Alector's Choice (49 page)

As on every flight
from Elcien to Dramur, both Sexdi and Septi were long, and Dainyl’s legs and
back were already aching as he rode behind Falyna across the channel from Coras
to the northern tip of Dramur. A glass later, after descending carefully
through breaks in the clouds, the two pteridons reached clear air at less than
five hundred yards above the ocean. Dainyl could see the northeastern shore of
Dramur less than five vingts away.

Three glasses later,
the fliers were on approach to the Cadmian compound at Dramuria. Falyna swept
in toward the compound just before twilight, swinging to the west north of
Dramuria and making a final descent toward the courtyard from the west.

In the last few
moments aloft, just before landing, Dainyl studied the ground around the
compound. The rebels had clearly attacked, but several days earlier. That was obvious
from the state of the ground, the lack of bodies near the compound and those
remaining farther west and short of the casaran orchards, and the ongoing
repairs to the west gate. There were also two large circular and overlapping
patches of scorched ground, one immediately in front of the west gate, and one
perhaps fifty yards farther west.

The pteridon crossed
the walls and flared to a stop just to the right of the closest pteridon
square. Dainyl waited only until Falyna had dismounted before he eased himself
out of the harness. His legs almost buckled when he first stood on the stones
of the courtyard, but he stretched one leg, then the other before turning to
Falyna.

“Thank you,” he told
Falyna. “That was a very smooth flight. If you’ll excuse me, there’s been some
heavy fighting here, and I need to find out what happened.”

“Yes, sir.” She
smiled. “We’ll be ready first thing in the morning if you need us.”

“I just might.” With
that, he turned and hurried toward the headquarters building, hoping that either
Majer Herryf or Overcaptain Dohark—or both—were still there.

Overcaptain Dohark
was waiting outside the study that Dainyl had been using. He’d obviously been
alerted to the Myrmidons’ return.

The Submarshal
motioned for Dohark to follow him inside. Dohark shut the door.

“I thought we might
have Majer Herryf join us,” Dainyl said.

“He was killed on
Quattri night, Colonel… I mean, Submarshal. Congratulations, sir.”

Although the desk was
clear, as Dainyl had left it, his Talent indicated that the overcaptain had
been using it, but there was little point in saying anything about that.
Because the last thing Dainyl wanted to do was sit, he leaned against the side
of the desk, his eyes on the overcaptain. “You’d best tell me what happened.”

“What was bound to
happen with an understrength battalion, Submarshal, and no Myrmidon support.
The blue-coats and greencoats attacked on Quinti—”

“Bluecoats?
Greencoats? Remember, Overcaptain, I have been out of touch.”

“Yes, sir. All the
troopers of the western seltyrs wear blue. The troops of the eastern seltyrs
wear green. The bluecoats moved more than ten companies across the mountains…”

As the overcaptain
explained, Dainyl listened, intently. The poisoning confirmed his beliefs that
the local seltyrs had decided to use any weapon at hand before the marshal’s—or
the High Alector’s—support was withdrawn. It also confirmed Lystrana’s view
that the marshal had never intended the revolt to be successful, and that the
marshal—or some high alector—had to be behind the revolt, because the majority
of seltyrs had cooperated in sharing, at least to some degree, the contraband
weapons. Without some hint of alector power, the majority of weapons would have
gone to the handful of stronger and wealthier seltyrs. Dainyl would have to
avoid that aspect in his final report, as well as emphasize the more barbaric
aspects of the seltyr tactics.

“… the wagon-ram was
about to splinter the gates, but we poured cooking oil on it and set it afire.
A cask of oil was dropped on the fire, and it exploded. That scattered some of
the rebels and disorganized them. The Cadmians managed to shoot a number
because they were packed in. Then, and because they were taking heavy fire, the
rest of the rebels began to fall back. Captain Mykel pursued them with
Fifteenth Company and killed a number of the stragglers and sent the others
off.”

“How many seltyr
casualties?”

“We’ve buried over
four hundred. How many died away from here or deserted, that’s something we
can’t tell.”

“I noted what seemed
to be explosions…”

“As I mentioned, we
used cooking oil to burn the ram. Some of it exploded.”

“Whose idea was
that?” Dainyl added quickly, “Please don’t tell me it was yours.”

“No, sir, but it was
my responsibility. I authorized the use of the cooking oil.”

