Alector's Choice (29 page)

Mykel slept better on
Novdi night, but when the pain subsided and he inadvertently moved or tried to
turn over, the resurgence of agony jolted him awake. Even though Decdi was a
full end day, he woke with the sun. A cold and raw wind—chill for Dramur—seeped
through windows and shutters designed for a climate that seldom saw real chill.
After swinging his feet onto the cold stone floor, Mykel finally eased himself
erect. He dressed and washed awkwardly, trying to avoid moving the arm below
the injured shoulder.

The courtyard outside
the officers’ quarters was empty, and so silent that all he heard was the low
moan of the wind and the echo of his boots on the paving stones as he walked
toward the officers’ mess. He hoped he wasn’t too early to get something, but
he could always come back if the cooks weren’t ready.

When he walked into
the mess, the only one there, besides one cook and the orderly server, was
Colonel Dainyl. The Myrmidon looked to have finished the last of his breakfast.

“Good morning,
Captain,” offered the alector, standing as he spoke.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Are you feeling
better this morning?”

“Some,” Mykel
admitted.

“You need another day
of rest. See me first thing after breakfast tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a polite smile,
the colonel departed.

Mykel eased into a
chair at one of the tables, very gingerly.

“Is he always this
early?” Mykel asked the orderly who appeared with a mug of ale.

“Earlier most days,
sir.”

Mykel wondered if
alectors even slept.

Breakfast was egg
toast, fried apple bananas, and some sort of fried fish that, thankfully, was
white beneath the thick batter—and tasteless. Then, the egg toast was tasteless
as well. The bananas were the most edible part of the meal. Mykel ate slowly.
There was no reason to hurry. Even so, no other officers had appeared by the
time he left.

His next stop was the
barracks, where he found Alendyr.

A good glass later,
after going over the supplies the company could use and tasking the squad
leader with trying to obtain them, Mykel made his way to the officer’s cell
where Rachyla was confined.

“You need to talk to
her?” asked the shorter guard of the two. “I don’t know…”

Mykel’s eyes
hardened. “Do you want to take it up with Colonel Dainyl?”

“Ah… you’ve spoken to
the colonel?”

“This morning, in
fact.” That was true enough, even if it hadn’t been about Rachyla.

“He’s here?”

“He was at the mess
before dawn,” Mykel said. “I’ll be meeting with him again later.”

“I suppose it’s all
right.”

Mykel stood back as
one guard unlocked the door, and the other held his rifle ready. After the
bolts were slid back, Mykel stepped inside.

Rachyla looked up
from the stool before the desk, on which sat a tray with a half-eaten
breakfast—the same egg toast and fried fish Mykel had eaten, with the smallest
morsel of fried apple banana at one side. Like Mykel, she had apparently found
the apple bananas the best part.

“You. I’d thought
they might be coming to reclaim what passes for breakfast.” Her eyes narrowed
as she took in the sling and harness.

“It’s filling.” Mykel
stood well back from Rachyla, who wore the same trousers and shirt he had seen
before. But then, from what hung from the pegs on the wall, she appeared to
have but three changes of clothing. That was more than he had at the moment.

“I see you had some
difficulty. I’d like to say I’m sorry, but that would be less truthful.”

“You were right,”
Mykel said.

Rachyla looked
puzzled. Her eyes centered on the bulki-ness of his tunic over the wound
dressings, the sling, and doubtless the paleness of his face. “What was I right
about, Captain?”

“About being
betrayed. Majer Vaclyn tried to kill me.”

“He did not succeed,
I see.”

“Colonel Dainyl—I
think you called him the evil one— he stopped him. The majer used his second
throwing knife on the colonel. It bounced off his tunic, and the colonel turned
him into cinders with his light-cutter.”

“The knife… it went
through your shoulder?”

“It didn’t do too
much damage.” Mykel offered a rueful smile.

“It did more than you
admit. Why are you here?”

“Because you said I
would be betrayed. How did you know?”

