Scepters (41 page)

Several
lancers turned and watched.

“…
see why… say he’s tough… hurt… no one else’d be alive. A day and he’s walkin’…”

“…
not real steady…”

“…
you’d be flat… mountain fell on him, and he’s walking… You try that.”

“…
survived… so?”

“…
he
went in there… hundred and fifty lancers in
there, and their prophet… don’t know how he did it, but he killed ‘em all… How
many commanders you know do that? They’d send us and get us all killed…”

That might be
, reflected Alucius,
but
I’m beginning to understand what Frynkel said about leading from the front
.
How many more times could he do it and survive?

He
settled onto the bench, his back against the plank wall, and waited. He just
hoped he didn’t have to wait all that long, and that his forces would return
without too many casualties.

His
thoughts drifted back to Adarat, the prophet. The man hadn’t been like any
human Talent-wielder Alucius had encountered and hadn’t seemed to know what he
was doing, but he was stronger than any of the Matrial’s Talent-officers. Yet
he’d been totally unaware of the vulnerability of his lifethread—and that hadn’t
been like any of the ifrits. What exactly had created Adarat? The thought that
the ifrits could create—or change—someone into an Adarat—that worried Alucius.

Even
with the wristguard’s warm pulse that told him Wendra was healthy, he couldn’t
help worrying about Wendra and Alendra, and whether he could finish with the
rebellion and return to Iron Stem before Alendra was born.

For
all the worries, he must have dozed off for a time, because he awakened to the
sound of hoofs on the hard dirt. He had to hope that the riders were his force,
because he was in no shape to lift or use a rifle, and there wasn’t one handy
for him to use even if he had been able to shoot.

Feran
rode in at the head of Fifth Company, his eyes scanning the handful of wounded
lancers who were watching. His eyes took in Alucius, and he rode over toward
the majer. “As soon as I get them settled, I’ll be back. We didn’t take any
casualties, but there’s a lot of work ahead.”

“When
you have time,” Alucius replied. As the lancers rode by, he watched. A number
looked at him, and several, including Bakka and Waris, nodded.

Almost
half a glass passed before Feran reappeared, walking quickly from the direction
of the stables. He stopped several yards short of Alucius and surveyed his
commander.

“You
shouldn’t be up,” Feran observed. “I’ve seen corpses left in the sun for a week
looking better. Sir and Majer.”

“It
wasn’t doing me any good to lie on that pallet and fret. What happened?”

“Not
much. They had a few sentries, but they just stood there. We killed maybe fifty
rebels before we realized that they weren’t fighting and before I could order a
stop to the shooting. That was the problem. Half of their lancers… they’d
follow a direct order… but otherwise… they’d just stand there.” Feran shook his
head. “Maybe fifty… quarter of those left, they’d already killed themselves
when we got there. Some just died, not a mark on ‘em.”

Alucius
thought he understood the reason for Feran’s delay in returning. “What did you
do?”

“What
could I do? No point in shooting them. Sent Thirty-fifth Company into Hyalt.
Had Jultyr be real cautious. He didn’t need to be. The place is a mess. Mostly
woman and girls, small boys. They all look hungry. We put the rebel lancers who
were left into saddles and rode ‘em into town. Turned them over to the women,
and told the women that they were in charge. A couple seemed to understand.”

“We’ll
have to help them get better organized,” Alucius said.

“I
figured that.” Feran shook his head. “Town’ll never be the same. Not for years.”

“Maybe.
The women did all right in Madrien. We’ll just have to see if we can get them
started. Make sure that they tear down those roadblocks, and maybe do some
beginning training for a patrol of some sort to keep order.”

“Who’s
going to be a problem?” asked Feran.

“Outsiders,”
Alucius said. “We’ll also have to make sure our own men don’t take advantage of
them… the women.”

Feran
lifted his eyebrows. “After this?”

“After
this,” Alucius said, “if our men abuse the women, the Lord-Protector will be in
the position of not only having ordered us to butcher the men, but to abuse and
rape the women. Do any of your men want to be called the rapists of the north?
How long do you think we’d last in the south of Lanachrona with that kind of
reputation? And even if we could ride back to the Iron Valleys because all the
Southern Guards are tied up with the Regent… do you want to risk it? What will
happen to that stipend you’ve been struggling for?”

