Legacies (49 page)

Once Alucius had made sure that the wagons had been properly blocked and secured for the night in the wagon yard adjacent to the armory at Salcer, he arranged for billeting both the wounded returnees and the escort squads, and then unsaddled, groomed, and otherwise took care of Wildebeast. Only after all that did he slip away, dropping his gear on a bunk in the barracks bay for visiting squad leaders, and then making his way down one empty corridor and then another, looking for the equivalent of the library at Zalt.

The search, although it took less than a quarter of a glass, seemed endless, but his reward was that the small musty room was clean—and vacant, the all-too-neatly shelved books looked as if they had not been read in years. The late afternoon light coming through the single narrow window was barely enough to give the room the illumination of twilight—or so it seemed.

Alucius sat on a stool behind the reading desk and took a deep breath, trying to clear away all the thoughts and feelings that had besieged him in the last day. Why now? Because he knew that he had to do something to avoid being discovered in Hieron? Because he felt guilty for not acting sooner, for merely settling for survival?

For scarcely the first time, Alucius felt that he needed to act. The wood-spirit had told him not to wait, but he had not acted, not to escape, or even to learn as much as he could have, or should have. The power of the purpled pink thread that bound the engineer had been a fearful reminder—and from somewhere else came a dark and nagging sense of urgency. But why now?

It made sense to go with the convoy to Hieron—that would bring him two hundred vingts closer to the Iron Valleys without pursuit and faster than he could travel on his own without being discovered and chased. But what could he do to prepare himself to act when the time came? It was clear that it would—and soon, even if he could not say why.

He had once slipped through a Madrien camp unseen—or seen as a mangy dog. Did he still have that ability? Could he improve it? How could he not try?

The first test should be in a place where he had every right to be, but where someone would have to recognize him, and that someone should be a trooper, not an officer. He stood and slipped from the musty library, closing the door quietly, and turning back down the corridor that would lead him back toward the stable.

Halfway down the corridor, he met an undercaptain, a tall woman with red hair. He nodded in respect. “Sir.”

“Carry on, squad leader.”

Alucius hadn't dared to try the invisibility for the first time with an officer, but a corridor would be the perfect place, because he could look distracted, and if seen, apologize profusely.

After leaving the barracks wing, he crossed the stone-paved courtyard, which was moderately busy, with troopers bringing in mounts from patrols or maneuvers. After accepting several acknowledgments with a polite “Carry on,” he entered the stable. Once inside, he eased himself to the outside stone wall, to the left of the open doors, and concentrated on projecting the feeling that nothing was there, nothing except a faint breeze drifting through the stable.

Trying to hold that feeling, he walked toward a trooper who had apparently just stabled a mount. The man walked by Alucius without even pausing.

In his effort to hold the illusion, paradoxically, it seemed to Alucius, he was more aware of the purple-tinged pinkish thread that ran from the trooper's torque, vanishing, even to Alucius's Talent-sense, somewhere to the unseen north.

Had it been just that trooper? Alucius waited, and shortly another trooper left a stall. Once more, he walked toward the man, this time almost directly. The second trooper ignored him, and, again, Alucius could see the pinkish collar thread.

He slipped back to an inside wall, thinking. There, standing in the shadows of the stable, Alucius wondered how many threads filled the world. He'd certainly seen the pink lines of power, and those tinged with purple, and how they turned a man's—or a woman's—black aura to an oppressive gray.

And he'd seen the brownish green ties of the wood-spirits to trees.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to take in all the threads…

He gulped. Behind—or beyond—or beside—the pinkish thread that ran from his own torque to the indistinct north, there was another thread, less visible, yet different—an entwined thread of black and green. It seemed to be gathered in tiny filaments from him before joining in a larger thread that ran to the northeast, as if in the direction of the Iron Valleys.

Alucius swallowed. Black and green? Did everyone have such a thread? What had the wood-spirit said? Unnatural webs? Did that mean all people had natural webs?

He remained in the shadows, this time waiting for one of the stableboys.

As the boy passed him, seemingly oblivious to a full squad leader within yards, Alucius tried to concentrate. He wasn't certain, but beyond the youth's faint pinkish collar thread, he thought he'd sensed an even fainter brown thread. Brown only.

With his Talent-sense, Alucius “reached” for that thread, touching it.

The youth jumped, but only for a moment before his knees buckled. Alucius withdrew the touch and his screen and hurried over to the boy. He bent down. The youth was breathing. After several moments, his eyes fluttered open.

“Sir…I…I don't know what happened.”

“You fainted. Have you been getting enough to eat?” asked Alucius.

“Yes, sir. I thought so, sir.”

Alucius put on a concerned frown. “Were you out in the heat a long time this afternoon?”

