Scepters (39 page)

The
watch bell from the south gate began to clang, repeatedly and almost desperately.

“Lancers!
Lancers inside the gates!” someone yelled.

“Fifth
Company! Firing line abreast, double file!” Feran ordered.

As
Fifth Company re-formed, rifles aimed at the barracks, Alucius continued to
scan the flat and the bluff area beyond, where the prophet had to be, from the
swirling purpleness that had begun to billow from the square arch cut into the
reddish sandstone.

Less
than a hundred men in the maroon tunics stumbled from the long and crude
barracks, and a third might have held rifles. The others held blades or spears.
All the rebels were dusted with the purple miasma, and all began to run toward
the mounted lancers of Fifth Company.

“Fifth
Company! Fire at will!”

The
first volley took down a good third of the rebel attackers.

At
the same time, Alucius could see a goodly number of rebels leaving the western
end of the barracks and running toward the temple carved into the bluff. Then
he had to concentrate on the six rebels sprinting toward him.

It
took him two shots to down the one rebel with a rifle, because the man bobbed
irregularly as he ran toward Alucius. The bobbing not only made it hard for
Alucius to target the man, but also made it difficult for him to aim accurately
at Alucius or any of the mounted Northern Guard.

Alucius
slipped the first rifle into the holder and drew the second one, firing at
another tall rebel sprinting toward him. The man sprawled on the dirt, then
struggled to his knees, and lurched upright, blood pouring from the hole in his
guts, less than five yards from the Northern Guard majer. Alucius put another
bullet into the man, killing him. He shifted aim to another rebel, one within
yards of driving a long poleaxe into Bakka from the right, while Bakka was
using his sabre to slash down an attacker to his left.

For
the next half glass, rifles fired, and sabres rose and fell.

Then
there was silence across the flat.

From
what Alucius could determine with his Talent, the only remaining living lancers
were those of his force—and those rebels who had fled into the temple carved
out of the hillside. As he considered what to do next, a purple miasma flared
from the temple, unseen except with Talent, washing over the northern end of
Fifth Company, those in fifth squad. Abruptly, a good ten lancers slumped in
their saddles.

Alucius
could sense that at least one, possibly two men, were dead.

“All
companies, pull back a hundred yards! Now!”

“Pullback
and re-form!”

The
orders echoed across the open space between the barracks and stables and the
cutaway bluff that held the temple within. Alucius eased the gray across to the
lancers who had been struck. Two were indeed dead.

Feran
rode toward Alucius. “Talent, Majer?”

“A
nasty form of it.”

Between
the two of them and Zerdial, the fifth squad leader, they managed to get mounts
and lancers, dead and alive, back away from the temple.

Alucius
looked to Feran, then to Deotyr and Jultyr. “I’d judge there might be a hundred
lancers inside. Overcaptain Feran will take charge of rotating companies
covering the main entrance to the temple there. One company should be enough. A
second company will be standing by. The third will see if they have any
supplies and ammunition we can use.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“I’m
going to see what we can do about this prophet.” Alucius turned the gelding
back toward the temple, reining up to one side, about twenty yards away, in a
position where he could not be fired at unless one of the rebels actually
stepped outside the archway.

When
the second wave of purple flared forth, conelike, from the temple archway,
Alucius countered with his own net of golden green. The two meshed, and minute
pinlights of brilliance, visible to all the lancers, flashed across the
morning.

Alucius
waited for the next attack from the ifrit/prophet.

The
third wave collapsed fifty yards from the temple archway, well short of any of
the lancers.

Doubting
that there would be another Talent attack soon, Alucius studied the square arch
of the temple, both with sight and Talent senses. The archway itself was clear,
with a stone-walled corridor three yards wide and close to three high running
back some four yards before opening onto an antechamber of sorts. The corridor
walls were smooth, without projections or niches. Behind them were rebels,
armed and waiting.

There
was no way to enter the temple, not that Alucius could sense, without getting
caught in the stone-walled corridor. There was also no way to plant any of his
powder deep enough to bring down the temple without subjecting anyone trying to
murderous fire.

