Darknesses (10 page)

A
light wind blew through the open
shutters
of the mess windows, a Londi afternoon breeze cooler than the
warm days of the previous week, but not chill. Despite the high clouds, no rain
had fallen, and Alucius doubted that any would, not with the wind coming out of
the northwest. As he stood across the table from Feran in the mess, Alucius
looked at the missive that had arrived moments before, carried by two militia
troopers from headquarters at Dekhron. Feran held a similar missive, which he
had already opened.

After
a moment, Alucius broke the seal and began to read.

Captain Alucius—

Earlier this spring, you
received word that, as a result of financially parlous times, the Council
requested that all company commanders show great care in the use of their
resources. While the militia has been told that a resolution of this difficulty
is being developed, supplies are at close to the lowest level in many years.
Therefore, you are requested not to engage in any sustained or lengthy training
exercises and to refrain from arms practice with cartridges until further
notice.

There will be no dispensation
for local recruiting to fill vacancies in companies, and any request for a
stipend for troopers nearing the time of completed service must be deferred
until the turn of harvest.

Please acknowledge with a brief
response to accompany the messengers who carried this to you.

The seal was that of the
commandant, but the signature was that of Majer Weslyn, with the words “acting
commandant” penned beneath the signature. Alucius wondered why Weslyn was
acting commandant, and he hoped that such was merely temporary. Colonel Clyon
was the only one of the senior militia officers in whom Alucius had any
confidence for the ability to stand up to the Council.

After a moment, Alucius went
back over the short set of instructions again, but he could not read anything
into them except the Council’s desperate frugality and continued lack of
understanding of the importance of the militia. He would certainly acknowledge
the missive, not that he had a choice. And he would seal up and send back his
latest message to Wendra, even if he did not have time to add more than a quick
note to the bottom of what he had already written to his wife.

Across the table, Feran was
mumbling to himself. “…a seed-oil works…all the idiocy…stupidity…”

Abruptly, the older officer
thrust the missive he had received at Alucius. “Would you read this? Can you
believe it? First, they threaten to cut our supplies and pay, and now I get an
order to take the entire company thirty vingts down the river road for three
weeks to a hamlet no one’s ever heard of—except us—because some trader’s afraid
that his precious seed-oil works may be threatened.”

Alucius handed his own orders to
Feran, then began to read what the older officer had received.

Captain Feran—

In view of your length of
service with the militia, and your great understanding of the importance of
handling matters with both dispatch and tact, you are hereby ordered to take
Fifth Company, immediately, that being the morning after receiving these
orders, to the town of Fiente. There you will contact Trader Yussel. The
militia has received word that a raid on the seed-oil works is highly likely.
Inasmuch as the seed-oil works provide much of the support necessary for
militia goods and supplies, the Council has strongly recommended that a company
be dispatched to make sure that no ill comes to those works.

You will spend three weeks in
Fiente, unless you receive additional orders to the contrary. You are to
exercise great caution to make sure that no harm comes to the works.

Earlier this spring, you
received word that, as a result of financially parlous times, the Council
requested that all company commanders show great care in the use of their
resources…

Alucius
nodded. The remainder of Feran’s instructions were the same as his, word for
word, as were the signature and seal lines. He handed the orders back to Feran
and received his own in return.

“We
have to go off and protect a seed-oil works. Can you believe that?” asked
Feran. “Just who is going to attack that?”

“Lanachronans
disguised as raiders?” suggested Alucius.

Feran
shook his head. “They’ve got far better oil works all over Lanachrona. More
likely, someone on the Council—this trader whatever his name is—wants to show
that he has power over the militia.”

“I
worry about the signature,” Alucius said.

“The
signature?” Feran looked down. “Acting commandant? Sander offal! As soon as the
colonel goes somewhere—or gets sick—the Council’s twisting Weslyn’s arm.”

“Let’s
just hope he’s only sick or away.”

Feran
froze for a moment, then shook his head. “We’d better hope it’s only that.”

“I’m
sure it is.” Alucius was sure of no such thing, but there was no point in
saying that. Time would tell, one way or another. He also wondered what sort of
resolution was being worked out by the Council. That veiled reference bothered
him as much as Weslyn’s signature as acting commandant.

