Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Meryst smiled. “It would help.”

  “It would. Thank you.” Mykel decided to change the subject. “If I could ask one other thing. How have you been handling road patrols on the mine road?”

  “We send a patrol up front, first, or we did. Thirteenth Company has been doing that lately, gives us more men to watch the prisoners…”

  As Meryst talked, Mykel listened.

  39

  Septi morning dawned chill, cloudy, and windy, and the air was raw and damp. As he crossed the compound courtyard, Mykel decided that it was the coldest day he’d experienced so far in Dramur, and the damp chill made it feel colder than it was. Almost to the moment, at one glass past the morning muster, he approached the officer’s cell. To his relief, he found Meryst standing by the locked door, talking to the guards.

  “Good morning, Captain,” offered Meryst, turning to face Mykel.

  “Good morning.”

  “We wish you the best of luck in finding out something.” Meryst laughed. “Neither the Myrmidon colonel nor either majer has had much success.”

  “Then I can’t do any worse,” replied Mykel.

  Both the sentries and Meryst smiled broadly. One of the two Cadmian rankers produced the heavy brass key, unlocked the lock, slid back the pair of iron bolts.

  “You won’t need more than a glass, will you?” asked Meryst.

  Mykel understood perfectly. Vaclyn and Herryf always spent a glass discussing things in the morning. “That’s if I can persuade her to talk. Much less if I can’t.”

  “Let’s hope you can.”

  Mykel hoped so as well, but he wasn’t counting on it.

  The sentries held their weapons ready as Mykel opened and door and stepped inside.

  “You could announce yourself.” Rachyla sat on the side of the bed. She wore gray trousers and a heavy green shirt, with slippers, rather than boots. Mykel noted the dark circles under her eyes, but those piercing green eyes looked anything but defeated or beaten.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be up.”

  “I am up. It’s just a matter of manners, Captain. What do you want?”

  “To talk to you.”

  “So that you can get more information from me?”

  “I’ve gotten very little.” Mykel laughed easily. He remained standing, a good two yards back from the narrow bed. “You might consider what you could tell me without betraying anyone. That way, I might understand what is happening.”

  “I’m not aware that Cadmians considered understanding af great import.”

  “Some don’t. Some do.”

  “Don’t pretend. I don’t like it.”

  “How about this, then? Forty men died earlier this week, because they attacked my company. They’d been driven off their lands, not by Cadmians, but by growers, because they couldn’t pay their debts. It doesn’t make sense, and I really would like it to make sense.”

  “So that you could find a better way to kill more people?”

  “Rachyla… for what it’s worth, I’d like to remind you that I didn’t take you into confinement when I found that first rifle. My men didn’t start shooting at your father’s men until they fired at us first. Hard as it may be for you to understand, I would rather not kill people.”

  “For that, to make you feel better, I’m supposed to betray people?” Her eyes never left his face.

  Mykel snorted. “I asked you to explain what you could without betraying anyone.”

  “Anything I say will betray someone.”

  “Why did your father need rifles? I don’t see how explaining that would betray anyone.”

  “An unarmed seltyr is without honor. A seltyr who has no rifles when others do is unarmed.”

  That didn’t make sense, unless… “Who else has rifles?”

  “Did I say that others have rifles, Captain?”

  Mykel waited. Sometimes, saying nothing worked better than saying anything. He just looked at Rachyla, taking in the black hair swept up onto the back of her head, the clear skin, and the deep green eyes. She had a nose that was strong, but not overlarge, and long fingers. Her cheekbones were high.

  A good quarter glass passed.

  “You’re more patient than the majers,” she finally said. “Or the Myrmidon.”

  “I have more at stake. So do you.”

  f More time passed.

  “You know that there are two types of growers, the larger ones, like my father, who are called seltyrs, and those who are just growers…”

  Mykel nodded, waiting.

  “There are also the growers of the east, and those to the west. Those in the west are more prosperous. They do not need the guano. They do not need irrigation ditches. They have always believed that the growers of the east have hidden their coins. We grow casaran nuts, but they grow apple bananas and use their spiders to create shimmersilk. Those bring far more in golds. With enough golds, one can buy anything, even Cadmian rifles. What else could my father do?”

  “The western growers are planning to take over the east of the isle?”

  Rachyla shrugged. “Now… with your Cadmians here, who can tell?”

  Mykel considered. She could well be lying, but… it didn’t feel that way, and he usually had a good sense about that. Then, did he want to believe what she said? “Do you have any idea why they would risk it?”

  “No. I would judge that they felt that the Duarch would not care so long as the guano and dyes and shimmersilk kept coming. Would you say I was wrong?” The corners of her mouth lifted into a sardonic smile.

  “No,” Mykel admitted. “Did your father ever speak to MajerHerryf?”

  “How could he, without revealing what he knew and becoming a target?” Her face hardened again. “You and your men did a great favor for the western growers.”

  “It wasn’t meant as such,” Mykel pointed out.

  “No. I can see that you did not mean it that way. Does it matter what you meant? My father is dead, and I am here, and one day, I will be found dead—or put before a justicer and quickly found guilty of something I did not do and exe-cuted. Or I will just vanish, and no one will be able to explain how it happened.”

