Scepters (32 page)

“More
range?”

Alucius
repressed a sigh. “Captain, your rifles are smaller bore. They’re more accurate
over a longer range, and your magazines carry twice as many cartridges. Because
your men aren’t as experienced, putting them where I did equalized the rates of
fire.”

Deotyr
nodded, and Alucius could see the understanding. The captain turned his mount
back toward Twenty-eighth Company.

Alucius
surveyed the bodies on the road again. They’d need to search them, at least
quickly, and salvage ammunition and supplies—and see if there were any written
orders.

He
had ridden to Hyalt thinking that he would not enter the area and immediately
start killing people. He snorted softly to himself. He hadn’t. He’d gotten near
Hyalt, and the rebels or invaders or whatever they were had started attacking
his forces, leaving him no choice but slaughter.

But
why?

He
had no idea, and he certainly didn’t like being put in positions where he had
no choice but slaughter. Before they entered another skirmish he needed a
captive—if he could get one, somehow. He had no doubts that there would be
another skirmish or another fight.

He
looked back at the bodies once more.

Octdi
morning dawned with clouds and a light drizzle, barely enough to wet the dust
on the road, but enough to make the southern late-harvest warmth feel
uncomfortably muggy, at least to Alucius, especially as he was wearing his
nightsilk undergarments as well as the nightsilk herders vest under his tunic.
Despite the moisture, the air still held the odor of wood and thornbush smoke,
acrid and penetrating.

The
sentries had seen no one on the road through the night or in the morning, but
Alucius was concerned enough that he had the companies on the road within a
glass past dawn on the gray morning. According to the maps, the road they
traveled would join another road in four to five vingts, and from Alucius’s
observations and calculations, that road was probably the one that led to the
rebel camp they had surrounded with fire. The merged road turned northeast
toward Hyalt. For the first several vingts, they had seen nothing, and the
handful of steads they passed were empty. They showed signs of having been
deserted, not in the past few days, but several weeks earlier.

Alucius
considered that the whole situation was upside down. He and his Guard companies
were Lanachronan, but they were having to act as though they were invaders in
their own land, and anyone away from the main force was definitely at risk.
What was worse was that Alucius still knew very little about why this had
happened, except that somehow the ifrits were involved. That didn’t make much
sense, so far as he could determine, because Hyalt was as far as one could
get—with the possible exception of Soupat—from other major towns and cities in
Lanachrona. It wasn’t on the direct route to anywhere, such as cities like
Borlan or Indyor, and even the Regent of the Matrial couldn’t have gotten to
Hyalt by any major high road directly. There were no ifrit ruins or, so far as
stories went, no rumors of a Table that might have been of use to the
ifrits—unless there was one hidden somewhere. Yet matters were as they were,
and Alucius had had few enough real choices.

What
was worse was that his efforts at individual scouting had lost him one scout,
wounded another, and gotten another chased for vingts.

On
the other hand, anytime that they had encountered or found larger numbers of
rebels it had been in a fighting situation where, when the dust had finally
settled, there had been no survivors because any living rebel would keep trying
to kill lancers until the rebel died.

Alurius
turned in the saddle toward Feran. “I’d like to send Waris out with some other
lancers to see if they can scout that road up to the rebel camp—not too far—and
capture a messenger—if they use them.”

“Capture?”

“We
have to get some information. There haven’t been small groups of rebels or
stead holders anywhere that we’ve been so far. If we can’t capture a messenger,
then maybe on the road toward Hyalt we can find a stead or two with someone
there and find out something.”

“Wouldn’t
hurt,” Feran agreed, turning in the saddle. “Waris!”

Within
moments, the scout had ridden forward, and Alucius had edged the gray to the
right shoulder of the road, so that the three could ride abreast.

“The
majer has a job for you,” Feran said.

“Yes,
sir?”

