Alector's Choice (40 page)

Dainyl followed—and
stopped.

The space was close
to fifty yards across, with a high-arched dome cut out of the very rock,
soaring to nearly twenty yards overhead. Double goldenstone columns circled the
chamber, set at intervals of six yards, and reaching from their pediments to a
frieze ten yards above the shimmering green and gold marble floor. The green
marble frieze was less than a half a yard in height. On its face had been
carved a repeating design of pteridons and sandoxes. The wall space between the
columns and beneath the narrow frieze had been faced with creamy white marble.
Each set of double columns was flanked by lighter green hangings that dropped
from the base of the frieze to just above the polished marble of the floor.

Overhead was the
domed ceiling, inset with the same creamy white marble tiles, edged with green
marble. The lines of green marble converged, ending at a circle of green surrounding
and filling the apex of the dome. In the center of the green was the gold,
eight-pointed star. The dining l hall was illuminated by light-torches set in
ornate bronze brackets on the goldenstone pillars.

There was a full
score of tables arranged in the quarter of the chamber opposite the entry
archway. So large was the space that the tables seemed well apart from each
other.

“Once there were more
of us living here,” added Asulet. “That was when Acorus was too chill for half
the year.”

Four circular stands,
each six yards across and a yard and a half high, were set equidistant from
each other, lost in the openness of the otherwise unused space under the dome.

Dainyl glanced at the
nearest stand, realizing it held the model of a city. “That’s Ludar.”

“Exactly, and the
others are Elcien, Alustre, and Dereka.”

“As they are now or
as they were planned?”

“As they were
planned. The models are close to five hundred years old. There are a few
differences between the plans and the final construction, but not many. Those
differences are largely because of geographic peculiarities of which we were
unaware at the time.”

“I would never have…”
Dainyl left his words hanging, not sure what he could have said.

“You will think
better after you have eaten.” With a smile, the older alector led the way to a
table on the left side of the assemblage.

Dainyl noted that
only eight of the tables were occupied. They seated themselves, and a server
immediately appeared, a silver-haired alectress who looked to Asulet and bowed,
then waited.

“What do you have
tonight, Ulasya?”

“We have prairie fowl
stewed and spiced in golden brandy, then finished on the grill over hot coals.
We have an auroch filet, marinated in Nordan winter wine, then seared, and
poached with gharo root; and we have golden noodles with fried oarfish.”

“I’ll have the
filet.” Asulet nodded to Dainyl.

“The prairie fowl.”

“And a carafe of the
Vyan Grande as well.”

After the server
slipped away, Asulet looked at the younger alector. “We may not have the best
of vistas here, but we still have excellent fare.”

Before either said
more, the server returned with two crystal goblets, tinted slightly purple, and
a crystal carafe filled with the ruby vintage. Without speaking, she departed
as quickly as she had arrived.

“As a Myrmidon who
began as the lowest of the low, then became a flier, then an officer, and now
Submarshal, you have seen most of Acorus, have you not?”

“It is clear I have
seen most of what is visible, sir.”

“Sir?” Asulet arched
his eyebrows.

“At the least, you
must be one of the senior lifemasters. I should have realized earlier.”

Asulet laughed his
easy laugh. “You were not told.” He filled his goblet halfway, men Dainyl’s.

“No, sir.”

“That’s one of
Zelyert’s little games. Sometimes, they aren’t so harmless. He should have read
the Views of the Highest more closely, but that is for another time. As a
matter of fact, I am the senior lifemaster.” Asulet sipped the wine. “Good
vintage. They always haven’t been.”

“The High Alector of
Lifemasters.”

“That title does not
exist, but something like that. I don’t like being called ‘sir.’ It makes me
feel even older than I am. You have shown more respect without the honorrfics
than many have with them. I’d prefer that. Try your wine.”

“That won’t be
difficult…” Dainyl almost added the “sir.” He did take a sip of the Vyan
Grande, and as Asulet had suggested, it was good.

“You have seen most
of Acorus—Corus, anyway, not that there’s that much besides the frozen
continent that spreads across most of the south pole and the volcanic island
chains in the western ocean. That’s a misnomer, too. Those in Alustre call it
the eastern ocean, those in Ludar and Elcien the western ocean, but it’s the
same ocean. Some of the western islands are large, larger than Dramur, but the
volcanoes made them unsuitable, especially for placing the scepters.”

Placing the scepters?
The Dual Scepters? “I understand that the scepters are necessary for the Tables
to function properly…” Dainyl hoped the hint would be enough.

“Young Dainyl—and you
are young, for all your years, at least to an ancient like me—the scepters are
necessary for the Tables to function at all. They had to be placed in certain
locales in order to create the stresses necessary for us to create the local
translation tubes.”

“But… if they were
necessary… how did we even get here?”

