Scepters (2 page)

Some
complained about the wind, the way it blew hard and hot through the summer and
cold and bitingly dry through the winter. Some said that each wind was
different and none were to be trusted. Others complained about the dryness,
because little but quarasote and an occasional juniper grew in the Iron
Valleys.

The
same people complained that in winter there was no heat in the sun except where
it struck the eternastones of the high road that ran from Eastice in the far
north down through Soulend and Iron Stem and then Dekhron, and across the River
Vedra, and far into the south of Lanachrona. There were other high roads, too,
and while they had been traveled heavily in the days of the Duarchy, most times
now only a handful of traders or travelers could be found on any of them.

Some
thirty vingts to the east stood the mighty Aerial Plateau, whose stone ramparts
ran straight upward six thousand yards or more. All who had tried to climb the
Plateau failed long before they reached the top. Most vanished, their bones
occasionally discovered by Alucius or some other herder.

In
the last years of the Duarchy, the Duarches had dumped the malcontents and
worse in Iron Stem to work the iron mines and great mill, guarded by the
Cadmians with their lightning-shaped blades. Later, after the Cataclysm and the
fall of the Duarchy, the mines played out over the millennia, and Iron Stem
withered from a small city into a small and struggling town. Then, for a long
time, all that sustained Iron Stem had been the herders from the north, the
lumber mills in Wesrigg, and the dustcat works. There Gortal’s scutters
gathered the dustcat dander and processed it into the dreamdust, which was
worth more than nightsilk in the Lanachronan cities of the south—and far more
even than that for the little that traveled the ancient roads back to Lustrea
in the east.

His
concentration returned to the lead nightram, even as he wondered why the soarer
had seemed to look at him and whether Wendra had sensed the winged marvel. With
a rueful smile, he shook his head and urged the gray to catch up to the lead
rams, his eyes checking the bushes and the hummocks for traces of wolves.
Sanders left neither tracks nor traces.

As
Alucius’s mount carried him eastward, his eyes flicked back toward the long
ridge that separated him from his stead—and from Wendra. After more than three
years of marriage, skilled and Talented as Wendra was, Alucius still fretted
about leaving her.

Dekhron, Iron Valleys

The
two men were seated in wooden armchairs before a desk in a study. On the
serving table between the two were tall beakers of ale, half-f. The summer
sun beat through the glass of the closed windows, but both men wore heavy
tunics and trousers.

“I
worry about the herder, still,” observed the round-faced trader in the blue
tunic trimmed in dark gray. His voice was so low that no one more than a
fraction of a yard away could have heard the words. “Have you followed him,
Tarolt?”

“He
returned to his stead two years ago. He has built up his flock and devoted
himself to his wife and family. Has he once shown an interest in what lies
beyond his stead and Iron Stem?” replied the older-looking man, his words
equally muted.

“No,
but he destroyed the Matrial, as well as Aellyan Edyss and more than ten
pteridons. Then he traveled the Tables and killed one of ours, and came back
and obliterated the Table in Tempre—although it was close to failing, in any
case. And after that, he single-handedly killed more than twenty bravos who
tried to ambush him. With the four hundred golds that cost…”

“They
were only coins, Halanat, and a pittance compared to what we have gathered and
will gather.” The white-haired man smiled coldly. “I do believe he got the
message. It took him nearly a month to recover from that, and he has, as you
noted so well, scarcely looked beyond his own stead in almost two years. In
that time, we have accomplished much. We have a working group here, and a new
and fully functioning Table now in Salaan. We have assisted the Regent of the
Matrial in finding informers, although she knows it not. We have more and more
true believers, or, if you will, followers of the True Duarchy. Adarat will
soon strike the first blow in the south. These followers will grow and create
the necessary distraction and dissension all across Corus, all in places well
away from where we operate. And we have also made a healthy profit in dealing
with Adarat. Before long we will even control the Regent of the Matrial. With
all that, we will be able to build more Tables and translate more true Efrans,
and this world will once more be ours, as it should have been for the past
millennium.”

