Scepters (44 page)

“What?
He’s not in Southgate, is he?”

“No…
but the Regent of the Matrial is pressing toward the city, and Marshal Wyerl
has been killed. Alyniat has taken over command there, and Frynkel is now
Arms-Commander of Lanachrona.”

“Smells
worse than a putrefying sow’s belly…” muttered Feran. “Do we have any choices?”

“It’s
only
a request.” Alucius snorted. “Yes, we could
choose to ignore it or decline it. Then what?”

“We’d
stay alive,” Feran suggested. “We wouldn’t get chopped up in a war between a
desperate ruler and a crazy woman.”

“What
about the two Southern Guard Companies? They’d get sent there right away and
get chopped up. And where would that stipend of yours go when they discharged
you on the spot when we got back to Dekhron?”

“You
could refuse… you don’t need a stipend,” Feran pointed out.

“I
could, and the Lord-Protector could pull every company of Northern Guards south
to save Southgate or even Tempre, if it comes to that. It might, because the
Regent has two of those spear-throwers and is using them both in the south.
Then, within seasons, if not weeks, I’d have neither family nor stead, either
because we’d be overrun or we’d have no one to sell nightsilk to.”

“Majer…”
Feran’s voice carried a trace of resignation with the irony. “You’re always
pointing out these small unpleasantnesses. You won’t even let me entertain a
brief dream that someone might keep their word or reward us for a job well
done.”

“Desperate
rulers don’t reward anyone.”

“I
know.” Feran shook his head. “We’ll ride out on Decdi.”

“Londi.
According to this, we get two full days to complete our work, and if we’re
headed west, we need every moment to make sure we’re ready.” Alucius also
needed to write a final report on Hyalt—and he wanted to make sure that the
Lord-Protector knew about the merchants with the silver wheel emblem who had
skimmed off golds from the prophet’s coffers.

Feran
nodded slowly.

Alucius
had no idea what it took to get ready to fight something like a crystal
spear-thrower. He certainly hadn’t been that successful the first time. But
then, he hadn’t known much about Talent.

Would
what he had learned help? He had no doubt that he’d find out. His lips
tightened, and he had to take a deep breath in order to try to relax some. The
tension didn’t help his still-sore muscles.

Londi
morning was cool, almost chilly, with a misty drizzle drifting in from the
northwest off the distant Coast Range. Four Fifth Company lancers waited in
front of the quarters as Alucius strapped his gear behind the gray’s saddle and
then mounted, easing his mount beside Feran. Then the two rode toward the main
square, where Fifth Company was already forming up.

Alucius,
as a matter of habit, used his Talent to scan the area, but even with the
reduced population of Hyalt, there were far too many bodies for his skills to
sort out any who might be dangerous. All he could determine was that there were
no ordered groups anywhere around the square—except for Fifth Company.

“I’d
be a lot happier to leave here if we were headed north of the Vedra, north and
east especially,” Feran said quietly.

“So
would we all. Life isn’t always that accommodating.”

“You
mean rulers aren’t,” Feran suggested.

Alucius
offered a wry smile and a nod.

The
two officers reined up on the north end of the square, waiting for the last of
the squad leaders to report to Egyl.

“Fourth
squad, present and accounted for.”

“Fifth
squad, present and accounted for.”

Egyl
turned and rode the few yards to Feran, reining up and reporting, “Fifth
Company, present and accounted for, sir. Ready to ride.”

“Thank
you,” Feran said, turning to Alucius. “Ready to ride, Majer.”

“Let’s
go.”

“Fifth
Company! By squads! Forward!”

Fifth
Company rode at a comfortable walk out of the square on the ancient eternastone
pavement that was the high road north toward Tempre. Six days ahead lay the
intersection with the southwest high road to Zalt—and Southgate beyond.

A
block out of the square, on the left side of the wide street that was also the
high road, stood the three members of the temporary council, watching as the
lancers passed. Not a one spoke or gestured as Fifth Company passed.

“Not
terribly friendly,” Feran observed.

