Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Lystrana set aside the goblet and stood, letting the dressing gown slide away.

  85

  On Sexdi, Mykel reported to Overcaptain Dohark right after his breakfast of field rations.

  Sitting behind the study desk, Dohark no longer looked at all greenish, just exhausted, with deeper circles under his eyes.

  “They killed Majer Herryf,” Dohark said, without preamble.

  “When?”

  “The night before last. There was a squad of bluecoats waiting for him. They had tied up his wife and children. They shot him as he came in the door, then rode off.”

  Mykel wasn’t totally surprised. From what he had seen, Herryf had never understood fully what was happening in Dramur, and because he had identified with the people of Dramur, he had thought they would believe him one of them rather than an outland Cadmian. To most people, even his own family, he suspected, a Cadmian was a Cadmian, and Cadmians were tools of the alectors and Myrmidons. “Does that leave you in command?”

  “Not really. He reported directly to Colonel Herolt in Elcien.”

  “For the time being, Meryst and Benjyr might accept your command.”

  “Meryst might. No one’s seen Benjyr.”

  “You think he’s with the rebels?”

  “He might be. He might be up at the mine compound. Or he might be dead.”

  “What about the mine?”

  “I sent a squad up there a glass ago. It’ll be a while before we hear. What have your scouts found?”

  “Dead bodies, more than four hundred, from the looks of it,” replied Mykel. “That doesn’t count the wounded who won’t make it, and the deserters.”

  “You still want to go after the rest of them?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll need today to put together the supply wagons and ammunition.”

  “You’re not going to operate out of the compound, I take it,” said Dohark.

  “They’ll stay away from here for a while. We need to go where they are, while they’re still not organized.”

  “You’ll do anything to get away from the dirty work.” A faint smile creased the corners of Dohark’s mouth.

  “Dirty work?”

  “Those four hundred bodies have to be buried, in addition to the ones of ours that still aren’t in the ground. There’s also a gate that got rammed and exploded that needs repair.” Dohark paused. “Oh, and the armorer said that you never got a requisition for all the ammunition.” His smile broadened. “I told him you’d have it to him today.”

  Mykel inclined his head. “I’ll take care of that immediately.”

  “I’d suggest one for the cooking oil as well.”

  Mykel understood the reasons for that, even though the cooks probably could have cared less about a requisition for cooking oil, so long as they got replacement casks.

  Dohark looked hard at Mykel. ‘The seltyrs are people, Mykel.“

  “I know, sir. So are we, and they’re trying to kill us. They’re also willing to kill anyone who doesn’t meet their standards. They shot prisoners who wanted to escape. They wiped out almost all of Seventeenth Company. They sent more than a thousand troopers across the mountains and against the compound—and we never did anything against the western seltyrs. All that suggests that it’s them or us. I’m doing my best to make sure we’re the ones still standing—or riding—when the smoke clears.”

  Dohark said nothing. He merely nodded.

  “Are you suggesting that I remain here, sir?” Mykel finally asked.

  “No. The Cadmians need you to do what you’ve proposed. I wish there happened to be another way. I don’t see it.”

  Neither did Mykel, at least not a way that would result in any chance of survival for what was left of the Third Battalion.

  “Is that all?” asked Dohark.

  “That’s all, sir. By your leave?”

  The overcaptain nodded.

  Mykel left the headquarters building at a quick walk. He still had one other problem for which he had no answer, and that was Rachyla. Should he see her first—or later? He decided on sooner. She might offer some insight. Then again, he reflected, she just might not.

  He walked toward her cell. There was still only one guard on duty, although a different Cadmian.

  “Sir? You need to talk to the prisoner.” I

  “If she’ll talk,” Mykel replied.

  The guard unlocked and opened the cell.

  In the dimness within, Rachyla sat at the desk, one forearm resting on the edge. She did not turn until after the door had clunked shut.

  “How are you feeling?” Mykel asked.

