Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Earlier most days, sir.”

  Mykel wondered if alectors even slept.

  Breakfast was egg toast, fried apple bananas, and some sort of fried fish that, thankfully, was white beneath the thick batter—and tasteless. Then, the egg toast was tasteless as well. The bananas were the most edible part of the meal. Mykel ate slowly. There was no reason to hurry. Even so, no other officers had appeared by the time he left.

  His next stop was the barracks, where he found Alendyr.

  A good glass later, after going over the supplies the company could use and tasking the squad leader with trying to obtain them, Mykel made his way to the officer’s cell where Rachyla was confined.

  “You need to talk to her?” asked the shorter guard of the two. “I don’t know…”

  Mykel’s eyes hardened. “Do you want to take it up with Colonel Dainyl?”

  “Ah… you’ve spoken to the colonel?”

  “This morning, in fact.” That was true enough, even if it hadn’t been about Rachyla.

  “He’s here?”

  “He was at the mess before dawn,” Mykel said. “I’ll be meeting with him again later.”

  “I suppose it’s all right.”

  Mykel stood back as one guard unlocked the door, and the other held his rifle ready. After the bolts were slid back, Mykel stepped inside.

  Rachyla looked up from the stool before the desk, on which sat a tray with a half-eaten breakfast—the same egg toast and fried fish Mykel had eaten, with the smallest morsel of fried apple banana at one side. Like Mykel, she had apparently found the apple bananas the best part.

  “You. I’d thought they might be coming to reclaim what passes for breakfast.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sling and harness.

  “It’s filling.” Mykel stood well back from Rachyla, who wore the same trousers and shirt he had seen before. But then, from what hung from the pegs on the wall, she appeared to have but three changes of clothing. That was more than he had at the moment.

  “I see you had some difficulty. I’d like to say I’m sorry, but that would be less truthful.”

  “You were right,” Mykel said.

  Rachyla looked puzzled. Her eyes centered on the bulki-ness of his tunic over the wound dressings, the sling, and doubtless the paleness of his face. “What was I right about, Captain?”

  “About being betrayed. Majer Vaclyn tried to kill me.”

  “He did not succeed, I see.”

  “Colonel Dainyl—I think you called him the evil one— he stopped him. The majer used his second throwing knife on the colonel. It bounced off his tunic, and the colonel turned him into cinders with his light-cutter.”

  “The knife… it went through your shoulder?”

  “It didn’t do too much damage.” Mykel offered a rueful smile.

  “It did more than you admit. Why are you here?”

  “Because you said I would be betrayed. How did you know?”

  Rachyla did not answer, although she did not lower her eyes and continued to look at him directly. Finally, she spoke. “It is always that way. Those who think are always prepared for evil from those they do not trust, and those they do not know.”

  “That is true, but you meant more than that.”

  “I meant what I meant.”

  Mykel took in her face, the intent green eyes, the smooth skin, and the alertness that suffused all her being. “You meant something that was more than a general observation.”

  “And if I did, Captain? Why should I share that with you?”

  “It might do me some good, and that might do you some good.”

  “Goodwill? I think not. I am the daughter of the first sel-tyr who rebelled.”

  “The first seltyr who rebelled?”

  “Did I say that? I meant the only seltyr who rebelled.”

  Mykel laughed. “You don’t make mistakes like that, Lady Rachyla.”

  “Rachyla will do. One way or another, I will not be a lady much longer.”

  “Which seltyrs are likely to rebel next?”

  “If any are, Captain, how would I know? I am quite isolated in my confinement here. You are the only one who actually speaks to me.”

  “Majer Vaclyn never talked to you?”

  “I would not know your Majer Vaclyn if he stood beside you.”

  “He won’t. He’s the one that the colonel killed to save my neck.”

  “He has some use for you. The alectors only save those who are useful.”

  “How many of them have you met to be able to say that?”

  “Me? I am a woman, and a young one, by their standards. Even lander women mean little, except for bearing children. There are no alectors in Dramur, save for your colonel and his retainers. How would I ever have come to meet one of them?”

  Rachyla wasn’t telling the truth, but then, she hadn’t really lied, either. She hadn’t answered his question. “Do you always avoid answering the question?”

  “Captain… how could you think that? I have replied to everything you have said.”

  Mykel wanted to laugh. Another thought struck him. “What about your mother?”

  Rachyla’s face stiffened. “She vanished years ago. No one knows where she went.”

  “I see.” Mykel had a very good idea what she meant. “You must be very much like her.”

  “What a strange thing to say, Captain.”

  “I think not.”

  “If you could understand what you feel, Captain, you could be a very dangerous man.”

  “That is a strange thing to say.”

  “You do not have to take my observations, Captain. I am just a woman and a prisoner.”

  Mykel doubted that Rachyla would ever be just anything.

  “Who are the most powerful seltyrs—in both the east and the west?”

  “How would I possibly know that?”

  “The most powerful ones nearest to Stylan Estate?” prompted Mykel.

  “No one ever shared such thoughts with me, and women do not visit armories, Captain.”

