Scepters (18 page)

Egyl
reined up. “Sir, Majer… we lost four men in fifth squad at the rear, and two
others in second squad. Ten men with burns, but it looks like they’ll be all
right.”

“Mounts?”
asked Feran. “Supply wagons?”

“They
didn’t go after the wagons, and anytime they got one of our men, they got the
mount, too.”

“Do
what you can, and let me know when we’re ready to ride on,” Feran said.

“Won’t
be long, sir. There’s… well… not much left if one of those things got a man.
Just a greasy black patch.”

Alucius
looked forward again, southward along the road. Eighth Company appeared to have
halted about a vingt south of Fifth Company and was regrouping. As he watched,
he could see a rider moving away from the rear of the Southern Guard column and
northward toward Fifth Company.

“I
think I’ll ride forward and see the marshal,” Alucius told Feran. “Once you’ve
got things settled, have Fifth Company rejoin Eighth.”

“Yes,
sir.” Feran offered a ragged grin. “Better you than me meeting with the
marshal, sir.”

“Thank
you,” Alucius replied dryly, easing the gelding forward.

As
Alucius rode southward, he ate some travel bread, and that helped with the
dizziness. He also counted more than twenty charred patches on the stones and
the roadside, but, as had been the case with the night-sheep killed by the
Talent-pteridons, the corpses had vanished or burned away.

Some
of the Southern Guards glanced at him as he rode past them toward the front of
the column, but they were silent, almost as if stunned.

“Marshal,
sir,” Alucius said, reining up two yards short of the senior officer.

“Majer.”
Frynkel nodded, paused for a moment, before asking, “What were your losses?”

“Six
men dead, ten burned, but not badly.”

“Eighth
Company lost almost thirty, most in the last two squads.” The marshal’s eyes
fixed on Alucius. “You didn’t have your men charge those creatures. Why not?”

“We’d
already found that didn’t work. On the way back from Deforya. It was in my
report, sir. If they touch a lancer, he usually bursts into flame. It’s not a
good idea to get too close. They’re also faster than a mount. Massed fire works
better.” Alucius waited.

“I
thought it might be something like that.” Frynkel tightened his lips. “Have
your force rejoin us. I’ll debrief you tonight at the way station at Ghetyr.”

“Yes,
sir.” Alucius turned the gray back northward and rode on the eastern edge of the
stone pavement, past Eighth Company and toward Fifth. He was not looking
forward to discussing the attack with the marshal. Not at all. And he still
worried about Wendra, and why there had been a flash just before the
Talent-creatures had appeared around him.

North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

Wendra
reined up at the top of a low rise. The hazy clouds overhead cut off most of
the heat from the afternoon sun, but since there was no wind, she had left her
herder’s jacket open. To the west, still almost fifteen vingts away, was the
base of the Aerial Plateau. The top of the Plateau was lost in hazy clouds.

Cloudy
weather, especially stormy weather, often encouraged greater sandwolf stalking
of the nightsheep, but usually light clouds did not. Still, Wendra continued to
study the gradual slope below her, and especially the wash farther to the
southeast.

Most
of the flock was but fifty yards downslope from where she viewed the
nightsheep. Somewhat farther to the north were three young nightrams that sparred
with each other, not for dominance, but for practice for the time when they
would fight in earnest, unless stopped by Wendra or Royalt. After making sure
that the sparring was only that, Wendra turned and studied the slope to her
right where a handful of older ewes grazed and moved slowly toward the main
body of the flock.

From
nowhere, a shivering line of reddish purple flared to her left. She had not
seen it, but sensed it and turned in the saddle, drawing her rifle out of its
holder as she did. Almost as quickly, as she eased her mount around, she
infused the cartridges in the magazine and chamber with darkness.

Four
dark forms swarmed over the ridge to the north of her, moving swiftly on a line
between the three young nightrams and Wendra. As if sensing the purple-dark
sanders, shadowed in unseen blue and without lifethreads, the three nightrams
turned and formed a vee facing the oncoming danger.

