Alector's Choice (46 page)

Mykel woke up on
Quinti just before dawn, still worrying about Rachyla. He sat up on the hard
and narrow bed. Why was he so concerned about her? It wasn’t as though there
happened to be any romantic attraction between them. He had to admit she was
beautiful—not just pretty—and he admired her intelligence and poise, but she
was hardly likely to be interested in a Cadmian officer, and he couldn’t afford
to get close to the daughter of a rebel leader, even a dead one. Besides, in
her own way, she was as deadly as the dagger of the ancients he still carried.

Still… he did worry.

He forced himself out
of bed and into washing up, then dressing. Even before he went to find the
field rations that would be breakfast, he gathered Bhoral and the squad leaders
outside the barracks under a slightly hazy sky.

Mykel looked at the
five squad leaders. “We’ll need to expect an attack here. Fifteenth Company is
the only company at anywhere close to full strength, and we’ll bear the brunt
of any attack until the others recover. I’d like you to have your men stand
down, except for two on watch on each wall. Have them keep their weapons
nearby. Bhoral will work out the watch arrangements, while I meet with the
overcaptain.” He nodded to the senior squad leader.

Bhoral stepped
forward, and Mykel slipped away.

Dohark was not in the
study in headquarters, but at a table in the mess. Before joining him, Mykel
served himself from the ration cases set on the table and tapped his own ale
from the keg. A Cadmian ranker guarded both food and drink.

As Mykel settled
across the table from the overcaptain, Dohark looked up from the stale flat
biscuits, hard yellow cheese, and dried apple slices before him. “Not much to
choose from. Better than being poisoned.” Dohark took a bite of the biscuit.
“Not much, though.”

Mykel took a bite of
the dry and crumbly biscuit, then a small sip of the ale. He didn’t care much
for either. Both officers ate quietly for a time.

“The men are getting
better, those that survived,” Dohark finally said. “You think it had to do with
the seltyr’s daughter?”

“Whatever it was
poisoned her as well,” replied Mykel. “She couldn’t even sit up last night. She
was greener-looking than you were.”

“What do you think
they’ll do next?”

“They’ll have to
attack. We won’t be fortunate enough to see a siege.”

“No. We’ve got enough
supplies for months, and they’d have to know that. They also can’t count on the
Myrmidons staying away forever.”

“No, but it could be
a while,” Mykel pointed out. “Is there anything that burns well?”

Dohark raised his
eyebrows.

“Well… sir… if they
have siege ladders or ramps, maybe we could throw oil on them. Or is that
something that the Myrmidons frown on, too?”

“No. I’ve never heard
anything about that, but there’s nothing like that in the armory.”

“What about in the
kitchens? Some cooking oils burn well.”

“I hadn’t thought
about that.”

“If you don’t mind,
sir, I’ll see what they have.”

Dohark nodded. “Your
men are still guarding the walls?”

“I have some on
watch. The others are standing down until there’s an attack.”

“You’re optimistic.
Not if there’s an attack, but when there is one.”

“I hope I’m wrong,
sir.”

“You get very formal
and very proper, Mykel, just before you predict something unpleasant, and then
think up something even worse than the enemy has. If we get through this, I’d
suggest you change that mannerism.” Dohark offered an off-center smile.

“I’ll… see to it,
sir. By your leave, sir?”

“Go and do what you
have to, Captain.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,
sir.” Mykel stood.

After leaving the
mess, he returned to the barracks and gathered up Chyndylt and half of third squad,
waiting until the squad leader and the nine rankers stood before him in the
southeast wind that warmed the courtyard.

“We have a few tasks
to attend to here in the compound. Just come with me.” That was the only
explanation he offered.

“Yes, sir.” Chyndylt
smiled faintly.

The first stop was
the mess kitchen, which was cool because there had been no cooking. In the
storeroom, Mykel found seven full casks of cooking oil, and one half cask. He
tested some of the oil with a splinter of wood. It burned brightly. He turned
to the head cook. “We’ll be borrowing these for a time.”

“Borrowing, sir?”

“If we’re fortunate,
borrowing. If we’re not, then tell Ma-jerHerryf.”

