After they had left, Mykel took another swallow of the ale. Rachyla had hinted that the alectors were different, and from what Mykel had seen, they definitely were. How the Submarshal had survived a fall of over a hundred yards onto rock and sand—and was in better shape with a broken arm and leg and bruises across his entire body than Mykel was with a single gunshot wound to his shoulder—that was amazing.
Mykel looked down at the binding across his left shoulder. Then he swallowed. He could tell that the bullet had been far lower than he had thought. Men didn’t survive long where he’d been shot… but he had. Had the Submarshal done something? Or had he just been extraordinarily fortunate?
101
Dainyl examined his leg, then his arm, with his Talent, and nodded. They were healing well. Within another two weeks he would be able to walk, if with a brace of some sort. By then, his next set of troubles would begin.
While he had been healing at the estate of the former Seltyr Veluasyr—who had been one of those shot by the intrepid Captain Mykel—Dainyl had had time to think, too much time, in some ways.
He felt guilty about the deaths of both Quelyt and Falyna. They had followed his orders, and died. Both had been faithful Myrmidons, and a pleasure to command and work with—and he had failed them by not recognizing how great a danger the soarers had represented. He had been warned, but, deep inside, he had not believed those warnings. Even though it had been his failure, he had been the one to survive, and he did not understand how—or why.
The drop from such a height should have killed him outright. While Talent could cushion or slow falls from lesser heights, he was not aware of any alector’s surviving such a fall. He had a vague recollection of a brief flow of Talent energy, but it had been green. Had he been imagining that? He had to have been. The soarers would not have spent all that force bringing down two pteridons—then helped him save himself. However it had all happened, a great deal of luck had to have been involved.
Then, too, he knew that both the Highest and Marshal Shastylt would have been horrified that he had used Talent to heal Captain Mykel enough so that he would recover, rather than die. They would have been horrified more if they knew that the captain had Talent. Yet the captain had done more than anyone could have asked, and he had saved Dainyl when no one else could have. Without the captain, Dainyl would not be eventually going back to Elcien and Lystrana—perhaps even to a child. He had not been certain when he left, but… they had been hopeful.
To let the captain die, after he had failed Quelyt and Falyna, that would have been intolerable, a decision he could not have made. He had chosen to save the captain, and that was a choice he would have to live with. He could but hope it would not come back to torment him.
For all the fighting, and all of what he had learned in Lyterna, he still had no understanding of why the Highest and the marshal had set up the revolt in Dramur. It could not have been just a test of his abilities, nor could it have been to weaken the Cadmians. Part of the reason might have been to teach the seltyrs a lesson of sorts, but that could have been far more easily accomplished with greater forces over a shorter period of time.
He also considered Asulet’s words, especially those about how much the alectors of Ifryn had lost in transfers from world to world. Those words were part of the answer, but what part?
When he and the Cadmians returned to Elcien depended in large degree on whether the recorders of deeds at one of the Tables had been able to determine—indirectly, since the Tables displayed nothing of Talent or created by Talent— that the two pteridons had been lost. But return he must, and fairly quickly, to report on how the two ancients had destroyed the pteridons. He knew of nothing that could stand up to a skylance, but the soarers had, and he was perhaps the only one still alive who had witnessed that. But… how much should he say? And to whom?
102
The Submarshal of Myrmidons looked from the too small desk, behind which he was seated sideways and awkwardly, toward the open window. Dainyl would have preferred to have flown back to Dramuria, but without pteridons and with a leg that had not healed enough for him to ride, he had been forced to take a carriage, and it had been a long trip. A welcome breeze blew into the study, warming him after a cool and restless Decdi night, during which he had slept badly, and a long Londi, dealing with more administrative details than he would have wished.
During all that time, his thoughts had swirled between the loss of Quelyt and Falyna, the two irreplaceable pteridons, half of the Third Cadmian Battalion, and more than a thousand rebels. For what?
