Alucius laughed. "I have to learn by doing. My grandsire has been teaching me how to use weapons, all of them, it seems."
'Weapons? Like a sword or a rifle?"
He nodded. "I've already been out with him and the flock when the nightsheep were attacked by sandwolves and sanders. You know that sandwolves don't leave a scent, not one that most animals can smell. The nightsheep can sense them, but regular sheep can't. That's why they're called townsheep. Anyway, a herder has to be good with weapons to protect the flock."
'And you have to know them in case you get called into the militia, won't you?"
'I guess so," Alucius temporized.
'Kyrtus said that all of you may have to fight." After a moment, Wendra added, "I hope you don't, but Father thinks it will happen."
'My grandsire worries, too," Alucius admitted.
'Grandpa Kustyl worries more than Father. He and your grandfather are friends, aren't they?"
'They are. Sometimes, Kustyl will come to see Grandfather, and sometimes, he'll ride over to see Kustyl." After another silence, Alucius asked, "What were you doing downstairs?"
'I was cutting out the patterns for the flour bags that Amiss the miller ordered." Wendra laughed. "They're hardly patterns-—-very simple—but someone has to do it, and that way Mother can sew more of them. It's more interesting to help Mother with things like the militia uniforms or the linens for the inn. The linens are easy, but the ones for the grand rooms, they want embroidered monograms, and I like to do those." She smiled. "I've already embroidered the ones for my own dowry chest." Abruptly, she flushed.
'I'm sure that they're very elegant," Alucius said quickly.
'They are. I followed one of the old patterns—"
'Wendra!" Clerynda's voice carried up the stairs. "If you would tell Alucius that he's needed to help load the barrels?"
'Yes, Mother!"
Wendra rose quickly—but gracefully—from the love-seat. "You have to go. We really didn't get much chance to talk."
'We did get some," he said with a smile. "Maybe it won't be so long before the next time."
'I hope not." With a smile, warm and slightly wistful, she turned toward the steps.
As he followed Wendra down to the shop, Alucius wondered. Had he missed some sort of opportunity? Failed to do something? Or if he'd tried to kiss Wendra, would that have spoiled everything? Even sensing some of what she felt, he was still at a loss, because he didn't know what the feelings meant.
Just before they reached the bottom of the steps, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder, gently. "I'm glad you were here."
'So am I."
They were both blushing when they stepped into the back workroom.
Alucius swallowed, and waited for some acerbic words from either his mother or Wendra's.
Instead, Lucenda merely smiled politely. "I wish we could have stayed longer, Alucius. I would have enjoyed talking to Clerynda longer, as well, but there's much we have to do, and I'd prefer to be back at the stead before dark."
Alucius nodded. "I'm ready to load the barrels." He turned to Wendra. "Thank you. I did enjoy talking to you… very much." He managed not to flush again, even as he thought how stilted his words were.
Wendra smiled and inclined her head. "Thank you."
'We do need to go, Alucius." Lucenda smiled at Clerynda. "It was a pleasure."
'For me as well, Lucenda."
Then Lucenda turned, and Alucius followed her, expecting some words about Wendra, at least after he finished loading the barrels or when they were on the way back to the square.
But his mother never mentioned Wendra.
In the darkness of a cloudy harvest night, Alucius turned over in his bed, wincing at the bruise on his hip, the result of a throw by his grandsire. He turned again, trying to get comfortable, then stiffened as he heard voices in the hallway below.
'… has bruises everywhere." Lucenda's low voice carried enough for Alucius to hear.
He eased out of his bed toward the ladder, where he could hear more easily.
'Of course he does. How else is he going to learn, daughter? If it
doesn't hurt sometimes, it's as though I don't know anything or it's so simple it's not worth learning."
'You were different, I suppose?" Lucenda's laugh was muted.
'No, I was worse. My father had to crack my ribs. Alucius is better than most his age…"
'I suppose you're right… how long…"
Alucius strained, but couldn't catch the rest of his mother's question.
