Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the squad leader departed, Mykel turned to Fabrytal. “Muster Fifteenth Company and head to the compound. Settle them in, and tell them to get some rest. Check the kitchens and see what supplies they have. And the armory, if they have one. I’ll be there shortly, after I brief Loryalt and the Myrmidon undercaptain. For the time being, you and Matorak work out a watch schedule for the compound. All men in the barracks are to be in standby status, even if they are resting. I’ll want three-man patrols on the streets around here—four patrols for now. Those will rotate among the companies at the compound.”

  “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  As Fabrytal began to issue the orders to Fifteenth Company, Mykel walked back to Hyksant. “We have the compound secure. I’m reducing the building guard here to one company. The other two companies will be on standby at the compound, and we’ll have mounted patrols on the nearby streets and boulevards.”

  Hyksant raised his eyebrows.

  “If I hold all my men here until the submarshal returns—or until he doesn’t—they won’t be able to respond to anything else. The compound is only a fraction of a glass away by horse.”

  “I see.”

  Mykel could tell that he didn’t. He looked at the Myrmidon officer, his eyes hard on the alector. “I’m certain that the submarshal could explain the necessity of my actions better than I am doing, undercaptain, but having men posted in the sun on granite paving, even with rotations every glass, is extremely wearing. It’s also hard on their mounts, even keeping them in the shade as much as possible, because we can’t water them enough. I’d like to have both men and mounts rested for the trouble that will come in the next few days. I’m certain that the submarshal will want that also.” He was more than certain that there would indeed be trouble, of one kind or another.

  This time Hyksant looked away. “As you see fit, Majer.”

  Mykel smiled pleasantly. “I’m doing my best to carry out the submarshal’s orders, as I’m certain you are.” He stepped back and turned.

  Behind him, he could sense consternation…or confusion. He wasn’t sure which, only that he’d best be careful in dealing with Hyksant, who seemed far less understanding of what faced either the Myrmidons or the Cadmians than the submarshal did.

  Without hesitating, Mykel retrieved his mount and rode to the back of the gray granite building, making his way to Loryalt.

  The undercaptain stiffened as Mykel reined up. “Sir?”

  “It appears as if we’ll be here far longer than the submarshal had thought. I’ve sent Second Company and Fifteenth Company to that new compound. Split up your company to cover front and back, and have a messenger ready to ride in case you need reinforcement. The companies at the compound will be handling road and street patrols…”

  When Mykel had finished briefing Loryalt, he turned the mount and began to ride to the compound, wondering just what he might find there—and how long indeed they would be in Tempre.

  82

  The compound was close to luxurious by Cadmian standards and so recently completed that Mykel could smell the varnish and oils. In places along the entry archway, freshly cut sawdust had drifted into corners.

  Mykel had taken one of the senior officers’ quarters, reserving the largest for the Myrmidon submarshal—although the bed was far too short and he doubted that Dainyl would wish to remain there long when he returned, if he returned—and one of the others for the undercaptain. There were adequate junior officer spaces for Mykel’s three undercaptains and for the other Myrmidons. In fact, there was enough space for a full battalion and more. That suggested to Mykel that the Myrmidons were facing more than a few rebels. Some chambers in the officer’s area had never been used, and one whole wing of the barracks had never been occupied, although there were bunks with mattresses and blankets.

  While he was glad to have decent quarters for his men, Mykel was worried—more than worried. Three companies and a squad of Myrmidons were scarcely enough to hold a city, even a small city. Enough to take it, but holding it was another question. He also still had no idea exactly what the submarshal wanted.

  There was also something else about the compound nagging at him, something that should have been obvious, so obvious that when he realized it, he would reproach himself for stupidity. But, as he looked around the quarters in which he stood, taking in the large bed, the wardrobe, and the well-crafted writing desk, he could not identify the source of his misgivings.

