Darknesses (2 page)

The
other three laughed.

“You’ve
never been at anyone’s mercy,” Alucius said, adding the cheese-lace potatoes to
his platter.

“And
let’s not hear about proper respect, not tonight,” added Lucenda.

Royalt
offered an exaggerated shrug of helplessness.

Alucius
took a bite of the fowl, then smiled at Wendra. “It’s good. You made it, didn’t
you?”

Wendra
blushed.

“She
did. She cooks better than I do,” Lucenda answered for the younger woman. “And
she’s gotten almost as good with the looms and spinnerets.”

Left
unsaid was the fact that, except for her father’s total lack of Talent, Wendra
might well have been raised on a stead herself and learned all the equipment as
a child. But it was clear to Alucius that she had enough Talent to be a herder
herself, if not so much as he had, and, once he finished his militia
obligation, he intended to teach her the herding aspect of the stead as well.

There
was silence for a time as the family ate.

“Talked
to Kustyl last week.” Royalt finally spoke. “He said that the price of summer
nightsilk in Borlan was going for fifteen golds a yard.”

“That’s
for nightsilk that hasn’t even been loomed?” asked Wendra.

Royalt
finished his biscuit before nodding. “Not ours, though. Always some smaller
herders who are short on coin, can’t face the risk. So they agree to a
fixed-price delivery with one of the cloth brokers. Broker tries to sell them
for more in the futures market. If he can, he’s made money, with no risk.”

“What
if the herder can’t deliver?” asked Wendra.

“He’ll
likely lose part or all of his flock,” Alucius replied. “Broker will take it,
then sell the animals to other herders.”

“We
haven’t had to buy any in years,” Royalt said. “Did once, twenty-five years
back. Gray flux killed off almost ten prime ewes. Didn’t have much choice.
Didn’t like it, though.”

Alucius
hadn’t heard about the gray flux, but there was always something he hadn’t
heard, once his grandsire started talking about the past.

“The
price wouldn’t be that high unless the traders think we’ll have trouble,”
Lucenda said. “The weather hasn’t been that dry, and the winter that cold.” She
looked across the table at her son. “Is the Lord-Protector looking north?”

“I
haven’t heard anything, and Colonel Clyon visited Emal two weeks before we left
on furlough. There’s more talk about when the Lord-Protector’s lady might
expect an heir.”

“They’ve
been married less than a year, and already they’re asking?” inquired Wendra.
“Doesn’t he have brothers, if that’s what they’re worried about?”

“He
has two brothers, as I recall,” Lucenda said. “But neither is married. Not that
the Lord-Protector’s next eldest brother isn’t considered capable.”

“You
mean, sufficiently ambitious and bloodthirsty?” asked Alucius dryly.

“Who
told you that?” Wendra looked at Alucius.

“The
colonel let that drop some time back. He said that the current Lord-Protector
had more sense than his younger siblings, but all were to be watched.”

“Clyon’s
a good man, but he’s getting along,” Royalt said.

Alucius
nodded. “Majer Weslyn is doing more and more.”

“You
think he’s a good man?”

“Majer
Weslyn? He does what the colonel wants, but…”

“He’s
not as strong?” asked Wendra. “Or he’ll do what the Council wants if anything
happens to Clyon?”

“I
worry about that,” Alucius admitted. “The head of the Iron Valley Militia has
to be able to stand up to the Council. Clyon does.”

“It’s
too bad you can’t be colonel,” Wendra said.

Alucius
laughed gently. “I’m too young. I’m the youngest captain in the entire
militia.”

“And
you’ve seen more than any of them,” Wendra said staunchly.

“It
doesn’t work that way. Besides, I’d rather be a herder.”

The
faintest frown crossed Royalt’s forehead, an expression—accompanied by a
feeling of worry that Alucius could not ignore.

Wendra
glanced from her husband to his grandsire, but she didn’t speak.

“What
else did Kustyl say?” asked Alucius.

“The
Council borrowed over six thousand golds from the Landarch of Deforya during
the fight against the Matrial. They didn’t want to raise tariffs, but they
haven’t been able to pay the interest, either, and they can’t pay even that
back without raising tariffs. After four years, the back interest is almost
another three thousand golds. Kustyl said he’d heard that the Lord-Protector
has bought the note from the Landarch. The Landarch had to sell it because he’s
got troubles of his own. The Lord-Protector has raised the interest on the note
because the Council hasn’t made the payments. Some say he’s even sending an
envoy from Tempre. There’s a faction in the traders that wants to accept being
a province of Lanachrona, rather than come up with a fifty percent increase in
tariffs.”

