Legacies

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  'Three years?" questioned Lucenda. "You didn't tell me that. It used to be two."

  'I did, daughter. You didn't want to hear it. The Council needs more bodies and more coins. The raids are increasing. I asked about that new outpost. It isn't that new, but the Council has tried not to say anything about it." Royalt offered a low snorting laugh. "Gortal bought out both his sons' terms. Then, he has the golds."

  'We should agree to the terms," Lucenda said.

  'No!" Alucius found himself saying, stepping out into the kitchen. "You can't give up the holding."

  For a long moment, the two at the table looked at him.

  'I overheard. It's my future as well," he pointed out.

  'We could still manage. It would be hard, but we could." Lucenda's voice was matter-of-fact, almost as if she had known Alucius had been there all along. "And what is the point of having a holding with no one to continue it?"

  'What is the point of being raised a herder with no holding? How will I be able to defend it or gain support in Iron Stem if all know that my family paid my way out of my conscription? What woman will wed a herder that none respects? And if she does, will she face scorn and sneers? Will I get the respect in dealings that my grandsire receives? Or that you, Mother, receive because of my father?"

  'What good did respect do him?" Lucenda asked quietly. "What good was honor after they laid him in an unmarked grave?" Alucius found himself momentarily speechless. "Respect is a word everyone loves, but it does little good, son, if you're not alive for people to respect you." Lucenda rose. "You can talk it over with your grandfather. You know how I feel."

  She walked by him and down the hall. Her door closed with a hard thump.

  'Thought it might come to this," Royalt said slowly. Alucius looked back over his shoulder toward the closed door. "Go ahead and sit down." After a moment, Alucius did.

  'I didn't mean to upset her," he finally said. "I didn't." "Your mother's not too impressed with anything having to do with fighting," Royalt said. "I thought you might have figured that out by now."

  'Because of my father?"

  Royalt nodded. "He said some of the same things you did. She wasn't impressed with them when he said them, either. He said he wouldn't purchase his life—even if it came to that—with the blood of his wife's family. Your mother… she couldn't answer that." Alucius swallowed, and a long silence filled the kitchen. "What really happened to my father?" Alucius looked to his grand-sire.

  'There are stories… but no one knows for sure." Alucius could sense both the untruth and the sadness. "That's not true."

  Royalt smiled bitterly. "You are a herder, and more. You can tell when someone isn't telling the truth, can't you? And you've been able to do that for years, haven't you?"

  Alucius took a long breath. "Yes, sir."

  'Part of what I said is true. No one knows absolutely what happened on the Lower Road, the one that runs from Iron Stem and all the way to the ruins of Elcien, or so they say." Royalt coughed, then cleared his throat. "The Reillies asked for a truce, under a green banner. Your father went to talk to their leaders. He was shot in the head by a sniper. Nightsilk doesn't protect what it doesn't cover. His company wiped out that part of the clan to the last woman and child."

  'You don't think he should have accepted the truce?"

  'Not with the Reillies. Maybe not with anyone these days." Royalt shook his head. "When I was your age, man's word was good. Man would rather die than dishonor his word. The world's changing, and it gets harder and harder to trust people's promises."

  'Is there… how…?" Alucius wanted to ask if his grandsire had any examples, any proof, but such a question sounded so cold, so… distrustful.

  As if he understood, Royalt went on. "Last year, one of the big trading outfits in Borlan offered us a contract for nightsilk, at four golds a yard for ramsilk. When we came to deliver, they insisted they'd only offered three. I had the contract in writing, and threatened to sell the silk to one of the Madrien traders. The southerners paid four. They weren't happy, but they paid. Ten years ago, that wouldn't have happened. It didn't." He snorted. "It sounds like a little thing, but it's not. How can people deal with each other if no one can trust anyone else to do what they promised? Do we have to agree to become part of Lanachrona to get the protection of their laws? What would keep their Lord-Protector from changing the laws every time he felt like it?"

  'You think they would?"