Alucius
looked at Waris. “The task is simple. Accomplishing it won’t be. We need a
captive lancer or armsman, one in good enough shape to answer questions. There’s
a road ahead, a little over four vingts away, and it joins this one, and then
the two run to Hyalt. The other road starts at the camp you scouted. There
ought to be messengers or some travel along there. If there are just large
parties, report back, and we’ll try something else. Oh, and pick two or three
others you think can help you.”

The
scout looked to Feran. “Overcaptain, sir?”

“Anyone
but squad leaders or wounded.”

In
less than a quarter glass, Waris and three other lancers had ridden off, ahead
of the main force, past the scouts and outriders ahead of the column.

A
good glass passed, and the scouts had reported nothing, and while they had passed
another five steads, all had been abandoned in the same fashion as those they
had passed earlier. Then, the figure of Waris appeared, followed by four other
mounts. Three held riders, and the fourth had a figure strapped across a
saddle.

“Column
halt!” Alucius ordered.

“Column
halt,” echoed back along the line of lancers.

Waris
rode slowly toward Alucius, then reined up. “We got a captive, sir.”

“Was
it difficult?”

“Wasn’t
too hard.” A weary smile crossed the scouts lips. “We ended up shooting two. This
one, we shot the mount, then shot him in the leg before he could get to his
rifle. Took two of us to disarm him, and all of us to tie him up.”

Alucius
wasn’t surprised. Dismayed, but not surprised, as he looked at the prisoner,
slung across the saddle of the mount behind Waris, hands tied behind his back,
feet trussed together, and a gag tied across his mouth.

“Sorry,
sir. We had to tie him like that. He just tries to bite, kick, anything…”

“Get
him off the mount. Set him on the stones there.” Alucius gestured toward a
rough heap of stones that once might have been a stile across a sagging and
neglected fence.

“Yes,
sir.”

Alucius
dismounted and handed the gray’s reins to Fewal, one of his messengers, then
waited as the three lancers carried the bound captive to the stones and propped
him against the bowed middle railing of the fence.

“Did
he say anything? Before you gagged him?”

“Nothing.
Maybe he doesn’t speak Lanachronan.”

Alucius
studied the captive. As he looked closely, he could Talent-sense what resembled
a fine purplish mesh net that fit the captive like a glove. For a time, he just
studied it until he could find the purplish nodes that held it. Once he found
those, it was but an instant, and the net vanished.

The
captive fainted.

“Sir…?”

“He’ll
be fine in a few moments. You can ungag him now.”

It
wasn’t that long before the man looked up, an expression that was clearly fear
as he took in Alucius and the uniform that he wore.

Alucius
pressed forward the feeling that the captive should be helpful… cooperative.
There was no sense of resistance. After a moment, he asked, “Could you tell me
your name?”

The
man looked at Alucius, wide-eyed, then lowered his gaze. “Escadt, sir. Of the
Cadmians.”

“What
are the Cadmians?”

“We
are. The Cadmians are the lancers of the prophet and the True Duarchy.”

“Why
were you ordered to attack us?”

“You
are the evil northerners. You will keep the Duarchy from returning. All the
land will die, and all our families will starve and perish without the Duarchy.”

Alucius
glanced at Feran.

“Why
would we do that? We’re all part of Lanachrona.”

“You
are the lamaial of evil, the one who will use treason to destroy all that is
good.”

“Who
told you this?”

“The
prophet Adarat. He is the servant of the True Duarchy. He said that the man with
the dark gray hair, the one who is not old, he is the lamaial. Adarat knows
what is and what will be.”

Alucius
had his doubts about that. “Who told Adarat this?”

“He
knows. He is the servant of the True Duarchy.”

That
line of questioning wouldn’t help, Alucius reflected. “How long has Adarat been
in Hyalt?”

“He
has been here forever.”

“Forever?”

The
rebel shrugged. “The Temple of the Duarchy has been here so long as any can
remember, and there has always been a prophet, and the prophet has always been Adarat.”

Alucius
couldn’t see much point in pursuing that. “How many camps with armed men are
there around Hyalt? With Cadmians?”

“I
have heard that there are two. I only know of one, myself.”

