Scepters (57 page)

Alucius
followed, glancing ahead. So far as he could see, every dwelling was like the
villa he had left, in that each was surrounded by a white stucco-finished wall
so that the street was, in effect, walled, with a raised space for walking on
each side. But the sidewalks were only a yard in width and the street but five.
With the walls for the houses almost three yards high, even in the saddle
Alucius felt closed in. Cross streets were just as narrow, and seemed to be set
about a hundred yards apart.

“Are
all the streets like this?”

“Most
of them, except in the center of Southgate, or out beyond the city walls.”

“How
far are we from the high road?”

“About
two vingts. Both high roads end at the city walls. The closest is the southwest
high road. That’s about two vingts to the east of here, Your villa’s less than
a quarter vingt from the north wall.”

“The
high roads don’t come into Southgate?”

“Not
that I know. Never thought about that, though. Wonder why they don’t,” mused
Feran.

Alucius
wondered as well. “The walls are about ten vingts inside the ring road, and the
roads end at the walls.”

Feran
nodded.

As
they rode southward past dwellings that were far smaller than those around the
villa, Alucius became aware of what he had sensed before—except the feeling was
far more pronounced. Beneath everything was the pervading sense of deadness,
the lack of life in the deeper soil.

Under
the gray clouds, the street was vacant. Alucius could sense people in the
dwellings, but he saw only two people on the sidewalk—two white-haired women in
shapeless gray coats and trousers—and no other riders. “Not many people out.”

“There
never are. A few more in the early morning, and a bunch out on Septi—that’s
market day. Looks almost normal then.”

The
street crossed a stone bridge that arched only slightly over a stone-lined and
paved streambed. A trickle of muddy water meandered across the ten-yard-wide
stone base of the oversized ditch. On the far side of the bridge, the houses
were yet smaller, and their walls replaced the courtyard walls. No windows
opened onto the street, only narrow wooden gates.

They
rode for at least another two vingts, past more of the small dwellings,
interspersed upon occasion with rows of small shops. There, Alucius did see
people, but they all avoided looking at the two officers.

“Center
of Southgate’s ahead, across the inner ring,” Feran announced.

Inner ring
? Alucius decided against asking, at least until
he saw it.

The
street down which they had ridden came to a cross street, clearly the inner
ring of which Feran had spoken, because Alucius could see that it arced in both
directions. The pavement was smooth gray granite, and it was, unlike the other
streets, a good thirty yards in width. Alucius looked both east and west, but
he saw no riders on the inner ring.

On
the far side of the ring was what appeared to be a walled palace, with four graceful
stone towers, each set at the corner of walls that formed a trapezoid. Alucius
judged that the “base” of the wall facing him was roughly a half vingt long. He
looked to the right, then to the left. From what he could tell, there were a
number of such “palaces” set in a circle inside the inner ring. Alucius lost
count at eleven. “How many are there?”

“Thirteen,
I’m told. They form a circle around the central square, except it’s round.”

Feran
and Alucius crossed the inner ring.

As
they rode past the four-yard-high stone walls, Alucius could sense no life
within them. “Doesn’t anyone live there now?”

“No.
They gutted them and stuffed everything on ships and went to Dramuria once it
was clear that the Lord-Protector would take the city. Didn’t leave a gold or a
statue or much of anything. That’s what Sholosyn said.”

“Just
abandoned the people?”

Feran
nodded.

Alucius
studied the walls, definitely ancient, but not eternastone. He also realized
that the grounds enclosed by each palace were enormous, because they rode
almost a vingt before coming to the next turn in the wall. That meant that each
trapezoid was roughly a half vingt across the larger base, a vingt in depth,
and something like two-fifths of a vingt across the shorter base.

“They
all face onto the square. See?”