  'I know they would. They're more like Gortal than Gortal is. Gortal at least can see what the dust does to his scutters. The Lanachronans don't look, and they don't see. Reillies never have, never will. That leaves us, and now the Council's trying to bleed us. That notice was aimed at the big herders and Gortal. Figure some of the herders, especially those with more than a few boys, will be able to pay, and the Council really wants the golds more than the young fellows. They need rifles for the foot; they need replacement mounts, powder, provender-most everything. That's because they lowered tariffs ten years back and never laid anything aside. Don't want to say that outright, and they won't."

  'Grandfather… I've seen the ledgers. Even if I stayed here and worked. Even if Wendra came and helped, we couldn't pay that kind of tariff."

  Royalt nodded. "I figure you're right about that. Your mother and I have been arguing about that for days. She's already lost your father; she doesn't want to lose you. She doesn't care about the cost."

  'I won't be lost."

  'You can hope that, Alucius. You can't be sure of it, though, and you sure aren't going to convince her."

  Alucius could sense that. He paused, then shook his head. "It doesn't feel right. I don't want to fight. I'd rather herd. But… I can't you'd lose everything, anyway, and what would there be for me? A job as an assistant cooper—if I'm lucky. Working as a scutter, if I'm not?"

  'There are worse things…"

  Alucius couldn't think of many, not after having ridden across Westridge in sun and in fog, and having looked to the plateau and seen the magic of nightwool being spun into nightsilk.

  Royalt laughed, but there was bitterness in his amusement. "You're a herder just like the rest of us, Alucius… just like your father, like me, like my father, like my grandmother…"

  'What do I tell Mother?"

  'You don't have to tell her anything," Royalt said sadly. "She knows. She always knew."

  Alucius and Wendra stood in the upstairs rear parlor above Kyrial's shop, holding hands and facing each other. Despite the open windows, there wasn't a hint of a breeze, and the curtains hung limply. Alucius could feel the sweat oozing down the back of his neck.

  'When do you leave?" Wendra asked.

  'The day after tomorrow—like you said, the first Londi in harvest. We meet here in the square at the second glass. We have to supply our own mount. Grandfather's already bought another to replace the gray."

  'They conscript you, and you have to pay for a mount?" Wendra's voice rose slightly.

  'If you want to be cavalry," Alucius said. "According to my grand-sire, the casualties are higher among the foot."

  'I'm glad you'll be cavalry."

  'I won't be much of anything if I don't get through training. I could still be foot if I don't do well."

  'You will. You've ridden all your life."

  'That should help."

  After another silence, Wendra asked, gingerly, "Your mother…?"

  'She's upset. She understands, but she doesn't like it. She feels like she loses no matter what happens."

  'Not if you take care of yourself. She'll still have the stead, and she wouldn't if they'd paid to get you out."

  'I'm still not there, and that will make life harder for her and Grandfather. Grandmother is failing."

  'The Council isn't fair," Wendra said. "I suppose they can't be."

  'That's life. Someone always wants what someone else has. If you don't fight for it, you lose what you have. If you do, some people die and lose anyway."

  'You're not going to
be one of them." Her eyes were bright, but she had not shed any tears.

  Alucius knew she wouldn't cry or weep, not while he was there. He'd never seen his mother cry either, but when she sang to herself late at night, he had often wished she had or would.

  'No. I won't be." Alucius knew that. But he also knew that just surviving would be far from easy.

  He stepped forward and held Wendra once more.

  Standing outside the stable in the grayness before dawn on Londi, Alucius strapped the rifle in place. As a cavalry conscript, he was required to supply not only his own mount and gear, but his own rifle—one of a standard gauge and boring—and his own sabre.

  In the already warm breeze that foreshadowed a hot beginning to harvest season, his grandparents and his mother waited beside the stable door.

  'Take care, Alucius," Lucenda said quietly. "Don't seek friends just to have them, and don't put your trust where it does not belong."

  'I won't," he promised, knowing that was as much as she could bear to say, knowing she knew he would understand. He stepped forward and hugged her warmly before releasing her.

