Scepters (16 page)

Fifth
Company followed Eighth up the cracked pavement of the side road to the post,
slowing and then halting for a time just outside the gates—gates without
sentries, Alucius noted.

From
somewhere ahead, Alucius heard a greeting. “Marshal Frynkel, welcome to Borlan
Post! You do us honor, and we offer all that we can to ease your journey.”

Alucius
recalled similar words, delivered in a similar tone, and he wondered if Majer
Ebuin still remained at Borlan.

Fragments
of Frynkel’s response drifted back.

“…
appreciate the welcome, Majer… your courtesy and support… most welcome… two
full companies… Majer Alucius… Northern Guard… may recall him… Overcaptain
Feran…”

The
blond majer—who was indeed Ebuin—remained outside the post headquarters
building, waiting for Alucius and Fifth Company, while the marshal and Eighth
Company had moved on toward the stables.

“Majer.”
Alucius inclined his head as he reined up once more. “I’m pleased to see you.
This is Overcaptain Feran, in command of Fifth Company.”

“It’s
good to see you again, Majer… and to meet you, Overcaptain.”

Feran
nodded.

“Are
you now the post commandant?” Alucius asked politely.

Ebuin
nodded. “I am. Captain-colonel Yermyn was stipended in the spring, and Borlan
Post will be reduced to a travel post under a captain at the turn of the year.
I’ll remain here until the changeover.”

Alucius
hadn’t really considered that the annexation of the Iron Valleys would also
have had a wide-ranging impact on Lanachrona, but it certainly made no sense to
retain a large outpost at Borlan now that the northern side of the Vedra was
part of Lanachrona. In fact, as he considered it, he had to wonder why the
reduction had not occurred earlier. “Do you know where you’ll be posted then?”

Ebuin
shrugged. “Best we get your men.” He raised a hand, and a Southern Guard
stepped forward from behind him. “Squad Leader Henthyn can help get your squad
leaders oriented. You know where the officers’ stable is. Marshal Frynkel will
be taking the commandant’s quarters, and that will allow each of you a room in
the visiting officers’s quarters.”

“Thank
you.”

Alucius
and Feran rode to the stables, where they unsaddled and groomed their mounts.
Then Alucius—carrying his rifles and saddlebags—led the way to the structure
behind the headquarters building, climbing up the steps to the upper level. As
he recalled, their rooms would be the last three—all sharing a single washroom.

Alucius
had the end room, slightly larger but still modest, with a bed for one, a
writing desk, boot and weapons racks, and a narrow armoire.

While
Feran checked on Fifth Company, Alucius used the cool water in the washroom to
clean up, then to wash out one uniform and one set of nightsilk undergarments.
After dressing in his other uniform, he made his way down the steps. Then he
stopped. What was he going to do? He’d only get in Feran’s way, and the older
officer knew his duties, probably far better than Alucius did at the moment.

Alucius
climbed back up the steps and reentered his temporary quarters. He seated
himself at the writing desk. Here he was, a majer in charge of one company and
shortly to be in charge of three or four, and he’d never thought about exactly
how he was going to handle things. He hadn’t been given any instruction or
ideas, either from the marshal or from Colonel Weslyn, and he needed to set up
some sort of structure to run three or four companies, and one that didn’t take
many lancers.

He
was still jotting down notes when Feran knocked on the door to the quarters.

“Majer…
the marshal has asked us to join him for supper…”

Alucius
quickly stood. He had most of his ideas down in rough form, not that there were
all that many.

“What
were you doing?” asked Feran, as Alucius stepped out of his quarters.

“Trying
to figure out how to run three or four companies without riding over my own
mount.”

“You’ve
done that before.”

“Ride
over my own mount? Several times, at least.”

Feran
frowned. “You were in charge of all the companies on the way back from Deforya.”

“We
didn’t have to do all that much except ride west on the highway,” Alucius
pointed out dryly. He started down the steps to the lower level. “That didn’t
take much skill. Here, we’re going to be trying to put down a rebellion, and I’d
guess that’s going to mean different companies in different places.”

