Alector's Choice (50 page)

Despite his tiredness
and the effects of flying two long days, Dainyl did not sleep well. Images
swirled through his dreaming thoughts, images of pteridons and their fliers
vanishing into dark tubes, of hundreds of landers and indigens cutting each
other down with bright shimmering rifles, of an ancient soarer in midair above
a peak pointing a tiny finger at him and telling him, “Change or perish.”

He woke covered in
sweat on Octdi morning, for all that the officer’s chamber was more than
pleasantly cool. It was a relief to get up. He washed and dressed, and made his
way to the mess, where he ate hurriedly, washing the rations down with ale, as
a single sleepy eyed Cadmian watched.

Then he began a
thorough walking inspection of the compound, starting at the east gate, and
going through each building. Several were locked. Most of the locks he could
open with his Talent. One, which had a heavy hasp lock, he severed with the
light cutter sidearm. He could find nothing amiss, nothing that should not have
been there.

In the armory, he
noted—through his Talent—that there were traces of where barrels of ancient
gunpowder had been recently removed, but he did not mention that to the senior
squad leader who was bemoaning just how much ammunition had been used in the
past weeks. When he finished, it was past the morning muster, and he made his
way to the headquarters building.

Overcaptain Dohark
had taken over the smaller study, the one to which Majer Herryf had retreated
after Dainyl had assumed command in Dramuria. He looked up as Dainyl appeared,
then stood, quickly but smoothly. “Sir?”

“I was just
checking.”

“Battalion rosters,
sir. It’s really the first time I’ve had a chance to go over them in detail to
assess what we have. We’ve got a little less than half a battalion left.
Fifteenth Company is closest to full strength, with eighty four men, but that
includes nine from Seventeenth Company.”

“Have you heard
anything from Captain Mykel?”

“No, sir. I doubt
that I will until he returns.”

“If he returns.”

The overcaptain gave
a harsh short laugh, more of a bark. “He’ll return, Submarshal, sir. Worst he’d
do would be if he only brought back half his men. If he did that, there
wouldn’t be a seltyr left alive in a hundred vingts.”

“You have a high
opinion of the captain.” Dainyl pressed a hint of Talent toward the
overcaptain, a suggestion that Dohark needed to say more.

The overcaptain
frowned, then nodded, as if to himself, before speaking. “Fifteenth Company has
accounted for something like nine out of ten rebel casualties. He seems to
sense where the enemy will be. He gets people to talk to him, too. He’s found
out more from that seltyr’s daughter than I’d ever thought possible. The local
captains, they didn’t want to talk to us much. They were polite, but not much
more. Mykel—I don’t know how he did it—got them to talk. On top of that, he’s
the best marksman in any of the battalions. Anything he can see, he can bring
down, and some that he can’t.” Dohark stopped abruptly.

With each revelation
by Dohark, Dainyl became more concerned. All of the skills that the overcaptain
mentioned were potentially Talent driven or Talent enhanced. “Majer Vaclyn
didn’t know this?”

“He didn’t want to
know it, sir. He was the kind who was afraid that good captains would show that
he wasn’t a good commander.”

“And the Cadmian
colonel, what did he think about Captain Mykel?”

“He didn’t know that
much, except that Fifteenth Company stopped taking heavy losses once Mykel
became captain.”

“You praise the
captain, yet you sound concerned,” Dainyl pressed.

“Yes, sir. Mykel’s
realized that there’s only one way to win here in Dramur, and that’s to kill
off most of the seltyrs’ bluecoats and greencoats quick-like, before they can
replace them, and take as many of the seltyrs as possible. He’s getting real
good at using Fifteenth Company to wipe out scores—more like hundreds—of
rebels. I’m not sure that’s a good attitude for the rankers to develop. Leaves
some of ‘em real cold, killers.”

“Isn’t that what they
have to do?”

