Scepters (13 page)

“Two
or three companies of new lancers just out of training, with a handful of
experienced squad leaders and some junior captains, one who’s never seen a
battle. You’ll pick them up in Krost, where they’re winding up training.”

“You
have great confidence in me.”

“As
I heard the story, you took an entire company of green forced conscripts, broke
them free of the Matrial’s collars, trained them, and bested four companies of
the Matrial’s best. For an officer who can do that, this should not be all that
hard.” A smile played around the marshal’s lips. “Of course, I could have heard
the story wrong.”

“You
heard it mostly right. Except we didn’t really best four companies. We evaded
two and attacked the other two. We just fought well enough to break through
them and get home to the Iron Valleys.”

“An
officer who doesn’t listen to the stories about himself. That’s even rarer than
a good battlefield commander, and you’re both.”

“I
did what had to be done,” Alucius said.

“That’s
what all good commanders say.”

“And
bad ones as well,” replied the younger officer.

Frynkel
laughed, then went on conversationally. “I was asking around, Majer, and I was
told an interesting story. After you were released from duty as an overcaptain
and were headed back home, you were attacked by brigands. Some twenty of them.
A senior squad leader said that you’d been badly injured, but that you’d killed
all twenty. Not one brigand survived, he said.” The marshal looked at Alucius. “How
true is that?”

Alucius
shrugged. “I killed most of them. I don’t know how many others there might have
been because I wasn’t in very good shape at the end.”

“Amazing
story. And no one ever tried to find out why twenty brigands were sent after
you?”

“Not
that I know. At that point, I was still recovering and just wanted to get home.
Nothing like that ever happened again. There wasn’t much reason to stir things
up.”

“And
no one ever mentioned it to you? Even indirectly?”

“No
one, except family here on the stead, of course.”

“Hmmm…
You never heard from Colonel Weslyn about the matter?”

“No,
sir. Then, I was no longer on the active rolls. I am certain that the colonel
has had other more pressing concerns. How did you find him?”

“He
was most pleasant, although somewhat puzzled at my inspection tour. That was
another reason for my trip through the Iron Valleys.”

“He
has always been most pleasant,” Alucius said politely.

“So
far as I could tell, he has never been in command in any skirmish or battle.”

“That
is something I didn’t know.”

“He
had served two years as a captain sometime ago,” Frynkel continued, “and then
headed the guards for a trader—Halanat was the name, I believe. After the death
of a Majer Dysar, about which I understand you have some knowledge—the Traders’
Council prevailed upon Colonel Clyon to name him as the assistant commander.
Certain irregularities were then removed from the records. I assume you know
what occurred after that.”

“Colonel
Clyon’s strange illness and death? Yes.” Alucius wondered what irregularities
had occurred. “As a captain in the field, I would not have heard about
irregularities in Dekhron.”

“You
were doubtless concerned about more pressing matters—such as surviving brigand
attacks. I was led to believe that a young trader died under rather mysterious
circumstances following the death of Colonel Clyon’s youngest daughter.”

“And
the young trader was the son of Halanat?”

“No.
He was the son of a man called Ostar.”

Alucius
kept his nod to himself. No wonder the Iron Valleys had been forced to accept
annexation by and union with Lanachrona. The Traders’ Council had had far too
little interest in anything but their own personal schemes and machinations.
But then, the Lord-Protector and the Southern Guard had their schemes and
machinations, and Alucius could only hope that their goals were somewhat more
noble.

“I
haven’t paid that much attention to what has been happening outside of the Iron
Valleys,” Alucius said. “If you would not mind, since we do have some time on
the road, I would appreciate anything that you could tell me that might bear in
any way, however indirect, upon my commission…”

Frynkel
turned in the saddle and looked at the captain who rode behind them. “Geragt…
move up closer. It won’t hurt you to hear all this.” Then he cleared his throat
and began. “The simplest way to begin is… Nothing is going quite right. Not
disastrously wrong, not yet, anyway. I’ll start in the east. We have some
scattered reports that the new Praetor of Alustre is continuing to increase his
forces…”

Alucius
listened intently, hoping somehow that what he heard would prove even more
useful than Frynkel intended.