“Yes, sir.” The
cook’s voice was less than enthusiastic.

“Chyndylt, have the
men roll these out to the west gate— carefully. Just the full ones. Put one
barrel at the top of each guard tower—inside—and leave the others beside the
steps on each side. I don’t want a drop spilled.”

Chyndylt gestured.
“Rykyt… you four… you heard the captain.”

Once he saw that
Rykyt and the four rankers with him had that task in hand, Mykel led Chyndylt
and the remaining four rankers to the armory.

The senior squad
leader who served as armorer was not there, his place taken by a local Cadmian
squad leader Mykel did not know.

“I need to inspect
the armory and draw ammunition.”

“But… sir… you need a
requisition.”

“I tell you what,
squad leader. If… if we all survive the bluecoats’ attacks later today, I’ll be
happy to provide that requisition. In the meantime, we’ll need the ammunition.”

The dark-haired squad
leader looked from Mykel to Chyndylt and to the four rankers behind the
captain. “Ah… I suppose… you will put a requisition in, sir?”

“If it’s necessary,
and when we have time, I’d be more than happy to. Now… if you’d care to show us
what we have?”

“Yes, sir.” The
armory squad leader kept looking back as he unlocked both doors.

“Jonasyr,” Mykel
ordered. “You guard the entrance here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The storage areas of
the armory were down a long ramp, within solid stone walls set into the ground
on which the compound was built. The ceiling consisted of solid stone beams,
each a good third of a yard thick. Mykel had no idea how thick the side walls
were, but the combination of stone and earth behind it was strong enough to
keep any inadvertent explosions confined.

“Here is the main
section, sir.”

In the dim
illumination of but two light-torches, one on the east wall and one on the
west, both set almost up to the filing, Mykel slowly inspected the armory. On
the west ‘all were four locked racks filled with rifles. Across from le rack,
stacked out from the east wall, were cases of mmunition—almost floor to ceiling
in a space three yards igh and ten yards long. Mykel walked to the north end
joking for what else might be there. In the northwest corner were four kegs.
All looked old, ut they were sealed, and “gunpowder” was stenciled across tie
staves in white. Mykel hid a smile. “Chyndylt… we’ll teed at least three cases
on each wall of the compound. We von’t have the time or the men to lug up
ammunition if they ush the compound.”

“Sir? That much?”
asked the armory squad leader. “There are at least ten companies of bluecoats.
How nany cases would you suggest?” The squad leader did not reply.

“Do you have dollies
or something for carting the ;ases?”

“Just that flat truck
there, sir.”

“That will do. Why
don’t you station yourself at the top of the ramp there. You can count the
cases as we bring them up.” Mykel turned to Chyndylt. “We’ll start at that
end.” He gestured toward the north end.

The armory squad
leader looked at Mykel uneasily before retreating up the ramp, not quite to the
top.

‘The truck can handle
four cases easily,“ Chyndylt suggested.

“I want those four
kegs there, as well.” Mykel kept his voice low and pointed. Stack them between
the cases.“

“Sir?”

“I need to make sure
that the oil will ignite. They’re old. Don’t drop them, but they should help
with the task.” Chyndylt nodded.

Mykel could tell the
senior squad leader didn’t quite believe him, but he knew Chyndylt wasn’t about
to say any-thing. That was one of the reasons Mykel had picked third squad.

“If you’d handle
this… I need to organize a few other items for our defense.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykel walked back up
the ramp. He stopped beside Jonasyr. “See anyone, or hear any alerts?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Mykel’s next stop was
the carpentry shop, set in the southwest corner of the compound, beyond the
last of the stables.

“What might you be
looking for, sir?” asked the gray-haired man in a leather apron even before
Mykel had a chance to announce himself.

“An old barrel of
some sort, one that will roll downhill on its side.”

The carpenter
frowned. “I’m not a cooper…”

Mykel waited.

“There might be one
in the back, sir.”

Mykel kept looking at
the carpenter.

“One moment, sir.”
The carpenter moved slowly through the open door into the storeroom behind the
workroom.

