Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I’ve thought about that. Fahylt has been preparing for this for quite some time. An independent force of uniformed and mounted indigen rifles, a stone compound…”

  “You think we should still leave tomorrow, sir?”

  “I definitely do,” replied Dainyl. “The majer has reduced, if not destroyed, his guard. His recorder is dead—”

  “He is?”

  “Oh…I don’t believe I told Galya that. Yes, he was waiting in the Table chamber. He didn’t expect three sidearms. Even if Fahylt returns, without a recorder, he’ll find it harder to get information.” Dainyl broke off his explanation as they drew closer to the pair of guards. He did not resume speaking until they were walking across the inner courtyard, away from any Cadmians. “I did make a detour and deliver a report to the marshal and the High Alector of Justice.”

  “We haven’t seen anyone from Elcien…or any other Myrmidons. Or Cadmians.”

  “I am certain we will not. They will wait until the outcome is certain. Fahylt doubtless fled…where he has support.” Dainyl barely stopped himself from suggesting that the RA had fled to Ludar, but revealing the possible split between the Duarches would not be wise. “We need to clean up Hyalt, and then get Fifth Company back to Dereka.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dainyl didn’t respond to the skepticism behind the undercaptain’s acquiescence. He’d already figured out how to handle Hyalt, now that the Table was inoperative. It would be deliberate, but very certain. He might even have to wait several days after returning to Hyalt, because he would need his full ability with shields, but he had the feeling his strength was already returning. He frowned. Was there something about the ancient city that weakened alectors?

  “Sir?”

  “I was just thinking about all we have to do.”

  Hyksant started up a set of stone steps. “Your quarters are up here.”

  Dainyl followed. Hyksant opened the end doorway, revealing a single chamber, quite large for a lander, and at least not cramped for an alector, although the ceiling was lower than Dainyl would have preferred, but he didn’t have to stoop. Typical quarters, but the lander-sized bed was triple width.

  Once inside, he turned to the undercaptain. “If you would take care of preparing for our departure tomorrow? And in about a glass, have someone bring me something to eat. Ale and whatever there is.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also, if you would find Majer Mykel and have him attend me here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After Hyksant departed, closing the door behind him, Dainyl stretched out at an angle on the bed. Overlarge it might be for a lander, but his boots stuck out off the end. Still, he’d slept on a hard floor for too many nights. His eyes closed.

  Less than a quarter glass later, there was a knock on the door. “Majer Mykel, sir.”

  “Come in, Majer.” Dainyl didn’t bother to get off the bed, although he eased himself into a sitting position, propped up against the plain head-board. The majer had enough Talent to see through any charade Dainyl might put on.

  Mykel stepped into the quarters, easing the door shut behind him.

  “Pull up a chair and tell me what you and your men have been doing since I left.”

  “Yes, sir.” The majer took the straight-backed desk chair that would have been both uncomfortable and too small for Dainyl and set it to one side of the bed, then seated himself. He cleared his throat. “After you left, and it seemed likely that you might not return immediately, I ordered the Cadmians into a rotation, with one company guarding the building, and the other two here at the compound on standby, except for four mounted patrols of the streets and boulevards…”

  Dainyl listened, not just to what the majer said, but to the manner in which he conveyed the information. So far as Dainyl could determine, Mykel shaded nothing, reporting honestly and directly. “…we’ve seen no signs of any more troopers, or anyone wanting to enter the building. People in the city seem to be going back to what they usually do, except no one is using the gardens, or the streets and boulevards around here. We have bought some goods, mutton and some beef, to supplement the supplies here. I had to draw on the line of credit….”

  “That’s to be expected.”

  After Mykel finished, he sat and looked at Dainyl, waiting.

  “Majer?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  Dainyl could sense the lander’s wariness behind his formality.

  “In the morning, first squad and I will be returning to Hyalt to deal with what remains of the rebels there. Until the regional administrator or other proper authorities return, you are to assume control over the regional administration building and this compound. I suggest that you continue with very light control over this area, and not over the city proper, except as necessary for your safety and that of your men. Once an administrator is in place, you are to return to Hyalt.”

  “If an alector returns, how am I to determine whether he is the proper authority? Do I assume any alector who claims to be the administrator is the administrator?”

  “I am certain you, of all Cadmians, Majer, will know.”

  “Do I have your authority to question an alector about that?”

  “I doubt it will come to that, but…yes, if it is necessary. Order and the rule of the proper Duarches must be maintained. Without that, all would be chaos.”

  The majer nodded, soberly.

  Dainyl could sense that the lander was anything but pleased—and that he well understood what Dainyl was doing.

  Abruptly, the majer looked squarely at Dainyl. “Sir, might I ask how you were wounded?”

  Dainyl laughed. “Even alectors are not immune to all weapons. It was only a glancing slash, but I was fighting several alectors at once.” He paused. “That will be all for now.”

  “Yes, sir.” The majer rose immediately and replaced the chair before the writing desk.

  “I may have some additional duties for the Cadmians later.”

  Mykel nodded, then made his way out.

