Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “What do you think, sir?” asked Bhoral. “About what we should do next?”

  “We ought to give this Captain Mahwalt a taste of his own tactics. They still don’t shoot that well. It might be best to make sure that they don’t get much more practice. First, we need to see what our own losses were and how many extra mounts and prisoners we have.”

  “Best I could figure, we killed maybe fifteen of theirs, could have been eighteen.” Bhoral paused. “Looks like they got the prisoners over there. I’ll be right back, sir.”

  With the midday sun beating down on him, Mykel felt almost uncomfortably warm as he surveyed the road from a high point on the shoulder. The only figures he saw were the Cadmians and their prisoners.

  The squads were almost reformed when Bhoral rode back and reined up beside Mykel. “Six prisoners, sir, and eleven mounts. Some of them look pretty fair.”

  “We’ll keep the best ones for spares. You choose.” Mykel knew that Bhoral was a far better judge of horses than he was.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mykel turned the chestnut, then raised his voice. “Squad leaders! Forward and report!”

  Within moments, the five squad leaders reined up opposite Mykel and Bhoral.

  “Report, by squads,” Mykel ordered.

  “First squad, two wounded.”

  “Second squad, one wounded.”

  Third, fourth, and fifth squads had no casualties, and Mykel looked across the faces of his squad leaders. “We’ll ride back to the camp. We’ll leave the wounded and the prisoners. The local Cadmians can handle them. They’ve had practice. Have the men eat—quickly—and water their mounts and pack their gear. Whatever happens this afternoon, we’ll be heading back to the compound in Dramuria afterward. When we leave, we’ll ride south to see if we can set up an ambush for the rebels where the western road turns off the mine road. From what I remember, there’s high ground to the southwest, but we’ll see what looks best after the scouts report.” He paused. “That’s all. Dismissed to your squads.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the response.

  Mykel waited until the squad leaders rejoined their men, then nodded to Bhoral.

  “Company! Forward!”

  Mykel kept glancing back over his shoulder as he rode back up the gentle incline of the road toward the mining camp. He saw nothing but his own company and the faint dust raised by its mounts.

  69

  Hazy high clouds, silvery against the silver-green sky, were drifting in from the west by the time Fifteenth Company headed south, but the air was so still that the early afternoon seemed more like late spring than late winter. As Mykel rode down the mine highway toward Dramuria, he glanced to his left, at the low, wooded hill that had been the site of the morning’s skirmish.

  He shifted his weight in the saddle, conscious of the lingering soreness in his shoulder, soreness that hadn’t been helped by using a rifle. The attack on the seltyr’s squad had left a bad taste in his mouth. Mykel certainly didn’t want his men killed, but it bothered him that the rebels were sending out troopers so poorly trained and led. It was a waste of men because nothing would change, except that the Cadmians would lose some troopers, and, if all the rebels were so inept, they’d lose most of theirs.

  He had more than a few questions. Who had picked out uniforms of such a bright blue that they stood out in any terrain? The maroon and gray of the Cadmians might not have blended in all settings, but the Cadmian colors didn’t turn every man into a target. Why were the seltyr’s men so poorly trained? Even the worst of the Reillies had fought far better—and they had only had crossbows and handmade single-shot long rifles. The seltyrs had more men and golds—and good contraband weapons. So why were their troopers so ineffective?

  Mykel had drafted a brief report on what had happened in the past two days and given it to Captain Benjyr for dispatch back to Dohark with Benjyr’s messengers. He’d also made arrangements for the wounded men—since none of the wounds appeared life-threatening—to accompany the local Cadmians returning to the compound in Dramuria. With his own company being whittled away man by man, Mykel wasn’t about to spare even a single trooper for a message run when he could have someone else deliver it.

  The five-vingt ride to the junction took more than a glass, without pushing, and three of the four scouts joined Mykel a good two hundred yards north of where the packed dirt road to the west branched off from the paved mine road.