“I
don’t know as I would be, were I in their boots,” observed Alucius. “We killed
hundreds of their husbands and sons and brothers. To them, it doesn’t matter
that we didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Suppose
they didn’t, either.” Feran shook his head. “Talent’s a bad thing all around.
Seems like you and the other herders are the only ones ever used it right.
Everyone else is using it to kill or conquer or enslave someone else. What’s
the difference with herders?”

Before
answering, Alucius surveyed the dwellings and shops on both sides of the
avenue. More than half still appeared deserted, but even those that seemed to
hold inhabitants were run-down, with stucco chipped away, and dingy walls whose
whitewash had long since turned to yellowed white or pinkish white. The
dilapidation had clearly existed for years before the prophet had taken hold of
Hyalt.

Had
the decline of Hyalt, and the poverty that had crept in, made the prophet’s
efforts that much easier? Or had he been there all along, undermining the town’s
prosperity? Or had the latest prophet been the one? When they were all called
Adarat, how could he tell? Alucius hadn’t been able to get a straight answer
from anyone, and doubted that he ever would. Or that anyone would.

“I
don’t know as herders are any different from other folks in how they feel,”
Alucius said slowly. “Except in one thing. They love the land and being one
with it. The land is more important than they are. It’s bigger than they are.
Maybe that makes a difference, believing in something bigger than golds, or a
dwelling, or power over people.”

“You
think that’s true of
all
herders?”

“No,”
Alucius admitted. “Only those that survive as herders.”

“You’ve
never wanted to be a lancer, have you?”

“Only
because I wanted to keep the stead.”

“That’s
the hold they have over you—the land, isn’t it?”

“For
a herder, that’s a powerful hold,” Alucius pointed out. The image of the Aerial
Plateau rising in the east, over the endless vingts of sand and quarasote,
appeared in his mind, and he wished he were there with Wendra, with the flock,
and with his family. He took a slow, deep breath. If he did not succeed in the
weeks ahead, he would not ever have that opportunity.

“If
all rulers were herders, then, maybe we wouldn’t have all this fighting.” Feran’s
words were light, but not quite humorous.

“Who
knows?” Alucius countered. “It won’t ever happen.”

“Probably
not,” Feran agreed.

Alucius
did not reply. As he rode northward through the light drizzle toward the camp
where they would pick up the Southern Guard companies, Alucius could not help
but think about Hyalt and what had happened there. One man, had appeared,
something other than a man but less than the ifrits he had seen, and he had
turned a functioning town, not the most prosperous, but not the poorest or
meanest, either, into a collection of followers without wills. Was that what
the temptation of Talent in its strongest manifestations led to?

The
drizzle and the mist had lasted for two days, then dissipated during the
morning after the three companies had left the manned way station at Ceazan,
along with Elbard and some of the wounded likely to recover over the ride to
Southgate. Alucius had also sent off his final report on Hyalt from there,
along with an apologetic letter to Wendra, explaining only that he had been
ordered to deal with other matters that affected their future and safety, and
that he was most unhappy to be away from the stead at such length.

Four
days later, they had turned onto the west high road, then a half day later southwest
onto the high road that would lead through the Coast Range and into what had
been southern Madrien, eventually to

Zalt,
then to Southgate. Two days after starting southwest on the high road to the
coast, under a cool fall sun, they were nearing the eastern side of the Coast
Range. Thirty-fifth Company was in the van, and Alucius rode beside Jultyr.

“You
know… things in Hyalt could have turned really nasty, especially that night
when that prophet used Talent to put everyone into a deep sleep.” Jultyr frowned.
“How did you and the overcaptain manage to wake up?”

“I
had a nightmare about being unable to move,” Alucius admitted. “It took a long
time to wake up. It took longer to rouse enough lancers to fight off the
attack. If they’d brought a full company… things would have been very bad.”
Just how bad, Alucius had considered more than a few times. He’d also wondered
about how he would ever deal with the ifrits if he ever had to face more than
one at a time.

“Good
thing they didn’t,” affirmed Jultyr. “Can’t say I’m all that pleased to be
heading west so soon. A lot of the men are going to have the wrong idea about
righting from dealing with the rebels.”

