Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  With a suddenness that took Dainyl’s breath away, the pteridon dropped a good fifty yards, almost instantly. The wide wings beat faster to regain altitude. Dainyl had felt the Talent drain, but not any link to the soarer.

  Quelyt banked to the right, gently, so as not to lose more altitude, swinging the pteridon out away from the peak and the higher ridges to gain separation from them.

  “Sir… there’s a downdraft or something there.”

  “Just head back to the compound,” Dainyl replied. “We’ve seen enough for now.”

  The pteridon kept turning until Quelyt straightened on a southerly heading, pointed toward Dramuria and the Cad-mian compound.

  Was the soarer able to divert lifeforce from the pteridons at will? That was what the last few moments had strongly indicated, reinforcing what the marshal had suggested about the ancients being able to destroy pteridons. In using the pteridons, Dainyl would have to watch for the ancient soarers, avoiding them completely if at all possible and giving them a wide berth if not.

  After all these years, why had the soarers reappeared now?

  Dainyl couldn’t help but feel that it was neither accident nor coincidence, and to avoid disaster he would have to be most careful, most careful indeed.

  He looked southward, out over Dramur, recalling and wondering exactly what the ancient had meant when she had told him that he would change or perish. How could an ifrit and an alector change? An alector’s very nature was unchanging. What had she meant? Or had she merely meant to confuse him?

  96

  Mykel looked down from the ridge at the swale below, mostly reddish sandy soil, covered in parts by wild grasses. Absently, he blotted his forehead. Even in the late afternoon of Sexdi, past the heat of the day, spring in Dramur was hotter than most full summer days in Elcien.

  On the far side of the swale, which was close to two hundred yards wide, the older-growth pine forest began. Each of the giant trees had a trunk close to a yard across. The rebels had retreated to the old forest to the north of the mine, a wedge of giant pines with a front only half a vingt across. The warren of tall pines extended more than two vingts back, on a gradual slope. The top of the slope was a barren and sandy flat plateau covered with pteridon-sized boulders, and ringed by an irregular semicircle of cliffs. Those on the northern end were three hundred yards above the forest, while those to the west were half that, and those in the south were more like reddish bluffs only fifty yards high.

  Within the forest itself were somewhere between four and six companies of rebels and several seltyrs. Thin trails of smoke from the rebel cookfires rose into the silver-green sky. Mykel frowned for a moment. Cookfires meant men gathering. Did he dare try the approach the scouts had found? Did he dare not to, given the alternatives?

  He glanced to his left, where Rhystan had reined up beside him. Beyond the older captain, a half vingt to the south, Sixteenth Company was drawn up on the more southern ridge facing the forest, a vingt to the south, just far enough back that the rebels could not fire from the trees and hit the Cadmians.

  “We’ve got them in the forest, like the Submarshal wanted,” Rhystan said. “Now what? We’ve been here for nearly three days. We just can’t keep sitting here and patrolling. We go down that slope, and we’ll lose half the men we have.”

  Mykel had to agree. While they could cross the open swale under heavy fire, they would not be able to make much headway in moving through the trees, not without losing too many men. Even with Sixteenth Company joining Fifteenth, they were heavily outnumbered, with no chance of obtaining replacements anytime soon. Under those circumstances, he wasn’t about to sacrifice men for position. “It will be worse in the trees.”

  “You have that look, Mykel. What do you have in mind?”

  “To the northwest, there’s that jumble of rock beneath the cliffs. It fills in the space between this ridge and the northwest corner of the forest.”

  “You said that they had men stationed there.”

  “They do, but most of them are facing the lower ground. My scouts think there might be a narrow passage right under the cliffs. If I could bring Fifteenth Company up behind them… and if most of their men are near the cookfires… and if I wait until they’re eating…”

  “That’s three ‘ifs,’ and two are too many for a good operation,” Rhystan pointed out.

  “Only two,” Mykel countered, with a laugh. “We bring the company in early in the morning, before it’s light, and we just wait until they’re eating.”

  “That’s two dubious propositions.”

  “Only one. That’s whether I get the company past their sentries. If I can, then there’s either a way or there’s not. If there’s not, we come back, and we’re no worse off. If there is, then we wait and attack. All you have to do is be ready to deal with anyone who leaves the forest.”

  “Or charge in and rescue you,” replied Rhystan dryly.

  “One way or another… it’s best if you don’t attempt a rescue. Just slaughter them, if it comes to that.”

  “You’re going to try it, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to see if it can be done. If we don’t finish this quickly, then the other growers and seltyrs will raise more men, and we’ll be in an even worse position.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Mykel. You’re such a cheerful fellow.” Rhystan shook his head. “You’re certain you want to do it?”

  Mykel nodded.

  “Then I suppose we can attempt a few diversions, to keep their interest focused on us.”

  “Nothing that loses men. We don’t have any to lose on diversions.”

  “Just on problematical operations?”

  Mykel laughed. “Look who’s being cheerful.”

  “Realistic,” countered Rhystan. “Go see what you can do. We’ll divert them.”

  “If it doesn’t work, we’ll let you know. Otherwise, I’ll need you to start the diversions at a glass past dawn tomorrow. Would you send a message to the Submarshal that it’s likely we’ll be attacking early tomorrow?”

