Darknesses (35 page)

From
that point onward, the conversation remained centered on cities, travel times,
and other innocuous subjects.

It
was well past dark when Alucius returned to his quarters.

As
he disrobed, he reflected on what he had learned. The majer had made an effort
to appear uninformed, but he had known a great deal more about the raiders than
he had said. For Alucius to pursue that would have revealed more than he would
have gained. The majer had also known more about the pteridons, and about the
mysterious mirror or Table that the Lord-Protector possessed. And why was the
captain-colonel absent? Because that officer knew too much, and the Lord-Protector
didn’t want Alucius to find out too much?

From
Ebuin’s questions, it was clear that he suspected that Alucius was far more
than a good officer—and it was also clear he had known about Alucius for more
than a season. The majer had been far too calm, far too accepting.

And
all of that worried Alucius even more.

Tempre,
Lanachrona

A
lthough
the Lord-Protector’s steps
were light and he attempted to reach the
Table of the Recorders without alerting anyone, the Recorder of Deeds stood at
the entrance to his underground chamber, waiting. “Lord-Protector.”

“Greetings,
Recorder.”

“You
wished something?”

“I
did not see you this morning, nor as often in recent weeks.”

“I
have been working on ways in which I might improve what the Table displays,”
replied the Recorder.

“What
sort of success have you had?” inquired the Lord-Protector, easing toward the
black cube of the Table.

“There
are several…possibilities, but it is too early to tell. You will be the first
to know. That I can assure you.”

“Have
you discovered what has happened with the nomads of Illegea?” asked the
Lord-Protector.

“Without
Aellyan Edyss, they are returning to independent and wandering tribes,
Lord-Protector. They could not agree on a single leader, and they will not
threaten Lanachrona or Deforya for years to come, if ever in your lifetime.”

“And
the Landarch?”

“Little
has changed in Deforya. Little will, it appears.” An ironic laugh followed the
Recorder’s words. “Then, little has changed there in generations.”

“You
think someone will supplant the Landarch?”

“It
is possible, but it will change nothing. Whoever is Landarch will remain a
captive of the landowners.”

“You
are far more cynical these days, Recorder.”

“I
would term it…realistic, Lord-Protector.”

“I
suppose one could call it that.” The younger man paused, looked at the blank
Table of the Recorders, then asked, “What have you determined about Overcaptain
Alucius?”

“He
has left Dekhron and passed through Borlan on his way to Krost on his journey
here, Lord-Protector. It would appear that he has enemies within the Northern
Guard and among the traders of Dekhron, but they have not yet acted.”

“Whatever
happens, it cannot but benefit us,” replied the Lord-Protector. “If they fear
him, they will be more temperate in their actions. If they decide to act, and
somehow kill him, we will have less of a problem from the herders. If he kills
or weakens the traders, we will be able to exert more control over Dekhron
sooner than we had planned.”

“That
is true.”

“You
no longer seem that concerned about the overcaptain. Are you still opposed to
his coming here?”

“I
have reconsidered, Lord-Protector. As you had said much earlier, it may be for
the very best that he comes here. The very best.”

The
Lord-Protector nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“That
way, you can judge for yourself whether he represents a danger or an
opportunity for Lanachrona.”

“And
what if he is both?”

“You
are the Lord-Protector.” The Recorder laughed once more. “You must decide, as
always.”

A
fter
six more days of solid travel,
and sleeping out on hard ground, by Londi
afternoon Alucius and his squad were just north of Krost. Once they had gotten
well south of Borlan the land had become hillier and far more lush, and Alucius
and third squad passed meadows still green even in early harvest, tilled fields
filled with crops ranging from beans to oilseeds, and vingt upon vingt of
almond orchards. The stead houses and outbuildings were wooden, but well kept
and numerous. The high road had far more traffic, with wagons headed in both directions.
The air was also damper, and Alucius was perspiring and drinking more and more
water.