As soon as he had been able, Dainyl had written up a detailed dispatch outlining the events in Dramur. He had not sent it, because there had been no ships of the Duarches porting in Dramuria, nor any pteridons arriving. Writing the dispatch had not been difficult. He had reported what had occurred and that Dramur and Dramuria were now calm, partly in a state of shock and partly through a numb acceptance by the remaining seltyrs and growers that the Duarchy would do whatever was necessary to maintain control.
In Dainyl’s absence, Overcaptain Dohark had taken a firm control over the compound, as well as over the local Cadmian companies. Captain Benjyr was in full evidence, and no longer made an effort to avoid Dainyl, even if he did not go out of his way to speak to the Submarshal, and the compound gates remained open once more. The daily wagon loads of guano had resumed, rumbling down to the storage buildings off the piers at the port, and the dwellings burned by the rebels were being rebuilt.
Dainyl looked to the window, noting that the sun had dropped behind the mountains. Where, exactly, had the day gone?
At the knock on the study door, Dainyl turned his head. “Yes?”
One of the local Cadmian rankers stood there. “Submarshal, sir? There are two pteridons on their way inbound. The overcaptain thought you would like to know.”
“I’ll be right there. Make sure two of the rooms in the officers’ quarters are ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl stood and took the heavy polished cane from where it rested against the wall. He hated using it, but there were times that his legs still did not respond, and it would be far worse to fall and injure himself again than to appear incapacitated. What was in his favor was that enough of the Cadmian rankers had seen him fall that they regarded his remaining alive—let alone walking with only a bound arm, a splint, and a limp—as a testimony to the indestructibility of alectors.
Although he had hurried, both pteridons were on the stones of the courtyard beside the squares by the time he reached the two Myrmidons.
“Submarshal, sir!” Ghenevra—the senior ranker in third squad—stiffened.
“Sir!” added Rhenyt.
“The marshal sent us to serve at your pleasure, sir.” Ghenevra extended a thin envelope. “He sent this for you.”
Dainyl took the envelope. “Thank you.”
Rhenyt’s eyes looked past Dainyl, speculatively.
“You won’t find them, Rhenyt,” Dainyl said quietly. How much should he tell them? “What I’m about to tell you is to be kept to yourselves. If I ever hear a word about this anywhere else, you’ll be out of the Myrmidons. If you’re fortunate, you’ll be a servant in Lyterna for the rest of your life. That’s if you’re fortunate.” Dainyl couldn’t count on complete secrecy, but all he wanted to make sure was that word didn’t pass to the landers and indigens. He waited.
“Yes, sir,” replied both Myrmidons.
“The pteridons ran into a pair of ancients. Both the pteridons and the ancients were destroyed.” Strictly speaking, Dainyl knew, that was not true. He was certain that at least one ancient had survived, but both pteridons had been destroyed, and the ancients had vanished.
“Ancients?” murmured Rhenyt. “There are still…”
“There are a few left, and they’re quite dangerous, because it takes a great deal of Talent to sense where they are. If you leave them alone, they have always left us alone.”
“But…”
“That’
s why you’re not to fly along the crest of the Murian Mountains unless I’m with you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” They both nodded emphatically.
Dainyl could sense that he’d explained enough, both why they should not say anything, and why the Cadmians should not know the true cause of the loss of the pteridons. “Welcome to Dramuria. We’ll need to get you settled. It’s always a long flight from Elcien.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once he had the two in the hands of the duty squad leader, Dainyl took the dispatch and returned to his study, closing the door behind him. He could sense the overcap-tain’s curiosity, but Dohark would have to wait until Dainyl had read what the marshal had sent. After reseating himself, awkwardly, Dainyl opened the dispatch and read through it quickly.
Submarshal Dainyl—
We trust that this dispatch finds you in health. The recorders of deeds under the High Alector of Justice have surmised from what the Table reveals that the revolt in Dramur has been successfully put down and that you have been restoring order. We have also received word from Lyterna that there appear to have been certain uses of energies that have far reaching implications for the Duarchy.