“It is here, sir, and
that’s the problem. Other places in Corns, we killed rebels and folk, but the
idea was to show force and control. Folks understood. Here, they don’t. Mykel
sees that, and he’ll do what he has to bring his company through with the
fewest casualties. Ambush, shooting down men as they rest or eat, night
attacks, if he thinks they can work…”

In short, thought
Dainyl, Captain Mykel is becoming as ruthless as any alector, and far more
efficient than his peers—and it is clearly disturbing the overcaptain.

“… thing is, sir,
Captain Mykel’s not like that, not inside, and someday, he’s going to have to
live with what he’s done here.”

“Don’t we all,
Overcaptain?”

“Yes, sir.” Dohark’s
voice turned flat and polite.

Dainyl regretted his
choice of words, but he’d never had to deal that much with Cadmian officers,
and he’d forgotten the emotional overtones and issues differed. The Views of
the Highest had a section on that, but it had been some time since he’d reviewed
that wisdom. He wished he had, or that he could have talked to Lystrana. After
a moment, he offered a rueful smile. “I think that sounded harsh. What I meant
was that all officers end up having to do unpleasant duties. It’s the nature of
what we do, and Captain Mykel has had the misfortune to be in a position where,
to get the job done, he must undertake particularly distasteful acts. I’m sure
that he will regret the necessity, as I am sure you have at times, Overcaptain.
Regret… and a wish that matters could have been otherwise… those we all face.”

Dohark seemed to
relent, at least slightly. “That’d be true for most of us. I worry more about
Mykel because he seemed to care more, and worried about the folks here—like
when we dealt with the Reillies. I think it tears at him, where he won’t even
let himself see it, when other folks’ cruelty requires the same, or worse, from
him.”

Dainyl nodded. “There
are some who simply don’t care about the impact of their acts. If all people
did, then we wouldn’t need as many Cadmians and Myrmidons as we do.”

“I suppose not, sir,
but it’s a sad world at times.”

“That it is.” Dainyl
offered a smile he hoped was understanding. “I’ll be in the study if you need
me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl spent the
morning reading through all the reports that the overcaptain had left him. A
number appeared to have been written most recently, and he had to wonder if
Dohark had composed them hastily after Dainyl’s return.

From the reports and
from what Dohark had told him, Dainyl had to admit that the situation had not
only gotten too far out of hand, but that Captain Mykel seemed to be the only
one who understood—or the only one willing to face what had to be done.

Dainyl also needed to
check on the local Cadmians and how and whether they were getting the mine back
into production, but he’d wanted to get a better feel for the military
situation before he talked to Benjyr and Meryst.

Just after midday,
when he was considering trying to go to the mess to choke down more ale and
rations, Dainyl stiffened. From somewhere to the north had come a flash of
Talent, not ifrit-Talent, with its pinkish purple feel, but something like that
of the soarer, green, but overlaid with black, rather than with the gold he had
felt from the ancient.

Without a word, he left
the study and walked out into the courtyard, turning to the north.

The greenish black
Talent had already begun to fade from his senses. Yet, in its place, to the
northwest, he could sense, if but faintly, that of the ancient—as if whatever
he had felt had also summoned her. He didn’t need the an-cients around, not
when they were apparently the only creatures who could summon forces to bring
down a pteridon.

Had that other flash
of Talent been Captain Mykel? Had he begun to understand and use his Talent? Or
was another Talent-wielder loose on Dramur?

Mykel looked out into
the darkness from where he sat on an old bench in front of an outbuilding that
had seen better days. After the slaughter southeast of En-styla, Mykel had led
Fifteenth Company a good fifteen vingts westward until he had found another
grower’s place to commandeer for the evening. Fifteenth Company had taken all
the buildings, except for the main dwelling. There, behind barred doors, the
wife and children of the absent grower huddled, Mykel was certain, dreading
what might happen.

So long as no one
attacked, he would let the dwelling stand. He realized that he would be seen as
arbitrary in what he destroyed, but those who openly supported the rebellion
would pay. In a way, though, that just encouraged hypocrisy. There were no good
answers, not that he saw.