  “I’ll tell him Fifteenth Company will attempt certain unspecified actions in the morning.”

  “That’s better. Thank you.” With a smile, Mykel turned the chestnut and rode back two hundred yards to the northwest, where Bhoral waited, mounted in front of Fifteenth Company.

  Bhoral looked at his captain, but did not speak, waiting.

  “We’re heading farther northwest—opposite that rock pile below the cliffs. We’ll stay well back below the top of the ridge. I don’t want the rebels to see us.”

  “Yes, sir. Are you planning an attack on that section of the forest?”

  “Not until tomorrow before dawn. The scouts had sug-gested there might be a path between the rock pile and the cliffs. If I can find a way to take out the sentries, then we’ll try it.”

  “If you don’t?”

  ‘Then, we’ll have to think of something else—or wait.“ The thought of waiting beyond Septi chilled Mykel, because every day the seltyrs would get stronger and find more men. ”Fifteenth Company! To the right, and forward!“

  He rode at the head of a column of rankers that had gotten gradually but steadily shorter with each week, leading them across the back side of the ridge. A slight breeze gusted across them, but died away, and the silver-green sky remained clear of clouds, but hazy from the heat.

  A half vingt later, Mykel reined up the chestnut short of the crest of the ridge and dismounted, handing the reins to Sendyl and taking out his rifle. He also extracted a spare cartridge belt from his saddlebags and fastened it across his chest and shoulders.

  While he could sense Bhoral’s disapproval, even without looking, he ignored it, instead turning to the senior squad leader. “Just hold the company here. After I see what the situation is, we’ll stand down and make sure that the men and their mounts are rested for tomorrow.”

  He turned and, rifle in hand, motioned to Jesakyt. The two Cadmians walked up toward the crest of the ridge, an
gling toward one of the scrub oaks near the top. Keeping low, they slipped behind the bushy oak.

  Mykel peered through the leaves. The swale directly below was a slight depression barely five yards below the ridge crest, rising to the northwest until it reached the base of the cliff another hundred yards to Mykel’s right. There, it merged with the ridge top in a flat and open expanse— except that half of that open expanse was covered with a jumble of sandy red boulders that appeared to have been piled haphazardly just out from the base of the cliff.

  “You see, sir,” Jasakyt said in a low voice. “The rocks look like they fell away from the cliff. I could see light all the way through. I could have ridden to cover behind the rocks, but coming back, they would have been waiting, and I thought you should know.”

  “I appreciate that.” Mykel studied the rock pile, then the forest to its left and behind it. The rocks rose close to thirty yards above the base, not quite so high as the tallest of the giant pines, but higher than most. Between the top of the ridge and the forest were a few of the scrub oaks, spaced irregularly. There were none on higher ground short of the rock pile and the cliff, and nothing else that would offer cover.

  Mykel studied the ground for a while, then nodded. He turned and started back down the back of the ridge. Jesakyt followed.

  97

  In the darkness close to three glasses before dawn, Mykel stood on the back side of the ridge, looking at Bhoral. “You can let the men sleep or rest for another glass. We’re aiming at riding through the defile at the base of the cliffs at a glass before dawn, while it’s still dark. I don’t want it to be dark that long, though, because they’ll need the light once we’re in the forest and clear of the rocks. When you get word from Jasakyt or one of the scouts, you’ll have to bring the men through in single file and quickly.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bhoral nodded stiffly.

  Mykel understood the older squad leader’s feelings—that the only dangerous thing officers were supposed to do was to lead charges against enemy fire, and that was something Mykel had always preferred not to do until he’d found a way to change the odds. One simple way of changing the odds was sneaking through the darkness in which he could see better than could most people, then shooting sentries with his gift—was it a talent?

  “Every so often,” Mykel went on, “have someone near the crest of the ridge fire a rifle. Not at the forest, either.” He didn’t want to get hit by his own men, even by accident. The occasional shots were another cover. Mykel hoped his own use of the rifle, with shots from outside the forest, would be heard as an intermittent exchange of fire between scouts and sentries.

  “Yes, sir. Jasakyt and Dhozynyt will be watching the defile for your signal. They’ll bring your mount.”

  “Good.” Mykel lifted his rifle and walked up the hill toward the first of the scrub oak bushes, keeping low so that he would not be outlined against the sky. He wore crossed ammunition belts over his chest, heavier than he would have liked, but he was afraid he might need every cartridge.

  Behind the first scrub oak, he paused, looking across the flat section of the ridge and planning his route from oak to oak toward the dark and looming mass of the pine forest. Keeping low, he slipped from behind the first scrub oak and moved at a quick, but measured pace, still staying low. He crossed a space of thirty yards before he reached the second, where he stopped and caught his breath, peering through the leaves toward the forest.

  He didn’t sense any of the tension he felt when people were watching him, but he also didn’t want to feel that instants before a bullet blasted into him.

  After several moments, he slipped downhill toward the next scrub oak, a distance of less than ten yards. His boots skidded as he stopped, and a small stone skittered down the steeper section of the slope, clicking several times before it came to rest. Cool as it was in the darkness, Mykel had to blot his forehead with the back of his sleeve to keep the sudden sweat from running into the corners of his eyes.

