Darknesses (34 page)

I
n
the early evening,
Feran and Alucius sat at one of the small wall tables
at Elyset’s Red Ram. Although the shutters were open to let in the cooler
evening air, the main room was dim, the wall lamps not yet lit. Each officer
had a beaker of amber ale before him.

“What
did you find out from the colonel?” asked Feran, before taking a sip of the
ale.

“Things
are worse than we thought. The Council doesn’t even control the Northern Guard
any longer. The Lord-Protector just dissolved the Council. The colonel reports
directly to the Arms-Commander of Lanachrona. The Lord-Protector is sending
more golds, enough to raise and equip three more Northern Guard companies by
next spring. That’s for the attack on Madrien. The colonel didn’t say that, but
there’s no other reason to build up the posts east of the Westerhills, and that
will weaken us and strengthen Lanachrona by spending our troopers.”

“And…Weslyn…the
Council…they’re accepting this?”

“What
choice do they have? The Lord-Protector threatened to execute all the members
of the Council. No one wanted to fight before. Do you think they would now?
Even before that happened, before last spring, the Iron Valleys didn’t have two
golds to rub together. They didn’t even have enough coin for ammunition to last
the summer.”

“So
we go out and die so that they don’t lose their golds. Is that it?”

“They
will anyway, in time. No…we go out and fight on Madrien lands so that we don’t
fight on Iron Valley lands and so that blood doesn’t flow inside our
boundaries. We’re the sacrifice for our families and friends.” Except, Alucius
refrained from saying, Feran would be the sacrifice if Alucius went back to
being a herder.

“When
you put it that way…” Feran sighed, then took a longer swallow of his ale.

“It
doesn’t make it much better,” Alucius admitted. “It’s still bad for anyone in
the Northern Guard. It’s better for most people, though.”

“How…how
did they ever let it get this bad?”

“You
know as well as I do. The traders on the Council didn’t want to spend the
golds. Neither did the farmers and the crafters. Well…you pay one way or
another, and now they’ll all end up paying higher tariffs with less
independence because they didn’t want to pay higher tariffs before.” Alucius
took a sip of his own ale, then leaned back as the server eased the stew in front
of him, and then set a basket of bread between the two men.

“Be
a silver each, swells.”

Alucius
slipped out a silver and a copper, as did Feran.

Once
the woman had left, Feran looked down at his cutlets. “Last year…got the same
thing for three coppers.”

“Prices
will keep going up.” Alucius broke off a chunk of the rye bread. He would have
preferred the softer dark bread, but there wasn’t any molasses, or so the
server had said.

“So
we pay more for food, too?”

His
mouth full of the peppery stew, Alucius nodded.

“You
get any chance to find out what they want to do with us?”

“The
colonel asked for my recommendation. I tried to find out more, and that’s when
he told me about the extra companies. He wasn’t happy about it, either.”

“You
have this habit of telling me things I’d rather not hear, Overcaptain.”

“Might
as well get all the bad things over. I suggested sending Fifth Company to
Soulend.”

“You
volunteered us to go to Soulend?” asked Feran. “You know how I hate the cold.”

“No…I
was given choices. You could go to Eastice for the winter, or Soulend, or
Wesrigg. At Wesrigg, you’d spearhead next spring’s attack on Arwyn, where the
Matrites will bring in every company and weapon they have. You told me you’d do
anything to avoid Eastice. So I picked the next least bad choice.”

“Sander-shit
world where you win battles that should kill you and still have to settle for
the least evil choice,” Feran mumbled as he used his belt knife to cut off a
section of cutlet.

“Would
you rather have been in Eastice?”

“No.
Soulend is better than that…think you’re right about Wesrigg, too.” Feran took
another swallow of ale and held the empty beaker up. “What about you?”

“Leave
the day after tomorrow for Tempre. The colonel let me consolidate third and
fourth squads to take with me. I’ll take Faisyn and leave Egyl in charge of the
company—except they’ll be on furlough. So will you. Everyone gets a month. We
get a month when we get back.”

“Nothing’s
happening this harvest or fall, then.” Feran handed the beaker to the server.

“Except
building up the posts in the Westerhills and training more troopers.”

“Why
do you think the Lord-Protector wants you to go to Tempre?”

“I
don’t know. It worries me. I’m just a lowly overcaptain, and a very junior one.
He rules an entire land. If it’s just a gesture, it’s a strange one.”