Carefully,
Wendra squeezed off her first shot, aimed at the lead sander. Her aim was true,
and she targeted the second. But the first flared into a pillar of fire, and
the force of that flare of blue flames pushed the second sideways. Then the
remaining three turned southward and began to sprint toward Wendra.

She
squeezed off a third shot and then a fourth, and the second sander fell. With
her fifth shot so did the third.

But
the last Talent-sander was less than twenty yards from Wendra, and she doubted
that she could reload in time.

Desperately,
she threw out a line of Talent-fire. The sander reeled back, but remained
upright. She tried a second probe, but the sander struggled forward.

Did
she need bullets for lifeforce darkness?

With
the Talent-sander less than ten yards from her, Wendra formed another
Talent-probe, this one tipped with as much darkness as she could gather, and
thrust it as hard as she could at the oncoming creature. As she did, she knew
that what she tried
had
to work… or she would turn
into a mass of blue flames.

Less
than a yard from her, the dark sander halted, as if stopped by a wall, shuddered,
and then seemed to shrivel.

Wendra
urged the chestnut sideways and back away from the slowly toppling and
shrinking form that abruptly burst into flame. Warmth cascaded across her left
side, warmth that faded as she and her mount moved away from the Talent-fire.

Wendra
reined up, studying the slope. She was shivering and breathing heavily, but
there were no sandwolves and none of the dark sanders remaining, only four
trails of thin black smoke rising in the still air from four patches of oily
black residue on the sandy red soil.

Belatedly,
and silently berating herself for being so slow, Wendra reloaded the rifle.

As
she slipped the last cartridge into the magazine, another single sharp purple
feeling jabbed at her from somewhere, and was gone.

Wendra
glanced around quickly, but the hazy clouds above the stead remained unchanged.
The three younger nightrams had eased back to the main flock, and the ewes had
closed up, with the rams forming a loose perimeter around the flock. But, so
far as she could see or Talent-sense, there were neither sanders, nor soarers,
nor sandwolves. Nor were there any more of the strange Talent-creatures.

She
continued to watch and sense, but nothing happened, and the nightsheep began to
graze once more, if cautiously. So why had she felt the stab of purpled
emptiness
after
she had killed the dark sanders that
had not felt like sanders?

After
a moment, she eased off the glove on her left hand and studied the black
crystal of the herder’s ring. She sensed nothing, but she knew she had felt
something
. Or had Alucius felt something?

The
crystal was warm, and there was no sense of danger or pain, as had been the
case when he had been injured. She replaced her glove and studied the flock.

Alucius
was all right. Of that she was confident. But she still worried, both about him
and about the dark sanders—and why they had come after her. Because they were
replacing the older, more greenish sanders? Or because she had become more
adept with Talent? Or both?

Before
even thinking about seeking out the marshal for debriefing, Alucius made sure
that Fifth Company was settled into the way station at Ghetyr—two buildings
within a stockade with a well and watering troughs. The lancers’ barracks
consisted of little more than a long shed with straw mattresses on plank
platforms. At the west end of the barracks were the officers’ quarters—six
cubicles without doors. Each officer’s cubicle had a bunk platform with a straw
mattress, a stool, and two planks attached to the wall and supported by timbers
to serve as a writing desk. The other building was the long stable, with a roof
that had seen far better days and probably leaked.

After
having groomed the gray and left his gear in one cubicle, Alucius went to find
Marshal Frynkel. The marshal was not in the barracks building or in the stable.
Alucius found both the marshal and Captain Geragt standing in the last light of
a setting sun in the northeast corner of the stockade, well away from anyone
else. Alucius stopped a good five yards away.

“Majer,
come and join us,” Frynkel called.

“I
didn’t wish to intrude, sir.”

“You
aren’t. We were talking about those… creatures.”

“Wild
sandoxes. Or Talent-infused sandoxes,” Alucius said as he joined the other two.

“You
think so?”

“They’re
close to the ancient illustrations, except for the horns,” Alucius said. “They’re
bigger, too, I think.”

“You’d
run across both types of creatures before?”