Rachyla did not
answer, although she did not lower her eyes and continued to look at him
directly. Finally, she spoke. “It is always that way. Those who think are
always prepared for evil from those they do not trust, and those they do not
know.”

“That is true, but
you meant more than that.”

“I meant what I
meant.”

Mykel took in her
face, the intent green eyes, the smooth skin, and the alertness that suffused
all her being. “You meant something that was more than a general observation.”

“And if I did,
Captain? Why should I share that with you?”

“It might do me some
good, and that might do you some good.”

“Goodwill? I think
not. I am the daughter of the first sel-tyr who rebelled.”

“The first seltyr who
rebelled?”

“Did I say that? I
meant the only seltyr who rebelled.”

Mykel laughed. “You
don’t make mistakes like that, Lady Rachyla.”

“Rachyla will do. One
way or another, I will not be a lady much longer.”

“Which seltyrs are
likely to rebel next?”

“If any are, Captain,
how would I know? I am quite isolated in my confinement here. You are the only one
who actually speaks to me.”

“Majer Vaclyn never
talked to you?”

“I would not know
your Majer Vaclyn if he stood beside you.”

“He won’t. He’s the
one that the colonel killed to save my neck.”

“He has some use for
you. The alectors only save those who are useful.”

“How many of them
have you met to be able to say that?”

“Me? I am a woman,
and a young one, by their standards. Even lander women mean little, except for
bearing children. There are no alectors in Dramur, save for your colonel and
his retainers. How would I ever have come to meet one of them?”

Rachyla wasn’t
telling the truth, but then, she hadn’t really lied, either. She hadn’t
answered his question. “Do you always avoid answering the question?”

“Captain… how could
you think that? I have replied to everything you have said.”

Mykel wanted to
laugh. Another thought struck him. “What about your mother?”

Rachyla’s face
stiffened. “She vanished years ago. No one knows where she went.”

“I see.” Mykel had a
very good idea what she meant. “You must be very much like her.”

“What a strange thing
to say, Captain.”

“I think not.”

“If you could
understand what you feel, Captain, you could be a very dangerous man.”

“That is a strange
thing to say.”

“You do not have to
take my observations, Captain. I am just a woman and a prisoner.”

Mykel doubted that
Rachyla would ever be just anything.

“Who are the most
powerful seltyrs—in both the east and the west?”

“How would I possibly
know that?”

“The most powerful
ones nearest to Stylan Estate?” prompted Mykel.

“No one ever shared
such thoughts with me, and women do not visit armories, Captain.”

He almost missed that
reference. “Are there any growers who don’t have armories?”

“I would not know. I
have not visited more than a handful of other estates, only those close to Stylan.
I could not imagine much difference.”

In short, they were
all armed to the teeth, and probably with contraband Cadmian rifles.

“Do the western
seltyrs have more horses?”

Rachyla just
shrugged.

From that point on,
her answers were either shrugs or flat denials of knowledge.

As before, she had
told him all she would tell him—just enough so that he would come back—a slight
hint or two, doubtless true, but nothing that could be truly traced to her. A
bargaining tool to keep him interested and to keep her from losing her mind in
a confinement that probably was beginning to seem endless.

“Perhaps you will
feel like talking more later.”

“Perhaps, Captain.
You must come back and see.”

Mykel laughed softly.

The faintest hint of
an ironic smile creased her lips and vanished.

Mykel rapped on the
door. He did not look back as he left.

From the officer’s
cell and Rachyla, he walked to the stables to check on the chestnut. His mount
had been groomed, and was eating grain from the manger in the stall.

Feeling tired, Mykel
returned to his quarters and stretched out.

It was still before
noon when he woke, but without much to do except recover, Mykel made his way
across the courtyard to the mess. It was early enough that he was alone there.
He sat down to puzzle out what he knew, sipping on the ale mat the Cadmian
server had brought him.