“Maybe…maybe
he knows…”

“Knows?”
Alucius replied disingenuously.

Feran
snorted. “You’re a herder. Everyone knows that.” He lowered his voice and
leaned forward. “More than a few troopers and Egyl and Koryt and I know that
you’re a lot more than that. We don’t say anything because it works better that
way, and you’ve saved our asses more than once. But there are tales about
Talent-wielders in Tempre…and about a Table with a mirror that can see things
that belongs to the Lord-Protector.”

“You’ve
said that before. When we were headed to Deforya.”

“I
did. Was I wrong? Could anyone else have stopped those pteridons?”

“I
don’t know.”

“Alucius…”
Feran’s voice was low, but firm. “We both know the answer to that, and it’s a
good wager that the Lord-Protector does, too. You’d better be ready for that.
He’s going to want something. I can’t guess what, but I’d not want to be in
your boots for all the gold in Tempre.”

Alucius
laughed. The sound was hollow. “I’m not sure I’d like to be in them, either,
but I am.” He took a long swallow and finished the ale.

Feran
shook his head, then took a deep draught of his second ale.

B
y
late afternoon on Sexdi,
two days after leaving Dekhron, Alucius and his
reconstituted third squad—composed of those left from third and fourth
squads—had reached the point on the high road where it rejoined the River
Vedra. The dry grasslands of eastern Lanachrona had been replaced by tilled
fields on both sides of the road, fields watered by mule-powered irrigation
pumps that spewed river water into long narrow ditches. Rows of healthy maize
alternated with rows of a shorter plant that Alucius did not recognize.

Although
it was harvest, it was warm enough to have been full summer. Alucius took
another swallow from his second water bottle before replacing it in its holder.
He’d had plenty of time to think, and, for all that thought, there were still
too many questions unanswered. Earlier, on the brief ride through Dekhron, the
troopers had not only been ignored, but Alucius had felt the hostility. Was the
militia, now the Northern Guard, being blamed for the annexation of the Iron
Valleys into Lanachrona? And if that happened to be the case, he wondered who
was spreading those sorts of tales. The two traders who had been watching him
at the Red Ram? Former members of the Council, disgruntled and upset by the
Lord-Protector’s dissolution of the Council?

He
kept the frown he felt to himself.

“Less
than a glass to Borlan Post, sir,” Heslyn called forward. “It’s on this side of
the river. The Vyana, I mean.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius saw little ahead except steads and fields and two rivers, the
Vyana to his left, running westward through the lower fields to the south, and
the Vedra to his right.

A
quarter glass passed, and Alucius could make out the walls of Borlan Post, set
on the right side of the high road ahead, and situated on the higher triangle
of land formed by the junction of the River Vedra and the River Vyana. While
there were some dwellings around the post, the town was on the lower western
side of the River Vyana, over the bridge that carried the high road.

At
first, Alucius thought it strange that the high road crossed the Vyana, but not
the Vedra, then turned south from Borlan to Krost, when it would have been far
quicker to run the road straight from Borlan to Tempre. Then, as the image of
the fast-moving ship from the mural in Dereka crossed his thoughts, he
understood. The Vedra was wide and deep from Borlan westward, and the ancients
would have used the river had they needed to travel directly to Tempre, while
the high road opened up all of the south of Lanachrona.

The
post itself had yellow brick walls close to three yards in height, with rows of
two-story buildings within the walls.

“Sir…if
you would allow me to announce you,” suggested Heslyn.

“If
you would…” It was a good idea, and one that Alucius should have thought of
himself.

Heslyn
pulled out of the column and galloped toward the post, then reined up at the
gates, three hundred yards from where Alucius and the others rode. While
Alucius watched, one of the two guards at the open gates scurried away, then
returned within moments. Heslyn reined up and waited outside the gates.

When
Alucius and third squad reached the stone road leading to the post, a road
about fifty yards in length and cracked and repaired many times, they turned
and rode toward the post gates. A trumpet sounded—off-key—a series of triplets.

“Never
gotten a fanfare before,” Faisyn murmured.

The
trumpet sounded again as Alucius reached the sentries. Through the gates he
could see a half squad of Southern Guards lined up in an honor guard of sorts.
Just what had Heslyn told the sentries? That he and third squad were some sort
of legendary heroes?

A
blond Southern Guard majer stood beside ranked troopers who waited.

Alucius
signaled for the squad to halt as he drew up Wildebeast inside the gates and
opposite the honor guard.

