While he began the charge, he let Fabrytal lead Fifteenth Company against the center of the so-called Alector’s Guard.
The other two companies followed.
Mykel remained on the road, noting wryly that Fabrytal had ordered five troopers to cover and support him. That was probably for the best, since he felt exhausted—and shouldn’t have. He glanced at his shoulder and upper chest, both of which were sore, but there were no holes or marks on his uniform tunic. He wasn’t certain he believed it, but the only conclusion he could come to was that his efforts in holding the shields to conceal his abilities had diffused the impact of a bullet. The corollary was that doing so took a great deal of strength, and that meant he still was vulnerable in a firefight, if less so.
He straightened in the saddle, sheathed the sabre, then eased the roan forward to keep abreast of Fifteenth Company, taking his rifle out once more.
In less than a glass, the remnants of the Guard had scattered westward, across the fields of golden wheat, leaving paths of bent and broken grain—and bodies and more bodies. The sun had risen, casting long shadows across the carnage. From what Mykel could see, well close to two hundred Guard troopers lay around the high road and in the nearby sections of the fields.
Another half glass passed before the three companies had returned and re-formed before the way station.
“Report!” ordered Mykel.
“Fifteenth Company. Two dead, five wounded.”
Seventeenth Company. Four dead, eight wounded.”
“Second Company. Five dead, four wounded.”
Mykel surveyed the company commanders. “This was the easy part. It will get harder. I’m certain that the submarshal has something else in mind as well. Now…each of you detail a squad to recover rifles and ammunition from the dead and wounded. Disarm the wounded and bring them into the way station. Fabrytal…you send scouts north, three vingts. Loryalt to the south. Matorak, your scouts go on the back side of the hill behind us and another set on that ridge to the west beyond the fields…. Once everything is set up, stand down, and get the mounts watered and fed and your men rested.”
“Sir…do we have any orders?”
“We just executed the orders we had. We were to take and hold this way station, and wait for the submarshal to arrive with further orders.” That much was essentially true. Mykel just wished he knew for certain what came next, although it was likely to be some sort of attack on Tempre and, based on the fact that there had been an unauthorized mounted force, one on the regional alector’s compound was likely. “Dismissed to your companies.”
Later, after the companies had completed the body details—for the moment, all two hundred and three were laid out behind the stable—Mykel rode to the top of the hill behind the way station. He reined up in the knee high grass and slowly studied the fields and well-tended woods in all directions. There were close to twenty small steads, but, not surprisingly, no one was out in the fields. He saw no flocks nearby.
He had the sinking feeling that the massacre had been a setup, except he had no idea why, except to undermine the moral authority of the Cadmians. Yet the dead majer had been ready to order an attack. All the Guard troopers had been fully armed, and all rifles—identical to the Cadmian pieces—clearly used or ready for use.
That mean, at least to him, that the outcome didn’t matter to whoever had set it up. If he and his companies had been defeated, that would have undermined the Cadmians in one way. By his effectiveness in ruthlessly attacking, he’d undermined the Cadmians in another.
76
As his pteridon swept in toward the way station south of Tempre, in the late afternoon’s shadowed sunlight, Dainyl could make out the signs of a battle, even without the sense of lost lifeforce that pervaded the area. The wheat fields to the west of the high road had been trampled, and several locations, even from the air, showed where men and mounts had fallen.
“North of the way station, on the flat!” Dainyl called back to Hyksant. North…to the side of the road…
The pteridon swung west and then descended into the wind, flaring and settling onto the ground already scarred by horses, then folding its long blue leathery wings. In turn, the other four pteridons landed, each farther from the way station.
Majer Mykel had hurried out of the way station even before Dainyl’s pteridon touched down, and stood waiting, less than fifteen yards away.
