Legacies (55 page)

A woman with flawless white skin and violet eyes walked toward Alucius, smiling, beckoning, suggesting that all manner of delights were within his reach. Yet Alucius hesitated, stepping back, feeling a deep chill from somewhere.

The woman beckoned again, and Alucius deferred. A bolt of purple flame flashed from her fingers, and he threw up a sabre that had appeared in his hand. Flame sprayed past him, burning his arms, searing his face—

“Sir! Wake up!

“What?” Alucius shook his head, trying to emerge from the dream, and the all-too-real feel of fire singeing his arms and his face. His fingers brushed his forehead, hot and damp.

“Rider's coming hard.”

Alucius bolted upright, grasping for his boots, and his tunic and jacket. Then he grabbed his rifle, following the sentry whose name he did not recall, hurrying down the gentle slope of the redstone lane from the way station to the high road.

Overhead in the night sky, Selena was but a crescent, hardly enough to add to the summer starlight, and Asterta had long since set.

“Can hear a long ways at night, sir,” the sentry said as he caught up with Alucius. “From the south, I thought, sir.”

Alucius stopped, listened. Through the darkness, Alucius could hear the sets of hoofs. Sets of hoofs? He cast out his Talent-senses. The rider had a spare mount with him, and he was pushing both mounts.

The sound of hoofs grew louder, and before long Alucius could make out the shadowy figures of two horses and a single rider above the Talent-based glow of the eternastones of the high road.

“Halt!” Alucius called, hoping that the trooper would stop, knowing he would not. As he spoke, he raised his rifle.

The messenger flattened himself against his mount, and aimed the mount directly toward Alucius as if to make himself a smaller target in the darkness.

Using both Talent and skill, Alucius sighted and fired through the darkness, a darkness that was at most twilight to him.
Crack!

The sickening void that swept over and by Alucius told him that he'd been accurate.

“Get his mounts!” snapped Alucius.

“His mounts?”

“He's dead. He had a spare horse.”

The horses slowed, almost immediately, because the gelding was dragging the rider by one stirrup. Both Alucius and the sentry ran forward, the sentry grasping the rider's mount by the side of the bridle.

Alucius worked the dead trooper's booted foot from the stirrup and dragged his body—one-handed—to the side of the road. There, he took the dispatch case, hoping that it held a message worth the life of the messenger.

“Bring the mounts to the way station, and then have someone come down here and bring the body back up and out of sight of the road,” Alucius called to the sentry.

“Yes, sir.”

Carrying the dispatch case, Alucius walked back toward the way station, one of those stations unmanned with but a spring and long covered sheds with pallets for men and a rude barn for mounts.

As he entered the waystation and headed for the hearth, he could hear the sentry whispering.

“Need some help…one shot…in pitch darkness…”

“…herder…see why you don't mess with herders?”

“How'd they capture him?”

“Wall fell on him, someone said…”

Alucius brought the case to the red coals in the hearth. There, he added a few pieces of thin wood, and waited for them to catch. After a time, red flames began to flicker up, and he opened the case, extracted the message, and began to read. The message was to a Captain Grenyl, in Arwyn. He skipped over the salutations.

Alucius did not recognize the name of the arms commander who had signed it, but his knowledge of officers' names had never extended above the rank of overcaptain. The order in the “Name of the Matrial Eternal” nagged at him, as if there were something that the words signified beyond the rote.

The thought behind the message also bothered him, and he wondered if he'd been too charitable in his assessment of the women of Madrien. A group of forcibly detained captives who wanted to return home were so dangerous that they had to be eliminated “at all costs.”

He could use the message—and he would. In the morning, he'd have all the men, those that could, read the message and tell the others.

In the meantime, there was little else he could do. He replaced the message in its case and headed back to his bedroll, hoping he could get some rest, wondering if he'd ever get a good night's sleep again. And hoping he did not dream once more the way he had, of the beautiful and deadly Matrial—for who else could have haunted his dreams? Absently, he wondered if she had indeed looked the way he had dreamed her—and if so, how he could have known.