He had to admit that
Rachyla fascinated him. She was intelligent, and she knew it, but not in the
arrogant manner Mykel associated with alectors. She was attractive, but not
beautiful. She was direct to the point of being sharp-tongued, but didn’t seem
vicious with her words. She was the heir to wealth, yet might be sentenced to
death or years in the women’s workhouse. He was a crafter’s son, who would be
lucky to survive and be stipended off as an overcaptain—a majer if he happened
to get lucky. He took another swallow of ale.

In time, Dohark
stepped into the mess.

Mykel saw the
shining—and new—bars of an overcaptain on the older officer’s collar.
“Congratulations!” He paused, then added, “Sir.”

“Might better be
condolences,” Dohark said gruffly, if warmly, settling down across the table
from Mykel.

“You’re in command of
Third Battalion now?”

“And Fourteenth
Company.” The new overcaptain shook his head. “You know me, Mykel. I’m a savvy
ranker who took years to learn enough to get by as a captain. What do I know
about running a battalion?”

“You know all the
things that a battalion commander shouldn’t do,” Mykel suggested. “That’s more
than Vaclyn knew.”

“We’re down to about
four companies, in real strength,” Dohark said. “Outside of that one seltyr and
a few hand-fuls of rebels, we’ve found nothing. We’ve pissed off most of the
people. You and I both know that patrolling doesn’t work. We’re not finding
anyone except escaped miners and poor bastards thrown off their lands. It just
gets people angry.”

‘Tell the colonel
that.“

“I did.”

“What did he say?”

“He said we could cut
down on patrols—except around the mine and along the road through the mountains
to the west. We can’t stop the patrols in the other places, but we can reduce
them, put them on odd and different routes and schedules.”

“That might help.”
Mykel paused. “There’s something else. Do we know what’s going on over on the
west side of the mountains? They’re supposed to have better plantations and
more growers, and we haven’t heard anything, except the business about guarding
the road.”

“What have you
heard?” Dohark looked hard at Mykel.

“Not much… except a
few words by the seltyr’s daughter that I overheard when we went through that
estate. Something about the western growers being better armed. I told Vaclyn,
but he never did anything, and I didn’t really want to say anything more. I’ve
talked to her a couple of times, and she denies having said anything or knowing
anything about the western growers.” Mykel couldn’t think of any other way to
present what he’d learned, not without revealing how much guesswork was
involved. By referring to

Vaclyn, Mykel could
make some use of the dead majer. He hadn’t been useful while alive.

“You think we could…
persuade… her to say more?”

“You might, but… you
torture people, and they tell you want you want to hear. We need good
information, not what we want to hear.”

Dohark nodded slowly.
“You got that right.”

“I’d also wager that
every big grower around has a hidden armory.”

“I won’t take that
wager.” Dohark laughed.

“So what do we do?”

“Tread real lightly,
and plan for the worst.” Dohark looked at the mug of ale that the orderly had
set before him. “What else can we do?”

Dohark understood
more than Vaclyn ever had. Mykel hoped it would be enough.

Because Dainyl had
his doubts about the necessarily promoted Overcaptain Dohark, he had spent
almost three glasses with Dohark over the end days. Dohark was respected by the
other captains, and the man had a wealth of experience and common sense. He
wasn’t without insight, since he had already asked one basic question. If the
western growers of Dramur were the most prosperous, why was all the attention
of the Cadmians being focused on the eastern growers? Still, whether Dohark had
the degree of insight and foresight a battalion commander needed was another
question.

At that thought,
Dainyl stopped. Since when had anyone asked that of a Cadmian battalion
commander? The question had always been how effective a commander was in
accomplishing what the Highest and the marshal needed done. The Reillies had
been disrupting agriculture in the Vales of Prosperity and reducing lifeforce
mass growth. The marshal had sent out the Cadmians to remove the Reillies and
relocate them where their activities resulted in a net increase in lifeforce.
The last thing either of the senior alectors wanted was a commander who might
question why something had been ordered. Was that the reason why Dainyl was now
acting Submarshal? Because he had kept his questions to himself—and Lystrana?

He was also troubled
that Quelyt had not returned from Elcien. With a two day flight each way, and a
day off in between, Quelyt should have been back on Decdi evening.

