Alector's Choice (37 page)

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir!” snapped
Bhoral, raising his rifle and pointing it at the captive’s midsection.

“Yes, sir!” squeaked
the young man, barely more than a youth. •

“Who was over him?”

“That was the
captain. Captain Mahwalt. He is Seltyr Ghondjyr’s nephew.” The youthful captive
looked at Bhoral, and added quickly, “Sir.”

“Does the seltyr have
another company besides yours?”

“No, sir. Each seltyr
has one company, except Seltyr Anatoljyr. He has two.”

“How many seltyrs are
there west of the mountains?”

“I don’t know… sir.
Ten, fifteen.”

Mykel guessed those
numbers were high, but he had no way to tell. “Did Captain Mahwalt say when
he’d be back?”

“He said we were to
stay for two days, then ride south to the road to the west.”

“Tonight, then, that
was when you were to meet them there?”

The youthful trooper
shrugged helplessly.

Mykel turned to the
second ranker, with scratches across his face and cheek and blood running along
his jawline. The slight wounds looked to have come from contact with pine
trees, rather than weapons. “You. How many companies came over the mountains?”

“I don’t know, sir.
We rode with Seltyr Hamadjyr’s men. There weren’t any others.”

“Did you attack or
fight any other Cadmians?”

“No, sir. We heard
shots to the north, but the captain said we weren’t going there… sir.”

“How many other
companies are there in the west?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Mykel kept
questioning, but got no better answers. Abruptly, he glanced around the small
clearing on the northwest side of the low hill. He could only see a score of
his troopers. While he didn’t sense anything nearby, nor could he see any
troopers on the mine road, his men shouldn’t be spread through the trees longer
than necessary. He turned to Bhoral. “Get everyone re-formed back on the road.
We’re spread all over the place here.”

“Yes, sir.” Bhoral
turned his mount. “Re-form on the road! By squads! Pass it on!”

Mykel picked his way
through the trees, occasionally seeing a sprawled body in the brilliant blue
tunic of the western seltyrs. Once they were back on the road, and waiting for
third and fourth squads to rejoin them, Mykel looked up at the hill, then
southeast.

“What do you think,
sir?” asked Bhoral. “About what we should do next?”

“We ought to give
this Captain Mahwalt a taste of his own tactics. They still don’t shoot that
well. It might be best to make sure that they don’t get much more practice.
First, we need to see what our own losses were and how many extra mounts and
prisoners we have.”

“Best I could figure,
we killed maybe fifteen of theirs, could have been eighteen.” Bhoral paused.
“Looks like they got the prisoners over there. I’ll be right back, sir.”

With the midday sun
beating down on him, Mykel felt almost uncomfortably warm as he surveyed the
road from a high point on the shoulder. The only figures he saw were the
Cadmians and their prisoners.

The squads were
almost reformed when Bhoral rode back and reined up beside Mykel. “Six
prisoners, sir, and eleven mounts. Some of them look pretty fair.”

“We’ll keep the best
ones for spares. You choose.” Mykel knew that Bhoral was a far better judge of
horses than he was.

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel turned the
chestnut, then raised his voice. “Squad leaders! Forward and report!”

Within moments, the
five squad leaders reined up opposite Mykel and Bhoral.

“Report, by squads,”
Mykel ordered.

“First squad, two
wounded.”

“Second squad, one
wounded.”

Third, fourth, and
fifth squads had no casualties, and Mykel looked across the faces of his squad
leaders. “We’ll ride back to the camp. We’ll leave the wounded and the
prisoners. The local Cadmians can handle them. They’ve had practice. Have the
men eat—quickly—and water their mounts and pack their gear. Whatever happens
this afternoon, we’ll be heading back to the compound in Dramuria afterward.
When we leave, we’ll ride south to see if we can set up an ambush for the
rebels where the western road turns off the mine road. From what I remember,
there’s high ground to the southwest, but we’ll see what looks best after the
scouts report.” He paused. “That’s all. Dismissed to your squads.”

“Yes, sir,” came the
response.

Mykel waited until
the squad leaders rejoined their men, then nodded to Bhoral.