  After leaving his gear in the quarters he had taken, ignoring the dress uniforms of the majer who presumably had been the one Mykel had killed in the dawn massacre, Mykel stepped out onto the covered balcony and then hurried down the stone steps to find Fabrytal.

  His eyes took in the dressed granite stones of the compound buildings, and the well-fitted windows…and he stopped…dead.

  “You’re an idiot, Mykel…” he murmured. Spontaneous rebellions did not have the time to design, construct, and complete well-planned stonewalled compounds. Nor did they have the time to produce hundreds of uniforms, or obtain hundreds of weapons. Whatever had been going on had been planned for some time. But why hadn’t the alectors seen it?

  He shook his head. Because some alectors were indeed behind it, doubtless powerful ones, and that indicated that a great deal was at stake. A very great deal, and he and his Cadmians were caught right in the middle.

  For the moment, he had no choices…but he needed to keep alert to all the implications.

  He glanced from where he stood in the main inner courtyard to the southeast corner where Fabrytal was talking with Undercaptain Matorak, then resumed his progress toward the two. Both officers turned as Mykel approached.

  “Sir.”

  “Did you find any stragglers here?”

  “No, sir. Even the cooks had gone,” Matorak replied.

  “What about supplies?”

  “They left pretty much everything. There’s plenty of staples—flour, lard, even a bunch of cheese wheels, and close to ten barrels of ale and lager.”

  “Good. What about gear left behind? Have you put all their gear in the empty storeroom?”

  “Yes, sir.” Fabrytal paused. “If I might ask, sir…”

  “Some of them lived. They might like it back, once we depart. I’d prefer we not be thieves or pillagers.”

  “I thought that, but some of the men…they were rebelling…”

  “We don’t know how long we’ll be here.” Mykel paused, then added, “Or if we’ll have to stay here or get sent back here in the future.” As for rebelling, it’s only a rebellion if they’re not successful. “What about fodder for the mounts? Is there any grain?”

  “Not so much as we’d like, but there’s enough for a week, I’d guess,” replied Matorak.

  “I shouldn’t have to say this, but no one leaves the compound, except on duty or patrol. We don’t know what’s happened to all the people in that building, or if there were more troopers sent somewhere else.”

  “Any more word on how long we’ll be here?” asked Fabrytal.

  “If we don’t get any new orders, three more days. If we do, we could ride out tomorrow, or two seasons from now.” Mykel smiled. “That’s being a Cadmian.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll be here in the compound, inspecting what we have to work with. If any messages come in, find me at once.”

  Both undercaptains nodded.

  Mykel turned. He needed to inspect the compound quickly. Perhaps it would tell him something more, although he had his doubts about that.

  83

  Dainyl woke up sometime in the night, dark enough in the small chamber that it was dim even for his night sight. He was cold, although several thin and filmy blankets had been placed over him, and he now lay on a thin pad that seemed to provide some warmth, enough that he was not shivering. He sat up slowly, fighting dizziness, and discovering that on the tiny bed was a tray holding a large apple, a bunch of grapes, a wedge of yellow ch
eese, and a small loaf of dark bread. There was also a solid cylindrical glass filled with something that looked and smelled like ale. In the corner of the room, almost under the window was what looked to be a chamber pot. He did not recall it being there earlier.

  Without hesitation, he took a sip of the unfamiliar ale first, then sampled a piece of the bread. Then he alternated eating bites of the other items on the tray. He left not even crumbs, and by the time he had drained the last of the ale, the dizziness had largely vanished.

  He stood, slowly and carefully, and walked to the window. Chill radiated from it. Looking out into the darkness at the stars, he saw more stars than he had ever observed, each an unvarying point of light. Not a one twinkled the way the stars did anywhere else he had been in Acorus, but then, he’d never been up on the Aerlal Plateau before. So far as he knew, no alector had been.

  How did the ancients live in such cold, let alone build cities? What sort of tools did they use? Did they even use tools?