  “Jasakyt’s still investigating that low bluff over to the west, there,” offered Dhozynt. “Can’t ride up it from this side, but he thought there might be a way up from behind.”

  Mykel’s eyes followed the gesture of the fifth squad’s scout. The bluff wasn’t high, no more than two and a half yards, but it was almost vertical, and the red dirt and sand section facing the road extended more than a hundred yards from east to west. The eastern end dropped into a small area of wooded and marshy ground, not quite a small swamp, fed by the rivulet that ran between the road and the bluff. The western end merged with a hillside covered with patches of brush olives. On the south side of the western road, right at the junction, was a wooded area that rose slowly to the southwest, behind and to the east of the marshy ground. Low bushes and heavier undergrowth began within a few yards of the road.

  The captain nodded and looked to his right, at the area on the north side of the western road, gently rolling fields that had been recently tilled. There was no cover there.

  Jasakyt appeared, riding onto the road from behind a second hill, farther to the west.

  “Company, halt!” Mykel ordered. He wanted no additional hoofprints on the western road until he’d heard from Jasakyt. While he waited for the last scout to reach him, he might as well assemble those he needed. “Squad leaders! Scouts!”

  Vhanyr had just joined the group when Jasakyt rode up and reined in his mount. The scout had a broad smile.

  “I take it that bluff is a good ambush point,” Mykel said dryly.

  “Yes, sir. You can get there two ways, and neither leaves much in the way of tracks. Could put the whole company up there, and no one could see ‘em from here on the road.”

  “Do you know of a better place?” Mykel addressed the other three scouts.

  “The orchard there’d be better for mounts,” said Sendyl, “but you’d be downhill and riding up. Wouldn’t want that.”

  Dhozynt shook his head. So did Gerant.

  Mykel surveyed the squad leaders. “We’ll set up here, and wait to see what happens. Squads two, three, and four will take positions on foot—at the top of that bluff. Squad one will be out of sight in the woods to protect our east flank.” Mykel looked at Gendsyr. “Your men are not to move out or open fire until after their companies turn westward, and not before the squads on the bluff fire. If the rebels head north, we’ll follow them until the right time to attack. If they turn west, keep your men under cover when you open fire.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Vhanyr, fifth squad will cover the west flank. You’ll need to keep to the high ground. Don’t open fire unless you’re attacked, or until you get specific orders from me. Scouts—Sendyl, you head south along the mine road toward Dramuria. When you see the rebels coming, I want you to head back here early enough that they can’t see you.”

  Mykel turned to the second squad scout. “Gerant, you’ll have to ride east. I don’t want to be surprised if they decide to head for the western road through those orchards over there. Watch the lanes and trails there. Jasakyt, you head west, say two vingts, just in case there might be more rebels riding this way. Dhozynt, you get to go back the way we came…” As he outlined his plan, Mykel could only hope that what he learned from the captives was accurate.

  In less than half a glass, Fifteenth Company was in position. The stillness of the early afternoon was replaced by a light wind out of the northwest. From where he waited, hidden behind the low ridge of the bluff, Mykel looked northward. The clouds were slowly thickening.

  His strategy wa
s simple enough—use the bluff as a point from which his men could rake the rebels. The hill slope facing the road was steep enough that riders would find it difficult to climb, especially in the face of heavy fire. If necessary, Mykel’s men could withdraw directly down the more gentle slope to the south.

  Mykel kept looking at the clouds, listening for scouts or horses, but the afternoon was still, except for the low murmurs of the troopers, and the occasional chuff of a mount tethered downhill in the trees.

  “You think the western seltyrs have ten companies over here?” Bhoral asked after a time.

  “Who really knows?” Mykel had no doubts they had that many… somewhere.

  One glass passed, then another. During that time, Mykel made several inspections, walking down through the wooded area to see Gendsyr and first squad, and back to the west to check with Vhanyr. The sun was touching, the peaks of the Murian Mountains, and Mykel was wondering when he should call off the ambush and start the ride southward. At that moment, Sendyl rode up out of the woods from below and east toward Mykel. The captain eased out of his sitting position and hurried downhill to where the scout waited. Bhoral was close behind.

