Scepters (50 page)

He
finally drifted off into sleep, a restless sleep.

In
time, he struggled awake, only to find himself in a hall, one with pink marble
walls, tinged with purple, walls with half pillars of golden-stone set at
regular intervals. Above him was an arched ceiling of the same pink marble. So
precisely were all the stones set that he could detect neither joints nor
mortar. He looked down. As he somehow had known, octagonal sections of polished
gold and green marble composed the floor, with each section of green marble
inset with an eight-pointed star of golden marble.

When
he looked up, the walls had shifted.

Alucius’s
eyes flicked from one wall to another, but he was alone in the chamber, a
chamber without wall hangings… or doors… or windows. He whirled, but there were
no exits behind him, either.

Had
he gotten into the chamber through a Table? He did not see or sense one
anywhere.

The
walls shifted once more, inward, leaving the chamber far smaller, less than
seven yards long and three wide. He stepped forward and glanced back over his
shoulder. Nothing had changed. There were still no doors anywhere.

The
walls shifted yet again, leaving the chamber less than four by two and a half
yards, with the ceiling less than a yard above him.

He
lifted his arms to touch the cold marble walls. Before he could lower them, the
walls pressed in, forcing his hands inward toward his body, leaving him
standing in a space more confined than a cell, with hard stone inexorably
contracting toward him.

He
reached out with his Talent, to find an escape, but could sense nothing but
stone, hard stone that went on endlessly beyond the immediate surface of the
marble walls.

Sweat
poured down his forehead. He had to get out… somehow. He had to—

Alucius
bolted upright in his bedroll. Despite the cold night air, he was sweating,
almost feverishly. He blotted his forehead, then quickly extended his Talent.

Was
someone attacking? Had the sentries been affected?

His
breathing slowed as he understood that, for the moment, all was quiet, and that
only Lanachronan forces were gathered nearby.

Why
the dream now? Because he felt even more trapped by events?

He
took a long slow breath. He needed to relax, to get some sleep. Tomorrow, or
the next day, he’d have a battle to fight, and he wouldn’t do well without
rest.

He
lay back on the bedroll, trying to think of calming thoughts, of the stead… and
of Wendra. That didn’t help, because he began to worry—about her and Alendra,
and he had the growing feeling that he might not be able to make it back to
Iron Stem before Alendra was due. Nothing was going as he had hoped—or anyone
had planned. The knowledge that wars usually went that way didn’t help either,
not as he tried to find sleep.

A
horn sounded somewhere, as if both distant, yet nearby. Alucius turned over in
the bedroll, trying to shut out the sound. “Sir!”

Alucius
struggled out of the depths of exhaustion. “What… ?”

“Majer…
Colonel, I mean. Bakka sent word that there’s a bunch of Matrites moving toward
that ridge. Says there’s a company or more and some wagons.”

Alucius
bolted into a sitting position. “What time—”

“It’s
maybe two glasses before dawn, sir.”

“Wake
up the captains and have them rouse everyone. They need to be ready to ride in
a quarter glass.”

“Yes,
sir.”

In
the mild chill of the dry night air, under a clear sky with only the greenish
half-disc of Asterta in the heavens, Alucius pulled on his boots, checked his
nightsilk vest, and then pulled the nightsilk skull mask into place. His men
had seen it before, and he’d need it with what he planned. He gathered his
rifles, saddled the gray, mounted, and rode toward the area where the companies
would form up.

Feran
was already there.

“You
think this will work?” asked the older officer.

“Until
we try… I can’t say.”

Feran
laughed softly. “It had better, because if it doesn’t, I’ll be in charge, and
there’s no way I want to explain to Alyniat. Or Weslyn.”

At
the sound of riders, both Northern Guard officers turned, expecting Jultyr and
Deotyr, but an unfamiliar captain in the blue of the Southern Guard appeared,
outlined by the torch carried by the lancer riding with him. “What’s going on
here?”

Alucius
rode forward until the light fell on him. “We’ve gotten word that our target’s
moving into place. Once we’re certain, we’ll be letting the marshal know.”

