Legacies

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The younger man hefted the heavy leather belt. "Yes, sir."

  'Good." Delar paused. "We'll be forming up in about a glass. Don't have to tell you, but wait in the stable till the last moment." The squad leader smiled, wryly. "Easier on you than most of us, I'd wager."

  'Yes, sir, but it's still cold."

  'That it is." With a rueful smile, the tall blond squad leader turned away.

  Alucius rolled the second belt, with its heavy cartridges, into a tight circle and wedged it inside the left saddlebag. Then he walked the gray to the stable door, where he waited.

  Ilten arrived within moments. He glanced at Alucius, then asked with a smile, "You think the sandwolves will give us a hand, trooper?"

  'No, sir. Last time I could locate them, they were north of the Matrites."

  'Could be better that way. Never know what the wild creatures might do." Ilten nodded and stepped back, waiting.

  Waltar arrived next, followed by Narlet, and then Geran. Within moments, the other three scouts had joined the group. One of the mounts whuffed, and the gray sidled toward Alucius.

  'Easy…" Alucius patted his mount on the shoulder.

  'Everyone's here," Ilten said. "You all know your orders, and you know where you're to meet up. If something goes wrong—it shouldn't, but if it does, fall back here." He nodded to Geran. "You have command here, senior scout."

  'Yes, sir." Geran nodded. "Walk out your horses and mount."

  Outside was almost pitch dark, the moonless night lit only faintly by starlight and by the single lamp on the outside stone wall of the stable.

  Alucius had little trouble mounting or in taking station on Geran, but then, his Talent-senses gave him an advantage. Although he had the black woolen riding scarf across his face, Alucius wished for the skull-mask, but even beneath the scarf it would have been obvious.

  Once the seven reached the midroad, the gray eternastone seemed to hold a faint glow in the darkness. That illumination was not the glow of light itself, Alucius realized, but something akin to what his Talent sensed—a residual energy put there generations upon generations into the past when the road had been laid down, seemingly for eternity. Did he sense it now because he'd been using his Talent more—and searching with it?

  'Hardly see anything." Syurn's voice carried forward in the darkness, over the clopping of hoofs on the stone road.

  'Neither can the Matrites. That's the point." Geran's voice held irritation and exasperation. "They won't expect an attack before dawn."

  The Matrites must have expected something, Alucius reflected, or they would not have so many sentries out—unless the sentries were but a gesture to prudence.

  After more than a glass and a half of riding, Geran slowed his mount and began scanning the left side of the road. Perhaps a quarter glass passed before he nodded at a single post set on the south side of the midroad. "There. We'll follow that trail. It leads to the other road."

  'How—"Syurn offered the unfinished question.

  'Because I put the post there," answered the senior scout. "Took some doing with the soil frozen."

  Progress along the trail was slower. Riding in single file after Geran, without the faint glow of the midroad to help him, Alucius had to watch the way more closely. The night seemed more still and colder with each yard that the scouts rode. Alucius flexed his fingers within the heavy herder's gloves, trying to keep them warm.

  Another glass went by before Geran reined up. "To the northwest there, you can see a few lamps. That's the stead. We'll be riding behind a rise for another half vingt or so."

  The distance before the senior scout halted the group again seemed far longer than a mere half vingt.

  'Here's the rendezvous point." Geran kept his voice low. "You have to look closely for the marker on the north there." Geran pointed to another short pole rising less than a yard from the top of a quarasote bush a yard to the north side of the track the scouts had followed.

  'Now… start moving off once I call your name. Wait at the edge of the road from where you're supposed to start north until I come by and check your spacing. Understood? Narlet?"

  'Here…"

  'Balant?… Syurn?… Waltar?… Alucius… Henaar…"

  Alucius eased the gray along the road, first passing Narlet, then a hundred yards later, Balant, and then Syurn, and Waltar.

  Again, the wait in the chill seemed interminable.

  'Alucius?" called Geran as he rode up.

  'Here."

