Alector's Choice (19 page)

Tridi had passed
without a word from the observers he had stationed, but early on Quattri, well
before dawn, one of the messengers from the scouts had awakened Mykel with word
that a number of women were leaving the village along the lane that led to the
sawmill.

Mykel had Bhoral
roust out the entire company and quickly readied himself. Before pulling on his
riding jacket, he took out the knife of the vanished ancients, easing it from
its sheath and looking at it once again. The blade was smooth and shiny enough
that it should have shown a reflection, but it did not. There was not a mark of
corrosion or rust on it, and the metal was at least as hard as steel, if not
harder, but not nearly so heavy. The facings on the grip were of a stone that
looked like onyx, but was far harder. The blade was sharp enough to shave with,
too sharp, if that were possible—Mykel knew, he’d tried and cut himself— and
double-edged, unlike most knives, but like a dagger. Yet the blade was too
short for a single killing thrust, for all its strength and sharpness. There
were no markings and no inscriptions.

After a moment, he
replaced it in the sheath and tucked into the inside pocket of his riding
jacket. When he had time, he would make a special slot on the inside of his
belt for it. It couldn’t hurt to have another knife, one that wasn’t obvious,
small as it might be. He picked up his rifle and headed for the makeshift
stables. •

Mykel finished
saddling the chestnut, then rode out into the open space before the sheds that
served as barracks. He glanced up at the dark sky. Through the thin night haze
he could see Asterta, the warrior moon, almost at the zenith. Warrior moon, but
for which warriors did the moon bode victory? As he dropped his eyes to the
dimness around him, Bhoral rode up.

“Company’s almost
ready, sir.”

“Good. We’ll take the
back lane south. I’ll take first and second squads up through the fields and
through the second growth. You take the others on the sawmill road.”

“Yes, sir. Scouts
out! Company forward!”

While every sound
seemed amplified in the predawn grayness, no one seemed to look out of the
handful of cots set off the south lane, although smoke rose from most of the
chimneys. Near the end of the lane, the company turned westward onto the cart
path that crossed the main road south. After another quarter glass Mykel could
see the lane he sought to his right.

“Bhoral?”

“Sir?”

“Time for you to take
squads three, four, and five.”

“Yes, sir.” The
senior squad leader turned his mount and pulled off to the side.

Mykel kept looking
over his shoulder until he was sure that Bhoral and the three squads were
clear.

Shortly, a scout
appeared out of the trees on the west side of the path. “Captain?” The scout
rode forward and swung his mount alongside that of Mykel. “Look to be about two
squads, near that first campsite we found. Couldn’t get too close. They’ve got
pickets, but they’re only fifty yards out and on the lane side. Not all that
careful.”

“Good. Are you ready
to ride ahead and take over point?”

“Yes, sir.”

Once Jasakyt had
joined the other scouts at the front of the squads, Mykel turned. “Squad
leaders forward,” he said quietly. “Pass it back.”

Gendsyr and Alendyr
appeared within moments, one riding on each side of Mykel.

“We’ll be crossing
the fields, then following the edge of the older forest. We’ll ride up until
we’re thirty yards away and form into a firing line, rifles ready for immediate
fire. If they hear us, we’ll quick time into position. First squad to my left,
second to my right. I’ll give them a chance to throw down their weapons. If
there’s any resistance, I’ll order immediate fire. Quiet riding from here on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Close to a hundred
yards farther south, the scouts turned westward, heading up the long and gently
sloping field alongside a fence whose weathered rails lay on the ground in as
many places as they sagged between posts. Just before the hillcrest, the scouts
rode across a downed section of the fence, through the low second growth
bordering the field, and toward the older forest a quarter of a vingt away.

Mykel kept listening,
but the only sounds were those of mounts breathing, the swishing of branches
pushed aside, and the intermittent cracking of broken branches under hoofs.
When they reached the edge of the older growth, the scouts fell back closer to
the main body, and the squads followed the more recent tracks toward the older
campsite.

