Darknesses (14 page)

L
ate
in the day
on the first Quattri of summer, a single wagon, half-loaded,
had arrived from militia headquarters—carrying the entirety of the supplies for
the next season. With the wagon had come a short missive from Colonel Weslyn
explaining that and apologizing for the shortfall, but citing the inability of
the Council to raise enough tariff coins to provide more. Half a wagon, Alucius
reflected, for two months. More than half the supplies had consisted of flour
and dried beef. There had been but four cases of cartridges, two for each horse
company, and none for the two squads of foot, and Twenty-first Company had gone
through close to four cases in the one battle against the raiders.

The
only cheerful aspect of the supply delivery had been the message from Wendra,
which Alucius had slipped inside his tunic to read when he had a quiet moment.

That
moment finally came after supper, when in the dying twilight, he sat on the
ancient chair in his small room and broke the seal on the message.

My dearest Alucius,

I am writing this quickly,
because Grandfather Kustyl is riding down to Dekhron to see some traders. He
said that he could deliver my words to militia headquarters and make sure they
got to you.

We just received your latest
message. That was the one about Colonel Clyon’s death and about your battle
with the raiders. Your grandsire had already heard about the colonel. He was
deeply saddened, and said to tell you that. He also said that he was not
surprised about the raids. He is hopeful they would be the last for a time
because of everything that has happened.

Alucius
nodded. His wife and his grandsire shared the same views as Alucius did.

We were both glad to hear that
you were not seriously wounded in the battle and that all is now well…

Alucius
frowned. He had not said anything about his injuries. Then he glanced down at
the black crystal of his herder’s wristband. Of course, Wendra had known that
he’d been hurt.

The spring shoots on the
quarasote are smaller and shorter than usual. That didn’t affect the nightwool
we just finishing shearing. Unless we get more rain later in the summer, their
coats won’t be nearly so strong next year…

Your grandsire is letting me
take the flock to the southern sections of the stead, now, by myself, if only
for part of the day. Sometimes, we trade off. That lets him work on the
equipment in the mornings, then I help your mother with the carding and the
spinnerets in the afternoon…

A sander got one of the ewes two
weeks ago, and left a ramlet. I remembered the story about Lamb and decided
that, if you could nurse him through when you were only five years old, I
certainly could manage. The first nights were hard, but he’s now taking the
bottle well, and he’s going to grow up strong.

Alucius
smiled to himself. He’d said that she’d make a herder, and she was. He just
wished he were there to share in that joy. But then, he reflected, would she
have discovered what she truly was had he been there?

I must close so that Grandfather
Kustyl can take this. I look forward to seeing you when I can, whenever that
may be. All my love goes with you…

For
a long time, he looked at the words on the page, reading and rereading them,
especially the last lines.

O
n a
late Septi midmorning
two weeks after the supply wagon arrived, Alucius
was conducting mounted sabre drills with second squad—one-on-one. Longyl had
first squad on the flats to the east, working on maneuvers.

The
sun was pounding down on the outpost through the silver-green sky on another
cloudless day—when the militia trooper wearing the sash of a messenger rode
through the gate of Emal Outpost. Despite the swept stones of the causeway, the
messenger’s mount still raised dust.

“Stand
down!” Alucius ordered, and turned Wildebeast toward the messenger, who had reined
up outside the small outpost headquarters building. He brought Wildebeast to a
stop several yards short of the dusty trooper.

“Captain
Alucius?”

Alucius
nodded.

“I
have dispatches for you and Captain Feran. Each has to be hand-delivered to
each of you, sir.”

Alucius
was spared having to call for the older officer because Feran stepped out of
the headquarters building.

“Captain
Feran?”

“None
other,” Feran said.

The
messenger leaned forward in the saddle and extended a dispatch to Feran, then
eased his mount toward Alucius, handing the sealed missive to him, almost as if
he didn’t want to get too close to the younger of the two officers. “I’m to
wait for a response from each of you.”

Alucius
turned and motioned to Anslym, then waited as the squad leader rode across the
courtyard.

“Anslym…if
you would arrange for the messenger. He’ll be staying tonight, and leaving in
the morning.”

“Yes,
sir.” Anslym looked at the trooper. “Please follow me.”

The
slender trooper glanced at the officers.

“You’ll
have a response by muster tomorrow,” Alucius promised.

“Yes,
sir.”

Feran
and Alucius watched as the messenger followed Anslym toward the stables.

“He
doesn’t want to stay around,” Feran observed. “That’s not good.”

