Scepters (15 page)

“Lovely…
helpful, and more able than I’d ever have believed.” Alucius almost had said
that Wendra was more Talented. He’d have to get back into the habit of being
more closed-mouthed now that he was off the stead.

“Can’t
tell you’re still in love or anything.”

Alucius
flushed.

Feran
laughed. “Wager you brought writing paper.”

“That’s
not even a wager. I just hope I’ll have time to write.” And that the messages
actually get to Wendra, he added silently.

“Here
comes the marshal.”

Alucius
turned. Although Frynkel had a smile on his face, as did Geragt, Alucius could
sense anger in the marshal.

“It’s
been a long day, a very long day,” Frynkel said. “Time for a good ale.”

“I’d
agree,” Alucius replied.

He
found himself walking beside the marshal, who was clearly disinclined to talk,
with Feran and Geragt following.

Less
than a hundred yards south of the post, the Red Ram was an old redstone
building set on the corner, with ancient and narrow windows. The graying Elyset
met them at the door. She smiled professionally.

Alucius
inclined his head to the proprietress, projecting warmth and friendliness, as
he had done once years before. “It’s good to see you again.” He grinned. “You
suggested the quail the last time. Is it still the tastiest thing you have?”

Elyset
laughed. “Majer or not, you’re still a trooper. Don’t have any quail today. No
pheasant, either, but the noodles and fowl are good.” She turned to Frynkel
with a smile. “We don’t see marshals often, and I’ve seen you more than a few
times in the past week. Best we get you seated.” She led the way toward the
corner beside a cold hearth covered with a wicker screen. “Be quiet here this
evening.”

Frynkel
took the seat in the corner, and Alucius sat to his left, across from Feran.

Instead
of a server coming to the table, Elyset stayed. “Expect you know the
drinks—ale, lager, wine. Right now, we’ve got stew. Always stew. Lamb cutlets, and
the Vedra chicken with the heavy noodles. And lymbyl.”

“I’ll
have ale and lymbyl,” Frynkel said. “And the heavy dark bread.”

Alucius
had never liked the eel-like lymbyl. “The ale… and you suggested the fowl and
noodles. Is that the Vedra chicken?”

“That’s
it. You want it?”

“Yes,
with the dark bread, too.”

Feran
and Geragt both opted for the chicken, and Feran took ale, but Geragt asked for
wine.

The
drinks arrived almost as soon as Elyset left, brought by a taller and younger
woman.

Frynkel
lifted his ale. “To a successful campaign.”

“To
a successful campaign,” echoed the other officers.

Even
as he repeated the words, Alucius wondered how one judged a campaign against a
revolt or a rebellion as successful, but he merely took a swallow of the ale
and waited to see what else the marshal might offer.

“You
know this won’t be the usual campaign,” Frynkel said after a long swallow of
ale.

“I
imagine not,” Alucius replied. “Dead people don’t pay tariffs, and if the
rebels believe deeply, you either have to kill very few or all of them.”

A
puzzled expression flitted across Geragt’s face. Feran offered the hint of an
amused smile.

Frynkel
chuckled. “You’ve been thinking.” He turned toward Geragt.

“He’s
right. If the rebels believe deeply that the Lord-Protector is wrong or evil,
for every man that the majer kills, two others will take up arms. That’s
because the deaths will prove to others that the Lord-Protector is evil.”

“Or
something like that,” murmured Feran under his breath.

“Needless
to say, it couldn’t have come at a worse time, which is why it did,” added the
marshal, lifting his right hand to his eye to calm it. “We not only have to
fight the Regent, but attacks on Southgate by Dramurian warships, and unrest by
our own merchants who want tariffs lowered because the costs of all goods
traded anywhere outside of Lanachrona are going up. Of course, we need higher
tariffs to protect the merchants and traders, but they don’t see that.”

“Why
is all this happening now?” asked Feran.

“Because
people take advantage of weakness, I’d judge,” replied Frynkel. “The True
Duarchists have been preaching against the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona for
generations. There was a small revolt there when the Lord Talryn’s grandsire
was Lord-Protector. They waited until they thought the time was right, when
they thought that the Lord-Protector couldn’t bring many troops to Hyalt. It
could be they figured he might well ignore it, because it’s out of the way.”

