Alector's Choice (28 page)

Colonel Dainyl
appeared between Mykel and the majer, but the dagger was already in the air.
With the pain stabbing through his shoulder, Mykel watched the silvery weapon
bounce off the alector’s tunic. The colonel’s hand blurred to his belt, and a
pistol-like sidearm appeared.

“He was trying to
escape, Colonel!” The majer’s voice rose. “He was.”

A flare of blinding
blue light enveloped Vaclyn. The captain blinked. When he could see again, a
charred figure lay on the stones of the courtyard.

“Captain…”

Mykel leaned against
the wall, trying to clamp the flow of blood from his shoulder with his good
hand.

“Captain… you’ll need
some attention.” The colonel stood empty-handed. “Can you walk to the
infirmary?”

“If I don’t wait too
long,” Mykel managed.

He took one step and
then another. A strong arm steadied him. Now… if he didn’t bleed to death on
the way to the infirmary. Mykel kept walking, past the smoldering remains of
the majer.

He supposed he should
have felt some regret, but all he felt was relief—and another kind of
apprehension. Why hadn’t he seen the colonel? What did the Myrmidon have in
mind?

He kept walking.

After Dainyl settled
Captain Mykel in the infirmary, making sure that the wound was clean and well
bound, the colonel hastened back toward headquarters. Whether he liked it or
not, whether he had any effective strategies, with Majer Vaclyn dead, he had no
choices. Majer Herryf had no idea how to command his own two companies, much
less an entire battalion.

The sun was almost
touching the top of the western wall of the compound when Dainyl walked into
Majer Herryf’s study in the headquarters building.

Herryf bolted
upright. “Oh, Colonel… I hadn’t realized you were here.”

Dainyl closed the
door. “Sit down.”

Herryf sat.

“Majer Vaclyn just
attempted to kill one of his captains, then me,” Dainyl said coldly. “Did you
have anything to do with it?

The color drained out
of Herryf’s face. “No, sir. No, sir.”

About that, the majer
was telling the truth.

“I’m very glad to
hear that. Majer Vaclyn is dead. I’m using my authority as acting Submarshal to
take over command of all Cadmian activities and forces in Dramur.”

“Yes, sir.” Herryf
was so shocked that he lacked, momentarily, his natural arrogance.

“Majer Vaclyn’s body
is rather badly charred. It’s in the courtyard at the east end of the senior
officers’ quarters.”

“I had a report about
a body, but no one knew—”

“It’s the majer. You
will dispose of the carcass.” Dainyl looked sternly at the majer. “You will
remain at the compound until I have had a chance to talk to all officers. Find
me the majer’s senior squad leader. Jiosyr, I think, is his name. I want to
speak to him first.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Since I have to take
command, I’ll be needing this study. Until I leave, I imagine you can make do
with the one Majer Vaclyn was using.”

Herryf nodded.

“Now… find me that
senior squad leader.”

“Yes, sir.” The
Cadmian majer rose and hurried out.

As he waited for
Herryf either to find the man or to report that he had fled, Dainyl considered
what he knew in light of Vaclyn’s attempted murder of Captain Mykel.

Dainyl had already
noted that Vaclyn had been exposed to

Talent-manipulation,
but he had not had the ability to determine what had been done. In retrospect,
there was no question that the marshal had used Talent to force a compulsion on
the majer. Such compulsions were almost always worse than useless for anything
but the simplest prohibitions, because they restricted both thought patterns
and actions, and left the one who had been Talent-compelled in situations where
he inevitably acted unwisely. The marshal knew that. Why had he wanted a
comparatively low-ranking Cadmian officer to behave unwisely? It made no sense,
but the marshal was anything besides stupid. He had wanted Vaclyn to act
unwisely.

After hearing what
the captain had said when he had come to Dainyl, Dainyl had used Talent to
follow the captain unseen. The one surprise had been seeing Vaclyn’s squad
leader go to the quarters and lure Mykel from his room, but that suggested that
the majer had feared what would come out in a court-martial.

“Sir?”

Dainyl looked up.
Herryf stood in the doorway with a short senior squad leader.

“This is Jiosyr. The
one you wanted to see.”

“Come in, Jiosyr. Sit
down.” Dainyl pointed to one of the armless wooden chairs. He did not take a
seat. Even without using Talent, he could sense the fear in the squad leader,
who barely looked even in the general direction of the colonel, especially
after Herryf had closed the door on the two.

“You must know that
Majer Vaclyn tried to kill both Captain Mykel and me—and that he is dead. I’ve
taken over command of Third Battalion.”

“Yes, sir.” Jiosyr
looked at the stone tiles of the floor.

“Why was the majer so
angry at the captain?”

“Sir?”

“I heard the majer’s
last words to the captain. He was angry. Why?”

