Alector's Choice (16 page)

Darkness had long
since fallen over the Cadmian compound north of Dramuria by the time Mykel and
Fifteenth Company arrived on Septi night. While Bho-ral settled the rest of the
company, Mykel and second squad escorted the captives to the confinement
barracks. There, the senior squad leader in charge of the confinement barracks
told Mykel that Rachyla would be confined in the officer’s cell on the ground
floor of the adjoining building.

Mykel walked beside
Rachyla, her hands still bound behind her. Four troopers followed them. In the
dimness away from the wall lamps, she stumbled on an uneven stone, and Mykel
steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

“If you don’t mind,
Captain…”

“Just making sure you
don’t try to escape,” he answered lightly.

“You think that a
mere woman could escape from here? With so many brave Cadmians around?” Her
voice was openly scornful.

“If anyone could, you
could,” Mykel replied quietly.

Her only response was
a disdainful laugh.

There were two guards
already posted outside the officer’s cell. An iron grate covered the closed
shutters.

“Sir?” asked the
guards.

“This is Lady
Rachyla. She will be confined here. I’d like to check the quarters.”

The two guards
exchanged glances.

“One of you can come
in, or not, as you please. My men will guard outside until I leave.”

“As you wish, sir. So
long as she stays safe inside.”

“She’ll stay.” Mykel
had his doubts about her safety anywhere, but there was little that he could
do.

The shorter guard
opened the heavy wooden door. Mykel stepped inside and glanced around the
spartan room, dimly lit only by the wall lamps outside on each side of the
door. All the cell held were a bed, a desk, and a stool, plus pegs on the wall.
A chamber pot stood in one corner. He walked around for a moment, then turned.
“Bring the lady inside.”

“I can walk in
myself.” She did.

“You can close the
door. I need to ask her some questions.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel had no doubts
they thought he had other ideas, but he also didn’t want any rankers hanging
over his shoulder. He waited until the door clunked shut. The cell was dark,
but the faint light seeping through the shutters was enough. His night vision
had always been good.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Why?”

“So I can untie your
wrists.”

Rachyla turned.

“Don’t move. I may
have to cut these.”

He didn’t, but he did
have to use the point of the knife to loosen the outer knot. Before he finished
loosening her bonds, he sheathed the knife. Then, leaving her to work free the
last of the rope, he stepped back.

She turned to face
him in the dimness. “Such an honorable man you are, Captain. I never would have
guessed.”

“Sit down. I need
some answers.” He raised his voice, facing the door.

“I am not sitting on the
bed, Captain.”

“Then sit on the
stool or stand,” Mykel replied. “As you please.”

“What would please me
would be to depart here.” Rachyla continued to stand.

“That is unlikely,
although if anyone could manage it, you probably could.”

“I am the captive, and
you seek to flatter me? Are you so deprived that you would seek pleasure from a
prisoner? Do you think I would sell myself so cheaply?”

Once more Mykel could
sense that her words were not bravado, but more like a statement of fact. “No.
You might find yourself forced, but you would never sell yourself.”

“You know me so
well?”

“No. I don’t know you
at all. I can tell some things about you, and that’s one that was obvious from
the time I saw you driving that cart. Why were you carrying that rifle? Had someone
just left it there, and you didn’t want to be bothered by taking it back?”

The moment of silence
was enough for Mykel to judge that he was close to the truth. He laughed,
ruefully. “And you wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of knowing that. I should
have guessed.”

As he looked at her,
he thought he saw, despite the darkness, a trace of brightness in and around
her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish it had been otherwise. I imagine you do as well.”

“I don’t need pity,
Captain. Or false sympathy. Or anything else.”

“Did you know your
father was stockpiling so many weapons?” Mykel really didn’t want to ask the
question, but he needed to ask some, just in case Vaclyn inquired.

Rachyla didn’t
answer.

“You said he was
betrayed? Who betrayed him? The smugglers who brought the weapons?”

“Do you think my
father would ever have trusted a smuggler to keep his word, Captain?” Rachyla
laughed, a full but bitter sound.

‘Then who was it? The
local council?“

“The council is
nothing. Neither are your alectors. The true and rightful rulers of Dramur are
its seltyrs.”

“The true and
rightful rulers? You deny the Duarches?”

Rachyla looked
straight at Mykel, but said nothing, offering what might have been a faint and
sad smile.

“You truly believe
that?”

She remained mute.

“If you did escape,
what would you do?”

There was no answer.

Mykel laughed, gently
and stepped back. “Good night, Lady Rachyla.” Then he rapped on the door. “I’m
finished here.”

When the door opened,
all six Cadmians had rifles trained on the doorway.

Rachyla’s brief
laughter filled the courtyard, cut off as one of the local Cadmian rankers
closed the door, shoved both the heavy iron bolts into place, then snapped the
lock shut.

“Thank you.” Mykel
inclined his head to the guards.