“So
why didn’t he, sir?” pressed Feran politely.

“Out
of the way or not, it sets an example. The dryland spice traders of Soupat
might decide they’d like to be independent. Or the mountaineers near Indyor.
The Deforyan Council has already decided to impose exorbitant tariffs on our
traders. Who knows what would be next?”

“Where
did they come up with the golds for weapons and ammunition?” asked Alucius. “Does
anyone know?”

“No,”
admitted Frynkel. “We went through all the trading records, but that doesn’t
mean much.”

“Not
if someone wanted to hide it,” Alucius said. “Or if they were smuggled in from
Madrien.”

“It
is shorter from Madrien, and the Regent of the Matrial will try anything to
weaken Lanachrona,” mused the marshal.

“Would
these True Duarchists accept weapons from Madrien?” asked Feran.

“Who’s
to say that they’d even know where the weapons came from? They’re the same
standard that we use—not as heavy as those monsters you in the Northern Guard
carry—but they could come from any number of gunsmiths. I doubt that the
Duarchists care in the slightest.” Frynkel followed the words with a dry laugh.

The
more Alucius heard, the more everything seemed to make sense—and the more he
felt he was missing something. He decided to follow his grandsire’s advice once
more, and listen as much as he could and say as little as possible.

He
took another small swallow of the ale. It, at least, was good.

Early
on Tridi, just after the Northern Guard muster, Alucius sat mounted on the gray
as Fifth Company formed up on the north side of the courtyard. Eighth Company
of the Southern Guard was forming up on the other side, south of the
headquarters building.

Alucius
watched and listened while Feran addressed Fifth Company. Mounted beside and
slightly back of Feran was the senior squad leader—Egyl—who’d been Alucius’s
senior squad leader after Longyl had been killed battling the nomads led by
Aellyan Edyss. Alucius wondered how many other men he’d recognize.

“…
be leaving shortly, but there will be a brief inspection by Majer Alucius. Full
open ranks!”

“Full
open ranks!” repeated Egyl, his voice booming across the courtyard. “Ready for
inspection!”

“Fifth
Company stands ready for inspection, sir,” Feran reported.

“Thank
you, Overcaptain.” Alucius guided his gray along the first rank of first squad,
followed by Feran, then by Egyl.

Alucius
couldn’t help but note the square-faced first squad scout. “Waris… you ready
for this?”

“Yes,
sir!”

The
fifth trooper was also a man he recalled. “Skant. Are you ready for warmer
weather than we had in Emal?”

“Yes,
sir… so long as it’s not too hot.”

As
he rode through the open ranks of Fifth Company, he managed to recall more than
a few names and incidents, including Reltyr, who had suffered more than a few
problems with an unfaithful wife when Twenty-first Company had been stationed
at Emal before the annexation. Although the inspection seemed to take a long
time, only slightly more than a half glass had passed by the time he returned
to the front of the Fifth Company.

“That
was good, sir,” Feran said quietly. “You got most of them.”

“And
the ones I didn’t will be wondering why I didn’t…”

“Better
they’re wondering than thinking you don’t remember anyone.”

Alucius
hoped so. He eased his gray away from Feran. “I’ll let the marshal know we’re
ready.”

Feran
grinned. “Sir… you’re supposed to have me send someone.”

Alucius
shrugged helplessly. “I have to get back to being an officer and not a herder.”

The
overcaptain turned. “Egyl… send one of the scouts to inform the marshal that
Majer Alucius and Fifth Company stand ready to depart.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Alucius
glanced toward the headquarters building, but he did not see Colonel Wesyln.
That was not surprising. Doubtless the colonel was on the south side, seeing
Marshal Frynkel off. Alucius couldn’t help but wonder whether Weslyn knew that
Frynkel neither cared for him nor respected him. He supposed the colonel knew.
Weslyn was too astute in playing the political currents not to know. That was
one aspect of being a Northern Guard officer that Alucius could easily have
done without, although his Talent was extraordinarily useful in sensing those
types of undercurrents.

“They’ll
be waiting,” Feran suggested.