  “Better. The food isn’t helping. If you can call it food.”

  “Those are field rations. No one wanted to trust the cooking after a third of the Cadmians died from poisoning.”

  “A third?”

  “Something like that—around a hundred and fifty.”

  “It is too bad it wasn’t more.”

  “It was enough.”

  “All the firing yesterday—what was that all about?”

  “The eastern and western seltyrs attacked the compound. We killed almost half of them. They’ve scattered everywhere.”

  “They won’t give up.”

  “No,” Mykel agreed. “Not until they’re all dead.”

  “And you, brave captain, will see to that?”

  “If I have to. They seem determined to kill all of us. The only way to stop that is to kill them—or their men.”

  “You must be very good at killing.” Rachyla looked at Mykel evenly.

  “It would be better if I didn’t have to be.”

  “So noble…”

  Mykel forced himself not to take a deep breath in exasperation. “You might explain why the seltyrs are so determined to attack us.”

  “If they do not attack, they lose everything they have built. They lose it without honor. Without honor a seltyr is nothing more than a fat grower.”

  “I don’t understand. What are they losing? The only thing they’re being asked to do is not to create personal armies with contraband weapons.”

  “An unarmed seltyr is without honor.”

  “You said that before, but the weapons they want are banned by the Duarches. If the Cadmians are not the ones to disarm and defeat them, then the Myrmidons will turn their estates into ashes and dust.”

  Rachyla shrugged. “You asked. I have told you before. The Duarches will not be here forever. We will be. They do not belong. Those who do not belong will vanish as if they had never been.”

  “Who told you that?” Mykel should have asked that before, but he wasn’t used to questioning people like Rachyla.

  “All in Dramur know that. We have since the times of the ancients. It will not be long before they vanish. If not in my life, then in the life of my children, or their children.”

  Were most of the Dramurans secret followers of the An-cienteers? Or of something similar? “The alectors have been here as long as we have.”

  “It matters not. We belong. They do not.”

  What Rachyla said made no sense. She was an intelligent woman, but she was uttering sheer nonsense. Even a fully trained Cadmian battalion could not stand against a squad of Myrmidons—or even a pair with their flaming skylances.

  “They may not belong, but it takes more than honor and belief to stop pteridons and skylances… or even Cadmians and rifles. What do they have to stand up to those?”

  “What will be… will be.”

  “Could you explain a bit more, give me an example?”

  “You will see when the time comes, Captain. That is all I know and all I can tell you.”

  Mykel could sense that she fully believed what she said and truly did not know more.

  “Good day, Captain.”

  He inclined his head. “Good day, Rachyla.”

  He walked to the door and rapped on it for the guard to let him out.

  He still had to write up two requisitions and work with Bhoral and the squad leaders t
o organize the supplies for the coming campaign of attack and harassment.

  But… he wished he knew what Rachyla had really meant and why an intelligent woman could believe something so impossible.

  86

  As on every flight from Elcien to Dramur, both Sexdi and Septi were long, and Dainyl’s legs and back were already aching as he rode behind Falyna across the channel from Coras to the northern tip of Dramur. A glass later, after descending carefully through breaks in the clouds, the two pteridons reached clear air at less than five hundred yards above the ocean. Dainyl could see the northeastern shore of Dramur less than five vingts away.

  Three glasses later, the fliers were on approach to the Cadmian compound at Dramuria. Falyna swept in toward the compound just before twilight, swinging to the west north of Dramuria and making a final descent toward the courtyard from the west.

  In the last few moments aloft, just before landing, Dainyl studied the ground around the compound. The rebels had clearly attacked, but several days earlier. That was obvious from the state of the ground, the lack of bodies near the compound and those remaining farther west and short of the casaran orchards, and the ongoing repairs to the west gate. There were also two large circular and overlapping patches of scorched ground, one immediately in front of the west gate, and one perhaps fifty yards farther west.