“What
if the herder discovers what we have accomplished? It took much lifeforce to
wrench the Table into place in Salaan, and we have not solidified…”

“When
he has not been south of Iron Stem in two years? That was one reason why we
ensured that his wife’s father is now receiving orders for his barrels. They’re
better and cheaper than those our traders can get here, and they will keep the
herder’s wife from pushing him into looking beyond their own needs. Besides,
who would call us to his attention? Especially with all the other problems
arising in Corus?” Tarolt’s laugh carried an ironic tone.

“The
older ones, the hidden ones. Or the side effects of the translations. Or sheer
ill chance.”

“There
are few of the hidden ones, and fewer every year. In less than a handful of
years, all will be gone.” Tarolt frowned. “As for the translation effects…
there is little we can do about those, would that we could, for each is a
failed translation, There is always the likelihood that one will find him,
because they are drawn to Talent. Still… he has seen sanders and soarers and
sandwolves, and it may be that, even if he sees such, he will not draw the
right conclusion. Or that he will wait. Remember… he is a man who will do what
is necessary—but not unless he is forced to act. That is his greatest weakness.
All we need do is to ensure that he is not forced to act. That is one reason
why we have avoided… activities… near the herder steads.”

“Can
we continue to keep him from acting?” asked
Halanat
.
“Especially if there are more and more wild translations around him? We must
have more support from Efra. And with him that close
to
the Plateau and with that meddler Kustyl… ?”

“Kustyl
could be removed.”

“That
would force the herder to act. Kustyl is his wife’s grandsire.”

Tarolt
shook his head. “You make your point. Removing Kustyl would merely alert the
herder. I think you have something else in mind. Exactly what?”

Halanat
smiled. “The Lord-Protector is getting more and more concerned about the state
of Lanachrona. The Regent of the Matrial is retaking the southernmost towns
bordering Southgate. Now… matters are unsettled in Deforya, and it will be a
season at most before the Landarch is toppled… Waleryn could suggest to the
Lord-Protector that a most able commander would be able to put down the revolt
in Hyalt. A particular and most able commander.”

“Why
would we send him against what we are building there? That makes little sense.”

“You
know that it is not important whether Adarat and the Duarchists succeed in the
coming revolt against the rule of the Lord-Protector. What is important is the
amount of destruction and disruption there. Sensat shadow-matched Adarat when
he traveled there last year, and Adarat is convinced that he is of Efra. He
does not believe he can be bested by any Corean steer, even a Talent-steer.”

“What
of it?” asked Tarolt.

“The
Lord-Protector will think he is facing a local revolt. The Regent will see an
opportunity to weaken Lanachrona, and between Adarat and the herder, there will
be more disruptions…”

“That
would put the herder overcaptain well out of the Iron Valleys and would reduce
the chance of his seeing too much because he will be far too involved in trying
to put down the revolt, as well as worrying about his wife? Thar far south,
even should the ancient ones try to reach him, they would not be able to, few
and failing as they are.” Tarolt frowned. “But the Lord-Protector would scarce
listen to Lord Waleryn, and if he
did
, he would
hesitate to believe him. If he knew that Waleryn was no longer his brother, but
a shadow-Efran, he would never believe Waleryn at all.”

“He
does not know that and never will. Waleryn can ensure that dispatches and
information reach Marshal Frynkel and Marshal Alyniat. He can suggest to them
that the Lord-Protector request the overcaptain—as a majer—take command of the
forces to put down the revolt in Hyalt. The overcaptain is known to be able to
do much with little, and that will appeal to Marshal Wyerl.”

“You
don’t want Waleryn talking to Wyerl, do you? “

“I
do not wish Waleryn to spend much time with any of the marshals, but he should
not meet with Wyerl at all. Wyerl sees too much,” Halanat replied. “It is also
likely that the overcaptain will meet with the marshals. We would not wish him
to perceive any… influence, but especially with Wyerl.”

“You
think the herder overcaptain is that perceptive?”