In view of these circumstances, we would request that you immediately restructure Cadmian operations in Dramur to preclude a repetition of the events just past. Once this is complete, and once you feel the situation in Dramur is fully stable and will remain so without your presence, you are to return to Elcien at your earliest possible convenience to brief us on events in Dramur and their resolution. We request that you convey any written reports only upon your person. If your departure will be more than two weeks from the time of receiving this, send a brief report indicating when we may expect you.
The document was signed and sealed by both the High Alector of Justice and the marshal.
After a time, he read it again, but nothing changed. They were definitely concerned, and the half surprise shown by the two Myrmidons indicated that neither the Highest nor the marshal had been that certain whether they would find Dainyl, and in what condition.
Dainyl was not looking forward to returning to Elcien to explain matters. His eyes drifted to his leg. He would have to wait another few days, perhaps a week, before his leg would be strong enough, even with Talent-assisted healing, for him to make such a long flight. By then, he might have a better idea how to present what had happened. He also had to determine what to do about Dramur. Neither the Cadmians nor the Myrmidons could afford another commander such as Majer Herryf.
Dainyl looked out into the twilight, thinking.
103
More than a week passed, and it was Tridi of the following week before Mykel mounted the chestnut and began a slow three-day ride back south to the Cadmian compound north of Dramuria. The Submarshal had left by carriage on the previous Octdi, insisting that Mykel not leave before Tridi at the earliest.
In midafternoon on Sexdi, Mykel rode through the open gates of the Cadmian compound, accompanied by six rankers from Fifteenth Company who provided his escort.
His shoulder and chest throbbed, and his head ached as he dismounted—one-armed and carefully.
After arranging for Estylt to carry his gear to his quarters, Mykel walked toward the headquarters building to report his return. In the center of the courtyard, two pteridons sunned themselves on the top of their squares. They had to be another pair. He’d seen—and sensed—the total destruction of the two in the battle that had destroyed the seltyrs’ mounted forces.
Mykel stepped into the comparative cool of headquarters and turned toward the study that Dohark had to be using, then stopped by the duty desk, manned by a local Cadmian squad leader.
“Is the overcaptain in?”
“Yes, sir. He was a moment ago.”
“Thank you.” Mykel smiled and headed toward Dohark’s study, only to see Captain Benjyr walking toward him.
“Good day,” Mykel offered cheerfully.
“Good day, Captain,” replied Benjyr, his voice very polite, but not cold. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course.” Mykel smiled. Benjyr had radiated fear of Mykel. But why? Had Dohark or the Submarshal said anything?
Behind him, Benjyr murmured something under his breath, words that sounded like “dagger of the ancients.”
Mykel’s hand went to his belt. The ancient dagger was still there. With a half smile, he continued to Dohark’s open door.
“Mykel! I thought you might be back today. Come on in.” The overcaptain motioned for Mykel to enter the study.
Mykel stepped inside, leaving the door ajar, not quite fully closed. He settled carefully into the straight-backed chair across from Dohark.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sore, but better.”
“Most people don’t recover from bullets that close to the lungs and heart. You’re fortunate.” Dohark smiled. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“So am I. Have you heard anything?”
“Not yet. The Submarshal is working on something, though. He’s been asking questions about everything, studying ledgers and accounts. I’d wager that it won’t be long.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Mykel had no idea if Dohark would support him. If necessary, Mykel would go to the Submarshal, but he should ask Dohark first.
Dohark raised his eyebrows.
“Rachyla. Everyone else who survived has been allowed to keep their lands, so long as they pledged to the Duarch. She should be freed as well…” Mykel saw the amusement on Dohark’s face. “Have you already let her go?”
“I had thought it might be best for you to be the one to release her,” said Dohark, “since you captured her. Besides, she won’t talk to any of us.” He handed a folded sheet of paper to Mykel. “I already drafted her release order, and I’ve told the guards that she’ll be released soon.”