“Squad
halt!” Faisyn ordered.

“Overcaptain
Alucius, Northern Guard, welcome to Borlan Post! You do us honor, and we offer
all that we can to ease your journey.” The majer smiled broadly.

Behind
the smile, Alucius sensed both concern and curiosity, but he replied
immediately. “Your courtesy and your friendliness do you honor, and we deeply
appreciate the welcome.”

The
majer gestured, and a senior squad leader stepped forward. “Lethyn will see
that your men are shown the stables and their quarters, and, of course, the
mess. He can also make sure that any mounts that need attention can be attended
by our farrier. He’ll also help with resupplying you for the next part of your
journey.”

In
turn, Alucius singled out his own squad leader. “This is Faisyn, third squad
leader.”

The
two squad leaders conferred briefly, then third squad headed toward the stables
in the northwest corner of the post.

“I’m
Ebuin, temporarily in charge of Borlan Post,” offered the majer. “Let’s get you
to the officers’ stable, then I’ll show you to the visiting officers’
quarters.” His voice was friendly.

“You’re
most kind.” While Alucius did not sense the arrogance and falsity he had with
some officers, such as Colonel Weslyn and the marshals of Deforya, Ebuin
radiated a coolness.

“I’m
most curious,” Ebuin admitted. “But…if you don’t mind, I’ll defer that until
later. I would hope that you would join me in the officers’ mess after you’re
settled.” The majer walked swiftly across the packed clay of the inner
courtyard, halting outside an open archway at one end of the stables. “Take any
open stall that suits you. I’ll just wait out here.”

True
to his word, Ebuin was waiting after Alucius had groomed Wildebeast.

Alucius
carried his saddlebags over his shoulder and a rifle in each hand.

“Two
rifles?” Ebuin raised his eyebrows.

“At
times, it has helped not to have to reload,” Alucius admitted.

“I
can see that.” Ebuin turned and walked back toward the smaller two-story
structure behind the headquarters building. “The visiting officers’ quarters
are the same as ours. They’re just the last three rooms on the upper level. We
all share the same washroom. Not many overcaptains or other senior officers
come through here. Most of the fighting’s been in the west. Except for your
expedition.”

“I
thought you held Southgate.”

“Marshal’s
been moving up the southwest coast road toward Fola. He wants to flank Dimor.
They’ve got some weapon there.”

“It’s
a crystal spear-thrower,” Alucius volunteered. “Fires half-yard-long crystal
spikes. Scores at a time.”

“You’ve
seen it?”

“They
used it against us at Soulend. There’s only one, and I’d heard it went south
after they gave up in the north.”

“I
see.” Ebuin stopped by the steps on the north side of the quarters’ building.
“Up these stairs. The officers’ mess is at the front of the main mess building.
I’ll finish up the reports I was working on and meet you there in a glass. If
that’s suitable.”

“That
would be fine. I can get off some of the road dust,” Alucius said with a smile.
He also intended to check with Faisyn on how matters were with third squad.
After the majer turned, Alucius climbed the steps.

The
quarters consisted of a single modest room with a moderately wide bed for one,
a writing desk, boot and weapons racks, and a narrow armoire. The water in the
washroom was cool, but there was plenty, and Alucius used it to wash out one
uniform and one set of nightsilk undergarments before washing himself. After
dressing, he went down the back steps and made his way to the barracks.

Faisyn
was dressing, and Alucius waited until the squad leader finished before
slipping into the barracks. The floor was slightly dusty, but the sturdy bunks
were well separated, and there were wall pegs for uniforms and weapons.

“How
are things?”

“Better
than most places, sir. Had to lean on a couple of them to wash up.”

“Sylat?”

Faisyn
laughed. “Him and Vercal.”

“Anything
we need that I don’t know about?”

The
squad leader frowned. “No, sir. One of the bottles of leather oil broke, but
Lethyn already got us another.”

“Good.
I wanted to check before I met with the majer. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Ebuin
was waiting in the small mess, with but three tables, and only one set for two
people. The majer rose from the table as Alucius stepped inside. “Supper should
be here in a moment.” He gestured to the other place.

Alucius
seated himself. A pitcher of amber ale sat on the table, with two empty
beakers.

“It’s
good ale, the best part of the meals around here,” offered the older blond
officer. “Go ahead and pour.”

Alucius
filled both beakers and took the one on the left.