  The questions that inundated him vanished as the door opened and an ancient appeared in a glow of amber and green that provided light but no warmth. This soarer did not display any marked difference from the others he had encountered, but the essence of her being radiated great age.

  You asked why we had saved you. We did not save you. You reached us unaided. We have kept you from dying.

  “Why?”

  Allowing you to die would serve no useful purpose. While you live, you may yet see.

  “See what?” Dainyl was all too conscious of unspoken assumptions behind the “words” of the ancient.

  How the world lifeforces tie together. How all worlds have such ties.

  “Why is seeing this so important?”

  A sense of a shrug came to Dainyl. To the world, it is not important. What will be, will be. To you, it will be far more vital.

  Vital? “What if I do not see? What if I do not act? What then?”

  Like all of your kind, you will die, for you will have no ties to any world. Any being must be part of a world.

  Dainyl understood that. “Why is it important enough to you that I change and live?”

  Because you are not so different from those you term steers as you believe. Because you and they must share…????….

  Dainyl could not understand the phrase she used, although he felt it meant some sort of energy linkage.

  Without that, they will perish, for not enough of them possess it. Without them, you will perish.

  “Why do you care?” Dainyl doubted that the ancients were acting altruistically. No beings ever did. Every thinking creature acted in what it perceived as its own interest.

  No world should die before its time. It is not necessary.

  He wanted to snort at that. “I would think that you would like to see us gone?”

  No. This world would have died before its time without you. For that, we owe you. For our restraint, you owe us. You will not acknowledge that restraint. That is why you must change, so that you will not be like the others.

  “I don’t know how to change.” More important, he wasn’t certain he wanted to, either.

  You have been shown. Enough. The cold finality behind those words declared the futility of pursuing more questions there.

  “How long have I been here? When can I leave?”

  You have been here two days. Sleep tonight, and you will leave tomorrow. If you rest well.

  Two days? He glanced down at his arm, realizing that the dressing had been changed.

  You are strong. The lifespear seldom fails to kill any who are not of the world. Even so, you are not strong enough to survive what will be unless you change. A sense of regret, or sadness, followed her words.

  Without another word—or thought—she slipped away from him, and the door closed.

  This time, he did sense the tightly focused green Talent. The force of that Talent was modest, but the control precise.

  Two days? But he could leave tomorrow.

  The ancient’s words conveyed a certainty about the destruction, not of the world, but of all alectors who would not “change,” as she and the other soarer had conveyed it. Was it simply finding a way to link himself directly to Acorus, rather than through the Master Scepter? What would that do to an alector? From what he knew, it would certainly reduce his strength, perhaps a great deal more.

  He tried to push those thoughts away. He was an alector, an Ifrit out of Ifryn, for all that he had been born on Acorus.

  He doubted that he could ever get back to sleep, but he had to try. Slowly, he walked back to the pad and blankets and lowered himself onto the pad and arranged the blankets.

  Surprisingly, his eyes closed immediately.

  84

  With the sun came wakefulness for Dainyl, but no ancient arrived, nor did any more food. It must have been a good two glasses after that before the door opened, and an ancient hovered outside. Although all of the ancient soarers shared the same appearance, at least to Dainyl, she was far younger than the one who had met with him the day previous.

  The…portal is in the next chamber.

  He followed her out into a foyer. There were no steps up or down, just circular openings in both the stone floor and ceiling. There was also a door, open to a second chamber. Dainyl entered the room. The ancient trailed him. The room was almost identical to the one in which he had been confined, except that set into the amber green stone floor was one of the silver mirrors.

  It is linked temporarily to your parasitic tube. Once you leave here, the link will vanish.

  Dainyl forbore mentioning that he had managed to reach the tower without such a link.

  The lifespear wound you suffered allowed you to seek us.

