Alector's Choice (21 page)

Septi morning dawned
chill, cloudy, and windy, and the air was raw and damp. As he crossed the
compound courtyard, Mykel decided that it was the coldest day he’d experienced
so far in Dramur, and the damp chill made it feel colder than it was. Almost to
the moment, at one glass past the morning muster, he approached the officer’s
cell. To his relief, he found Meryst standing by the locked door, talking to
the guards.

“Good morning,
Captain,” offered Meryst, turning to face Mykel.

“Good morning.”

“We wish you the best
of luck in finding out something.” Meryst laughed. “Neither the Myrmidon
colonel nor either majer has had much success.”

“Then I can’t do any
worse,” replied Mykel.

Both the sentries and
Meryst smiled broadly. One of the two Cadmian rankers produced the heavy brass
key, unlocked the lock, slid back the pair of iron bolts.

“You won’t need more
than a glass, will you?” asked Meryst.

Mykel understood
perfectly. Vaclyn and Herryf always spent a glass discussing things in the
morning. “That’s if I can persuade her to talk. Much less if I can’t.”

“Let’s hope you can.”

Mykel hoped so as
well, but he wasn’t counting on it.

The sentries held
their weapons ready as Mykel opened and door and stepped inside.

“You could announce
yourself.” Rachyla sat on the side of the bed. She wore gray trousers and a
heavy green shirt, with slippers, rather than boots. Mykel noted the dark
circles under her eyes, but those piercing green eyes looked anything but
defeated or beaten.

“I’m sorry. I thought
you’d be up.”

“I am up. It’s just a
matter of manners, Captain. What do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

“So that you can get
more information from me?”

“I’ve gotten very
little.” Mykel laughed easily. He remained standing, a good two yards back from
the narrow bed. “You might consider what you could tell me without betraying
anyone. That way, I might understand what is happening.”

“I’m not aware that
Cadmians considered understanding af great import.”

“Some don’t. Some
do.”

“Don’t pretend. I
don’t like it.”

“How about this,
then? Forty men died earlier this week, because they attacked my company.
They’d been driven off their lands, not by Cadmians, but by growers, because
they couldn’t pay their debts. It doesn’t make sense, and I really would like
it to make sense.”

“So that you could
find a better way to kill more people?”

“Rachyla… for what
it’s worth, I’d like to remind you that I didn’t take you into confinement when
I found that first rifle. My men didn’t start shooting at your father’s men
until they fired at us first. Hard as it may be for you to understand, I would
rather not kill people.”

“For that, to make
you feel better, I’m supposed to betray people?” Her eyes never left his face.

Mykel snorted. “I
asked you to explain what you could without betraying anyone.”

“Anything I say will
betray someone.”

“Why did your father
need rifles? I don’t see how explaining that would betray anyone.”

“An unarmed seltyr is
without honor. A seltyr who has no rifles when others do is unarmed.”

That didn’t make
sense, unless… “Who else has rifles?”

“Did I say that
others have rifles, Captain?”

Mykel waited.
Sometimes, saying nothing worked better than saying anything. He just looked at
Rachyla, taking in the black hair swept up onto the back of her head, the clear
skin, and the deep green eyes. She had a nose that was strong, but not
overlarge, and long fingers. Her cheekbones were high.

A good quarter glass
passed.

“You’re more patient
than the majers,” she finally said. “Or the Myrmidon.”

“I have more at
stake. So do you.”

f More time passed.

“You know that there
are two types of growers, the larger ones, like my father, who are called
seltyrs, and those who are just growers…”

Mykel nodded,
waiting.

“There are also the
growers of the east, and those to the west. Those in the west are more
prosperous. They do not need the guano. They do not need irrigation ditches.
They have always believed that the growers of the east have hidden their coins.
We grow casaran nuts, but they grow apple bananas and use their spiders to create
shimmersilk. Those bring far more in golds. With enough golds, one can buy
anything, even Cadmian rifles. What else could my father do?”

“The western growers
are planning to take over the east of the isle?”

Rachyla shrugged.
“Now… with your Cadmians here, who can tell?”

Mykel considered. She
could well be lying, but… it didn’t feel that way, and he usually had a good
sense about that. Then, did he want to believe what she said? “Do you have any
idea why they would risk it?”

