Corean Chronicles 3 - Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  In the last years of the Duarchy, the Duarches had dumped the malcontents and worse in Iron Stem to work the iron mines and great mill, guarded by the Cadmians with their lightning-shaped blades. Later, after the Cataclysm and the fall of the Duarchy, the mines played out over the millennia, and Iron Stem withered from a small city into a small and struggling town. Then, for a long time, all that sustained Iron Stem had been the herders from the north, the lumber mills in Wesrigg, and the dustcat works. There Gortal's scutters gathered the dustcat dander and processed it into the dreamdust, which was worth more than nightsilk in the Lanachronan cities of the south—and far more even than that for the little that traveled the ancient roads back to Lustrea in the east.

  His concentration returned to the lead nightram, even as he wondered why the soarer had seemed to look at him and whether Wendra had sensed the winged marvel. With a rueful smile, he shook his head and urged the gray to catch up to the lead rams, his eyes checking the bushes and the hummocks for traces of wolves. Sanders left neither tracks nor traces.

  As Alucius's mount carried him eastward, his eyes flicked back toward the long ridge that separated him from his stead—and from Wendra. After more than three years of marriage, skilled and Talented as Wendra was, Alucius still fretted about leaving her.

  Chapter 3

  Dekhron, Iron Valleys

  « ^ »

  The two men were seated in wooden armchairs before a desk in a study. On the serving table between the two were tall beakers of ale, half-full. The summer sun beat through the glass of the closed windows, but both men wore heavy tunics and trousers.

  "I worry about the herder, still," observed the round-faced trader in the blue tunic trimmed in dark gray. His voice was so low that no one more than a fraction of a yard away could have heard the words. "Have you followed him, Tarolt?"

  "He returned to his stead two years ago. He has built up his flock and devoted himself to his wife and family. Has he once shown an interest in what lies beyond his stead and Iron Stem?" replied the older-looking man, his words equally muted.

  "No, but he destroyed the Matrial, as well as Aellyan Edyss and more than ten pteridons. Then he traveled the Tables and killed one of ours, and came back and obliterated the Table in Tempre—although it was close to failing, in any case. And after that, he single-handedly killed more than twenty bravos who tried to ambush him. With the four hundred golds that cost…"

  "They were only coins, Halanat, and a pittance compared to what we have gathered and will gather." The white-haired man smiled coldly. "I do believe he got the message. It took him nearly a month to recover from that, and he has, as you noted so well, scarcely looked beyond his own stead in almost two years. In that time, we have accomplished much. We have a working group here, and a new and fully functioning Table now in Salaan. We have assisted the Regent of the Matrial in finding informers, although she knows it not. We have more and more true believers, or, if you will, followers of the True Duarchy. Adarat will soon strike the first blow in the south. These followers will grow and create the necessary distraction and dissension all across Corus, all in places well away from where we operate. And we have also made a healthy profit in dealing with Adarat. Before long we will even control the Regent of the Matrial. With all that, we will be able to build more Tables and translate more true Efrans, and this world will once more be ours, as it should have been for the past millennium."

  "What if the herder discovers what we have accomplished? It took much lifeforce to wrench the Table into place in Salaan, and we have not solidified…"

  "When he has not been south of Iron Stem in two years? That was one reason why we ensured that his wife's father is now receiving orders for his barrels. They're better and cheaper than those our traders can get here, and they will keep the herder's wife from pushing him into looking beyond their own needs. Besides, who would call us to his attention? Especially with all the other problems arising in Corus?" Tarolt's laugh carried an ironic tone.

  "The older ones, the hidden ones. Or the side effects of the translations. Or sheer ill chance."

  "There are few of the hidden ones, and fewer every year. In less than a handful of years, all will be gone." Tarolt frowned. "As for the translation effects… there is little we can do about those, would that we could, for each is a failed translation, There is always the likelihood that one will find him, because they are drawn to Talent. Still… he has seen sanders and soarers and sandwolves, and it may be that, even if he sees such, he will not draw the right conclusion. Or that he will wait. Remember… he is a man who will do what is necessary—but not unless he is forced to act. That is his greatest weakness. All we need do is to ensure that he is not forced to act. That is one reason why we have avoided… activities… near the herder steads."

