Dainyl sensed all was true, except for the Cadmian not having the choice about killing the bravo.
“…didn’t want the woman to scream, and I trussed her up and gagged her.” The Cadmian shrugged. “Figured I was done for…so I had a drink and…got what I’d paid for. Later she got the gag off and started screaming. Patrollers showed up…”
Dainyl wanted to shake his head. Why were some indigens so stupid and so ruled by lust? He forced himself to listen to the rest of the witnesses, but their testimony only fleshed out the basic story.
The majer called back several of the witnesses, and asked more questions, mainly, Dainyl suspected, to make certain points to the townspeople who were listening.
A good two glasses later, much later than Dainyl would have preferred, but he didn’t see that it mattered that much, since he hadn’t actually begun his own operation, the majer summoned the prisoner up before the table.
“Sacyrt…the counts against you are as follows. Count one, you were absent from your appointed place of duty. Count two, you killed a man of Hyalt. Count three, you assaulted a woman of Hyalt. Count four, you resisted the lawful authority of the Cadmian forces. Count five, you assaulted and injured a Cadmian in the course of his duties.”
Sacyrt looked impassively at the majer, but said nothing.
“This court-martial finds you guilty on charges one, three, four, and five. It finds you not guilty of charge two. When lethal force is used against a man, he has the right to defend himself with whatever means are at hand.” The majer paused.
The square was silent.
“You are hereby sentenced to be flogged, five lashes for count one, ten lashes for count three, five lashes for count four, and ten lashes for count five. This sentence will be carried out immediately. Upon completion of the sentence, you are immediately discharged from the Cadmian Mounted Rifles, with loss of all pay and allowances, and any and all privileges arising from previous service.”
“Thirty lashes…near-on kill a man…” muttered one of the locals, loud enough to hear.
“Fair’s fair,” countered an older woman. “Fylena won’t work none for a long time. Never look the same, either. Pretty enough, she was, too.”
“Filthy mouth, though…”
The murmurs stopped as the majer stood from where he had been seated behind the small table and walked over to the prisoner. He held something in his hands, what looked to be a small dagger. The prisoner’s eyes fixed on the dagger, and he turned pale, but the officer merely cut away all the insignia from Sacyrt’s uniform. Then he stepped back and made a half turn.
An undercaptain took two steps forward and reported, “Seventeenth Company stands ready, sir!”
“Thank you, Undercaptain. Carry out your duties.” Majer Mykel about-faced, so that he looked directly at the statue of the duarches.
“Second squad detail, forward!”
The five-man detail of second squad marched the prisoner over to the stone railing around the statue of the duarches. Dainyl noted that they never untied his hands, even as they forced him to his knees, bound him to the stone railing, and gagged him. Then, the five Cadmian escorts turned as one and marched to the east of the railing, where they about-faced and came to attention.
The majer, wearing the crimson armband of blood wrongfully shed, stepped forward. From somewhere, he had gained a whip, not the execution whip, with razor-sharp barbs, but a standard Cadmian flogging whip.
Majer Mykel stepped forward. His voice was clear. “You have created pain and suffering, and for that you will receive pain and suffering. May each lash remind you of your deeds. With each lash may you regret the evils that you have created.” He stepped back and lifted the whip.
The first lash cut lines in the cloth of his tunic; the second cut even deeper lines in both tunic and undertunic. The third drew blood. Sacyrt twisted against his bonds, but the gag muffled any noise he might have made. The majer methodically continued to lash the convicted man, each stroke identical to the one before.
Dainyl could sense what amounted to three separate feelings of agony—yet two came from the majer.
Finally, the majer straightened. “Justice has been done.”
Dainyl could sense the strain and the fatigue held inside the Cadmian officer. He frowned. He didn’t sense much Talent, not nearly what he had recalled Majer Mykel showing in Dramur.
“Cut him loose, and leave him there,” ordered the majer.
The five members of the duty detail stepped forward and cut Sacyrt’s bonds, and ungagged him, lowered his unconscious form on the ground before the railing.
“Cadmians. Dismissed to your commander. Return to quarters,” Mykel stated flatly, handing the bloody whip to the undercaptain.
“Yes, sir.” The undercaptain turned. “Duty detail, break down and return all borrowed equipment. All others, form up.”
The majer half-turned, facing toward Dainyl. His face showed no surprise at seeing the Submarshal. He began to walk toward Dainyl, who had remained to the side after the small crowd had dispersed. The Cadmian company on the west side of the square also remained, as did the squad that had accompanied Dainyl.
“Submarshal, sir.” Mykel stiffened.
Dainyl studied the majer. He refrained from nodding. From a distance the majer showed no Talent, but upon close inspection his shields were obvious. That was a matter of even greater concern—a lander with shields, but that aspect would have to wait. Dainyl might well need that Talent. “I received your report on Duadi. It was very carefully worded.”
“Yes, sir. I only reported what I could absolutely verify.”
“Was it your impression that the unknown troopers were alectors?”