“You find out
anything, sir?”

“A little. Not as
much as I’d like, but she wasn’t about to say more now.”

“She will in time.
They all do. Every one.”

That might have been,
but Mykel was convinced that Rachyla was anything but everyone.

He looked at his own
rankers. “Let’s go.”

As he crossed the
courtyard, he thought about his brief interaction with the seltyr’s daughter.
Rachyla didn’t care for him, and she shouldn’t have, given what he had been
forced to do, but she had also been giving him a message, and that message was
most clear. Someone in the Cadmians, or in the government of the Duarchy, had
been involved. Who or why—those were questions whose answers were the merest
speculation.

If what she had
intimated happened to be true, Mykel and

Fifteenth Company,
indeed, the entire Third Battalion, faced a much more complicated situation
than anyone could have known—and there was nothing Mykel could say about it.
The majer wouldn’t listen, and there was no one above him, not within hundreds
of vingts, to whom Mykel dared entrust such information. Not until he knew
more.

He did wish that he’d
met Rachyla under other circumstances, but that wouldn’t have made any
difference. She was wealthy—and he was a crafter’s son and a city boy, and now
she was likely to spend years in confinement, or even be executed, and it was
largely Mykel’s doing. All he’d had to do would have been to ignore the rifle.

He laughed,
ironically. That was the one thing he couldn’t have done unless he wanted to be
responsible for scores of Cadmian deaths.

After a short early-morning
flight on Octdi with Falyna—a flight that revealed nothing, including in the
area around the ancient tunnel—Dainyl was walking across the Cadmian courtyard
when Captain Meryst hurried up to him.

“Colonel, sir… Majer
Herryf would beg your indulgence to join him in his study at your earliest
convenience.”

“Thank you, Captain.”
Dainyl smiled politely. “Did he say what might be so urgent?”

“He said that a large
cache of contraband weapons had been discovered in an unanticipated location,
sir. That is all he said, except that I was to tell no one that, save you.”

“I will be there
shortly, then.” Dainyl debated making the arrogant majer wait, but such tactics
would be lost on the majer and only make his own day longer. He turned and
followed the captain, shortening his stride to match steps with the much
smaller Cadmian officer.

Two Cadmian officers
bolted upright as Dainyl strode into Majer Herryf’s study. Behind Dainyl,
Captain Meryst closed the door, taking care to remain outside and leave the
three more senior officers alone. Dainyl repressed a smile of amusement at
Meryst’s quiet tact, so at odds with Herryf’s manner.

“I am sorry to bother
you, Colonel.” Herryf nodded to the other officer, standing beside him. “Majer
Vaclyn has arrived with a… startling report.”

Dainyl disliked
Herryf’s fawning and apologetic tone even more than the majer’s arrogance,
which remained beneath the subservience. “What might that be?” He turned to the
Third Battalion majer, the older of the two Cadmian officers.

“Colonel, you might
recall that the Third Battalion has been patrolling the roads north of where
the smugglers were detected. On Sexdi, the captain of Fifteenth Company
discovered a single rifle in the horse cart of the daughter of a local seltyr.
The rifle was Cadmian-issue, but without the usual maker’s stamped numbers.
Because the woman seemed unaware of the rifle, and because the captain decided
to proceed cautiously, despite the requirements of the Code, of which he has
since been made well aware, I took command of Fifteenth Company yesterday
morning, and we proceeded to Stylan Estate, the dwelling of the woman, who
turned out to be the daughter of Seltyr Ubarjyr…”

At the seltyr’s name,
Dainyl noted a certain uneasiness in Majer Herryf, but he merely nodded for the
long-winded Vaclyn to continue.

“Fifteenth Company
found a closed and locked outer gate, and when we reached the seltyr’s villa,
we were attacked by more than fivescore uniformed retainers using rifles. The
rifles turned out to be Cadmian weapons. Fifteenth

Company subdued the
insurgents with minimal casualties. There were over fourscore of them killed,
including the sel-tyr, and fifteen captured, while Fifteenth Company, under my
direction, lost but four rankers and had five wounded. After the skirmish, we
inspected the villa and found another five cases of rifles, more than forty
cases of ammunition, as well as uniforms and cartridge belts.“

“You say that the
seltyr was behind this?” asked Dainyl.

“Yes, sir,” replied
Vaclyn. “The last cases of rifles and ammunition were discovered in a hidden
room that opened only into his private study.”

“You seem to have
been most effective, Majer. You may recall that I am here only as an observer,
however.”

“Yes, sir,” replied
Herryf smoothly, “but as an observer, we thought you should be the first to
know about this. If you wish, and, of course, only if you wish, you could
interrogate the captives. One of them is the seltyr’s daughter.”

“You brought her
here?”

“How could we not,
Colonel?” Vaclyn seemed to expand with indignation. “She was the one who had
the first contraband rifle, and the one who was trying to delay us while the
insurgents tried to get into position to attack.”