“Ah…yes, sir. We had to clean all the wagons.”

“Sometimes, that can do it. Still, you'd better be careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

After helping the youth to his feet, Alucius turned away, thoughts swirling through his head. He didn't know what had prompted him. Curiosity? He certainly hadn't meant to hurt the young fellow. He hadn't even known that the personal threads or webs existed.

Those could wait, and he could observe, as he could. He still needed to test his not-being-there screen on an officer. Where?

If he picked the rear corridor leading from the mess to the squad leaders' bay…Supper wasn't for another glass, and the corridor would be lightly traveled now, if not deserted. He certainly didn't want many people around, in case his effort failed.

He left the stable, without the holding the screen, and crossed the courtyard once more, passing several troopers, but no officers. Once inside the forward barracks wing, he found himself alone, not only on the main corridor, but on the next two.

Had the losses at Salcer been so great that the barracks were that empty? Or were the barracks so empty because of transfers to fight against the militia of the Iron Valleys?

Then, at the end of the corridor, an officer appeared. Alucius tried to project the feeling of the corridor being empty, even while he put a worried look on his face and continued to walk toward the officer, his eyes not exactly moving in her direction.

As she walked toward Alucius, at about five yards, the undercaptain cocked her head, then frowned.

Alucius swallowed. He could tell from the swirls of green through the black of her aura that she had Talent. One try, and he'd picked one of the few Talented officers. He hadn't even thought about that.

Suddenly, her eyes opened wide, and she looked at Alucius. “You!”

Her hands dropped to her wide belt, and Alucius could sense the pressure on his torque, but only on the torque, not on him. As he stood there, as if time had almost stopped, he saw her mouth begin to open, and he lashed out, not with his hands or body, but with his mind and Talent, seeking her thread—brown—and striking with all the force he had.

She pitched forward.

Alucius glanced around. There was no one in the corridor. He bent down and turned her. She was breathing, but he could feel no sign of the brown thread that had connected her to…whatever it was that the thread connected people to. What should he do?

Her eyes opened. They were blank, expressionless…empty.

Alucius stood and walked away. He knew she wouldn't remember. He feared she might not live that long, but he could only hope that no one would connect it with a trooper. If he had used a weapon, he had no doubt that every trooper would have been questioned. They still might be. It was a risk to stay, but he felt it was less of a risk than fleeing blindly. If he had to, he could still do that.

He did not look back as he continued on his way to the barracks bay for visiting squad leaders. He had to struggle to keep himself from shaking. What had he discovered? Why had he had the bad luck—or bad judgment—to try out his screening in front of one of the few officers with Talent.

He turned the corner at the end of the corridor and kept walking.

There were no outcries behind him, no other steps. Even when he was back in the bay for visiting squad leaders, Alucius found he was breathing hard, that he was sweating, and that the palms of his hands were damp. He sat down on the end of the bunk, head lowered.

He knew one thing. Once he reached Hieron, he had to act—and quickly. And, even before that, he had to be ready to run or ride away at any moment—without a question, without hesitation.

On the high road north of Salcer, the air wasn't as hot as in Zalt, but the sky was overcast, and the midmorning air was damp and carried a scent of faintly rotting vegetation, perhaps from the lowland swamp to the left of the high road. Alucius was soaked, and perspiration ran down the back of his neck. The perspiration and the heat were giving him a rash on the neck where the torque touched his skin. He'd never had that problem before, or he'd never noticed it.

Was that because he was worried about the captain he'd disabled—or worse—in Salcer? He didn't worry so much about what had happened to her. She'd tried to kill him through the torque. But he couldn't help but feel that, sooner or later, something might come up that would link her to him. Gerayn had said nothing, not even indirectly, and Alucius had long since learned that there were times to probe and times to say nothing. The stunned undercaptain in Salcer was an event about which Alucius would never speak. That he knew.

Alucius shifted his weight in the saddle. They were two days out of Salcer, with at least another six to go before they reached Hieron. In the past week, they'd passed more than three companies of horse headed south toward Zalt. Was another Lanachronan attack imminent? Or was the Matrial trying to forestall such an attack? Gerayn hadn't speculated, and Alucius hadn't asked.

With each day of travel, the eternastone high road seemed even more endless. Then again, the high roads were endless. That had been the entire point of the Duarchy's constructing them.

After a glass of riding in comparative silence, Captain Gerayn spoke. “Undercaptain Taniti said that you'd killed more easterners by yourself than any two squads.”

Alucius laughed. That idea was ridiculous.

“Don't laugh. She watched you shoot. She saw you hit at least seven men for very ten shots. She didn't want to lose you.” Gerayn's gray eyes bored into Alucius. “Especially after she was given command. It's funny how that makes a difference, don't you think?”

