Alector's Choice (57 page)

Dainyl examined his
leg, then his arm, with his Talent, and nodded. They were healing well. Within
another two weeks he would be able to walk, if with a brace of some sort. By
then, his next set of troubles would begin.

While he had been healing
at the estate of the former Seltyr Veluasyr—who had been one of those shot by
the intrepid Captain Mykel—Dainyl had had time to think, too much time, in some
ways.

He felt guilty about
the deaths of both Quelyt and Falyna. They had followed his orders, and died.
Both had been faithful Myrmidons, and a pleasure to command and work with—and
he had failed them by not recognizing how great a danger the soarers had
represented. He had been warned, but, deep inside, he had not believed those
warnings. Even though it had been his failure, he had been the one to survive,
and he did not understand how—or why.

The drop from such a
height should have killed him outright. While Talent could cushion or slow
falls from lesser heights, he was not aware of any alector’s surviving such a
fall. He had a vague recollection of a brief flow of Talent energy, but it had
been green. Had he been imagining that? He had to have been. The soarers would
not have spent all that force bringing down two pteridons—then helped him save
himself. However it had all happened, a great deal of luck had to have been
involved.

Then, too, he knew
that both the Highest and Marshal Shastylt would have been horrified that he
had used Talent to heal Captain Mykel enough so that he would recover, rather
than die. They would have been horrified more if they knew that the captain had
Talent. Yet the captain had done more than anyone could have asked, and he had
saved Dainyl when no one else could have. Without the captain, Dainyl would not
be eventually going back to Elcien and Lystrana—perhaps even to a child. He had
not been certain when he left, but… they had been hopeful.

To let the captain
die, after he had failed Quelyt and Falyna, that would have been intolerable, a
decision he could not have made. He had chosen to save the captain, and that
was a choice he would have to live with. He could but hope it would not come
back to torment him.

For all the fighting,
and all of what he had learned in Lyterna, he still had no understanding of why
the Highest and the marshal had set up the revolt in Dramur. It could not have
been just a test of his abilities, nor could it have been to weaken the
Cadmians. Part of the reason might have been to teach the seltyrs a lesson of
sorts, but that could have been far more easily accomplished with greater
forces over a shorter period of time.

He also considered
Asulet’s words, especially those about how much the alectors of Ifryn had lost
in transfers from world to world. Those words were part of the answer, but what
part?

When he and the
Cadmians returned to Elcien depended in large degree on whether the recorders
of deeds at one of the Tables had been able to determine—indirectly, since the
Tables displayed nothing of Talent or created by Talent— that the two pteridons
had been lost. But return he must, and fairly quickly, to report on how the two
ancients had destroyed the pteridons. He knew of nothing that could stand up to
a skylance, but the soarers had, and he was perhaps the only one still alive
who had witnessed that. But… how much should he say? And to whom?

The Submarshal of
Myrmidons looked from the too small desk, behind which he was seated sideways
and awkwardly, toward the open window. Dainyl would have preferred to have
flown back to Dramuria, but without pteridons and with a leg that had not
healed enough for him to ride, he had been forced to take a carriage, and it
had been a long trip. A welcome breeze blew into the study, warming him after a
cool and restless Decdi night, during which he had slept badly, and a long
Londi, dealing with more administrative details than he would have wished.

During all that time,
his thoughts had swirled between the loss of Quelyt and Falyna, the two
irreplaceable pteridons, half of the Third Cadmian Battalion, and more than a
thousand rebels. For what?

As soon as he had
been able, Dainyl had written up a detailed dispatch outlining the events in
Dramur. He had not sent it, because there had been no ships of the Duarches
porting in Dramuria, nor any pteridons arriving. Writing the dispatch had not
been difficult. He had reported what had occurred and that Dramur and Dramuria
were now calm, partly in a state of shock and partly through a numb acceptance
by the remaining seltyrs and growers that the Duarchy would do whatever was
necessary to maintain control.