“Company! Forward!”

Mykel kept glancing
back over his shoulder as he rode back up the gentle incline of the road toward
the mining camp. He saw nothing but his own company and the faint dust raised
by its mounts.

Hazy high clouds,
silvery against the silver-green sky, were drifting in from the west by the
time Fifteenth Company headed south, but the air was so still that the early
afternoon seemed more like late spring than late winter. As Mykel rode down the
mine highway toward Dramuria, he glanced to his left, at the low, wooded hill
that had been the site of the morning’s skirmish.

He shifted his weight
in the saddle, conscious of the lingering soreness in his shoulder, soreness
that hadn’t been helped by using a rifle. The attack on the seltyr’s squad had
left a bad taste in his mouth. Mykel certainly didn’t want his men killed, but
it bothered him that the rebels were sending out troopers so poorly trained and
led. It was a waste of men because nothing would change, except that the
Cadmians would lose some troopers, and, if all the rebels were so inept, they’d
lose most of theirs.

He had more than a
few questions. Who had picked out uniforms of such a bright blue that they
stood out in any terrain? The maroon and gray of the Cadmians might not have
blended in all settings, but the Cadmian colors didn’t turn every man into a
target. Why were the seltyr’s men so poorly trained? Even the worst of the
Reillies had fought far better—and they had only had crossbows and handmade
single-shot long rifles. The seltyrs had more men and golds—and good contraband
weapons. So why were their troopers so ineffective?

Mykel had drafted a
brief report on what had happened in the past two days and given it to Captain
Benjyr for dispatch back to Dohark with Benjyr’s messengers. He’d also made
arrangements for the wounded men—since none of the wounds appeared
life-threatening—to accompany the local Cadmians returning to the compound in
Dramuria. With his own company being whittled away man by man, Mykel wasn’t
about to spare even a single trooper for a message run when he could have
someone else deliver it.

The five-vingt ride
to the junction took more than a glass, without pushing, and three of the four
scouts joined Mykel a good two hundred yards north of where the packed dirt
road to the west branched off from the paved mine road.

“Jasakyt’s still
investigating that low bluff over to the west, there,” offered Dhozynt. “Can’t
ride up it from this side, but he thought there might be a way up from behind.”

Mykel’s eyes followed
the gesture of the fifth squad’s scout. The bluff wasn’t high, no more than two
and a half yards, but it was almost vertical, and the red dirt and sand section
facing the road extended more than a hundred yards from east to west. The
eastern end dropped into a small area of wooded and marshy ground, not quite a
small swamp, fed by the rivulet that ran between the road and the bluff. The
western end merged with a hillside covered with patches of brush olives. On the
south side of the western road, right at the junction, was a wooded area that
rose slowly to the southwest, behind and to the east of the marshy ground. Low
bushes and heavier undergrowth began within a few yards of the road.

The captain nodded
and looked to his right, at the area on the north side of the western road,
gently rolling fields that had been recently tilled. There was no cover there.

Jasakyt appeared,
riding onto the road from behind a second hill, farther to the west.

“Company, halt!”
Mykel ordered. He wanted no additional hoofprints on the western road until
he’d heard from Jasakyt. While he waited for the last scout to reach him, he
might as well assemble those he needed. “Squad leaders! Scouts!”

Vhanyr had just
joined the group when Jasakyt rode up and reined in his mount. The scout had a
broad smile.

“I take it that bluff
is a good ambush point,” Mykel said dryly.

“Yes, sir. You can
get there two ways, and neither leaves much in the way of tracks. Could put the
whole company up there, and no one could see ‘em from here on the road.”

“Do you know of a
better place?” Mykel addressed the other three scouts.

“The orchard there’d
be better for mounts,” said Sendyl, “but you’d be downhill and riding up.
Wouldn’t want that.”

Dhozynt shook his
head. So did Gerant.