He and the two squads
were still a good hundred yards away from the clearing when a woman’s scream
pierced the comparative stillness.

“After me!” Mykel
urged the chestnut forward as fast as he dared through irregular second-growth
forest. “Rifles ready!”

The screams and yells
seemed to go on and on, and a handful of rifle shots echoed through the gray
morning.

When Mykel rode
through the last low trees and reined up, he found riders in gray, some in
shapeless rags, all facing toward the lane from the sawmill, around two
handcarts.

Among the yells, and
shouts, he could hear several clearly.

“… Cadmians are
coming!”

“Flee! Ride away!”

Mykel glanced around
him. Out of the ragtag array of riders, only a handful had even seen Mykel’s
two squads. “Firing line! Ready!”

Mykel never had a
chance to offer surrender. The riders broke into two groups, clearly bent on
escape.

Crack! One of the
troopers in the second squad slumped in his saddle.

“Fire!” Mykel snapped,
bringing his own weapon up and firing as he did.

Crack! Crack! Crack!
Fifteenth Company fired the first volley almost simultaneously.

Something flew by
Mykel’s head, but he sighted and fired again, watching but momentarily as an
angular man in brown toppled from his saddle.

Three of the riders,
two of them with long spears, or makeshift lances, turned their mounts and
charged toward Mykel, and the slight gap between the two squads. The captain
kept firing, and one of those with a lance went down as his mount collapsed
under him.

Mykel finished the
magazine. There was no time to reload as the second lancer bore down on him.
Urging the chestnut forward, Mykel rode toward the rebel.

At the last moment,
he ducked under the lance, then swung the rifle across the man’s neck and jaw.
There was a sickening crunch, and the rider swayed in the saddle, his eyes
rolling back. The third rider had gone down as several of the rankers in squad
two had concentrated their fire on the group.

Mykel reined up and
glanced down at his rifle. The barrel assembly was bent away from the stock
behind the bolt. Rifles weren’t meant for use as swords or lances.

He swung the mount
back toward his squads, as much as to get out of the line of fire as to see if
he could pick up a rifle.

By the time he turned
the chestnut and reined up, the skirmish was effectively over. There were two
rebels still in the saddle. One was slumped over, holding the mane of the
swaybacked mare he rode, and the other was trying to hold a shattered right arm
in place with his left.

Somewhere, he could
hear a woman sobbing, and another cursing.

“Cease fire!” The
order was unnecessary, since there was no one left to fire at.

“Reload!” he ordered
as he rode toward the mount of the downed trooper. Vyschyl’s right eye was
wide-open. A crossbow quarrel had gone through his left. Mykel’s lips
tightened, as he eased the rifle from where it was wedged. “Re-form by squad!”
He wiped the rifle clean and reloaded, ¦ although the magazine needed but two
cartridges.

“Gendsyr!”

“One man injured,
sir.”

“Alendyr?”

“One and one.”

“Squad one, check for
wounded, but be careful. Squad two, hold and stand ready.”

Mykel rode slowly
forward across the former campsite, letting the chestnut pick his way around
the fallen raiders or rebels. His eyes surveyed those who had fallen. He saw
two iron-tipped wooden lances, several old swords and sabres—and only a single
rifle, Cadmian, of course. Mykel’s quick estimate of the dead raiders was
around thirty.

Bhoral waited for him
on the lane side of the clearing.

“There must have been
women hiding here, sir. They were the ones who gave the alarm.”

“I don’t know that it
did them that much good.”

“I did a quick count.
I think we lost three on my squads, sir.”

“One dead, two
wounded, on mine,” replied Mykel.

Four troopers dead.
With only a handful of rifles among the rebels, there shouldn’t have been that
many casualties, but he hadn’t thought that they wouldn’t even consider
surrender.

He took a deep
breath. Nothing was going as anyone had planned or thought.