“That was my impression, sir. One was, for certain. The others were much farther away, but they looked to be the same size and wore the same uniforms.”
The absolute certainty of the majer’s words, while expected, still gave Dainyl a chill within.
“What have you done since—about those troopers?”
“I’ve had all patrols avoid that area. I wasn’t certain whether they were a new force or something else. If they are hostile, their weapons would inflict considerable damage on my battalion.”
“How considerable, Majer?”
“Considerable enough that a mounted attack would be suicide. From cover, that might be another story. I wouldn’t wish to try such an attack unless no alternative is possible.”
“I wouldn’t, either, not with horses.” Dainyl laughed. “Depending on what happens later today, I may need you to ride to Tempre with three companies for a flanking action. Is Captain Rhystan capable of commanding the remaining four companies?”
“Yes, sir. He’s very capable. He would make a good overcaptain or majer. At the appropriate time, I would recommend that he be promoted.”
“In the meantime, I would like you to take up a position behind the hills immediately to the north and east of the regional alector’s compound.” Dainyl studied the majer. “Was that from where you observed the rebels?”
“Generally. The ground was rougher to the west. There were several low bluffs there.”
“That’s the line of hills.”
“With how great a force?”
“What would you suggest, Majer?”
“That depends on what you want from us.”
“Perhaps nothing. At most, I would need your men to pick off anyone fleeing north and east. It may not come to that today, but if it does, I’d rather not have anyone escaping.”
“Six companies,” replied Mykel. “Just over the crest of the hill. I’d leave one for existing duties, and to serve as reserves.”
“That will do. How long will it take for you to get in position?”
“A glass and a half from now. Two, if you want certainty. We’ll ride out the high road and then head west on the first dirt road west past the hilltop with the stone corrals. You should be able to see that from the air.”
“Two glasses from whe
n I leave the garrison. I’ll ride back with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dainyl sensed that the majer was less than perfectly pleased with the idea, pleasant as his acquiescence had been.
For the first few yards, neither officer spoke, and the only sounds were those of the hoofs of the squad preceding them, and the company following. Dainyl realized something else disturbing—the majer was studying him, observing his shields and Talent. Dainyl wasn’t quite certain if Mykel was learning much, but the thought of a lander having that understanding and Talent was chilling. For the first time, he truly understood why Zelyert was concerned about Talented landers. Yet…for his own self-preservation, for now, he needed the majer.
“Majer, what haven’t you told me?” Dainyl finally asked.
Mykel laughed, ironically. “A great deal, Submarshal, but much of it consists of the rather boring details of attempting to train semi-trained recruits and build a true compound in a town where the principal concern seems to be how many golds the craftmasters can milk from the Marshal of Myrmidons. I’ve told you most of what has happened, either now or in the reports. The only thing affecting the Cadmians that I haven’t mentioned is that one company was attacked by a different set of flying monsters—a cross between miniature sandoxes with horns and small pteridons. There were only three, but we lost men.”
“Where did this take place?”
“On the ridge road to the closest hamlet nearby. It heads east off the high road, some ten vingts north of Hyalt.”
“Is that the only other attack by flying creatures?”
“Besides those I already reported? Yes.”
“Have you had any messages or contact from the regional alector?”
“No, sir. Not a message. Not a word.”
“How long before the new compound will be complete?”
Mykel shook his head. “If all goes well, sometime in harvest. If it goes as I expect, by mid-fall.”
Dainyl almost laughed at the young majer’s realistic attitude, far more like that of a Myrmidon than of a Cadmian. Ahead, he could see the gateless opening to the ruined garrison, and beyond, men and mounts. He still needed to brief the majer on what he expected from the Third Battalion.
68
Although his face held a polite smile, Mykel watched warily as Submarshal Dainyl swung into the second saddle on the pteridon, behind the smaller Myrmidon flyer. What the submarshal had in mind for Third Battalion—even if a full Myrmidon company would be handling any direct attacks—was likely to create more than a few casualties, especially if the rebel alectors had many of the firelance weapons.
He had not wished so close a meeting with any alector, not that he had had any choice at all. Still, he had used the closeness to observe the alector’s shields. Had the submarshal noted that? In all likelihood, he had, but how else could Mykel learn? The submarshal already knew what talents Mykel had, and he had a need for Mykel—for now. That need would not last, and Mykel had best be prepared—somehow—before he was no longer necessary.
At the same time, he had been disconcerted by the alector’s showing up in the middle of the court-martial. Mykel could only hope he had handled the situation well, but knowing how evil Sacyrt was at heart had made it difficult. The ranker had enjoyed killing the local bravo and assaulting the woman—yet the bravo would have killed Sacyrt. If only the idiot had left it at that, or just taken his pleasure with the woman without hurting her or resisting the patrollers and his own mates…
The pteridon spread its wings—then suddenly was in the air, and climbing away to the northeast.
Mykel had sensed a burst of purple from the creature, energy of some sort, as it had launched itself. Was that how the creatures flew? Yet how did they channel that force into flying? Was it something like the way the ancients soared?
