Legacies (19 page)

On Quattri morning, the sun struggled to burn through a high overcast as Alucius checked the harnesses of the dun dray horses a last time. He wore his militia uniform, and he had made sure he had a full magazine in his rifle before he had set it in the holder beside the driver's seat. He had put an old cartridge belt under the seat, and he'd managed to wrestle the covered coal bin into the wagon without smudging his militia winter parka. He hoped that there would be a coal wagon in Iron Stem. After a last check, he climbed up into the wagon seat, released the wagon brake, and drove the team and wagon from outside the stable to alongside the porch of the house.

Lucenda and Wendra stepped out of the house as he slowed the team to a halt next to the steps leading down from the porch.

“You take care.” Lucenda embraced Wendra.

“You, too.” Wendra stepped away, and climbed up into the passenger seat of the wagon.

“You'll get what you can at the square, now?” Lucenda asked Alucius. “And another barrel of the hard wheat flour, if Amiss has it.”

“And the coal,” Alucius replied. “If there's anyone selling it.”

“Be careful. Wendra can drive the wagon if someone looks to accost you.”

“We'll be careful.” Alucius intended that, and more.

As he guided the team down the lane that eventually led to the main road, he glanced at Wendra, bundled in her old sheepskin jacket, with heavy herders' gloves on her hands.

“Your mother insisted on the gloves. She said I could return them later, but that my hands would freeze on the ride back to town.”

“I can't say I was unhappy that the looming took until yesterday to finish,” Alucius said with a grin.

“I wasn't unhappy at all, but I hope Father and Mother aren't too worried.”

“Mother did pay you?”

“She paid me too much, Alucius, but I couldn't say no. She insisted that she never would have finished it in time without me.”

“Grandfather was worried. The traders are sending a wagon for the nightsilk tomorrow.”

“It's so strange,” Wendra said. “I know herders are better off than most, but you're not that much better off, and yet once nightsilk reaches the south, it is more valuable than gold.”

Alucius wondered how much to say, before he finally replied. “We make more than most realize, but we also spend much more. The traders will be bringing barrels of processing solvents that are far from cheap, and you've seen all the machinery that we must have.”

Wendra cocked her head to one side. “I had not thought of it that way.”

“Most folk don't. It's costly to lose just one nightsheep, especially a ram. But if they don't graze the quarasote near the plateau, we don't get the best wool. Nearer the plateau is where there are more sanders and sandwolves. The losses can be high if you're not very careful.”

“From the way your family talks, the losses can be high if anything goes wrong.”

“That's true of your grandsire as well.”

“He doesn't talk as much about it,” Wendra said. “Not around us.”

“Most herders don't.”

“Why do…” Wendra frowned. “Because…of you and me?”

“They want you to know what it's really like,” Alucius said. “Some people think it's exciting, and that we have piles of gold and hidden palaces, and that we don't work very hard.” He paused. “My family likes you. If they didn't, they wouldn't talk so freely.”

“They trust you…about me, don't they?” Wendra's voice was almost inaudible.

Alucius could sense a hint of fear. He laughed. “They trust that I not only want you, but that I like you. Very few herders have unhappy marriages.”

“How much do you know about what I feel?”

“More than someone who's not a herder, but I certainly can't tell what you're thinking.”

“Alucius…”

How much should he say? And how? After a moment, he replied. “If we're very close to each other, and if you feel something strongly—it could be anger or attraction—then I can sometimes sense it. People are much harder than nightsheep.”

“Last night…I wanted you,” Wendra choked out the words. “Did you…?”

“I could feel that,” he admitted. “I wanted you. But it wouldn't have been right. Your family would have thought I was taking advantage of you, and I would have been.”

Abruptly, she eased across the bench seat until she was right beside him. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “I told you once you were sweet, and I love you for that.”

Alucius flushed. He wasn't about to admit how close he had come to not being so sweet.

About the time that Alucius could see the gray line that was the main road, he also began to sense something. Not sander or sandwolf, but someone with a sense of urgency. He glanced back, but there was no one riding behind. His eyes took in the road, and then he could make out a trooper in a militia winter parka, wearing the green sash of a messenger, riding southward. Alucius studied the road to the north, but no one seemed to be pursuing the messenger. Yet the man rode quickly, not at a gallop, but at a fast walk, a pace for covering a long distance as quickly as possible with a single mount. The rider passed south of them on the road while they were still almost half a vingt from where the stead road joined the main road.

“What does the green sash mean?” Wendra asked.

“He's a messenger, probably reporting to militia headquarters in Dekhron.”

“He's coming from the north, from Soulend, where you'll be,” Wendra said. “I hope he's not bearing bad news.”

“So do I.” Alucius offered a laugh he did not feel.

