Scepters (67 page)

“What
can you tell me?” asked Alucius.

“Might
help if I knew what you know and what you need to know.”

“Here’s
the problem. I’m sure that Weslyn was lining his own pockets, entering higher
charges for goods and pocketing the difference. We found three hundred sixty
golds in his cellar, mostly the kind that are sent from Tempre—”

“Three
hundred sixty? The sandsnake skimmed off that much?”

“I
can’t yet link the amounts, but that’s what it looks like. He also replaced any
officers who might question him with captains who seemed to be the younger sons
of factors and merchants who sold goods to the Guard. Oh… and he also disbanded
the Nineteenth and Twentieth Companies, and I think he pocketed that payroll,
but I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to go over all the ledgers in any
depth. We’ve been working on letting everyone know about the change in command
and that Weslyn tried to kill me.” He pointed to the chart on the desk. “Feran
and I have been trying to work out which officers to remove, and what senior
squad leaders we can promote to captain or undercaptain to take over. We’ve
just about got that figured out, not just who but how and in what order so that
we can get someone who’s good in charge in the important posts as quickly as we
can.”

“Your
grandsire always thought you’d be good at this. Your mother made him promise
not to tell you.” Kustyl coughed. “You’ve figured out what Royalt and I
suspected was going on, but there are some things that you ought to know. First
off, all the old traders that backed Dysar, then Weslyn, are dead. Except for
two. One’s Halanat, and the other’s Tarolt. No one sees Tarolt much at all. He
doesn’t trade or factor anymore, and all his business is handled by Halanat’s
outfit. No one sees Halanat much, either. His son, young fellow by the name of
Halsant, is the one who does all the factoring, and he’s the head of this new
Traders’ Council. Probably the youngest of them all, but he’s still in charge.
He’s not much older than you are, maybe thirty, but they all do what he wants.
Has to be because Halanat and Tarolt are behind him. Don’t know why everyone
backs off ‘em, but they do.”

Alucius
nodded. “There has to be some connection with Weslyn.”

“Oh…
everyone knows they were friends. Ate together, even over at the Red Ram.
Weslyn was the friendly type, met and ate with most of the big factors.
Already… some of them are saying that you were sent back to break up their
trading combine so that the factors from Tempre and Borlan can move in.”

Alucius
snorted. “From what I’ve seen, the southerners can’t even handle trading in
their own land—in lower Lanachrona, I mean. Those that can are more worried
about what’s happening in Deforya and in Southgate.”

“Doesn’t
matter what’s really happening, Alucius. You have to deal with what the traders
in Dekhron think.”

“I
know. So what do I do? I’d thought about meeting with them and telling them
exactly what happened.” Alucius gave a twisted smile. “One problem is that I
haven’t figured it all out yet.”

“Set
up a meeting now, but for a week away or so. That way, they’ll hold off saying
their worst. They’ll still talk, but they’ll want to know what you have to say
before they act.”

“That
makes sense. What do you think they’ll try to do?”

“I
don’t know. Not for sure. Some of ‘em have to be thinking about paying brigands
or some of the old-time Reillies to take you out.”

“That’s
a comforting thought. And if I get rid of them, I’ll be a highhanded butcher
sent by the Lord-Protector.”

“After
what you did in Hyalt, they’re already saying that.”

“How
do they know what I did in Hyalt?”

“I
don’t know, but word’s out that you butchered thousands of men and turned the
city and the trade over to the women.”

“The
prophet had used Talent to enslave maybe a thousand men into his forces. They
kept attacking us, and when they did, we killed them. I’d judge that we killed
something like eight hundred. No more than a thousand. We had to turn the city…
well… it’s really only a big town… we had to turn it over to the women. The men
who were left were either ten years older than you or not quite right in the
head from what they’d been through.”

“Doesn’t
matter.”

Alucius
sighed. “I know. Are my choices to try to do what’s right and try to survive
assassination attempt after attempt, or will I have to wipe out all the factors
here in order to have a chance to keep the Iron Valleys from being taken over
by the Regent of the Matrial?”

“Regent?”