  "Can we continue to keep him from acting?" asked Halanat. "Especially if there are more and more wild translations around him? We must have more support from Efra. And with him that close to the Plateau and with that meddler Kustyl… ?"

  "Kustyl could be removed."

  "That would force the herder to act. Kustyl is his wife's grandsire."

  Tarolt shook his head. "You make your point. Removing Kustyl would merely alert the herder. I think you have something else in mind. Exactly what?"

  Halanat smiled. "The Lord-Protector is getting more and more concerned about the state of Lanachrona. The Regent of the Matrial is retaking the southernmost towns bordering Southgate. Now… matters are unsettled in Deforya, and it will be a season at most before the Landarch is toppled… Waleryn could suggest to the Lord-Protector that a most able commander would be able to put down the revolt in Hyalt. A particular and most able commander."

  "Why would we send him against what we are building there? That makes little sense."

  "You know that it is not important whether Adarat and the Duarchists succeed in the coming revolt against the rule of the Lord-Protector. What is important is the amount of destruction and disruption there. Sensat shadow-matched Adarat when he traveled there last year, and Adarat is convinced that he is of Efra. He does not believe he can be bested by any Corean steer, even a Talent-steer."

  "What of it?" asked Tarolt.

  "The Lord-Protector will think he is facing a local revolt. The Regent will see an opportunity to weaken Lanachrona, and between Adarat and the herder, there will be more disruptions…"

  "That would put the herder overcaptain well out of the Iron Valleys and would reduce the chance of his seeing too much because he will be far too involved in trying to put down the revolt, as well as worrying about his wife? Thar far south, even should the ancient ones try to reach him, they would not be able to, few and failing as they are." Tarolt frowned. "But the Lord-Protector would scarce listen to Lord Waleryn, and if he did, he would hesitate to believe him. If he knew that Waleryn was no longer his brother, but a shadow-Efran, he would never believe Waleryn at all."

  "He does not know that and never will. Waleryn can ensure that dispatches and information reach Marshal Frynkel and Marshal Alyniat. He can suggest to them that the Lord-Protector request the overcaptain—as a majer—take command of the forces to put down the revolt in Hyalt. The overcaptain is known to be able to do much with little, and that will appeal to Marshal Wyerl."

  "You don't want Waleryn talking to Wyerl, do you? "

  "I do not wish Waleryn to spend much time with any of the marshals, but he should not meet with Wyerl at all. Wyerl sees too much," Halanat replied. "It is also likely that the overcaptain will meet with the marshals. We would not wish him to perceive any… influence, but especially with Wyerl."

  "You think the herder overcaptain is that perceptive?"

  "More so, I fear, but if he meets with the marshals and sees nothing…"

  "He will not see our influence." Tarolt nodded. "There is also a good chance he will not be able to surmount Adarat, but if he does, the disruption will only benefit us, and by then… it will be too late for him to change what must be. And if
he fails, then we have fewer worries."

  "Exactly."

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  When Alucius began to herd the flock back down Westridge, the sun was almost touching the quarasote flats to the west, its green-gold glare backlighting the stone-walled and slate-roofed buildings of the stead so that the walls looked almost gray, rather than reddish, and the roofs black, rather than the dark gray they truly were. With his Talent, Alucius could sense the web of lifethreads, the thin black-gray lines of the nightsheep, the yellow-gold of his mount, and the scattered thin threads that were grayjays and scrats. With a nod affirming that there were no disruptions in that web of life, Alucius began moving the flock toward the main shed.

  He finished settling the nightsheep into the shed for the night, having closed and bolted the shed door, then stabled the gray. In the second stall, he was finishing grooming the gray in the gloom that was no hindrance, not when herders could see almost as well in low light or night as in full sunlight. At that moment, Wendra slipped into the stable.