  Once the door closed, Dainyl fingered his chin. The majer had not been at all surprised at being left in Tempre to sort out matters, and his question about Dainyl’s wound had been anything but idle. The last thing Dainyl needed was a Talented Cadmian majer—except the way matters were developing, that was in fact exactly what he needed.

  And Hyksant might not say much to Fhentyl until later, but if Mykel prevailed, Dainyl could not count on silence for long. So what sort of accident or mishap would be necessary? Was there another alternative?

  Dainyl stretched out and waited for his food to arrive.

  85

  Less than a glass past dawn on Quattri, Mykel stood outside the gray stone compound, less than two yards from Submarshal Dainyl. To the southeast of the two officers, the Myrmidon squad was readying for liftoff into a silver-green sky dotted with white clouds. The air was already warm, and the day promised to be hot, not unexpectedly for late summer.

  The submarshal looked straight at Mykel with his deep blue eyes, so unlike the violet of most alectors, Mykel had begun to realize. “You are in command of this area, but only so long as no regional alector is present. I have conveyed the situation to the High Alector of Justice, but the Myrmidons cannot remain here while Hyalt has still not been returned to the control of the Duarches. How soon the Duarches will send an administrator, I cannot say. I doubt that Regional Alector Fahylt will return, but, if he does, you are to turn the area over to him. If not, then to his designee or legitimate successor as named by the Duarches.” The submarshal laughed. “How you determine that legitimacy is a matter of judgment.”

  “I doubt that I am in any position to argue with an alector claiming such a position,” Mykel pointed out.

  “It is unlikely that any rebels will attempt to claim such. They would know you would report their assumption of power. Therefore, any who attack you first are more likely to be unauthorized to assume administrative control.”

  Mykel nodded poli
tely. That was a set of rules he could accept. Exactly how successful he might be in dealing with rebel alectors remained to be seen, although he suspected that his success would rest on just how many alectors were involved.

  “Once you are relieved here, Majer, you are to return to Hyalt. If you are not relieved within two weeks, you are to send weekly reports directly to me, one copy to Hyalt, and one to Elcien, by sandox coach.”

  “Yes, sir.” As close as he stood to the alector, Mykel sensed several things. First, while the submarshal’s wound was healing, the alector had been clearly weakened by what appeared to be a superficial slash. Given what Mykel had seen of Dainyl’s recuperative powers in Dramur, Mykel had to believe that the single slash had come close to killing the Myrmidon officer. Second, around the wound area, the alector’s aura was tinged with amber-green—and Mykel had never sensed anything but pinkish purple from any alector. What sort of weapon could have done that damage? Something like his dagger of the ancients? At that moment, Mykel almost could feel the heat of the miniature weapon beating through the leather of his heavy belt, illusory as he knew the feeling to be.

  “Finally, you are to make sure that the lower level of the compound remains guarded and off-limits to everyone. Everyone. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The submarshal nodded brusquely. “That is all. I hope to see you and your Cadmians in Hyalt before too long.” Without another word, the Myrmidon turned and moved quickly toward the last pteridon. The other Myrmidons had already mounted.

  Mykel watched as the pteridons rose into the silver-green sky, one after the other, seemingly on the ground one moment, and then in the air the next, their long blue wings spread. With each beat of the wings, they rose upward, heading south.

  Mykel turned and walked back toward the compound, thinking. Why had the submarshal left him in such a seemingly impossible situation? Why wasn’t someone being dispatched immediately from Elcien or Ludar to take over running the city and the area? It was as if he wanted Mykel dead, but didn’t want to act himself.

  Dead? Rachyla had told him that the alectors would seek to kill all those who carried the dagger of the ancients and who learned what it represented. In point of fact, everything that Rachyla had told him about the alectors—angrily, as he recalled—was seemingly being revealed as truth. He wished he’d had the sense to listen more, and to draw her out. Abruptly, he smiled. There was no reason he couldn’t visit her now, or at least try. She might be able to tell him more, and he could use all the information she might have.

  He headed back through the compound gates, nodding to the two guards, and into the inner courtyard, seeking Fabrytal. He found the undercaptain outside the west wing of the stables, talking with his senior squad leader Chyndylt.

  “Majer, sir,” offered Chyndylt. “The undercaptain and I were about finished…”

  “You can stay.” Mykel grinned. “I need a little recon and local information—in order to get some information.”

  “Yes, sir?” Fabrytal looked puzzled.

  “There is a factor here in Tempre who has recently arrived from Southgate. His chatelaine has some information we may need very badly, based on what the submarshal informed me just before he left.” Mykel smiled faintly. “I need to know where the villa of the factor Amaryk is in Tempre, and later, or tomorrow, I’ll need an escort of a full squad to ride there.”

  Chyndylt repressed a smile.

  Mykel looked at the senior squad leader. “She turned out to be right about a number of things, concerning the submarshal. I’d prefer to see if she knows more. It might save us some troopers in the next week.” He looked back at Fabrytal. “We’re in charge until the alectors return—the proper alectors, that is, and I have to decide who is the proper alector.”