He
turned the gray and rode back toward Feran.

“They
can’t get out, and we can’t get in,” observed the overcaptain. “Not without
losing a lot of men.”

Alucius
beckoned to Waris, on the end of first squads formation.

The
scout slipped his mount out of formation and toward Alucius. “Sir?”

“You’ve
scouted this twice. Is there any other way in besides that archway?”

“Not
for people, sir. There’s a slit above in that angled line of stone, sir,”
observed Waris. “It’s sort of a skylight. You can’t see it from here, but it’s
there.”

“How
wide is it?”

“Maybe
a third of a yard, half at most. Two yards long, I’d guess.”

“I
may see if I can get up there,” Alucius said.

Feran
raised his eyebrows, as if to ask “Why?”

“There’s
a Talent-wielder in there. If we leave him, we’re no better off than we were,
or we won’t be in a few weeks. If we try to rush him, we lose more lancers than
all that we’ve lost this far. I’ll need some rope, though, and Waris and Rakalt
to help me.”

“What…
if I might inquire, sir…” asked Feran deferentially, “did you have in mind?”

“I
thought I’d use one of the heavy shells and a rifle,” Alucius replied. “If no
one thinks I can get up there, I’d at least like to try a shot at him. If not
that, then if I start shooting maybe I can panic the rebels inside to try to
escape.”

“You
don’t think they’ll surrender?”

“Has
anyone surrendered?” Alucius countered.

“Couldn’t
anyone else… ?” asked Jultyr slowly.

“We
don’t have any other herders,” Feran replied. “You saw what happened when the
lancers got too close to the temple. The majer’s right about his being the only
one who can do this.”

There
was the faintest murmur of “Oh…” from Deotyr.

Alucius
hoped no one asked about the scouts. While he could protect them, he didn’t
want to explain that. “I’d like to do this fairly quickly. That last
Talent-blast showed he was weaker, and I’d like to catch him before he regains
too much strength.” He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the skull mask,
working it into place.

Feran
summoned Waris and Rakalt, and they rode up as Alucius turned the gray. “Where
do you suggest we start?”

“To
the right, just past that funny-looking fir,” replied Waris. “I’ve got some
rope, maybe twenty yards. Will that be enough?”

“It’ll
have to be.” Alucius angled the gray toward the fir, and the two scouts
followed him.

“What’s
the majer doing?”

“…
going after the prophet, they say…”

“…
hope he gets him…”

“…
only officer I know who does the dirty stuff…”

“…
if I had those bars, wouldn’t catch me…”

“…
could be why he has ‘em so young…”

It
could be, reflected Alucius, just plain stupidity. But he had to at least get
up there and look and see what he could do. He couldn’t leave the prophet, and
he didn’t have the time and supplies for a long, drawn-out siege, not when he
had no idea how many supplies might have been stockpiled in the temple cave for
how long. And he certainly didn’t want to sacrifice lancers from a force that
was already too small for the tasks assigned.

That
didn’t leave many choices.

He
dismounted behind the fir and tied the gray to a stubby cedar root. Then, with
his rifle slung over his shoulder, he and the two others began to climb the
side of what was too steep to be a hill and not steep enough to be a bluff.
Between the boulders, the sand-covered red sandstone made the footing
treacherous, and more than a few times Alucius could feel his boots slipping.
Riding boots were not designed for climbing.

Every
so often Alucius paused, not only to catch his breath but to use his Talent to
check on Adarat, but the purple shadow presence remained within the hillside
temple. Alucius continued to climb, boulder by boulder, using roots and rocks.

Every
so often a few shots rang out below, but they were from Fifth Company, and
Alucius judged that Feran was having the lancers fire occasionally to keep the
rebels thinking about the Guard troopers and not about what else might be
happening—like Alucius on his fool’s errand.

“Sir…”
called Waris from behind Alucius. “The roof part is just ahead, over that line
of rocks.”