  “There’s two companies coming,” Sendyl announced. “Riding up the road from Dramuria plain as you please.”

  “Coming up from Dramuria? There’s no pursuit?”

  “No, sir. But there’s smoke down south. Not so far as Dramuria, but this side of the bridge on the north of the town.”

  “Do they have scouts out ahead?”

  “No, sir. Outriders maybe two hundred yards forward of the van.”

  “How long before they get here?”

  “A little more than half a glass, I’d judge.”

  “We’ll be ready. You take a position as far south as you can and still stay under cover.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Sendyl headed back downhill, Bhoral cleared his throat.

  Mykel turned to the senior squad leader. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t like it, sir. No scouts, no supply wagons, and they’re riding around shooting and burning things?”

  “You think they’re a diversion? Some sort of setup?”

  Bhoral shook his head. “Don’t know, sir. Suppose they could be that stupid, but… ?”

  “That’s one reason why we’re trying it this way. Even if there are more rebels coming from somewhere, we’ve got a good position. We’ve also got scouts out in other directions.”

  “Good thing, sir.”

  “If you’d go tell fifth squad, now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mykel walked toward Alendyr. The squad leader looked up.

  “Rebels headed this way. Half a glass. Keep it quiet.”

  By the time Mykel had passed the word to Chyndylt and Dravadyl, made a last quick inspection of the three squads, and returned to the position he’d chosen for himself roughly in the middle of the bluff, a quarter glass had passed.

  Shortly, Bhoral reappeared. “Sir?”

  “Why don’t you take the west end, so that you can send out fifth squad, if necessary?” Mykel left unsaid that they wouldn’t be in the same place.

  “Let me know if things change.” Bhoral hurried back to the west.

  Mykel had picked a spot on the bluff behind a low scrubby pine, where he could look through the branches and survey the road without being seen by the riders. He stretched out on the ground, behind and under the pine, and began to watch and wait.

  No riders appeared, and a rock dug into the front of his thigh. Carefully, quietly, he eased himself slightly to the side. The wind began to moan, picking up in intensity, into a brisk breeze. Mykel kept watching and, finally, two outriders in the brilliant blue of the rebels turned off the mining road and rode westward. Just when the outriders were almost below Mykel, the first riders of the main body turned. They had ridden no more than thirty yards, when someone called an order, and the outriders and the rest of the riders halted—scarcely in the best position for Fifteenth Company to attack.

  Mykel hoped that none of his men would fire, not until the rebels moved farther into firing range. Several riders galloped northward along the mining road, but the rebel force did not move. Mykel had no way of knowing how far to the south it stretched, since all he could see was perhaps thirty riders.

  At least a quarter glass more passed… and another. The day darkened, if without shadows, as the clouds to the north and west obscured the sun. Finally, a set of horn signals echoed through the afternoon, and the outriders urged their mounts forward.

  “Ready,” he murmured… “pass it along… quietly.”

  “Ready…”

  As the riders in the van neared, Mykel watched closely, trying to pick out the captain of the first company. Finally, he could see a taller man with insignia on his tunic collar, and a silver shoulder braid—the kind Cadmians only wore on ceremonial occasions or in staff capacities at headquarters. He sighted, waiting, until the middle of the company was opposite him.

  “Fire!” Mykel concentrated on the captain, aiming and willing the bullet toward the target. His shot was true, and the officer sagged, then slumped out of the saddle.

  The shots of the first volley were nearly simultaneous, and deadly. Bluecoats were falling and flailing everywhere.

  Mykel looked for a squad leader, but couldn’t find one. So he just kept seeking clear shots. By the time he reloaded, a good third of the leading rebel company was down, either wounded or dead, and the remaining riders were still half-milling around. Only one or two of the riders on the road even seemed to know from where the shots were coming.