Jiosyr was silent,
and Dainyl contemplated using Talent to persuade him to speak. He decided to
wait, his eyes on the slumped figure of the squad leader.

“He thought that the
captain—Captain Mykel—was always trying to get around his orders. He said that
he needed to be taught a lesson. Then… he told me we’d need to set up a
court-martial, that the captain had gone too far.”

“How had the captain
gone too far?”

“He didn’t say, sir.
He just said that.”

“What did you say to
Captain Mykel to get him to leave his quarters?”

Jiosyr turned paler
than milk and swayed in the chair. “Sir?”

“You’re not going to
be stupid enough to deny it, are you?”

The squad leader
shuddered. “No, sir. Majer Vaclyn… he told me to tell the captain that his
squad leader Alendyr had been knifed by a ranker and was in the infirmary.”

Dainyl nodded. The
captain had worried more about his men than orders or himself. He’d scarcely
talked to the captain, but the more he heard and saw, the more he approved of
the man—and the less sense Vaclyn’s acts made. A good commander praised
effective subordinates, both to their faces and in reports to superiors—then
took a small share of the credit for their initiative and accomplishments. “Why
did you do that?”

“The majer said he
needed to get the captain to disobey orders one more time, that Captain Mykel
was always so careful not to disobey when anyone was watching.”

“Did you think this
was the right thing to do?”

“No, sir… but what
was I to do? I only need another two years for a stipend. The majer could have
dismissed me without anyone stopping him. Eighteen years… gone for nothing.”

“Your stipend was
worth the lives of two men?”

Jiosyr stiffened.
“Sir. I’ve killed Reillies and bandits and brigands. I did it because I was a
Cadmian. I did it to protect people. There wasn’t anyone protecting me. I’d let
it be known, as I could, that the majer shouldn’t be in the field. I even made
copies of reports Colonel Herolt never would have seen, and I got them on the
colonel’s desk. No one did anything.”

The sudden stiffening
and the aura of truth were both almost overpowering, even to Dainyl.

“No one did
anything,” Jiosyr repeated. “That’s the truth, sir.”

Dainyl paused. “That
will be all for now, Jiosyr. I’d appreciate it if you’d remain within the compound.”

“Yes, sir.” The squad
leader paused. “What will you… do with me?”

“That depends on what
else I discover.”

After Jiosyr left,
Dainyl considered what else was necessary. He needed to question Captain
Mykel—in far greater depth—once the captain was feeling better. He still had to
talk to all of the other officers. None of them would know anything about why
Majer Vaclyn had acted as he had. Of that, Dainyl was most certain, but he had
to go through the motions.

He stepped out of the
study, looking for Herryf.

Nearly three glasses
later, after Captain Rhystan of Sixteenth Company had left the study that had
been Herryf’s, Dainyl knew little more than when he started—except that Majer
Vaclyn had barely been marginally competent before the Third Battalion had been
deployed to Dramur. Even more puzzling was that all of the battalion’s
surviving captains would have done better if they had been in command.

Was the marshal out
to discredit the Cadmians? Why? What purpose would that serve?

In the dimness of the
study, Dainyl looked at the stone outer wall and then at the darkness beyond
the single window. He still had no more answers—only more questions.

For Mykel, Octdi
night was long—and restless. It was well past dark when the local healer
finally allowed Alendyr and two troopers to escort him back to the officers’
quarters. He slept, but not for very long at a time, and pain ran down his
entire arm most of the time.

When he was awake,
trying to lie still so that he didn’t turn and send more jolts of pain up and
down his arm and shoulder, his thoughts alternated mostly between the soarer
and the alector. Majer Vaclyn’s knife had gone through Mykel’s tunic and
undertunic like a hot blade through butter, yet his second knife had bounced
off the Myrmidon’s tunic. After having seen that once before when the crossbow
bolt had struck the alector in Faitel, Mykel shouldn’t have been surprised. In
both cases, there had been a reaction—guards in Faitel, and the colonel’s
light-cutting sidearm. That argued that the alectors weren’t invulnerable, but
that there was something about the shimmering cloth that they all wore, an
armor that didn’t look like armor.

The soarer had been
different, totally unafraid of the rifle he had held, yet she had known exactly
what it was. She’d also told him not to use it on the other creature, and that
suggested that, while she might not be vulnerable, the creatures were. A faint
smile creased his lips in the darkness of the quarters. Just how likely was it
that he would ever see either again?

For a few moments, he
thought about Kuertyl. Had he caused the younger captain’s death by following
Vaclyn’s orders? Was there any way he could have avoided it? His lips
tightened. He could have stopped it only by massacring the entire town of
Jyoha-^r all the men and most of the women. Once you started killing people who
weren’t troopers or didn’t think of themselves as such, where did it stop? By
following the majer’s orders, he’d turned an entire town into deadly
enemies—and that had led to the death of Kuertyl and half of Thirteenth
Company. How could a captain deal with stupid orders without getting killed,
one way or the other, either by carrying them out or through discipline for
insubordination?