“She’s
the one who took over in Hieron. From what I’ve seen of their lancers, she’s
even worse than the Matrial was. They’ve got those torques working again. We
did get rid of their crystal spear-throwers, and the Lord-Protector has pushed
them back north for now. If I can get the Guard reorganized, we might be able
to keep them in check in the north as well.”

“In
check?”

“With
half the captains hardly competent, and without the Nineteenth and Twentieth
Companies, I’ll be fortunate to do that. Dezyn doesn’t know much about
training—do you know what happened to Overcaptain Culyn?”

“There
was talk about it, say a year and a half ago. They found him dead in the
quarters here. Not a mark on him. Figured his heart just stopped.”

Why
hadn’t Alucius heard that? Or had he been so relieved not to be in the Guard
then that he just hadn’t paid attention?

“You
don’t think it was that, I take it?” asked Kustyl.

“Looking
back… no. No more than Clyon died of the flux.”

“You
got your hands full.” Kustyl shook his head. “Every herder’s behind you, but
there aren’t many of us left.”

“You
have any more suggestions for me?”

“Don’t
enter any narrow ways and never leave your back bare. And if you’ve got any
ways to have folks die of flux or in their sleep, Halanat and Tarolt wouldn’t
be bad places to start.” The older herder shrugged. “And don’t wait very long.
They won’t. That’s for certain.” The lanky gray herder looked toward the closed
door. “That’d be all I’ve got right now. Except to spend some time with that
wife of yours.”

“I
don’t need a reminder for that.” Alucius smiled as he rose. “You’ll let me know
if you hear anything else?”

“That
I will. Be talking to a few folks I can trust here in Dekhron. Not that many,
anymore, but I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Do
you have somewhere to stay? We could—”

Kustyl
shook his head. “Be staying with Renzor—Mairee’s cousin’s boy. Works better
that way.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius opened the study door for Wendra’s grandsire.

After
Kustyl left, Alucius took another look at the charts and planned company
rosters, but his eyes wouldn’t focus on the names or the descriptions. He shook
his head and walked back out of the study.

“Sir?”
Dhaget looked up from the table where he was sorting lancer files into piles by
company.

“If
Overcaptain Feran comes back, tell him that my wife just arrived, and that I’m
up in my quarters getting her settled in.”

“Yes,
sir.” Dhaget kept the smile off his face, but not totally out of his voice and
eyes.

Alucius
did not run up the steps to the commander’s quarters, but neither was his
progress sedate. He found Wendra on the large bed in the main bedchamber,
propped up with pillows and feeding Alendra.

After
a moment, he eased onto the bed behind her shoulder, then kissed her neck.

She
turned her head, and their lips met.

After
several very long moments, Wendra eased her head back and readjusted Alendra. “You
don’t have to act as though every moment will be the last,” she said with a
grin. “I’ll be here for several days, maybe longer.” The grin turned to a
frown. “How did you get that scar?”

“That
was from the prophet.”

“You
didn’t mention that.”

“It
didn’t seem important.” He paused, almost afraid to ask the next question, with
his desire to have her in Dekhron for more than an afternoon or a day. “What
about the stead?” He kissed her neck again.

“It
will do without me for a few days. While I’ve been with Alendra… your grandsire…
he had to take the flock.” Wendra shifted Alendra into the crook of her left
arm and switched the infant around, readjusting her clothing to let her
daughter nurse on her other breast.

“Did
he… have trouble?”

“No.
He never saw those creatures. Alucius… they’re attracted just to you and me. It
has to be. Have they ever appeared anywhere besides where one of us is?”

“There
were the pteridons of Aellyan Edyss… but, as for the wild ones…no.”

“Why
are they attracted to us? Because we show more Talent?” asked Wendra,
readjusting Alendra in her arm again.

Alendra
began to suckle in earnest.

Wendra
winced slightly. “She’s strong, and she’s a little piglet. She must take after
you.”

“Me?”

“You,”
she said firmly. “Now… why do those things show up when we’re around?”

“That
we have Talent might be part of it, but it can’t be all of it. They have to be
coming from somewhere, and that has to be from wherever the ifrits are coming
from.”

“Where
is that? Is it truly another world, as you said?”