The
ride to Dekhron was long, even on the roads of the ancients, and the two squads
were forced to stop on the first night at Sudon, then continue on the next
morning to Dekhron. There had been but a handful of squad leaders and officers
at the training base at Sudon who knew Alurius personally, but all had
seemingly heard of him and his past achievements—and by the time he had
finished breakfast on Duadi, the newly promoted majer was relieved to mount up
and be back on the road to Dekhron.

The
clouds of Londi had been replaced by a clear silver-green sky, with a crisp but
light wind out of the northwest. The golden grain in the fields to the west of
the eternastone road bent slightly to the wind.

Neither
Alucius nor Frynkel spoke much until they were a good five vingts away from
Sudon and back on the main road south.

“You
have quite a reputation, even today,” observed the marshal. “That is most
interesting.”

“Why
do you think that is interesting, sir?” asked Alucius.

“When
all are doing deeds that are honorable and heroic, there are few with
reputations that are heroic, and even fewer stories. The deeds are told
quietly, as if necessary, and then all go out and do what they must.”

“You
seem to be suggesting that there are not enough heroic deeds in the Northern
Guard.”

“Not
exactly, Majer. Those who are true heroes are the men who do what must be done,
with fear in their hearts and full understanding of the odds and risks they
face. That is what you have done, and I would wager that most of those in your
companies also did the same. When you were decorated by the Landarch of
Deforya, as I recall, you did not wear the Star of Gallantry. Nor do you now,
nor the Star of Honor.”

“There
were many who deserved those stars, Marshal. Many of them did not live, but
they deserved them as much as I.”

“You
said that to the Lord-Protector, did you not?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“And
how did your men speak of what you did?”

“I
don’t recall that they did, sir. Most of them did not wish to speak of what we
did at all.”

“That
was my point. When a fighting force must look only to past heroics and not to
present deeds and duties, all is not as it should be.”

“And
what of the Southern Guard?”

“I
fear that you are also a hero there, if not of quite such great dimensions.”
Frynkel laughed softly. “Still… it is a rare man who has been a hero for three
lands before he has reached his thirtieth year, and even rarer for him to have
survived those heroics.”

“I
was extraordinarily fortunate.” As he replied, Alucius could not help but
wonder what had happened over the past two years, and how Lanachrona had gotten
into such a situation.

“You
doubtless were, and let us hope that such fortune continues. We all could
benefit from such.” Frynkel smiled. “Now… I should tell you more about the
geography of the hills to the southwest of Hyalt.”

Alucius
nodded, listening.

Alustre, Lustrea

The
man who sat in the unadorned silver chair on the dais wore the silver-and-black
jacket of the Praetor with the matching silver trousers. He scowled, the
expression making his youthful face ugly rather than older. Although he tossed
his head slightly, his short and pale blond hair did not move at all. Neither
did his black eyes, which remained fixed on the two men in the tunics of
Praetorian Engineers.

“You
have been working for nearly two years in Prosp, and you can report nothing
beyond this? “ He lifted a thin sheaf of paper.

“Honored
Praetor Tyren,” replied the taller and broader engineer, his eyes still
downcast, “it took more than half a year to clean out the rubble, sir. You
instructed us to be most careful and to try to salvage all that we could. We
took the utmost care.”

“There
was no sign of Vestor?”

“Ah…
his clothes and possessions were there, lying on the floor, as if he had
vanished and they had fallen on the floor. There was a pistollike weapon, but
nothing like anything we’d seen before. It was crushed, and we’ve been working
to see if we can replicate it.”

“Why
not just repair it?” Tyren’s voice carried untarnished sarcasm.

“It
was destroyed beyond all repair.”

