Alector's Choice (53 page)

Dainyl leaned against
the study desk that was too low and small for him to sit behind for any length
of time. He supposed he could have ordered a larger one built, but he’d never
expected to be in Dramuria so long, and he wouldn’t have felt right about
wasting the resources for something used so infrequently or for such a short
time. For a moment, his eyes flicked to the window. Outside headquarters, the
Tridi morning sun was beating down on the stones of the courtyard. A faint heat
haze was forming, although noon was a good two glasses away. His eyes turned
back to the overcaptain who stood before him. “The rebels are slowly being
pressed back north of the mine and well west of Enstyla. Within another day or
so, they should be in a position where we can attack.”

“I’ll head north this
afternoon, then,” said Dohark.

“That wouldn’t be a
good idea. I’ll have to be there.” Dainyl handed a folded sheet to the
overcaptain. “That is my commission designating you as officer in charge of all
Cadmian forces in Dramuria, under my supervision, as well as the officer in
charge in my absence, injury, or death.”

Dohark’s eyebrows
lifted. “Sir?” He did not unfold the sheet he had accepted.

“While I don’t plan
on anything happening in my absence, if you join this assault on the rebels,
there will be no one I can trust here in the compound—or in Dramuria. In my
boots, would you wish to leave command in the hands of Captain Meryst or
Captain Benjyr?” Dainyl didn’t mention that Benjyr had spent the last weeks
avoiding even getting anywhere near him, although Dainyl had not pressed the
issue.

“No, sir.” Dohark’s
words were grudging.

“I know you’re a
fighting officer, and a good one, but my choices are simple. I can either
relieve Captain Mykel and give you Fifteenth Company, and put him in charge
here, or leave you here. You have more rank and stature, and you are not
perceived in quite the same… light… as Captain Mykel. Didn’t you tell me he was
being called the Knife of the Ancients, or something like that?”

“Yes, sir. That’s a
blade that cuts so sharply that it wounds both the user and the victim.
Supposedly, such blades actually exist. They’re very rare, though, and no one
admits to ever having seen one.”

“Does the captain
know this?” The idea of Captain Mykel being termed a tool of the ancients
disturbed Dainyl, but then, the captain and his emerging Talent already worried
at the Submarshal.

“He knows what that
means, sir, but I don’t think he’s aware of being called that.”

As he stood in the
study, Dainyl sensed, for the third day running, the use of Talent to the
north. It was clearly the Talent of an ancient—the soarer—and not the unfocused
and shorter spurts of Talent that he associated with the Cad-mian captain.
Unlike earlier manifestations of the soarer, the more recent appearances had
lasted far longer. So much use of Talent by an ancient, or ancients, at a time
when his plans were coming to fruition, troubled Dainyl. It suggested that the
ancients were aware and interested, if not involved.

“The name fits, in a
way,” added Dohark.

“That the captain is
far sharper than most realize?” Dainyl kept his tone dry.

“Yes, sir. Right now,
he could be a good majer. In time, he could be a good colonel.”

“As I recall, you
were worried that he could be too ruthless.”

Dohark flushed. “Ah…
that was not quite what I said. I said he was as ruthless as necessary, and
effective, but I worried that it would take a toll on him.”

Dainyl, distracted by
the continuing sense of the ancient to the north, perhaps near the old tunnel
that held what had to be the equivalent of a Table, nodded. “I apologize for
overstating, Overcaptain.” He paused. “I trust you understand why I must insist
you remain here.”

“I understand, sir.
It might be helpful… at the appropriate time…”

“If it is necessary,
I will inform Colonel Herolt.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“There are a few
other pressing matters. Until later, Overcaptain.” Dainyl waited for several
moments until Dohark had left, trying not to look hurried. Then he pulled on
his flying jacket and strode out and down the corridor, nod-ding at the duty
squad leader before leaving headquarters. He crossed the courtyard rapidly to
the pteridon square, where Quelyt waited.

The Myrmidon ranker
had seen Dainyl coming and stood by the pteridon in his own flying jacket.
“Where to this morning, Submarshal? North again, sir?”

“Yes. We’ll swing
west, head north past the mine, then do a recon of the area where the seltyrs
seem to be gathering.”

Quelyt vaulted into
the first seat and began fastening himself in.

Dainyl waited a
moment and did the same in the rear seat. After a moment, he called forward,
“Anytime, Quelyt.”

The pteridon sprang
into the air above the courtyard, blue wings spread wide, into the wind out of
the north. In moments, they cleared the northern wall of the compound. Once
they were a good hundred yards above the ground, Quelyt swung more to the
northwest, until they reached the mine road and paralleled it.

Dainyl leaned
slightly to the left, studying the ground below, but he saw no one on the mine
road, nor on the winding lanes farther east. He still sensed the soarer to the
north. It had been half a glass since he had noted her presence—a far longer
time than ever before—except over the last three days.

They flew northward
for more than half a glass before Dainyl saw plumes of dust on an older and
narrower road heading north. “Up ahead, on the road. See how close you can
get!”

“Heading down, sir!”
The pteridon half folded its wings for a moment, starting a shallow dive, then
extended them again, so that the dive became an extended downward glide.

By the time the
pteridon had descended to a hundred yards above the road, a point where Dainyl
could have determined who was riding, the rider or riders had vanished— hiding
in casaran orchards, woodlots, under single large trees, whatever cover was
available. Such disappearances alone suggested that the riders were rebels and
that their officers had scouts detailed to watch the skies for pteridons.

While Dainyl knew
that some of the orchards below held rebels, he couldn’t very well have Quelyt
flame every tree under which rebels might be hiding. That was one reason he
needed the Cadmians to herd the rebels into a more circumscribed area. He kept
scanning the area on both sides of the road, but the riders remained concealed.

“What now, sir?”
called back Quelyt.

“Head north, toward
that mountain where we found the ancient tunnel.”

“North it is.” The
pteridon began to climb, turning slightly to the northwest.

Dainyl looked back
over his shoulder, but the rebel riders remained hidden and doubtless would
stay so until they were certain the pteridon was well out of sight. He turned
his eyes and Talent northward, seeking out the soarer’s peak, with its
odd-angled shape.

Another half glass
passed before the pteridon neared the site, and with each vingt that the
Myrmidons drew closer, Dainyl could sense the soarer more clearly.

Below the peak, in
the charred grove that the Myrmidons had flamed a season before, Dainyl could
see greenery where there should have been none—not so soon after the
destruction wrought by a skylance. The presence of the soarer remained strong,
with a hint of something implacable behind the green Talent.

“There’s something
there, sir. Can’t tell what it is, but it’s like a fog in front of that cave,”
Quelyt called back.

For Dainyl, there was
no fog—just a circle of green iridescence with the soarer hovering in the
center two or three yards out from the front of the cave. “Don’t get any
closer. Just sweep by, then circle back again at the same distance.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the pteridon flew
by, Dainyl could sense a Talent-probe of some sort, but one so light, so
delicate, that he might not even have noticed it had he not been fully
concentrating with his Talent and all his senses. He tried to block it, but his
own Talent skittered off and through the fine line of green, as if it were
smoke or mist, or not present at all. Yet there was a sense of strength there.

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?

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, angling 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.