Dainyl dismounted and stretched. His legs ached. He still wasn’t used to flying all day, and wondered if he’d ever regain that ability. He doubted it, since, once he finished the Hyalt-Tempre campaign—or it finished him—the pteridon would be taken over by another Myrmidon, and he would go back to headquarters in Elcien. He studied the majer. For better or worse, the lander had tighter shields than before, much tighter. To Dainyl, he almost felt like a diminutive alector, except his shielded Talent was gray-green, rather than grayish purple. Still…from a distance, most alectors might not know.
Finally, Dainyl stepped toward the majer, leaving his gear on the pteridon. “You had a battle here.”
“Yes, sir. Three companies of something called the Alector’s Guard appeared at dawn this morning. They opened fire first.”
Dainyl sensed Mykel’s grimace as much as he saw the expression.
“It was a slaughter, or close to it. We took out about two-thirds of their men. The others scattered. I’ve had scouts out as far as seven vingts, just short of the outskirts of Tempre. We haven’t seen any sign of other forces. We haven’t seen any traffic on the high road south from Tempre. There have been some spirit merchants from Vyan and Krost heading into Tempre, but no others on this section of the high road.”
“You said they opened fire first. Did they have rifles?”
“Yes, sir. We collected all the rifles and ammunition from the wounded and the fallen. The rifles are Cadmian issue, but they don’t have serial numbers. The ammunition’s the same, too.”
First Dramur and now Tempre—Dainyl couldn’t help asking himself just how many unauthorized rifles had been manufactured and where they all had ended up. “Have you found out anything from the wounded?”
“Not much. The officers were either killed or fled. The rankers were told last night that they would be riding out after Squawts in Cadmian uniforms who had crossed the Vedra and were threatening Tempre. According to the majer in command, this Alector’s Guard was formed to offset the threat of the Squawts.” Mykel laughed harshly. “That was hard to believe, since the Cadmians pretty much wiped them out in the southern Westerhills. The majer said we had no business entering Tempre. I reminded him that the Cadmians had the freedom of the roads anywhere in Corus. His answer was to start shooting.”
“How many men did you lose, Majer?
“Twelve dead, sixteen wounded. Two of the wounded are having a hard time of it. We lost one earlier. We counted something like two hundred six bodies, and we’ve got thirteen wounded captives left—all rankers.”
Dainyl found himself both amazed and appalled.
“Sir…this was a setup. We were set to lose either way.”
After a moment, Dainyl understood. “Either you Cadmians are ineffective or bloodthirsty tools of the Duarches?”
“That’s my guess, sir.”
Unfortunately, the majer’s assessment made all too much sense. “Then, we might as well be bloodthirsty for a reason. Let me get things settled with the Myrmidons, and then I’ll be back, and we’ll go over the plans for tomorrow’s attack. Our objective is to take total control of the administrative center of Tempre.”
“Yes, sir. You want me to wait here?”
Dainyl laughed. “No. Get something to drink. Is there a table in the way station where we can spread out some maps?”
“There are several. One’s better.”
“Wait for me there.”
Mykel nodded and stepped back, then turned and walked briskly toward the way station.
Dainyl watched him. He was fairly certain that the majer had told
the truth, but it was getting harder to read the lander, much harder. He shook his head, then started back toward the pteridon for the maps.
As Dainyl neared the pteridons, Hyksant approached. “Sir…the majer…perhaps I’m mistaken, but I thought I sensed Talent there. With the majer, I mean.”
“He has some untrained Talent,” Dainyl replied. “Landers occasionally do. While it isn’t something that we encourage, or would normally accept, it is to our benefit.” He paused. “For now. Only for now. That is another reason why I’ve been given this mission.”
Hyksant nodded slowly. “I had wondered.”
“He was the first to discover the rebels. Had he not…”
“Ah…yes, sir. Landers can be useful.”
“In their place, Undercaptain. In their place.” What is their place? What is ours? As he considered those questions, he realized that less than a year before he would never even have entertained such self-inquiries.