As he considered the
day just past, and the day yet to come, Mykel felt both drained and, in a
strange way, somewhat more alive. The fighting and the killing discouraged and
depressed him, necessary as he felt it was. Yet in some fashion, he felt more
alert than he had in years.

The skies were clear,
and Selena had not yet risen. Asterta was but a pinpoint just above the
mountains to the west. There were no lamps or light-torches anywhere, yet it
did not seem that dark. Mykel could see the sentry on the inner line, standing
in front of a fence just in front of a short-needled pine tree, slowly chewing
on something, then turning away.

“Banayt!” he called
out. “If you’re going to eat on watch, at least keep looking!”

The sentry jumped.
“Yes, sir.”

“Sir?” Alendyr’s
voice was tentative.

Mykel hadn’t realized
that the squad leader was so close, but he had not been paying that much
attention, lost as he had been in his own thoughts. “Yes?”

“You can see what
Banayt’s doing from here?”

“He’s only some fifty
yards out,” Mykel said.

“It’s dark as pitch
out there, sir. I can barely make out the tree.”

Mykel offered a
shrug.

“Sir? About today…”

“I wish we didn’t
have to do things like that, but there’s no help for it,” Mykel said, tiredly.
“These people only respect force.” He felt like those words were becoming an
excuse for everything.

“No, sir. We all know
that. This was something different. I was just wondering how you managed to get
across that field so fast this afternoon. Those bluecoats who were aiming at
you, you dropped one, and then, all sudden-like, you were almost on top of the
other one.”

“It just seemed that
way,” Mykel replied. “When you’re fighting, strange things seem to happen. Things
speed up and slow down. It seems that way to me, at least.”

“I don’t know, sir.
Never seen anything like that… like you were in one place one moment, and
another the next.”

While that was how it
had felt, Mykel was reluctant to admit it. “Sometimes, it feels that way.
You’re fighting. Then, suddenly, it’s all over. Haven’t you felt that way at
times?”

“Yes, sir.” The squad
leader paused. “You think there are that many other rebel companies out there?”

“I’d guess there are
still four or five. We need to take down a couple more, at least, before
they’ll even think about surrendering.” That was being optimistic, but Mykel
saw no point in saying so.

“Seems like a shame…
they haven’t been trained that well… If we had two battalions here, we could
just roll them all up and get it over.”

“It’d be quicker and
easier on everyone, but… we don’t. No one calls us in until there’s a real
mess.”

“Myrmidons would
help.”

“They would, but
there are so many rebels that they’d have to burn the whole island. There
aren’t that many of them, either.” Mykel offered a rueful laugh. “That’s why
we’re here.”

“Yes, sir… just
thought you’d like to know.”

“I appreciate it,
Alendyr. I just hope we can finish this up before long.”

“Yes, sir. It’d be
good to get back to Elcien. Had some more nightwasp stings. Say they’ll get
worse as it gets hotter.”

“We can always hope
we can finish before it gets too hot.” Was that another aspect of the rebel
strategy? Drag things out so that the nightwasps and other summer pests made
things worse, until the Cadmians just wanted to leave?

“Hope so, sir.”

After Alendyr slipped
away, Mykel looked into the darkness. He knew what had to be done, just as he
could see Ba-nayt walking his post. Why did so few others? Or was he trying to
justify what he had done and would do?

Fifteenth Company
moved out early on

Novdi morning,
heading along one of the larger farm roads that meandered northward and was one
of the few that descended into and crossed the stream valley that held the
smuggling trail. The scouts had reported some hoofprints in the road, no more
than one or two days old, possibly messengers between two rebel forces.

