Scepters (56 page)

That
part, Alucius reflected, was the only one that actually contained a grain of
truth.

“…
you saved two companies by charging an entire Matrite force alone…” Alyniat
shrugged. “I also came to apologize.”

“Sir…
you did the best anyone could in those circumstances…”

“Except
for you, Colonel.”

Alucius
laughed. “I wasn’t that bright. I almost got killed riding into a trap that I
should have seen.”

“By
doing it, you rallied five companies into routing almost ten and putting
Southgate back under the Lord-Protector’s control. Everything changed after you
destroyed the second crystal spear-thrower. I got a rather graphic report from
Captain Vyarinst. He interviewed two whole squads of lancers because he couldn’t
believe what he had been hearing.”

Alucius
tried not to wince.

“They
all said the same thing,” Alyniat continued, inexorably. “The crystal
spear-thrower exploded, and you rose out of the ground and mounted your horse.
You caught up with the company that had charged past you and rallied another
company to follow you. Single-handedly, you cut down an entire Matrite squad,
taking blows that would have felled a lesser man—”

“Matrite
squads are only eight men, sir.”

“I’m
not at all sure that changes much, Colonel,” Alyniat replied, smiling broadly. “Then,
you charged a squad clearly sent to assassinate you, and you killed two of them
with a sabre you flung just before you were struck with something like twenty
bullets. That was how many they found flattened against your nightsilk.”

“I
just did what had to be done.”

“Do
you want to tell me how you destroyed that construct of evil?”

“Let’s
just say that I put myself where I could fling charges under it. That was the
trench.”

Alyniat
laughed, then shook his head. “It’s a good thing you actually had requested
blasting powder.”

“We
did, you know.”

“Colonel…
your account makes perfect sense. I doubt strongly that what really happened
would make sense, or would make anyone very happy. Marshal Frynkel, the
Lord-Protector, and I are just grateful that you and your lancers managed to
accomplish the impossible… again. Once you are well enough to ride, you may
return to Tempre, at your convenience, where the Lord-Protector wishes to see
you, then return to your Iron Valleys.”

“What
about Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies?”

“Your
question does you credit, but it is, again, a measure of your abilities.”
Alyniat’s smile turned crooked. “I cannot send them to the Iron Valleys. They
will return with you so far as Tempre. Both companies have been recommended for
commendation as distinguished units, and they will receive a month’s furlough
in recognition of that, and a half month’s pay as an additional bonus. More
than that, we cannot do.”

Alucius
understood. “Thank you. They fought well, and they’ve learned much.”

“So
have their officers.” Alyniat paused. “Captain Deotyr observed that were you in
command of the Northern Guard, Lanachrona would never have to worry about its
northern borders.”

“I
fear he rates me too highly,” Alucius demurred. “He is young. There are many
capable officers in the Northern and Southern Guard.”

“Capable,
yes. Outstanding, no.”

Alucius
didn’t want to deal with that.

“Just
as a matter of simple justice,” Alyniat added, “your back pay was adjusted to
that of a colonel from the date Marshal Frynkel sealed your orders to
Southgate. Under the circumstances, that seemed only fair.”

“Thank
you, sir.”

“Thank
you
, Colonel. Without you and your men, we would be
fleeing to Tempre this very moment. I am most happy to be able to reward those
who have broken the threat of the Regent.”

Alucius
decided against mentioning the repowering of the torques.

“I
will see you before long, and before you return to Tempre.”

“Yes,
sir.”

With
a friendly smile, the marshal departed.

Alucius
had sensed that most of what Alyniat had said was what the man felt, except
that the marshal would also be relieved when Alucius left. Would it always be
that way? That people wanted him to accomplish the impossible, then were glad
to see him go?

Alucius
looked to the window. Would he really be able to return to the Iron Valleys?
Without some other hidden “request” or obligation? Would the Lord-Protector
honor his promise to promote Alucius to commander of the Northern Guard? Did
Alucius really want that?