“That
much?” marveled Alucius.

“They’d
do that?” blurted Wendra.

“Aye…some
would,” Royalt replied.

“They’re
like Gortal,” Lucenda added. “So long as they can turn a gold, it matters not
what happens to others.”

“What
do you think will happen now?” Alucius looked to his grandsire.

“That…I
don’t know. You’ve seen Madrien, and so far what you thought would happen there
has. The Matrites can still protect themselves, and that leaves us, Deforya,
and the grass nomads as the places where the Lord-Protector might wish to
expand Lanachrona. He already has Southgate. I can’t see him spreading the
Southern Guard across the Lost Highway and a thousand vingts of grassland.”

“Deforya
or us, then,” Lucenda concluded.

“Or
both,” suggested Alucius. “In time, anyway.”

Royalt
shook his head slowly. “It’s not as though we could do anything now—or that
anyone’s going to ask us. We’re only herders.” He smiled at his daughter. “You
said there was some pie?”

Alucius
was staggered at the thought that the Council might surrender the independence
of the Iron Valleys over such a debt, enormous though it was. Staggered by the
revelation, but not surprised by the Council’s actions…or lack of forethought.

A
lucius
woke in the darkness,
knowing that he had to rise. His winter’s-end
furlough was over, and he had to report back to the outpost at Emal. The ten
days of the last week had flown by all too quickly, and now he had a three-day
ride ahead of him; he had to leave a day earlier than his men and squad leaders
would so that he would be there as they reported.

“I
wish you could stay longer,” Wendra whispered, snuggling against him.

“So
do I.”

For
a time, Wendra clung to him before he kissed her and said, “It’s a long ride.”

“I
know.”

Alucius
eased out from under the heavy quilts and headed from what had been the guest
bedroom across the back corridor to the washroom. The water coming from the
hand pump in the washroom was like liquid ice, and shaving left his face chill.
When he returned to the bedroom, Wendra had pulled on trousers and tunic and
her heavy winter jacket. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he pulled
on his nightsilk undergarments and his captain’s uniform.

Then
she stood and embraced him again. They kissed for another long moment before
she turned slightly and pressed the black crystal of her ring against the
crystal of his herder’s wristband. For an instant, warmth and closeness
enfolded them, and they clung to each other.

Wendra
stepped back to let him finish dressing, but did not sit down, standing at the
foot of the bed. Once he was dressed, he reached down and shouldered the
saddlebags, then lifted the rifle from the high wall rack. Except for what he
had on, and his personal toiletries, he’d packed the saddlebags the night
before.

He
wore the heavy cartridge belt over his militia winter parka. While he did not
expect trouble, if he encountered it, he’d need the cartridges in easy reach.
The rifle was his—but met militia standards, which meant that it was designed
for use against sanders and sandwolves, with the magazine that held but five
cartridges, each thicker than a large man’s thumb.

Wendra
accompanied him out of the house, carrying the basket of travel fare. As they
walked through the darkness toward the stable, a darkness that was more like
early twilight to Alucius, she said quietly, “It’s colder than yesterday.
You’ll be careful?”

“I’m
always careful, dear one. Even in Madrien I was careful.”

“I
worry.”

Alucius
worried, too, although he had less reason to do so than he had when he’d first
been conscripted years before in the middle of a war. Still…Corus was an
unsettled place, and there were raiders and brigands, even if there were no
battles. Yet.

After
saddling Wildebeast and slipping the food from the basket into the top of his
saddlebags, he turned to Wendra and wrapped his arms around her. “Just another
four seasons, and I’ll be here all the time.”

She
did not speak, but lifted her lips to his.

After
the embrace and kiss, Alucius pulled on the skull mask of nightsilk that
shielded his entire head, with only eyeholes and slits for nose and mouth.

“You
look dangerous in that,” she said with a faint smile.

“I
don’t know about dangerous, but the nightsilk keeps my face from freezing. I’ll
have to take it off at sunrise, or someone will think I’m a brigand.” He led
Wildebeast out of the stall and then from the stable out into the chill air of
a winter morning three glasses before sunrise.