  'Take care, grandson," Veryl said slowly.

  'I will." Alucius almost couldn't bear to look at her, so thin and frail had she become.

  Royalt just nodded.

  Alucius mounted the gray, turning his mount to look at the three who had raised him. "I'll write as I can."

  'You won't have much time for a while," Royalt said, as much for Lucenda's benefit, Alucius knew, as to caution Alucius. "And remember, young man," Royalt said, "those undergarments will stop a blade, but they won't stop its force."

  'Yes, sir." Alucius reflected on what was inside his saddlebags—the new vest that his grandsire and grandmother had made—of tanned nightram leather, and trimmed fleece, and covered in a double layer of nightsilk. There were also two sets of long-sleeved nightsilk undershirts and low-calf-length underdrawers. All were tailored to fit under the militia uniform. Without it ever having been spoken, Alucius also knew that the less said about his underclothing and vest, the better.

  'I should be riding," he finally said. "Take care of Lamb and the others for me." He forced a grin.

  'Likely he'll take care of me," returned Royalt.

  With a last head bow, Alucius turned the gray, all too conscious of their eyes on his back as he rode down the lane toward the old road that would lead him into Iron Stem.

  He sensed neither sanders nor sandwolves, and certainly not any soarers. He also saw no one on the ride into Iron Stem—not that he expected anyone. Vardial was not eighteen yet. Kyrtys and Jaff had been conscripted almost a year earlier, and he didn't know of any other herder youths within vingts who were close to his own age.

  When he passed the dustcat enclosures, he thought of Gortal, and the man's ease in buying out his sons's conscriptions… and how that somehow felt wrong, although he knew his mother would have done that for him, had it been realistic. In a way, he was relieved—not glad—but relieved that it had not been possible.

  'Then, you could just be a fool," he murmured to himself. Being a cavalry trooper was dangerous, that he knew, but he also knew it was something he had to do. He frowned, recalling once more the phrase he had overheard—"too dangerous." He'd asked his grandsire if a herder had anything dangerous or special to worry about, but Royalt had just assured Alucius that he had nothing to worry about on that count. It had been the truth, but not the whole truth.

  Again, as he passed the bright green facing of the abandoned tower near the Pleasure Palace, he had to wonder at what the ancients had done. With the brilliant green surface on the exterior stones, a surface unscratched by weather or by time, the upper part of the tower looked as if it had been built within the past few years, yet his grandsire had insisted that it had been built closer to a millennium before, although no one in Iron Stem seemed to know exactly when that might have been.

  Most of the shutters of the shops and buildings along the road into town were open, although he saw few people on the road or on their porches. The iron works was already operating, the dull thudding hammering rumbling into the street with the acrid odor of hot metal.

  As he rode into the square, he could see that the militia was ready for the summer season conscripts. A thin and trim man in the black-and-green of the Iron Valley Militia sat mounted before a half squad of rankers drawn up in formation. To the south of the rankers were two long wagons, each with four wide wooden bench seats behind the driver's seat.

  Alucius could see another six youths who were mounted. As he neared the center of the square, another pair rode in from the west road—out from where Amiss had his mill. He reined up short of a group of four riders who seemed to know each other. No one made any effort to even look in his direction, even while they talked quietly among themselves. So, rather than interjecting himself, Alucius eased his gray more toward the militia cavalry.

  Every so often, he glanced in the direction of the cooperage—but he couldn't see anyone on the porch. After a time, more than a quarter of a glass, possibly a half glass, the second bell rang. No sooner had the echoes died away than a voice filled the square.

  'Cavalry conscripts! Cavalry conscripts! Form up by twos in front of the wagons!" The deep and powerful voice issued from the trim figure in front of the half squad.

  Alucius shrugged to himself and eased the gray to a position that looked to be where he had been ordered. A lanky youth looking even younger than Alucius jockeyed a bay gelding beside Alucius. The two looked at each other.

  Alucius didn't recognize the other. "I'm Alucius. From out on the north road."