  He looked through an opening in the leaves, focusing his eyes on the darkness of the forest, but while he could make out tree trunks, and some undergrowth, he could see no sentries. He knew they were there and could sense their presence in that clear but undefined feeling he had always had, but which had become more and more certain since he had been in Dramur. Absently, he wondered why, then pushed away the question.

  The next scrub oak was back to the right, more than twenty yards away. Mykel was halfway there when he could feel someone, something looking at him.

  He flattened himself on the ground, just before the crack of a rifle. Then he scrambled forward over the last ten yards, zigzagging erratically before dropping flat behind the base of the small bush, just before two more shots sounded.

  Mykel did not move, waiting to see what would happen. His head and chest were shielded, but a really good shot might hit his legs—if the shooter were far enough to one side. From what Mykel could tell, the shooter seemed to be directly south of him.

  Slowly, he eased the rifle into position, still waiting, and looking out the right side of the base of the tree. Nothing happened.

  He eased himself sideways, just a fraction and aimed at where he thought the shooter was, and fired once. The return shots were high, but Mykel marked the slight flare of the muzzle flash and took aim and fired, once more willing his shot to its target.

  He could sense that he had hit the other, with a flare of emptiness.

  Not waiting, he scrambled forward, dodging forward and behind several scrub oaks in a row, but without the sense of anyone looking for him until he was within a few yards of the edge of the forest. Once more he half flattened, and half scramble-dived toward the roots of a huge tree. His chest slammed into a root that felt as hard as iron.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! At least one bullet struck the trunk love him at enough of a glancing angle to drop fragments bark across the back of his all-too-damp neck. He squirmed around the base of the tree so that it was between him and the direction of the shots. For a time, he remained silent, letting his straining lungs take in air until he is no longer breathing hard, while listening intently. The rock pile lay to his right, but there was at least one sentry in the trees to his left. The sentry he thought he had killed lay somewhere more immediately to his right. For a moment, he froze. How did he know the man was dead? He’d been acting on those kinds of feelings more and more, the longer he’d been on Dramur. He’d always had some sense of where people were, but not to the degree he did now, and the sense of knowing death was far more recent. Was that part of the talent the ancient soarer had been saying he had to find?

  In the darkness of the forest, he shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for that.

  A shot from up on the ridge, from the area of Fifteenth Company, echoed through the darkness. Mykel nodded, then eased, as quietly as he could, from the trunk of the one ine to the next, trying to keep trunks between him and here he thought/felt the nearest sentry was. As he moved, he picked up sounds that became more near as he moved eastward.

  “… shots… swear one came from out there… like the last one… you heard it.”

  “… Dhurcan’s always shooting at shadows… wastes ammunition…”

  “… saw something… sure I did…”

  “… could have been a forest cat… seen some here…” Mykel stopped, then stepped sideways behind a slender pine trunk. There, less than ten yards away, three yards back from the northern edge of the forest, were two rebels, kneeling behind a crude log barrier, looking out into the darkness.

  Slowly, he raised his rifle, aiming, and firing.

  The sentry on the right dropped. The other dropped behind the logs, his head below the topmost, but clearly still visible from where Mykel stood.

  Mykel fired again. He did not move for several moments, but heard nothing. He quickly but quietly reloaded, then began to move back through the forest to the northwest. He kept his senses alert, knowing that at least one more sentry was stationed somewhere between wher
e he was and where the rock pile was. He had to keep moving, because he had less than two glasses before it started to get light. Should he have started earlier? That had risks as well, such as running into changes in the watches.

  The last sentry in the forest was in the same kind of revetment as the pair had been. Like them, he never seemed to have considered someone approaching from behind. Mykel dropped him with one shot.

  That left the men in the rock pile, and Mykel had to remove them all, if he possibly could.

  He circled to the south in the darkness, still remaining in the darker shadows of the trees. As he moved southward, a slight clearing appeared between the forest and the rocks. He stopped and moved back northwest, halting behind the trunk of one of the last giant pines. Then he peered around the ancient trunk, studying the jumbled mass of scrub pine and rock at the far side of the clearing, directly west. At one time in the past, part of the cliff farther to the southwest had peeled off and fallen, leaving the jumble of rock and trees from which the rebel sentries could rake the approach to the defile between the cliff and the rock pile, barely wide enough for a single mounted Cadmian at a time. If any sentries remained, the Cadmians would be better targets than tethered chickens, even in the darkness, standing out against the face of the cliff.

  He eased around the tree, moving as quietly as he could toward a large boulder at the base of the rock pile. From what he could sense, there were only a handful of rebels in the rocks, perhaps as few as four or five. While he would approach them from the side, almost the rear, coming up rom the southeast, he would have to be careful, because the outhern part of the rock jumble overlooked the rear of the forest, the area where the rebels had set up camps.

  Mykel would have placed more men to guard the flank, but even the rebels only had so many men, and the rocks looked impassable, especially to men on horseback. He moved up the back of the rocks, a boulder at a time.