“That is a good
question, and one that I cannot answer in depth, because it is not my field.
However…” Asulet drew out the word. “… a massive spear of lifeforce was used to
throw a tube or a link to Acorus. Through that link poured alectors, with what
crystals and tools they could carry, until enough survived to create the first
Table. That solidified the link with Ifyrn. Then came the Dual Scepters,
linked, of course, to the master scepter, and they were carried to different
locales until the stress patterns were stabilized. Two more Tables were built
at those locations, and then, within a few years, the remainder were created
and linked to the grid.”

“Could more be
added?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t
be wise. Each Table drains lifeforce from the world itself. All is a balancing
act.” Asulet stopped as the server set a platter before each of them, and then
a smaller plate with various sliced fruits arranged in an asymmetrical pattern.
“We should eat while the fare is still warm.”

Dainyl waited for
Asulet to take the first bite, then cut a slice of the fowl and ate it—perhaps
one of the better fowl dishes he had ever had. The golden rice-grass was just
firm enough without being elastic.

“Enough of Lyterna
for now. I’ll have your head turning in two directions by tomorrow night. Tell
me about Elcien, or anything else out beyond Lyterna—but not military events. I
read all the reports from the high alectors. Have you heard any new musical
compositions? Read any new poems?”

Dainyl got the
message, although he wondered whether those reports really reflected what was
in fact happening. “I haven’t heard a concert for several months. The last was
a chamber concert at the palace in Elcien…”

The rest of the
evening was pleasant, accompanied by good food, and told Dainyl little more
about Lyterna or why he was there.

When, a good two
glasses later, Dainyl stepped back into his temporary quarters, it was more
than clear that someone had been there.

He saw the uniform he
had worn on the flight to Lyterna, and his flying jacket, both spotless and
hung in the armoire, its doors left open to let him know that they had been
cleaned.

As he undressed and
prepared for bed, he smiled sadly, thinking of the old alector in gray.

A pall of smoke hung
over the compound on Decdi morning, pungent and acrid, as Mykel and Rhystan
walked from the mess toward the headquarters building under a hazy gray sky.
The sun had barely climbed out of the ocean and was trying to fight its way
through the clouds, showing little more than a bright patch amid the gray.

“Still looks like
winter,” observed Rhystan.

“It is,” replied
Mykel, “the last day of winter.”

“Worst mess we’ve
been in,” said the older officer. “You think they’ll attack here?”

“Sometime, if we don’t
stop them first.”

“With three
companies, Mykel?”

Put that way, Mykel
reflected, the situation didn’t sound all that hopeful. He decided to say
nothing, at least until they heard what Dohark had to tell them. When the two
captains reached the study that had belonged to the local majer, Dohark was
pacing back and forth. He stopped and motioned them inside. Mykel shut the
door.

“I wouldn’t worry
about that,” said Dohark. “Majer Her-ryf’s not around. He told me he wouldn’t
be. Nothing happens on Decdi in Dramur.” The overcaptain shook his head.
“Friggin‘ idiot. He wouldn’t listen to me. Who knows? Maybe he’s right.” He
took a long deep breath and leaned against the desk but did not sit down.

Neither did either
captain.

“The western seltyrs
have moved their troopers out of the valleys to the west. They’re scattering
into the east here. There look to be three companies to the south of Dramuria,
and four or five to the north and east. They haven’t burned any more cots or
houses. There’s been no fighting or attacks in any of the towns outside of
Dramuria.”

“Did the scouts take
a look at the estates of the eastern seltyrs?” asked Mykel.

“I don’t have any
reports on them.” Dohark looked at the younger captain. “Why don’t you just say
what you have in mind, Mykel?”

“I’m just guessing,
sir, but the only cots burned were on the outskirts of Dramuria, and they’ve
only attacked Cad-mians. Maybe the attacks aren’t against the eastern seltyrs
at all, but against Dramuria and us. I’d wager that the golds from the guano don’t
go to the seltyrs.”

“Some of the eastern
seltyrs get a little, I’ve been told,” replied Dohark. “The westerners don’t
get any. The guilds and the crafters in Dramuria put up the golds to open the
mine, and to build the road—some sort of pooled thing, and they have to pay off
lenders in Elcien. What’s left goes to the guilds and the council and the
eastern seltyrs who put up the coins.”

Mykel would have
wagered that Seltyr Ubarjyr had been one of those.

“What are you getting
at?” asked Dohark.

“The seltyrs who
aren’t getting anything from the mine are the ones we’ll be fighting.”

“You don’t know
that,” pointed out Dohark.

“No, sir. I could be
wrong, but why else would they be here? The western seltyrs and the easterners
don’t get along that well. There has to be something in it for them.”

“We don’t know what
that is,” replied Dohark.

Mykel decided not to
say more. Dohark either believed him or didn’t.

