Alector's Choice (36 page)

Octdi morning dawned
cloudy, with a cold drizzle sifting out of low-lying clouds, a day more
reminiscent of midwinter than of the spring beginning on the coming Londi. The
night before had been long. Mykel had fretted about Fifteenth Company’s other
squads, but all returned safely, and none but third squad had taken fire. The
raiders had killed four troopers from third squad and wounded two others. Both
of the wounded men looked to recover, for which Mykel was thankful.

According to Meryst,
there had been thirty-three dead rebel troopers on the road, which was amazing
given that the deaths had been caused by one squad and the Cadmian tower
guards. Still, counting the dead and wounded, Fifteenth Company was less than
four-fifths of authorized strength. It had been whittled away, man by man.

After the quick and
fierce battle the night before, the night had been quiet, but Mykel still had a
slight headache when he woke. Even before he had eaten, he’d sent out scouts.
Then he went to the mess shack. The fried bananas and salted fried fish
presented for breakfast didn’t help either the headache or his mood. As he sat
at the plank table in the mess shed, he forced himself to eat. Just as Mykel
was finishing the final chunk of banana—he wanted the last taste to be other
than fish, Meryst slipped onto the bench opposite him.

“What do you plan,
Captain?”

“We’ll be scouting
and protecting the approaches to the camp. Fifteenth Company will not be doing
any more patrols on the road to the mine. Have you seen riders in that blue
before?”

“Not riders, but the
blue is the color of the west.”

Rachyla had been
right, Mykel reflected, hoping she was still safe and healthy. He forced his
thoughts back to the problem at hand. “That means there will be more attacks
and troopers.”

“Why do you say
that?”

“You didn’t tell me
that it was the color of a particular seltyr or house or grower, but of the
west. I’d wager that all the western seltyrs have adopted the blue. Probably
all the ones in the east have their men in the green.”

“That is the eastern
color,” Meryst admitted.

“That’s all we need,
a war between the east and the west, with Myrmidons flying everywhere.”

“You had not heard?
The Myrmidon colonel and his fliers left almost a week ago. They have not
returned.”

“That’s even worse.”
Mykel could imagine the seltyrs deciding to attack the Cadmians—and each
other—in the absence of the Myrmidons’ flame lances. “Why would he leave now?”

“He did not look happy,
I understand. He had received a dispatch from one of his fliers, and he left
the next morning.”

“That sounds like
trouble somewhere else. Worse trouble.” Mykel eased his way off the bench. “I
need to see what my scouts have found out. I’d rather not be caught by
surprise.”

“You think they will
attack here again?”

Mykel suspected that
the attack had been to keep Fifteenth Company pinned down so that the attackers
could move more freely. “I don’t know. That’s why I sent out scouts.”

“You think they will stay
that close?” Meryst’s tone conveyed disbelief.

“We’ll have to see.”
Mykel offered a smile before heading for the stable sheds.

Bhoral was waiting,
lines of worry creasing his forehead. “No one’s back yet, sir.”

“I didn’t think
they’d be. We need to go over some maps.”

“You have something
in mind, sir?”

“I do, but I want to
see what the scouts find out” Mykel lifted his hand to push back too-long hair
from his forehead, and thought the better of it as his shoulder began to
twinge. Using his rifle the day before hadn’t helped with the healing. He
unrolled the crude map and pointed. “Here we are, and here’s the road from the
west. It’s a good five vingts toward Dramuria from here. That’s the only quick
way that they can bring horse troopers in—or out. The road south from here is
open for about half a vingt, to where the lanes split off…”

Bhoral listened as
Mykel explained.

Then they waited
another glass before the first scouts returned. Mykel had Bhoral gather the
squad leaders in the stable shed—the only real space away from the Cadmian
rankers.

Once scouts and squad
leaders were assembled, Mykel turned to Sendyl, the first squad scout. “What
did you find?”

“There’s a squad, and
they’re about a vingt and a half toward Dramuria, almost a vingt past the crossroads
on the east side of the road,” reported Sendyl. “Small hill there, and they
were hiding in a woodlot.”