“No. I would judge
that they felt that the Duarch would not care so long as the guano and dyes and
shimmersilk kept coming. Would you say I was wrong?” The corners of her mouth
lifted into a sardonic smile.

“No,” Mykel admitted.
“Did your father ever speak to MajerHerryf?”

“How could he,
without revealing what he knew and becoming a target?” Her face hardened again.
“You and your men did a great favor for the western growers.”

“It wasn’t meant as
such,” Mykel pointed out.

“No. I can see that
you did not mean it that way. Does it matter what you meant? My father is dead,
and I am here, and one day, I will be found dead—or put before a justicer and
quickly found guilty of something I did not do and exe-cuted. Or I will just
vanish, and no one will be able to explain how it happened.”

Mykel could see how
she could believe that. She was probably right, too, and that bothered him.

“No one talks to me,
except you and the majers. Even the evil one only came once.”

“The evil one?”

“The Myrmidon
colonel. All of them are evil, deep inside. They do not belong here.”

“Where? Here on
Dramuria?”

“They do not belong
on our world. They are different. They even smell different. We will be here
when they are long gone.” Abruptly, she closed her mouth.

Smell different?
Mykel frowned. “How could they smell different?”

“They do.”

“Just how will they
depart when they have the Myrmidons and the flame lances?”

“I have said all that
I will say.”

“And more than you
would have,” Mykel said gently.

“You are not so evil
as the others, Captain. For that, you will pay dearly.”

“When did the western
growers plan to attack?”

Rachyla shook her
head.

“Do you know who was
the one the other western growers looked to?”

The only response was
an enigmatic smile.

She had said all that
she would say. He bowed. “Thank you. I’ll see what can be done.”

“You are as confined
as I, Captain. Your cell is merely larger. You can do nothing.” The green eyes
focused on Mykel, just taking him in, neither judging nor dismissing.

After a moment, he
bowed once more, then turned, and rapped on the door.

Again, the Cadmian
guards had their rifles trained as

Mykel left the
officer’s cell. The angular guard quickly threw the bolts and snapped the lock
closed.

“Did you learn
anything?” asked Meryst.

“More than I
expected, less than I hoped. I’ll have to look into some things. Then I’ll
know. I don’t want to say much until then. She just might be telling me things
that aren’t true.”

“Seltyrs and their
families haven’t been known for their directness,” replied Meryst. “I learned
that a long time back.”

“I’ve gathered that.”
Mykel bowed. “I thank you and hope that this will lead to something that will
help us both.”

“So do we.”

Mykel nodded, then
turned, walking northward across the courtyard. What could he say to either
majer? He wasn’t supposed to have talked to Rachyla, although he hadn’t
officially been prohibited from doing so. He had no real proof that the western
growers had gotten rifles, and he wouldn’t until or unless those growers
revolted or attacked—or unless the Third Battalion raided the western seltyrs.
Majer Vaclyn would have no compunctions about conducting such a raid, and the
results would certainly trigger a revolt, whether the seltyrs were innocent or
guilty.

So what was he to do?
He couldn’t risk telling the majer, and yet… what if the western growers were
planning a surprise attack?

If pressed, if the
majer did find out he had visited the woman, Mykel could say that she had told
him that there were more rifles in Dramur, and that included the western
growers, but that he had not been able to discover either names or locations.

He didn’t want to say
even that. Majer Vaclyn wasn’t above using stronger methods to get Rachyla to
talk, but Mykel doubted those would work—except to injure or disfigure her—and
what was the point of that?

Sometimes, he
wondered what the point of anything was.

The weather had held,
and Dainyl had returned to the compound late on Quinti. He had not discussed
what had happened on the mountain, except to tell Quelyt that he had had a
brief glimpse of something that might have been an ancient. That was more than
shading the truth, but what else could he say? That a creature that was
supposed to have died centuries before had told him to change or die? Without
explaining what she meant?

How had she even
known his tongue? That alone would have been troubling enough, not to mention
her ability to vanish without a trace, and that of the blocky creatures with
her to melt into the very stones of the mountains. Yet… if she were such a
threat, why had there been no sign of her and her people for centuries? All of
Corus teamed with indigens and landers and more than a few alectors, and there
had been no reports of the ancients in generations.

He paused. That was
not quite true. He had heard of no reports. That did not mean that there were
none.