Dainyl paused,
thinking. The overcaptain might not have come up with the idea, but he was
trying to protect his officers. Dainyl suspected he already knew whose idea it
had been.

“How did Captain
Mykel come up with that idea, Over-captain?”

“Sir?”

Despite Dohark’s evasions,
it was more than clear that it had to have been Captain Mykel. None of the
other officers had enough creativity and initiative to carry out anything
involving cooking oil and whatever else the captain had used. “Where is Captain
Mykel?”

“He took Fifteenth
Company out early this morning. He’s pursuing some of the seltyr forces. He’s
the only one with enough able men to do that.”

“You thought it was
necessary?”

“Mykel pointed out
that they were disorganized, but that they wouldn’t stay that way. He also said
that we didn’t know when you and the other Myrmidons might return.”

What Dohark said rang
true, and it also suggested that Captain Mykel either knew or suspected far
more than was wise for a junior officer. The captain’s abilities were likely to
create as much of a problem for Dainyl as the lack of ability of his former
superior had.

“Do you know his
plans?”

“Not in detail, sir.
One or two companies had headed northeast, and Captain Mykel had thought he
would attack them before they could rejoin the main body of rebels.”

“You allowed the only
fully functioning company to leave the compound?”

“Sir, with all
deference, I believe Captain Mykel was correct. The best strategy was to attack
before they could regroup and attack again. While the massed forces of the
rebels could not stand against the sky lances of your Myrmidons, we had no word
as to when you would be able to return. It seemed imprudent to assume that you
would return so soon. We could have been badly outnumbered in a second attack,
and we would not have been able to mount as successful a defense as we did the
first time.”

Dainyl nodded slowly.
“I would have done the same under the circumstances.” He smiled. “At the very
least, we may be able to use the pteridons to make the captain’s tasks much
easier.” Because he could sense Dohark’s combined sense of relief and
apprehension, he smiled. “We cannot begin that until tomorrow, and not with
full support until Novdi, but I have complete authority to use the Myrmidons in
any way necessary to put a stop to this rebel foolishness and to return the
mine to normal operations.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll talk in the
morning after muster, Overcaptain.” Dainyl stepped away from the desk, but let
the captain leave the study first.

As Dainyl walked to
the officer’s mess—where he was scarcely looking forward to dining on Cadmian
rations—he just hoped that he could end the revolt without too many
complications, including those posed by the potentially Talented and
enterprising Captain Mykel.

For Fifteenth
Company, following the trail of the withdrawing rebels had not been that
difficult, either on Septi or Octdi. They had made no effort to conceal their
tracks, and while, after the first few vingts, they had carried their dead with
them, they had left clear signs of their passage, from discarded garments,
bloody bandages, empty cartridge belts, and one mount that had broken its leg
and been shot on the side of the road.

Mykel and his men had
followed at a measured pace, not pressing, but not slacking. While they had ridden
through a few showers, those had been brief and light.

At twilight, they had
made an encampment on a grower’s lands south and east of Enstyla. Mykel had
simply ridden in with the company and taken over the outbuildings and the
stables. He also slaughtered enough of the livestock to feed his men. After all
that he had seen in Dramur and more than a week of stale field rations, Mykel
was feeling far less charitable. The family had remained in the main dwelling,
and had been left to themselves. The handful of retainers had vanished.

On Octdi morning,
they had ridden out, carrying some additional food. Only a thin high haze
remained of the previous day’s clouds, and by midmorning, Mykel was
uncomfortably warm. He had to remind himself that while it was early in spring,
he was in Dramur, not Elcien.

Less than a glass
before noon, Jasakyt came riding back down the road toward Mykel.

“Fifteenth Company!
Halt!” Mykel rode ahead to meet the scout. Bhoral followed his captain.

Jasakyt reined up a
yard away from Mykel. “Sir… there’s almost two companies up ahead. Don’t know
whether it’s a seltyr’s place or just a big grower’s. Not many sentries, just
by the main entrance. They’re sort of scattered. They look pretty beat.”

“How far?”

“No more ‘n vingt and
a half. Sort of sits on a long gentle ridge. Doesn’t hardly drop off at all,
but the highest point is between the big house and the casaran orchard.”

“Did they see you?”

“No, sir. Pretty sure
they didn’t. Dhozynt went around back, circled the woodlot, and an orchard.”