Mykel studied the
supplies stacked in various places, and without much regard for order, from
what he could tell. Some time passed before the carpenter returned.

“There is one, sir.”

“Thank you. What
about big nails, or spikes? Do you have any of those?”

The carpenter looked
at Mykel. “Maybe half a keg here… Might I ask why, sir?”

“We don’t have any
caltrops here. Large nails or spikes would be better than nothing.”

The crafter’s dubious
expression turned to puzzlement. ; “Caltrops are special four-pointed spikes
that disable horses. We’re very likely to have a thousand or more blue-coats
charging the compound. I’m looking for something that can act like caltrops.”

“They’re just heavy
nails, sir.”

“They’ll do. I’ll be
sending some men for the nails and the barrel. If we don’t need them, I’ll
return them.” Mykel smiled. “You do understand that the bluecoats slaughtered
Seventeenth Company almost to the last man?”

“They did, sir?”

“The rebels did the
same to Thirteenth Company. We do need those nails and spikes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Mykel
nodded and walked back across the courtyard.

He was passing the
headquarters building when Dohark appeared. “Mykel—I’d like a word with you.”
He motioned for Mykel to join him outside the south entrance to headquarters.

“Yes sir?” Mykel
inclined his head.

“There’s dust on the
roads to the north. Three vingts or so north.”

“I’ve gotten the oil,
and I have my men setting cases of ammunition on the walls.”

Dohark looked
steadily at Mykel for a moment. “There are enough able men left from Fourteenth
and Sixteenth Companies to man one wall and part of another. The locals are
down to half a company. What do you suggest?”

“The south wall for
the others in Third Battalion, the east wall on each side of the gates for the
locals. Fifteenth Company will handle the rest. I’ll be keeping a squad back
until we see where they attack. If there’s enough for a reserve squad from the
others, that would be good.”

Dohark nodded. “There
should be. I’ll be at the west gate’s north tower. That offers the best vantage
point.”

“How is Rhystan
doing?” Mykel asked.

“He’s too weak to
stand, but he seems to be getting better. Sixteenth Company took the worst of
the poison.”

“Good that the
survivors will be all right.”

Dohark raised his
eyebrows.

Mykel grinned. “After
this attack, we’ll need everyone to clean up the mess.”

Dohark shook his
head. “And maybe the colonel will promote you to majer, too.”

Mykel offered an
exaggerated shrug. “I can always hope.”

“Best you get on with
your preparations, Captain Mykel.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before he returned to
his special preparations, Mykel gathered the squad leaders again, with Bhoral,
making sure that all the mounts would be saddled and ready to ride out, if
necessary. Then he went back to doing what could get him into great
difficulties—if he survived.

By the time another
glass had passed, the ammunition and casks of oil were in place, and Mykel had
the older barrel, the half keg of heavy nails, and the gunpowder kegs in a
shaded place just behind and north of the west gate. He also had a number of
other items, including lengths of old, near-rotten canvas and a small bucket of
glue.

One cask of oil would
fit inside the larger carpenter’s barrel, as would a cask of the gunpowder.
Mykel set to work with the glue, canvas and nails, until the inside of the
barrel was lined with two layers of canvas with the nails glued inside. The
glue wouldn’t harden before Mykel would probably have to use the device, but
all he cared about was something to keep the nails from clumping together too
much.

By the time he had
finished and replaced the head of the barrel, he was soaked with sweat, and
another glass had passed. With a sardonic smile that he quickly erased, Mykel
noted that he had not seen Dohark. The overcaptain had lost conspicuously
avoided him while he had been working, and that was probably for the best—for
both of them.

Another glass and a
half passed. The men had eaten noon ations. The breeze had died off, and the
sun beat down on the compound.

Vhanyr came sprinting
across the courtyard. “Captain Mykel. Bluecoats are coming! Some greencoats,
too. Hundreds of ‘em!”

“Fifteenth Company!
Squad leaders! Forward!”

Mykel barely waited
before he began issuing his orders, orders that the squad leaders already knew.
“Fifteenth Company to the walls! Squad one to the main gate, two to the rest of
the west wall, three to the north wall, and four to last gate. Squad five,
stand by.”