Legacies (30 page)

Low thick gray clouds swirled barely above the midroad, touching the tops of the taller crests of the hills and cloaking them in gray. The snow on each side of the road was almost a third of a yard deep. There was less than half that on the eternastone paving itself, something that would have created more wonder in Alucius had he not been walking through the snow behind the wagon with the other captives, pushing it when necessary to keep the small convoy moving westward through the Westerhills. Fine icelike snow swirled down, needling the right side of his face. His head continued to pound, more so on the few times when he had tried to call forth his Talent—in vain.

His right wrist was chained to that of Jinson, and all the prisoners were chained in pairs. The chains were thin, thin enough that, with a solid rock and some time, or some tools, Alucius probably could have broken them—but he had neither rocks nor tools nor time. With the dull silver torque-collars, escape was out of the question, at least until Alucius could figure out how to disable the collar—if he could, with no Talent.

He still wondered who the militia trooper had been who had stood up to the Matrite officer and been killed. Had it been Haldor? He hadn't seen the man.

Except for his face, cold wasn't a problem—not yet, although some of the other captives were suffering. Alucius still had to wonder why he hadn't been stripped of his gloves and especially his undergarments while he was unconscious, but then, without special equipment, tailoring the nightsilk was virtually impossible. Or was it that once the Matrites had taken the weapons from the captives, they regarded them as beneath notice?

“Weren't for the chains…done harder work on my own place…” mumbled Jinson.

The Reillie had removed whatever binding there had been on his arm, and Alucius was surprised that the man seemed to have healed so well—or that he showed so little discomfort.

“I'm surprised that they let us have that much food and water,” Alucius murmured. “And actual shelter at night.”

“They're not being kind,” retorted Jinson. “You feed and water your stock, don't you? Or are you a townie?”

“I'm not a townie, and I've fed a lot of stock.”

“We're stock to them. Or rifle-fodder for their attacks on…whoever.” Jinson's voice was barely above a murmur, but still conveyed bitterness.

“They're letting us ride in wagons some of the time,” Alucius whispered back. “Why did they send wagons just for prisoners?”

“Didn't,” Jinson said quietly. “These were some of the provisions wagons they sent. Got a regular line of them, least once a week. No sense in sending 'em back empty. Make better time if we ride some.”

“No talking!” snapped the Matrite trooper—male, as all the rankers seemed to be—with the chevrons on his green riding jacket. He was riding to the left and back about three yards.

Alucius bowed his head, enough to acknowledge the command without obvious contempt. Ahead of them, the low rumble of the wagon slowed, as did the wagon, its wheels building up slush under the iron rims, and then beginning to slide sideways on a patch of ice.

“Move ahead! Give a push!” snapped the trooper. “Put some force behind it, now.”

Alucius provided as little force as he could. His shoulder was still sore, and putting any pressure on his right hand and lower arm sent shooting pains from fingertip to shoulder, and even up his neck. The very worst of the aching in his skull was gone, but both lumps were still more than a little tender, even after three days' travel, and he'd definitely noticed it when he managed to use a little snow on the one on the back of his head. The cold had helped, but for the first few times, the snow had come away with the watered-down dark tinge of dried blood, more than a little dried blood.

“Show a little more effort there! Unless you want the captain to put the squeeze on your worthless necks!”

The six captives behind the wagon pushed it over the hump of slush ice, and, as the horses took up the full load again, resumed trudging through snow and slushy ice. Alucius had the feeling they were in for a long trip—and he had no idea where they were headed—except to Hieron—if the rumors were correct.

Alucius glanced up at the midafternoon sky. High hazy clouds had begun to drift in from the south, lending even more of a silver cast to the heavens. After two days of light snow, the sun had returned, and with it came a biting wind out of the northeast. For the first time in his life, Alucius felt a northeast wind without the iron-acrid scent of the Aerlal Plateau. Also, for the first time in his life, on the combined trek and ride, he had seen vingt upon vingt of trees, mainly tall conifers, pole pines, some firs, and no junipers or cedars.