“What sort of
encampment?”

“Doesn’t look like
much. They just stopped and sat down, almost…”

Mykel continued to
ask questions until he saw another scout returning.

Within moments,
Dhozynt had joined them.

“You circled to the
back side?” asked Mykel.

“Yes, sir. They don’t
have any sentries there, not a one, and there’s a back cart path off the side
lane. We could ride the whole way without anyone seeing us—till we got to the
last part of the casaran trees, anyway.”

Mykel went over what
Dhozynt had seen as carefully as he could. Then he turned to Bhoral. “If you’d
have the squad leaders join us?”

“Yes, sir.”

While he waited for
the squad leaders to gather, Mykel strapped an extra cartridge belt across his
chest, considering how he wanted to attack the bluecoats, although there didn’t
seem to be a need for much strategy—just a quiet hidden approach, a wide field
of fire, and a restraint of any pursuit, until and unless it was clear that
Fifteenth Company had total control. He had the feeling that if matters went as
he planned, he wouldn’t care for the results. But if they didn’t, he’d like it
even less.

Gendsyr and Alendyr
were the first to rein up on the road next to Mykel, but only moments later
Bhoral and the other three joined them.

Mykel looked at the
squad leaders. “There are two companies up ahead. They don’t expect us. We’ll
be taking the back road to this estate where they’ve set up camp. There aren’t
any guards, and few sentries. We’ll ride in the last quarter vingt hard and set
up by squad into firing lines across the front of their encampment—at less than
twenty yards. I’ll set first squad on the north end, and you’ll take intervals
on us. We’ll shoot everything that moves. No pursuit unless and until I give
the order—or Bhoral does. Is that clear?”

Nods and muttered
replies of “Yes, sir” came back.

“Now… this isn’t
going to be easy on the men.” Mykel went on. “Some of the rebels will fight
hard. Others will have trouble fighting back. Some are killers, and some are
tired and discouraged. It doesn’t matter who your men are facing. They need to
shoot and shoot well. I don’t want this attack ruined by pity. Make it simple.
Tell your men these were the same rebels who gunned down almost all of
Seventeenth Company in an ambush. They’re the same people who poisoned Third
Battalion. If we don’t take out as many as we can now, they’ll do the same
things to us again in half a season or less. They still outnumber us overall,
and we’ve got to change that while we can. Tell them one other thing. The seltyrs
like to shoot prisoners who escape. They’d rather do that than fight an armed
foe.” He paused. “These aren’t the poor folk of Jyoha. These are the men who
will be trained as killers for the seltyrs if we don’t stop them now.” After
another pause, he added. “I’m counting on you to get the message to your men.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed to your
squads. We’ll ride once you pass the word.”

Once the squad
leaders had left, and the scouts had noved back forward to lead the way, Bhoral
looked at vlykel. “You think this will be a slaughter, sir?”

“Like I said, Bhoral,
there will be some who fight and some who will look at us as they’re shot down.
We have to kill either kind, because if we don’t, they’ll be trying to kill is
next week or the week after… and I’m getting frigging tired of losing men who
shouldn’t be here in the first place.” As he finished the last phrase, Mykel
wished he hadn’t gone quite so far.

“Yes, sir. You don’t
think the Myrmidons will be back soon, then?”

“I don’t know what to
think about that,” Mykel admitted. “I only know that these people don’t think
the same way anyone else I’ve ever met does. The only thing they respect are
either golds or force, preferably both.”

“Seems that way,
sir.”

Mykel could tell that
Bhoral had his doubts, but he didn’t care to discuss it further. The seltyrs,
as Rachyla had told him, believed it was their right to rule as they saw fit,
and that the alectors and their Myrmidons—even the Cadmians—would vanish. A
Cadmian captain couldn’t reason against that attitude, and Mykel wasn’t
particularly happy being in a position where the only practical solution was
greater firepower. He looked at the empty road ahead, then shook his head.

In less than a
quarter glass, Fifteenth Company was again moving northward, with orders to
ride silently. Within another quarter glass, Mykel had dropped the wagons
behind, close enough to be reached quickly, if necessary, with a four man
guard, two of whom had been stung by night-wasps the evening before.

Finally, Fifteenth
Company reached the back of the casaran orchards to the east of the bluecoat
encampment. Ahead, there was the slightest slope up through the orchards.