The next Cadmian to
enter the study was Majer Herryf, greatly subdued from when Dainyl had first
met him. The colonel waited for Herryf to settle himself before he half leaned,
half sat on the edge of the desk and addressed the Cadmian officer.

“I’ve been thinking,
Majer. You expressed worry about the escaped miners turning into a rebel force
long before they became a problem. What led you to that conclusion?”

Herryf only met
Dainyl’s eyes for a moment before looking down.

“I’ll let you think
about that,” Dainyl said. “There’s another question that’s never been really
answered. Where do the western growers fit in? Their houses and plantations are
far larger than those of the eastern growers, and the lands are more fertile.
Yet, from what I can tell, Dramuria tends to be ruled by those in the east. I’d
like your thoughts on that.”

“Sir, the western
growers are more prosperous, and they can grow a wider range of crops. They
need less in the way of trade than the eastern growers.”

“Why don’t they trade
with the eastern growers, then? Wouldn’t it benefit both?”

“They don’t like each
other. They don’t trust each other.”

Dainyl cleared his
throat. “Was this ever reported?”

Herryf looked up, his
eyes wide. “Of course. I wrote a dispatch on the problem two years ago. Marshal
Shastylt sent instructions back. He told me to stay on good terms with both and
to avoid getting involved with the western growers whenever possible. I’ve done
what I could, but that was part of the problem with the escaped miners. Some of
them were heading west and becoming brigands. I wanted to create a local
militia to deal with that, but the marshal said that two companies were enough
to deal with brigands.” Herryf gestured vaguely westward. “There’s no way that
two companies can cover all of Dramur and also handle the prisoners and
guarding the mine and the guano shipments.”

“Do you think that
the western seltyrs smuggled in weapons to deal with brigands?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Dainyl read that as
an affirmative. “Do the western growers get any of the guano or the revenues
from the mine?”

“Not that I’ve heard.
None of the growers talk about that when we’re around.”

“When are you around
the growers?”

“Not often. I
sometimes see them when I check with Sturwart. Once in a while, one will come
here to complain about brigands.”

From Herryf’s
demeanor, Dainyl was certain he wasn’t getting the entire story.

“You’re from Dramur,
then?”

“Most of the local
Cadmians here are, Colonel. My older brother inherited the family lands. He’s
one of the smaller growers still able to make ends meet.”

“Here in the east?”

“There aren’t any
small growers in the west.”

That was more than a
little interesting, reflected Dainyl. “How many of the growers have stocks of
weapons?”

“That, I would have
no way of knowing. My brother and I seldom talk, less every year. Even if I did
meet a grower, that’s not something any of them would share with me. I’m sure
you can see that, Colonel.”

“Oh, I do.” Dainyl
stood. “I’d like you to think about how we might change what we’re doing with
the western growers. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Herryf stood. “Yes,
sir.”

After the majer left,
Dainyl stretched. The majer had been less than totally forthcoming, but it was
obvious there was a disagreement between Herryf and his brother. It was also
clear that the western growers worried Herryf.

It was time for
another aerial survey of the west.

Dainyl donned his
shimmersilk jacket and gloves. On the way out, he turned to the squad leader at
the table outside. “Sheafyr, I’m going flying. I won’t be back until later. If
there are any problems, either Overcaptain Dohark or the majer will have to
deal with them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside the air
seemed less chill. With spring but a few weeks away, Dainyl hoped that the
weather would continue to warm. Still, it was far warmer than late winter was
in Elcien, or in places like Iron Stem or Scien.

Falyna was the duty
flier, the only one, actually, on Dra-mur, and she scrambled to her feet as she
saw Dainyl marching toward her. “Where to, Colonel? Up to that peak?”

“Not today. We’re
headed west, over the mountains, to take a look at some growers’ lands there. I
want to see what’s changed since the last flight out there.”

“That’ll take a
while.”

“The rest of the day,
I’d judge.” It would take far longer than that to determine what else he didn’t
know about what had been happening in Dramur.