The messenger slowly pulled away from the wagon until, by the time Alucius and Wendra were far enough south on the main road that they could see the ancient green-stone tower, the messenger was not in sight, even though the sun had finally broken through the clouds and brightened the day. Wendra's and Alucius's breath no longer steamed when they talked.

“I always wondered about the tower,” Alucius said. “They took everything out of it, but they left the walls.”

“Father said that the walls were put together the same way the roads were. After the Cataclysm, no one knew how to take it apart, or they would have used the stones.” Wendra frowned. “But Iron Stem was so much bigger. Where did all the stones go?”

“I'd wager that there were more trees then—”

“And more of the buildings were of timber,” Wendra finished. Her eyes flicked to the alternating stone patterns of the Pleasure Palace. “Bryanne—she was one of the girls Madame Myrier taught. She lives with her aunt in town…she said that was because she'd have trouble walking to school. But everyone knows her mother is at the Pleasure Palace. I feel sorry for her.”

“Bryanne or her mother?” asked Alucius.

“Both of them. It's almost as bad as being a scutter for Gortal. I don't know. Maybe it's worse. They say the scutters have lost half their minds after a few years, and all they care about is being able to breath the dreamdust that the dustcats give off when they're combed and brushed. Just…doing that at the Pleasure Palace, and having to think about it…” Wendra shuddered.

“Maybe the mother does it so the daughter won't have to,” Alucius suggested.

“That's sad, too.”

Alucius agreed with that, but there was much in the world that was sad, and little enough that he could do about it.

All too many houses in Iron Stem still had shutters closed, and few chimneys showed more than the thinnest trace of smoke, even though there looked to be a coal wagon in the square. Alucius was glad he hadn't brought the coal bin in back of the wagon for nothing. He did worry about how much the coal might be going for, but he had a wallet of silvers and golds and instructions to fill the bin or get as much as he could for what he had.

Alucius slowed the wagon and then guided it down the narrow street beside Kyrial's shop, easing it to a halt short of the loading door. After setting the wagon brake, he turned in the seat and faced Wendra. “If I stop early on Londi…will you be here?”

“I'll be here.” She smiled. “How early?”

“A glass before dawn.”

“I'll be waiting.”

Alucius squeezed her hand, then tied the team, before helping Wendra down. They walked through the front door of the shop together, and Alucius was careful to close the door behind them.

Kyrial looked up—his face bearing an expression of annoyance and relief. “I'm glad to see you, daughter. We had worried.” For the first time, Kyrial looked sternly at Alucius.

“It wasn't Alucius, Father. He was herding all day every day. The looming took longer than Madame Lucenda thought.” Wendra smiled. “But that meant she paid me more. Alucius was very proper.”

Kyrial seemed to thaw, although Alucius couldn't tell whether that was from relief, or from the thought of more coin. “Your mother was worried, too, but she's at the miller's, delivering the few bags he wanted.”

Wendra turned to Alucius. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

They did embrace a last time, but Alucius forewent the kiss, sensing Kyrial's concern.

“You didn't just drive Wendra in, did you?”

“No, sir. I have a number of things to pick up for the family. They're all working on finishing the goods Wendra was helping with. So it made more sense for me to bring her back and take care of getting what they need.”

“Glad someone is selling something,” murmured Kyrial.

“It's the first order from the south since summer, sir.” Alucius did not explain that in normal times, there were no orders for nightsilk in the fall and winter.

“So times are hard for the herders, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good luck, Alucius.” Kyrial's words were as much dismissal as good wishes.

“Thank you, sir.” Alucius offered Wendra a last smile before turning and leaving. He knew Wendra would face intense questioning. For her sake, he was glad he had been proper, although it had been a close thing the evening before.

He still had to get the coal that he could and another barrel of flour, as well as molasses—if he could. On the way out of the shop, conscious of both Kyrial's and Wendra's eyes on his back, he shut the door carefully.

He did hope Wendra's parents wouldn't question her too harshly.

Alucius sat at the kitchen table, wearing the almost-new militia uniform, as well as the nightsilk undergarments and the hidden undervest that made him look brawnier than he was. His rifle leaned against the wall less than a yard away. He watched as Royalt paced to the window, where the inside bars had been locked into place. They had set the bars in all the lower windows right after breakfast, and all the outbuildings had been secured as well. After a moment, the older man turned away. “Don't like doing it this way.” His voice was barely above a murmur.

Alucius did not recall such elaborate procedures for selling nightsilk before. Usually, his grandsire and the other herders drove their wagons to the small counting house in Iron Stem operated by the Council in the spring and summer. He shook his head. Of course. The counting house was not manned in the late fall and winter, and there were no militia to provide security.

“You're worried about the year ahead, aren't you?” Alucius kept his voice low so that it wouldn't carry out to the main room where Veryl was dozing before the iron stove or to the front parlor where Lucenda was sitting, checking over the ledgers. She had a rifle with her as well.