  "How was your day?" he asked, sensing the vital green lifethread of her presence even before she stepped into sight at the end of the stall.

  "The spinnerets jammed twice. I only lost about a yard of thread that couldn't be reprocessed. Your mother checked them. They may last for the summer, but we'll need another set of the control valves before harvest. If we'd known…"

  "You could have had Grandsire order them while he was in town?"

  Wendra nodded.

  Alucius stepped out of the stall, closed the half door, and hugged his wife for a long moment, feeling the slight bulge of her abdomen as he did. "It's always good to see you. I'll be glad when the spinning's done and you can come out on the stead with me."

  "There's still the looming," she pointed out after they released each other. "And I don't know how much longer I can ride for a full day."

  "Another season, according to Mother, and I can tell if there's a problem." He laughed. "So can you, remember? And you can certainly take a day from looming now and again. The fresh air would be good for the two of you. I know you can't leave the spinning. The thread's got to be watched all the time." He paused as he waited for her to step outside the stable. Then he closed and fastened the door. "How are we doing on the solvents?"

  "We should have enough for this year."

  "You're letting—"

  "Your mother won't let me near them, or even in the processing rooms."

  "Good," Alucius said firmly, taking her arm.

  They walked toward the east-facing porch of the stead dwelling. Alucius looked eastward toward the Aerial Plateau, watching as the crystals on its high west rim caught the rays of the setting sun. Directly above the crystals of the Plateau, almost lost in their radiance, was the small green point of light that was Asterta, the moon of the ancient horse goddess—or the moon of misery. Selena, the larger moon, had not yet risen.

  "Where up there do you think the hidden city is?" Wendra asked.

  "It's somewhere along the western edge, but it could be as far south as the part near Emal or as far north as opposite Soulend—or even Eastice. It was cold there, but that could have been because it's so much higher."

  "That's hard to believe," Wendra mused.

  It was almost as hard for Alucius, and he'd been the one trapped there, recovering after nearly being killed by the ifrits, then being taught by the soarers, so that he could understand and use his Talent to greater effect. "It is, until…"

  "I know." She squeezed his hand.

  "What's for supper?"

  "Leftovers. We made a fowl casserole from what was left from last night."

  "You didn't let her put—"

  Wendra laughed. "There's no prickle in it. Plenty of other leftovers, but not prickle."

  "Thank you."

  "I'll remember that."

  They made their way up the steps to the porch and to the north door, and then to the washroom. Alucius used the hand pump to fill the basin for Wendra, then washed up when she left to finish helping his mother. He glanced in the mirror, the reflection showing his silver-gray eyes flecked with green and the dark gray hair that had been his from birth.

  By the time he was washed up, everyone else was seated at the table, and Alucius hurried to sit down.

  "Which of you two?" asked Lucenda, looking at her son and then at Wendra.

  "Wendra," suggested Alucius.

  Wendra grinned ruefully at her husband, giving a slight shake to her head that shivered her lustrous brown hair.

  The four bowed their heads.

  Wendra spoke clearly. "In the name of the One Who Was, Is, and Will Be, we thank you for what we have, and for what we have received, and for this food before us. May this blessing fall upon both the deserving and the undeserving, and may both strive to do good in the world and beyond…"

  Once she had finished the blessing, Wendra stood and began serving the fowl casserole onto the platters, handing them out, first to Royalt, then Lucenda, Alucius, and herself.

  "The bread's fresh baked," Lucenda offered. "Wendra said there ought to be something that wasn't a leftover."

  "There wasn't enough for supper, anyway." The younger woman's eyes sparkled as she looked at Royalt.

  "Was hungry when I got back from town," grumped Alucius's grand-sire. "Long hot ride. Hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast."

  "He did get a half barrel of southern rice," Lucenda said. "That will help this winter."

  "And some of the hard green apples that keep," added Wendra.

  "Ferrat had the replacement shear plates ready. Cost two golds for each." Royalt shook his head. "Last time was only a gold."

  "That was almost four years ago," Lucenda pointed out.