As he rode through an
early morning that was already too warm, he considered how long and to what
degree he should pursue the disorganized rebels. The bluecoats had not brought
supply wagons eastward through the MurianMountains, perhaps one reason why the
rebel companies had not remained in one unified force. They needed to forage or
buy supplies—or obtain them from those eastern seltyrs with whom they were
allied. Contrary to what Rachyla had said, Mykel was convinced that some of the
eastern and western seltyrs were acting together. Admittedly, the decision to
work together could have come after her imprisonment.

Mykel frowned. He
couldn’t see that her imprisonment was doing much for either her or the
Cadmians. He also worried that she was right about her fate, but what could he
do? If he appealed to Dohark or Colonel Dainyl, they’d assume it was because he
was attracted to her—and dismiss his suggestion. In a way, he was, but
certainly not in a lustful or romantic fashion, and she definitely had no
interest in him.

He glanced at the
road ahead, catching sight of the dust that heralded a rider, one of the
scouts. In less than a tenth of a glass, Sendyl had pulled his mount alongside
Mykel.

“A company of
bluecoats, sir, maybe two vingts north, but they’re heading south. Looks like
they’re going to head west on that farm road on the south side of that valley.
Right now, they’ve stopped down in the valley. Maybe for rations or water.”

“Squad leaders!
Forward!”

As he waited for them
to gather, Mykel got out the maps he had. There was a lane that angled to the
northwest. The road heading west passed through an area where the descent into
the stream valley was so rugged that it was almost im-Passable and where the
land to the south was marshy, even in drier weather. If Fifteenth Company set
an ambush to the west of that and then followed with a charge, the ability of
the bluecoats to retreat or withdraw quickly would be hampered. Yet, if they
mounted a strong defense, Fifteenth Company could withdraw quickly.

Once the squad
leaders arrived and pulled up in a semicircle facing him, Mykel began to speak.
“We’ve got another bluecoat company headed our way. It looks like they’ll be
turning westward north of here. We’re going to set up a surprise…” He went on
to outline the plan as quickly as he could, finishing up with a summary. “…
I’ll be with first squad, up front. If they don’t notice us until they’re fully
in range, the whole company will fire from cover as long as we can. Then I’ll
order either a charge or a withdrawal. If they react sooner, first squad will
make a quick sabre charge. This will allow the other four squads to set up in
the oblique firing lines to rake the road. We’ll be riding back as quickly as
possible.” Mykel offered a rueful laugh, looking at Bhoral. “Just make sure
first squad is clear on the way back before you open fire.”

Bhoral even smiled in
return. “We can manage that, sir.”

Chyndylt chuckled.

“That’s it. We’ll be
heading northwest at the next cart path. Back to your squads and pass the
word.”

The cart path that
Mykel had noted and recalled was more like an overgrown trail, and he heard the
creaking of the supply wagons at the rear—even as far ahead as he was riding.
After half a vingt, the path emerged from between two woodlots and became a
dike between two marshy areas. As soon as the chestnut set foot on the dike
section of the path, clouds of gnatlike insects swarmed up around the riders.
While not as bad as nightwasps, the gnats found their way into eyes, ears, and
even noses. Swatting them released an odor much like rotting meat.

At the far end of the
raised path, where a casaran orchard that had seen far better days replaced the
marshy ground, the gnats vanished—but not the lingering odor. Mykel didn’t
recall the insects, but the last time they had ridden the area had been winter.
Based on what he was seeing, feeling, and smelling, he wasn’t looking forward
to the summer ahead in Dramur.

He could hear the
mutters behind him.

“… longer we’re here…
worse it stinks…”

“… better to let ‘em
fight among themselves…”

Mykel had some
sympathy for that view, although he wasn’t about to voice it.

Another quarter glass
passed before they neared the junction with the south valley road. Jasakyt,
whom Mykel had sent ahead, was waiting, just off the road, in a shaded spot. He
rode forward to meet Mykel.

“Nothing on the road,
sir. No tracks. Way’s clear to a stand of trees a half vingt east.”