In Dainyl’s absence,
Overcaptain Dohark had taken a firm control over the compound, as well as over
the local Cadmian companies. Captain Benjyr was in full evidence, and no longer
made an effort to avoid Dainyl, even if he did not go out of his way to speak
to the Submarshal, and the compound gates remained open once more. The daily
wagon loads of guano had resumed, rumbling down to the storage buildings off
the piers at the port, and the dwellings burned by the rebels were being
rebuilt.

Dainyl looked to the
window, noting that the sun had dropped behind the mountains. Where, exactly,
had the day gone?

At the knock on the
study door, Dainyl turned his head. “Yes?”

One of the local
Cadmian rankers stood there. “Submarshal, sir? There are two pteridons on their
way inbound. The overcaptain thought you would like to know.”

“I’ll be right there.
Make sure two of the rooms in the officers’ quarters are ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl stood and took
the heavy polished cane from where it rested against the wall. He hated using
it, but there were times that his legs still did not respond, and it would be
far worse to fall and injure himself again than to appear incapacitated. What
was in his favor was that enough of the Cadmian rankers had seen him fall that
they regarded his remaining alive—let alone walking with only a bound arm, a
splint, and a limp—as a testimony to the indestructibility of alectors.

Although he had
hurried, both pteridons were on the stones of the courtyard beside the squares
by the time he reached the two Myrmidons.

“Submarshal, sir!”
Ghenevra—the senior ranker in third squad—stiffened.

“Sir!” added Rhenyt.

“The marshal sent us
to serve at your pleasure, sir.” Ghenevra extended a thin envelope. “He sent
this for you.”

Dainyl took the
envelope. “Thank you.”

Rhenyt’s eyes looked
past Dainyl, speculatively.

“You won’t find them,
Rhenyt,” Dainyl said quietly. How much should he tell them? “What I’m about to
tell you is to be kept to yourselves. If I ever hear a word about this anywhere
else, you’ll be out of the Myrmidons. If you’re fortunate, you’ll be a servant
in Lyterna for the rest of your life. That’s if you’re fortunate.” Dainyl
couldn’t count on complete secrecy, but all he wanted to make sure was that
word didn’t pass to the landers and indigens. He waited.

“Yes, sir,” replied
both Myrmidons.

“The pteridons ran
into a pair of ancients. Both the pteridons and the ancients were destroyed.”
Strictly speaking, Dainyl knew, that was not true. He was certain that at least
one ancient had survived, but both pteridons had been destroyed, and the
ancients had vanished.

“Ancients?” murmured
Rhenyt. “There are still…”

“There are a few
left, and they’re quite dangerous, because it takes a great deal of Talent to
sense where they are. If you leave them alone, they have always left us alone.”

“But…”

“That’s why you’re
not to fly along the crest of the MurianMountains unless I’m with you. Is that
understood?”

“Yes, sir.” They both
nodded emphatically.

Dainyl could sense
that he’d explained enough, both why they should not say anything, and why the
Cadmians should not know the true cause of the loss of the pteridons. “Welcome
to Dramuria. We’ll need to get you settled. It’s always a long flight from
Elcien.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once he had the two
in the hands of the duty squad leader, Dainyl took the dispatch and returned to
his study, closing the door behind him. He could sense the overcap-tain’s
curiosity, but Dohark would have to wait until Dainyl had read what the marshal
had sent. After reseating himself, awkwardly, Dainyl opened the dispatch and
read through it quickly.

Submarshal Dainyl—

We trust that this
dispatch finds you in health. The recorders of deeds under the High Alector of
Justice have surmised from what the Table reveals that the revolt in Dramur has
been successfully put down and that you have been restoring order. We have also
received word from Lyterna that there appear to have been certain uses of
energies that have far reaching implications for the Duarchy.

In view of these
circumstances, we would request that you immediately restructure Cadmian
operations in Dramur to preclude a repetition of the events just past. Once
this is complete, and once you feel the situation in Dramur is fully stable and
will remain so without your presence, you are to return to Elcien at your
earliest possible convenience to brief us on events in Dramur and their
resolution. We request that you convey any written reports only upon your
person. If your departure will be more than two weeks from the time of
receiving this, send a brief report indicating when we may expect you.

The document was
signed and sealed by both the High Alector of Justice and the marshal.

