Alector's Choice (13 page)

On Quattri and
Quinti, the squads of Fifteenth Company had patrolled the road north and south
of Enstyla. Each morning, Mykel made sure to tell his squad leaders to
emphasize courtesy and politeness if they did stop anyone. On Sexdi, his
morning briefing was no different.

“Everyone is sir or
madam, and you are terribly sorry to stop them. You are checking for contraband
weapons and asking if they have seen anyone who looks out of place,” he had
told each squad leader. “Treat them like they were your aunts or uncles, with
politeness, but with firmness.”

Mykel had chosen to
patrol with third squad, on the northernmost section of the road assigned to
Fifteenth Company, and he rode northward beside Chyndylt, the third squad
leader. Sexdi was cooler than the previous days. Even in late morning, a wind
blew from the northwest, making the day pleasantly breezy—the first such since
they had arrived in Dramur.

“Glad you’re with us
today,” said Chyndylt. “Hope we get this kind of weather every time you’re
patrolling with us.”

“It should get cooler
as we get farther into fall and winter,” replied Mykel.

“We could use some
cold. Never thought I’d say that after the winter up in Blackstear.” Chyndylt
laughed.

Both Cadmians stopped
talking as a one-horse cart turned from a side lane on the west side of the
road half a vingt north of Mykel and headed down the rutted clay toward third
squad.

“Couple of women,”
observed Chyndylt as the cart neared.

Mykel scanned the
road to the left, but could see nothing through the widely spaced casaran nut
trees. “We might as well say good day to them.”

“The younger one does
look sort of pretty, sir.”

Not only did she look
attractive, Mykel realized, but there was something about her that went beyond
the physical. He forced himself back to the duty at hand, smiling ruefully. “I
don’t think she’ll be looking on us with any favor, Chyndylt.” He kept riding
until he was within thirty yards of the cart.

The younger
woman—dark-haired and wearing a pale green long-sleeved shirt, dark gray
trousers, and a darker gray vest—was driving. She showed no sign of wanting to
stop as the cart continued down the middle of the road.

“Just when are you
going to clear the road?” she called out, her voice conveying irritation, yet
without being shrill.

“After you stop,
madam, and we exchange a few words,” replied Mykel politely.

With a sigh visible
from a good twenty yards away, the driver jerked the cart to a halt. The horse
snorted. The gray-haired woman sitting to the left of the driver said not a
word.

Mykel reined up
beside the cart horse, in a position where he could grab the leads, if
necessary. “I am sorry to ask you to stop, madam, but we’ve been assigned here
to patrol the road. Have you seen anyone who doesn’t belong here, someone who
might have escaped from the mine?” He smiled politely at the woman, who looked
to be younger than he was.

“There aren’t people
like that around here. Not around our estate.” The driver’s green eyes
hardened. “Now… will you let us pass, trooper?”

“Captain, madam,
Captain Mykel, Fifteenth Company.” Mykel eased his mount forward toward the
cart and the driver. Outwardly, she showed no sign of nervousness, but he could
sense it all the same. That could be just because she’d been stopped by
twenty-two men. That would make any woman nervous. But it didn’t feel like that
to Mykel. “We’re also looking for contraband weapons.”

“Weapons, Captain?
What would two women be doing with weapons?” The driver eased herself, almost
imperceptibly, toward the side of the cart closest to Mykel.

“Madam, anyone could
be carrying weapons.‘’ He reined up beside the cart, his eyes dropping to the
space under the driver’s seat. ”Like that rifle you’re trying to hide.“

“Rifle?”

‘The one you moved
your trouser leg to cover,“ Mykel said dryly. ”Chyndylt, please cover these
ladies while I look at their weapon.“ He looked to the driver. ”I’d appreciate
it if you would move over. I’d rather leave you alone.“

“Scarcely a manly
sentiment, Captain.” The words were cold, cutting, despite the slight huskiness
in her voice, but the driver moved away from Mykel.

As she moved, he
quickly leaned forward in the saddle and lifted the rifle away, careful to keep
the barrel down and away from anyone. Then he straightened and checked the
weapon, clearly Cadmian-issue. He looked to the plate under the stock. It was
blank, and so was the flattened space on the underside of the barrel. Both
should have held numbers, identical numbers.

“I’m afraid we’ll
have to keep this, ladies,” Mykel said politely.

“Keep it? Just who do
you think you are, riding up and taking things from two women going about their
own business? How are two women supposed to protect themselves out here? You
couldn’t find one of those so-called raiders if you had ten times the men you
do. Riding up and down roads…”

Mykel kept smiling,
wondering how long she would rail at him.

“You call yourself a
captain, but you’re more of a thief than those poor prisoners you’re looking
for. They didn’t take hard-earned goods… they were just stupid, and drank too
much…”

“Madam,” Mykel began…

“I am not a madam,
and don’t call me that, and you may not have my name, either. I know your
kind.”

“All right!” the
captain snapped. “Enough.”

The tone of his voice
stopped the woman’s tirade. She looked at him as if he had suddenly become an
alector or grown an arm from the middle of his chest. Yet there was strength,
not fear, and he had to admit he admired that.