In the hazy sunshine of the late afternoon in summer, Alucius shifted his weight in the saddle, before scanning the high road ahead, then the rolling hills to the east, hills that held woods and occasional holdings, and then to the west, where the land looked much the same as that to the east. High puffy clouds rose over the Coast Range that was more than thirty vingts to the west. He and his two squads were a little more than five vingts from Arwyn, and he had hoped that the scouts he had sent out near midday had been able to find what he had asked them to look for.

Less than a half vingt ahead, he saw a sole rider in Matrite colors, clearly one of the scouts. Sending them out alone was a risk, if they were seen, because that was almost never done by Matrite forces, but four men sent separately could scout far more than a road patrol of four could.

Before long, Zerdial and the older trooper, probably a former militia scout, from his appearance, rode toward Alucius.

“Ralzyr has a place, sir,” Zerdial called.

Alucius motioned for the two to ride alongside him. He blotted his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Tell me about it.”

“It's a little farther from the high road than you wanted, sir, almost half a vingt to the west and not quite two vingts ahead. There's only one lane in…” As Ralzyr explained, Alucius listened and tried to visualize the terrain. When the scout had finished, Alucius nodded and said, “That sounds as good as anything.” He looked at Zerdial. “Would you have someone ask Anslym to join us?”

“Yes, sir.”

While he and Zerdial waited for Anslym to ride up from the rear, Alucius cast out his Talent-senses once more, but the road ahead was clear. Over the more than six days they had been riding, they had seen but a scattering of people on the roads, and all had been traders. As he considered the high roads in the Iron Valleys, he realized that the same had been true of those as well. Yet the high roads went everywhere.

Had there been that many more people in Corus when they had been built? There had to have been, but he guessed that in the more fertile areas, such as Madrien, the signs of abandoned hamlets and steads had vanished. He had thought that the depopulation he had seen in the Iron Valleys had occurred just there, because the weather had changed so much, but his involuntary travels were showing him that the same thing had happened everywhere as a result of the Cataclysm.

“Sir?” Anslym had eased his mount in beside Alucius on the left. Zerdial rode on his right.

“Thank you. I wanted you both to understand what we have to do. We need fodder and grain for the mounts and more provender for the troopers, or we won't make it back home. But how we get it is important. Zerdial's scout has located a holding that looks prosperous and is not close to others. There are two things we need to accomplish in taking this holding. We don't want anyone to escape, and, if at all possible, we don't want anyone killed—either in our squads or on the holding.”

Both squad leaders looked mildly skeptical.

“If anyone escapes, we'll have to fight the auxiliaries from Arwyn, or end up spending weeks tracking through back roads to get home. The more time we spend in Madrien, the more of our troopers that are likely to get killed. If we kill their people, especially people who aren't troopers, there's going to be an outcry and more troopers—regular and auxiliaries—chasing us.”

This time, Zerdial and Anslym nodded.

“So we'll have to sweep in with force, but leave one squad back to cover the lanes and exits…” Alucius went on to explain what he wanted from each squad.

He found himself more and more nervous as they neared the holding, something he hadn't anticipated. Was that because he was in charge, and there was no one else responsible?

The two squads stopped, at his command, just short of a woodlot that provided cover. There, Alucius turned to Anslym. “You know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alucius nodded to Zerdial, then moved to the edge of the lane. “First squad, forward!”

His Talent-senses out, Alucius kept close behind the first riders who swept down the lane and into the holding. Even before the troopers reached the yard area, someone left by the rear door and began to run for the woodlot—as Alucius had half-suspected would happen. Within moments, he had Wildebeast around the dwelling and in position to cut her off, his rifle out. He raised the rifle. “Move and you're dead!”

The woman didn't reply, but turned and sprinted toward the stone wall less than five yards away.