  Mykel could see how she could believe that. She was probably right, too, and that bothered him.

  “No one talks to me, except you and the majers. Even the evil one only came once.”

  “The evil one?”

  “The Myrmidon colonel. All of them are evil, deep inside. They do not belong here.”

  “Where? Here on Dramuria?”

  “They do not belong on our world. They are different. They even smell different. We will be here when they are long gone.” Abruptly, she closed her mouth.

  Smell different? Mykel frowned. “How could they smell different?”

  “They do.”

  “Just how will they depart when they have the Myrmidons and the flame lances?”

  “I have said all that I will say.”

  “And more than you would have,” Mykel said gently.

  “You are not so evil as the others, Captain. For that, you will pay dearly.”

  “When did the western growers plan to attack?”

  Rachyla shook her head.

  “Do you know who was the one the other western growers looked to?”

  The only response was an enigmatic smile.

  She had said all that she would say. He bowed. “Thank you. I’ll see what can be done.”

  “You are as confined as I, Captain. Your cell is merely larger. You can do nothing.” The green eyes focused on Mykel, just taking him in, neither judging nor dismissing.

  After a moment, he bowed once more, then turned, and rapped on the door.

  Again, the Cadmian guards had their rifles trained as

  Mykel left the officer’s cell. The angular guard quickly threw the bolts and snapped the lock closed.

  “Did you learn anything?” asked Meryst.

  “More than I expected, less than I hoped. I’ll have to look into som
e things. Then I’ll know. I don’t want to say much until then. She just might be telling me things that aren’t true.”

  “Seltyrs and their families haven’t been known for their directness,” replied Meryst. “I learned that a long time back.”

  “I’ve gathered that.” Mykel bowed. “I thank you and hope that this will lead to something that will help us both.”

  “So do we.”

  Mykel nodded, then turned, walking northward across the courtyard. What could he say to either majer? He wasn’t supposed to have talked to Rachyla, although he hadn’t officially been prohibited from doing so. He had no real proof that the western growers had gotten rifles, and he wouldn’t until or unless those growers revolted or attacked—or unless the Third Battalion raided the western seltyrs. Majer Vaclyn would have no compunctions about conducting such a raid, and the results would certainly trigger a revolt, whether the seltyrs were innocent or guilty.

  So what was he to do? He couldn’t risk telling the majer, and yet… what if the western growers were planning a surprise attack?

  If pressed, if the majer did find out he had visited the woman, Mykel could say that she had told him that there were more rifles in Dramur, and that included the western growers, but that he had not been able to discover either names or locations.

  He didn’t want to say even that. Majer Vaclyn wasn’t above using stronger methods to get Rachyla to talk, but Mykel doubted those would work—except to injure or disfigure her—and what was the point of that?

  Sometimes, he wondered what the point of anything was.

  40

  The weather had held, and Dainyl had returned to the compound late on Quinti. He had not discussed what had happened on the mountain, except to tell Quelyt that he had had a brief glimpse of something that might have been an ancient. That was more than shading the truth, but what else could he say? That a creature that was supposed to have died centuries before had told him to change or die? Without explaining what she meant?

  How had she even known his tongue? That alone would have been troubling enough, not to mention her ability to vanish without a trace, and that of the blocky creatures with her to melt into the very stones of the mountains. Yet… if she were such a threat, why had there been no sign of her and her people for centuries? All of Corus teamed with indigens and landers and more than a few alectors, and there had been no reports of the ancients in generations.

  He paused. That was not quite true. He had heard of no reports. That did not mean that there were none.

  Add to that reports of an insurrection that was not, or not much of one, and the entire situation in Dramur was troubling, perhaps troubling enough for him to act, except that he had no better idea than the Cadmian majers did about what was really going on. If he were to take command immediately, he reminded himself, how could he improve the situation? Far better to continue to observe and reflect, until he either knew enough to act well—or until he had to act because the majers had blundered so badly that he had no choice.

  In the time he was reflecting, he noted the return of Fif-teenth Company. Since he had had not received any report about that return from either majer, after breakfast on Septi he made his way to the small study in headquarters that Majer Vaclyn had taken over.

  The majer jumped to his feet as Dainyl entered. “Colonel, I hadn’t expected you.”

  Dainyl gestured for Vaclyn to take his seat. Then he sat on the edge of the chair across from the majer and looked down and across the desk at the Cadmian officer. “I would appreciate a short report on what Third Battalion has done in the past week.”

  “I can write something up, sir.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vaclyn squared himself and looked at Dainyl. “Fifteenth Company has just returned from Jyoha. The company was successful in tracking down and encircling forty armed raiders. Regretfully, the raiders chose not to surrender to custody and attacked. Virtually all of them were killed or died shortly thereafter of wounds received in the battle. Fifteenth Company suffered four losses and several wounded.”

  “Who is the captain?”

  “Captain Mykel. He was the one under my command when we took out the seltyr’s force in Enstyla.”