He'd also seen a convoy of more than twenty-five wagons headed east, along with two more horse companies. In his watching, he'd learned a bit more. Like the militia troopers, the Matrites carried a rifle and a sabre, but their sabre held a slightly greater curve in the blade.

Unlike the militia, the two levels of officers seemed to be more distinct, both in conduct and uniform. The ones who seemed to be squad leaders wore rank insignia on their shoulders and were always men. The higher-level officers had insignia on their collars, although there were but two officers in the entire prison detachment guarding the prisoners, and both were women. Neither wore the silver torque. The squad leaders were distinguished by one, two, or three crimson chevrons on the upper arms of their jackets, just below the shoulder, and all of them wore the silver collars.

“For all your watching, friend,” Jinson said in a murmur, “you're not going anywhere, 'cept maybe to the One Who Is.”

“Not now,” Alucius admitted. “But there's always a time.”

Jinson snorted. “Where you going? Time you get free Matrites'll hold all your valleys.”

Alucius inclined his head toward the officer who had ridden past. “She doesn't look like they're winning.”

“Neither do you.” Jinson held to the side of the wagon as it lurched to a halt.

“Everyone out!” a Matrite squad leader ordered.

As Alucius struggled out of the wagon, he could see that the column had halted for a watering break on the midroad—above a narrow stream. The rocks on the side of the stream were rimmed in partly melted ice.

Several of the prisoners were starting down to the stream with buckets. One slipped as he neared the water. Alucius felt relieved—and guilty—that he had not been one of them.

He took another bite of the hard travel bread that the troopers had passed out to the captives, still half amazed that the Matrites had kept them fed and as dry and sheltered as possible.

“You two!” The trooper with the chevrons that indicated he was a junior squad leader pointed to Alucius and Jinson. “Follow me.”

Wondering what chore or task the trooper had in mind for them, Alucius followed the orders, as did Jinson, not that either had a choice, still chained together as they were. They walked forward along the left side of the midroad past another wagon of captives, and then past several troopers, who had dismounted, to another wagon, half covered with a silver tarp. Beside the tailgate that had been opened and hung down stood a man, not quite as tall as Alucius, who wore brown trousers and boots, and a brown jacket with silver piping.

“This is Engineer Hyalas,” the trooper said. “You're to help the engineer as he orders.”

“Sir.” Even as he bowed his head, Alucius noted that the engineer, for all the deference accorded him by the squad leader, and his fine brown jacket, trousers, and boots, also wore a neck torque.

“Engineer will do,” Hyalas replied in Lanachronan. “You two are to move the parts that I point out in this wagon to the wagon that is just in front of this one.”

Alucius glanced at the wagon wheels and axles.

The engineer laughed. “For a trooper, you've got a quick mind. That's right. The strain on this one is beginning to bow the axles. We need to hurry. The captain doesn't want to take too long. She's only allowing this because if the axle breaks it will delay us more.”

Alucius looked at a stack of shimmering and irregular sheets of greenish metal, their color vaguely familiar.

“Not those. The section of crystal tube, there,” said the engineer. “It will take both of you.”

“That?” muttered Jinson, under his breath. “Not likely.” He bent forward and tried to pull the section of greenish crystal—sheared irregularly at one end—that was less than a yard in length and but three fingers in width. His muscles stood out even under his old sheepskin jacket, but he could barely lever up one end. He winced as he released his hold on the tube, but the expression of pain vanished almost instantly.

“I
said
it would take two of you,” the engineer said.

Alucius edged closer to the tailgate. Jinson started to climb up into the wagon bed.

“Don't step on anything. Be careful. The edges of some of the metal could slice right through you,” cautioned Hyalas.

Jinson was noticeably more careful as he planted his feet in one of the few clear spaces in the rear of the wagon. “Slide this around….” Using his legs, the Reillie captive edged the crystalline tube around the irregular shards of the shimmering metal.