77
Mykel stepped out into the darkness, this time on the south side of the way station, since the Myrmidons and their pteridons had taken the hillside to the north, leaving the way station and stables to Mykel and his Cadmians. In the darkness above, both Selena and Asterta shone brightly, and as close together as he had ever seen them, near the zenith. The night wind from the west was light, still warm, and carried the mixed odors of ripening wheat and death. To the north, he could sense the Myrmidons and their pinkish purple energies, and the gray cloudiness over those energies that represented the submarshal’s shields.
The submarshal’s plan to take Tempre was straightforward enough. Basically, Mykel’s three companies would ride north on the high road, and the five pteridons would use their skylances to clear any large forces or barricades. The Cadmians would have to deal with snipers or individuals hidden where the skylances would not reach. Once the courtyard around the compound was secured the submarshal and one other alector would use the skylances to blast open the main door—assuming that the regional alector did not surrender. Then two alectors and a squad under Mykel’s direct command would begin taking the structure, corridor by corridor. The submarshal had been very direct—Mykel would lead the force designated to subdue the interior of the complex.
According to the submarshal, there were roughly twenty alectors, half of whom were Myrmidon foot guards. The others, including the regional alector, were functionaries who supervised and directed the tasks of regional administration. The Cadmians were not to approach any alectors closely, but they had leave to fire on any who did not immediately surrender.
Mykel paused. That wasn’t quite what the submarshal had said. He’d said that Mykel had leave to fire on them, as did any Cadmian. The implication was clear enough…and boded ill for Mykel’s future. Yet he still had the feeling that deserting would be far worse…so far.
Submarshal Dainyl wanted control of the regional alector’s compound. But why? It had something to do with Hyalt. That much was certain, but Mykel didn’t believe for a moment that the purpose was merely to interdict supplies to Hyalt—or that such was even the primary reason. Whatever it was, it was clearly vital, because submarshals didn’t run company-level operations, even in the Myrmidons—unless a great deal was at stake.
Mykel turned and looked to the northwest, toward Tempre. After receiving the announcement of Rachyla’s move to Tempre as the resident chatelaine for young Amaryk, whatever a resident chatelaine might be, Mykel had thought about how he might visit Rachyla, but Cadmian majers just didn’t ride close to two hundred vingts for a visit to someone who might well not even wish to see them. Yet when he had asked the soarer about that “coincidence,” the ancient had cryptically mentioned “forces within” Mykel and refused to say more.
Were there forces within Rachyla as well?
He shook his head. The more he discovered, the more questions he had.
He’d once believed that, when he attained more rank and responsibility, he would have more latitude and freedom, but from what he’d seen since Dramur, he had less. Or was it that now, as he learned more, he saw how few true choices of any wisdom were open? Or was he just deluding himself, being afraid to step outside the structure of the Cadmians?
After a time, he turned and walked slowly back toward the way station. He needed some sleep—or rest, if he couldn’t sleep.
78
Less than a glass after sunrise, Mykel’s three companies were already five vingts north of the way station and within two or three vingts of the outskirts of Tempre. The terrain had become slightly more hilly with each vingt they had ridden, and the fields and meadows had given way to orchards. The trees looked to be pears and apples, although Mykel was no grower. In smaller fenced fields between the orchards were occasional flocks of sheep, smaller than those Mykel had seen in the northlands and fatter than those near Hyalt.
For the last two vingts, the high road had risen ever so slightly to climb a large and gradual ridge. At the top of the ridge was an eternastone turnout for wagons, presumably to rest draft horses after the long climb. Beyond the turnout, the high road began an even more gentle descent toward Tempre, spread out before the Cadmians.
“Quiet, this morning,” offered Fabrytal, riding beside Mykel. “Especially for a Londi.”
“I’m sure the word has gone out that the evil Cadmians are on the march into Tempre, slaughtering all in their path.” Mykel readjusted the ammunition belt across his shoulders. If he had to charge through buildings, he wasn’t going to be able to go back for shells to reload.