“I wouldn't know,” Alucius pointed out.

Gerayn smiled. “I do. I may not be a field officer, but I've seen enough. Those who succeed are those who are good at using people, and who worry less about some sort of purity than about results. You're a throwback, a man who would have led armies of conquest in the time of the Duarchy. You make us nervous, because you're so good at destruction, but without troopers like you, we'd have the Lanachronans in Hieron before long. It makes for an interesting situation.”

“I'd rather not be interesting, sir. I'd rather just do what needs to be done.”

This time, the captain was the one who laughed. “That's why you're interesting. You do what has to be done, and you do it well, and you do it without hesitating.”

Within himself, Alucius disagreed. He'd already hesitated far too long, and now he was having trouble disguising the sudden impatience whose cause he could not even identify. He'd survived nearly two years in two different armies…and now he was impatient?

Impatient or not, he needed to be more careful—far more careful.

He smiled at the captain. “Tell me more about Southgate, if you would, sir.”

The small convoy rolled into Eltema Post in Hieron in midafternoon. Even just in the courtyard, Alucius could sense that the post didn't seem to hold as many troopers—or captives—as when he had last been there. He said nothing about that, just followed Captain Gerayn's orders.

Getting the wagons unloaded and in place in the repair yard took almost a glass in itself, and then Alucius and the two squads of troopers from Twenty-fourth Company had to wait almost another glass while the captain found out where the two squads would be billeted and where the disabled wounded would be quartered while they recovered enough to be stipended out of the Matrite forces.

In the end, Alucius found a stall for Wildebeast and left his gear there. Then he followed Gerayn back into the large training building, and through the warren of corridors to one of the unmarked doors.

A voice called out from the adjoining and open door. “The overcaptain's not there.”

Captain Gerayn entered the room from which the voice had come. Alucius stood behind her in the doorway. He glanced down at the door, and the lock, actually a latch that only locked from within. Then his lips quirked as he realized that security probably wasn't that much of a problem when a Talent-officer could tell innocence or guilt and when a space like the undercaptain's had little in it of value. The captive trainees were securely locked away, and probably coins, with weapons in the armory, but when any officer could stun any trooper, locks weren't necessary everywhere.

“Squad leader Alucius is supposed to report to Overcaptain Haeragn for assignment,” Gerayn offered, holding a folder containing several sheets of paper.

“She's been sent to Faitel for a week. It could be longer,” replied the undercaptain. “There was some difficulty with the engineers there. I can offer the squad leader a temporary assignment, but she'll have to review that when she gets back.” There was a pause. “We're short of squad leaders in the training group.” She motioned for Gerayn to hand over the folder.

Gerayn did, seemingly reluctantly.

After scanning the sheets for several moments, the undercaptain nodded and looked past Gerayn to Alucius. “You're a class-one blade and a class-one marksman. You can help with that until the overcaptain returns. I'll have Fynal take you over to see Jesorak and then show you to the barracks bay for the squad leaders who are instructors.” The undercaptain looked at Captain Gerayn. “Sir, we can take it from here.”

Gerayn turned to Alucius. “Take care of yourself, squad leader.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.”

“I will. They'll just have me audit reports until it's time for another supply convoy south.” She nodded, then turned.

Alucius waited, but only for a few moments. A graying older man, a junior squad leader who came to Alucius's shoulder, stepped into the room and reported. “Undercaptain Sulkyn, sir?”

“If you'll escort the squad leader…” The undercaptain stopped and looked at Alucius. “You have gear, don't you?”

“I left it in the stable, sir.”

“You can pick it up after Jesorak decides where to use you.”

Fynal cleared his throat. “This way, sir. The instructors share a space on the next corridor.”

“Thank you, sir.” Alucius bowed.

The undercaptain didn't even look up from the papers on her table desk as Alucius and Fynal left.

Alucius took a moment to study the threads around Fynal. The obvious pink link ran almost due west, confirming Alucius's belief that the torque threads centered somewhere close to the Matrial's dwelling. Beneath the obvious was a yellowish brown thread, so thin and frail that Alucius made an effort not even to investigate with his Talent, and that thread ran to the southeast.

Unaware of Alucius's Talent investigation, Fynal led Alucius to the end of the corridor, past closed door after closed door, around the corner, and then another twenty yards to an open door, the first open door since they had left the undercaptain.

Inside, a full squad leader that Alucius had never met looked up from the long and narrow table where he was reassembling a rifle.

“I'm Alucius. I was looking for Jesorak. They've assigned me here.”

“Heltyn.” The squad leader looked to Fynal. “You can go. I'll make sure that he stays here until Jesorak returns.”

Fynal frowned.