'If he'll keep at it, I can train him better than anyone in the militia in the basic skills. They haven't got anyone who's been in a real fight. Haven't had for years."
'I wish…"
'I know, daughter, but it's hard for a man to be trained by his wife's father, and even harder to marry into a stead that way."
'But… if he had…"
'Might not have changed… When folks are shooting at each other, anything can happen."
Alucius could sense the untruth in his grandfather's words—the untruth and the sadness.
'You're kind… know better… just wish…"
'Wishing doesn't change what's been. We have to work to change what will be. Sometimes, we can. Most times, we can't."
There was a long pause, before Lucenda spoke again.
'You will hold a gather? A small one?"
'With Kyrial and his family invited?"
'Why else?"
'You think…?"
'I don't know," Lucenda said quietly, but firmly enough that Alucius could sense the determination in her voice. "Either way, it will be good."
'Helps to have something to hold to," Royalt said.
Alucius frowned. Something to hold to?
'You think…?"
'Who can say?" Royalt coughed. "Good night, daughter."
'Thank you, Father… good night."
After the two had closed their doors, Alucius slipped back to his own pallet bed, his face solemn, his brow furrowed in thought in the darkness.
The early afternoon sun was intense, as it often was in harvest season, and to Alucius's left, light sparkled off the crystal battlements of the distant Aerial Plateau. Alucius rode alone, southward along the eastern side of the low rise, just above a streambed that held water only immediately after a heavy rain. There had been no rain for a month, and with each step that the gray gelding took, sandy dust rose. The new quarasote shoots were few and short, and the ground so dry that both scrats and grayjays were scarce.
Alucius needed to keep the nightsheep moving, or they'd eat all the new growth, leaving nothing at all for later.
He had the flock in the more southern reaches of the stead—almost as far from the plateau as possible. That had been his grandsire's orders, because sanders and sandwolves were usually less likely to roam in the southernmost areas—especially on bright and sunny days. Over the past year, Alucius had taken the flock out by himself perhaps a double handful of times, first close to the stead, and then farther and farther—although always in the southern ranges. He also took two rifles.
This particular Octi, Royalt had gone to Iron Stem to work with Feratt at the ironworks on some replacement parts for the nightsilk spinnerets, leaving Alucius to take the flock, but not without the usual warnings and cautions.
'Keep your eyes and Talent on the lead rams and the old ewes… they'll sense something wrong first… You see a sandwolf, make sure there's not a sander too close…"
The lightest of warm breezes wafted out of the south, not even enough to ruffle Alucius's short and dark gray hair, but welcome nonetheless after days of still and blistering air.
Alucius frowned. Once again, he sensed the flash of red-violet that indicated sanders were somewhere around. He'd never felt them so far from the plateau, but his grandsire had often stressed that sanders could appear anywhere in the Iron Valleys—perhaps even in other dryland settings. They were just more likely to be nearer the plateau.
&nb
sp; He watched the lead rams, and concentrated on Lamb, but the big ram seemed not to be upset. Neither were the other lead rams or the older ewes. Alucius checked his rifle once more, still surveying the clumps of scattered quarasote for the black shapes of the nightsheep.
As he studied the land and the flock, he could see that the night-sheep had nearly finished most of the newer quarasote shoots, because a number had lifted their heads and begun to move southward. Alucius checked the sun, and then, with a nod to himself, he decided that he could begin to work the nightsheep back westward. That might also move them away from the sanders, although the Talent indications were so faint that Alucius had no idea exactly where the creatures might be.
After remembering to study the sky—eagles often circled sander kills, and sanders sometimes did kill sandwolves or other creatures—he circled behind the flock, chivvying the laggards into an ambling walk that was mostly westward, not relaxing his Talent-projection until the entire flock was a good half vingt farther west, and well clear of the dry stream bed.
The sense of the sanders—that vague red-violet feel—had vanished, at least for the moment. Mindful of his grandfather's warning about revealing the extent of his Talent, Alucius had never mentioned the details of his sense of sanders, although he had always told his grandsire when he thought sanders were nearby. But did he and Royalt sense the same thing?