“Yes.” Royalt walked slowly back past the table. “The Lord-Protector of Lanachrona is ailing and expected to die. His eldest has made no secret of his scorn for his sire's caution. The Matrial is taking over the Westerhills and pushing the Reillies either into the Iron Valleys or northward. None of the Reillie raids make sense otherwise, but the Council isn't saying.”

“Why wouldn't they?”

“They don't want to give the Lanachronans the idea that we might be vulnerable, especially with the possibility of a new Lord-Protector. In the past, the southerners haven't really wanted the northern part of the Iron Valleys. They just wanted Dekhron and the area around it and control of both banks of the Vedra. If old Lord-Protector dies and they know for certain that we are fighting the Matrite troops, the new Lord-Protector might decide to move on his own. That's why the Council is trying to build up the militia quickly and quietly—and hoping that the ailing Lord-Protector will last for a season or so yet.” Royalt paced to the window for the third time in less than a glass, but this time he paused, then turned with a smile. “That'll be Kustyl and Tylal with their nightsilk.”

Alucius followed Royalt out onto the porch, where a cold wind blew out of the northeast, carrying the acrid scent of the plateau. The two watched the wagon draw to a halt.

Alucius couldn't say that he was surprised to see Tylal wearing the uniform of a captain in the militia. Most herders served at one point or another, but the uniform fit Tylal well.

“Almost look like you've been called up,” Royalt said.

“Almost as bad as if I had been,” countered Tylal. He glanced at Alucius. “Two of us, it just might work.”

“Oh, they wouldn't be able to take the nightsilk from four of us. Not from four herders,” Kustyl said. “This way, though, they'll get the idea that there are militia in places they hadn't thought. Might help.” He lowered the tailgate of the wagon.

“We can use anything that would,” Royalt suggested. “Can't count on the Council to do the right thing, not for herders, anyway.”

Tylal and Kustyl carried a plain wooden chest up onto the porch and set it beside the one that Alucius and Royalt had placed there earlier.

“You know what you're to do?” Royalt asked Alucius.

“You want me to stand guard over the nightsilk on the porch. But I'm really supposed to watch the traders and their guards. If they go for their weapons, I'm to kill as many as I can.” Alucius paused. “Do you think they will?”

“No. You have to look as though you're ready to act, though.”

“I understand, sir.”

Royalt nodded, then turned to Kustyl. “You want to put the team in the shed?”

“Be warmer, and a mite safer.”

Tylal and Alucius stood on the porch as the two older men took the wagon and team out to the one shed that had not been locked.

“You look just like a fresh-minted cavalry type,” Tylal said with a chuckle. “Of course, that being the case, it's not surprising.”

“Could they really call you up, sir?” asked Alucius.

“They could until I'm forty-five, but they'd have to release Jaff or Kyrtus, and I don't imagine they'd do that. They'd rather have younger men.” Tylal paused. “Unless your grandsire is right, and things get much worse.”

When the older men returned, all four slipped into the kitchen where they waited. Kustyl, Tylal, and Alucius sat around the table, while Royalt continued to pace, checking the window.

“Better doing this with both steads here, anyway,” Kustyl offered. “Not sure I like partial shearing late in the year.”

“We may not have any buyers in the spring or early summer,” Royalt pointed out. “If we do, they won't pay as much.”

“You could be right.” To Alucius's Talent-senses, Kustyl didn't feel convinced.

“They're on the lane,” Lucenda called from the loft, although Alucius had not seen his mother climb up there.

Alucius picked up the rifle and slipped out the back door to the north end of the porch where he took station as if he were guarding a post back at Sudon.

A single wagon rolled down the lane toward the stead. Four guards rode before the wagon, and two behind. With all the preparations required by his grandsire, Alucius had somehow expected a larger contingent of traders.

The wagon was narrower than many, and highsided and enclosed, if not any taller than the head of a horseman riding beside, without shutters or windows, and with larger wheels than the stead wagon. The sides were painted a glossy maroon. The guards all wore maroon leather riding jackets, and bore blades in shoulder harnesses that were longer than sabres but shorter than the hand-and-a-half battle blades used by the Reillies. They also had rifles in saddle scabbards.

Alucius thought they looked more like cavalry than private guards.

The trader handling the wagon eased it up alongside the porch steps, where Royalt, Kustyl, and Tylal stood. Tylal stood back, more to the south end of the porch, so that he and Alucius had a clear field of fire at the traders and the wagon.

Royalt stepped forward. “Greetings, Salburan.”

“Greetings, herder Royalt.” The clean-shaven, dark-skinned trader glanced from Tylal to Alucius and back to Royalt before speaking. “Even upon a stead, your militia is present.”

Alucius had to strain to understand the trader's words, delivered as they were in what seemed a thick accent, but both Lanachronans and people in the Iron Valleys spoke the same tongue, if with differing accents.