Still…he
had a response to write—two in a way—and he might as well get on with it. He
turned to head to his own quarters to get pen and inkwell and paper, and the
missive to Wendra.

Behind
him, Feran continued to murmur under his breath.

Abruptly,
Alucius turned and walked out to the courtyard, looking around for the two
messengers. One stood talking to Egyl, near the corner of the building.

Both
looked up as Alucius approached.

“Sir?”
asked Egyl.

Alucius
looked at the messenger. “Trooper…I wonder if you might have some information.
About the commandant—Colonel Clyon. The instructions you delivered were signed
by Majer Weslyn as acting commandant. Is the colonel ill?”

“Why…yes,
sir. He’s been suffering a terrible flux for the past few weeks. That’s what
the majer said.”

“And
you haven’t seen the colonel around headquarters?”

“No,
sir. We’d wondered, but when the majer told us…”

“Thank
you.” Alucius nodded.

He
turned and walked back toward his own quarters. The colonel seriously ill? Or
being made seriously ill? The timing was too coincidental, and he liked it not
at all—even if he could do nothing at all about it. Feran would like it even
less. Of that, Alucius was most certain.

Northeast
of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

W
endra
reined up the chestnut mare and listened.
Her eyes went eastward toward
the front of the flock, where Royalt rode, and the Aerlal Plateau well beyond.
After a moment, she turned her head toward the straggler ewe and her lamb—less
than fifteen yards to her south. Her brow wrinkled. Then she turned the
chestnut farther south.

The
faintest shimmer of reddish tan glinted in the low morning light from behind a
thicker clump of quarasote.

Reining
up quickly, she slid the heavy rifle from its holder, cocking it and bringing
it to her shoulder in a smooth motion that was practiced but not yet quite
instinctive. She watched, waiting.

After
long moments, the sandwolf streaked toward Wendra, a blur of tannish red, and
the long crystalline fangs glinted in the morning sun.

She
squeezed the trigger.
Crack!
She recocked the rifle
and fired again, missing. Her third shot tore into the chest of the beast, and
the sandwolf staggered, then fell, less than two yards from the mare.

Wendra
recocked the rifle, holding it ready as she continued to survey the quarasote
plains around her. She could hear the hoofbeats of Royalt’s mount, but she kept
checking the terrain until she saw the second sandwolf, more than thirty yards
away, behind a more distant and larger clump of quarasote. Again, she waited.

The
second sandwolf peered from the side of the quarasote, then turned, and bounded
to a second clump of quarasote, before vanishing into a gully so small that
Wendra could barely make it out.

“I
don’t see any more,” Royalt said as he reined up.

“I
can’t either,” she replied. “But only two…?”

“Sometimes,
the younger ones hunt in smaller groups.” Royalt, his own rifle ready, glanced
at the dead sandwolf on the red and sandy soil. “That’s a young one.”

Wendra
measured the dead animal with her eyes. “It’s more than two yards long, and
that’s not counting the tail.”

“Full-grown,
they can run to almost three yards.” Royalt smiled. “You did well. They’re
harder to hit than a sander.”

Wendra
glanced back toward the flock, then aimed her eyes at the straggler ewe. “Get
moving.” She tried to project the kind of authority that Royalt and Alucius
did.

After
a moment, the ewe nosed the lamb, and the two began to trot toward the main
body of the flock.

“You’ve
got the touch, Wendra.”

She
smiled faintly. “If we could just do that with people. Some people…anyway,” she
added quickly. “Like the Council.” She flicked the reins gently, and the mare
began to walk toward the flock, still moving eastward toward the plateau.

“Aye.
That could get worse.” Royalt eased his mount up beside Wendra’s mare as the
two herders moved closer to the flock. Both continued to scan the quarasote,
even as they talked.

“If
Clyon doesn’t recover from his illness?”

“
If
it is an illness.”

“You
think someone on the Council would go that far?”

“At
times, I wonder if there’s anyone on the Council who wouldn’t. They’re all more
concerned about how many golds they can put in their strongboxes this year than
whether they’ll have any at all next year. We could shear every nightsheep down
to the bare skin and make more nightsilk this year…but half of them would die
over the year, and then where would we be? Herder who doesn’t look to the
future doesn’t have one. They’ve never liked Clyon ’cause he keeps reminding
them about the future.”