Somehow, Alucius doubted it, and that was why he had never brought up the details of what he felt through his Talent, even to his grandsire. He'd certainly never mentioned any of it to Wendra, although he would, if matters worked out between them.
He caught his breath as a wave of red-violet washed over his Talent-senses, and immediately stood in the stirrups, scanning the flatter area where the flock grazed. Several nightsheep had lifted their head, and three of the rams—Lamb among them—had turned and were moving slowly back toward the ewes behind them.
Lamb snorted, the first sound Alucius heard, and pawed the ground.
Alucius urged the gray toward Lamb and the front of the flock.
Less than fifty yards ahead a swirl of sand and dust marked the emergence of a sander.
Alucius kept riding, then reined up a good ten yards short of the creature.
The sander, before even breaking clear of the red sandy soil, had clutched a young ewe in its oversized pawlike hands.
'You won't take my sheep…" Alucius threw out the single mental pulse. No! Without really thinking, he had the rifle out and cocked.
The sander halted and turned. It was wider and blockier than the handful Alucius had seen with his grandfather, but its skin was the same sandy tan, if with fewer of the crystallike patches that reflected sunlight. Deliberately and slowly, the sander tightened its grip on the young ewe until its heavy arm snapped the ewe's neck. Then… it just held the animal for a moment, long enough for Alucius to lift the rifle and fire.
Crack! The first shot struck exactly where Royalt had trained him to place it. Crack! So did the second. Chips and crystalline fragments flew from the impact of the bullets, but the massive sander shook itself once, twice.
Alucius cocked the rifle and fired again. Crack!
More chips flew, but the creature did not try to sink into the ground, the way most of the sanders did. Instead, it dropped the dead ewe and lumbered toward Alucius and the gray gelding.
Alucius recocked the rifle and fired. With the fourth impact, the sander slowed and shook itself more. A thin line of crystal seemed to ooze from the wound area.
Crack! The last cartridge rocked the sander back, but only for an instant. Oozing crystalline fragments, it leaned forward and then lumbered once more toward the young herder.
Realizing that he would not have enough time to reach the second rifle and cock it, Alucius dropped the first rifle and yanked out the sabre, bringing it down in a cross-slash aimed at the point where his bullets had weakened the sander. Hitting the sander was like hitting a lorken post, and the shock ran all the way up the herder's arm.
Surprisingly, the sander froze for a moment, and despite the numb ness in his arm, Alucius managed another slash. His fingers were so numbed that he could barely hang on to the sabre long enough to transfer it to his right hand.
A green shock emanated from the sander, like a cry of despair, and ran through the herder. Then… the creature exploded into crystalline fragments that pelted Alucius and rained down upon the dry and sandy ground.
Panting, Alucius stared for a moment. As he stared, he could see the fragments melting, disappearing into the soil. The quarasote plain was silent. Even the light breeze had died away. Alucius could sense nothing of sanders or sandwolves—just an empty silence. Shaking himself, he checked his blade, but it was as clean as if he had never used it, and he sheathed it.
As he surveyed the area around him, he took the second rifle from its case by his knee. Nothing moved. He dismounted and quickly scooped up the first rifle, holstering it, but not daring to reload it until he cleaned it.
One of the lead rams had eased over to within several yards of the dead ewe. Alucius could sense the ram's unease… and something more. Loss? Alucius wasn't sure. He'd felt something like that before, when a ewe had lost a lamb, but he'd never sensed that feeling from a ram. They didn't slaughter the nightsheep. There was no point to it, since they weren't edible, but Alucius was still glad of it at that moment.
Even before he finished packing the dead ewe behind his saddle, the last fragment of the sander had vanished. Except for the dead ewe, his sore arm, and the expended cartridges, it was almost as though nothing had happened.
Alucius remounted quickly, checking around him once more. He saw and Talent-sensed nothing but nightsheep. He pushed the flock farther westward.