“It
must be. There’s nothing that looks like those creatures anywhere in Corus, and
there never has been, except in the days of the old Duarchy.” He paused. “Except
maybe the ones that look like black dust-cats.” He shook his head. “It’s like
nothing quite fits. But the soarers said the ifrits were from another world,
and so far, what the soarers have said… it’s been so.” Alucius bent forward and
kissed her neck, easing one arm around her.

“Later…
dear man. Later. When not every lancer is speculating on what we’re doing, and
when Alendra is asleep. I’ve missed you, and I’d like to have some time to
enjoy being with you.” She turned her head.

Alucius
enjoyed the kiss—enormously—even knowing that he would have to return to charts
and rosters and other matters. But only for a time, and only until later.

Hieron, Madrien

The
Regent rose from the wooden armchair set behind the conference table and took
several steps toward the north wall of the private study that had once been
that of the Matrial. She stopped short of the built-in shelves, filled with
ancient tomes that covered the entire wall, shelf upon shelf, running from the
floor to the four-yard-high ceiling. A small walnut book ladder rested in the
middle of the shelves, a single volume balanced on the third step.

For
a time, she looked at the volumes, unspeaking.

Then
she turned from the volumes on the shelves and walked back to the conference
table, where she reseated herself. Her violet eyes fixed upon the marshal in a
purple and green uniform tunic on the other side of the circular conference
table. “Have the engineers made any progress with the drawings I supplied?”

“They
have yet to discover how to duplicate the crystals necessary for energy
storage,” admitted the marshal.

“Then
they scarcely deserve the title of engineers.”

“They
have begun to grow the crystals that focus and create the spears. The storage
crystals are harder. They are much more complex than those for light-torches,
and you know how long it has taken and how hard it has been to create those.
Even the…” The marshal broke off.

“Even
the Matrial, you were about to say?”

“Yes,
Regent.”

The
Regent offered a cold smile. “I suppose that is fair. She did have more
experience than I have at present.”

“Do
you know how the Matrial became… the Matrial?”

“Changing
the subject, are you, Aluyn?”

“Yes,
Regent.” Aluyn’s voice carried a rueful tone. “It seemed wiser.”

A
sharp laugh was the Regent’s reply. “You are honest. I’ve always admired that.”

Aluyn
waited.

“I
suppose it cannot hurt to tell what I know,” admitted the Regent. “There were a
few notes that I found. She was not from Madrien. She was born in Aelta.”

“She
was Deforyan?”

“She
was a pleasure girl in the palace of the Landarch, if what she wrote was
correct, and then she cut her hair and became a lancer in the time of troubles
with the nomads—the old troubles, four centuries ago. She was proficient enough
with rifle and blade to survive. Then… according to the notes, she discovered
her destiny and brought it with her as she made her way westward…”

“Discovered
her destiny,” mused the marshal, “and brought it with her. Almost as if it were
something she held in her hands.”

“I’m
sure that she thought of it in that fashion,” replied the Regent. “At times,
destiny can indeed have a tangible form.”

“A
tangible destiny? And is that destiny now yours, Regent? Will you soon be the
next Matrial?”

“There
has been but one Matrial, and that is all that there ever will be.” The
pale-faced, violet-eyed, and dark-haired Regent smiled enigmatically. “We shall
leave it at that, and you will offer great encouragement to the engineers—if
they wish to remain engineers.”

“Yes,
Regent.” Aluyn offered a discreet head bow. “I will do so.”

“You
may go.”

Only
when the marshal had departed both the study and the Regent’s private quarters
did the Regent stand. She left the study, then crossed the main sitting room
and stepped through the arches and out into the enclosed garden.

The
Regent glanced at the row of daisies, green and seasons from flowering, before
turning to light upon the miniature redflower tree in the northwest corner. Her
violet eyes darkened.

Abruptly,
the small red flowers browned, then dropped onto the dark soil of the narrow
flower bed. In turn, pointed olive green leaves darkened, blackened, and fell.
The smooth brown trunk blackened in turn, and, but for an instant, blue flames
played over the blackened remnant of the ancient miniature tree. Within
moments, all that remained was a circle of black on the soil.