“Under those
circumstances, I imagine you could see no other alternative.” Dainyl paused. “I
suppose it could not hurt to talk to some of them.” He didn’t like the idea,
but if there was information that had not been uncovered, and the marshal found
out later… that would not be at all in Dainyl’s favor. He smiled at Herryf. “Is
there anything else?”

“Ah… no, sir.”

“Then, if you would
have someone escort me to the captives.” He looked to Vaclyn. “My
congratulations, Majer.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Herryf followed
Dainyl out of the study, and beckoned to Captain Meryst. “Please take the
colonel to the captives.”

Meryst half bowed,
then turned to Dainyl. “The woman is in a room set aside for officers. It is in
a separate building. Would you prefer to see her first or after the others?”

“First, I would
think.”

Meryst led the way to
a building in the middle of those set close to the compound’s south wall. The
ground-level door at the east end was guarded by a pair of Cadmian rankers.

“Her name is Rachyla.
She is the eldest daughter of Sel-tyr Ubarjyr.” Meryst stopped before the pair
of guards outside the door. “The colonel will be interrogating the prisoner.”

One of the guards
took out a large, tarnished, brass key and inserted it into a lock. With a
heavy click, the lock opened. Then he retracted both iron bolts. Dainyl had to
lower his head to enter the room, and once inside, the top of his head almost
touched the low ceiling. The door closed behind him, although he did not hear
the click of a lock again.

The woman, her hair
as dark and shimmering as that of an alector, was seated on a tall stool at a
small desk, writing. She turned to the door as he entered. Her face froze, and
she turned away.

“Your name is
Rachyla. How did you end up here?”

The woman did not
look at Dainyl, but he could sense anger. Not fear, but anger.

“You’re fortunate
that you’re a woman,” he said mildly.

Rachyla did not
answer.

“You were involved in
a revolt,” said Dainyl quietly. “That was not exactly wise.”

“I have nothing to
say to you.”

“You are angry. Yet
we have never met.”

“I have nothing to
say.”

Behind the anger was
also a sense of dread and despair, a strange combination.

Although he tried a
number of questions and approaches, even with a hint of Talent-projection and
-persuasion, she said nothing more. While she did not seem to be Talented, she
was resistant to mild Talent-persuasion, and Dainyl decided against using
greater Talent, since there was no certainty that it would work and the effects
could be detected by a Talented alector, such as the marshal or the Highest.
After close to half a glass, he left.

From there, Meryst escorted
him to the holding cells in a squat and square building set against the
southeast corner of the compound.

The guards brought
the first prisoner to the interrogation room, where Dainyl sat in a too-small
chair. The man was young. His left arm was bandaged heavily, and he slumped
onto the stool. His eyes avoided Dainyl.

“Why did you fire on
the Cadmians?”

The rebel did not
answer.

Dainyl tried to
Talent-project compulsion on the slightest level. After a moment, he asked
again, “Why did you fire?”

The young man
shivered, then replied, “Squad leader said to fire on them, sir.”

“Did you hit any of
them?”

“I don’t know. They
shot back so quickly. They killed so many of us. So quickly. Their captain, he
shot three or four himself.”

“Who commanded you?”

The rebel looked at
the colonel blankly.

“Who was in charge of
the squad leaders, and who was in charge of that person?”

“Oh, Nurqueyt, he was
the captain. His orders came from Seltyr Ubarjyr.”

“Who gave orders to
the seltyr?”

“No one, sir. No one
gives orders to a seltyr.” The young man looked appalled, then added quickly,
“Except an alector, sir.”

“How long had you
been training?”

“A season or so, sir.
But we only got the rifles three weeks ago, maybe four… it was after Pabolar’s
birthday.”

“Are there other companies
training?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“What do you think?”

“There might be a few
others, but there aren’t many. Captain Nurqueyt said that we were fortunate.
The rifles were hard to come by…”

Dainyl talked to the
young man for another quarter glass. After that, he talked to all the others,
and it was well into the afternoon before he returned to his quarters. All of
the captives had said variations of the same things.

Two things had stood
out. The first was the anger of the lander woman. She had not only immediately
recognized Dainyl as an alector, but his presence had angered her—not
frightened her. That alone suggested that she had seen alec-tors or known of
their actions. Then there were the rifles— and the timing of their arrival in
Dramur. The High Alector of Justice—or Marshal Shastylt—had to have learned
about the incipient rebellion early, perhaps even while the rifles were on
their way to Dramur. That was likely to be the explanation he received—if he
could find a way to ask that question in a fashion that didn’t threaten his own
future. If he even bothered with the question… because it seemed clear enough
to him that somehow the marshal and the Highest had arranged for the rifles to
be shipped to the sel-tyr. Why was another question, and one he needed to be
more careful in investigating, far more careful, he suspected, than had been
Submarshal Tyanylt.