“No,
sir. We were attacked by wild pteridons and wild sandoxes on the return from
Deforya. Until today, I’d never seen those giant black cats.”

“They
look familiar… somehow,” mused Frynkel.

“They
look like a dustcat might, if it were larger and black, with longer claws.”

“Thank
you. I knew I’d seen a drawing or something like them.” Frynkel nodded, as if
relieved to recall the similarity. “Why do you think the creatures are
supported by Talent or magic or whatever?”

“Well…”
Alucius paused for a moment before continuing. “Because they have a feel that’s
similar, but not the same, to soarers and sanders—and to the pteridons that
Aellyan Edyss had. And they react the same way as the pteridons did when they
were killed—exploding in those blue flames.” He tilted his head. “It could be
something else. I don’t know for certain, but that’s what they seem to be.”

“I
must admit… when I read your report several years ago… I had some doubts about
your encounter on the return from Dereka.” Frynkel laughed harshly. “I would
rather have not had to confirm personally that such creatures do exist.”

Geragt
offered an affirming nod.

Frynkel
looked at the Southern Guard captain. “If you wouldn’t mind inquiring about
whether the cooks are going to fix something, or whether we’re on field
rations…?”

“Yes,
sir. I’ll see what I can find out.” With a smile of relief, Geragt nodded,
turned, and departed.

Geragt’s
sense of relief confirmed for Alucius his feeling that Frynkel had not been
totally pleased with Geragt about something, probably his handling of the
Talent-creatures.

Frynkel
waited until the other officer was well away before speaking again. “Majer, as
I mentioned earlier, I noticed that you and your men were ready for those
creatures. I also noted that the shots from Eighth Company seemed to have
little effect.”

“Yes,
sir. Part of that was because I’m a herder. We learn to listen to our feelings.
I felt something was going to happen. I couldn’t have said what. So I called a
drill for a formation I’d found useful on the Deforyan campaign. That was to
bring forward the best marksmen so that they would be in position. I’d have to
say that the reason our shots had more effect was that we use larger shells.
They don’t carry as far as those used by the Southern Guard, but we found them
to be more effective against the pteridons at Dereka.”

Frynkel
chuckled. “Why is it that everything you say makes perfect sense, and that I’m
certain that I’m still not getting the full story?”

“Because
you’re not,” Alucius admitted. “I can’t explain to you why I feel what I do.”
That was absolutely true, but not in the way that Alucius hoped Frynkel would
take it. “I don’t think any herder could explain why we feel what we do. We’ve
survived because of what we can sense and feel. That’s one reason why the
Northern Guard has used those off of herder steads as scouts for generations.
But it’s not a skill that necessarily works well as part of a larger
organization. Can you imagine my trying to explain to you that I
have feelings
that you should heed? In the middle of a
battle?”

This
time, the marshal laughed more loudly. “I see your point. I also see why the Lord-Protector
wanted you in charge of a force. You need the freedom to follow those feelings,
and he needs the ability not to be directly responsible.” He paused. “How did
you manage with Majer Draspyr?”

For
a moment, Alucius was lost, not following the marshal’s question, before he
caught the connection between it and the majer who had led the combined
expedition into Deforya years earlier. “I acted, then explained. Majer Draspyr
needed results, sir.”

“I
suppose that’s why—” Frynkel broke off his sentence. “Never mind that. Can you
explain why those creatures appeared in the middle of Lanachrona and attacked
us?”

“Explain?
No, sir. I suppose it’s possible that the priests or whoever is behind the
rebels of the True Duarchy found a way to call up these creatures and send them
against their enemies. How they would know where we are or how to send them
against us I have no idea.” Alucius thought the idea was possible, but he
doubted that was the reason, or the sole reason, behind the appearance of the
Talent-creatures. Yet he also didn’t see why the ifrits would send such
Talent-creatures against Alucius himself when he was leading a force large
enough to destroy the beasts.

“Neither
do I, but that makes more sense than anything else. I don’t like it, and the Lord-Protector
will like it even less.”