“That
blade cuts two ways. The Matrites fight better than the rebels, and they have
better weapons and training, but most of them won’t keep coming with wounds
gaping open.”

“That’s
true,” mused Jultyr. “What about that knife-thrower? Have you seen that?”

“Yes.
It’s more like a spear-thrower. It fires a stream of crystal spears about a
half yard long. One time they chopped away a hill with it and flushed out a
whole company of foot.”

“You
were there?”

“That
was when they invaded the Iron Valleys.” Alucius decided against mentioning
that he’d been wounded and captured in the battle to destroy the weapon. Or that
he only had the vaguest idea of how the weapon had been destroyed.

“They’ve
got two of them now. That was what Dostak said. Wager that they’re both near
Southgate.”

“I
won’t take that wager.”

“That’s
the problem with being a lancer,” Jultyr went on. “You do a good job, and what
happens? They give you something worse.” The older captain shook his head. “You
can’t risk doing a bad job, ‘cause that might kill you, but sometimes the
lancers who survive doing it badly make out better than the good ones. They get
assigned to trade stations or as orderlies somewhere.”

“There’s
some truth in that.” Alucius shifted his weight in the saddle. Most of the time
now, he didn’t notice the residual stiffness and soreness, but every so often
something twinged, reminding him that he still wasn’t fully healed.

“More
‘n a little,” said Jultyr. “You been awarded every decoration in three lands,
and here you are, headed back against the Matrites. You did too good a job,
sir. Look where it got you.”

“We
did the job in Hyalt,” Alucius replied, ignoring the references to his previous
accomplishments. “It took all three companies. Any less, and the prophet would
have overrun us.”

“We
won’t be running into much Talent with the Matrites, do you think?”

“They
didn’t have much before. We can hope that they don’t now.” Two crystal
spear-throwers would be more than enough to cause misery and death. Of that,
Alucius was certain.

Tempre, Lanachrona

The
Lord-Protector stepped past the guards into his private apartments, throwing the
door bolt behind him. His boot heels echoed on the marble of the foyer,
carrying ahead of him into the sitting room where Alerya sat with young Talus
in her lap, both mother and son bathed in the warm glow from the lamps set on
the end tables on either side of the love seat.

“Here
comes your father… can you say, ‘Da!’?” Alerya turned toward the
Lord-Protector, but did not rise.

Talus
smiled and gurgled.

Alerya’s
smile faded as she beheld Talryn’s face. “I’m sorry. Whatever it is, it must
have been a very bad day.”

“They’re
all bad now, except when I’m with you.” The Lord-Protector smiled warmly at his
consort and son, but the smile faded. He stepped forward to the love seat, then
bent down and scooped his son from his consort’s arms. “How’s my boy? Did you
have a good day?” His arms enfolded his son.

“He’s
usually good. He was a little fussy. I think he might be getting his first
teeth.” Alerya stood. “Would you like some wine?”

“I’d
like the whole decanter, but I’d pay for it later.” Talryn smiled once more at
Talus. “Wouldn’t I, young fellow?” He shifted his son to his shoulder, patting
his back. “It’s good to see you in such fine fettle.”

“Talryn…
he just ate…”

Alerya’s
voice died away with Talus’s satisfied burp.

“Oh,
dear… that was a good tunic,” Alerya said, taking Talus back and handing the
Lord-Protector a square of white cotton. “Perhaps… if you hurry…”

Talryn
laughed, taking the cloth and doing what he could to wipe away the damage. “At
least, he doesn’t know any better. Unlike my marshals and advisors.”

After
folding the soiled cloth and setting it on the nearest end table, the
Lord-Protector moved to the side table, where he stood and poured half a glass
of a deep red wine into the waiting goblet.

“Do
you want to tell me?” Alerya asked.

“Who
else can I tell? Honestly, that is?” He took a sip of the wine. “You recall
Majer Alucius?”

“The
herder majer, the one you owe?”

“You
won’t ever fail to remind me of that, will you?”

“No.
I feel we owe him even more, but I cannot say why, and it is not wise for a
ruler to forget what he owes and to whom.”