  'If you head straight in for half a vingt, you should be in the middle of the picket lines. About three hundred yards ahead is a shallow wash that angles northwest. You can ride along it for maybe fifty yards. Then you'll have to move in on foot."

  'I understand."

  Geran laughed softly. "See you later." The senior scout rode on westward.

  Once he was on his own, Alucius wiggled on the skull-mask. Not only did it offer greater protection, but it also darkened his face. Moving slowly and carefully, he guided the gray northward through the quarasote, using his Talent-senses, hearing, and sight. He couldn't sense either sanders or sandwolves, but the Matrite sentries were definitely somewhere ahead.

  It was more like four hundred yards before he reached the wash in the ground, a depression that was barely a yard and a half deep. After dismounting and leading the gray down a gentle slope, Alucius tied the gelding to the half-exposed roots of a quarasote bush on the south side of the depression that was barely a yard and a half deep. The horse would be all too visible in the day, or even by dawn, but if Alucius hadn't carried out his orders by then, that would be the least of his problems.

  Then he eased his way to the northern side of the wash and tried to determine where the picket rider might be. He could sense the grayish points that had to be Matrite riders and sentries, but none were that close to him, but even farther north than the six hundred yards they were supposed to be. So he eased out of the wash, listening, sensing, and slipped from low quarasote bush to quarasote bush, but always heading north. Even with the skull-mask, some chill seeped in around the eyeholes and in through his nose, leaving his nostrils feeling frozen.

  Scuttling over ice-hard ground and around the quarasote, he finally began to sense one Matrite mounted trooper coming closer, and he settled behind a larger quarasote bush, waiting.

  A single rifle shot—heavy—came from the east, followed by a second shot, a lighter one, and then by a third shot from a militia rifle. There were no other shots. Alucius nodded to himself, thinking that Waltar had taken out someone.

  As the picket rider neared, Alucius could sense not only the man's grayness, but his apprehension.

  There was a faint clicking—a scrat—and, abruptly, the rider reined up and looked southeast, lifting and aiming his rifle—but nowhere close to Alucius. "Who goes there?"

  That was a stupid question. In fact, saying anything in the darkness while riding a picket line wasn't very smart. Alucius just waited as the rider turned his mount. Between night-adjusted eyes and Talent-senses, Alucius could see his target almost as clearly as if it were day. He squeezed the trigger of the heavy rifle.

  Crack!

  The echo seemed deafening, but his aim had been accurate, and the sentry pitched sideways in the saddle—and that cold emptiness of red death washed across Alucius. He forced himself to push aside that void of finality.

  The mount reared, then gave a sound that seemed like a cross between a whinny and a scream. Alucius winced. The horse had come down on a mature quarasote bush, but after a moment, limped away, favoring one leg, dragging the dead sentry, whose boot had caught in one stirrup. After the horse had gone less than ten yards, the body flopped onto the frozen ground.

  Alucius recocked his rifle and turned westward. The sentry on the adjoining picket section should have investigated, but nothing happened. The moments passed, then perhaps a quarter glass, before his senses revealed another Matrite rider.

  'Issop? Issop?"

  The voice was lo
w, and the accent strange, but it was clear to Alucius that the sentry was calling a name. Hadn't the Matrites ever fought anyone except in pitched battles? Or except against outnumbered enemies? With all the shots, they should have sent more than one rider.

  Almost sadly, he aimed, waiting, before he fired once more. One shot was enough. This time, the mount backed away, riderless.

  After adding two shells to the rifle's magazine, Alucius slipped through the darkness, past the first dead Matrite and toward the fixed line of sentries.

  There were two—about seventy-five yards apart in the darkness—and each was behind a low mound of soil, soil that must have taken incredible effort by the Matrites to have broken free and heaped there. One man hissed something to the other, but Alucius couldn't understand a word. Nor did he understand the exact response of the other, except that he could tell by tone and his Talent-feel that it was negative. Both sentries were worried.