“I really will, old man. You can tell the undercaptain it's all my fault.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alucius took a quick Talent look at Heltyn, beyond the pink torque web. Heltyn's lifeweb thread, for that was what Alucius felt the deeper threads were, was a brownish amber and vanished into the northwest.

Heltyn said nothing until Fynal's bootsteps had died away. “Nice fellow. Got badly hurt, head wound, in a skirmish with the easterners a year ago. Needs another year for a full stipend, so he runs messages inside the post.” He turned on the stool, ignoring the rifle before him. “I'm the head marksman instructor. You a marksman?”

“Ah…class one in blade and rifle.”

“Jesorak and I will probably fight over you.” Heltyn shook his head, ruefully. “They've stripped us clean.”

Alucius smiled. “I don't know for how long. I was sent for reassignment—”

Heltyn laughed, long and hard. “Without the overcaptain around, Undercaptain Sulkyn can't offer directions to cross the courtyard.”

Alucius took one of the empty stools and sat down.

“Where did you come from?”

“Zalt.”

“They're sending a class-one marksman and squad leader back?”

“Only for reassignment,” Alucius said.

“Because you're good and too young, and can't stay in the same company and post?”

“You don't seem surprised.”

“No. It happens. Too often.” Heltyn shook his head. “They want father figures as much as leaders. Too many young squad leaders, and the youngest get transferred to an outfit where there are older ones. You'll stay here for a season, or until they've got an opening where you can be the number-two squad leader, and you'll be the one who leads from the front.”

Alucius nodded, although he doubted he'd have anywhere near that much time.

“The Lanachronan assault couldn't have come at a worse time. That's why it did. We've had to pull company after company out of the north. Had to pull back out of the Iron Valleys, establish a perimeter barely into the Westerhills. Soon as a returned company gets furloughs and replacements, they're pushed south. The new Forty-second left a week or so ago, along with the Thirty-seventh and the Eighth.” Heltyn leaned back on the stool. “If you're lucky, and we're lucky, you'll be here two months.” He grinned. “Least you won't be in the south for the hottest weather.”

“I can't say I'll miss it.”

“What sort of heroics got you promoted?”

“Being foolhardy. I took over my squad when the squad leader got potted in an ambush. Ordered a charge that should have gotten us all killed, but didn't. We killed almost two squads.” Alucius shrugged. “Made me junior squad leader for that.”

“And full squad leader?”

“Last battle with the Lanachronans, we lost the captain, one undercaptain, and the senior squad leader. Already had lost the assistant senior squad leader. Easterners tried a concealed flank attack. We were on the flank. I ordered the entire company to follow me. Slowed the attack enough to allow the auxiliaries to wipe out the force on the flank. We were down to half strength after that. Guess they didn't want any more successes like that.”

“Why didn't they—” Heltyn shook his head. “Why do I ask. Let me guess. You weren't the most senior of the junior squad leaders?”

“Ah…actually, I was the most junior,” Alucius admitted.

Heltyn laughed, harder than before. “If…if…it weren't so stupid…it'd be even funnier.”

“What would be?” asked another voice.

Alucius stood as Jesorak stepped into the long room. “Squad leader Alucius, sir. I've been assigned here temporarily.”

“Alucius…Alucius…didn't I train you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jesorak looked at the pair of crimson chevrons on Alucius's sleeve. “And they had the nerve to send you back to me?” His eyes twinkled, even though his voice was stern.

“Actually, sir…I was sent to Overcaptain Haeragn for reassignment…but…”

“She's in Faitel, and Undercaptain Sulkyn knew I'd been complaining, and she handed you to me until the overcaptain returns.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were good with both blade and rifle, as I recall. Very good.”

Alucius was more than a little surprised that Jesorak remembered.

“That means he was one of the best,” Heltyn added. “You wouldn't recall otherwise.”

“He's good,” Jesorak admitted. “Doesn't mean he'll be a good instructor.”

“I can see you haven't changed, sir.”

“Not a bit.” Jesorak smiled. “You have, though. Let's get your gear and get you settled. We can talk over what you'll do at supper.” He glanced at Heltyn. “We'll come back for you.”

“I won't wait for them to rebuild Elcien,” Heltyn replied.

Jesorak snorted “You wouldn't wait for a pretty girl with a gold purse and a calligraphed invitation.”

“You're right. I'd be long gone.”

Nodding to Alucius, Jesorak said, “We'd better get moving. You can tell me about what's happening in the south.”

“It's been a long year, sir…”

“None of that “sir” business except when others are near. Now…go on.”

“First there were raids and ambushes…” As he talked, Alucius walked alongside Jesorak. He'd liked Jesorak when he'd been a captive, and was glad to find that he still did.