He hated to do what he had to, but he'd hate it even more if the woman escaped or if someone found out what he was truly able to do. As he swung toward the woman, he reached out with his Talent, and just barely touched her life web thread. He swung his rifle as if he had clubbed her, and she went down like an unbalanced and unsupported sack of flour, and he was practically on top of her unconscious form before two of Zerdial's troopers were close enough to see anything. “Watch the rear door!” He snapped.

He could tell there was no one in the stable or the trimly kept and brown-painted wooden barn, but he could sense someone in the holding fumbling with something.

“Shoot and she's as good as dead!” he called, turning Wildebeast, and riding straight toward the rear door.

In a sense it was foolish, but he barely reined up before he flung himself from the saddle and through the door, lashing out with his Talent at the gray-haired man who was raising the rifle. He did strike the Talent-felled man with his own rifle butt, but not terribly hard.

Two girls—red-headed and blond—stood frozen in one corner of the kitchen, where a white-haired woman stood before them, trying to shield them.

“We're not going to hurt anyone,” Alucius snapped, “not so long as no one tries to attack us. We need forage and provender.”

“You'll have to kill me first,” said the white-haired woman.

“Why?” asked Alucius. “We're not going to hurt anyone.”

“You already killed them!”

“No, I didn't. They'll both wake up with headaches.”

“Sir!” called the two troopers who burst into the house.

“In the kitchen.”

Alucius waited, then gestured. “Tie them all up, but try not to hurt them. Tie up the man who's in the hall, too.”

He went back outside, where he hitched Wildebeast to a post by the back door, and then walked to the fallen woman—the holder. He was scarcely surprised to find the pistol inside the gray-haired woman's vest.

There were only five people in the holding. Two girls—one about ten and one about twelve, an aging white-haired woman, the gray-haired holder, and the gray-haired man who wore a torque. Alucius judged him as a former Matrite trooper.

He had the girls tied, hand and foot, and placed on their beds, with a trooper to watch them, and the same for the older woman. The holder and the man, her husband, Alucius gathered, were tied to wooden straight-backed chairs in the kitchen.

After giving instructions to Zerdial and sending for Anslym's squad, Alucius returned to the kitchen where the woman had begun to rouse herself. She said nothing for a time, just glared at him.

“So…are you going to be brutes, now that you're free of the torques?” The woman wriggled in her bonds.

Alucius judged her for a former Matrite officer, or possibly one still in the auxiliaries. She clearly understood that the torques no longer functioned.

“I have no intention of being a brute. Nor do I have any intention of letting my troopers be brutes.”

“If you kill us, every woman and every auxiliary in every hamlet and town on the high road will come after you,” she promised.

“I am not so sure of that. The torques no longer work. You know that.”

“That's nonsense,” claimed the gray-haired man bound in the chair beside her. Alucius hadn't realized that he also had recovered.

Alucius gestured to the trooper. “Blindfold him.”

“More brutality.”

After walking behind the man's chair, Alucius extended a thin tendril of that Talent-darkness, although he doubted he needed it, before reaching down.

“No!” screamed the woman, involuntarily. Clearly, she didn't want to risk her husband's life.

Alucius smiled, ruefully, at the illustration of how old habits and reactions died hard. He snapped the weld on the torque and lifted the entire collar away from the bound man's neck, then slipped the blindfold off, holding the broken torque before the older man. “I'll leave it for you to examine, once we've left.”

The man and woman both looked as ashen as the dull silver gray of the broken torque.

“You may believe me or not, but I would have preferred not to forage off your land and holding, or anyone else's, but we lack enough provender to reach the Westerhills, and we are being far more gentle than were your troopers in my land.”

“
What
are you?” Her voice was low, just above a whisper.

“Just a man, a squad leader who happened to be fortunate.”

The two captives exchanged glances, a shared expression that expressed great disbelief with Alucius's words.

Alucius turned as Anslym entered the dwelling's kitchen.

“They have one wagon, sir, and two horses,” Anslym reported.