The
officer’s eyes took in the insignia, but his eyes lingered on the skull mask. “Ah…
yes, sir, Colonel. Sorry to bother you, sir.”

“I
understand, Captain. Carry on.”

“Yes,
sir.”

No
sooner had the watch captain disappeared into the darkness than Jultyr rode up,
followed by Deotyr.

“We
don’t have much time,” Alucius began. “The plan is the same as we discussed
last night. We’ll move into position and wait for them to begin the attack.
Then the attack group will move on the crystal spear-thrower. If the group is
successful, the spear-thrower will fail. That’s when you get the order to
attack the forces around the weapon.”

“Sir?”
asked Deotyr.

“Why
attack, if it’s not working? Because they could fix it, and we’d be in the same
position in another few weeks or months, and they’d have even more lancers
surrounding it. We need to capture it or make sure it’s destroyed. That’s why
we have half a squad carrying gunpowder. Now… when we get to the ridge we’re
taking down, and that’s not the one where the Matrites are coming up, remember,
we’ll go in this order—Fifth Company, Twenty-eighth Company, and Thirty-fifth
Company. That’s the way we’ll form up now.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Despite
Alucius’s impatience, it was almost a tenth of a glass before the three
companies were on the ring road, climbing the western segment, and heading west
through the darkness.

They
had traveled slightly more than a vingt, Alucius judged, when Waris appeared
out of the darkness.

“Sir!”
The scout eased his mount beside Alucius.

“Yes,
Waris?”

“Like
you thought, sir. They put four companies on the coastal high road, where that
dirt road leaves the high road.”

“What
about the rest?”

“They
look to be headed south, even past the ridge.” Waris’s voice contained
puzzlement.

“That
far south?” asked Feran.

“It
could be an ambush,” Alucius suggested. “The Matrites attack farther to the
south, as if trying to take the city…”

“And
when the marshal tries to shift his lancers… ?” suggested Feran.

“The
spear-thrower takes care of them. Or they could just be trying to take the city
and using the spear-thrower as a way to keep the Southern Guard from reaching
them directly. If the marshal doesn’t use the ring road but the high road, the
Matrites take the ring road, and then all the Southern Guard is trapped inside
the ring road.”

Alucius
turned to Fewal, who had been riding behind him with Dhaget and Roncar. “You
ride to the fort. Try to get the message to Marshal Alyniat that the Matrites
are moving to attack here with the crystal spear-thrower and that another force
is continuing southward outside the ring road. Tell him that we’re moving
against the spear-thrower, but that will take all our forces.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Once
Fewal had left, Alucius turned back to Waris. “You and Rakalt head down the
narrow ridge, the one we’re taking. Halfway down, short of where we’ll move
into the gulch, and keep an eye out.”

“Yes,
sir.” Waris urged his mount away from the column and was joined by Rakalt a
hundred yards ahead, beyond the lancers’ clear sight in the darkness, but not
beyond Alucius’s vision or the range of his Talent.

As
he kept riding westward, Alucius let his Talent study the darkness to the north
and west. He stiffened in the saddle, not because of the weave of lifethreads
from all the lancers on both sides, but because of what he had not expected.
Fine pink threads from the Matrite forces soared to the north, in the direction
of Hieron. While Alucius had the feeling that not every Matrite lancer wore a
silver torque, there were enough that the combined luminescence of those
evil-feeling pink threads seemed to cast a purplish pink light. That pinkish
cast was unseen and unfelt, except to those who could see it with Talent.

As
with the first time he had truly seen not only lifewebs, but torque-threads
filling the sky, Alucius was silent for a long moment, taking in the subtle
weave that filled the entire darkening skies with the warp and weft of
intertwining lifewebs, webs that somehow never touched. Against the soft
Tightness of the living web, the purplish pink was shudderingly wrong, an
oppressive chain weighing on the lifethread of each man or woman who wore a
collar. Alucius half wondered how he had survived such a collar for so long.

Feran
cleared his throat. “You’re worried about something. What?”