  He almost missed that reference. “Are there any growers who don’t have armories?”

  “I would not know. I have not visited more than a handful of other estates, only those close to Stylan. I could not imagine much difference.”

  In short, they were all armed to the teeth, and probably with contraband Cadmian rifles.

  “Do the western seltyrs have more horses?”

  Rachyla just shrugged.

  From that point on, her answers were either shrugs or flat denials of knowledge.

  As before, she had told him all she would tell him—just enough so that he would come back—a slight hint or two, doubtless true, but nothing that could be truly traced to her. A bargaining tool to keep him interested and to keep her from losing her mind in a confinement that probably was beginning to seem endless.

  “Perhaps you will feel like talking more later.”

  “Perhaps, Captain. You must come back and see.”

  Mykel laughed softly.

  The faintest hint of an ironic smile creased her lips and vanished.

  Mykel rapped on the door. He did not look back as he left.

  From the officer’s cell and Rachyla, he walked to the stables to check on the chestnut. His mount had been groomed, and was eating grain from the manger in the stall.

  Feeling tired, Mykel returned to his quarters and stretched out.

  It was still before noon when he woke, but without much to do except recover, Mykel made his way across the courtyard to the mess. It was early enough that he was alone there. He sat down to puzzle out what he knew, sipping on the ale mat the Cadmian server had brought him.

  He had to admit that Rachyla fascinated him. She was intelligent, and she knew it, but not in the arrogant manner Mykel associated with alectors. She was attractive, but not beautiful. She was direct to the point of being sharp-tongued, but didn’t seem vicious with her words. She was the heir to wealth, yet might be sentenced to death or years in the
women’s workhouse. He was a crafter’s son, who would be lucky to survive and be stipended off as an overcaptain—a majer if he happened to get lucky. He took another swallow of ale.

  In time, Dohark stepped into the mess.

  Mykel saw the shining—and new—bars of an overcaptain on the older officer’s collar. “Congratulations!” He paused, then added, “Sir.”

  “Might better be condolences,” Dohark said gruffly, if warmly, settling down across the table from Mykel.

  “You’re in command of Third Battalion now?”

  “And Fourteenth Company.” The new overcaptain shook his head. “You know me, Mykel. I’m a savvy ranker who took years to learn enough to get by as a captain. What do I know about running a battalion?”

  “You know all the things that a battalion commander shouldn’t do,” Mykel suggested. “That’s more than Vaclyn knew.”

  “We’re down to about four companies, in real strength,” Dohark said. “Outside of that one seltyr and a few hand-fuls of rebels, we’ve found nothing. We’ve pissed off most of the people. You and I both know that patrolling doesn’t work. We’re not finding anyone except escaped miners and poor bastards thrown off their lands. It just gets people angry.”

  ‘Tell the colonel that.“

  “I did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said we could cut down on patrols—except around the mine and along the road through the mountains to the west. We can’t stop the patrols in the other places, but we can reduce them, put them on odd and different routes and schedules.”

  “That might help.” Mykel paused. “There’s something else. Do we know what’s going on over on the west side of the mountains? They’re supposed to have better plantations and more growers, and we haven’t heard anything, except the business about guarding the road.”

  “What have you heard?” Dohark looked hard at Mykel.

  “Not much… except a few words by the seltyr’s daughter that I overheard when we went through that estate. Something about the western growers being better armed. I told Vaclyn, but he never did anything, and I didn’t really want to say anything more. I’ve talked to her a couple of times, and she denies having said anything or knowing anything about the western growers.” Mykel couldn’t think of any other way to present what he’d learned, not without revealing how much guesswork was involved. By referring to

  Vaclyn, Mykel could make some use of the dead majer. He hadn’t been useful while alive.

  “You think we could… persuade… her to say more?”

  “You might, but… you torture people, and they tell you want you want to hear. We need good information, not what we want to hear.”

  Dohark nodded slowly. “You got that right.”

  “I’d also wager that every big grower around has a hidden armory.”

  “I won’t take that wager.” Dohark laughed.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Tread real lightly, and plan for the worst.” Dohark looked at the mug of ale that the orderly had set before him. “What else can we do?”

  Dohark understood more than Vaclyn ever had. Mykel hoped it would be enough.

  56

  Because Dainyl had his doubts about the necessarily promoted Overcaptain Dohark, he had spent almost three glasses with Dohark over the end days. Dohark was respected by the other captains, and the man had a wealth of experience and common sense. He wasn’t without insight, since he had already asked one basic question. If the western growers of Dramur were the most prosperous, why was all the attention of the Cadmians being focused on the eastern growers? Still, whether Dohark had the degree of insight and foresight a battalion commander needed was another question.

  At that thought, Dainyl stopped. Since when had anyone asked that of a Cadmian battalion commander? The question had always been how effective a commander was in accomplishing what the Highest and the marshal needed done. The Reillies had been disrupting agriculture in the Vales of Prosperity and reducing lifeforce mass growth. The marshal had sent out the Cadmians to remove the Reillies and relocate them where their activities resulted in a net increase in lifeforce. The last thing either of the senior alectors wanted was a commander who might question why something had been ordered. Was that the reason why Dainyl was now acting Submarshal? Because he had kept his questions to himself—and Lystrana?