“How
can they be that stupid?”

Royalt
laughed, roughly. “Look around, Wendra. Most people are like that. Oh, they
talk about planning for tomorrow, working…but then they get an extra silver and
it goes for more ale, or a fancy scarf, or a shinier knife…” He shook his head.

Wendra
glanced back at the fallen sandwolf.

“Leave
the sandwolf. Can’t use anything.”

She
nodded, looking toward the flock ahead and the Aerlal Plateau beyond.

I
n
the indirect light of late spring,
Alucius studied the map spread on the
mess table. After a time, he took the ancient calipers and measured the
distance on the map—from Emal to the high road between Salaan and Dereka. He
wrote down the figure, then measured the distance as a raven might fly, from
Aelta to Emal, writing that down as well. As he did, he wondered how Feran was
doing on his travels to Fiente, since Fifth Company had left the day before.

Thrap.
At the knock on the door—or the doorframe—to the
officers’ mess, Alucius looked up to see Zerdial standing there. “Yes?”

“Captain…there’s
a fellow here, says he needs to speak to you. He’s an old farmer. He says it’s
important.”

Alucius
stood. “Did he say why?”

“He’s
from across the river…He asked for the herder captain. He said he had to talk
to you. I think he talked to one of the bridge guards, too, but he knew that it
was you he wanted.”

“I’ll
be right there.” Alucius gently folded the old map and weighted it in place
with one of the histories he had brought back to Emal Outpost from the stead.
He’d read the history—
The Wonders of Ancient Corus
—once
already and was rereading it more thoroughly.

When
Alucius stepped out into the warm and hazy spring sunshine, he saw a man
standing beside the wall with Zerdial. The stranger was a gaunt figure of a
man, with thin gray hair, wearing a worn and patched sheepskin jacket and
equally worn brown trousers. His boots had been stitched and restitched, and
his face was wrinkled and weathered. Because he wondered why a stranger would
seek him out, Alucius studied him for a moment with his Talent, but nothing
seemed odd, and the man’s lifethread was a deep brown, rooted somewhere close
to the southeast, clearly that of a man deeply tied to the land nearby. Alucius
wasn’t sure, but those with deep commitments appeared to have lifethreads that
were a solid color—herders were almost always a solid black.

“You
are the herder captain, sir?” The older man’s eyes lingered on Alucius’s dark,
dark gray hair, and he nodded.

“Yes,
I am.” Alucius slipped back his tunic sleeve to reveal, if but momentarily, the
black crystal wristband, just below the form-fitting nightsilk undergarment
that was more effective than mail against sabre slashes. “The squad leader said
that you wished to see me. How can I be of help to you?”

“You
look like a captain, and you feel like one. Yet you would see me?” The older
man had an unspoken question.

Alucius
could sense that, impoverished as the peasant farmer might be, he was proud.
Alucius smiled as gently as he could, then said, “Few would ask to see a
captain if they did not have something to say. You have traveled far. How could
I not see a man who has done me that honor?”

Abruptly,
the farmer lowered his eyes.

Alucius
hoped he hadn’t gone too far, but the man’s pride seemed to be all that he had.
He waited, not pressing.

Slowly,
the older man looked up, and his eyes met those of Alucius. He nodded. “You are
young for a captain. Yet you are far older than those with more years.” He
swallowed. “I have little, but I have worked hard. I have never asked for
anything except the fruits of my land and my hands.”

“You
have worked hard. I can see that,” Alucius replied, ignoring the impatience
radiating from Zerdial. “You do not like to ask of others, but I will hear what
you have to say, and if I can, I will do what should be done.” Again, Alucius
was operating on his interpretation of the other’s feelings, which included a
sense of righteousness, and anger, but an anger not directed at Alucius, for
all that the farmer’s accent proclaimed him Lanachronan.

“You
have already done that, Captain.” The farmer paused, not quite meeting
Alucius’s eyes as he continued. “I am the one who owes you. I owe you for the
vengeance I could not take, Sir Captain,” replied the gray-haired man.

Amazed
as he was by the man’s statement, Alucius could sense the absolute truth in the
man’s words. “I’m glad whatever I did you found acceptable, but since I am not
aware of the details, would you mind telling me?” Alucius tried to project
warmth and assurance.

