Scepters (36 page)

“Majer
Alucius has been in the Hyalt area perhaps a week,” the Lord-Protector said
slowly. “He has destroyed four companies of rebel lancers with minimal losses,
except ammunition, and that is to be expected.”

“That
is what he reports,” acknowledged Alyniat. “He has sent two dispatches.”

“If
that is what he reports,” replied the Lord-Protector coolly, “then that is what
has happened. Unlike some officers’ reports, his I can trust. That presents
another question.”

The
two marshals waited.

“Exactly
how did this prophet Adarat manage to create two military camps and arm and
uniform more than four companies without the Southern Guard even noticing it
until the local garrison was overcome and killed?”

“If
we knew the answer to that, Lord-Protector,” replied Alyniat deferentially, “it
would not have happened.”

“However
it happened, I have lost. The question is only how much. If the majer can
destroy this prophet and his followers, I lose only my respect, the gratitude
of many subjects, and I will gain a reputation not as a just ruler, but one to
be feared. I do not think I need to spell out what I will lose if he fails.”

Neither
marshal spoke for a moment.

After
the silence had drawn out for a time, Frynkel finally replied, “In these times,
it is not entirely without benefit to be a ruler to be feared.”

“That
is true,” Talryn stated. “But is it to the credit of the Southern Guard that it
takes a herder majer from the north to accomplish even that?”

Another
silence filled the room.

“Get
him the ammunition, and send it on the way by noon, even if you have to strip
every arsenal and company in Tempre.” The Lord-Protector paused before asking, “How
fares the defense of Southgate?”

“The
latest reports say that the defenses are firm, and that Marshal Wyerl has
pushed the Matrites back north of Zalt. There have been no changes in the
positions of forces between Fola and Southgate. That is acceptable, under the
circumstances.” Alyniat glanced at Frynkel.

“The
last company from Borlan is between Krost and here, and will join the companies
released from Indyor. That will provide four more companies of lancers that
could be used against the Regent as necessary.”

“And
the training?”

“There
are lancers enough to fill four companies in training at Krost. They have just
begun, and we will lose a quarter of them in training. They will not be
prepared to fight until spring,” Frynkel replied. “We should have less trouble
at Krost, now.”

“For
which, again, you can thank the majer. Perhaps, if he succeeds in Hyalt, I
should make him a marshal.”

The
faintest hint of a wince crossed Alyniat’s face, and the subdued finger
drumming ceased.

“Oh…
don’t worry about that,” Talryn said wryly. “He’s too smart to accept it, and
if I offered it, I’d end up losing half my officers within a year. That, too,
is a sorry state of affairs.” He glanced at Alyniat, and added, “Especially
under the circumstances, Marshal Alyniat. I trust you two will continue to work
to remedy those circumstances.”

Alyniat’s
face stiffened slightly at the Lord-Protector’s use of the phrase “under the
circumstances.” Then, he replied, “Yes, sir.”

“That’s
all. One of you send me a messenger confirming that the ammunition is on the
way.”

“Yes,
sir.”

The
Lord-Protector rose.

So
did the marshals, bowing, then departing the study.

In
the glow of the oil lamp set in a bronze wall bracket, the five officers sat
around the single table in what passed for the officers’ mess in the Ceazan way
station. Four were from Alucius’s force. The fifth was Korow, the gray-bearded
undercaptain in charge of the station. His pale green eyes moved slowly from
officer to officer, but kept returning to the gray-haired and young-faced
Alucius.

Alucius
took a long swallow of water from the chipped crockery mug. “We’ll give the men
another two days to rest and check gear.” The men didn’t need the rest so much
as the mounts did, but both men and mounts could stand the time away from the
strangeness around Hyalt. He also would leave the more seriously wounded, such
as Elbard, to recover at the way station.

“You
haven’t said much, sir,” offered Jultyr. “Not about what’s happened in Hyalt.”

“That’s
true. I haven’t.” Alucius paused. “I’d like your thoughts first. Then, I’ll say
what I think.”

A
faint smile crossed Feran’s lips, and Alucius knew that was because Alucius had
never been known for being reticent among other officers.