The
center square of Southgate was… different. That was the only word that came to
Alucius’s mind. To begin with, in the center was a circle of absolutely white
stone, a circle that was a third of a yard above the surrounding gray stone
paving and was roughly one hundred yards in diameter. Except for its dead-white
color, to Alucius’s Talent and eyes, the stone looked and felt like the harder
gray granite. There were no decorations on the circle—just the circle itself.
Ten yards out from the white circle there were four stellae of exactly the same
dimensions, each also of the white granite, and each placed at a cardinal point
of the compass.

Alucius
turned the chestnut. Feran was right. In the middle of the wall of each palace
that faced the “square” was an arched gate. Most were now open or ajar. After
slowly looking in both directions, overwhelmed in a way by the empty grandeur
of the abandoned palaces, Alucius turned his mount back toward the inner area,
conscious of the fact that they were the only ones in sight.

Slowly,
he reached out gingerly with his Talent to examine the whitestone circle. He
shuddered. The stone, only the whitestone, was dead, dead in the same sense
that the layer in the ground beneath Southgate was dead. He rode toward the
nearest stele, noting that something had been carved upon it.

“Southgate’s
been here for a long time, from what those buildings look like,” observed
Feran, keeping pace with Alucius.

“A
long time.” Alucius rode closer to the stele, catching sight of a series of
scenes sculpted into the stone. He reined up less than a yard from the stele
and began to study the scenes. The bottom row showed men toiling—building a
wall, building a ship, plowing a field, presumably set outside the city walls.
The three images above that showed men riding, hunting, and fighting another
force. There was a single wider image above those—it showed thirteen men seated
at a table, each holding a scepter. Alucius looked more closely. Standing
directly in the center, in back of the seated men, was a sculpted figure that
resembled the ifrit in his infrequent dreams—the same features, although the
stone did not convey the stark whiteness of the skin, the purple eyes, or the
jet-black hair. That figure stood behind the center seltyr, the only one who
sat on something resembling a throne. The ifrit figure was not threatening, not
carrying a weapon, just there.

Alucius
frowned.

“What
is it?” asked Feran.

“Just
thinking. This is an old city, perhaps as old as Tempre or Dereka, or as old as
Iron Stem or Dekhron.”

“Most
cities in Corus are old.” Feran laughed. “Who ever heard of a new city? “

“This
city has no eternastone and no green towers within the walls.”

“So?”

“Name
me another city that doesn’t. Even Iron Stem has a green tower. Dekhron has
eternastone roads and the bridge. Tempre and Dereka have buildings and towers.
So does Krost. The others at least have eternastone roads running through them.”

Feran
didn’t reply for several moments.

“And
there’s no one in this central area,” Alucius added. “Not a beggar, not a
thief. No one.”

“It
means something, but what? That everyone hated the seltyrs so much that they
don’t ever want to be here? The palaces had to be for the seltyrs. Could be
that they took everything, and there’s nothing left to loot.”

“It
could be,” Alucius agreed. He was beginning to feel a little dizzy at times. He
looked at Feran. “We ought to head back.”

“Are
you all right? You’re a little pale. Maybe we shouldn’t have ridden this far.”

“It’s
only a few vingts. I’ll be fine.” Alucius turned the chestnut.

As
he rode back, he was conscious that he was weaker than he’d thought, and that
he’d probably ridden farther than he should have. But he wasn’t going to get
any stronger doing nothing. And he hated being weak.

He
was also conscious that Southgate was more—and less—than it seemed, and that he
was too tired to figure out what he was missing. He’d have to sleep on it.

“You’re
tired.”

“A
little,” Alucius admitted.

“It’s
not that far.”

Alucius
managed a smile. He would ride back, and he wouldn’t fall out of the saddle. No
matter what.

On
Quattri, sometime in the dimness before dawn, Alucius woke abruptly, pain
slashing from his wristguard through his arm. So sudden was the feeling that he
was disoriented. After several moments, he struggled awake and into a sitting
position, but the pain had vanished. He touched his forearm gently, but there
was no soreness, and he’d been far less bruised there than across his chest.

He
puzzled over the sudden pain, wondering, when another contracting pain
radiating from the herder’s wristguard, followed by a flash of lifeforce from
the black crystal.