  Just how much could they discover from his thoughts? He pushed that thought aside and stood on the silver mirror, concentrating on the blackness, on the blue locator wedge that was Tempre…

  …and he was in dark chill. The locator was distant…close to the limit of his Talent reach…and yet, when he extended a Talent-probe, it suddenly was upon him, and silvered-blue shards flew past him.

  Dainyl found his legs shaking as he stood on the Table in the unadorned chamber in Tempre. Carefully, he stepped down. Then he sat on the edge of the Table, trying to regain his strength. He was weaker than he had realized, but glad to be back in the world he knew. Or did he only think he knew his world?

  Thoughts along those lines would have to wait. He needed to find out what had happened in his absence. He rose and stepped to the door of the chamber. It took a moment for him to release the Talent-lock, and then to replace it after he stepped outside into the empty corridor beyond.

  His boots clicked on the stone floor of the corridor, and then on the steps leading up to the main level of the building. Both Cadmians had stepped away from the door and had rifles ready when Dainyl emerged.

  “Submarshal, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “That’s all right. Do you know where the majer is?”

  “If he’s not outside, sir, he’s been staying close to the compound, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he walked along the corridor toward the front of the building, he used his Talent to pick up the murmured conversation between the two.

  “Wonder what he tangled with…”

  “Wouldn’t want to be it…alectors are tough. He fell a hundred yards onto solid rock and only had a broken arm and leg…”

  “Majer’s tough, too.”

  “Not that tough.”

  At least the Cadmians had a healthy respect for alectors. Dainyl kept walking.

  Once he was outside, in the early-midmorning sunlight, if under a hazy sky, he went down the steps looking for Hyksant. The mounted Cadmians on patrol duty eased away from him, but he saw only a single Myrmidon—Galya—and two pteridons. One was his, waiting.

  Once he neared her and the pteridons, she smiled. “Submarshal…the undercaptain is at the compound. We’ve been alternating here.”

  “A short fligh
t is in order. I’d appreciate your remaining on watch here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dainyl climbed onto the pteridon, trying not to show any weakness. The pteridon rose quickly, and descended even more quickly, but Dainyl was happy when the pteridon set down in the open space before the compound, not that far from the three other pteridons. After he dismounted and started toward the compound, carrying his gear in his good hand, his eyes took in the solid walls and the well-dressed stone.

  Hyksant appeared from somewhere and hurried toward Dainyl. He frowned as the submarshal approached, and his eyes dropped to the submarshal’s bound left arm.

  “I know.” Dainyl shook his head. “I was sidetracked along the way. The Tables malfunctioned. I shut down the Table in Hyalt, but Rhelyn used one of the weapons of the ancients on me, and I got coated with some…well, you can sense what it’s like. It should vanish once I heal.”

  “Rhelyn…?” Hyksant appeared as though he didn’t know what to ask.

  “Oh…he’s dead, and all the rebels are trapped inside Hyalt with no way out. I hope that Captain Fhentyl is taking advantage of that. We’ll need to fly back there once we settle matters here. We’ll plan to leave first thing in the morning.”

  “What about Tempre, sir?”

  “We’ll leave the majer in charge until the RA returns. Once that happens, he can turn over control to the RA and ride back to Hyalt.”

  Hyksant nodded knowingly.

  Dainyl let him think what he would. The majer just might surprise Fahylt when he returned. One way or the other, one problem should be resolved, either that of Fahylt or that of the majer. In a perverse way, at least for an alector, Dainyl almost hoped that the majer came out on top. “If you would show me where we’re quartered?”

  “Oh…yes, sir.” Hyksant turned. “This way.”

  “Was the majer correct about this compound?” He gestured at the main gate, guarded by a pair of armed Cadmians.

  “Yes, sir.” After a moment with Dainyl’s eyes on him, Hyksant went on. “He’s been quite proper. He reserved the largest quarters for you and the next largest for me, and the other officers’ quarters for my squad and his undercaptains. They found supplies and fed us. The compound is new, you know?”