  He was also troubled that Quelyt had not returned from Elcien. With a two day flight each way, and a day off in between, Quelyt should have been back on Decdi evening.

  The next Cadmian to enter the study was Majer Herryf, greatly subdued from when Dainyl had first met him. The colonel waited for Herryf to settle himself before he half leaned, half sat on the edge of the desk and addressed the Cadmian officer.

  “I’ve been thinking, Majer. You expressed worry about the escaped miners turning into a rebel force long before they became a problem. What led you to that conclusion?”

  Herryf only met Dainyl’s eyes for a moment before looking down.

  “I’ll let you think about that,” Dainyl said. “There’s another question that’s never been really answered. Where do the western growers fit in? Their houses and plantations are far larger than those of the eastern growers, and the lands are more fertile. Yet, from what I can tell, Dramuria tends to be ruled by those in the east. I’d like your thoughts on that.”

  “Sir, the western growers are more prosperous, and they can grow a wider range of crops. They need less in the way of trade than the eastern growers.”

  “Why don’t they trade with the eastern growers, then? Wouldn’t it benefit both?”

  “They don’t like each other. They don’t trust each other.”

  Dainyl cleared his throat. “Was this ever reported?”

  Herryf looked up, his eyes wide. “Of course. I wrote a dispatch on the problem two years ago. Marshal Shastylt sent instructions back. He told me to stay on good terms with both and to avoid getting involved with the western growers whenever possible. I’ve done what I could, but that was part of the problem with the escaped miners. Some of them were heading west and becoming brigands. I wanted to create a local militia to deal with that, but the marshal said that two companies were enough to deal with brigands.” Herryf gestured vaguely westward. “There’s no way that two companies can cover all of Dramur and also handle the prisoners and guarding the mine and the guano shipments.”

  “Do you think that the western seltyrs smuggled in weapons to deal with brigands?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  Dainyl read that as an affirmative. “Do the western growers get any of the guano or the revenues from the mine?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. None of the growers talk about that when we’re around.”

  “When are you around the growers?”

  “Not often. I sometimes see them when I check with Sturwart. Once in a while, one will come here to complain about brigands.”

  From Herryf’s demeanor, Dainyl was certain he wasn’t getting the entire story.

  “You’re from Dramur, then?”

  “Most of the local Cadmians here are, Colonel. My older brother inherited the family lands. He’s one of the smaller growers still able to make ends meet.”

  “Here in the east?”

  “There aren’t any small growers in the west.”

  That was more than a little interesting, reflected Dainyl. “How many of the growers have stocks of weapons?”

  “That, I would have no way of knowing. My brother and I seldom talk, less every year. Even if I did meet a grower, that’s not something any of them would share with me. I’m sure you can see that, Colonel.”

  “Oh, I do.” Dainyl stood. “I’d like you to think about how we might change what we’re doing with the western growers. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Herryf stood. “Yes, sir.”

  After the majer left, Dainyl stretched. The majer had been less than totally forthcoming, but it was obvious there was a disagreement between Herryf
and his brother. It was also clear that the western growers worried Herryf.

  It was time for another aerial survey of the west.

  Dainyl donned his shimmersilk jacket and gloves. On the way out, he turned to the squad leader at the table outside. “Sheafyr, I’m going flying. I won’t be back until later. If there are any problems, either Overcaptain Dohark or the majer will have to deal with them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Outside the air seemed less chill. With spring but a few weeks away, Dainyl hoped that the weather would continue to warm. Still, it was far warmer than late winter was in Elcien, or in places like Iron Stem or Scien.

  Falyna was the duty flier, the only one, actually, on Dra-mur, and she scrambled to her feet as she saw Dainyl marching toward her. “Where to, Colonel? Up to that peak?”

  “Not today. We’re headed west, over the mountains, to take a look at some growers’ lands there. I want to see what’s changed since the last flight out there.”

  “That’ll take a while.”

  “The rest of the day, I’d judge.” It would take far longer than that to determine what else he didn’t know about what had been happening in Dramur.

  57

  In the early morning, Mykel and Alendyr rode side by side up the stone road toward the mining camp and the mine. Behind them followed second squad. The late-winter air was almost warm, and there was no wind. Selena was low in the western sky, so low that it would not rise in the east until close to midnight. Asterta was low in the east, behind Mykel and to his right.

  “Sir?” asked Alendyr. “What does the colonel want us to do about the patrols?”

  “Keep patrolling, but with more care. I got the feeling that he wasn’t happy about having to take over.”

  “In his boots, I wouldn’t be, either,” replied the squad leader. “Majer Vaclyn, begging your pardon, sir, he didn’t do any of us any favors. Bhoral said that you near-on begged him to leave those folk in Jyoha alone. Was that right?”

  “I don’t know that I begged. I did tell him that I didn’t see the use of it, and that it would just make matters worse. He insisted that a Codebreaker was a Codebreaker.”