“What does Majer
Herryf plan to do?” asked Rhystan.

“Nothing. He says
that he warned the marshal and that he has but two companies, but they can hold
the compound against ten times that number, if the seltyrs are foolish enough
to attack.” Dohark snorted. “Besides, today is Decdi, and nothing will happen
on Decdi.”

“Why don’t we turn
the tables on them?” asked Mykel.

“What do you have in
mind?”

“Tracking and hitting
them with ambushes and shoot and run. Like the Reillies did.”

“After what’s
happened, you think that will work?”

“The only time I’ve
lost more than a few men is when I’ve been forced to be in one place or
another, sir.”

Dohark nodded slowly.
“You’re volunteering Fifteenth Company to keep the seltyrs off-balance while
the seriousness of the situation sinks in to Majer Herryf and the colonels?”

“It might be better
said that we can only afford to send out one company at a time to do this, and
Fifteenth Company was the one chosen.”

Dohark laughed. “When
do you want to go?”

“I don’t. I just
don’t like the alternatives. But… today. No one does anything on Decdi.”

Rhystan looked at
Mykel. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

“Probably not,” Mykel
lied. He knew very well. He also knew the seltyrs would only get better with
time—if they were given the chance. He didn’t want to give them that chance.

“You might end up as
an overcaptain,” Dohark said. “Most likely, you’ll end up dead.”

Mykel had the feeling
that he’d more likely end up dead by doing nothing. He did not say so, but just
waited, a pleasant expression on his face.

“If that’s what you
want to do… go ahead. At this point, you can’t make things worse.”

Left unspoken was the
statement that Mykel would delay, at the least, any attack on the compound and
the other companies.

“What do you want me
to do?” asked Rhystan.

“We need to look to
the compound’s defenses,” replied Dohark. “I don’t want to find out that
there’s some secret way in or that the east or west gates don’t work because
they haven’t been used in years.”

“If you don’t need
me…” offered Mykel.

“You can go.” Dohark
laughed, half sardonically and half sadly. “I’m glad I don’t have to tell you not
to make foolish head on attacks.”

Mykel bowed, and
left, making his way to the barracks, then to the stables, when he learned that
was where Bhoral had gone. The senior squad leader was standing outside the
stable, talking to one of the ostlers, as Mykel crossed the courtyard.

Bhoral said a last
word to the man, who hurried into the stable, and turned to Mykel. “What’s the
news, sir?”

“Do you want the bad
news or the worse news?” countered Mykel. “We’ve got something like eight
companies of horse troopers from the west around here. That’s in addition to
whatever the eastern seltyrs have. The Myrmidons have big problems elsewhere,
and we don’t know when they’ll be back. The good news is that we’re going to do
something about it.”

“Sir? Against eight
companies?”

Mykel smiled. “The
westerners have split up their companies all over the place. How many men did
we lose in destroying those bluecoats on Octdi?”

“Just a few,”
admitted Bhoral.

“How many would we
lose if they all got together and attacked?”

“More.”

“We need to get to
them the way we did before and whittle them down before they unite. We’ll ride
out in a glass,” Mykel said. “I need to check the maps and reports a last
time.”

“Yes, sir.” The
senior squad leader sounded anything but happy.

After leaving Bhoral,
Mykel made his way back to headquarters, where he went over the reports and
maps Dohark had received. Dohark handed them to him and left with Rhystan to
inspect the compound. Mykel went through the stack as carefully as he could
quickly, taking notes. One thing stood out. A single company of bluecoats had
ridden just north of the compound, then due east to one of the larger estates
in the east on the coast—Fynhaven.

Mykel wagered that
the coastal estate held another company—of greencoats. Since they were both
closer than any of the others, Fifteenth Company might as well look into
Fynhaven. He took some of the maps—and his notes—and headed back to the stable,
stopping by his quarters for his rifle and a riding jacket, and the armory for
more ammunition.

When Mykel reached
the stables, Bhoral was standing beside his mount adjusting the saddlebags. The
senior squad leader still looked glum. “Hazy out there. Might rain. Hate to be
riding in the rain.”

“If it rains, we’ll
change our plans,” Mykel said. “Is the company ready?”

“In a few moments,
sir.”

Mykel walked into the
stables. By the time he saddled the chestnut, with his gear in place, including
extra ammunition in his saddlebags, and led his mount out into the courtyard,
Fifteenth Company was forming up. Mykel listened, trying to pick up what was
being said.

“… riding out on
Decdi…”

“… had to be us…”

“… don’t fight a
friggin‘ war on a crafter’s calendar…”

Mykel smiled at those
words and swung up into the saddle with workmanlike skill, if not grace. In
less than a quarter glass, Fifteenth Company was heading out the east gates of
the compound, with Mykel riding just forward of first squad with Gendsyr.
Bhoral rode with Chyndylt at the head of third squad.