“Is there enough grain? Enough other supplies?”

“Be tight, sir, but I think so.”

“Load all that you can without overburdening the horses.”

“They'll stop you in Arwyn,” the woman holder promised, “and they'll hound you to the ends of Corus.”

“That is possible,” Alucius said. “It is also possible that they may find other matters taking their attention.” He gestured toward the broken torque he had laid upon the table.

Then he left the two under guard and walked back outside to check the loading and take a survey of the holding, to make sure that his men—or he—had not overlooked anything. So far as he could tell, there was no sign that anyone else had been at the holding.

By the time everything was loaded, and the squads had rotated and eaten, twilight was beginning to fall across the holding.

“Have them mustered up in order, with the wagon ready to go.” Alucius said to the two squad leaders.

“Yes, sir.”

He turned and re-entered the dwelling, walking to the kitchen. “Troopers! Outside! Form up! We're heading out!” Then he waited until only he and the two bound captives were left in the kitchen. He took out his belt knife.

“You going to kill us, now?” asked the woman.

“What gave you that idea?”

“The knife.”

“We've taken your weapons, and your mounts, and the supplies we needed. Your girls are fine, and so is your mother. You'll have to untie them. Even so, it's far better treatment than your troopers gave the folk in the Westerhills or in Soulend.” Alucius smiled, ruefully.

Then he touched her life thread, just gently.

She swayed in the chair.

“No! I'll kill you…” The man's voice was low, but intense.

“Be quiet!” Alucius snapped. “She's just asleep. She'll wake up in a glass or so.” He bent down and made a cut in the rope binding the unconscious woman, then worked the bounds off her hands. “When she wakes up, she can untie her feet and untie you. By then, we'll be far enough away that whatever will be…will be.”

“Who are you?”

“I told you.” Alucius straightened and replaced his belt knife in its sheath. “I'm sorry we had to impose at all, but the Matrial brought this on you. If she hadn't attacked the Iron Valleys, none of this would have happened.” He nodded. “Good night.” The two might tell tales of what he had done with his Talent, but, if his plans went well, it would be a long time before those tales reached anywhere, and there was no real proof. If all did not go well…then, it mattered little.

He walked out of the house and mounted Wildebeast. “Column forward!”

Once more, in the fading light, Alucius scanned the lane ahead, and beyond it, the way back to the high road, but there were no signs of traffic on either, and the troopers stationed to watch the high road had reported neither troopers nor messengers.

“With the wagon, we almost look like a real Matrite company,” Zerdial said.

“A resupply convoy, a very small one,” Alucius suggested. He just hoped they didn't have to meet up with a real convoy, not with his men understrength and undertrained. He looked ahead toward Arwyn, straining to make out the lights of the town through the deepening twilight.

Almost a glass had passed, and Alucius's contingent was traveling in full darkness when they passed the roadstone that indicated two vingts to Arwyn. Even stretching his Talent, Alucius could sense no troopers out along the high road, but the sound of hoofs on stone, and the occasional creaking of the wagon seemed to blare the falsity of the impression he was trying to create.

Even so, his troopers reached the intersection with the lower high road to Iron Stem without running into travelers or opposition.

“Column! To the right!” Alucius ordered.

The trainee troopers swung right, and the wagon followed.

As he rode eastward, on the high road that split the town of Arwyn, Alucius glanced at the slivers of light that indicated lamps behind shuttered windows throughout the town. The scent of flowers drifted past him on the light breeze, and he could hear occasional murmurs or laughs.

The seeming juxtaposition of those sounds with the now-useless torques of the Matrial and the fact that life was apparently so peaceful that many folk had yet to discover that the torques were useless brought home to Alucius how much of life rested on belief and illusion.

Ahead, to his right, and less than ten yards south of the east-running high road, Alucius could sense a pair of women in the shadows on the south side of the high road. With ears and Talent, he strained to catch their words.

“Troopers…looks like a resupply convoy…”