After a time, he read
it again, but nothing changed. They were definitely concerned, and the half
surprise shown by the two Myrmidons indicated that neither the Highest nor the
marshal had been that certain whether they would find Dainyl, and in what
condition.

Dainyl was not
looking forward to returning to Elcien to explain matters. His eyes drifted to
his leg. He would have to wait another few days, perhaps a week, before his leg
would be strong enough, even with Talent-assisted healing, for him to make such
a long flight. By then, he might have a better idea how to present what had
happened. He also had to determine what to do about Dramur. Neither the
Cadmians nor the Myrmidons could afford another commander such as Majer Herryf.

Dainyl looked out
into the twilight, thinking.

More than a week
passed, and it was Tridi of the following week before Mykel mounted the
chestnut and began a slow three-day ride back south to the Cadmian compound
north of Dramuria. The Submarshal had left by carriage on the previous Octdi,
insisting that Mykel not leave before Tridi at the earliest.

In midafternoon on
Sexdi, Mykel rode through the open gates of the Cadmian compound, accompanied
by six rankers from Fifteenth Company who provided his escort.

His shoulder and
chest throbbed, and his head ached as he dismounted—one-armed and carefully.

After arranging for
Estylt to carry his gear to his quarters, Mykel walked toward the headquarters
building to report his return. In the center of the courtyard, two pteridons
sunned themselves on the top of their squares. They had to be another pair.
He’d seen—and sensed—the total destruction of the two in the battle that had
destroyed the seltyrs’ mounted forces.

Mykel stepped into
the comparative cool of headquarters and turned toward the study that Dohark
had to be using, then stopped by the duty desk, manned by a local Cadmian squad
leader.

“Is the overcaptain
in?”

“Yes, sir. He was a
moment ago.”

“Thank you.” Mykel
smiled and headed toward Dohark’s study, only to see Captain Benjyr walking
toward him.

“Good day,” Mykel
offered cheerfully.

“Good day, Captain,”
replied Benjyr, his voice very polite, but not cold. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” Mykel
smiled. Benjyr had radiated fear of Mykel. But why? Had Dohark or the
Submarshal said anything?

Behind him, Benjyr
murmured something under his breath, words that sounded like “dagger of the
ancients.”

Mykel’s hand went to
his belt. The ancient dagger was still there. With a half smile, he continued
to Dohark’s open door.

“Mykel! I thought you
might be back today. Come on in.” The overcaptain motioned for Mykel to enter
the study.

Mykel stepped inside,
leaving the door ajar, not quite fully closed. He settled carefully into the
straight-backed chair across from Dohark.

“How are you
feeling?”

“Sore, but better.”

“Most people don’t
recover from bullets that close to the lungs and heart. You’re fortunate.”
Dohark smiled. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“So am I. Have you
heard anything?”

“Not yet. The
Submarshal is working on something, though. He’s been asking questions about
everything, studying ledgers and accounts. I’d wager that it won’t be long.”

“I wanted to talk to
you about something.” Mykel had no idea if Dohark would support him. If
necessary, Mykel would go to the Submarshal, but he should ask Dohark first.

Dohark raised his
eyebrows.

“Rachyla. Everyone
else who survived has been allowed to keep their lands, so long as they pledged
to the Duarch. She should be freed as well…” Mykel saw the amusement on
Dohark’s face. “Have you already let her go?”

“I had thought it
might be best for you to be the one to release her,” said Dohark, “since you
captured her. Besides, she won’t talk to any of us.” He handed a folded sheet
of paper to Mykel. “I already drafted her release order, and I’ve told the
guards that she’ll be released soon.”

For some reason,
Mykel had been expecting an argument. He just sat there for a moment

“Sirs?”

Both Mykel and Dohark
looked to the door of the study.

“The Submarshal has
asked that you both join him.”

“We’ll be right
there.” Dohark stood.

So did Mykel.

They crossed the
hallway to the larger study. This time, Dohark closed the study door. The
Submarshal was seated behind the desk, one of the few times Mykel had seen
that. He waited until Dohark and Mykel had settled into chairs.