“Where are we headed,
sir?” asked Gendsyr.

“East, to an estate
called Fynhaven. We’re going to take out another company of bluecoats, and
maybe some green-coats as well.”

“Are they expecting
us?”

“I hope not.” Mykel
laughed. “No one does anything on Decdi.”

The words brought a
momentary smile to Gendsyr’s face.

They had ridden
slightly more than two glasses, heading first east, then north and east once
more, when Gerant came riding back from his scouting to report to Mykel. The
scout pulled his mount in beside the captain, but they both kept riding.

“About a half vingt
ahead, there’s another crossroad, and it heads southeast. Wider, too, with
shoulders and stone walls,” the scout reported. “Lots of tracks on the road.
Not in the past few glasses, but in the last day.”

“That should be the
road to Fynhaven. It’s another four vingts along that road. We’ll take a break
when we get to the road. See what you and the others can find out, but try not
to be seen. We’ll wait there for a while.”

In less than a
quarter glass, Fifteenth Company halted in good order just short of the larger
southeast road.

“Make sure everyone
drinks and takes whatever breaks hey need,” Mykel told Bhoral and the squad
leaders.

While he waited for
the scouts, he studied the maps igain. Fynhaven was the closest estate to the
Cadmian compound, and from what he could tell, one of the larger ones in the
east.

A half glass later,
as Mykel saw the first of the scouts returning, he ordered the squad leaders
forward. He dismounted, handing the chestnut’s reins to Aloryt, one of
Jendsyr’s rankers, and waited until the squad leaders and scouts had gathered
around him on foot. Then he drew a rough map of lanes and the road with a
stick. “Is this right?” He looked to the scouts.

“Pretty much, sir,”
said Jasakyt.

Mykel handed the
stick to him. “Add what you saw.”

“There’s a gated
entrance on the main road. Here, tfaybe, five or six guards.” Jasakyt used the
stick to add lines in the road dirt and dust. “The estate is back almost a
ringt along a lane lined with trees. Fields, or meadows, on both sides. Real
open.”

“Is there any area
with cover?”

“All the grounds
behind the villa and buildings are casaran orchards. They run to those hills to
the south,” said Dhozynt. “More than a vingt. Easy to ride through the trees,
it’s not easy to see from the villa there.”

“Behind the
orchards?”

“There’s a lane,
comes off the main road, leads to a hamlet to the west.” Dhozynt took the stick
from the other scout and added the lane.

“How close are the
orchards to the outbuildings?”

“A hundred yards.
Best as I could tell, they’ve got the mounts here, southwest of the main
buildings, some in a orral, and some on tielines. They got barracks like sheds
here, and some tents next to them. Bunch of them were playing some sort of game
over here. That’s why I couldn’t jet any closer,” Dhozynt said.

“Could we come down
between the trees in the orchard behind the stable sheds?”

Dhozynt cocked his
head. “Might not be seen that way.”

Mykel looked at the
squad leaders. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll take that back lane. Squads one and
two will get as close as we can. If there’s anyone playing that game, we’ll
ride up and take them down. If not, we’ll take out as many mounts as we
can—just until they come running. We’ll stand just long enough to get in some
good shots, and then we’ll ride back up between the trees. Squads three, four,
and five will be spread in firing lines in the trees. I’ll drop off with squad
three, and we’ll hit anyone that’s coming, then withdraw. If no one comes after
us at all, we’ll withdraw to the lane. If anything looks wrong, and I give the
order to withdraw—that’s where we’ll re-form. There are two objectives. The
first is to kill as many of them as we can without losing men. The second is to
make them think we’re everywhere.”

“Shooting unarmed
men… mounts… that won’t go down well with some of the men.”

“Squad leaders,”
Mykel said firmly. “You might ask some of the survivors of Seventeenth Company
how they feel about that. You’d also best remind each of your rankers that
these are the same men who shot shackled and unarmed prisoners. The bluecoats
will get a better chance than they gave those prisoners.”

“They did?” asked
Vhanyr.

“Why don’t you answer
that, Chyndylt?” suggested Mykel.

“They shot eight
prisoners, dead. We lost four men,” said Chyndylt.

The other three squad
leaders looked at each other.

“We’re going after
troopers, not helpless prisoners,” Mykel said firmly. “They’ve already wiped
out most of Seventeenth Company, and they’ve attacked us. Remember, they
started this.” That wasn’t totally true, but the seltyrs had started most of
the skirmishes and battles, including the one at Stylan Estate. “Get the word
to your men. We’ll ride out in a tenth of a glass.”

After the squad
leaders moved back toward their squads, Mykel turned to the scouts. “Jasakyt?
Is there any way to avoid riding by the gate?”

“Yes, sir. Thought
you might ask about that. Take another half vingt, but there are two lanes and
a short ride across a field…”