Mykel surveyed the
squad leaders. “We’ll set up here, and wait to see what happens. Squads two,
three, and four will take positions on foot—at the top of that bluff. Squad one
will be out of sight in the woods to protect our east flank.” Mykel looked at
Gendsyr. “Your men are not to move out or open fire until after their companies
turn westward, and not before the squads on the bluff fire. If the rebels head
north, we’ll follow them until the right time to attack. If they turn west,
keep your men under cover when you open fire.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Vhanyr, fifth squad
will cover the west flank. You’ll need to keep to the high ground. Don’t open
fire unless you’re attacked, or until you get specific orders from me.
Scouts—Sendyl, you head south along the mine road toward Dramuria. When you see
the rebels coming, I want you to head back here early enough that they can’t
see you.”

Mykel turned to the
second squad scout. “Gerant, you’ll have to ride east. I don’t want to be
surprised if they decide to head for the western road through those orchards
over there. Watch the lanes and trails there. Jasakyt, you head west, say two
vingts, just in case there might be more rebels riding this way. Dhozynt, you
get to go back the way we came…” As he outlined his plan, Mykel could only hope
that what he learned from the captives was accurate.

In less than half a
glass, Fifteenth Company was in position. The stillness of the early afternoon
was replaced by a light wind out of the northwest. From where he waited, hidden
behind the low ridge of the bluff, Mykel looked northward. The clouds were
slowly thickening.

His strategy was
simple enough—use the bluff as a point from which his men could rake the
rebels. The hill slope facing the road was steep enough that riders would find
it difficult to climb, especially in the face of heavy fire. If necessary,
Mykel’s men could withdraw directly down the more gentle slope to the south.

Mykel kept looking at
the clouds, listening for scouts or horses, but the afternoon was still, except
for the low murmurs of the troopers, and the occasional chuff of a mount
tethered downhill in the trees.

“You think the
western seltyrs have ten companies over here?” Bhoral asked after a time.

“Who really knows?”
Mykel had no doubts they had that many… somewhere.

One glass passed,
then another. During that time, Mykel made several inspections, walking down
through the wooded area to see Gendsyr and first squad, and back to the west to
check with Vhanyr. The sun was touching, the peaks of the MurianMountains, and
Mykel was wondering when he should call off the ambush and start the ride
southward. At that moment, Sendyl rode up out of the woods from below and east
toward Mykel. The captain eased out of his sitting position and hurried
downhill to where the scout waited. Bhoral was close behind.

“There’s two
companies coming,” Sendyl announced. “Riding up the road from Dramuria plain as
you please.”

“Coming up from
Dramuria? There’s no pursuit?”

“No, sir. But there’s
smoke down south. Not so far as Dramuria, but this side of the bridge on the
north of the town.”

“Do they have scouts
out ahead?”

“No, sir. Outriders
maybe two hundred yards forward of the van.”

“How long before they
get here?”

“A little more than
half a glass, I’d judge.”

“We’ll be ready. You
take a position as far south as you can and still stay under cover.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Sendyl headed back
downhill, Bhoral cleared his throat.

Mykel turned to the
senior squad leader. “What do you think?”

“I don’t like it,
sir. No scouts, no supply wagons, and they’re riding around shooting and
burning things?”

“You think they’re a
diversion? Some sort of setup?”

Bhoral shook his
head. “Don’t know, sir. Suppose they could be that stupid, but… ?”

“That’s one reason
why we’re trying it this way. Even if there are more rebels coming from
somewhere, we’ve got a good position. We’ve also got scouts out in other
directions.”

“Good thing, sir.”

“If you’d go tell
fifth squad, now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel walked toward
Alendyr. The squad leader looked up.

“Rebels headed this way.
Half a glass. Keep it quiet.”

By the time Mykel had
passed the word to Chyndylt and Dravadyl, made a last quick inspection of the
three squads, and returned to the position he’d chosen for himself roughly in
the middle of the bluff, a quarter glass had passed.

Shortly, Bhoral
reappeared. “Sir?”

“Why don’t you take
the west end, so that you can send out fifth squad, if necessary?” Mykel left
unsaid that they wouldn’t be in the same place.

“Let me know if
things change.” Bhoral hurried back to the west.

Mykel had picked a
spot on the bluff behind a low scrubby pine, where he could look through the
branches and survey the road without being seen by the riders. He stretched out
on the ground, behind and under the pine, and began to watch and wait.