“No
doubt of that. They probably didn’t do an inspection, although I wouldn’t have
put it past the marshal.”

“I
wouldn’t, either.”

Shortly
after Waris returned from delivering the message, from the far side of the
courtyard on the south side of the headquarters building came the command, “Eighth
Company! Forward!”

“We’ll
hold till Eighth Company clears the gates,” Alucius said.

Feran
nodded.

Before
too long, Alucius inclined his head to Feran.

“Fifth
Company! Forward!”

As
he and Feran led Fifth Company, from behind the last riders Alucius could hear
the wheels of the supply wagons on the stone pavement of the courtyard. The
sound of iron on stone diminished once the wagons rolled out through the gate
and onto the hard-packed clay of the avenue that led eastward to the
eternastone road south through Dekhron.

The
buildings in Dekhron were similar to those in Iron Stem, mostly built of
salvaged stone, and with either tile or slate roofs. Too many of the shutters
had peeling paint, or none at all. While a number of the older dwellings
nearest the river piers were two or even three stories in height, they looked
even more run-down, as if they were boardinghouses for the poorer dock and
river workers.

The
trading buildings near the center of Dekhron had been better maintained, and
several sported fresh paint and clean glass windows. Still, Dekhron appeared
quieter than the last time Alucius had been there—with but a handful of people
on the streets—and that surprised him, after having heard from Kyrial and
Kustyl that trade had recently picked up in the river town.

At
the eastern end of the avenue, Eighth Company turned south onto the eternastone
high road, and Alucius and Fifth Company followed, riding past the last several
blocks before the river.

The
high road leaving Dekhron and leading to the bridge reminded Alucius of Hieron,
because the causeway leading to the bridge had been built long before the trade
section of the town beside the river. Several inclined roads had been
constructed later to connect to the eternastone pavement. As Alucius rode up
the causeway out of Dekhron, the sound of hoofs from the Eighth Company ahead
of him echoed off the eternastone pavement and side walls of the ancient
Duarchial bridge over the River Vedra. It was a bridge Alucius might have
called grand years before, arching over the river and standing out against the
low dwellings of Salaan on the south side of the river. But, after having seen
the massive and graceful structures over the Vedra at Hieron, or the stone
canyon through the Upper Spine Mountains, the bridge he crossed seemed more of
a marvel as a part of a system of highways and bridges that had endured for
thousands of years—a dark marvel, because he was one of the very few who knew
the cost that system had imposed on Corus.

The
bridge itself held a roadway twice the width of the high road, but without the
dividing curb of the larger bridges Alucius had seen in Madrien. The stone guardhouse
on the southern side still had not been torn down, as Feran had done to the one
in Emal more than two years before, and that also troubled Alucius. From
Alucius’s point of view, such remnants of the near-open former hostilities
between the Iron Valleys and Lanachrona would best have been removed as soon as
possible.

Just
beyond the southern end of the bridge, to the left, had been the Southern Guard
fort. Alucius glanced eastward. The center and building and the barracks and
stables remained, but the glass was gone from the windows, and stones had been
knocked out of the stable walls and removed. He looked away, shaking his head.

“What
is it?” asked Feran.

“The
Southern Guard—just packed up and left their fort. There won’t be anything left
in another year or two except rubble. It seems like such a waste.”

“They
don’t want to spend the golds to keep it up, and who would buy it?”

“I
know.” It was another thing that bothered Alucius. Too much was getting more
run-down. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that. Instead, he looked
ahead to the high road, diverging gradually from the River Vedra as it headed
southwest, and he thought of the long ride ahead, each glass carrying him
farther from the stead, from Wendra, and from their daughter.

Two
long days later found the two companies on the high road at the place where it
once more met the River Vedra.

“Marshal’s
picking up the pace,” Feran noted.

“It’s
only about a glass to the post here.” Alucius studied the steads and fields,
taking in the two rivers, the Vyana to his left, running westward through the
lower fields to the south, and the Vedra to his right. Before all that long,
even through the dust raised by Eighth Company, the walls of Borlan Post
appeared on the right side of the high road ahead, set on the higher triangle
of land formed by the junction of the River Vedra and the River Vyana.