“Where
is the other one?”

“I
do not know for sure.”

“Where
do you think it is?”

The
rebel shrugged. “They say it is on the Hill of the Dead to the northeast of
Hyalt.”

“How
many companies are there?”

“I
do not know.”

“How
many lancers were there at your camp?”

“I
do not know.”

“How
many do you guess that there were?”

“Three
hundred. That was before you northerners killed so many.”

“Until
you attacked us, we never attacked or fired upon you,” Alucius pointed out. “Why
did you attack us?”

“Because
you are evil, and you would destroy the good of the True Duarchy.”

Alucius
kept proving to himself that there was little point in following that line of
questioning. “What is in the cave in the hillside?”

“It
is not a cave. It is the Temple of the True Duarchy.”

“Is
that where Adarat is?”

“I
do not know…”

“Does
it have a Table of power?”

“I
do not know.”

“Have
you seen a Table there?”

“No,
sir.”

“How
many people remain in Hyalt?”

“I
do not know…”

Even
after almost half a glass of questioning, Alucius had learned only slightly
more. The captive seemed to know very little beyond declaring the goodness of
the Duarchy to come and the evilness of Alucius and his “northerners.”

Finally,
Alucius nodded to Feran. “That’s all for now. Keep him tied up, but don’t gag
him unless he causes trouble.”

“Egyl?”

“Yes,
sir. We’ll take care of it.”

Midmorning
came and went, and they reached where the roads joined, but saw no one and no
signs of rebels. The air remained damp and more misty than actually drizzling.
None of the scouts had seen any traces of another large body of rebels, and
Alucius decided to continue northeast on the road toward Hyalt for the next
three or fourth vingts, until they reached what the maps showed as a narrow
hill road that actually connected with the road where his force had first
camped north of Hyalt. Alucius didn’t plan to take that road all the way back,
but he liked the idea of having a way out, if necessary.

In
midafternoon, the company saw the first stead that was actually occupied, and
within a quarter of a glass, Alucius was facing a round-faced older man with
unruly curly gray hair and shoulders stooped from years of toil, a man of
perhaps forty, whom the scouts had brought in. The stead holder trembled as he
stood on the side of the road and looked at Alucius. The majer could sense the
fear pouring from the man—as well as the faintest trace of the purplish miasma
that seemed to touch all the people in Hyalt—or all those with whom Alucius had
come in contact. He dissolved the purplish miasmatic net and tried to extend a
sense of reassurance with his Talent, but the holder shivered even more.

“Is
that your stead?”

“Yes…
sir.”

“Is
your family there?”

“Spare
them, sir… I beg you, spare them.”

“I
have no intention of harming either you or them. I’m just trying to find out
what has happened here in Hyalt in the last month.”

The
holder said nothing.

“What
did happen?”

“The
prophet Adarat sent his disciples to disperse the lancers of evil. They refused
to leave, and they were killed.”

“Did
you see this?”

“That
is what the prophet said, and a prophet of the True Duarchy always tells the
truth.”

“What
about the traders and the crafters?”

“Some
of them fled. Those who would not accept the True Duarchy, but fleeing will
avail them little. Before long, all of Corus will prosper under the return of
the Duarchy.”

“Why
has no one left Hyalt in more than a month?”

“Why
would anyone wish to leave when the True Duarchy is about to return?” A vaguely
puzzled expression crossed the man’s thin face.

“How
do you know that?”

“The
prophet Adarat said so. He is the servant of the True Duarchy. He knows what is
and what will be.”

“Why
do you fear us?”

“You
are the evil northerners. You will try to keep the Duarchy from returning. All
the land will die, and all our families will starve and perish without the
Duarchy.”

Alucius
glanced at Feran, then back to the holder. “How do you know this? How do you
know that this Adarat tells you the truth? Have you seen anyone besides him who
would bring back the Duarchy?”

“You
are the lamaial of evil, the one who is old before his time, the one who will
use treason to destroy all that is good.”