Alucius
studied the line of rocks, realizing belatedly that the stonework had actually
been laid, but that the mortar had been mixed with red sand to conceal the
unnatural origin.

“Why…
if you don’t mind, sir… Rakalt and I ought to climb past you, then move up to
those boulders at the bottom of the higher cliff there. If you attach the rope
around your waist…”

“I
won’t fall too far if the roof gives way under me?”

“Or…
if anything else happens, sir…”

Like
getting shot, Alucius thought to himself. “You’re right. I’ll just move here,
and you two can climb by me.” He watched as the two scouts made their way up to
him.

Waris
scrambled a half yard or so beyond Alucius, his boots slipping and dislodging
more sand before he anchored himself on a darkish red stone. From there, he
handed Alucius one end of the rope.

Alucius
fastened it around his chest, then said in a low voice, “I’ll wait until you
two are in position.”

Waris
nodded. After Rakalt climbed past Alucius, the two continued upward for another
five yards, then began to move westward.

While
Alucius waited for them to position themselves, he used his Talent to scan the
area ahead of him. He could sense nothing new, but the purplish miasma filling
the temple below seemed clearer and nearer.

Roughly
a quarter of a glass passed before Waris waved and gently tugged the rope.
Alucius waved back, then resumed his own climb toward the course of stone that
Waris had identified.

When
he reached it, he smiled faintly. The stones were slightly corbeled and
extended almost two yards above him. He had to edge eastward, practically to
the end of the rope and to the sheer drop-off below, before he could find
footing and a true isolated projecting stone that gave him solid enough footing
so that he could edge his way upward. Between the rifle and the rope, every
step worried him, and he was panting and sweating heavily when be finally sat
astraddle the artificial stone course.

He
caught his breath before he eased to the inside of the roof wall.

The
stones below and beyond the course of stone that Waris had called to Alucius’s
attention were not natural at all, but more like thin sheets of stone layered
into an arch. With one hand on the stone ridge, Alucius put his boot on one of
the roof stones nearest to him. It felt solid. He took another step, and
nothing happened.

As
Alucius made his way up the arched stone roof, Waris kept the rope fairly taut.

Alucius
was almost upon the open stone slit before he saw it, much as Waris had
described it. As he dropped into a crouch, he could sense the purpleness below,
and its overtones of what he could only describe as evil, almost like
individual nets linked by tiny purplish nodes.

Alucius
reached out with his Talent, and touched one of the nodes with a point of
golden green—herder/soarer Talent. With but the barest pressure from Alucius,
the golden green leapt from point to point along the purple net, and abruptly,
with an unheard rending sound, the purple miasma shredded.

The
entire temple shuddered, if only slightly, just enough that Alucius could feel
the stone beneath his boots moving and his body swaying.

He
steadied himself and studied the skylight. Beneath it and inside the temple
there were actually shutters that could cover the opening, presumably in case
of rain. Through the skylight he could see the temple far below, with more than
a hundred rebels in maroon, and below the western end of the skylight, against
the wall, he could see steps.

As
he looked at the steps and wall, his rifle in hand, a man walked up the last
steps to a landing, where there was a rope and pulley, probably to operate the
skylight shutters. The man wore maroon silk and radiated the purpleness of an
ifrit as he stood on the landing of the steps, little more than five yards
below Alucius. He looked up and spoke. “I thought there might be one of the
lamaials beyond. You reached too far, Talent-steer, when you entered here. You
will not return to the north, lamaial.”

A
bolt of purple force flashed toward Alucius.

Awkwardly,
because he felt off-balance, Alucius flung up one of his own shields, and
purpleness flared around him.

“Frig!…
See that?” Rakalt’s voice was incredulous.

Another
blast of purple flared toward Alucius, not quite so strong as the first. As the
flare subsided, Alucius refocused his Talent senses on the prophet.

Adarat
was not an ifrit like the Recorder of Deeds in Tempre or the engineer had been.
That Alucius could sense. The prophet had but one lifethread, not the twined
and twisted double lifethread. But the thread was different—brown shadowed with
purple, a dark and strong purple.