  The pteridon crossed the walls and flared to a stop just to the right of the closest pteridon square. Dainyl waited only until Falyna had dismounted before he eased himself out of the harness. His legs almost buckled when he first stood on the stones of the courtyard, but he stretched one leg, then the other before turning to Falyna.

  “Thank you,” he told Falyna. “That was a very smooth flight. If you’ll excuse me, there’s been some heavy fighting here, and I need to find out what happened.”

  “Yes, sir.” She smiled. “We’ll be ready first thing in the morning if you need us.”

  “I just might.” With that, he turned and hurried toward the headquarters building, hoping that either Majer Herryf or Overcaptain Dohark—or both—were still there.

  Overcaptain Dohark was waiting outside the study that Dainyl had been using. He’d obviously been alerted to the Myrmidons’ return.

  The Submarshal motioned for Dohark to follow him inside. Dohark shut the door.

  “I thought we might have Majer Herryf join us,” Dainyl said.

  “He was killed on Quattri night, Colonel… I mean, Submarshal. Congratulations, sir.”

  Although the desk was clear, as Dainyl had left it, his Talent indicated that the overcaptain had been using it, but there was little point in saying anything about that. Because the last thing Dainyl wanted to do was sit, he leaned against the side of the desk, his eyes on the overcaptain. “You’d best tell me what happened.”

  “What was bound to happen with an understrength battalion, Submarshal, and no Myrmidon support. The blue-coats and greencoats attacked on Quinti—”

  “Bluecoats? Greencoats? Remember, Overcaptain, I have been out of touch.”

  “Yes, sir. All the troopers of the western seltyrs wear blue. The troops of the eastern seltyrs wear green. The bluecoats moved more than ten companies across the mountains…”

  As the overcaptain explained, Dainyl listened, intently. The poisoning confirmed his beliefs that the local seltyrs had decided to use any weapon at hand before the marshal’s—or the High Alector’s—support was withdrawn. It also confirmed Lystrana’s view that the marshal had never intended the revolt to be successful, and that the marshal—or some high alector—had to be behind the revolt, because the majority of seltyrs had cooperated in sharing, at least to some degree, the contraband weapons. Without some hint of alector power, the majority of weapons would have gone to the handful of stronger and wealthier seltyrs. Dainyl would have to avoid that aspect in his final report, as well as emphasize the more barbaric aspects of the seltyr tactics.

  “… the wagon-ram was about to splinter the gates, but we poured cooking oil on it and set it afire. A cask of oil was dropped on the fire, and it exploded. That scattered some of the rebels and disorganized them. The Cadmians managed to shoot a number because they were packed in. Then, and because they were taking heavy fire, the rest of the rebels began to fall back. Captain Mykel pursued them with Fifteenth Company and killed a number of the stragglers and sent the others off.”

  “How many seltyr casualties?”

  “We’ve buried over four hundred. How many died away from here or deserted, that’s something we can’t tell.”

  “I noted what seemed to be explosions…”

  “As I mentioned, we used cooking oil to burn the ram. Some of it exploded.”

  “Whose idea was that?” Dainyl added quickly, “Please don’t tell me it was yours.”

  “No, sir, but it was my responsibility. I authorized the use of the cooking oil.”

  Dainyl paused, thinking. The overcaptain might not have come up with the idea, but he was trying to protect his officers. Dainyl suspected he already knew whose idea it had been.

  “How did Captain Mykel come up with that idea, Over-captain?”

  “Sir?”

  Despite Dohark’s evasions, it was more than clear that it had to have been Captain Mykel. None of the other officers had enough creativity and initiative to carry out anything involving cooking oil and whatever else the captain had used. “Where is Captain Mykel?”

  “He took Fifteenth Company out early this morning. He’s pursuing some of the seltyr forces. He’s the only one with enough able men to do that.”

  “You thought it was necessary?”

  “Mykel pointed out that they were disorganized, but that they wouldn’t stay that way. He also said that we didn’t know when you and the other Myrmidons might return.”