For
a moment, there was silence before the Praetor spoke again. “In this report,
you claim that the Table was unbroken. How could that be when two stories of
building stones collapsed over it so that nothing was left but a heap of rock?”

“Sir,
that was what we found. The Table was untouched. The stones that collapsed on
it cracked and broke, but there is not a scratch upon it. As you instructed, we
rebuilt the structure around it, but with greater reinforcements.”

“Have
you had any success with the Table?”

“No,
sir. It has a faint glow in pitch darkness, but we can find neither the source
of the glow nor an explanation for why it might glow.”

“There
are no records of what Vestor did?”

“Ah…
yes, honored Praetor… he did leave some records and notes…” replied the slimmer
and shorter engineer.

“Then
why have you not used them to decipher the mysteries of the Table?”

“We
cannot read them,” confessed the slim engineer. “They appear to be in the
ancient Duarchial script, and there is no one alive who can read such.”

“If
there is no one alive who can read it, just how did Vestor learn it well enough
to write it?”

“We
don’t know, sir,” admitted the broader man. “He never talked to anyone about
what he was doing. There are some notebooks, older ones that date to several
years back, and those were written in Lustrean, and we have used those to
reconstruct one crystal tank. We have been successful in rebuilding one of the
light-knives similar to those that were successful against the pteridons of the
nomads.”

“Partly
successful,” corrected Tyren.

“Yes,
Praetor.”

“You
call yourselves engineers.” Tyren snorted. “You might as well call my staff of
office one of the Scepters of the Duarchy. A name does not make it so. You may
go. Endeavor to learn something more from the Table, if you would. And continue
to construct more of the light-knives.”

“Yes,
honored Praetor.”

Neither
man met the eyes of the Praetor. They both bowed and retreated from the
receiving hall.

Under
a clear silver-green sky, with the sun just nearing its noontime zenith,
Frynkel, Geragt, and Alucius rode side by side on the eternastone road toward
Dekhron. Behind them rode two squads of Southern Guards. They had just passed
the stone announcing that the former capital of the once-independent Iron
Valleys lay but two vingts ahead.

“Majer?”
Frynkel said.

“Yes,
sir?”

“You
will need to present yourself to Colonel Weslyn. Since you now report to the
Lord-Protector and are under my direct command, that is merely a courtesy and a
formality, but a prudent one. As I mentioned earlier, your pay and that of the
companies under you, including Fifth Company, will also be borne by the
Southern Guards, as will all supplies and equipment once you leave Dekhron.”

“The
colonel cannot be too displeased with that.”

Frynkel
offered a crooked smile. “About the golds, no. As I am certain you have
considered, he is likely to be less pleased that one of his inactive
overcaptains has been promoted to one of the highest ranks in the Northern
Guard without his approval and that the same officer will be under the command
of and working with the senior officers of the Southern Guard. He also will
have thought out that your reputation is both impeccable and unassailable.”

“In
short,” replied Alucius, “he will be most polite, most courteous, and doubtless
would not be grieved in the slightest if lightning struck me or some other
unlikely calamity occurred.”

“That
would be a good working assumption, although, if he is as I suspect, he would
probably not wish any calamity upon you until after you complete your duties in
Hyalt.”

Alucius
understood that all too well, because the Lord-Protector might well continue
the operation in Hyalt with Feran, and Feran’s success—and long-standing
career—would make Feran an even greater threat to the colonel.

Before
that long, they neared the outskirts of Dekhron. The town itself seemed little
changed from Alucius’s last time there, more than two years earlier. The houses
were crowded together and built of the same uneven mixtures of stones scavenged
generations earlier from even older buildings. Few of the shutters and doors
were painted, and on more than half of those the paint was chipped or peeling,
or both. Most of the side streets were of packed clay swirled with red dust.
Only the eternastone of the high road seemed fresh and new, if also dusty, and
it was older than everything else, Alucius reflected.