“I have been summoned
back to Elcien. I’ll leave within a few days, and I will not be returning here.
I’ve been ordered to make sure that the situation that occurred here does not
happen again. For that reason, I have developed a plan

“For Dramur.” The
Submarshal looked at Dohark. “First, over the next year, the number of Cadmian
companies here will be increased to five—a full battalion. Second, those
companies will not be commanded by a Cadmian from Dramur, ever. Third…” Dainyl
paused.

Mykel caught a hint
of amusement in the eyes of the Submarshal, and he could feel that the
Submarshal was enjoying himself.

“… Third, they will
be commanded by Majer Dohark here—assuming you are willing, Majer.”

“Majer… I… ah… Yes,
sir. I’d be pleased to, sir.”

“You are to institute
full Cadmian training, and we will work out the details to ensure that you
receive some junior captains not from Dramur.” The Submarshal extended a pair
of insignia. “Your new rank is effective now.”

“Yes, sir.” Dohark
took the insignia. “Thank you, sir.”

The Submarshal turned
his eyes upon Mykel. ‘Captain…“

“Yes, sir.”

“You demonstrated a
solid grasp of both strategy and tactics in your campaigns here in Dramur. Your
sole weakness is the occasional individual foray, but I trust that the results
of your last effort have impressed upon you that such… exploits… can have a
high price.” Again, the Submarshal smiled. “Admittedly, I am most grateful for
that last exploit, although it was not in your best personal interest.” He
paused before continuing. “I will be sending an overriding recommendation to
Colonel Herolt for your immediate promotion to majer and for command of Third
Battalion. It is technically only a recommendation, because, until I confer
with the Marshal of Myrmidons, I do not have the authority to order it, unlike
here in Dramur, where I do. But… I seriously doubt that Colonel Herolt would
wish to dispute such a recommendation, not when my letter points out that you
and your company routed and destroyed fifteen armed companies over the course
of two seasons and that your actions kept Third Battalion from being totally
destroyed by the late Majer Vaclyn.”

“Yes, sir.” That was
all that Mykel could say. Majer? Skipping the entire rank of overcaptain?

“You may not be
familiar with all the administrative details of command, Captain Mykel, but
since it will take at least several seasons to rebuild and retrain Third
Battalion, I am certain you will have time to learn those. One can never learn
the instinctive grasp of tactics and motion which you have already
demonstrated.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You may not always
thank me.” The Submarshal smiled. “That is all for now. You’ll pardon me if I
don’t escort you out.”

“No, sir.” Both
Cadmians smiled and stood, nodding as they left.

Back in Dohark’s
study, Mykel looked at the new majer. “Do you want to stay here?”

“Why not? It’s a good
position, if you just listen and don’t let the seltyrs get out of hand.
Besides, you think an old former squad leader like me would make majer any
other way? I don’t think like you, Mykel. I don’t know as I’d want to.” Dohark
grinned. “Besides, any of the seltyrs get out of hand, and I can call for the
‘dagger of the ancients.’ I’ll also tell them that you’re a majer, with a whole
battalion that you’ve trained.”

“That’s what they’re
calling me?” Mykel had overheard the expression used by Benjyr, but hadn’t
connected it to himself.

“It fits, doesn’t
it?” Dohark pointed to Mykel’s bound arm and shoulder. “I don’t envy you,
Mykel. The Submarshal’s right. Old Herolt can’t very well ignore the Marshal of
Myrmidon’s recommendation, especially when you’ve managed to do what you have.
You’ll be a majer. You know what else, though?”

“Third battalion will
get the dirtiest and nastiest tasks, and they’ll be looking for me to do the
impossible—or fail and it won’t matter much which it is. Is that what you mean?”

“You’ve got it.”
Dohark shook his head.

“You wouldn’t mind if
I escorted Rachyla back to her state?”

“Might be the best
thing if you did.”

Mykel wasn’t sure
about that. It might protect her, and then, it might have every other seltyr
looking to remove her. He just sat there for several moments, considering.

“Go free your lady
friend,” Dohark finally said.

“Not until tomorrow
morning. I can’t ride tonight, and  she’ll be gone in moments if I’m not
ready to escort her.”

“You’ve thought that
one out, too.”

He had. How well was
another question.