Ahead,
Alucius could see the crossroads where the two high roads intersected, and
where he and his troopers would turn westward to reach Krost Post. To the southeast
of the city, larger than Borlan, but perhaps half the size of Hieron, were
hills covered in rows of staked green vines. Alucius recalled that Krost was
near the wine-making area of Vyan Hills. Heslyn was once more riding directly
behind Faisyn and Alucius.

“Tell
us something about Krost, Heslyn,” Alucius suggested, turning in the saddle.

“People
say that it is where the best wines in all of Corus are produced, but that is
not true. Vyan is where the best grapes are grown and where the very best wines
are produced. Some of the vintners come from families that produced wine well
before the Cataclysm. Even today, the wines are sent all over the world. Krost
is a city of merchants, wine merchants, and traders, and Krost is where more
bottles are produced than anywhere else in the world. Thousands upon thousands
of bottles. You see those three tall chimneys to the left of the crossroads?
That is the glassworks. They also produce goblets there, for no true
Lanachronan would drink good wine in other than glass. If you look to the east,
on the south side of the other high road, you can see a large hill that looks
like half of it has been cut away.”

Alucius
looked for—and found—the odd-shaped hill.

“That
is where the finest sand is found. From there, they take it to the
glassworks…the lead for the crystal, it must be brought all the way from
Soupat, and they say that is why the high road runs there…”

Before
that long, as Heslyn offered his knowledge, the squad had reached the
crossroads in the center of Krost and turned westward. The high roads ran amid
a welter of buildings, some of them four stories tall, and many of them
ancient—but not of eternastone. There had to have been equally ancient
buildings in the past, Alucius noted, because the high road was on the same
level as the streets. Either that, or over time, the streets and buildings of
the city had been built up on ruins until they were level with the high road.

Once
more, Alucius let Heslyn ride ahead, but sent Makyr with him, to announce their
arrival at Krost. Once they rode through the gates, a half squad was lined up
to welcome them, with a senior squad leader in the front. Alucius and third
squad had just reined up inside the gates of the post when three officers
hurried out into the paved courtyard. All wore spotless blue-and-cream
uniforms. Alucius recognized the collar insignia of the captain and the majer,
but did not know that of the gray-haired and presumably senior officer who
stepped forward.

“Overcaptain
Alucius, Northern Guard, en route to Tempre.”

“We’re
most pleased to see you, Overcaptain. I’m Captain-Colonel Jesopyr.” He inclined
his head to the others. “Majer Fedosyr and Captain Quelyn. And Senior Squad
Leader Desar.”

“We’re
pleased to be here, sir.”

“We’re
pleased to have you. No formalities. Let’s just get you and your men settled.”

Jesopyr’s
manner and the feelings behind it were so open, so friendly, and so at odds
with what Alucius had experienced with Majer Ebuin that Alucius just nodded,
momentarily finding himself without words.

“Captain
Quelyn will escort you, and Desar will make sure your troopers and squad
leaders lack for nothing. We’ve plenty of space here…”

In
moments, Alucius was walking Wildebeast toward the stables, listening to
Quelyn.

“…received
word you’d be here, must have been several weeks ago…Now, we’re just using
number one stable these days…visiting officers here through the first archway…”

The
stable held spaces for close to four hundred mounts, from what Alucius could
count, and fewer than a quarter of the stalls were in use. The other stable
appeared unused. From the stable, Alucius carried his gear back across the
courtyard to a two-story gray stone structure that was a good hundred yards in
length. The officers’ quarters had rooms—or doorways—for close to fifty, but
the wing through which Captain Quelyn led Alucius appeared empty.

Quelyn
opened the door. “Really are a colonel’s quarters, but anyone who led five
companies rates as a colonel. If there’s anything you need, let me or one of
the senior squad leaders know.”

Alucius
glanced across the spacious room—a good ten yards by four—with an antique desk,
a double-width bed of equally ancient vintage, a double armoire, a carved
weapons and boot rack, wide shuttered windows, and an attached washroom. “This
looks more than adequate.”