In
the west, just above the horizon, the green-tinged disc of Asterta was setting.
The larger moon—Selena—had set a glass after sunset the night before. Alucius
closed the stable door and mounted. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”

“I
can—all right.” She turned and began to walk back to the house, Alucius riding
beside her.

Once
Wendra stood on the porch, Alucius turned Wildebeast.

“You
will
be careful,” Wendra said again, looking at her
husband.

“I
will,” he promised. “You take care as well.”

Wendra
nodded, as if she dared not to speak.

After
a long moment, of just looking through the darkness at her, he turned his mount
toward the lane, heading southwest, swallowing as he did.

He
understood her fears, her concerns.

So
much had happened. Three years earlier, he had been conscripted into the Iron
Valleys Militia. He’d served in the militia as a scout, then had been captured
at the battle of Soulend by the Matrites and forced by the Talent-torque welded
around his neck to serve as a captive trooper in the Matrial’s forces. He’d
discovered his own Talent-abilities, broken the power of the torques, and
returned to the Iron Valleys at the head of a company of other captives—only to
discover that the price of freedom was to become a militia captain over that
company. Now, after a little more than a year of service since his return, in
command of the Twenty-first Horse Company, he had just less than a year before
he could return to the stead, and the life of a herder—and to Wendra.

As
he rode past the outbuildings, he turned and looked back at the stead house.
Wendra still stood there watching. He waved, not knowing whether she might see
his gesture in the darkness, and he could not tell whether she did or not.

He
had ridden less than a vingt from the stead buildings when he sensed the
others. There were four men—none with Talent, for his Talent revealed that the
being of each was blackness without the flashes of green that revealed herder
Talent or the flashes of purple that revealed the only other kind of Talent in
people that Alucius had come across.

He
slowed Wildebeast into a walk, letting his Talent-senses reach out to locate
those who waited. They were waiting in the low wash less than two hundred yards
from where the stead lane met the old high road that ran from Eastice south
through Soulend, then through Iron Stem to Dekhron. Two were on the north side,
and two on the south, all of them less than twenty yards from the road—a clear
ambush.

Alucius
could also sense the grayish violet of the sandwolves, doubtless waiting to see
if there would be carrion left for them. Alucius smiled grimly behind the skull
mask. There would be carrion.

He
continued to ride until he was less than two hundred yards from the ambush
site. In the darkness, far enough away in the now-moonless night that none of
the men would see him, he reined up, dismounted, and tied Wildebeast to one of
the posts marking the stead lane, then took the rifle from its holster, holding
it in his left hand.

Moving
as silently as only could a man who had been both herder and scout, he slipped
through the quarasote, using his night vision and Talent-sense to make his way
to the wash on the north side of the lane.

He
hoped he could use his Talent to stun the men, then sever their lifethreads,
rather than using the rifle. But he had to get within yards to use Talent that
way, and there was every chance that one of them might hear him. So he held the
rifle ready as he eased toward the northernmost of the ambushers. When he
reached the edge of the wash, only about a yard and a half deep, he slid down
onto the lower ground and began to follow the wash south.

He
froze as he heard the faintest of sounds. Remaining silent, he listened.

“…thought
I heard something…”

“…scrats
probably…”

“…not
at night in winter.”

“…quiet…he’ll
be along…”

Alucius
edged along the chest-high miniature bluff toward the men, rifle ready, still
hoping not to use it, especially not at first.

A
good half glass passed before Alucius reached a gentle curve in the edge of the
wash, a position from where he could sense the nearness of the closest man. He
paused. Then he reached out with his Talent-senses—and struck with full force
at the man’s yellow-brown lifethread—a thread invisible except through
Talent-senses.

There
was but the faintest gasp, then a muted thump, and the reddish-tinged void that
signified death washed over Alucius.

“Silyn…you
there? Silyn?”

Ignoring
the whispered inquiry, Alucius kept moving, until he was less than ten yards
from the second man, where he once more extended his Talent and struck, wincing
as the death-void swept across him.

Then,
for several moments, Alucius stood silently, shuddering, and feeling the
perspiration gathering beneath the skull mask, despite the chill and the light
night wind that swirled around him, with the iron-acrid scent that always
accompanied any wind on the stead that came out of the northeast and off the
Aerlal Plateau. Finally, he took a long and slow deep breath, then crossed the
ten yards of the wash to the western side, where he climbed out and silently
began to circle west and south toward the remaining two men.