No riders appeared,
and a rock dug into the front of his thigh. Carefully, quietly, he eased
himself slightly to the side. The wind began to moan, picking up in intensity,
into a brisk breeze. Mykel kept watching and, finally, two outriders in the
brilliant blue of the rebels turned off the mining road and rode westward. Just
when the outriders were almost below Mykel, the first riders of the main body
turned. They had ridden no more than thirty yards, when someone called an
order, and the outriders and the rest of the riders halted—scarcely in the best
position for Fifteenth Company to attack.

Mykel hoped that none
of his men would fire, not until the rebels moved farther into firing range.
Several riders galloped northward along the mining road, but the rebel force did
not move. Mykel had no way of knowing how far to the south it stretched, since
all he could see was perhaps thirty riders.

At least a quarter
glass more passed… and another. The day darkened, if without shadows, as the
clouds to the north and west obscured the sun. Finally, a set of horn signals
echoed through the afternoon, and the outriders urged their mounts forward.

“Ready,” he murmured…
“pass it along… quietly.”

“Ready…”

As the riders in the
van neared, Mykel watched closely, trying to pick out the captain of the first
company. Finally, he could see a taller man with insignia on his tunic collar,
and a silver shoulder braid—the kind Cadmians only wore on ceremonial occasions
or in staff capacities at headquarters. He sighted, waiting, until the middle
of the company was opposite him.

“Fire!” Mykel
concentrated on the captain, aiming and willing the bullet toward the target.
His shot was true, and the officer sagged, then slumped out of the saddle.

The shots of the
first volley were nearly simultaneous, and deadly. Bluecoats were falling and
flailing everywhere.

Mykel looked for a
squad leader, but couldn’t find one. So he just kept seeking clear shots. By
the time he reloaded, a good third of the leading rebel company was down,
either wounded or dead, and the remaining riders were still half-milling
around. Only one or two of the riders on the road even seemed to know from
where the shots were coming.

After reloading,
Mykel fired one more shot.

Thump! Needles
cascaded around him. A sharp pain shot along the side of his neck just behind
his ear, then subsided.

Mykel flattened
himself and touched his neck. He couldn’t feel anything, except a fragment of
wood—a long splinter. He pulled it out, and raised his rifle again, running
through another magazine, then reloading.

Horns sounded, the
handful of riders still in their saddles turned their mounts and dashed toward
the mining road. There, the riders of the second bluecoat company were
galloping northward, toward the mine. He frowned as he saw them slow, close to
a vingt farther north, and turn westward, moving through the fields at a quick
walk, well out of range.

Should he have his
men mount up and follow? Mykel shook his head. He had no idea what might be
waiting to the west, and it wouldn’t be that long before it was dark.

“Cease fire! Cease
fire!” He stood and stepped away from the pine to get a better view. Blue
tunics lay strewn everywhere. Some men moaned. A horse was screaming somewhere.

“Bhoral! Get a quick
count of the bodies, and get someone to round up all their weapons and
ammunition. Send one of the scouts west, a half vingt or so, to make sure no
one’s headed back toward us. Get all the mounts clear of the woods and ready to
ride.”

“The bodies, sir?”

The last thing Mykel
wanted to do was to deal with scores of bodies. He didn’t have the manpower or
the time—and there was at least one company of rebels on the road west of them.
“Lay them out on the side of the road for now.” Mykel turned to get the
chestnut, but a ranker was leading his mount toward him.

“Squad leader said
you’d be needing him, sir.”

“Thank you, Rykyt.”
Mykel mounted and rode west, coming up on Vhanyr and fifth squad. “Take the
road, and set up, just in case someone turns and comes back from the west.
Second, third, and fourth squads are gathering weapons and ammunition”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any casualties?”

“No, sir. Not a one.”

“Good.” When Mykel
reached the western road, the surviving bluecoats were out of sight, somewhere
to the west, and a clouded twilight had fallen.

After letting his
mount pick his way back along the packed-dirt surface, he reined up just where
the western road turned off the mine road, so that he could see both roads.
There were but a handful of bluecoats lying on the graystones of the mine road.