He glanced to his left and then his right, but the wide low ridge that had separated the orchard lands from the smaller steads on the outskirts of Tempre held no structures or dwellings, mainly stands of hardwood and leafy softwood, with almost no evergreens. Despite the heat of summer, the grass beyond the shoulder of the high road was green.
“Looks peaceful ahead,” the undercaptain went on.
“It will be for a while. It might even be until we reach the alector’s compound.”
Ahead, the high road arrowed on its descent directly toward the River Vedra. Ahead, but appearing to the left of the high road where it cut through the city, were the twin green towers that flanked the river piers. From the maps and the briefing from the submarshal, Mykel knew that the regional alector’s complex was at the end of the high road, below another ridge that separated the structures from the River Vedra.
In the distance, across the River Vedra was the southernmost part of the Westerhills, the trees on the distant slopes indistinct in the morning haze. Mykel could only tell that the trees appeared to be mixed softwoods and pine, with near-continuous canopy of foliage.
A shadow fell across the road, followed by another, and then three more, as the pteridons circled above the Cadmians.
Mykel kept studying the high road, and the steads beside the road down toward Tempre. Before long, the steads with smaller patches of land and orchards consisting of only a half score of trees gave way to small dwellings and shops—and all were shuttered.
“They knew we were coming,” said Fabrytal.
“It looks that way.” Mykel raised his voice. “Scout squads out!”
The undercaptain turned. “Scout squads!”
The two half squads broke off from the main column, one angling east, the other west. They were to scout the two boulevards parallel to the high road. With the pteridons circling, and three companies on the high road, Mykel doubted they’d find much, but it would have been foolish not to look into the possibility of ambushes or flank attacks. Fortunately, the streets and boulevards of Tempre were wide, and none of the buildings, save the towers by the piers, were more than three stories, if that.
Some few houses weren’t shuttered, and in places, when he looked down side streets, Mykel could see people here and there. But the high road itself was so quiet that the loudest sound was that of hoofs clicking on the stone. Even the rankers were silent.
Just before the high road ended at the walls before the re
gional alector’s compound, it passed through gardens on both sides, each side bordered with low gray stone walls. Stone paths wound through the grass and under the carefully pruned trees, or alongside the profusion of flowers in their stone-edged beds.
Mykel could feel himself getting edgier as he and Fabrytal followed the vanguard past the gardens and toward the stone complex ahead. Waiting before them were the two sub-squads he had dispatched to survey the side boulevards.
“East side. No forces to report, sir. There’s a new compound—gray stone—a half vingt east of here on the cross road. It’s got a blue banner.”
Mykel nodded. He would have wagered that compound was where the so-called Alector’s Guard was based. “Ride back up there to observe. If you see anything, or any more forces, I’ll want a report as soon as possible.
“Yes, sir.” The acting squad leader nodded, then turned his mount.
“West side. Nothing to report, sir!”
The lack of opposition only made Mykel even more concerned as he rode toward the ungated entryway to the alector’s complex. The gray granite walls surrounding the buildings were low, not more than a yard and a third high. The single building comprising the regional alector’s compound was modest compared to the palace of the Duarch in Elcien, although the main front entrance did boast a small pillared entrance above wide stone steps. The building itself was set before the low hills bordering the south bank of the Vedra, hills planted or cultivated in a fashion similar to that of a park. Before the structure was a wide paved plaza.
As his force deployed across the plaza, Mykel ordered, “Companies! Halt! Staggered firing lines! Seventeenth Company, to the rear of the building!”
Even as close as he was to the structure, he could sense no one around. Had the regional alector fled? Had everyone?
The pteridon carrying the submarshal settled on the gray paving stones less than fifty yards from Mykel. The submarshal still held his skylance casually ready as Mykel rode toward the creature and its flier.
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