“I
don’t think I’d want to be a militia messenger right now,” Alucius added.
“There can’t be that much good news to deliver.”

“You
don’t think this is good news?” Feran chuckled as he looked up at Alucius.

“Do
you?” Alucius paused, then broke the seal and opened the dispatch. “Might as
well read what else has gone wrong.”

“You’re
such an optimist,” Feran said, still holding his own dispatch, unopened.

“Compared
to you…yes.”

Alucius’s eyes skimmed over the
standard salutation and focused on the text.

As most of you know, the Iron
Valleys incurred heavy debt during the Matrite War. The Council could not raise
tariffs quickly enough to cover the cost of paying the militia and providing
ammunition and other supplies, and was required to borrow heavily from other
lands. Because of poor weather and adverse trading conditions over the past
several years, the Council has not been able to raise the coins necessary even
to pay the interest on that debt, and there are no coins left in the treasury
to pay troopers and officers past the turn of harvest, little more than a month
away. Unfortunately, raids by brigands and others are continuing, and within
weeks it will be impossible to protect the people of the Iron Valleys. The
Lord-Protector of Lanachrona has also expressed strong concerns that, without
an operating militia, the northern borders of Lanachrona would be open to raids
of the sort that had occurred earlier this year until the brigands were killed
by the militia. He noted that Lanachrona would be forced to station more
companies of the Southern Guard along the River Vedra and might well be forced
to pursue such brigands into the Iron Valleys, as well as destroy any
sanctuaries within the Iron Valleys. This would not be a good situation for
either the people of the Iron Valleys or those of Lanachrona.

Under these circumstances, the
Council met in a series of emergency negotiations with representatives of the
Lord-Protector of Lanachrona…

Alucius
winced. Even though he had predicted something like this coming, seeing it in
cold black letters was still a shock.

…and worked out an agreement of
union between Lanachrona and the Iron Valleys. A summary of the main terms is
attached.

The Iron Valley Militia will
remain as a separate unit, under the Council, but it will be called the
Northern Guard. All troopers and officers will remain on the rolls and will
continue to be paid, and all companies will be supplied regularly. Later this
summer, after the commanders of the Northern Guard and Southern Guard meet,
there may be other changes announced, but all commitments to present militia
troopers and officers will be fully honored…

One of your tasks will be to
explain to the people of Emal and the surrounding area what has happened, and
to reassure them that, for them, nothing has changed. No Southern Guard
detachments or forces will appear. The Council will still promulgate laws for
the Iron Valleys. Tariffs for farmers and small crafters will not change much.
The only increase will be one part in twenty-five, and that was a tariff
increase already approved by the Council to pay off past debts. One great
advantage will be that tariffs will no longer be levied on Lanachronan goods
carried into the Iron Valleys or those of the Iron Valleys carried into
Lanachrona.

You are requested to respond in
writing by declaring your allegiance to the militia, henceforth the Northern
Guard, as now governed for the Lord-Protector by the Council…

Alucius
glanced over the second sheet, but the main terms of the agreement were as
noted in the cover dispatch. He looked at Feran, waiting until the older
officer finished reading, then asked, “What do you think?”

“We’ve
been sold out, and there’s not a sanded thing that we can do.” Feran snorted.
“Do you know what I’m supposed to do?”

“No.”

“I’m
supposed to remove the guard posts on the bridge and the iron gate. Anyone can
cross anytime with anything.”

“I
suppose that’s not bad,” Alucius offered.

“No,
that part’s not bad. And for a while, nothing terrible will happen. Not right
away. But basic tariff levies on crafters and artisans and farmers will go up
in a year, and then more in another year. Then maybe they’ll change our
uniforms to look more like the Southern Guard, and pretty soon, the senior
officers will be from Borlan or Tempre.”

“So?”
asked Alucius. “Is that any different from right now? Majer…Colonel Weslyn
might as well have been born in Borlan.”

Feran
laughed, but there was an edge to his voice. “Maybe…maybe…We’ll have to see,
won’t we?”

Alucius
wasn’t looking forward to that, or to telling his troopers, although he knew
they were solid and would stand behind him. He just hoped he could continue to
do his best for them.

U
nder
the faint light
cast by the oil lamp in the mess, Alucius sat at the
table, looking at the blank sheet of paper before him, about to start another
letter to Wendra, since he had dispatched the last one with the messenger who
had brought the news of the forced union of the Iron Valleys with Lanachrona.
Because the night was hot, he’d taken off his tunic, but not his undertunic.
All the windows and shutters were wide, and every so often a fly or mosquito
hummed toward Alucius. None of them actually landed on the herder.