“Would you expect any less?” Royalt countered cheerfully.

“Ah…yes. Always the governments, they want their share.”

“Is that not true in Borlan and Tempre as well?”

“Truly…truly…” After handing the leads to the other man in the wagon seat, who wore the maroon of a guard, Salburan swung down onto the hard ground. “Let us see the nightsilk. I would prefer a more, shall we say, relaxed transaction, but we have many vingts to return.”

“We understand,” Royalt replied.

Alucius continued to watch the guards, who had remained mounted and taken station several yards out from the wagon, so that they could survey the area around the stead. One had ridden all the way around the house before taking his position to the rear of the wagon.

Royalt opened the first chest, the one with the nightsilk from his own stead. The trader took out the bolt of the cloth, tilting it and looking at the weave and the texture from several angles. Then he took out a small frame from beneath his leather jacket and inclined his head to Royalt in inquiry.

“Go ahead.” Royalt nodded to Kustyl, who placed two building stones on the stone floor of the porch.

Salburan unwound some of the black fabric and then fastened the two-sided frame over the shimmering nightsilk. He set the frame on the building stones, so that the framed nightsilk was two spans above the floor. Taking out a belt knife, he grasped it firmly and slashed down.

The nightsilk held, but the frame sprang open.

Salburan replaced the knife in its sheath and studied the fabric closely. Then he nodded.

Kustyl opened the second chest, and Salburan repeated his test—with the same results.

One of guards dismounted and stepped forward with a folding iron yard measure.

Alucius concentrated on watching the guards, as the lengths and widths of the nightsilk were measured and verified—and as Salburan tested the fabric at irregular intervals along its length.

Finally the trader spoke. “As always, it is the finest. Although times have been hard for us, as well as for you, we had agreed on ten golds a yard…”

Alucius managed not to frown. He knew that price was high, but he kept his eyes on the Lanachronan guards, rather than upon the golds coming from Salburan's strongbox.

Once the coins exchanged hands the trader took the nightsilk, wrapping each bolt in a dark fabric and carrying it to the wagon where someone inside took it. Then four large copper-bound barrels were lifted out by the trader and the man who had been riding beside him on the wagon seat. Kustyl and Royalt carried them to the porch one by one.

As they did, Alucius became very alert, his Talent-senses seeking any hint of action, but everyone in the trader's party seemed almost relaxed, although the guards nearest to him were clearly taking in everything, much as Alucius was.

After the last barrel reached the porch, the door in the rear of the wagon closed, and Salburan turned. “Four barrels, as we agreed.”

“As we agreed,” Royalt confirmed, returning some of the golds to the trader.

“A pleasure doing business with you, herders,” Salburan bowed a last time before climbing back into his wagon.

As the two Lanachronan guards who had remained mounted and closest to Alucius turned their horses to fall in before the wagon, one spoke, again with the thick accent, almost under his breath, to the one who had eased his mount nearer. “The dwelling, the out-buildings, they are almost like a fort. Stone walls a half yard thick. Stone roofs—double doors, iron bound. Three of their militia out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Much easier to let them take the risks, and purchase the nightsilk once it is ready…”

Alucius could not hear more as the guards rode to lead the carriage back toward the lane—and toward Iron Stem. Three militia? Then he realized that his mother had probably let her rifle be seen from the upper window.

Once the traders' wagon and the guards were well out of sight, Royalt turned to Alucius. “You did well.”

“I didn't do anything,” Alucius protested.

“Yes, you did,” Tylal said with a laugh. “You looked like a very determined junior cavalryman who was looking for an excuse to shoot one of the Lanachronans. They could tell you were recently trained, and in service.”

Alucius wasn't sure about that, but he smiled. “The last part is true enough.” He paused. “I'm not very experienced, but I was watching their guards…”

Tylal laughed. “They were Southern Guards, dressed as a traders' guards. Your grandsire was right.”

“They don't get much chance to scout out what we're doing,” Royalt said. “Wouldn't have been surprised if one or two weren't captains or undercaptains.”

“Was that why…?” Alucius didn't want to mention the price and realized he shouldn't have said anything.

“One reason,” Royalt said quickly. “The other is that they won't go back through Dekhron. They'll go east of Emal and take a boat to the south side of the Vedra, then back roads to the old east road to Deforya.”

“That way, they won't pay full tariffs to their own Lord-Protector,” Kustyl pointed out. “They'll claim they sold less than they did. They'll have to pay extra to the Southern Guards, but the Guards won't say anything because they like the coin and because they want the information.

“And we don't have to pay any, because tariffs are only required when trades are taking place at the counting house,” added Tylal.

“Of course,” Royalt pointed out, “it's so dangerous to do this that we can't make a common practice out of it.”

The three older men all nodded in relief.

Alucius didn't feel relieved at all.