Even in the chill winter air, Jinson's forehead was covered with sweat by the time he had the tube at the end of the wagon bed, just above the tailgate, which hung down, its lower edge almost touching the eternastone road.

“We need to go this way,” Alucius said. That was so he could make sure that the crystal section would rest on his left shoulder.

Jinson just nodded.

It took all of Alucius's leg strength to straighten up after Jinson rolled the tube sideways and onto their shoulders. So short was the tube that there was almost no space between the two men. They took very short steps, and it seemed to Alucius that they had walked far more than ten yards by the time they had the length of crystal in the first wagon, and were walking back to the second.

“Hope there's nothing heavier,” Alucius murmured.

“Wouldn't wager…” muttered Jinson.

“Now you can take the side plate sheets.” Hyalas pointed to the metal sheets Alucius had looked at first.

Alucius wondered why the engineer had wanted to move the heavy crystal first.

“Stack half of the sheets on each side of the crystal so that it won't move,” explained the man in brown.

Alucius could see that no troopers were that close. “Engineer, sir—”

“Engineer will do.” Hyalas's voice was gruff. “What?”

“Did you build this…before…?”

“Before what?”

Alucius shrugged. “Engineer…I don't know what. I saw a machine that was killing troopers, and it was this color, but then I was wounded, and I never saw what happened, but I heard it exploded or something.”

“That's enough.” Hyalas glanced around. “No talk. We need to move enough of the parts so that the wagon will not fail.”

Although his Talent-senses were not functioning, Alucius guessed that the engineer had built the machine, and was secretly pleased that someone had recognized what he had done. “Yes, sir, engineer.” Alucius lifted the first of the silvered metal sheets to which Hyalas had pointed.

The sheets, like the crystal tube, were heavier than they looked, and one was all either captive could carry at a time. Alucius was sweating as much as Jinson after he had taken two to the first wagon. After the metal sheets, Hyalas had them move several silver boxes, also heavy, and then sections of what looked to be silver-plated copper cable.

When the original wagon looked to be about half empty, Hyalas spoke again. “That's enough.” He raised a hand, and the junior squad leader rode forward.

“Engineer?”

“They've moved what had to be moved.”

“Back to your wagon. Follow me,” ordered the Matrite squad leader.

Alucius and Jinson did just that, not speaking until they were back in the wagon, and the convoy lurched forward, heading westward on the midroad once more.

“Why were you so interested in all that junk?” asked Jinson in a low voice.

“Because it was what was left of a machine that threw hundreds of crystal spears in a moment. I wanted to know if he had anything to do with it.”

“Didn't tell you much, did he?”

“No, he didn't say much,” Alucius replied.

The idea that the man who had created such a fearsome device wore a collar was as staggering to Alucius as the fact that someone—in the present time—had built or rebuilt something from the ancient times.

Another day passed. The Matrite convoy was still on the midroad, but moving through lower hills, with both firs and silver-trunked slough ash trees that would bear distinctive silver-veined leaves when spring arrived. Despite the splotchy patches of snow, Alucius could see hillside farms, with split-rail fences, and fields clearly well tended. By late afternoon, the terrain had turned more to rolling hills, with only the tops and the steeper slopes forested, and with vingt after vingt of well-tended farms.

As the column started down a low hill toward a stretch of flat road, Alucius, walking behind the wagon with Jinson and perhaps half the captives from the wagon, could catch glimpses of a town ahead.

“Move it to the right, closer to the shoulder!” ordered one of the squad leaders.

The wagon before Alucius moved to the right, hugging the shoulder of the road, and the captives followed. Alucius looked up to see two riders heading eastward on the left side of the midroad. One was an older woman, slightly graying, wearing a hooded riding jacket with the hood tossed back. The other was a red-haired girl—or young woman. Both appeared at ease and confident as they rode past the troopers and the captives.