In time, he did drift
back into sleep.

The next morning,
with his arm bound, Mykel took his time pulling himself together and washing up
before making his way to the officers’ mess. Minding what the healer had said,
he was using the harness sling to reduce the weight on his shoulder.

Heransyr, Dohark, and
Rhystan were seated around a square table in one corner of the mess. Dohark
stood and waved. “Over here!”

Mykel gave an
off-center smile and walked carefully toward the table.

Dohark had pulled out
a chair, and Mykel took it.

“You look like shit,”
said Dohark. “Bat shit.” He grinned sympathetically. “You know, Mykel, you
don’t get wounded like anyone else. Shot in the ass by Reillies and knifed by
your own commander.”

“The Myrmidon colonel
really burned old Vaclyn to a cinder?” asked Rhystan, pushing back a lock of
lank brown hair off his narrow forehead.

Mykel nodded. “Used
that light-cutter thing. Blue light— majer went up in flames.”

A server looked at
the latest arrival at the table.

“Ale, if you don’t
have cider,” Mykel said.

“No cider, sir. Ale, water,
or wine.”

“Ale… and whatever
you have for breakfast.”

The server slipped
away.

“Why did the colonel
do that?” Heransyr frowned.

“The majer had
already put one knife in me,” Mykel explained. “Then the colonel appeared and
told him to stop. Majer threw the knife at him instead of me. That probably
saved my neck.”

“Or your ass,” added
Dohark.

Rhystan shook his
head. “Stupid. Don’t attack Myrmidons. Everyone knows that.”

“He was stupid, and
about more than that,” countered Dohark. “Remember when he wanted you to take a
squad through that flooded field.”

Rhystan started to
say something, then closed his mouth.

“He was really
angry,” Mykel admitted. “He said I was to blame for Kuertyl’s death.” He took
the mug of ale that the server set on the table, looking at it, but not
drinking.

“He was. Didn’t he
order you to attack all those rebels in Jyoha?” asked Dohark.

“They were poor
debtors, not rebels, and they didn’t have many weapons, but he insisted that I
bring them in. They didn’t want to go to the mines.” Mykel sipped the ale,
wishing it were hot cider. “We had to kill them or let a lot of troopers get
killed or wounded.”

“Kuertyl’s dead?”
asked Rhystan.

“Jyoha—the whole town
went up in arms. They made jars of flaming oil, and dug pits in the roads,” Heransyr
explained. “With poisoned stakes.”

The orderly slipped a
platter in front of Mykel. Breakfast was fried fish and greasy potatoes, with
stale bread. He took a mouthful and corrected himself—soggy and greasy
potatoes. He broke the bread one-handed, and crumbs sprayed across the table.

Heransyr turned back
to Mykel. “Why do you think everyone’s mad at us?”

Mykel took another
swallow of ale before replying. “In Corus, the mainland part, most people want
to do things the way the Duarches want. Here, nobody wants to do that. So
there’s no one who likes why we’re here, and everyone’s against us. When we
were in Jyoha, we saw the ruins of a sawmill…” He went on to explain what he
had learned.

“Sawmill seems
harmless enough,” said Rhystan. “Folks need planks and timbers.”

“The Duarches don’t
do things without a reason,” Heran-syr said.

“Majer Vaclyn didn’t,
either.” Dohark laughed, then stood. “I need to check my squad. Hope we can
head back today, not that I’m all that happy looking for smugglers who won’t
show up so long as we’re there.”

Within moments,
Heransyr and Rhystan rose as well, leaving Mykel to finish the last of his
breakfast by himself.

Later, as Mykel
walked out of the mess, he wondered about what Heransyr had said. The Duarches
hadn’t wanted a sawmill, and they did want the guano mine working. He’d also
recalled someone talking about a swamp that had been drained. Dohark—he’d
mentioned a cousin and something about the alectors not liking growing plants
being cut down.

Was that why most
buildings were of brick and stone? Was the guano so important that an entire
battalion had been sent to Dramur—with a Myrmidon colonel to watch? But why?

“Captain Mykel! Sir?”

Mykel turned his head
quickly, then tried not to wince at the jolt that went down his arm.

A Cadmian ranker was
hurrying toward him. “Sir, Colonel Dainyl is looking for you.”

“Lead the way.” Mykel
was not looking forward to seeing the colonel.

The duty squad leader
in the foyer took a long look as Mykel and his escort passed, but said nothing.

The door to the study
that had been Majer Herryf’s was open. Mykel stepped in, and the ranker closed
it. Colonel Dainyl sat on the desk, his long legs almost touching the stone
floor.

“Sir?”

“How is your shoulder
this morning?” Dainyl’s deep voice seemed hoarse, and there was a redness
around his eyes.