“Majer?” Rhystan’s voice was low, deferential.
“Oh…sorry. I was thinking.”
“Can you tell me what the submarshal wants, sir?” asked Rhystan. “I didn’t wish to intrude….”
“I appreciate that.” Mykel straightened. “We need to get all companies ready, except Seventeenth. We’ll ride out immediately, to take a position to the north of the Regional Alector’s compound. We’re to provide a perimeter guard.” He sensed Rhystan’s concern and explained, “The submarshal confirmed that there are rebel forces—”
“He told me that while the squad was forming up to escort him down to the square. He didn’t say who they were.”
“Whoever it is that holds the regional alector’s compound is rebelling. The submarshal wouldn’t admit they’re alectors, either, but we know that they are, and he’s brought an entire company of Myrmidons.”
“He didn’t want to say because it’s a matter of pride, you think?” asked Rhystan.
“Probably. Alectors are supposed to be perfect.”
Rhystan shook his head slowly. “So they’re going to attack?”
“That’s how it looks. Now…Seventeenth Company will have to take over guard duties at both the compound and the quarry. Culeyt and Fourteenth Company will have to turn quarry duty to two squads of Seventeenth Company and join us as they can. We’ll pick up the Hyalt companies and Thirteenth Company on the way. I’ll ride with you and brief you on some other possibilities.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mykel turned his mount into the courtyard. The last thing he wanted to do was provide a picket-line guard against alectors armed with the equivalent of skylances, but he couldn’t very well refuse a direct command from the submarshal of Myrmidons. He took a deep breath. Just get things moving. You can think about the details on the ride.
“Officers! Forward!”
In less than a quarter glass, Third Battalion—except for Seventeenth Company—had begun to ride out from the old garrison.
Once the column was on the high road, riding northward beyond the outskirts of Hyalt in good order, Mykel and Rhystan rode just behind the vanguard squad. Shortly before, Thirteenth Company and First and Second Hyalt Companies had joined them from the compound.
Mykel had folded the extra ammunition belt into his saddlebags, but had decided against wearing it for ride. He hoped he wouldn’t need it at all.
After a time, he turned to the captain. “For all that the submarshal told me, there’s a lot there that he didn’t.”
“We discovered that in Dramur, sir.”
Mykel frowned. Twinges of pain ran down his back, and he shifted in the saddle, trying to lessen the combination of stiffness and discomfort. Handling the flogging himself had taken more energy than he’d realized. “He was worried. He didn’t say a single word about the court-martial.”
“Sounds like he is worried. He was interested in the one in Dramur. Why would any alector rebel? They’ve got everything they need.”
“They may be alectors,” replied Mykel, “but they’re not all equal, and there’s always someone who’s not satisfied or who wants more power, or who thinks he can do it better. I don’t think alectors are any different about things like that. They seem to be more interested in power than golds. So maybe that’s another reason.”
“They don’t need golds.”
“I suppose not, but I’ve seen the seltyrs and factors who have more gold than they’d ever need scrabbling for more.”
“Different faults,” Rhystan replied dryly. “Neither’s admirable.”
Mykel had to agree with that.
“Besides providing a covering fire or flank support, or whatever it is, what else does the submarshal want? Did he say?”
Mykel nodded. Ahead he could see the hilltop with the stone corrals. “He’s thinking about splitting the battalion. You may have to decide who will take command of Sixteenth Company. If he does, the submarshal will put you in charge of the force remaining here. I suggested you be promoted to overcaptain. He looked like he might agree, but he didn’t say.”
“There’s a lot he isn’t saying.”
“Is that any different fr
om Dramur?” Mykel’s tone was ironic.
“Where are the rest of his pteridons? He can’t handle all those alectors with just two.”
“He has an entire company somewhere nearby. He didn’t want to alert the rebels. We’re to take up positions along that road north of where I discovered them. The hill there offers concealment and cover against their weapons. We may not have to do anything immediately, but that’s the plan for today.
“Worse than Dramur,” affirmed Rhystan glumly.
“It could be.” Mykel shrugged—and wished he hadn’t as his back protested. “It might not be.”
“By the way, sir…what happened with the court-martial?”
“Sacyrt was guilty of abandonment of duty, assaulting the woman, resisting authority, and assaulting a Cadmian. Thirty lashes and immediate dismissal.”
“Not murder?”
“The man tried to extort coins and then attacked him with a knife.”
“Sacyrt will remember. He’s not the type to forget.”
“When he recovers, and if he lives.” Mykel’s voice was bleak.
“Where is he?”
“I left him in the dust in the square. Immediate dismissal means immediate.”
“The locals will kill him.”
Mykel shook his head. “They might take pity on him. Someone might, anyway.”
“You can be hard, sir.”
“The woman will never look the same, and Siliast may never recover full strength in that arm. The men need to know that sort of behavior isn’t acceptable to me.” He paused. “Someone always tries the new commander, and even if they don’t deliberately, everyone watches to see how he reacts.”
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