“Let’s check their
weapons and anything we can. Take care of our wounded. Let their women take any
of their wounded.”

“Sir?”

“They got away while
we were checking weapons,” Mykel said evenly. There wasn’t any way that the
poor ragtag fugitives were part of an organized rebellion, not the way the
retainers of Seltyr Ubarjyr had been. What was he going to do? Drag them back
to Dramuria for flogging and death—for being poor? He’d already done enough.

“Yes, sir.”

Bhoral didn’t
approve. He and Majer Vaclyn would have agreed. Mykel turned his mount back
toward first and second squads. He’d need to have the men gather enough in the
way of useless weapons to support his decision, although he had his doubts that
such evidence would count for much.

Midmorning came and
went before Fifteenth Company had gathered its own dead and wounded and
searched the rebels’ bodies—discovering but a few coppers, no silvers, and
nothing of value. There were four rifles among the weapons used by the dead
men. Two were older models of Cadmian rifles, dating back at least twenty
years, if not longer, and two were more recent. All were numbered. There were
only half a score of cartridges. The remainder of the armaments were bows,
ancient blades, and two crossbows with cables so frayed that Mykel would have
been unwilling to wind and use them. The handful of raider rifles had taken
three other troopers and wounded four more. Mykel doubted that one of the
wounded Cadmians would live through the morning, not with the sucking wound in
his chest.

The tracks around the
site suggested that perhaps two or three men had escaped on horseback, and
possibly one or two on foot. The women who had brought provisions had left as
silently as they had come, with their handcarts—and with the three survivors of
what had been a massacre. Mykel had seen no reason to stop them. He hadn’t
wanted to kill their husbands, brothers, and fathers—except that between his
orders and their reactions, he and Fifteenth Company had been left with little
choice.

Bhoral rode up to
where Mykel surveyed the skirmish site a last time. “We’re ready to go, sir.
Chyndylt got a wagon for our wounded.”

“We’ll go back the
way you came, not through the town.”

“Better that way,”
the senior squad leader said.

Neither way was
better. One wasn’t as bad.

Mykel rode alone as
Fifteenth Company started back to the makeshift base. He’d ordered the
slaughter of men and boys—some hadn’t been as old as Viencet— because the majer
had ordered him to capture them or kill them, and because none of them had
wanted to be taken— probably to the mines. He wondered more about the
conditions there, if no one would surrender.

More important, what
was he supposed to do now? He smiled wryly. According to his orders from the
majer, he’d accomplished the job. He’d killed the poor rebels, almost every
one. Of course, he didn’t see any of Third Battalion being used to search every
seltyr’s and large grower’s estate, and that was where the largest number of
rebels and weapons had been found so far. But then, doing that would definitely
have provoked a rebellion—if it were even feasible, given only five companies
and more than a score of possible estates.

He glanced to the
north. The dawn haze had turned into thin clouds, with darker gray massing
behind them. After another quarter glass of solitary riding, he turned in the
saddle. “Bhoral? I’m going to take second squad into Jyoha when we reach the
north end of the lane.”

The senior squad
leader’s brows wrinkled. “If you think so, sir.”

“I’m worried, too,”
Mykel said. “That’s why we’ll go there now. The longer we wait, the more likely
someone will try more things like stakes in the road.”

“Why do you want to
go in at all, sir?”

“So that I can report
to Majer Vaclyn that we destroyed the rebels and that everything was quiet when
we departed.”

“Departed, sir?”

“That’s right. You
get the men ready. We’re riding out as soon as we can, back to Dramuria.”

Bhoral cocked his
head to the side, then nodded slowly. “Might be better that way, sir. For the
men.”

What the senior squad
leader wasn’t saying directly, Mykel knew, was that it might not be better for
one Captain Mykel. “I’m thinking about them, senior squad leader.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take
care of it.”