The
second pair were far closer together, less than three yards apart and lying
prone behind quarasote bushes on the edge of the far shallower section of the
wash south of the depression, where the stead lane dipped and ran through the
infrequent watercourse.

Neither
even turned as Alucius Talent-struck.

Alucius
had to sit down, with his legs over the crumbling edge of the wash, breathing
heavily and shuddering. He’d killed with his Talent before—but never more than
one person at one time. He’d had no idea that the effort was so great—or the
reaction so violent. But it explained why those with Talent didn’t make that
much of an impression on the world, especially since there were few who had great
Talent. He doubted that he could have used his Talent against a fifth man—not
if he wanted to remain conscious.

After
a time, he stood, slowly, and walked back to the first pair of dead men,
rifling through their wallets and winter jackets to see if there happened to be
any sign of anything that might say why they had tried to attack him. All he
found that indicated their motivation was five golds in each belt wallet, in
addition to some silvers and coppers. He took the golds, but left the lesser coins.
Then he trudged back to the first pair, where he found nothing revealing,
except five golds more in each wallet.

He
took a deep breath and made his way through the darkness toward Wildebeast, his
Talent-senses still extended. The sandwolves were closer, perhaps a vingt to
the west, across the ancient eternastone high road. Only when he reached the
stead road, and Wildebeast, did he concentrate on the image of carrion, of food
for the sandwolf pack. Then, with a grim smile, he mounted.

He
frowned. His Talent indicated someone was riding toward him—quickly. He relaxed
slightly as he sensed the green-shot blackness that was his grandsire. Rather
than ride on, he waited.

Within
another quarter glass came a voice.

“Alucius?”

“I’m
here. I’m all right.”

“I
can tell that now. Wasn’t sure what had happened until I was headed out here.
Was certain something had. Could feel you were worried. So did Wendra. We both
caught that. Not like you. You just called the sandwolves,” Royalt observed,
reining up on the stead road. “I didn’t know anyone could do that.”

Behind
the skull mask, Alucius grinned raggedly. “Someone told me not to tell anyone.
Herders don’t tell, remember?”

“You
can do more than that.”

Alucius
ignored the statement. “There were four of them. I don’t think the sandwolves
will leave much. They’re hungry.” He eased Wildebeast toward his grandsire and
the gray that the older man rode, then extended his hand. “They’d been paid in
gold. Five golds each. Use it for the stead.”

The
twenty golds clunked into the older man’s hand.

“I
left the silvers and coppers in their wallets,” Alucius said.

“What
do you think about their mounts?” asked Royalt.

“They’re
tethered. Leave them where they are. I thought you and Kustyl could find them
and the bodies—or what’s left of them—early tomorrow. I was going to ride back
to the stead and tell you, but you’ve saved me the trip. I’d guess that the
four, whoever they were, were travelers who got lost in the dark and had the
misfortune to run into hungry sandwolves.”

“That’s
what Kustyl and I will say. But I’ll get the mounts now. Wouldn’t want to lose
them to the sandwolves. Waste of good horses.” After a pause, Royalt asked, “Do
you know who it could be?”

“If
Dysar were still alive…” Alucius said slowly. “But I can’t think of anyone
else. You said Wendra felt it, too?”

“She
wanted to come. I thought it was better she didn’t.”

Alucius
nodded. “She has Talent. She might show more. You ought to take her out with
you.”

“I
will. I’d thought about it.”

Left
unsaid was the understanding that the stead needed a herder, and, in Alucius’s
absence, should anything happen to Royalt, there would be no one else to herd
the nightsheep—unless Wendra could. The last woman herder had been Royalt’s
mother, the last woman with Talent in Alucius’s family. Alucius didn’t know—or
hadn’t asked, he corrected himself silently—about any female herders in
Wendra’s family.

After
another silence, Royalt said, “You’d better get going, before the sandwolves
get here. Kustyl and Wendra and I…we’ll take care of things.”

“Thank
you.”

Once
more, Alucius turned Wildebeast westward, leaving his grandsire behind once
more.

In
less than a fifth of a glass, he was traveling southward on the ancient high
road. The gray eternastones, laid down at least a millennium before, remained
unmarked by the passage of time or traffic. Within a day, any few scars that
might mar the gray stone surface vanished. In the darkness the gray stone
emitted a faint glow perceptible only to those with Talent, a line of
illumination that ran straight as a rifle barrel from Soulend to Iron Stem.