“More
so, I fear, but if he meets with the marshals and sees nothing…”

“He
will not see our influence.” Tarolt nodded. “There is also a good chance he
will not be able to surmount Adarat, but if he does, the disruption will only
benefit us, and by then… it will be too late for him to change what must be.
And if he fails, then we have fewer worries.”

“Exactly.”

When
Alucius began to herd the flock back down Westridge, the sun was almost
touching the quarasote flats to the west, its green-gold glare backlighting the
stone-walled and slate-roofed buildings of the stead so that the walls looked
almost gray, rather than reddish, and the roofs black, rather than the dark
gray they truly were. With his Talent, Alucius could sense the web of
lifethreads, the thin black-gray lines of the nightsheep, the yellow-gold of
his mount, and the scattered thin threads that were grayjays and scrats. With a
nod affirming that there were no disruptions in that web of life, Alucius began
moving the flock toward the main shed.

He
finished settling the nightsheep into the shed for the night, having closed and
bolted the shed door, then stabled the gray. In the second stall, he was
finishing grooming the gray in the gloom that was no hindrance, not when
herders could see almost as well in low light or night as in full sunlight. At
that moment, Wendra slipped into the stable.

“How
was your day?” he asked, sensing the vital green lifethread of her presence
even before she stepped into sight at the end of the stall.

“The
spinnerets jammed twice. I only lost about a yard of thread that couldn’t be
reprocessed. Your mother checked them. They may last for the summer, but we’ll
need another set of the control valves before harvest. If we’d known…”

“You
could have had Grandsire order them while he was in town?”

Wendra
nodded.

Alucius
stepped out of the stall, closed the half door, and hugged his wife for a long
moment, feeling the slight bulge of her abdomen as he did. “It’s always good to
see you. I’ll be glad when the spinning’s done and you can come out on the
stead with me.”

“There’s
still the looming,” she pointed out after they released each other. “And I don’t
know how much longer I can ride for a full day.”

“Another
season, according to Mother, and I can tell if there’s a problem.” He laughed. “So
can you, remember? And you can certainly take a day from looming now and again.
The fresh air would be good for the two of you. I know you can’t leave the
spinning. The thread’s got to be watched all the time.” He paused as he waited
for her to step outside the stable. Then he closed and fastened the door. “How
are we doing on the solvents?”

“We
should have enough for this year.”

“You’re
letting—”

“Your
mother won’t let me near them, or even in the processing rooms.”

“Good,”
Alucius said firmly, taking her arm.

They
walked toward the east-facing porch of the stead dwelling. Alucius looked
eastward toward the Aerial Plateau, watching as the crystals on its high west
rim caught the rays of the setting sun. Directly above the crystals of the
Plateau, almost lost in their radiance, was the small green point of light that
was Asterta, the moon of the ancient horse goddess—or the moon of misery.
Selena, the larger moon, had not yet risen.

“Where
up there do you think the hidden city is?” Wendra asked.

“It’s
somewhere along the western edge, but it could be as far south as the part near
Emal or as far north as opposite Soulend—or even Eastice. It was cold there,
but that could have been because it’s so much higher.”

“That’s
hard to believe,” Wendra mused.

It
was almost as hard for Alucius, and he’d been the one trapped there, recovering
after nearly being killed by the ifrits, then being taught by the soarers, so
that he could understand and use his Talent to greater effect. “It is, until…”

“I
know.” She squeezed his hand.

“What’s
for supper?”

“Leftovers.
We made a fowl casserole from what was left from last night.”

“You
didn’t let her put—”

Wendra
laughed. “There’s no prickle in it. Plenty of other leftovers, but not prickle.”

“Thank
you.”

“I’ll
remember that.”

They
made their way up the steps to the porch and to the north door, and then to the
washroom. Alucius used the hand pump to fill the basin for Wendra, then washed
up when she left to finish helping his mother. He glanced in the mirror, the
reflection showing his silver-gray eyes flecked with green and the dark gray
hair that had been his from birth.