  “He seems to have learned well from you.” Dainyl’s tone was bland, much as he disliked Vaclyn, and the majer’s exaggeration of his own efforts. He also could sense a residue of Talent.

  “He and his men use weapons well, sir. Since they have returned here, I will be rotating Thirteenth Company north to the Jyoha area shortly. I’ve assigned Fifteenth Company to handle the patrols on the mine road and in the surrounding area.”

  “What of the other companies?”

  “Fourteenth Company is patrolling the valley trails used by the smugglers. They captured a small boat of smugglers last Londi, with several cases of ammunition, but the three men handling the boat have not so far been helpful or informative. They remain in custody. Sixteenth Company has been on station north of the valley trails, but has seen no sign of other rebel forces, either from the growers or from escaped prisoners. Seventeenth Company has been patrolling the roads through the mountains from the western plantations. The company’s presence has been effective in discouraging brigandry. That had been a problem, according to Majer Herryf.”

  “With the exception of the places where Fifteenth Company has been, everything seems settled, then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Might you happen to have a report from this Captain Mykel on his activities.”

  “He briefed me when he arrived here last night, sir. I have not yet written up a formal report.”

  About that, the majer was clearly lying, and not a little upset behind the pleasant facade. Dainyl decided to press slightly. “When you’ve finished it, I would like to see it.” He smiled. “Matters are so quiet that it would be useful to read about what action has taken place. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Not that I can think of, Colonel,” replied Vaclyn, “but if anything should come up, you will be the first to know.”

  Dainyl extended a Talent-compulsion. “Have you met with any other alectors besides me?”

  “Ah… just the marshal when he briefed Colonel Herolt and me before we embarked for Dramuria.”

  That was true enough—but why was there a residue of Talent after so long?

  “Did you spend much time with the marshal? Just you?”

  “Only a few moments. He cautioned me to be wary of the seltyrs’ machinations.”

  Vaclyn believed that to be true as well.

  Dainyl stood. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dainyl made his way out into the courtyard, where a chill and raw wind blew from the northeast. He missed the warmth of even the winter sun, although it was not truly a winter sun, not so far south.

  Should he go talk to Captain Mykel? Dainyl shook his head. There were times when it was better to let matters take their course, as Lystrana had so often told him. This was one of those times. He did wonder why the marshal had impressed the matter of seltyr machinations upon the majer. What part did that play in whatever the marshal and the Highest were doing? They were clearly setting the Cadmi-ans against the seltyrs, but Dainyl had not the slightest shred of real proof that he could show—or anyone to whom he could tell what he had discovered.

  All he could do was wait for an opportunity. As a former Myrmidon ranker, though, he hated to wait. He’d always felt that acting earlier worked better than waiting; but at the moment, he had no real choice—not after what had happened to Tyanylt. He’d also learned that he had to pick his battles carefully, and picking one now would be fatal.

  41

  Octdi morning was every bit as blustery and chill as Septi had been when Mykel turned in the saddle of the chestnut gelding to look back down the road at the sagging barracks behind the two stone walls across the high bluff. To the east of the walls were the sheds where the prisoners slept. Then he looked a
head again. The road from Dramuria to the guano mine was paved with rough-cut Sraystone, soft enough that over the years the iron-rimmed wheels of the wagons carrying the guano to the port had worn wide tracks into the very stone.

  The first ten vingts from Dramuria were used by holders, by traders, all manner of people, but that was not the part of the road assigned to Fifteenth Company. Fifteenth Company was responsible only for the two-vingt stretch that ran a vingt southeast from the bluff prison compound southeast toward Dramuria and a vingt northwest over the river bridge and up to the mine—as well as an arc five vingts deep around mat road, with all the side roads and lanes.

  There were stone walls two yards high on both sides of the road from the prison camp gates to the mine itself. A stockade surrounded the mining area. Even the sides of the bridge over the Muralto River were two yards high, but they were of timber, rather than stone.

  In his briefing on Septi, Majer Vaclyn had been very clear that Mykel was to be out with his troopers all the time, and that he was not to follow the lax example of the local Cadmian officers. So, early on Octdi morning, Mykel was leading fifth squad on the sweep of the road before the local Cadmians marched the prisoners to the mine.

  “Sure wouldn’t want to be them,” observed Vhanyr, the oldest of the squad leaders in the company. “Can smell that shit from here, and we’re a vingt away with the wind at our back.”

  “We’ll be smelling it more than we’d like.” Mykel couldn’t see anyone on the road, or in the rocks above and beyond the stone wall. At two yards high, the wall was really only good for slowing most prisoners down, but since the prisoners were shackled in pairs, two yards of stone should have been enough.

  On each side of the road, a trooper rode beside the wall, close enough to be able to look ahead and over it, to make sure that no one was on the other side.

  “Glad we’re out of Jyoha,” said Vhanyr. “Those folks were scary.”

  That was true enough, reflected Mykel, but Fourteenth Company had been there earlier, and Majer Vaclyn had doubtless given Dohark the same kinds of orders he’d impressed upon Mykel. He’d probably be giving the same orders to Kuertyl for Thirteenth Company.