Add to that reports
of an insurrection that was not, or not much of one, and the entire situation
in Dramur was troubling, perhaps troubling enough for him to act, except that
he had no better idea than the Cadmian majers did about what was really going
on. If he were to take command immediately, he reminded himself, how could he
improve the situation? Far better to continue to observe and reflect, until he
either knew enough to act well—or until he had to act because the majers had
blundered so badly that he had no choice.

In the time he was
reflecting, he noted the return of Fif-teenth Company. Since he had had not
received any report about that return from either majer, after breakfast on
Septi he made his way to the small study in headquarters that Majer Vaclyn had
taken over.

The majer jumped to
his feet as Dainyl entered. “Colonel, I hadn’t expected you.”

Dainyl gestured for
Vaclyn to take his seat. Then he sat on the edge of the chair across from the
majer and looked down and across the desk at the Cadmian officer. “I would
appreciate a short report on what Third Battalion has done in the past week.”

“I can write
something up, sir.”

“Just tell me.”

“Yes, sir.” Vaclyn
squared himself and looked at Dainyl. “Fifteenth Company has just returned from
Jyoha. The company was successful in tracking down and encircling forty armed
raiders. Regretfully, the raiders chose not to surrender to custody and
attacked. Virtually all of them were killed or died shortly thereafter of
wounds received in the battle. Fifteenth Company suffered four losses and
several wounded.”

“Who is the captain?”

“Captain Mykel. He
was the one under my command when we took out the seltyr’s force in Enstyla.”

“He seems to have
learned well from you.” Dainyl’s tone was bland, much as he disliked Vaclyn,
and the majer’s exaggeration of his own efforts. He also could sense a residue
of Talent.

“He and his men use
weapons well, sir. Since they have returned here, I will be rotating Thirteenth
Company north to the Jyoha area shortly. I’ve assigned Fifteenth Company to
handle the patrols on the mine road and in the surrounding area.”

“What of the other
companies?”

“Fourteenth Company
is patrolling the valley trails used by the smugglers. They captured a small
boat of smugglers last Londi, with several cases of ammunition, but the three
men handling the boat have not so far been helpful or informative. They remain
in custody. Sixteenth Company has been on station north of the valley trails,
but has seen no sign of other rebel forces, either from the growers or from
escaped prisoners. Seventeenth Company has been patrolling the roads through
the mountains from the western plantations. The company’s presence has been
effective in discouraging brigandry. That had been a problem, according to
Majer Herryf.”

“With the exception
of the places where Fifteenth Company has been, everything seems settled,
then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Might you happen to
have a report from this Captain Mykel on his activities.”

“He briefed me when
he arrived here last night, sir. I have not yet written up a formal report.”

About that, the majer
was clearly lying, and not a little upset behind the pleasant facade. Dainyl
decided to press slightly. “When you’ve finished it, I would like to see it.”
He smiled. “Matters are so quiet that it would be useful to read about what
action has taken place. Is there anything else I should know?”

“Not that I can think
of, Colonel,” replied Vaclyn, “but if anything should come up, you will be the
first to know.”

Dainyl extended a Talent-compulsion.
“Have you met with any other alectors besides me?”

“Ah… just the marshal
when he briefed Colonel Herolt and me before we embarked for Dramuria.”

That was true
enough—but why was there a residue of Talent after so long?

“Did you spend much
time with the marshal? Just you?”

“Only a few moments.
He cautioned me to be wary of the seltyrs’ machinations.”

Vaclyn believed that
to be true as well.

Dainyl stood. “Thank
you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl made his way
out into the courtyard, where a chill and raw wind blew from the northeast. He
missed the warmth of even the winter sun, although it was not truly a winter
sun, not so far south.

Should he go talk to
Captain Mykel? Dainyl shook his head. There were times when it was better to
let matters take their course, as Lystrana had so often told him. This was one
of those times. He did wonder why the marshal had impressed the matter of
seltyr machinations upon the majer. What part did that play in whatever the
marshal and the Highest were doing? They were clearly setting the Cadmi-ans
against the seltyrs, but Dainyl had not the slightest shred of real proof that
he could show—or anyone to whom he could tell what he had discovered.

All he could do was
wait for an opportunity. As a former Myrmidon ranker, though, he hated to wait.
He’d always felt that acting earlier worked better than waiting; but at the
moment, he had no real choice—not after what had happened to Tyanylt. He’d also
learned that he had to pick his battles carefully, and picking one now would be
fatal.