He
looked down at the history of Southgate that lay in his lap, then back at the
dreary winter sky outside the window. He had no answers, none that were clear
to him.

Salaan, Lanachrona

The
two men walked toward the building set in the low hills to the southwest of
Salaan, a building of recent construction that half burrowed into a hill that
was but one segment of a long ridge that extended vingts both to the northeast
and southwest.

“For
all your efforts, the majer survived, except he is a colonel now,” observed
Trezun.

“He
barely survived, you said, and it will be weeks, if not a season or more,
before he can leave Southgate,” replied the white-haired and pale-faced Tarolt.

“With
his Talent, it will be weeks, not seasons, and he will be stronger for all that
he has been through. That is one of the dangers of failing to eliminate him.”

“What
is your concern? The injuries prove that he is but mortal. He has yet to face a
fully translated Efran.” Tarolt laughed. “The devastation and casualties he has
created could not have been better. Hyalt is a shadow of its former self. The
Regent is bleeding Madrien to a husk, and the Lord-Protector is doing little
better with his own land. People are getting poorer and more dissatisfied, and
none dare voice their anger. Neither ruler understands what is happening. That
is as we had planned.”

“Majer…
Colonel Alucius… he should have died more than five times. The last two, there
were not even any ancient ones around.”

“My
dear Recorder, the colonel is doing us far more good alive than were he dead.
He raises hopes, and thousands have died. What will they do once he has
departed? They will be bereft of that hope.”

“I
question that.” Trezun stepped into the front hall of the Table building. “Hyalt
is rebuilding, and unless you are willing to send Sensat back there and find
another Talent-steer to shadow-match, we will see no gain there.”

“Oh…
but we have. Already, all of Lanachrona and much of Madrien wearies of war and
of endless casualties. At the very least, who in Hyalt is left to oppose the
new duarchy? All they wish is to tend their gardens in peace, and that we can
give them.” Tarolt followed Trezun into the room with the conference table. “And
what of Waleryn? Has he located the scepters?” Irony tinged Tarolt’s words.

“He
has moved most expeditiously. After he arrived in Prosp and cleared the fallen
building from the Table, he reactivated the Table and added its power to the
grid.” Trezun smiled. “He just sent a message. We have shadow-matched the
Praetor, and he is supplying Waleryn and dispatching him to Norda to rebuild
the Table there.”

“That
will take time. It is a three-week ride from Prosp to Norda in good weather.”

“You
had said that we needed more Tables.”

“Lasylt
has been pressing,” admitted Tarolt. “And the duarchists of Dulka?”

“That
proceeds as well. Without another Table powering the grid, we will have to send
someone there by the high roads.”

“Once
the Table in Norda is operating…”

“We
may need one more, yet.”

“That
will come… all is going well, and the colonel is not going anywhere in the next
few weeks. Even were he recovered this moment, he would face a journey of weeks
to return to the Iron Valleys.”

“Then
what? What if Weslyn is right to fear that the majer will be placed in Northern
Guard headquarters?”

“Majer…
Colonel Alucius does not wish to be a Northern Guard. What motivated him to
accept the Lord-Protector’s request was fear that he would lose his stead to
the Regent, not ambition to become a majer or a colonel. No matter what
happens, we do not lose. If Alucius goes back to herding, the situation in the
south will continue to worsen, and the conflict between the Lord-Protector and
the Regent will seesaw back and forth with greater casualties and more unrest,
and Alucius can and will do nothing. If he becomes the deputy to Weslyn, that
will tear the Guard apart and create even more unrest in Dekhron. That will
lead to less effective lancers in the north of Madrien. If he replaces Weslyn,
Halanat will turn the traders against him, and that will create great
discontent and a revolt of sorts here.” Tarolt shrugged. “It matters not. The
unrest will grow, and so will the support for the peace and prosperity of a new
duarchy.”

“Led
by our shadowed Praetor?”

“That
would be best, but the Regent would serve if something goes ill with Tyren. It
is best to keep multiple options available. We will use whatever tools are at
hand. If the majer ends up in the right place, we could even translate him and
create a duarchy here.”

