Alector's Choice (10 page)

At the ninth glass on
Londi morning, Dainyl walked into the council building. Sturwart and an angular
blond man waited in the director’s study. Both stood as Dainyl entered.

“Colonel, this is
Bleamyr,” offered Sturwart. “He’s the head of the crafters’ guild. Tulcuyt will
be here shortly, but he was out on his boat this morning, and had some trouble
with his nets. Can’t see as I’d be adding much. So I’ll leave you two and let
you know when Tulcuyt comes in.” With a smile and a nod, the council director
departed, closing the door behind him.

“Colonel, we don’t
see Myrmidons often,” said Bleamyr, a puzzled tone to his words.

Dainyl sat down on
Sturwart’s desk, then gestured to the chairs. “Please sit down. The chairs are
a bit small for me.”

“I can see that.”
Bleamyr smiled. “Sturwart said you might have some questions.”

“I have a few,
because of the mine. Have any alectors been here recently, besides me?”

“Not for a few years,
leastwise,” replied Bleamyr. “I don’t think we’ve seen an alector here since,
well… after the big storm that bashed up the harbor, and that was a good six
years ago. We send our reports every quint, and that’s been it.”

Dainyl nodded,
catching the feel of truth in the crafter’s words. “What is your craft?”

“Me? I’m an
ironworker. In the old days, I’d have been called a smith, but things like
nails, bolts, all that, they come out of Faitel and arrive here in boxes and
crates. Most of what I do is decorative ironwork, grillwork, or locks and bars
for strong rooms, that sort of thing.”

“Do you do work for
the mining compound?”

“Just when something
needs repairing. Probably been a half year since I’ve been there.”

“I’d heard that more
young men were being sentenced to the mines. What do you think?”

Bleamyr squinted,
although the chamber was dark, with the light-torches off, and the sole light
coming through the two high windows. Finally, he answered, “Every few years, .
someone says that. We started keeping track of the ones who were in the guild.
Year in, year out, it doesn’t change. It’s mostly those who drink too much, or
those who think they’re fitted for better tasks.”

“Did you ever know
someone named Devoryn?”

Bleamyr snorted.
“He’s in the mines now, unless something fell on him. He was one of the
troublemakers. Used to be a laborer for Asadahl, the plumber. Must have smelled
too much lead. Kept telling everyone that Asadahl stole the plumbery from his
uncle. Asadahl gave him the job out of charity. Devoryn was always wandering
off. Said he needed time to himself, up in the hills. People would ask him why,
but he never said. That was one thing he’d close his mouth about, and it was
always open. Anyway, it must have been two years ago, Devoryn went out of his
head and tried to brain Asadahl with a lead ingot. Busted his arm. Justicer
then, that was Goeryt, sent him to the mine.” Bleamyr paused. “Why did you want
to know, Colonel?”

“He was one of the
miners who escaped who we know survived.”

“Well… he spent
enough time in the hills and in the rugged places south of the mine. I suppose
he could have made it, if anyone did. How did you know he survived?”

“He tried to shoot
someone, and the Cadmians caught him. He took poison.”

“Sounds like Devoryn.
Never did have much sense. Him and his wild ideas.”

“What were those
ideas?”

“You know, I don’t
know. Never paid any attention. No one with any sense did.”

They might not have,
reflected Dainyl, but he wished they had. “There’s been talk of the escaped
miners trying to take over the town, even all of Dramuria.”

“That’s Majer Herryf
again. Not that I have anything against the majer, but he’s talked to us at
least three times in the past season about that. Says there could be a hundred
miners up there, and if they got the shamblers and the plantation workers
together, they’d outnumber his Cadmians.” Bleamyr shook his head. “That’d never
work. Even if they did overrun the Cadmian compound, one company of your
Myrmidons would fry them in moments.”

“That’s what’s
puzzling about the talk,” Dainyl replied.

“The only thing I can
figure is that there have been more miners getting away than the majer
realized, and he figures he’s got to do something. There’s nothing to live on
up in the higher hills, not for more than a handful of men. They’re already
raiding and stealing stuff from the outlying plantations. The majer told the
growers that guarding the fields wasn’t the Cadmians’ task. I’ve heard that some
of the plantations have been using dogs at night. That’s here in the east. The
big western growers, they don’t have to worry.”