“So…
what do you have in mind?”

“There’s
a chain of command, and you’re next in line. Frynkel’s taken care of that by
making sure you have a commission in both the Northern and Southern Guard.” He
stopped as they neared the mess. “We can go over it later.”

Feran
nodded.

The
marshal and Captain Geragt were standing in the small mess, with its three
tables, talking in low voices with Ebuin as Feran and Alucius arrived.

“…
kind who will do what needs to be done…”

“…
seemed that kind before…”

Frynkel
broke off his words to Ebuin and cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here…”

Ebuin
gestured to Frynkel. “Marshal… we’re not formal here. If you would do the honors?”

With
a nod, the marshal took a seat at the larger circular table, the only one set.
Following the marshal, Alucius seated himself, followed by Ebuin and Feran,
then by Geragt.

“As
I once told Majer Alucius,” Ebuin said, “the ale is good. It’s one of the best
parts of meals here, and that’s why there are two pitchers set out.” He took
the pitcher and filled the beaker before the marshal.

Ebuin
kept looking at Frynkel, and Alucius could sense that, for all Ebuin’s outward
heartiness, the majer was fretting about something.

A
server appeared and set two large platters in the center of the circular table.
The first held long slices of meat covered with brown sauce, garnished with
lime slices. The second held glazed and fried rice.

“Whistlepig?”
asked Alucius, although he thought he recognized the dish.

Feran
looked at Alucius quizzically.

“It’s
one of the specialties of Borlan,” replied the other majer. “They’re like
scrats, except much larger and tamer, and taste like fowl.”

The
marshal served himself, as did the others in turn.

As
he ate, Alucius decided, once more, that despite what Ebuin said, whistlepig
was not so good as fowl, especially not so good as the Vedra chicken at the Red
Ram, but far better than much he had eaten over the years.

“Have
you received any dispatches from Krost or Tempre that would be of interest?”
Frynkel glanced at Ebuin.

“There
have been very few. Arms-Commander Wyerl will be shirting the Southern Guard
out of all the outposts along the Vedra east of Tempre, except here at Borlan,
by the turn of the year.”

“They’ll
all go west?” suggested Alucius.

“More
than likely,” Frynkel replied. “Not that I’ve been told yet. What else?”

“All
lancers in either Northern or Southern Guard whose service is due to expire at
the turn of winter or spring have been extended another season, until more
trainees are ready. As possible, they will be used in training assignments.”

Feran
frowned, as did Geragt.

Alucius
had doubts about whether such assignments would really be offered, especially
for the Northern Guard.

“Such
refreshingly cheerful news,” Frynkel said sardonically. “And how are the crops
here in Borlan?”

“I
wouldn’t know, sir. Not for certain, but there’s not too much complaining.”

The
marshal turned to Alucius. “Majer, you’ve heard about the overthrow of the
Landarch by the large landowners of Deforya. You are certainly the most
experienced officer to serve there in many years. What do you make of that?”

Alucius
took a small swallow of ale before replying. “The Landarch was trying to
balance the needs of his land against the demands of the landowners. You may
have read my report on the structure of the Deforyan Lancers. Most of their
overcaptains are the younger sons of the large landowners. The undercaptains
and captains come from the crafters and less prosperous merchants. That means
that those with wealth control the water supply through the aqueducts, the
lancers through their officers, and trade and business through their golds.”

“Then
why did the Landarch not fall years before?” asked Ebuin.

“It’s
only a guess, but I would judge that his power lay in the long tradition of the
Landarchy and in the distrust between landowners. They felt they needed someone
who was beholden to all the landowners and not to any one of them.”

“Why
would you judge the landowners overthrew him now?” Frynkel’s words expressed
mild curiosity.

“You
would be more aware of the current situation than I am.”

Alucius
replied, “but I would guess that they overthrew him because he understood what
was happening and tried to move Deforya to face those troubles, and the
landowners were opposed to the changes…”

“Go
on,” encouraged Frynkel.