Mykel blinked. For a
moment, he thought he’d sensed something like a road beneath the dirt, a faint
black trail running along the barely perceptible high point of the gentle rise
that split the orchard. He looked again, but saw nothing.

“Now,” he ordered
quietly. “Forward.” He urged the chestnut into a fast trot down the lane
between the nut trees.

As he rode past the
last of the casaran trees and turned right, toward the north end of the
bluecoat encampment, Mykel took in the bluecoats he saw. Several had started to
run. Only one had a rifle immediately at hand, and he seemed frozen.

After a moment, a
single cry rang out. “Cadmians! Cadmians!”

Mykel and first squad
reined up in a firing line at the north end of the encampment, taking the
highest ground, even if it was but a yard or so higher than that to the east.

“First squad! Rifles
ready! Fire!”

Five or six of the
closest bluecoats were down within the first two volleys.

“Second squad! Fire!”

Bluecoats began to
scramble toward the sheds, toward any form of shelter.

Abruptly, two older
looking bluecoats appeared, and one took dead aim at the Cadmian captain. The
other turned as well.

Mykel had one shot
left. With all his thought, desire, everything, he willed the bullet home.

The first bluecoat
dropped, but the second brought his rifle to bear, taking his time, as if to
indicate that he might die, but that Mykel would as well.

All Mykel could do
was duck, urge the chestnut forward, and will that the bullets not strike him.
Time around him seemed to slow, and he could sense the bullets moving to-rard
him. Somehow, some way, he twisted his body out of lie line of fire as the chestnut
carried him forward.

Still in that slow
movement, he watched the bluecoat’s nouth open. For a moment, the man froze,
and then Mykel and the chestnut were upon him. Mykel knew that he could lot
have covered that distance so quickly, but he had. Without cartridges in the
magazine, he did the only thing that he could, reversing the rifle and slamming
the butt across the jluecoat’s temple. The man dropped. Mykel felt a sudden
smptiness, a feeling that he had come to recognize as death.

He wheeled the chestnut
back to the firing line, but the return seemed far slower. The area closest to
him was empty of able rebels. He reloaded quickly, then slipped the rifle into
its saddle case. “First squad! Sabres! On me!” He stood in the stirrups.
“Second squad! Hold!”

Very few of the
rebels had lifted rifles in the face of the attack. Even so, Mykel thought he
had lost some of his men, or that some had been wounded. He urged the chestnut
toward the handful of fleeing men. “First squad, forward!”

The next glass was a
confused mixture of pursuit, slashing sabres, moments of silence, intermittent
rifle shots… and slaughter.

Mykel finally led
first squad back to the villa, where they reformed.

Led by Bhoral, the
other squads rejoined them.

“Fifteenth Company
stands ready, sir.”

“Thank you. What were
our casualties?” Mykel asked the senior squad leader.

“One dead, three
wounded, not badly.”

It could have been
much worse, Mykel thought, glancing back toward the ruined tents, then toward
the apparently silent villa.

“What now, sir?”
asked Bhoral.

“We’ll take a half
score of the best mounts, and whatever good supplies will fit in the wagons.”
Mykel gestured to-ward the villa. “Burn it. Not the outbuildings or the
stables. Just the villa.”

“Sending a message to
the seltyrs, sir?”

“And to their
retainers and the others. I hope they’ll get it.” Mykel had his doubts, but it
was worth a try.

As Bhoral conveyed
his orders to four rankers in first squad, Mykel surveyed the devastation
around the villa. It had been a slaughter. Over a hundred bluecoats lay dead,
left where they had fallen, in the fields, in ditches, beside the stables, on
the dirt lanes of the estate.

Slowly, he took a rag
from his saddlebags and cleaned his sabre and sheathed it. Then he checked his
rifle, making sure that the magazine was full.

They hadn’t taken
prisoners. That bothered him, because the rebel troopers weren’t really to
blame, but he didn’t have any choices. If he let the troopers escape, he’d have
to fight them again later. Every prisoner taken meant Cadmians who had to guard
them and Fifteenth Company was already understrength and needed every man.
Finally, there was no reciprocity—the seltyrs didn’t take prisoners… and
wouldn’t, and they seemed to regard such mercy as weakness.

He took a deep
breath. There were other bluecoats left to find—and deal with as best he could.