No
one spoke for a time.

Then
Feran cleared his throat. “Something’s happening. It didn’t start when we rode
into Hyalt. It didn’t even start when we left Dekhron. There were pteridons
when we fought the nomads in Deforya. That was more than three years ago. The
Matrial started using the crystal spear-thrower before that. This revolt…
whatever it is… is part of it. These rebels don’t act like any lancers I ever
saw anywhere.” The overcaptain shrugged. “That’s all.”

After
another silence, Alucius looked to Jultyr.

“Don’t
know what to say, sir. Never seen anything like it. Couldn’t say where any of
them came from. They don’t look or act like any folk from Lanachrona, and I’ve
served in almost every post in the land.”

“Captain
Deotyr?” Alucius prompted.

The
dark-haired young officer moistened his lips.

Alucius
waited.

“Sir…
where are they getting all the lancers? We… well… the Lord-Protector has
trouble raising enough from all across Lanachrona, and we must have killed…
what… five companies’ worth, and they still have more…” Deotyr’s words trailed
off.

“That’s
a very good question,” Alucius replied. “I have an idea, but we won’t know
until we finish what we were sent to do.” He paused, then continued. “The
scouts have reported that Hyalt is half deserted, and we’ve seen that many of
the steads have been abandoned. We’ve captured mounts, though many aren’t that
good, and some have their coats worn from harnesses and collars. We don’t know
as much as I’d like, but it looks like this prophet Adarat has used some form
of Talent to persuade people to leave their homes and steads and serve him as
lancers, and perhaps in many other ways as well.

“Even
so, if that’s true,” Alucius continued, “whatever this is, it’s not a rebellion
or a revolt. Rebels don’t have standardized uniforms within weeks. They don’t
have lancers who can still ride with wounds that should have left them dead.
They don’t have Talent-wielders powerful enough to enchant scouts from a
distance.”

“You
think it’s an invasion?” asked Deotyr.

“I
don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a Talent-invasion, with the
Talent-wielder coming from somewhere else and getting some supplies from there,
but using the local men and boys as fodder.”

“Who
could be behind it?” pressed Deotyr.

“The
Regent?” asked Jultyr.

“It’s
possible,” said Alucius, even though he doubted that it could be the Regent.
From what he could tell, it had to be the ifrits, and he could only hint at
that.

“You
don’t think so, do you?” said Feran.

“I
don’t know what’s behind it. It could be the Regent of the Matrial, but I think
it’s something else. What that something is… that’s another question, but the
way we were attacked by Talent-creatures near Hyalt, then earlier north of
Krost, and all the feeling of Talent all around Hyalt…” Alucius shook his head.
“Don’t you think that if the Regent of the Matrial had that kind of power, our
lancers would be taking terrible losses in Madrien and getting pushed out of
Southgate?”

“Maybe
they are,” suggested Jultyr. “We wouldn’t know, would we?”

Alucius
let a rueful laugh escape. “You could be right. We wouldn’t know.”

“If
that happened, can’t have happened too long ago,” offered Korow. “We get the
dispatches here, two, three days after Tempre. Nothing in them. Can’t see why
they’d hide something like that. ‘Sides, if they did, still be something about
lancer companies being formed or moved.” The older undercaptain stopped and
pulled at his chin. “Come to think of it, one of the dispatch riders said they’ve
got more companies in training at Krost, and something about the companies
being moved out of Indyor and being sent west.”

Alucius
put the most faith in the dispatch riders. If anyone outside of the marshals
and the Lord-Protector would know, the dispatch riders would.

“If
it’s the Regent, then we’re on our own, Majer, aren’t we?” asked Jultyr.

“We
knew that already,” Alucius said wryly.

“But
where did the Regent get all this Talent?” asked Deotyr, the tone in his voice
one between exasperation and annoyance.