“Have you heard
anything else? Do these men have weapons?”

“Some say they do.
Some say they don’t. I don’t know…”

Dainyl kept asking
questions, but learned nothing significantly new, either about the mines, the
so-called rebels, the guilds, or about Bleamyr.

The door opened.
“Colonel…” Sturwart’s voice was apologetic. “Tulcuyt’s here.”

“I’ll be with him in
just a moment.” Dainyl stood and looked at Bleamyr. “Thank you very much.
You’ve given me a much better idea of what we’re facing.”

“I don’t know that it
changes things much, but anything you want, I’ll try to help with.”

Bleamyr left, and
Tulcuyt—a man with a weathered and leathery face—walked in and half bowed to
the colonel.

In the next glass,
Dainyl learned almost nothing new or different from Tulcuyt, except that the
boatmen had seen a number of fast schooners—the kind used by smugglers—
off-loading in a sheltered cove some thirty vingts north of Dramuria several
times over the summer. What they were off-loading, Tulcuyt didn’t know, because
no fisherman would tangle with armed smugglers, except there were crates being
passed to the flatboats receiving the smuggled goods.

In the end, Dainyl
thanked the head of the fishers’ guild, as well as Sturwart, and left the
council building. Rhasyr and the two Cadmians were waiting outside, patiently.

“Back to the
compound. I don’t think I’ll be leaving it again today.”

“You would not mind,
Colonel, sir,” asked Rhasyr cautiously, “if we did not tell Captain Benjyr
that, not until after the midday meal, sir?”

Dainyl laughed.
“Right after the midday meal.”

“Yes, sir.”

Back at the compound,
after getting something to eat and retrieving his flying jacket and gloves,
Dainyl searched out his Myrmidon rankers. He found them in the sunlight next to
the squares where their pteridons were sunning themselves.

“Colonel?” Quelyt and
Falyna straightened.

“Who wants to take me
flying?”

“Might be better if I
did, sir,” replied Falyna. “Trading off works better. Where to, sir?”

“There’s a cove on
the coast, maybe twenty-five vingts north of here. I’d like to go there, then
head west to the mountains. Smugglers have been landing things there. I’d like
to see if there are trails or paths to somewhere north of the mine.”

“North, it is.”
Falyna grinned. “I’d rather fly than sit around, sir.”

Dainyl understood
that all too well. In the past, when he’d been a lowly ranker, he’d spent far
too much time waiting to fly, rather than flying.

Within moments,
Falyna had donned her jacket and gloves, and the pteridon was carrying the two
Myrmidons northward along the coast. For the first ten vingts there was an
outer bank, mostly of sand, if with some grass and bushes, but the bank
vanished when the coastline swung more to the northeast. Dainyl only saw three
fishing craft, all in the protected waters between the inner shore and the
outer bank.

The cove was as
Dainyl had envisioned from Tulcuyt’s description, a half circle less than a
vingt across cut out of a low bluff, with an entrance no more than a few
hundred yards wide.

“Lower, if you can,
above the beach, when you head west!”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl thought he
could make out a narrow footpath threading between the man-high, greenish gray,
brush olives, the kind with long and sharp thorns. There was a natural
depression or narrow valley that led upward toward the hills, and the mountains
beyond, almost between two plantations that held the nut trees. Dainyl could
make out the path—or a path—in places, but he didn’t Talent-sense anyone on or
near it. Still, he wanted to see where the trails from the cove might lead. As
Falyna neared the higher hills, the valley ended, and so did any trace of the
path.

“Take us up, in the
higher ranges right ahead,” Dainyl called.

With the plantations
so close to the hidden trail, if the es-caped prisoners were anywhere, they had
to be higher in the hills, perhaps even in the mountains beyond.

Circling to gain
altitude, several times, the pteridon lurched in the turbulent air, but finally
rose above the lower peaks.

A glimmer—or a
reflection from something to Dainyl’s left—caught his eyes.

Dainyl concentrated.
On the edge of the short bluff below a peak, still several hundred yards above
them, there was something… something that drew both his eye and his Talent. Was
it a faded golden green? He wasn’t sure.

“Can you get over
that bluff?” Dainyl called. “The one just to the left above us?”

“We can try, sir.
It’s getting rougher.”