Mykel spoke into the
sudden silence. “You are carrying a Cadmian rifle. That is against the Code. I
could have you both charged and flogged, at the very least. I doubt that you
are the guilty party, but possession is a flogging offense as well.”

The younger woman’s
eyes widened, and Mykel felt that she had had no idea that carrying a Cadmian
rifle was indeed a crime.

“It is most clear
that you did not intend to commit a crime, and I doubt that anyone even told
you that possessing a military weapon was a crime. I will have your names and
the rifle, and you may go on your way.”

“You’d leave us
unprotected?” asked the older woman, speaking for the first time.

“Madam,” Mykel
replied, trying to keep his tone polite. “For the entire past week, everyone
has been telling us that there was no need for us to patrol the roads. They
have told us that there are no rebels, no escaped prisoners, and no danger. If
there is no danger, then there is no need for a rifle.”

The older woman
looked down.

“Your names and your
home, if you would,” Mykel asked.

“Kamrita.”

The sense of
falseness was so great that Mykel snapped back. “That’s not your name.”

“Rytora.”

“Neither is that.”

“Rachyla of Stylan
Estate,” the driver replied, in a lower voice, for the first time showing a trace
of tentativeness.

The captain looked to
the older woman.

“I’m her aunt,
Astylara.”

“Astylara and Rachyla
of Stylan Estate,” repeated Mykel. He looked to Chyndylt. “Have your men check
the cart, and underneath. Carefully, and just for weapons.”

“You…” murmured
Rachyla. “My father will…”

“I am doing the duty
I was assigned, madam. I am certain he will understand that.” Mykel forced
another smile, waiting as the two rankers pulled back the tarp covering the
rear of the cart and revealing a half score of baskets filled with shelled
nuts.

“There’s nothing
underneath, sir. Nothing but the nuts in the baskets.”

“Cover their load,
and step back.” Mykel turned to Rachyla. “You ladies may proceed, but I would
suggest that carrying contraband rifles is not a wise form of protection at
present.” He eased his mount back and watched as the woman flicked the leads,
and the cart began to roll southward, away from Mykel and third squad.

“You think you should
have let her go?” asked Chyndylt. “You know what the majer said.”

“We have the rifle.”
Mykel paused. “It doesn’t have any numbers or markings.”

“It doesn’t? How
could it not… it has to be smuggled, then.”

“I’d judge so,”
replied the captain.

“And you let her go?”

“I don’t think that
it would have been a good idea to turn a major landholder’s wife or daughter
over to a justicer to be flogged for carrying a rifle she said she needed for
protection.” Mykel’s voice was dry. “Besides, we know who she is, and we have
the rifle. If the majer—or the colonel— wants her flogged, he can get her.”

And, sometime during
the patrol, Mykel would have to write a report on the incident, to turn over to
the majer along with the rifle. He’d bent the rules, but going by them’t
blindly would have been worse—far, far worse. Either way, he’d pay, but that
was often what happened to junior officers. Using judgment was a danger, but so
was not exercising it.

He took a deep breath
and squared himself in the saddle, looking down at the contraband Cadmian rifle
that he held. A week of chasing smugglers and escaped prisoners that no one had
ever seen, and he had exactly one rifle to show for it—taken from a woman
connected to some wealthy lander.

Sexdi morning dawned
bright, but breezy, cooler than it had been on the two previous days. As he
crossed the courtyard in the blue shimmersilk jacket he wore over his uniform
when flying, heavy gloves in hand, Dainyl wished he had decided to take the
inspection flight earlier, when it had been warmer, but he had not, and there
wasn’t much point in remonstrating with himself over the decision. What he did
know was that he couldn’t afford to put it off longer. There was too much he
did not know about Dramur.

Quelyt was waiting by
the square set aside for his pteri-don. Behind him, the pteridon crouched, blue
crystal beak slightly parted.

“Where are we headed
now, sir?”

“West, over the
mountains. There are some large plantations over there, or so I’ve been told.
We need to look at them.”

“We can do that.”
Quelyt paused. “Can’t say I’ve ever been there.”

“Neither have I,”
replied the colonel, a wry tone to his words.

It had taken Dainyl
more than a week to realize what he was missing—or one of the things he was
missing. There had been a number of references to the “big growers” or the
seltyrs in the west, but always in passing. He’d finally decided that, before
asking more about the west, an inspection flight would be in order. That way,
he hoped, any answers that he got would make more sense. Certainly, according
to the maps, there were but a handful of hamlets to the west of the
MurianMountains, and two small natural harbors.

When he had been a
ranker, or even a flying officer, and had been dispatched to Dramur, he’d never
flown west of the mountains. All the dispatches and transport had always dealt
with Dramuria and the Cadmian compound. He was acutely conscious of that lack
of knowledge about the west side of Dramur.

“I’d wager it’s a
good two glasses to the west shore.”

“If it takes all day,
we still need to do it.”

“Yes, sir.” Quelyt
checked the harnesses, and then mounted and strapped himself in.