  'Kypler. From out west. Family runs the sawmill at Wesrigg."

  'Pleased to meet you."

  Kypler nodded in return.

  'Cavalry conscripts! We haven't got all day. The rest of you form up behind those two!"

  Alucius suppressed a wince. The last thing he wanted was to be an example.

  'Not that they're any example!" added the militia cavalryman. "But they did follow orders. Foot conscripts! Take a place in the wagons. Two to a seat, and your gear goes with you."

  Up close, Alucius recognized the insignia on the man's collar—that of a senior squad leader—and was thankful his grandfather had insisted on his learning the rank badges.

  Before long, there were seven cavalry conscripts lined up behind Kypler and Alucius, and the squad leader who had called out the orders had ridden around and reined up facing them. His eyes raked over the group, and not with approval, although Alucius could sense that the man was not as angry as he looked.

  'I'm squad leader Estepp. I'm the one who will make you into a semblance of a militia cavalryman. If I can, and if you don't kill yourself first. You call me 'sir' or 'squad leader' at all times. Is that clear?"

  'Yes, sir," Alucius said quietly, but a number of the others did not answer or merely said, "yes."

  'That's 'Yes, sir,' conscripts, and don't you forget it!"

  The chorus of "yes, sir" was ragged but unanimous.

  'A little better, that was. We've got a long ride ahead. A short one compared to what you'll be doing in a season, but a long one for most of you. You'd better be a summer conscript. We don't check that here, but they'll have your name at Sudon. Anyone not a summer conscript?"

  'Sir?" came a voice from behind Alucius.

  'Yes, conscript?" answered Estepp.

  'I'm Velon, sir. I should have been a spring conscript, but the Council let me wait a season because my father's arm was crushed in the works. I have a paper here from the Council."

  'That's fine, Velon. You're a summer conscript now." Estepp looked over the nine once more. "Anyone else." He waited. "We're headed to the training camp at Sudon. For those of you who don't know where it is… it's about twenty vingts south of here and then five west. When we get there, you'll be formed into training squads with the other cavalry conscripts, and issued a training tunic, and your weapons will be checked. If they're adequate, we'll lock them
up, and you'll be given training sabres. They're rattan. That's a wood that hurts almost as much as a blade, but won't kill you unless you're a total fool. Why rattan? Because we don't want you killing each other. Then you'll be assigned to your barracks, and one of the squad leaders will brief you on what we'll do to try to make you into cavalry. That's all you need to know for now. No talking, except when I say you can. That will be at rest breaks and if I feel you merit that privilege. You'll ride two abreast, the way you're lined up now, and the man on the left keeps his mount exactly three yards behind the mount in front. The man on the right keeps his mount exactly even with the man on the left." Estepp looked at Alucius. "You're on the front left, and you take station on the guide. That will be a regular, who will set the pace. Is that clear?"

  'Yes, sir."

  'Good!" Estepp turned his mount. "Guide to the front!"

  An older cavalryman, with a thin mustache and a scar across his left cheek, rode forward and eased his mount into position three yards or so in front of Alucius and the gray.

  'Column forward! Take station on the guide!"

  The guide urged his mount forward at what would be a quick walk.

  As he followed the guide from the square, Alucius couldn't help but wonder if Wendra had watched. He hadn't seen her, but… that didn't mean she hadn't looked. He hoped so.

  Two abreast, the conscripts rode southward, followed by the two wagons with the foot conscripts. Once they passed beyond the last dwellings of Iron Stem, Estepp rode along the left side of the road.

  'You're going to learn a few songs. Here's the first one. Listen, and then you try it." Estepp stood in his stirrups and gestured.

  Behind the conscripts came the words from the half squad of cavalry.

  'If the world you want to see try the militia cavalry as we ride through brush and sand till the brigands take their stand From throughout the Westerhills, from where the River Vedra fills, for it's hi, hi, he in the militia cavalry…"

  Alucius listened. It was always better to listen, and no one wanted to hear what he thought. That was already clear.