“Thank you. Fall in
with your squad.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Supply wagons! Hold
here! Pass it back!” Mykel stood in the stirrups and looked back to make sure
that the wagons had halted before turning his attention to the east-west road.
“Fifteenth Company, to the right!”

After covering
another two hundred yards, Mykel turned to Bhoral, on his left. “Up there,
where the woodlot south of the road thickens, that’s where I want the rest of
the company.”

“You want them set up
so that they can take the road if necessary—in a firing line?”

“Right. That won’t
give as much concealment, but I want them able to ride at a moment’s notice.”

“You’re thinking that
this group might be better prepared, sir?”

“Something like
that.” Most of the rebels couldn’t have been less prepared. Was that because
the more disciplined companies had stayed away, or had their own scouts and
information allowed them to avoid the Cadmians?

“Be a good thing to
be ready to ride.”

That was about as far
as Bhoral was likely to go in saying that he approved.

As they drew abreast
of the trees, seemingly less tended than most woodlots, with more than a few
bushes between and under the trees, Mykel turned in the saddle. “Company,
halt!” He looked to Bhoral. “They’re yours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“First squad, forward!”

Gendsyr rode forward
and took the position beside Mykel. They rode toward a copse of trees, standing
alone on the right, large enough to conceal a squad, but certainly not a
company.

“Squad, halt!” Mykel
reined up well short of the trees and turned the chestnut so that he faced the
squad. “Find cover, but stay mounted, and make sure you have a clear line of
fire at the road. Don’t ride any farther east on the road itself. And don’t
open fire until I order it.”

Within moments, first
squad was off the road and settling into the trees.

Waiting was one
aspect of being a Cadmian that Mykel had the most trouble with, especially on
hot days where flies and other insects buzzed around looking for exposed flesh.
It seemed like a glass or more had passed, but he doubted that it was much more
than half a glass. Then, another quarter glass went by before Mykel could see
two riders on the road, with a larger group behind them. “Quiet! I Rifles
ready!” he hissed. “They’re coming.”

The few murmurs that
had competed with the insects and birds died away.

Mykel kept waiting,
his rifle in hand.

The rebel outriders
were no more than seventy five yards in front of the main body. They continued
to ride toward the Cadmians concealed in the trees south of the road. Neither outrider
gave the trees more than a passing glance—until they were within a few yards of
Mykel, when one of them abruptly lifted a rifle and wheeled his mount, firing
toward the trees.

“First squad, open
fire!” As he yelled out the orders, Mykel brought his own weapon up and fired,
concentrating hard.

The rebel outrider
dropped, knocked back in the saddle. The second outrider fell a moment later,
but not from any shot Mykel had fired.

“First squad!
Forward!” Mykel guided the chestnut out from cover and turned eastward, not
riding full out, so that Gendsyr and first squad could catch up.

He tried another
shot, but wasn’t certain he hit any of the approaching bluecoats, still a good
fifty yards away. He sheathed the rifle and brought out the sabre. “Forward!”

The bluecoats in the
lead were slow to react, and first squad was on them before most ever had their
rifles out or aimed. Only half even had sabres ready.

Mykel aimed himself
and the chestnut at the squad leader—he hadn’t seen anyone resembling an
officer. The rebel parried Mykel’s sabre, but Mykel slipped it, ducked
slightly, and countered with a slash to the back of the other’s neck and
shoulder as he passed.

He was slightly
off-balance, and barely managed to get his blade back into position for his own
parry of a blow from a rebel ranker, but the less experienced ranker had put
too much effort into his slash, and Mykel caught him across the throat before
he recovered.

Behind them, in the
following companies, Mykel could hear orders, so clearly that they must have
been bellowed at full throat.

“Lead squad! Break
and withdraw! Second squad, rifles ready! Four abreast! Measured advance! Fire
at will!”

Mykel pulled to the
side of the road, knocking back a weak blow from a retreating bluecoat, and
issued his own orders. “Fifteenth Company! First squad! Withdraw!”