The pteridon strained,
and the blue wings lifted them higher, until they were almost level with the
edge of the bluff. For a moment, Dainyl could make out a golden archway—hidden
back inside a natural cave, but they swept past, and the rock blocked his view.

Then the pteridon’s
left wing was buffeted upward, and they slid sideways through the air, losing
hundreds of yards, before Falyna and the pteridon recovered, all too close to
another jagged ridge that had been well below them moments before.

“Better head back,
Colonel.” Falyna gestured to her left, where the clouds had moved closer and
gotten darker.

“Go ahead.” If Dainyl
had been flying solo, he would have made another pass, but the pteridon was
carrying double. That reduced maneuverability and the altitude the pteridon
could reach.

Dainyl looked back
once more, but he could see nothing of the mysterious cave.

After they had landed
in the courtyard and dismounted, Falyna turned to Dainyl. “A little touchy
there, Colonel. I’m sorry we couldn’t get any closer, but the wind was picking
up, and there was a good chance of another downdraft—”

“In better weather,
could you set me down on that bluff?”

Falyna frowned. “If
we went at dawn. The air would be colder, and calmer. That’d be worth another
couple hundred yards in altitude.” She paused. “Might I ask why, Colonel, sir?”

“There’s a building
inside that cave. We didn’t build it. I don’t think the locals did, either.”

“You think it’s the
rebel miners?”

“I don’t think they
built it, but they might be using it.”

“Maybe both Quelyt
and me should come. We can circle there if we’re not carrying you. Flame anyone
if you get into trouble.”

Dainyl smiled. “Maybe
you should.”

“Glass before dawn,
sir?”

“A glass before
dawn.” As he left Falyna, Dainyl had another idea. Rather than head for his
quarters, he made his way to the headquarters building, where he found Captain
Benjyr in his study.

“Colonel, sir… ?”
Benjyr jumped to his feet.

“I have a favor to
ask, Captain. I’d like to talk to a handful of your rankers about their duties
at the mine.”

“Ah… yes, sir. Third
and fifth squads are on standby.”

“Good. If you would
escort me there?”

Dainyl followed the
captain across the courtyard to the barracks. He had loosened his jacket, but
not taken it off.

Benjyr stepped into
the second doorway and called out, “Stenslaz?”

A squad leader jumped
up from where he had been sitting on a foot chest. “Yes, sir?”

“The colonel here
wants to ask the men a few questions about their duties.”

“Yes, sir.” The squad
leader looked around. “There’s no study here, sir.”

Dainyl smiled. “It’s
nothing that has to be too private, and it won’t take much time for each man.
We can just talk outside in the courtyard.”

Dainyl walked out
into the sunlight with the captain. After the chill of flying, the warmer air
and sun in the courtyard felt good. “You can stay if you want, Captain.”

“If it’s all the
same, Colonel… there are a few reports…”

Dainyl grinned. He
understood about reports. “Go take care of them.”

“Thank you, sir.”
Benjyr nodded, turned, and walked quickly back across the courtyard.

Through the open
doorway, Dainyl could hear the Cad-mian rankers.

“What’s he want with
us?”

“Wearing a jacket,
and he looks cold…”

“… say they like it
hotter ‘n we do…”

“Daclyt, you go
first,” called the squad leader.

A few moments later,
a ranker appeared. He looked barely old enough to carry a rifle. “Colonel,
sir?”

“Yes. I have a few
questions for you. You can tell anyone you like about what I’m asking.” Dainyl
offered a smile.

It didn’t seem to
help. Daclyt still looked frightened as he stared up at the colonel.

“What are the
prisoners—the miners—like?” asked Dainyl.

The Cadmian ranker
moistened his lips. “I’d guess they don’t want to be there. They don’t work any
harder than they have to. They complain about the smell. They complain about
the food. They shouldn’t. We eat the same stuff for the midday meal.”

“Exactly the same?”

“Pretty much. It’s
the same chow line. We just get to eat first… well, half of us do.”

“Have you ever shot a
prisoner?”

“Shot at a couple.
Captain told us not to shoot to hit ‘em on the first shot, not unless one of us
might get hurt. Never hit one. Solisyr’s the only one in the squad ever hit
one. Fellow had a big stone… was trying to brain another prisoner…”