“Did they see you?”

“Afraid they did,
sir. Took a couple of shots afore I got under the trees where they couldn’t see
me. That’s when I sneaked through one of those nut plantations. I got close
enough to get a better look. They were mostly just back of the first lines of
trees. I circled to the south side of the hill. No one over there, and the
ground’s real open there, just poor grazing land. I had to come back the way I
came so as they wouldn’t see me leaving.”

Mykel nodded, then
looked to the second squad scout. “Gerant?”

“Went back over the
side roads where the smaller growers are, along where Polynt… you know, sir.
Anyway, there was a little rain there last night. Not a sign of riders, or even
carts.”

“Dhozynt?”

“Nothing to the north
of the mine, sir.”

Neither of the other
two scouts had seen any other signs of large bodies of riders.

Mykel cleared his
throat. “That squad to the south seems to be the only one nearby. They’re there
to keep us here and to report if we move.” Mykel smiled. “We don’t want them
letting anyone know, now, do we?”

Several of the scouts
grinned back at the captain.

Mykel looked to the
five squad leaders. “I’ve got some maps here, and we need to be going over what
we’ll be doing this afternoon.” He spread the map on an old plank wedged into a
space between two wall boards, scarcely the best of map tables, but it would do
to outline what he had in mind. The first step would be easy. After that, it
got harder… much harder.

A glass past
midmorning, Fifteenth Company formed up just inside the outer walls of the
mining camp. Mykel rode back along the column to fifth squad, reining up
opposite Vhanyr.

“Sir?” asked the
fifth squad leader.

“Any last questions?”

“No, sir. Once we
split at the crossroads, we’re to start inspecting each side of the road, as if
we’re searching for something. We’re to stay out of range until we hear you
attack. Then we’re to move up and keep any of the rebels from escaping.”

“Good. I meant it
about staying out of rifle range.” Mykel didn’t need to lose any more men when
he didn’t have to.

“Yes, sir.” Vhanyr
couldn’t quite keep the trace of a smile from the corners of his mouth.

As he rode back to
the front of the company, Mykel almost laughed. He still occasionally made
statements that were overobvious. Any good squad leader—and Vhanyr was
good—wasn’t about to disobey orders to stay away from sniper fire.

“Company’s ready,
sir!” announced Bhoral.

Mykel nodded. “Let’s
go.”

“Fifteenth Company!
Forward!”

Mykel rode alongside
Gendsyr at the head of Fifteenth Company. Bhoral dropped back to ride with
third squad. Not for the first time, Mykel just hoped that he’d judged what lay
before them correctly. Almost absently, the fingers of his free hand dropped to
his belt and the slot that held the soarers’ dagger. Matters had indeed gotten
steadily worse since he’d been given the ancient weapon.

Should he discard it?
A tight smile crossed his lips. Somehow, that would be worse. Either the weapon
meant nothing, in which case it was stupid to get rid of it, or what the
chandler had said was right. In the second instance, it was likely that
discarding the weapon would cause him even worse problems.

Then… he could just be
justifying keeping it. He shook his head. Arguing with himself over something
like that was courting madness. He put the miniature dagger out of this mind
and looked down the stone-paved road, clear of any riders or wagons.

By the time the two
scouts reached the crossroads, where lanes led off to both the east and west,
Mykel could sense eyes on the company. He forced himself not to look in the
direction of the hill. Not too often, anyway.

“Fifteenth Company!
Left turn! At the crossroads!” he called out just before he and Gendsyr neared
the two clay lanes.

The lane to the west
almost immediately turned southwest and followed a dry streambed. The one to
the east ran straight for several hundred yards between a field of sun-beans on
the left and an overgrown area on the south side, which might once have been a
field but now sported scattered bushes and occasional trees, none higher than a
horse’s ears. After about a quarter vingt, the lane turned back to the
northeast, slowly descending through various scattered holdings, with which
Mykel and Fifteenth Company had become all too familiar.

They weren’t going to
follow the lane that far, but ride back south, and circle through a woodlot
back toward the hill on which the seltyr’s squad had been posted. The trees
would keep them from sight until they were almost at the base of the hill.