“I
will. You would not know, for all this happened on the south side of the river,
where I live. Where we lived. My daughter, and her husband, and their
children…we are from Saubyan. The raiders who were not raiders, the ones who
wore gray, who hid in gray. They crossed the ice, and then they raided our hamlet.
I had a daughter. They thought she was comely, and she was.” The man stopped,
swallowed, then went on slowly. “Her husband protested, and they shot him, and
they struck me with a rifle.” He pushed back the worn hat to reveal a scarred
gash that ran across the top of his forehead. “They used my daughter ill, most
ill. None thought I would live. My daughter did not, and Busyl did not. My wife
is long departed, and my son went to find his fortune in Borlan. I must work
the fields alone and raise two bairns, and the eldest is but six.” He held up
his hand. “I do not ask more of you, Captain. None in Lanachrona lifted a blade
or a rifle. You had them all slain, did you not? And you slew a half score
yourself.”

“I
killed some of them,” Alucius admitted. “None of them survived.”

“I
cannot give you what I would wish. I am a poor man. I owe you, and my only
payment is what I can tell you. There are more raiders. They wear red, red
tunics all alike, of a kind I have never seen, and some have strange long
rifles, and I have listened. They think I am old and feeble and deaf, but I am
not. They talk about the herder captain, and they are waiting for the runoff to
go down. They have built rafts to carry provisions…”

Alucius
nodded. “I did not know this, and I thank you. Might you be able to tell me how
many of them there are and where they intend to cross the river?”

“I
have counted almost two hundred. They have talked about crossing the shallows.
That is but two vingts to the east of the bridge, where the river widens. They
will use heavy ropes and swim their mounts across in the night before dawn. I
cannot say on what day this will happen, but I do not think it will be long.”

Alucius
inclined his head to the farmer. “It is I who owes you. So do the people of
Emal, though none will tell of this.” He looked over the shoulder of the farmer
at Zerdial, and said, “None.”

“Yes,
sir,” murmured the squad leader.

Alucius
turned to the farmer. “You rose early and traveled far. Could I at least offer
some bread and some cheese for your daughter’s children, so that they will not
suffer more?”

“I
could not…for myself.”

“I
know that,” Alucius said. “But for them.”

The
man looked down and gave the faintest of nods.

Alucius
looked at Zerdial. “If you could find some loaves and a wedge of cheese…from
the cooks. Tell them I’ll take care of it.”

“Yes,
sir.” Zerdial slipped away.

“Do
you just tend the fields, or do you have livestock?” Alucius asked.

“The
raiders, they slaughtered the two ewes, but they left the cow, and they were so
noisy that they could only catch one of the hens.” The older man laughed. “That
was one reason I knew they were not true raiders.”

Alucius
nodded. “A true raider would have had the hens in the pot first.”

“You
are a herder, are you not?”

“Yes.
My stead is to the north, and my wife and my mother and my grandsire tend it
now. We have a flock of nightsheep.”

“Yet
you are a captain now?”

“For
a time yet. My grandsire was a captain, and so was my sire. He was killed by
raiders when I was a child.”

“Would
that there were more who know the land who carry the rifle and the blade.”

Both
men looked up as Zerdial crossed the courtyard with a cloth bag.

Alucius
slipped a pair of coppers from his belt wallet and extended them to the farmer.
“These are a token, just a token, one for each child, for when times are hard.”

“I
could not…”

“They
are but a token,” Alucius repeated. “Were I to offer truly the worth of what
you have provided, neither of us would be pleased.”

The
farmer laughed harshly. “You, too, are a proud man.”

“Yes,”
Alucius admitted. “It is a fault of mine.”

The
farmer took the coppers, slipping them into slots on the inside of his stained
leather belt. “May all officers have your faults, Captain.”

Alucius
took the bag from Zerdial. As he presented it to the farmer, he could tell that
the cooks—or Zerdial—had been generous. “Perhaps you should tell the others in
your hamlet that you received these as payment for helping a herder.” He
grinned. “It is true.”

The
farmer bowed. “Only for the children.”

“Only
for the children,” Alucius agreed. He nodded to Zerdial to accompany the farmer
past the gate and the guard.