For some reason, Mykel had been expecting an argument. He just sat there for a moment
“Sirs?”
Both Mykel and Dohark looked to the door of the study.
“The Submarshal has asked that you both join him.”
“We’ll be right there.” Dohark stood.
So did Mykel.
They crossed the hallway to the larger study. This time, Dohark closed the study door. The Submarshal was seated behind the desk, one of the few times Mykel had seen that. He waited until Dohark and Mykel had settled into chairs.
“I have been summoned back to Elcien. I’ll leave within a few days, and I will not be returning here. I’ve been ordered to make sure that the situation that occurred here does not happen again. For that reason, I have developed a plan
“For Dramur.” The Submarshal looked at Dohark. “First, over the next year, the number of Cadmian companies here will be increased to five—a full battalion. Second, those companies will not be commanded by a Cadmian from Dramur, ever. Third…” Dainyl paused.
Mykel caught a hint of amusement in the eyes of the Submarshal, and he could feel that the Submarshal was enjoying himself.
“… Third, they will be commanded by Majer Dohark here—assuming you are willing, Majer.”
“Majer… I… ah… Yes, sir. I’d be pleased to, sir.”
“You are to institute full Cadmian training, and we will work out the details to ensure that you receive some junior captains not from Dramur.” The Submarshal extended a pair of insignia. “Your new rank is effective now.”
“Yes, sir.” Dohark took the insignia. “Thank you, sir.”
The Submarshal turned his eyes upon Mykel. ‘Captain…“
“Yes, sir.”
“You demonstrated a solid grasp of both strategy and tactics in your campaigns here in Dramur. Your sole weakness is the occasional individual foray, but I trust that the results of your last effort have impressed upon you that such… exploits… can have a high price.” Again, the Submarshal smiled. “Admittedly, I am most grateful for that last exploit, although it was not in your best personal interest
.” He paused before continuing. “I will be sending an overriding recommendation to Colonel Herolt for your immediate promotion to majer and for command of Third Battalion. It is technically only a recommendation, because, until I confer with the Marshal of Myrmidons, I do not have the authority to order it, unlike here in Dramur, where I do. But… I seriously doubt that Colonel Herolt would wish to dispute such a recommendation, not when my letter points out that you and your company routed and destroyed fifteen armed companies over the course of two seasons and that your actions kept Third Battalion from being totally destroyed by the late Majer Vaclyn.”
“Yes, sir.” That was all that Mykel could say. Majer? Skipping the entire rank of overcaptain?
“You may not be familiar with all the administrative details of command, Captain Mykel, but since it will take at least several seasons to rebuild and retrain Third Battalion, I am certain you will have time to learn those. One can never learn the instinctive grasp of tactics and motion which you have already demonstrated.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You may not always thank me.” The Submarshal smiled. “That is all for now. You’ll pardon me if I don’t escort you out.”
“No, sir.” Both Cadmians smiled and stood, nodding as they left.
Back in Dohark’s study, Mykel looked at the new majer. “Do you want to stay here?”
“Why not? It’s a good position, if you just listen and don’t let the seltyrs get out of hand. Besides, you think an old former squad leader like me would make majer any other way? I don’t think like you, Mykel. I don’t know as I’d want to.” Dohark grinned. “Besides, any of the seltyrs get out of hand, and I can call for the ‘dagger of the ancients.’ I’ll also tell them that you’re a majer, with a whole battalion that you’ve trained.”
“That’s what they’re calling me?” Mykel had overheard the expression used by Benjyr, but hadn’t connected it to himself.
“It fits, doesn’t it?” Dohark pointed to Mykel’s bound arm and shoulder. “I don’t envy you, Mykel. The Submarshal’s right. Old Herolt can’t very well ignore the Marshal of Myrmidon’s recommendation, especially when you’ve managed to do what you have. You’ll be a majer. You know what else, though?”
Alector's Choice Page 56