Once he reached the
woodlot, Mykel eased his mount to the side of the lane and looked back over his
shoulder. Vhanyr and fifth squad had reined up and were beginning to study the
shoulders of the main road, as well as the first ten yards of the west lane.

Mykel urged the
chestnut forward until he was riding with the scouts. After another three
hundred yards or so, he turned his mount onto a rutted track to the right side
of the road, just between a tumbledown stone wall and the woodlot. On the east
side was an orchard of casurans, perhaps the sorriest-looking nut trees Mykel
had seen. Brown-splotched yellowing leaves drooped from sagging branches, and a
bitter odor seeped from the neglected orchard.

“… smells like shit…”

“… worse…”

“Quiet riding,”
hissed Gendsyr.

Almost a quarter
glass passed before the track petered out into a grassy oval perhaps two
hundred yards by a hundred and fifty. Mykel looked to the southwest, where a
wooded hill offered a gentle rise, with little undergrowth. From what the
scouts had observed, anyone stationed on the northwest side of the hill in a
position to observe the road would have trouble seeing the eastern and
southeastern sides of the hill. A squad couldn’t afford to post too many
sentries in the rear, and one or two couldn’t stop an attack.

“First squad, on me,”
he ordered in a low voice.

First squad was to
ride up the northeast side of the slope, as quietly as possible until the blue
troopers reacted. Second squad was to take the clearer southeast side, and
third squad was to take the southwest side, holding back halfway up the slope.
Bhoral and fourth squad were to hang back at the base of the slope, somewhere
on the south side, to plug any gaps or reinforce as necessary. The plan of
attack was simple.

Mykel recalled all
too vividly a statement his father had made. Olent had finally finished the
last stones of a mosaic in the entry foyer of the family dwelling. Mykel had
only been twelve, and he’d suggested that the design was nice, but simple.

“Simple doesn’t mean
easy,” Olent had said quietly.

The words had stayed
with Mykel. This time, he just hoped that his simple plan wasn’t too difficult
to carry out.

The woodlot trees
were mostly older short-needled pines, and the branches didn’t really begin
until they were head high. The trees were thick enough that it was hard to see
more than ten yards ahead. That worked for and against Fifteenth Company.

Halfway up, he turned
in the saddle. “Rifles ready. Pass it back! Spread to the left!”

The trailing troopers
swung to the left, moving more quickly, while Mykel slowed, until he had a line
abreast moving through the trees. He judged that they were less than a hundred
yards from the top of the rise when he heard the first shout.

“Riders! Coming up
the back of the hill! Riders!”

Mykel would have
liked to move more quickly, but the trees were close enough together that the
best he could do was a fast walk. Even so, he had ridden at least another fifty
yards before he heard the first shot from the west. He kept riding, his rifle
out.

Ahead, Mykel saw a
blue uniform and fired, trying to will the bullet to its target. Then, to his
right, he glimpsed another rebel—on foot. He immediately fired two shots,
concentrating on the second one. He thought the man went down. Several bullets
flew through die branches above his head, and short gray-green needles fell
around him. He rode around a fallen pine, one that someone had started to trim,
and caught sight of another rebel rider a good twenty yards ahead. He fired,
and the man slumped. Mykel had die feeling that someone else had shot him.

From that moment,
Mykel lost track. The only thing keeping the attack from turning into a melee
where Cadmi-ans accidentally shot Cadmians was the bright blue tunics of the
rebels.

Mykel finally reined
up in a small clearing where the rebels had apparently been waiting. There were
still two mounts tied to pine trees. Four bodies in blue were crumpled in
various places around the trees at the edge of the clearing. Alendyr and
several of his men were herding two prisoners toward Mykel. Bhoral and several
rankers from dürd squad appeared out of the trees to the left of the prisoners.

“Sir!” called
Alendyr. “Caught these two trying to sneak down the hillside.”

Mykel rode toward
them and reined up. “What company are you? Who’s in charge?”

“That was Alawart.
You killed him.”

“He was the squad
leader?”