“I’m
not sure… one or two…” Feran offered.

“One
or two we can survive, if there aren’t any more. Make it really simple. First,
it’s wrong. Rebels or not, they’re our people. Second, we killed all the guilty
ones. Hurting the women is just punishing them again for what their husbands
and sons did, and they’re going to suffer enough for years. Third… if I discover
another man who does anything from this moment on, I’ll kill him personally,
weak as I am. And if any officer doesn’t enforce this, I’ll send him back to
the Lord-Protector with a recommendation for discharge or worse.”

“That
won’t help the Lord-Protector all that much,” Feran pointed out.

“Probably
not,” Alucius replied. “But I’d like to keep our lancers as lancers, not
barbarians. My orders are more for their good than for the poor bastards left
in Hyalt.”

“You
don’t think we’re done after we finish here?”

“No.
Even if we head straight back to the Iron Valleys, we’ll still have to deal
with the Regent there. And they’ll put the Southern Guard companies right into
the battle order in the southwest. They might get a week’s rest. If they’re
lucky.”

“I
can see you’re as cheerful as ever.” Feran laughed harshly. “I suppose that’s a
good sign.”

“Tomorrow,
we’ll move into Hyalt and see what we can do.”

“Tomorrow,
sir, we’ll move into Hyalt, and you’ll just give the orders and watch.” Feran
smiled. “You don’t have to do everything personally.”

Not
everything, Alucius thought, but more than he’d ever wished.

Alustre, Lustrea

Waleryn
stood above the corner workbench that all had ignored until he had arrived at
the Praetor’s palace. After checking the hidden metal mirror that acted as a
Table-viewer—if but for short periods of time—he opened the book that had been
concealed in the chamber beneath the mirror.

He
looked at the first page quickly, nodding to himself, as well as at the second
and third. He continued flicking through the pages until he reached one near
the end. A smile crossed his lips as he viewed Vestor’s notes.

“Good.”

After
closing the book and replacing it in the small chamber, he straightened and
stepped from the smaller workbench to the crystal tanks, all in use. His eyes
closed for a moment, and the air took on a purplish tint, just for an instant.
Then Waleryn walked to the far side of the second tank and, from another
recess, extracted a device resembling an antique gunpowder pistol.

The
design was far more ancient, with the barrel a crystal discharge formulator and
the butt holding the crystal light-charges. Waleryn removed one of the butt
plates and slipped two small amber crystals into the receivers, then replaced
the plate and set the weapon in the belt holster on his right side.

One
by one, he checked the crystal tanks, nodding as he finished with each.

Then
he walked to the far end of the workshop, where a tripod held an oblong device.
The shorter and wider end held a pair of padded grips. Above and between the
grips was a flat metallic mirror, not quite the size of a man’s palm. The
longer section ended in a circle of pale orange crystals, each crystal
extending the length of a finger from the shimmering silvered metal.

“What
is that?” Tyren stood five yards away, well to the side of where the five
crystals pointed. The Praetor was flanked by four guards, each with a gladius
in a scabbard on his left and a double-barreled pistol in a holster on his
right.

“You
needn’t worry, Praetor,” Waleryn replied cheerfully. “This is not a weapon.”

“Then
why did you construct it?” Tyren frowned. “Your efforts are not without
significant cost.”

“To
find an ancient weapon of even greater power. It is designed to send forth…
vibrations would be the best word. The vibrations will echo from the ancient
weapon and return. They will provide an image in the mirror that will enable me
to locate exactly where the weapon might be.”

“What
ancient weapon do you seek that is so much more powerful than those you and
your predecessor have already created?” Curiosity had crept into the Praetor’s
voice.

“You
might have heard of the Scepters of the Day. Some called them the Scepters of
the Duarches. There were two, and one is hidden somewhere in Lustrea. Or so it
is said.”

“Isn’t
that just a legend?”

“Some
would claim that everything your engineer created and everything I am
constructing are only legends. Are they? Or would you rather dismiss the
crystal light lances as legend and ride into battle trusting in lances and
uncertain rifles?”