Feran
cleared his throat. Wearing only trousers and a frayed undertunic, he stood
barefoot in the doorway from the quarters end of the building, which held the
two small rooms for each of them, plus two others for visiting officers,
although there hadn’t been a visiting officer in at least the last year.

Alucius
looked up.

“Don’t
know how you do that,” Feran said.

“Do
what?”

“Mosquitoes.
If I close the shutters, I can’t sleep because it’s too hot. If I leave them
open for the breeze, the mosquitoes come in and eat me. They hover around you,
but they never land on you.”

Alucius
shook his head. “They don’t like herders. We taste bad.” That was the only explanation
he was about to give, since he didn’t want to admit that he was using a
fraction of his Talent to keep from getting bitten.

“You
deserve some advantages for having to grow up there, I suppose.” Feran slipped
into the chair on the other side of Alucius. “Too cold and barren for me.
Sander near died when we had to fight through the winter at Soulend. Thought
I’d never get warm again.”

“I
don’t mind the cold,” Alucius admitted, setting down the pen,

“and
I like the openness. You know that. That was the hardest thing about being a
Matrite trooper—always being with other troopers, never being able to get
away.”

“You
still take rides by yourself.”

Alucius
nodded. “The troopers understand. They laugh about their herder captain when
they think I’m not listening.”

“The
men took this all pretty well,” Feran said. “Better than I did, I’d wager.”

“They’re
getting paid, and they wouldn’t have, and they’ve been told that they can stay
if they want to and leave once their commitment is over. And they won’t have to
fight the Southern Guard. It could have been worse,” Alucius said. “We didn’t
lose a war, and no one is invading the Iron Valleys.” Not yet, he thought to
himself.

“No,
we just lost the peace…and the ability to do things our way,” Feran said dryly.
“What do you think is going to happen? The Lord-Protector isn’t just going to
let us sit here and collect our pay. Not for long.”

“Probably
not. What do you think?”

“If
he had his way, he’d disband the militia. That won’t happen, not for a while.
I’d guess we’ll get shuffled around, and some may get an incentive to leave
early.” Feran leaned back in the chair and brushed away an insistent mosquito.
“If the Lanachronans were still fighting the Matrites, we might find ourselves
riding west again, but I don’t see that happening, not this year.”

“No.
The Lord-Protector took Southgate and the high road from Tempre to the port at
Southgate. Some of the militia companies might get road patrol duties there.
Without the Matrite troopers riding the high roads, the Lanachronans have to be
patrolling the roads, or we’d be seeing raiders out of the Dry Coast. Maybe
something like that.”

“That
would be better than going north,” Feran said. “The Lord-Protector might make a
stab at Klamat, to get the timber trade, maybe even take over Northport.”

“I’d
guess that won’t come for a few years,” Alucius suggested. “He’d have to send
Southern Guards across the Iron Valleys. He promised not to do that.”

“You
really think he’ll keep his word?”

“Not
forever. But he will for a year or two, perhaps longer.”

“Why?
We couldn’t do that much about it.”

“You’re
right. We couldn’t. But he promised. And how will all the other rulers around
take it if he immediately breaks a written agreement? The Landarch, the Regent
of the Matrial, or even the traders of Dramur? They’d never agree to anything
they didn’t have to, and they’d ask for more golds or conditions. No…he’ll wait
until he has a good reason, then he’ll say times have changed.” Alucius
laughed. “Times always change. He just has to wait.”

“I
still worry…” Feran stood.

“So
do I,” Alucius admitted. “But I don’t know what to do about it.”

“It’s
getting cooler. You think we’ll get rain?” Feran walked toward the door.

“I
hope so, but it’s still clear outside.”

“No
rain then. See you in the morning.”

“Good
night.” Alucius sat back in the chair. Despite the difference in their ages,
Feran was the only friend he’d really made since he’d been a boy and talked
glass after glass with Vardial. Now Vardial was stationed somewhere in the
southwest, along the Vedra, and Alucius hadn’t seen him in years.

Then,
Alucius reflected, his life hadn’t exactly been the kind to allow many friends,
not when the nearest stead had been almost ten vingts away. He might have made
friends when he’d been a conscript, if it hadn’t have been for Dolesy—and then
having been picked as a scout. And being a Matrite captive trooper and later a
squad leader hadn’t made finding friends easy there.

He
smiled. He enjoyed talking to Feran. That was one of the best parts of duty at
Emal.