  What Dohark said rang true, and it also suggested that Captain Mykel either knew or suspected far more than was wise for a junior officer. The captain’s abilities were likely to create as much of a problem for Dainyl as the lack of ability of his former superior had.

  “Do you know his plans?”

  “Not in detail, sir. One or two companies had headed northeast, and Captain Mykel had thought he would attack them before they could rejoin the main body of rebels.”

  “You allowed the only fully functioning company to leave the compound?”

  “Sir, with all deference, I believe Captain Mykel was correct. The best strategy was to attack before they could regroup and attack again. While the massed forces of the rebels could not stand against the sky lances of your Myrmidons, we had no word as to when you would be able to return. It seemed imprudent to assume that you would return so soon. We could have been badly outnumbered in a second attack, and we would not have been able to mount as successful a defense as we did the first time.”

  Dainyl nodded slowly. “I would have done the same under the circumstances.” He smiled. “At the very least, we may be able to use the pteridons to make the captain’s tasks much easier.” Because he could sense Dohark’s combined sense of relief and apprehension, he smiled. “We cannot begin that until tomorrow, and not with full support until Novdi, but I have complete authority to use the Myrmidons in any way necessary to put a stop to this rebel foolishness and to return the mine to normal operations.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning after muster, Overcaptain.” Dainyl stepped away from the desk, but let the captain leave the study first.

  As Dainyl walked to the officer’s mess—where he was scarcely looking forward to dining on Cadmian rations—he just hoped that he could end the revolt without too many complications, including those posed by the potentially Talented and enterprising Captain Mykel.

  87

  For Fifteenth Company, following the trail of the withdrawing rebels had not been that difficult, either on Septi or Octdi. They had made no effort to conceal their tracks, and while, after the first few vingts, they had carried their dead with them, they had left clear signs of their
passage, from discarded garments, bloody bandages, empty cartridge belts, and one mount that had broken its leg and been shot on the side of the road.

  Mykel and his men had followed at a measured pace, not pressing, but not slacking. While they had ridden through a few showers, those had been brief and light.

  At twilight, they had made an encampment on a grower’s lands south and east of Enstyla. Mykel had simply ridden in with the company and taken over the outbuildings and the stables. He also slaughtered enough of the livestock to feed his men. After all that he had seen in Dramur and more than a week of stale field rations, Mykel was feeling far less charitable. The family had remained in the main dwelling, and had been left to themselves. The handful of retainers had vanished.

  On Octdi morning, they had ridden out, carrying some additional food. Only a thin high haze remained of the previous day’s clouds, and by midmorning, Mykel was uncomfortably warm. He had to remind himself that while it was early in spring, he was in Dramur, not Elcien.

  Less than a glass before noon, Jasakyt came riding back down the road toward Mykel.

  “Fifteenth Company! Halt!” Mykel rode ahead to meet the scout. Bhoral followed his captain.

  Jasakyt reined up a yard away from Mykel. “Sir… there’s almost two companies up ahead. Don’t know whether it’s a seltyr’s place or just a big grower’s. Not many sentries, just by the main entrance. They’re sort of scattered. They look pretty beat.”

  “How far?”

  “No more ‘n vingt and a half. Sort of sits on a long gentle ridge. Doesn’t hardly drop off at all, but the highest point is between the big house and the casaran orchard.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “No, sir. Pretty sure they didn’t. Dhozynt went around back, circled the woodlot, and an orchard.”

  “What sort of encampment?”

  “Doesn’t look like much. They just stopped and sat down, almost…”

  Mykel continued to ask questions until he saw another scout returning.

  Within moments, Dhozynt had joined them.

  “You circled to the back side?” asked Mykel.

  “Yes, sir. They don’t have any sentries there, not a one, and there’s a back cart path off the side lane. We could ride the whole way without anyone seeing us—till we got to the last part of the casaran trees, anyway.”