Studying the
confusion of the retreating squad of bluecoats and the order behind them, Mykel
watched as first squad rode past him, heading back toward the rest of Fifteenth
Company. Then he urged the chestnut along, bringing up the rear.

Several quick glances
over his shoulder told him that the bluecoats were pursuing, if at the measured
pace ordered by their commander. When first squad was out of easy rifle range,
he called out, “First squad! Re-form! Now!”

The squad slowed and
re-formed, still headed westward. Mykel checked the advance of the bluecoats
against the position of the still-concealed main body of Fifteenth Company.

“First squad. To the
rear, turn! Staggered firing line!”

“That’s a long way, sir,”
Gendsyr pointed out, from his mount beside Mykel.

“I don’t care if we
hit them. I want them to keep coming after us.” Mykel had cleaned and sheathed
his sabre and taken out his own rifle, reloading it as well. After a moment, he
ordered, “Fire!”

He concentrated on
one of the lead bluecoats, once more fully concentrating and willing the shot
to hit.

The bluecoat sagged
in the saddle.

“Cease firing! To the
rear, quick trot!”

After another hundred
yards, Mykel repeated the firing line. He took down another bluecoat, and the
rebels began to pick up the pace.

As they drew near the
woodlot where the remainder of Fifteenth Company waited, Mykel called out,
“Bhoral! Fifteenth Company! Stay under cover! Stay under cover!”

First squad rode past
the first section of the woodlot before Mykel called a halt and had the squad
turn and form a full firing line.

“First squad! Stand
by for two shots, then reload and hold! Commence firing!”

The bluecoats were
closer, little more than sixty yards to the east, when they broke into a full
charge, riding five abreast, and filling the road.

Shots flew past
Mykel, mostly overhead, and he forced himself to wait… longer than he felt
comfortable before ordering. “Fifteenth Company! Open fire! Fire at will!”

The rifles of a full
company sounded like thunder, and the first two ranks of the bluecoats went
down. That slowed the charge, but the rebels struggled forward past riderless
mounts and downed horses and men and kept coming. Mykel could sense the
combination of hatred, frustration, and desperation. He kept firing, until the
blue-coats were within twenty yards. “Rifles away! To sabres! Charge!”

Since Mykel couldn’t
see an officer, he charged the nearest ranker, a young dark-haired man who
flung up his sabre wildly. Mykel beat it down, but could only deliver a second
slash to the other’s sword arm as he passed.

When Mykel finally
broke free of the melee, a handful of bluecoats were riding westward. Mykel
glanced west, then east. To the east, a body of rebels, equal to perhaps two
squads, was withdrawing, riding hard. They were already too far away for
Fifteenth Company to pursue.

An enormous shadow
fell across Mykel, then passed on. He looked up to see a single pteridon diving
toward the retreating bluecoats.

A line of blue flame
jetted from the skylance, moving across the riders. Then… the flame was gone.
So were the riders. A wave of something passed over Mykel—a feeling of mass
death? He wasn’t sure, except that he had felt something. Even from almost a
vingt away, he could see the blackened spot on the road and the heat rising
from where there had been twoscore rebels.

“Make it look easy,
they do,” said Dravadyl, reining up beside Mykel. “That’s after we’ve done all
the hard work.”

“They can’t do much
unless the enemy forces are away from us,” Mykel pointed out. “Otherwise, we’d
be cinders, too.”

“Ah… sir?”

Mykel looked at the fourth squad
leader. “Yes?”

“Might want to bind that wound.”

Abruptly, Mykel
looked down, suddenly conscious of the slash across his left arm. “It’s not that
deep, but you’re right.” He glanced back at the pteridon, which had banked and
turned back toward the Cadmians.

Within moments, the
flying creature had swept back overhead and was overtaking the handful of
rebels riding westward.

The skylance flamed once
more, and once more Mykel sensed death, and it felt like something had been
severed. He doubted that any of those killed had even seen the pteridon.