  A muffled yell came from the east, then silence. Had Waltar used his sabre on one of the sentries? Alucius certainly didn't see how he'd get close enough to do something like that. He frowned. If… if Waltar had killed the sentry to the east, wouldn't it be possible for Alucius to slip through that way, and strike from behind? It would take time, and it meant a lot of scuttling and squirming, but both sentries were worried, alert, and keeping low behind their piles of rock-hard frozen dirt.

  With a silent sigh, the young scout began to ease back and then eastward. A quarter of a glass later, or more, he finally slipped past the invisible perimeter line and began circling back in behind the sentries. Neither man looked behind himself often.

  Slowly, silently, Alucius cocked the rifle, aimed and fired—and missed. The man had jerked his head sideways just as the scout had fired. The sentry lifted his rifle and turned.

  Alucius waited until the man had almost completed the turn before he fired again, then scuttled sideways, knowing that, this time, the muzzle flash might well leave him a target for the westernmost sentry.

  Crack! The single shot from the other Matrite was several yards off, but certainly the man had a good idea where Alucius might be.

  Alucius moved westward, keeping low and behind quarasote, despite the heavy rifle.

  Crack! Crack!

  None of the shots were close, but with each shot, from both the muzzle flashes and through his Talent-sense, Alucius could see the other sentry, who was shooting from a kneeling position. The scout could also feel the near-panic in the sentry.

  Still, Alucius forced himself to set up behind another quarasote bush and to aim carefully—and fire. The second sentry pitched forward, and his gun clunked dully on the hard ground.

  Alucius swallowed the bile in his throat and eased his way back to where he had left the gray, keeping low, but not by crawling on his belly as he had to get close to the sentries. Before mounting, he reloaded, and then switched cartridge belts.

  He was the second scout at the rendezvous point, even after reloading and worrying off the skull-mask. Waltar was waiting for him.

  'Figured it'd be you," the older scout murmured.

  Before either could say more, several shots rang out in the darkness, and half were from the sharper-sounding Matrite rifles. There were no more sounds of militia rifles, but Alucius could sense and hear riders.

  'That sounded like number three area—Syurn's," murmured Waltar.

  Four men rode toward them. Alucius could sense that they were militia.

  'Scouts?" hissed a voice.

  'We're here, Squad Leader," Waltar said. "Two of us."

  'What was that?" Ilten reined up less than three yards from Alucius.

  'Matrite sentry shooting at one of us, I figure," answered Waltar.

  Alucius could feel an emptiness, distant but very real. He didn't know which scout had died, but one had, and Waltar was probably right.

  'The column's about two vingts back. Slower on this side road," Ilten said. "How have you done?"

  'Alucius and me—we cleared out the section just to the west of the middle."

  'How soon will you know about the rest?" asked Ilten.

  'There's one section not clear," Waltar pointed out.

  Ilten was silent.

  'Think we ought to go back in?" Waltar looked at Alucius.

  Reluctantly, Alucius nodded.

  'Someone didn't clear his sentry?" asked Ilten.

  'Doesn't appear so, sir. Alucius and me… we'll see."

  'Two of you?"

  'Might be best. They got one of us, and they're probably waiting," Waltar pointed out.

  Alucius was content to let the older scout talk.

  'You think you should wait for Geran?"

  'Not if you want this to go right."

  'Go ahead." Ilten's voice was reluctant—and doubtful.

  'Yes, sir," Alucius said quickly.

  As the two scouts rode back westward along the narrow road, Waltar snorted softly. Alucius said nothing. Syurn's section had no wash, but another of the gentle rises, and the two had to tie their mounts directly to quarasote bushes with rope leads.

  'You go around this side, and I'll go around the other," Waltar suggested. "You can sense me enough not to shoot at me, right?"

  'Right," Alucius agreed.

  On the far side of the rise, a good sixty yards away from where

  Alucius had slithered through a low spot in the rise were three picket riders, on horseback, in a semicircle facing south. At each side was a trooper on foot. All had rifles near-ready.

  Alucius took a deep breath. He was going to have to take longer shots than he would have liked. There was no help for it. He aimed at the center rider.