The girl's eyes passed over Alucius and some of the others. The older woman did not even look in their direction.

The Matrite troopers did not look at any of the women, not even covertly, but kept their eyes on the road, the other troopers, or their mounts. Alucius wished he could sense what the troopers felt, but the loss of Talent left him without that ability, and feeling very empty. He looked at Jinson, and asked, “What do you think?”

“Wish I had that mount, riding that way,” the Reillie replied, with a low snort.

After that, as the column neared the town, riders and farm wagons passed several times, almost always women, or even girls approaching womanhood. Alucius did not see a male rider unaccompanied by a woman.

“Pick it up! Captain wants to make the base before dusk!”

With the command from a squad leader, the wagon moved forward more quickly, and without the creaking that Alucius had come to associate with wagons from his time in the militia. The absence of creaking bothered him, because he knew it meant something, even if he could not have explained what.

By the time the column reached the first buildings, Alucius's feet were even more sore from walking the hard eternastone pavement. The captives had marched raggedly past several dwellings before Alucius looked up.

So many things struck him that he almost staggered. The town had not appeared that large, but the dwellings were close together, enough for the presence of hundreds. Although there were people beside the road, none of them paid the column much attention, save a child or two, and all of those in the streets and upon the neatly swept sidewalks, empty of snow, were well and warmly clad. The dwellings were all of well-dressed stone and of one story, and with brightly painted shutters. The odors of cooking, of bread, and of faint scents of flowers, filled the chill air.

The troopers, without orders, seemingly kept their eyes mainly on the road ahead.

The sun hung in the silvered dark-green sky, just above the western horizon, so low that Alucius could not easily squint through the glare, as the column continued through the town, perhaps a vingt in length along the midroad. At the western end, past the last dwellings, was a low redstone wall, no more than two and a half yards in height, and the first riders turned in through a gate, one seemingly unguarded. The wagons and the marching captives followed.

Once inside the walls, men and mounts and wagons halted on clean and swept stone pavement. Then the captives began to move, under the direction of one of the squad leaders with three chevrons. “Two by two through the open door.”

Alucius and Jinson followed.

On the other side of the door was a man with a hammer and chisel, standing beside a small upright worktable slightly higher than waist level. He wore a plain gray tunic and trousers, and gray boots—and a gray collar. As each pair of captives came through, he placed the chain linking them on a thick wooden plank, and then used the hammer and chisel to break one of the links, so that each man, while wearing a wrist guard, was no longer linked to another.

“Through the archway,” ordered another trooper.

On the other side of the archway was a third Matrite trooper, with an overcaptain standing behind him.

One of the taller militia troopers, his hands now free, charged the Matrite trooper, whose sole weapon was a sheathed sabre. Before the Iron Valley trooper took a third step, he pitched forward onto the stone floor.

Alucius winced within himself at dull thunk of the trooper's body hitting the stone floor, but tried not to show any reaction, although, for some reason, his head ached again.

“You two behind him,” the overcaptain ordered, “pick him up and carry him with you through the door.”

Alucius didn't even look at Jinson. They just lifted the unconscious man and wrestled him up between them, walking toward the door.

Another trooper stood on the far side of the door. “All right. Prisoner barracks to the right. Overcaptain expects every man to wash thoroughly…not just hands and faces—your whole filthy body, and use the soap. Washrooms are at the end. That's before you lie down on your bunks. There are laundry tubs there, too, and tonight before you turn in, you're supposed to wash your undergarments. Anything else that would dry overnight would help. Only overnight. You'll be on the road again tomorrow.”

Still supporting the unconscious trooper, Alucius and Jinson made their cumbersome way through the open, but iron-reinforced door into a long barracks wing. Before them were real bunks, with wooden frames, neatly lined up on swept stone floors, bunks with clean under-sheets and a blanket folded at the base of each.

Alucius swallowed, getting a sinking feeling at the sight of the ordered quarters, even before he noted the heavy iron bars on the outside of the windows.