  Fabrytal swallowed. Chyndylt’s incipient smile vanished.

  “You can see why any information might be useful.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “While you’re finding that out, I’ll be down at the regional alector’s headquarters. I think a little investigation into who was running the region besides the regional alector might prove useful.” At the very least, they might prove useful in justifying whatever actions may be necessary.

  “Yes, sir.”

  With a smile and a nod, Mykel left the two and made his way to the stable, where he saddled the roan, and then rode out, heading west along the boulevard toward the alector’s complex.

  As he neared the gray granite building, a slight breeze picked up, out of the south, bringing the scent of the flowers in the gardens on the south side of the boulevard. From what he’d seen, Tempre was a pleasant city. So why had the regional alector thrown in with the rebel alectors? Mykel had to shrug. It had to do with power. Everything did, but how, he had no real idea. He just wanted to do his duty and get out of the situation with the least damage possible.

  If he left without a successor regional alector, that would be dereliction of duty—and he didn’t want even to think about what happened to commanding officers who were found guilty of that. At the very least, he had to turn matters over to an alector with some semblance of authority, and to do that he needed to know more. He also knew that his time was getting short, because once others knew that the Myrmidons had left, it was likely that someone would appear to claim power.

  Seventeenth Company had the duty dealing with the empty building, and Mykel rode around the east side until he located Loryalt, still mounted and discussing something with his fourth squad leader.

  The undercaptain immediately turned his mount and waited for Mykel.

  “Yes, sir? Any word? We saw the Myrmidons leave.”

  “We’re in charge until the proper authorities return. I’m going inside and conduct an inspection of sorts up in the RA’s study. That’s so I have some idea who the proper authority might be. I don’t know how long that’s likely to take.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If anyone who looks like an alector appears, send someone for me immediately. I don’t think that will happen soon, but you never know. When you’re relieved, pass that on to Undercaptain Matorak as well.” Mykel paused. “How are things going?”

  “Quiet, sir. It’s like everyone is avoiding the place.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way for a bit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After leaving Loryalt, Mykel rode farther around the building, finding a brass-ringed hitching post in the shade near the small rear entry. There he dismounted and tied the roan, before making his way up the stone steps into the building, conscious that the fourth squad was watching him. He carried a blank order book and a marker for the notes he hoped to take.

  Once inside, he had to walk to the front of the building, taking the marble-floored corridor back around to the wide staircase—also of green marble—that led to the second level.

  The study of the regional alector was set on the southwest corner, as part of a suite that extended from double doors, each with an etched glass panel set in the golden oak. The scene was that of the twin towers flanking the river piers. Immediately behind those doors was a foyer, set with chairs, and a single table desk positioned at an angle such that whoever sat behind it could view both the double doors and the single door to the regional alector’s private study.

  There was only a single file box in the outer foyer, placed against the paneled wall behind the desk. Mykel opened it, to find it largely emptied. What remained were individual sheets of paper, with seemingly cryptic notes. He scanned them, but after leafing through them, decided that they all referred to various appointments and engagements in some fashion—but there were no names at all. At the back of those notes, he did find one folded paper with a list of names.

  Fahylt

  Regional Alector

  Adaral

  Deputy RA

  Shesala

  Appointment Clerk

  There were close to twenty names with titles on the list. Mykel folded the paper and slipped it into
his tunic. From the way it had been folded, he suspected that some of the names were possibly outdated, but it was a start.

  He paused outside the closed inner door. There had been no one inside when he had first searched the building. Still…

  He could hear nothing, sense nothing. He opened the door, but no one was in the inner study, an oblong chamber a good ten yards in depth and fifteen in length. The longer side was on the south, with wide floor to ceiling windows, each two yards in width, separated from the next by granite edged in oak. Because the building had been built slightly up the hillside, the windows afforded a sweeping view of Tempre. The west windows offered an equally sweeping vista of the towers and the pier, although the base of the northern tower was blocked by part of the hill.

  The inner north wall was composed of bookshelves rising from waist height, with built-in file cases below, the kind where the front dropped down and the case could be slid partway out. Only a relative handful of books rested on the shelves, spaced between small sculptures of various sizes. The alector’s desk was angled across the corner of the room facing outward. Behind it was a comfortable-looking wooden armchair. On the floor was a thick dark green carpet, and in the center was woven in gold the twin scepters of the Duarchy.

  Toward the east end of the chamber was a circular dark wooden conference table, around which were set five wooden armchairs. All the furniture was large, sized for alectors, Mykel noted.

  Mykel set the order book on a vacant space on a shelf and opened the top file case on the west end and began to leaf through the sheaves of papers. The first sheaf dealt with something about logging on the south side of the River Vedra somewhere to the west of Tempre. The second sheaf had also to do with logging. Everything in the first case was related to logging and timber. So was the second case. The third case dealt with maintaining swamps and bogs, and cited instances where individuals had been fined—or in one case, executed—for attempting to drain swamps. The fourth held papers about alternation of field crops…