  "Prices shouldn't double in four years. Kustyl was telling me that a bunch of growers near-on killed a usurer down in Dekhron. Not the one who's one of Mairee's cousins, but another fellow. One who clips coins before lending them."

  "That sounds like Ceannon," remarked Lucenda.

  "Was him, now that I recall," said Royalt. "Never even had to worry about usurers before. This union with Lanachrona… was supposed to keep tariffs and prices down."

  "One out of two isn't bad," suggested Lucenda. "The Lord-Protector has kept our tariffs low."

  "That was because of Alucius, wasn't it?" asked Wendra innocently.

  Alucius knew the question wasn't innocent, but a gentle reminder.

  Royalt laughed. "She sure sticks up for you, Alucius."

  "Who better?" Alucius grinned, but the grin faded. "You think most prices are up that much?"

  "Lot of 'em," Royalt said. "Not too bad for us. Yet. Nightsilk futures are getting close to twenty-five golds a yard."

  That was nearly double the highest prices of two years before, as Alucius recalled.

  "That's fine for us," Lucenda pointed out, "but what about for people like Kyrial?" She glanced at Wendra.

  "It's been hard for Father. Korcler told me that when he loaded the half barrels last week. Coopers don't have people coming from Tempre and Borlan to buy their barrels. Korcler did say that Father had someone who was inquiring, though." She paused. "If it weren't for Mother's sewing…"

  Alucius nodded. He and Wendra had slipped some golds to Clerynda—Wendra's mother—but with the price of solvents and machinery and equipment rising, there was a limit to what they could do—and might be able to do in the future.

  "Don't see why all this is happening," Royalt said. "No wars, no fighting. Been a little dry the past two years, but we've seen worse."

  "Little things adding up?" asked Alucius.

  "Could be," admitted the older man. "Kustyl said that tin ingots were double what they used to be—have to get those from Lustrea—and the purple dyes from Dramuria are way up, too. Kustyl thinks something strange is going on with the traders in Dekhron."

  "Grandpa Kustyl always worries about Dekhron," Wendra pointed out.

  "That's because there's a lot t
o worry about," said Alucius. "If not with the traders, then with Colonel Weslyn."

  "You've never liked Weslyn, have you?" asked Royalt.

  "Not really."

  "Kustyl's not even that kind to him," replied Royalt. "Calls him a sneak. Says he smiles to your face and then poisons your ale. Always thought he was behind Clyon's death."

  "I don't think he had anything to do with it, except indirectly," Alucius replied. "He's too much of a coward. Someone else had Clyon poisoned once Weslyn became the deputy commander because they knew Weslyn wouldn't do anything to upset anyone—especially the traders."

  "That'd make sense. That way, no one could challenge him because he wasn't involved in Clyon's death. Then, if someone else had been deputy commander…"

  "The militia had Dysar before him. You think he would have been any better?"

  Royalt shook his head. "Traders like Ostar owned Dysar fleece and horns. Same way they do Weslyn."

  "Didn't something happen to Ostar?"

  "He died, like a lot of traders in the past couple of years—fires, illnesses, something like seven or eight. Ostar was one of 'em. In fact, most of those who liked Dysar are dead. They liked Weslyn, too. That's what Kustyl and I can't reckon."

  "Is there anyone left?"

  "Of the older ones? Tarolt, I think, and his nephew Halanat. Halanat's more like the age of Kyrial, though."

  "You know either?"

  "Only by name. Kustyl said he met Halanat years back. Didn't like him then. Didn't see any reason to see him again."

  Alucius laughed.

  "Can we stop talking about how corrupt Dekhron is?" asked Lucenda. "We can't do much about it tonight. There's still half a pie left from last night." Without waiting for an answer, she began to cut slices until she had cut the remaining apple pie into four equal sections, then passed them out on the smaller plates.

  After a mouthful of the pie, Wendra looked up. "Grandpa Kustyl stopped by today."

  Alucius took a swallow of ale, then grinned. "He stops by more now than he used to."