  The bullet took the Matrite in the shoulder, spinning him half out of the saddle, but the man struggled to bring his rifle to bear. Alucius recocked the rifle and fired a second time, then a third.

  A second heavy rifle joined in.

  When he had emptied the magazine, a single Matrite foot trooper remained standing, almost frozen in place. Alucius fumbled out the cartridges from his belt, and reloaded, slowly, too slowly, it seemed to him, and raised the rifle again. A single shot was enough.

  This time, it was harder to choke back the bile, but he did so as he quickly reloaded, smelling for the first time, it seemed, the acrid scent of gunpowder.

  'Over here," hissed Waltar from behind a quarasote bush a good thirty yards to Alucius's left.

  Although he could not sense anyone else besides Waltar, Alucius still kept low as he crossed the ground, but he did not do it on his belly.

  'What about the ground sentries?" asked Waltar.

  Alucius let his Talent-senses reach out. There was no one behind the bodies. "Think the two foot were the ground sentries. You wait here. Let me check a bit farther in," Alucius suggested.

  'Fine by me."

  Alucius slip-scuttled forward. By the time he had covered another hundred yards, it was clear that there were no sentries for at least a quarter vingt in each direction. He retraced his path carefully to where Waltar waited.

  'That's it," Alucius said.

  'Good. Let's get out of here. Done more'n enough."

  Neither spoke until they were back untying their mounts.

  'Too bad it won't be like that in a full battle," Waltar grunted as the two remounted. "Be ten of them to every one of us, and their rifles shoot farther."

  'That's why the captain tried this, wasn't it?"

  'Matrites aren't stupid. How many times you think they'll let us do this?" Waltar laughed. "They'll have more sentries, or pull them in closer. Also, you'll find it harder to use Talent to guide a bullet in a battle."

  Using Talent to guide a bullet? "I don't do that."

  'All you herders do, and you all say you don't. You make shots no one could make, otherwise."

  Alucius didn't answer. Were his shots good because he could see better, or because of what Waltar had said? He certainly wasn't conscious of using his Talent to guide his bullets.

  Another ser
ies of rifle shots punctuated the blackness of the glass before dawn.

  Balant and Henaar were waiting with Ilten at the rendezvous.

  'Geran went back out," Ilten said.

  'Balant," Henaar said.

  'Captain and the column should be here before long," Ilten said.

  The next rider was not the captain, but Geran. "Waltar? Alucius?"

  'Here."

  'You took out the sentries in Syurn's section, right? Did you see him?"

  'No, sir," answered Waltar.

  Alucius felt guilty. He hadn't sensed anyone alive, but he certainly hadn't thought about looking for Syurn's body.

  'Didn't see Balant either." Geran turned in the saddle to face Ilten. "So far as we can tell, sir, we've taken out the sentries as required."

  'Good."

  In less than a quarter glass, Captain Heald appeared out of the darkness, riding a dark chestnut stallion. "We heard shots."

  'We cleared out the sentries in this section," Ilten said.

  'Fourth squad is right behind me, and the foot are only about a half vingt back. It's getting close to dawn. Wish it hadn't taken so long."

  Looking eastward, Alucius could see the faintest light outlining the looming form of the Aerial Plateau.

  'We've had to change things—fourth squad will take the midroad out of the stead. If they move quickly enough, they'll hit the road guards from behind."

  'But… then… how will the Matrites know we're here, and why would they attack here?" Geran asked bluntly.

  'One squad of foot is going in farther, where they can fire directly at the buildings on the stead. That will work better. They won't open fire until it's clear that the attack on the shed holding the mounts has been successful. If it's not, they withdraw without firing—unless they're attacked. In that case, the plan will work anyway."

  Except that the foot squad would take far higher casualties.

  Ilten added. "Return to your squads."

  'Yes, sir." Alucius followed Geran.

  'Glad to see you both made it," Delar said quietly as Geran and Alucius lined up at the head of the column.

  'Thank you, sir," Alucius replied.