baggage?”
“No, sir.”
“How far were they, and how fast were they riding?”
“Three vingts when I left. They weren’t pushing it. I’d say a quarter to a half glass before they get here.”
“Battalion! Form up! To horse!” Mykel turned to Jasakyt. “Head back out. No more than half a vingt. Report back when you see them.”
Jasakyt nodded and headed off.
“Fabrytal! Here!”
“Sir?” The undercaptain appeared, still pulling on his tunic.
“Form up Fifteenth Company by squads, staggered firing lines, rifles ready. On the flat east of the road, just north of the waystation.”
“Sir?” asked Fabrytal.
“How likely is it that three companies of strange troopers would decide to take a leisurely ride before dawn on a Decdi morning?”
“When you put it that way…”
“Go! Form up Fifteenth Company as ordered.”
Fabrytal left at close to a run.
“Loryalt! Matorak! To me.”
Loryalt appeared first, followed by the Hyaltan undercaptain.
“Loryalt, we’ve got mounted troopers headed this way. I want Seventeenth Company formed up, ready to ride, on the back of the north side of the hill behind the way station. Keep out of sight, but have a scout in position to observe. Once the firing starts, you’re to sweep out to the north and cut off any retreat. Give yourself enough space so that you can ride out, stagger the company into a firing line and rake them with at least two volleys before you go after them with sabres. Three volleys or more, if they don’t react. Pass the orders to your squad leaders once you form up so they know the plan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Head out now. You’ve got the farthest to go.” Mykel turned in the dimness to Matorak. “I want you to set up your company on the south side of the way station. Keep them close together and station them so that no one can be seen by anyone coming south on the high road. Once the firing starts, you’re to use the same tactics as Seventeenth Company. Charge out straight, hold the road on the south side. Come to a firing line and rake them. Two volleys. Keep firing at them until they look like they’ll charge—or until I order a charge. Or Undercaptain Fabrytal does. And tell your squad leaders.”
“Yes, sir.”
In the dimness, Mykel could see the unspoken questions in Matorak’s face. “They’re not Cadmians, and they only think they’ve been trained. They can’t have been in much of a fight, and they have no idea of what our volleys will do to them. They’ll break.”
Matorak hurried off, and Mykel followed almost at a run. Even so, he was mounted and beside Fabrytal as Fifteenth Company formed up on the flat area on the east side of the road just north of the way station. In the east, the sky was just beginning to lighten.
“Sir? Where are the other companies going?”
“Seventeenth is headed a bit north behind the hill. Second will be concealed behind the waystation. I want them close, but out of sight.” What Mykel wasn’t saying was that he was counting on the strange troopers to assume that he would not fire first. He wouldn’t—not until he had a sign that the troopers were hostile, although he couldn’t imagine otherwise on an end-day morning. If the troopers came in firing, that was another question, but Fifteenth Company was drawn up in firing order.
There were other questions as well. Who had created three companies of mounted troopers, and how they had known Mykel was there? Who was sending them against Cadmians and why? Had something happened to the submarshal? Or was the information about Mykel’s Cadmians something discovered by the mysterious Tables?
Mykel shook his head. None of that really mattered for the moment. What mattered was how he handled the troopers. Still, as he sat on the roan waiting, he concentrated on trying to strengthen the shield/concealment around himself.
The sky had lightened into a dark greenish gray when the first ranks of the oncoming troopers appeared on the high road, the click of hoofs on stone echoing through the dimness.
Mykel could sense a certain surprise from the somewhere.
Then the column halted, still on the road, a good fifty yards to the north of Fifteenth Company.
Mykel smiled, grimly, then called out? “Who goes there?”
“Who are you?” A figure rode out a few yards from the five-man vanguard, all too close to the main body.
“Fifteenth Company, Third Battalion, Cadmian Mounted Rifles,” Mykel replied, letting his voice carry. “Who are you?”
“The Alector’s Guard of Tempre—charged with maintaining order in and around Tempre.”
Mykel waited, studying the officer with both eyes and senses.
“There is no need for a Cadmian presence near Tempre. Regional Alector Fahylt has everything under control.”
“Captain,” Mykel stated, “that is not what our orders stated.”
“Majer, Majer Kersyd. I’m afraid that you must be mistaken, Captain.”
Mykel ignored the snub. “I’m a little confused. The Cadmian Mounted Rifles are charged with maintaining order
and subduing rebels and insurrections. We have the freedom of the roads as necessary. Exactly what is the Alector’s Guard?”
“There are no Cadmians here. There have never been any, and with the growing Squawt threat to the north, the regional alector formed the Guard—”
“Has the Guard ever fought the Squawts?”
“The Guard is here to prevent that necessity.”
Mykel sensed the growing unease of the majer. “I see. And what if we insist on proceeding to Tempre?”
“I am afraid we cannot allow that.”
“Cannot allow?” questioned Mykel. “You would stop a Cadmian command under the orders of the Marshal of Myrmidons?” With cold certainty, he could sense someone aiming at him.
He jerked aside in the saddle, but even so, something half-twisted him, almost yanking him off the roan. He straightened, and his own rifle came up in a single movement, and he fired, willing the shot home. The Guard majer did not even have the chance to look surprised
“Fifteenth Company! Fire at will!” Mykel ordered.
The Cadmians got off three volleys before even scattered rifle shots were offered by the Alector’s Guard. From both the north and south, Mykel could sense and hear the hoofbeats of the horses of the other two companies. Following their orders, if slightly later than Mykel would have liked, Seventeenth Company swept up the road from the south, while Second Company swung out and swept down from the north.
Mykel dropped two squad leaders, and an undercaptain. More shots, if scattered, began to fly around him. He kept firing, then reloaded.
“Seventeenth Company! Fire at will!”
“Second Company! Fire at will!”
Shots poured into the tightly massed body of the guard troopers from three sides. Mykel watched, seeing that the rear ranks of the Guard were beginning to turn their mounts.
“Fifteenth Company, rifles away!” ordered Mykel. “Sabres ready! Forward!”
Cadmian's Choice Page 46