After a time, he holstered the second rifle and took out the first to clean it. There was only a trace of sand in the barrel and almost no grit in the action and chamber. After cleaning it and checking it over again, he reloaded and replaced it in its case.
As he guided the nightsheep on their grazing path back toward the stead buildings, he still wondered about the sander—and about that green sense of despair. At the same time, he was angry, angry at himself for not being able to stop the sander from killing the ewe, for not somehow being able to foresee what would happen.
He had known there were sanders around—but he had sensed them many times before when none had appeared. Would he ever be able to tell the difference, between when they would and would not appear?
Alucius frowned, but he kept watch, both with his eyes and Talent.
The harvest afternoon was cooler than usual, with a wind out of the northeast that mixed the scent of quarasote with the acrid and near-metallic odor that emanated from the Aerial Plateau. The coolness suited Alucius, wearing a new nightsilk and sheepskin vest, as he stood behind the table that had been moved out to north end of the front porch and served the berry punch and the weak ale that his grandfather favored. He was still somewhat amazed that Royalt had decided to hold a harvest-gather. He also kept looking for the cooper's wagon and Wendra.
Vardial stepped to the table, holding up a tumbler. "I'd like the ale, but…"
'So would I… but I only get a small glass with supper." Alucius grinned.
'Do they decide this among themselves? A poor young herder has no choice at all…"
'You poor misbegotten fellow…" Elyra stepped up beside Vardial.
Alucius took her tumbler and refilled it with more of the berry punch, and then refilled Vardial's as well. "All of us who would be herders suffer great hardship. Surely, you know that, Elyra?" Alucius couldn't quite manage a straight face as he finished.
Elyra laughed. "You're too honest to lie well, Alucius—even in a good cause."
'You must admit it is a good cause," Vardial said.
'You will have to persuade me, I think." Elyra smiled at Vardial as the two moved away.
Kustyl walked toward the table, carrying two tumblers, both empty.
'Ale, s
ir?" asked Alucius. He could have told that Kustyl was a herder, like his grandsire, even without the silver and black crystal wristguard, because the older man had the flecks of green and silver that flashed through the basic blackness that all people seemed to have. Even Wendra had a few, but they were scattered, but that might have been because she had never had to do anything requiring Talent.
'I wouldn't be having anything else, would I, now?" answered the thin and wiry herder with a wide smile. "Especially not as Royalt's bought Typel's best." He held up both tumblers, and his sleeves dropped back, just enough to reveal the herder's wristguard on his left wrist.
Alucius hadn't realized that the guard could be worn on either wrist, but it had to be a choice by each herder because Kustyl was most definitely a herder, and wore his silver and black on his left, while Royalt wore his on his right. Alucius refilled both tumblers, and then pumped out more ale from the keg into the pitcher. He had finished refilling the pitcher when Elyra and Vardial reappeared together.
'Wendra's just arrived, and we thought we could serve the punch and ale. Your mother and your grandsire said that, if we wanted to relieve you, we could."
'Thank you." Alucius stepped toward Vardial and away from the table. Everyone knew everything—about some aspects of life, at least.
The stockier youth grinned at Alucius and mouthed, "Thank you."
Alucius returned the grin. Vardial would do anything to corner time with Elyra, and seemed oblivious to the fact that she could have easily avoided his obvious ploys.
After stepping off the porch, Alucius forced himself not to run toward the stable and the shed being used as a stable for some of the guests, but he did find himself walking quickly. As he neared the stable, he could see Kyrial, Clerynda, Wendra, and a boy standing beside the cooper's wagon. Wendra was wearing dark green trousers, with a matching vest, and a lighter green shirt. The greens set off her hair and eyes. Absently, Alucius also saw, in the back of the wagon, four full barrels and two half barrels.
'Greetings," Alucius bowed to the cooper, his wife, and then Wendra and her younger brother.
Before they could answer, Royalt stepped out of the shed where he had been stabling Kyrial's horses. "Thought you might be coming down."
Legacies Page 9