“The
captain-colonel planned a formal supper in about two glasses,” Quelyn went on.

“I
just have my uniform,” Alucius pointed out.

“Oh,
formal means uniform here, except he’ll be serving wine instead of ale, and he
can tap into the good supplies.” Quelyn grinned. “We all enjoy having visiting
dignitaries.”

Alucius
scarcely felt like a dignitary, whatever that was, only like a tired Northern
Guard officer.

“He
wanted to make sure you had time to check on your troopers and supplies so that
we’d know anything your men would need before you leave tomorrow.” Quelyn
smiled. “The officers’ mess is on the lower level here in the front. In two
glasses, then?”

“I’ll
be there,” Alucius promised.

Quelyn
shut the door, leaving Alucius to puzzle over the clear friendliness and lack
of deception behind the captain’s and the captain-colonel’s words. Finally, he
racked his weapons and hung up his clothes and gear before checking the
washroom. It even had a tub, and a spigot that filled it with lukewarm water.
Alucius did enjoy the bath.

He
had more than enough time to wash out dirty uniforms and garments, and to walk
to the barracks and confer with Faisyn, but there was little to discuss,
because the Lanachronans had been so helpful.

“It’s
like we were heroes, sir.”

“You
all were, even if most people don’t know it. Let them enjoy it for now, but
remind them—gently—that we are guests. And if they don’t behave like
guests…I’ll have more than a few things to say.”

“Yes,
sir.” Faisyn grinned.

So
did Alucius.

He
took a little more time to walk around the post, but everything he saw
confirmed his first impressions. The post had been constructed to house between
ten and fifteen full companies and there was only a company or a company and a
half in residence. But the facilities were not abandoned or obviously disused,
and could have been utilized almost immediately.

Quelyn
was standing outside the building that held both officers’ quarters and the
mess when Alucius returned.

“The
colonel thought you’d be checking on your men. He said he could tell you were
the type.” Quelyn coughed. “Ah…he said something about…you’re having been
there.”

Alucius
smiled. “It’s no secret, not in the Iron Valleys anyway, that I started out a
trooper. I’ve been a squad leader and senior squad leader. Only thing I never
was was an undercaptain.”

“You
must have entered service very young.”

“I
did. Very young.” Alucius didn’t see much point in explaining further.

“Excuse
me. We’d better get inside. The captain-colonel wouldn’t be happy if I kept you
out here.”

Alucius
followed the young captain in through the double oak doors and down a short
hallway floored in blue-and-white marble tiles shaped like diamonds. The mess
itself held more tables than Alucius could quickly count, but only one was set,
with white linen and cutlery. Five officers, including the captain-colonel,
were waiting, standing around the table talking quietly. The talk stopped as
Alucius and Quelyn entered.

“Right
on the moment. I said he would be,” Captain-Colonel Jesopyr announced.
“Overcaptain, I’d like to present to you those officers you have not already
met. Captain Bersyr, Captain Zenoryn, and Overcaptain Klynosyr. You recall
Majer Fedosyr.”

“I’m
pleased to meet you all.”

The
captain-colonel steered Alucius to one end of the table. “All of you take your
seats.”

Alucius
sat, as did the others.

Then
Jesopyr turned to the table behind him, where he picked up one of the
amber-colored bottles. He screwed a device with a twisted metal prong into the
cork of the bottle, then pulled out the cork. “This is one of the best reds.
That is,” he added apologetically, “one of the best reds that a Southern Guard
officer can reasonably afford, and I have been saving this for just such an
occasion.”

“Since
the last occasion a month ago?” asked the fresh-faced overcaptain—Klynosyr—with
the square-cut beard.

“No,
this is a two-month…no, a two-season occasion. How often have we had a chance
to dine with an overcaptain who has fought pteridons and nomads and been
decorated by the Landarch of Deforya?” Jesopyr bent forward and half filled the
crystal goblet before Alucius, then filled the other six goblets, emptying the
bottle in the process.