Alucius
shrugged. “I don’t know for certain, but only a few of the senior officers in
the Lancers seemed to understand anything they didn’t want to, or anything new.
They could have cultivated more land, but instead they seemed to force people
into Dereka, almost as if they wanted to keep them poor. They refused to
believe in the pteridons until they were flaming thousands of lancers. Times are
changing in Corus. The Praetor of Lustrea was preparing to take over the nomad
grasslands, and now that Aellyan Edyss is dead and the nomads are fragmented
and blocking trade on the southern route, he probably will resume that effort.
If that is the case, the Landarch might assess a slightly higher tariff on the
northern pass, but he would be aware that too high a tariff would not be well
received by his neighbors. The landowners would not care. They would only see
the chance to shift the tariff burden farther away from themselves and onto
someone else.” Alucius paused for another swallow of ale. “That is but a guess,
and probably a poor one at that.”

Frynkel
nodded slowly, then glanced to Feran. “What do you think, Overcaptain?”

“I
think Majer Alucius is being charitable. The landowners would suck the life out
of the stones in the mountains and the grass in the plains if they could make a
copper more. Their sons treat the junior officers like ignorant rankers when
the juniormost officers know more than the senior officers.”

“Majer
Ebuin?” prompted Frynkel.

“I
know less than either of these worthy officers…”

“You
still must have an opinion.”

Ebuin
tilted his head, thinking for a time. “It is always easier to blame someone
else. The Matrial blamed Lanachrona. The Dramurians blame us now. Deforya has
slowly become less and less prosperous. I would say that it was easier for the
landowners to blame the Landarch. The only way to keep him from refuting their
charges was to topple him before he could. That is but my best guess, sir.”

“You
majers are most cautious. Overcaptain Feran is more direct.” Frynkel laughed
softly. “Rank can make one cautious. That is not always a virtue.” He laughed
again. “I learned that the hard way, many years ago when I was an overcaptain
in charge of a small border post near Chronant…”

Alucius
forced himself to listen intently.

Much
later, after several more stories from the marshal and one from Ebuin, Alucius
returned to his quarters for the night. After bolting the door, he used his
belt striker to light the wall lamp over the writing desk. He set aside the
sheets of paper holding his thoughts on organization and began a letter to
Wendra.

When
he finished, more than a glass later, he reread what he had set down, eyes
skimming through the words.

My
dearest—

I
am writing this from Borlan. As you doubtless know, little eventful has
happened, for which I am grateful. I did meet with Colonel Weslyn in Dekhron,
and he is as he always has been, most polite and gracious in his speech. It was
good to see Feran again, and some of the men I had commanded several years
back…

We
leave in the morning for Krost, where we are to meet the rest of the force I
will be commanding. We have no new tidings of what may have occurred in Hyalt
or elsewhere…

I
would that matters were not as they are, and that we were together on the
stead. I look forward to completing my tasks so that I may return to you.

Then
he signed and sealed it. In the morning he would see what arrangements he could
make for his letter to Wendra to be carried to Iron Stem by one of the regular
dispatch riders. Of course, it would cost half a silver, and there wasn’t that
great a guarantee, but it was worth the coin. He just recalled his regrets when
he’d been captured by the Matrite forces and had never written a single letter
home.

Dekhron, Iron Valleys

The
stocky man turned from the shelves of the library as the door opened and a
white-haired man in black entered. “Tarolt.”

“I
see you are perusing the volumes again. For references to the scepters, I
presume?”

“I
thought that it would not hurt to look, as I could. I have completed my other
assignments. Or what of them that I can do at the moment.”

“The
scepters might be helpful, Sensat, but they have already accomplished what was
necessary a thousand years ago.” Tarolt’s voice was firm and cold.

“Are
we sure that those tensions remain as necessary? Without the locators…”

“They
do, else none of the Tables would have worked all these years. I have
calibrated the new Table, and Trezun has rechecked the measurements. It is so.
We do not
need the
scepters.”