  After reloading, Mykel fired one more shot.

  Thump! Needles cascaded around him. A sharp pain shot along the side of his neck just behind his ear, then subsided.

  Mykel flattened himself and touched his neck. He couldn’t feel anything, except a fragment of wood—a long splinter. He pulled it out, and raised his rifle again, running through another magazine, then reloading.

  Horns sounded, the handful of riders still in their saddles turned their mounts and dashed toward the mining road. There, the riders of the second bluecoat company were galloping northward, toward the mine. He frowned as he saw them slow, close to a vingt farther north, and turn westward, moving through the fields at a quick walk, well out of range.

  Should he have his men mount up and follow? Mykel shook his head. He had no idea what might be waiting to the west, and it wouldn’t be that long before it was dark.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” He stood and stepped away from the pine to get a better view. Blue tunics lay strewn everywhere. Some men moaned. A horse was screaming somewhere.

  “Bhoral! Get a quick count of the bodies, and get someone to round up all their weapons and ammunition. Send one of the scouts west, a half vingt or so, to make sure no one’s headed back toward us. Get all the mounts clear of the woods and ready to ride.”

  “The bodies, sir?”

  The last thing Mykel wanted to do was to deal with scores of bodies. He didn’t have the manpower or the time—and there was at least one company of rebels on the road west of them. “Lay them out on the side of the road for now.” Mykel turned to get the chestnut, but a ranker was leading his mount toward him.

  “Squad leader said you’d be needing him, sir.”

  “Thank you, Rykyt.” Mykel mounted and rode west, coming up on Vhanyr and fifth squad. “Take the road, and set up, just in case someone turns and comes back from the west. Second, third, and fourth squads are gathering weapons and ammunition”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any casualties?”

  “No, sir. Not a one.”

  “Good.” When Mykel reached the western road, the surviving bluecoats were out of sight, somewhere to the west, and a clouded twilight had fallen.

  After letting his mount pick his way back along the packed-dirt surface, he reined up just where the western road turned off the mine road, so that he could see both roads. There were but a
handful of bluecoats lying on the graystones of the mine road.

  He watched as his men stripped weapons and ammunition and dragged bodies to the side of the road. He said nothing about the quick searches of wallets. He doubted if many of the dead had jewelry of value.

  Bhoral rode slowly toward Mykel, reining up.

  “Do you know how many we lost?”

  “Just one, sir. Trooper from first squad—Onstyt. Three wounded, two from first squad, and one from third. What about their wounded?”

  “Put them on mounts. We’ll take them back to Dramuria with us.”

  “Some are hurt pretty bad.”

  “Do what you can.” Mykel stopped. A single rider was headed toward them from the west. After a moment, he recognized the scout, and raised his hand. “Jasakyt! Here!”

  The third squad scout reined up short of Mykel. “Sir!”

  “Is someone coming after us?”

  “Not right yet, sir, but the riders that circled round Fifteenth Company, they got back on the road a vingt or so west of here. Thought I’d follow and watch for a time.” The scout paused, then went on. “They joined a bunch more rebels, maybe close to half a battalion’s worth. They’re all heading west. Not in a hurry, I’d say.”

  “You think they have a camp somewhere here?”

  “Hard to say, but if I had to guess, sir…”

  “You’d wager that way, and so would I,” Mykel con-eluded, turning to Bhoral. “Have them finish up as quickly as they can. We need to get back to Dramuria. The overcap-tain needs to know. The men and their mounts need quarters and decent food and beds.”

  Most of all, Mykel needed to talk to Dohark—if he even happened to be there.

  For all Mykel’s urging, twilight was giving way to night before Fifteenth Company finally began to ride southward. The captives rode at the rear, with captured mounts carrying all the captured rifles and ammunition behind them.

  “Getting to be a bloody mess,” Bhoral said quietly from where he rode beside Mykel.