Alucius
smiled wryly. He’d betrayed too much in his surprise. “There’s a feeling out
there.” He
knew
that he had destroyed the crystal
that controlled the torques—and the Matrial. Or rather, the destruction of the
crystal had destroyed the Matrial. Had the Regent rediscovered that secret and
created another crystal?

“And
what exactly is that feeling?” asked Feran.

“They’ve
repowered the torques, the silver collars of the Matrial. I can feel it from
here.”

“Told
you this was all part of something bigger,” murmured the older man.

“I
agreed with you.” Although he had wondered about how the Matrites were forcing
their attacks, he hadn’t thought about the torques in some time. Were they
connected with the ifrits? Or was he just trying to find a pattern that didn’t
exist?

They
rode another vingt, past several small watch posts, where Alucius had to
identify himself, before they reached the section of the ring road where Bakka
waited.

“Sir…
Waris says there’s no one on this ridge below. He also says that you’d better
take it slow down the path.”

“Thank
you. We will.” Alucius turned. “Single file! Silent riding, Follow me!”

He
turned the gray off the ring road and down onto the steep and narrow path that
wound northward, a path difficult enough to travel in the light. But that was
why he was riding first, Alucius told himself. Still, traveling the path in the
darkness, under only the light of the stars and the tiny half-disc of Asterta,
was safer than waiting on the ring road and facing the spear-thrower.

Half
a glass passed, and Alucius had traveled only less than a third of the way down
the path to where the ridge flattened, and where the lancers could move more
quickly to the southwest and the ancient black lava ledge that would conceal
them from the Matrites once the sky lightened. He forced himself to be patient
and keep moving.

Another
half glass passed, and Alucius could sense the Matrite forces and the wagons on
the ridge to the south, but they seemed to be moving more slowly than he had
anticipated. He allowed himself the hope that moving their heavy equipment
upslope, even up a gentle dirt road, had proved more time-consuming than the
Matrite commanders had calculated. He could also sense the heavy wagon, the one
carrying the spear-thrower, and behind it the wagons carrying the sand that fed
it. All four wagons were below where Alucius intended to place his own forces.

The
faintest tinge of gray was coloring the sky above the ring road when the last
of Thirty-fifth Company’s lancers rode into position behind the ledge. Alucius
let himself heave a sigh of relief. At the very least, the companies were
shielded from direct fire from the crystal spear-thrower, and the Matrites were
only slightly uphill of his men, if on the adjoining ridge. His men would have
to sweep down another two hundred yards to reach the swale that connected the
two ridges, but farther down there was no cover for them.

Alucius
dismounted and handed the gray’s reins to Dhaget, then turned and looked up at
Feran, who lay in a notch in the lava, from where he could view the adjoining
ridge. “You’ll have to watch the crystal spear-thrower. No one moves until you’re
satisfied that it’s disabled.”

“I
think I can manage that.”

“Good.”
With one rifle in hand, Alucius walked downslope a good hundred yards, still
behind the lava.

There,
half concealed by Talent, and half by his own dark uniform, Alucius climbed
over the now-much-lower lava and dropped to the hard ground on the other side.
Keeping low, he tried to move down into the gully and back upward. He was
sweating heavily and panting by the time he pulled himself over the rim of the
gully on the south side. He felt like anyone could have heard him a vingt away,
but there were neither Matrite foot or lancers within a hundred yards.

He
forced himself to pause and let his breathing subside before he began to move
in a crouch uphill through the lightening darkness and toward where the heavy
wagon had stopped. He could sense that a group of engineers had gathered around
the wagon and begun to dig into the hillside, as if to level the wagon
somewhat.

How
close would he have to get to use his Talent? Was the weapon powered up enough
so that he could?

He
let his Talent range toward the device.

The
weapon was inert… dead… unpowered, and Alucius could not bring enough Talent
force or lifeforce to do anything to the assemblage of wires and crystals and
other components that he had neither words nor knowledge to describe.

Below
him, he could hear a voice.

“There’s
a Talent-wielder somewhere up here.”