Mykel sensed that the
alector was less than pleased to be in the study. But then, the word was that
he was the acting Submarshal for all the Myrmidons, and he was now handling a
position that should have been held by a much more junior officer—a Cadmian
officer at that.

“It stings a bit,”
Mykel replied.

“You were lucky.
Please have a seat. The chairs here are somewhat too cramped for me.” Dainyl
offered a grin. “From what I saw, the majer was very good with his knives.”

“Yes, sir. I was
lucky you were nearby.”

“You still won’t be
going anywhere for another day or so. It could be longer. I sent a messenger to
your senior squad leader saying that you would be here for several days and for
him to continue the patrols you had set up.”

“Thank you, sir.”
Mykel should have thought of that himself. He would have, he told himself, if
he’d been thinking, and that meant that he’d been hurt worse than he was
admitting.

“Why was Majer Vaclyn
so angry with you?”

How was he supposed
to answer that? Mykel refrained from taking a deep breath or sighing. “Majer
Vaclyn thought anyone who disagreed with him was his enemy, even the captains
under him. Most of us preferred to find ways to get the task done without
sacrificing men unnecessarily. He got upset with me when I used a flank attack
against a fortified Reillie redoubt rather than a frontal charge. I suggested
that it wasn’t wise to try to capture the forty fugitives in Jyoha. He sent me
written orders insisting that I do so—” Mykel broke off. “I’m sorry. I told you
that yesterday. He wanted us to stop the sniping at our patrols, but when we
killed the snipers, he complained that we should have captured them.”

“Did you know that
Fifteenth Company has been the most effective company in Third Battalion?”
asked the colonel.

“We’ve killed more
people,” Mykel admitted. “I’m not sure that’s always effective. The majer
didn’t give me any choice. It seems to me that the more people you kill, the
more there are that want to kill you. It’s different when you’re fighting other
armed forces all in a body.” He gave the faintest headshake. “Don’t know why
that should be, but people see it that way.”

“They do,” agreed
Dainyl. “You didn’t want to bring in the woman, did you?”

“That’s not quite true,”
Mykel said. “When I found the rifle in her cart, I realized that she hadn’t
known it was there, but she didn’t want to let me know that. I didn’t see any
point in taking her in then. That would have just alerted her father, and made
everyone mad. The majer was very displeased. He told me that a Codebreaker was
a Codebreaker.”

The colonel merely
nodded.

What was the alector
after? Mykel couldn’t tell, and that bothered him, because he usually had some
idea what people wanted, whether he agreed with them or not.

“Was Majer Vaclyn
always so indifferent to the opinions of his captains?”

That was another
possible trap. Mykel considered the implications before answering. “He didn’t
get so angry in the past campaigns if a captain found another way to get the task
done. He’d tell us we were lucky that it worked out, or he wouldn’t say
anything at all.”

“The majer was less
flexible here in Dramur?”

‘That might be one
way of putting it, sir.“

“Why was he so angry
with you in particular, Captain?”

“I really don’t think
he was, sir. I mean, he was angry at me, but it could have been any of the
captains. Fifteenth Company just happened to be in places where things
happened. If it had been Fourteenth Company, he would have been mad at Captain
Dohark.”

Again, the colonel
nodded. “I understand that Captain Dohark is the most senior of the captains.
Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. Dohark,
Rhystan, then Heransyr and me. Her-ansyr and I made captain at the same time.
He might be senior, or I might.”

“Have you seen any
officers among the rebels?”

Mykel frowned. “No,
sir, not that I know. That’s the miners, the ones in gray. The rebels who were
formed by the seltyr, they had squad leaders and captains.”

“You’ve captured a
number of rifles. Did the ones that the escaped miners had all have numbers?
Did you notice?”

“I’d have to check my
reports, sir, to be certain, but I’m pretty sure that all of the rifles the
miners had were numbered.”

“How many snipers
were there at any one time…”

“Why have you often
been the point man in chasing - down rebels…”

“Have you heard any
captives talking about either the Cadmians or the Myrmidons…”

The questions went on
and on.

Then, the colonel
stood, towering over Mykel and the desk where he had been sitting. “Thank you,
Captain. You’ve been most helpful. I think you and your squad should remain
here until Londi. If your shoulder is healing well, you could return to your
company.” He smiled. “You will have to let others do the scrambling through the
rocks, if it proves necessary.”

“Yes, sir.” Mykel rose,
carefully. “Thank you, sir.”

As he walked back
toward the barracks to convey the news to Alendyr—second squad would certainly
like a few nights on decent beds and solid food—Mykel had to admit to himself
that the colonel was no one’s fool. He’d as much as told Mykel that there were
two different revolts going on and that the majer had changed his behavior
since coming to Dramur.

Mykel should have
picked those up himself, and he hadn’t.