Alucius
shrugged. “We don’t know what caused the Cataclysm or the fall of the Duarchy.
We don’t even know how the Duarchy came to be. All we know is that something
strange is happening that doesn’t seem to have happened before, and it’s been
happening all over Corus. The prophet could be a wild Talent-wielder who’s
convinced everyone from merchants to local holders that the Duarchy will come
again and gotten them to provide uniforms and supplies. Proclaiming that the
True Duarchy will come doesn’t mean that it will, no matter how many in Hyalt
believe it. Under those conditions, the Regent of the Matrial would be happy to
supply weapons to keep the Lord-Protector and Lanachrona occupied elsewhere.
Even the Dramurians might do that. We can’t deal with the Matrial or the
Dramurians or whoever. Our job is to stop whatever’s happening in Hyalt.”

“What
do you have in mind, sir?” asked Feran.

“Make
a strike at the camp we hit with the fires, first. That’s likely to be the
headquarters camp from what we’ve learned so far. Then strike the other camp.
If we destroy this so-called prophet’s forces, we’ll find it easier to strike
at him—if he’s even alive after we finish.” Alucius cleared his throat and took
another swallow of water. “I thought the men could use a break before we made
that kind of strike. We should be getting supplies tomorrow, but, if we don’t
get any more supplies, we’ll take whatever extra ammunition Korow can spare and
head off the morning after tomorrow.”

“You
don’t want to wait, then?” asked Deotyr.

“Not
too much longer than we have,” Alucius admitted. “I’d thought we could find out
more than we have. We didn’t. Sometimes, you just can’t get any more
information. When that happens, you have to act, because you won’t get any more
until they’re attacking you, and you’re better off acting instead of reacting.”

“Still
think it’s strange,” mused Deotyr.

“It
is strange. It may well get stranger if we don’t put a stop to it,” Alucius
pointed out. He didn’t point out that they were also better off dealing with
the prophet before the Regent of the Matrial became even more involved—if she
were involved in the first place. If the prophet happened to be an ifrit, early
action was also better. He just hoped the ammunition arrived—and before long.

North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

As
she reined up the chestnut outside the stable in the late afternoon of a cold
harvest day, Wendra swung out of the saddle gracefully, despite her growing
midsection.

“You
won’t be able to keep that up for much longer,” offered Lucenda, walking over
from the processing shed.

“I’m
good for another month, maybe two,” insisted Wendra, leading the chestnut mare
inside the stable and into the second stall. “The baby’s fine, and you know
that the longer I can ride, the easier the delivery.” She grinned. “That’s what
you told me.”

“I
didn’t mean spending the entire day in the saddle. I wasn’t talking about
riding herd on the flock.” Lucenda looked over the end of the stall at the
younger woman. “You look tired. You shouldn’t be taking the flock so often.”

“I’m
only taking them every other day,” Wendra said. “It’s not that. There were more
of those… creatures… those pteridons. They appeared maybe two glasses ago, on
the way back.”

“Did
they—”

“I
shot both of them. They didn’t get any of the flock. One came close to a lamb,
but I dropped it onto a quarasote bush. They both went up in that blue flame.”
Wendra racked the saddle and then shook her head. “I never thought I’d see
anything that could burn quarasote.”

“I
don’t like your being out there, not with those… creatures.”

Wendra
looked at the older woman, then lowered her voice. “You know Royalt can’t do
anything about the pteridons or the black Sanders. Besides, they don’t show up
that often.”

“That’s
the third time since summer.”

“Fourth,”
Wendra admitted. “But there were only two, and now that I’m carrying two
rifles, it’s easier.”

“You’re
getting those golds from the Lord-Protector. We could afford to lose one or two
ewes, and it wouldn’t be so bad now.”

“They’re
helpful, but not enough to replace more than a ram, if we could,” Wendra
pointed out. “I’d rather save the golds for later, when we really need them.”

Lucenda
offered a wan smile. “You’re a herder—just like your grand-sire. And Alucius.”

“I’m
a herder, and I won’t give it up. You and Alucius gave that to me, and the
flock will be here, and so will the stead, when he comes back.” She paused. “I
know he’s all right, but I wish we’d hear more. It’s been two weeks since his
last letter. He said it would be hard to send them after he left Krost, but I
worry.”

“Knowing
Alucius, he worries about you.”

“He
doesn’t need to. He’s the one who’s in danger.” Wendra continued to curry the
chestnut. “Rebels will be shooting at him.”