The
captain stood and watched as the two crossed the courtyard. He waited until
Zerdial returned.

“He’s
across the bridge, sir.”

“Good.”

“You
gave him two coppers. Just coppers.”

“Anything
more, and he would have been insulted. Also, he can explain two coppers. How
would he ever explain a silver?”

Zerdial
looked toward the outpost gate, then southward before turning his eyes back to
Alucius “Sir? How did you know?”

“Because
almost everyone dislikes troopers, or stays clear of them, in any land I know.
Anyone who would seek me out either wished me well or great ill. He was too
humble to wish me ill, and too shy. So I had to make him feel less
uncomfortable and more at ease.” That, reflected the captain, had been the easy
part. Figuring out how to handle a force equal to two horse companies—and then
doing it—would be far harder.

Although
Alucius went back to the mess, and his maps, he had the feeling that whatever was
about to happen wouldn’t be that far away, because the troopers in Deforyan red
were being paid, and someone in the Southern Guard was looking the other way.
The pay wouldn’t last, and the Lord-Protector couldn’t afford to keep his eyes
averted long.

Yet
whatever Alucius did, he’d have to do alone. Even if Feran were in Emal,
Alucius could imagine what Feran—or any officer—would have said about his
heeding information from the unnamed farmer. “A farmer told you this? A
Lanachronan farmer? And you’re going to believe him?” Then too, there was the
possibility that the farmer had been deliberately misled.

Once
again, to conceal his Talent, he would have to find a way to deal with the
problem in a logical fashion.

By
the glass after the midday dinner for the troopers, he was ready, and had
summoned his squad leaders to the officers’ mess.

Alucius
glanced around the room, looking first at Longyl, and then at each of the squad
leaders, one after the other—Zerdial, Anslym, Faisyn, Egyl, and Sawyn.

“I’ve
been thinking…” He paused. “We haven’t done any full company maneuvers since
last fall. The most troopers we’ve had together at a time is two squads. As
I’ve told most of you, I don’t know what’s likely to happen this year, but if
we do have to fight any pitched battles, against the Southern Guard,
especially, we’d better be prepared to do it. We probably won’t have much
notice. It often doesn’t work that way.” Alucius smiled. “And I’d be very
surprised if they came across the bridge.”

“How
would they come, do you think?” asked Zerdial.

Alucius
gave the young squad leader credit for asking the right leading question.

“I’m
not their commander, but they’d either come in winter, across the ice, or now,
across the shallower sections of the river. That could be the shallows east of
the bridge. The water there is only a bit more than two yards deep, and only in
the middle of the river. Or they could come on the back trails through the
marsh five vingts west of the bridge, then move across the low isles there.
They’d only have the main channel to cross, and that’s less than twenty yards
wide.” Alucius paused, cleared his throat, and went on. “They might even do
both, trying to split Twenty-first and Fifth Companies. They’d also have more
troopers than we would, at least two to one, maybe more.”

“You
think this is really going to happen?” asked Sawyn.

Alucius
smiled. “Think of it this way. It happens, or it doesn’t. If it happens, and
we’re ready, then we’ll ride away. If it doesn’t happen, all that we lose is
some time and effort. But if it happens, and we’re not prepared…do you want to
be the squad leader at that time?”

Sawyn
didn’t have to think long about that, Alucius was relieved to see.

“What
do you want us to do?” asked Longyl, ever the practical one.

“This
afternoon, I’d like you to send your scouts to the eastern crossing point.
They’re to observe the area and to draw rough maps of where the Lanachronans
could cross, either by raft or by swimming their mounts. The squad leaders are
to go with them, but no one else, and I’d like you to watch the river in a way
that you’re not seen from the far side. If…
if
they
have ideas, they may already be watching. They may not, but it’s good practice.
If they know we’re watching, then they might change their plans.” Alucius paused.
“We’d have more time, and the bluff as a defense point, if they came from the
west. All of you are to think about where you would place the company for the
best effect—either above the shallows or to the west of Emal.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“There’s
one other matter,” Alucius said. “We’ll probably have to post a sentry on our
side of the shallows. So give a thought to where that post should be.” He
glanced around the small room once more, before concluding. “We’ll meet here
with the scouts right after supper.”