“I
think that is unlikely.”

“Unlikely?
Yes . . . but stranger things have occurred.” Tarolt smiled. “They have indeed.”

Another
week passed, and Alucius had moved to a second villa, down the road from the
one where he had first started to recover. The villa itself was on the
outskirts of Southgate, perched on a low hill. From the writing desk in front
of the narrow window in his room at the rear of the second floor, Alucius could
look out at a large, walled courtyard, with a fountain that no longer held
water, and vines and trees in planters adjacent to the walls. The lemon and
lime trees seemed to be healthy, and there was fruit on their branches. The
grapevines were bare and without grapes, but it was early winter, even if it
did not seem to freeze in Southgate. From what Alucius could tell, the walls of
both the villa and the courtyard were stone covered in stucco and painted a
bluish white that had faded to grayish white in places. Gray dust had gathered
in the northern corners of the courtyard.

On
another cloudy Tridi afternoon, he was seated before the small writing desk in
the modest quarters, taking a short break and looking down at the courtyard,
then out at the heavy gray clouds that were too high to deliver rain. After a
time, he took a deep breath and dropped his eyes to the papers on the wood
before him. He’d been writing out his own report to Marshal Frynkel and the
Lord-Protector. No doubt the marshal already had reports, but there was some
information that the Lord-Protector needed, and that Alucius doubted would be
passed along—not from what he had seen. Still, necessary as reports might be,
writing them was not something he enjoyed, especially at the moment. With his
right arm still in the splint, while he was left-handed, writing was still
slower with only one hand. His eyes began to look back over the key phrases and
paragraphs of draft conclusions that followed his chronological report of what
had happened to his force since they had left Hyalt.

…
Matrites try to avoid attacking fixed positions, and do so only when they have
weapons or other clear advantages. This tendency has apparently been overlooked
by many Southern Guard officers…

“Letters?
Or reports?” came a voice from the door.

Alucius
turned. Feran stood there, wearing a lancer riding jacket over his uniform.

“Reports.
I sent off a letter to Wendra yesterday.”

“At
least you’ve got your priorities in order. You think you’re up to riding?”

“For
a while, anyway, and it would be good to get out of here.”

“I
thought it might, and it’s easier if I just show up with a mount.”

Alucius
stacked the sheets of the incomplete report and weighted them down with a book
of Southgate history he had been puzzling through. Then he stood and moved to
the pegs set into the white-plastered walls of the room where his few clothes
hung and took down the nightsilk riding jacket, carefully closing it over the
sling so that his right sleeve hung down empty. “Be glad when I can take off
the splint.”

“Has
the healer said when?”

“Not
before next week. I’ll have to be careful and wear a brace.”

Feran
laughed. “You look pretty good for a man who ought to be dead.”

“The
ribs are still sore.” Alucius walked toward the door. He followed Feran down
the wide tile steps of the grand staircase that rose from the entry hall and
out into the front courtyard. The afternoon was cool and moist, not raining or
misting, but there were few scents in the air, just dampness and moldy
vegetation.

The
mount Feran had brought for Alucius was a chestnut. Alucius glanced at the
overcaptain.

“Your
gray,” Feran said slowly, “he took as many bullets as you did. More probably,
and mounts don’t wear nightsilk.”

For
a moment, Alucius just stood there. Then, he mounted, easily, even
one-handed—another skill he could attribute to his grandsire. As he settled
into the saddle, he couldn’t help but consider that the gray had been the third
mount he’d lost in combat, one way or another. He reached down and patted the
big chestnut. “Where to?”

“I
thought you might like to see some of Southgate, since you almost died
defending it.”

“Lead
on. You have to know more about it than I do.”

The
gates to the villa were of weathered timbers, but not ironbound, and had been
left open. Neither of the two Southern Guard lancers on guard duty even looked
in Alucius’s direction as the two officers rode out. Feran turned right,
heading southward along a road paved with square reddish stone.