Dainyl followed him,
and in less than a quarter glass, they were airborne, climbing westward away
from the Cadmian compound.

To the immediate west
of Dramuria, the dryness of the winter was all too obvious. Dust swirled up in
the light winds, and the vegetation, from what grass there was to the leaves on
the casaran trees, was tinged with brown or tan. Even on the stone road that
eventually led to the guano mine, the few carts threw up fine dust that Dainyl
could see from almost a vingt in the air.

A winding dirt or
clay road branched off the mine road north of the town, less than half a vingt
beyond the point where the road to the compound separated from the mine road
and curved uphill and eastward. Given the narrowness of the road west as it
headed toward the mountains, Dainyl could certainly understand why the larger
growers preferred to send their produce by boat.

The wide blue wings
beat evenly, and the air was calm enough that Dainyl was able to get a steady
view of the hills to the east of the mountains. Like the area to the north,
around the mine, the slopes were a mixture of open ground, sandy and rocky,
with scattered bushes and trees. The trees were scraggly pines of some sort,
and the leaves on the bushes a faded green that suggested very little moisture
had fallen recently.

For a time, as the
pteridon carried the two Myrmidons westward, over the dry foothills, the peaks
of the mountains seemed as far away as when they had first lifted off from the
compound. Then, after they had flown almost a glass, the hills began to steepen
into low peaks, far lower than those around the mines to the north of Dramuria.
The tops were rocky, expanses of gray and black stone.

Within another
quarter glass, the ancient lava on the peaks had given way to sandstone alone,
and more ever greens were evident. Several times, Dainyl lost sight of the
narrow road winding its way through the hills, then the low mountains, but just
when he thought it had vanished for good, he caught sight of yet another
section of road.

Then they were over
the mountains, and heading lower.

The hills to the west
of the mountains were far greener than those on the east side, and also looked
less rugged, with rounded crests and wider and shallower valleys. The trees
were evergreens, mostly, from what Dainyl could see, and there were few patches
where nothing grew. While the hillsides were not lush, they were well
vegetated.

Quelyt turned and
called back. “Looks greener over here.”

“Quite a bit.”

In places, Dainyl
thought he saw evidence of timbering, but whoever had been cutting had been
doing so selectively, so that there was mixed old and new growth. He smiled
wryly. While timbering was frowned upon, he doubted that any of the high
alectors would bother with a lander grower who was cautious enough to cut so
carefully.

Ahead, just to the
left of the winding road, was a long ridge. At one end was a villa, with
grounds surrounded by a stone wall.

‘Take us over that
villa!“

The pteridon banked
slightly, then straightened.

The estate grounds
enclosed by the stone wall were easily a vingt square, with several gardens,
and fountains. Gracefully curved stone lanes ran from the main gate to the
outbuildings, the stables, then to a separate lodge set before an oval pool
surrounded by a stone terrace. The main villa was a rectangle with a courtyard
within, and four separate gardens. One of the gardens held a hedge maze with
white gravel or stone paths. Another held an array of flowers—winter or
not—whose blooms were clear from above.

The pteridon swept
past the villa before Dainyl could note everything.

“Do you want another
look, sir?” called Quelyt.

“No. Just keep
heading for the coast.”

Dainyl kept scanning
the rolling hills, with meadows, long lines of trees, perhaps some of which
were the local apple bananas, and recently tilled fields.

He could see other
estates, certainly of comparable size to the first, if not larger, and the
winding road that they had followed had become straighter—and wider—and headed
for the coast, and what looked to be a harbor.

Every so often, he
could make a out a clump of houses, more like hamlets than villages, but there
weren’t many more of those than villas from what he was seeing.

They passed over
another estate, except there were two villas within the walls, and each was
larger than the first villa that Dainyl had seen. The outbuildings were
numerous, including several across from stables that could have passed for
barracks, except for the laundry hung on lines behind the structures. He didn’t
see a pool, but there was an open riding arena, although he could make out
neither riders nor horses at the moment.

The growers in the
west were definitely far better off than those in the east.

“That looks like a
harbor ahead,” he called to Quelyt. “Let’s see what it looks like.”

“Heading there, sir!”

The gently rolling
hills actually rose as they neared the Lioastline. The harbor was small, but
well protected by rock bluffs, almost as if a volcanic caldera had once stood
there, and the ocean had broken through on the west, leaving a circular green
bay. Dainyl saw two stone piers and a schooner tied to one. Several buildings,
warehouses, stood at the shoreward end of the piers.

Small harbor or not,
the warehouses looked to be almost as extensive as those at the port in
Dramuria. Given what Dainyl had seen, that didn’t surprise him. What did
surprise him was that there were no large villages. Most of the people seemed
to be gathered into the buildings on the villa grounds. What also surprised him
was that no one had mentioned the apparent wealth of the western growers.

“Now what, sir?”
asked Quelyt.

“North along the
coast for a while. Then we’ll swing back east.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl doubted that
he would see anything much different from what they had already observed, but
he wanted to make sure. He had the feeling that he might not have the time to
make another trip for a while.