Jesopyr
raised his goblet. “To our guest. May he travel to Tempre in health and return
in both health and wisdom.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius lifted his own goblet. “And to your hospitality.”

The
deep amber wine was far better than anything Alucius had ever tasted, not that
he had drunk that much wine, he reflected. It was also stronger than ale.

Two
troopers in white jackets appeared, quickly setting plates before each officer.
On each plate were thin strips of something covered with a glaze.

Alucius
tried the first course, discovering it was some sort of tangy fish, covered
with a lemon-almond glaze that went down easily.

“Have
you had lemon-smoked oarfish before?” asked the majer.

“I’d
had oarfish, but not prepared this way,” Alucius admitted. “What I’ve had
wasn’t nearly this good.”

“I’m
glad to hear that.” The colonel smiled, as if he had won a wager of some sort.
“I imagine you didn’t see much fish on your travels to Deforya.”

“None
at all, but the Landarch served a very tasty antelope dish.”

“What
about pteridons?” murmured someone.

The
colonel looked sharply toward the junior captains.

Alucius
smiled. “I don’t imagine they’d taste very good. They seemed rather…oily.”

“Did
you…” One of the two captains whose names Alucius hadn’t remembered, sitting at
the end of the table, broke off his words.

“Fight
real pteridons?” Alucius allowed an amused tone to creep into his voice. “Some
of the nomads flew big blue-winged beasts and bore blue metal skylances that
fired blue flame. They looked like the old pictures and the pieces in a leschec
set. Maybe they were something else, but if a pteridon is worse than what we
fought…well, I’d rather not see a pteridon.”

There
was a low laugh around the table.

“They
had the ancient skylances?” pursued Majer Fedosyr.

“The
kind that fires waves of blue flame? They did. We didn’t know about the lances,
and that’s how they killed Captain Clifyr and a good bunch of the Twenty-third
Company.”

Quelyn
looked at one of the other junior captains, but neither spoke as the trooper
servers reappeared with a second course, soup in low bowls. Alucius thought it
was bland, but not objectionable, and similar to his grandmother’s gourd soup.

“We
heard that, under your command, the Lanachronan forces destroyed more than half
of the nomads. How, if I might ask, did you manage that when you were so badly
outnumbered?” asked Fedosyr.

Once
more, Alucius went through his selectively abbreviated description of the
battle for Dereka. “…and, while I didn’t see the last part of the battle, I was
assured by my officers and by the Deforyan marshals that was what happened.”

“They
burned your uniform right off you?” asked Quelyn wonderingly.

“I
was most fortunate. Most who were struck by skylance fires died. It took
several weeks for me to recover fully.”

“Over
a hundred companies?”

“Something
like that.”

Once
more the servers reappeared, this time presenting some sort of meat pounded
almost paper-thin, then rolled into tubes filled with a whitish green
substance. The meat turned out to be a tender beef and the filling of
parsley-cream and cheese. Alucius ate it all. At some time, the amber wine he
had not finished had been replaced with a deep red vintage.

“I
had heard that the Landarch awarded you the Star of Gallantry.” The colonel
looked to the majer. “There have only been twenty ever given before, and that’s
since the Cataclysm.”

Yet
again, Alucius was bothered, both by what the captain-colonel knew, and his
obvious cheer in telling of Alucius’s exploits.

“You
know,” Jesopyr added, with a laugh, “you’ll have to watch yourself in Tempre.
They’re not used to real heroes there.”

The
absolute chill behind the warm words nearly stiffened Alucius right at the
table. The warning was as direct and honest as a dagger, and felt nearly as
deadly.

“The
officers there,” Jesopyr continued, “except for Marshal Wyerl, of course,
haven’t seen a real battle in years, and they think more in terms of golds and
trade, and how to defeat other lands without having to fight.”