“Thank you.” Mykel
raised his voice. “Second squad! Forward, along the left! Form on me!” He urged
the chestnut forward, to open up distance between himself and first squad.
Before long, Alendyr rode forward, at the head of his squad, and eased his
mount up beside Mykel’s.

“Sir?”

“We’ll need to take a
quick ride through Jyoha. Rifles ready the whole time. I may make a stop or
two.”

Unlike Bhoral,
Alendyr nodded immediately. “Yes, sir. I can see that, sir.”

No one spoke on the
ride north to the turn, and the loudest sounds were those of hoofs on the road
and the creaking of the wheels of the wagon carrying the wounded troopers.

As Mykel had
suspected, once they headed westward for Jyoha, all the dwellings bordering the
road were shuttered, long before Alendyr ordered, “Rifles ready!”

Not a soul was in
sight. Even the main street of the village was empty.

Mykel reined up in
front of the chandlery. Instead of tying the chestnut, he handed the reins to
the ranker in formation behind Alendyr. Then, rifle in hand, he crossed the
porch, eyes searching, ears alert. He opened the door. From the counter at the
rear of the shop, Harnyck looked up at the captain, then turned and walked out
the door in the rear.

Mykel nodded to
himself. He could take anything, but fernyck would not sell it. He slowly
surveyed the chan-llery, then turned and left—without touching anything.
Dutside, he remounted the chestnut silently and turned his nount to continue
farther into the village.

His next stop was at
the cooperage, not because he needed my barrels, but because it was the nearest
shop that was not ;losed and shuttered. Once again, he handed the reins to a
anker and made his way to the doorway, his rifle ready. 3ven before he stepped
inside, he heard the rear door open. Fhe cooper’s shave lay on the bench,
rocking back and forth.

Mykel turned and
remounted. Then he nodded to Al-aidyr. “Back to camp.”

Usually, when there
were unseen eyes on him, particularly in unfriendly places, Mykel was aware
that he was being watched. On the ride back to the temporary base east of
Fyoha, he did not sense anyone looking at him and second squad, and the lack of
that feeling bothered him more than if he had felt hatred poured out at him, as
had so often been the case with the Reillies in the north, when Third Battalion
had driven them out of the Vales of Prosperity because of their raids on more
productive holders.

Bhoral was waiting,
still mounted, in the open ground north of the barracks sheds. He held
something.

“You didn’t ride into
any trouble?” asked Mykel.

“No. Too quiet, if
anything. What about you?”

“No one in Jyoha will
have anything to do with us. Chandler walked out of his shop when I came in. So
did the cooper.”

“We could take what
we need,” pointed out the senior squad leader.

“I don’t think so,”
replied Mykel. “It’s better to return to Dramuria. What do you have there?”

“Boy ran up and
handed this to me,” Bhoral said. “Then he ran off.” He leaned forward in the
saddle and extended the folded paper to the captain.

Mykel took it and
opened it. He read slowly.

Captain—

You can do whatever
you wish in Jyoha. No one will lift a hand to stop you and your men. No one
will talk to you. You can take goods, but no one will sell them. You may remain
as long as you wish. I cannot accept golds or silvers or coppers. Nor can
anyone so long as you and your company remain…

Mykel snorted. He
could have slaughtered the entire town for rebellion, he supposed, and Vaclyn
might well have executed the leading crafters, but what good would that have
done?

He folded the missive
and slipped it into his tunic. “Our landowner thinks our job is done and that
we might best be chasing rebels elsewhere.”

“Yes, sir.” Bhoral’s
tone was level, with the lack of emotion that revealed great doubt about the
veracity of his captain’s summary.

“Let’s get on the
road, Bhoral.” Mykel did his best to keep the resignation out of his voice. The
majer wouldn’t understand, and Mykel wasn’t sure he could explain, but Jyoha
needed to be left alone—for a long time, he thought.

And they needed to
get as far from Jyoha as they could before the rain started to fall.