“Your
point is made, Lord Waleryn.” Tyren’s voice was dry. “Just how powerful is this
scepter? And how much more will it cost me for you to find it?”

“It
will cost you nothing more. As I have time, and as I travel, I will use the device.
It will take little time. The scepter was powerful enough that it was the tool
that created the Tables and made the Duarchy possible. Do you not think that a
few golds and a little time are worth seeking it? That search will not slow the
production of more and better weapons.”

“So
long as it does not.”

“Have
you decided whether I might go to Prosp and see if the Table there still
functions?”

Tyren
slowly nodded. “You will go with a detachment of Praetorian Guards, and you
will keep me closely informed of your progress.”

Waleryn
bowed. “It would be my pleasure, and in my interest, and yours.”

“That
it would be.” Tyren nodded brusquely, then turned.

Waleryn
waited until the Praetor had departed before he turned his violet-purple eyes
back to the locator.

Even
by Octdi, Alucius could barely walk, let alone ride. His entire body was sore
and bruised, and already turning purplish green in far too many places. He was
going to have another scar, this one angled across his forehead. He had no
recollection of how he had gotten that, especially since he had been wearing
the skull mask, now tucked safely inside his tunic once more.

He
and the officers had taken over a dwelling a block off the main square in
Hyalt, not the largest available, but sizable, and apparently vacant, as were
many in the town, and less than a hundred yards from the inn and stables where
Alucius had put Fifth Company. The two Southern Guard companies were at work
making the camp just northeast of Hyalt habitable, since the old Southern Guard
garrison was far too small and was in even worse condition. For the sake of the
Lord-Protector, Alucius had thought that the less the people of Hyalt saw of
the Southern Guard, the better. He had also dispatched a messenger to Tempre
outlining the results of the campaign thus far, noted his quartering
arrangements, and indicated that it might be as much as several weeks before
they could leave Hyalt and return to Tempre.

With
all that done, late on that Octdi morning Alucius still had to work not to
grimace as he mounted the gelding under a gray sky that threatened rain. After
mounting, he eased the gray in the direction of the main square. Beside him
rode Waris, and behind them were four other lancers. Feran had suggested a half
squad, at least, but Alucius had decided that five lancers were more than
enough, either for a show of strength or for any protection he might need in
his present condition.

From
the three-story dwelling that had belonged to a merchant of some sort, Alucius
and his lancers rode northward as he began to inspect Hyalt. No matter how
accurate Feran’s, Rakalt’s, and Waris’s reports might be, their words did not
convey the “‘feel” of Hyalt.

All
the streets entering the main square were paved, but the north-south main
boulevard, as a part of the ancient high road, was of eternastone, and Alucius
had decided to begin with the square, then spiral outward, to take in as much
as he could.

The
central square was a stone-paved expanse a hundred yards on a side. In the
center was a stone platform, raised a yard above the surrounding pavement,
without walls or railings. The stone looked to be a gold-tinged marble whose
edges had softened over the years. Both the center of the square and the
platform itself were vacant. Not a single horse was tied to the hitching rails
and posts in front of the buildings fronting the square. Alucius slowed the
gray and studied each structure as he passed. The goldsmith’s shop was boarded
shut, as was the adjoining coppersmith’s shop. The cotton factor’s door was
ajar, and Alucius thought he heard voices, but one set of shutters had been
ripped away and lay on the narrow porch beside the door. Past the empty alley
was a fuller’s shop, but that door was closed. Next came a cooperage, and that
door was open, and Alucius could smell the charcoal of a forge.

“Most
of the crafters and all of the merchants left,” Waris said.

Alucius
nodded. That agreed with what he thought—that Adarat had not been an ifrit, or
one of a weaker sort. It also suggested that there could not be too many ifrits
in Corus, not if what Adarat had done represented the work of one being who was
less than an ifrit. Alucius still did not understand what the ifrits had hoped
to accomplish in Hyalt, and he had the feeling that riding around Hyalt would
not add much to his understanding of the secretive and illusive ifrits, but it
would offer him insights on what needed to be done for the people.