Wendra…
what was happening to her?

He
swallowed. It had to be. She was in labor. She was having their daughter… and
he was a thousand vingts away. He should have been there. And he might have
been… if only, if only he hadn’t thought that he had no choices. Or if only he
hadn’t been struck down.

Another
of the hazards of leading from the front? Or of feeling indispensable?

Another
wave of pain washed over his forearm, slightly removed, perhaps because he now
understood what it was. Yet, even removed… it was far from pleasant, especially
when his own tender muscles tightened involuntarily.

If
he were with Wendra, then he knew he would have been able to help if anything
went wrong. That would have been something beneficial and lifegiving from his
Talent. But… from afar, there was nothing he could do, nothing but wait, and
watch and sense the crystal… and hope that she and Alendra would both be all right.

He
eased his way from his bed to the window, pulling back the shutters and looking
out into the darkness. He saw nothing, but he did not need to see.

All
he could do now was wait and hope.

By
Octdi morning, as he sat at the writing desk, trying to write a letter to
Wendra, Alucius was certain that she was well and that, by extension, so was
Alendra. He just had to hope that everything else was going well for her,
Alendra, and the stead.

“Sir?”
A Southern Guard squad leader had knocked on the door and stood there.

Alucius
set the pen in the holder, turned, then rose. “Yes?”

“Begging
your pardon, Colonel sir, Marshal Alyniat was wondering if you would be willing
to ride out to meet with him at his headquarters.”

Alucius
used his Talent to study the man, but could detect neither malice nor
deception—just apprehension. “I’d be happy to see the marshal. My mount is in
the stable here, but I’ll need a little help saddling him.” He looked down at
his still-splinted arm.

“Yes,
sir. We can help.”

Alucius
could see that there was indeed help when he made his way down the stairs and
out to the stable and discovered that he had an escort of half a squad. Two of
them had already groomed and saddled the chestnut.

“Thought
you wouldn’t mind, sir,” said the Southern Guard lancer who had led out Alucius’s
mount.

“Not
these days. Thank you.” Alucius still could mount easily, and did so.

They
rode out the villa gates two abreast, Alucius to the right of the squad leader.

“Have
you seen any more of the Matrites in the last week?” Alucius asked, after a
time, as they turned off the street and through the gates in the city wall, and
onto the high road to Fola—and the Southern Guard encampment—if it still
happened to be there.

“No,
sir. Not around here. They say they’ve pulled back to Hafin and Salcer. ‘Course,
that’s just until they build up their forces. They’ll be back. Always have
been, anyways.”

Alucius
was afraid the squad leader was all too right in his assessment. “It seems that
way.”

Still
worried about Wendra and Alendra, he said little on the nearly ten-kay ride out
to the road fort. Most of the companies that had been camped around the main
road fort were no longer there. Some, like Alucius’s three companies, had been
quartered in Southgate. Others, he suspected, had been moved northward or to
Zalt and other posts closer to the Matrite forces. He could see only what
looked to be two companies in bivouac on the slope below the stone fort.

Alucius
reined up outside the arched entrance inside the fort.

“We’ll
just wait for you, sir.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius dismounted and made his way past the sentries.

“…
hard to believe… say he’s killed something like three thousand men personally…”

Alucius
tried not to wince. The number was either far too high or far too low, depending
on what one meant by “personally.”

He
had to take the stairs more slowly than usual, and he could feel the eyes on
him as he walked along the west side of the marshaling hall. With his Talent,
he could even catch a few phrases.

“…
three/four weeks, walking…”

“…
Foysyr said he’s seen dead men looked better… blood everywhere…”

“…
good thing he’s ours…”

“…
good thing for the marshal… otherwise, he’d have ended up blood soup like
Wyerl…”

Alucius
stopped outside Alyniat’s doorway.

“Just
a moment, sir.” The lancer turned. “Colonel Alucius is here, sir.”