“The
captain-colonel is in Tempre. Otherwise, I’m certain he would have joined us.”
Ebuin raised the ancient beaker. “To your health…”

“To
yours.” Alucius returned the toast, lifting his own beaker.

“We’d
received instructions several weeks ago that you’d be coming through. They
didn’t say much except that you’d taken over command of the joint force after
Majer Draspyr’s death and that you’d routed the nomads attacking Dereka. You
were heavily outnumbered, weren’t you?”

“Could
have been three to one, or four to one.” Alucius took a small swallow of the
ale. Ebuin had been right. The ale was cool, with just enough bite to cut
through the dust in his throat.

“Did
that include the Deforyans?”

“The
Deforyan Lancers numbered twenty-five companies. We were down to four by then.”

“The
nomads had more than a hundred and twenty companies?”

“That’s
what one of the Deforyan marshals told me later. They collected more than six
thousand nomad breastplates.”

The
number clearly surprised Ebuin, although he nodded and took a swallow of his
ale before going on. “Someone mentioned that they had some sort of
Talent-creatures…”

“Pteridons.
Blue-skinned flying beasts with riders that had ancient skylances. The lances
shot blue flames.” Alucius paused as a serving boy carried in two large
platters and set them in the middle of the table.

One
contained strips of meat covered with a brownish sauce and lightly browned
almonds, garnished with lime slices. The second held a glazed and fried rice.

“Whistlepig,”
Ebuin explained. “They’re like scrats, except much larger and tamer. They taste
like fowl.”

Alucius
had his doubts, but took several strips and a goodly amount of rice.

Ebuin
sliced off several morsels and began to eat. Alucius followed, more carefully,
deciding that the whistlepigs were edible, better than prickle, but not so good
as fowl, and certainly not so good as the quail he’d had at Elyset’s.

“About
those pteridon things,” Ebuin said, after a time. “I thought rifles weren’t
much good against Talent-beasts.”

“It’s
harder. But we use larger cartridges than you do. Trade-off.” Alucius had to
take a quick swallow of the rice, because some sort of seasoning or pepper
burned his mouth. “Larger cartridges means fewer in a magazine.”

“That’s
why you carry two rifles?”

“One
reason.”

“How
effective were your cartridges against the beasts?”

“Not
nearly as effective as against the nomads,” Alucius said with a rueful laugh.
“We did kill them, but they only had something like eleven pteridons, and they
wiped out about half the Deforyans.”

“And
they didn’t get you?”

“They
got enough of us. I could see what was coming…” Alucius gave a short
description of his tight formation charge and what happened afterward, except
for the details of darkening the bullets used against the pteridons. “…and when
I could see again, I was being tended by some very elderly women. Then, after I
was better, the Landarch pinned a decoration on me, overloaded us with
supplies, and sent us packing.”

“It
is a rather amazing story, I must say,” Ebuin observed. “I have the feeling
that you have understated what you did. Otherwise, the Lord-Protector would not
wish to see you.”

“He
seems to know a great deal,” Alucius said blandly. “And often before he could
have received messengers.”

Ebuin
did not reply.

“That’s
obvious,” Alucius pressed. “He sent messengers to meet us, and they caught us
just out of the Upper Spine Mountains. There was no way that a messenger could
have ridden to him with the details and all the way back in that time. He must
have some devices of his own.”

“There
are rumors,” Ebuin said vaguely, “but that’s not something I’d know. They don’t
tell majers that much.”

Alucius
could detect the lie, but only said, “And they tell overcaptains even less.”

“Isn’t
it always so?”

“You’ve
been here for a time, haven’t you? At Borlan?”

“Two
years. I’m supposed to be rotated west at year-end.”

“When
I was at Emal, we had several raider attacks. The raiders wore red, like
Deforyans, but they weren’t. You didn’t know anything about that, did you?”

“I’d
heard that there were raiders out east, but we never saw any,” Ebuin said
smoothly.

“You
were fortunate.” Alucius took another swallow of the ale, then refilled his
beaker. He looked to the other officer.

“Yes,
thank you.” Ebuin raised the beaker slightly, then drank. “It’s said that
Dereka is a very old city.”

“It’s
very old. The Landarch’s palace was built before the Cataclysm, and the city is
served by an aqueduct equally old.”

“You
won’t find anything in Tempre that ancient,” Ebuin offered. “The Lord-Protector
and his sire have rebuilt almost everything, except for his palace, but that
was totally reconstructed by his grandsire…”