"To Salaan?"
She nodded.
Alucius picked up the rifle with his left hand and took Wendra's hand with his right. Wordlessly, they concentrated.
The chill darkness welled up around them. Alucius concentrated on the dark green and maroon beacon—and the purple pink portal-like circle created by the scepter. He felt as though they rushed toward the two, and he tried to slow that rush at the end, extending a Talent-thread as an anchor, trying to press that thought/concept to Wendra as he rose through darkness, a brownish darkness that he hoped was the hillside to the east of the Table building. When he sensed light, he focused on seeing beyond the silver barrier, and thought he could see a distorted hillside. He pressed forward, and silver shards flew past and around him.
Alucius found himself on the hillside—or above it, and he barely kept his balance as he dropped several spans onto the uneven slope. He turned, trying to find Wendra, with both eyes and Talent. He could sense that she was nearby, but where?
Then he began to grin.
"That's a nasty trick," he said to the illusion of nothingness she had created.
The illusion vanished.
"Did I get it right?" asked Wendra.
"You did indeed." Alucius turned, and looking down and to the west, he saw the building the ifrits had built to house their Table. "We need to start walking. That's where the Table is, and with only one rifle, I'd rather not have to fight them off."
"We could use the ley lines again," Wendra pointed out. "If we had to."
"We could, but… then we'd end up somewhere else, and I think we need to meet with Feran and figure out how to attack them before they bring in more ifrits. That's if they haven't already."
They started walking down the hill, a slope covered with sparse grass, a grayish sandy soil, and scrub brush that Alucius did not recognize. He glanced toward Salaan, a good vingt and a half to the northwest. "It's about four vingts to Guard headquarters."
"The walk will do us good."
"As long as the ifrits don't send armed guards after us."
"They won't," Wendra predicted.
Alucius hoped she was right, but he lengthened his stride. They'd had more than enough delays. Useful as those had proved in some fashion, he couldn't help but worry that he'd delayed too much.
Chapter 151
Salaan, Lanachrona
« ^ »
The light of a spring sun shining through high hazy clouds oozed through the west-facing windows of the conference room, where four ifrits sat around a table.
Barylt turned her head to look at the window. "Even the sunlight here offers no warmth." She shivered. "Everything is so cold… and so crude. There's no sculpture, no art, no music."
"That's what we have to build and create," Tarolt replied. "All worlds are crude before we mold them. They're often cold, as well. It is much warmer in the south, but we were limited by where we could push through the Table tube after the barriers gave way."
"We almost didn't make the long translation," Trezun added.
Lasylt straightened, lifting his hand in an imperious signal for silence. His face stiffened, and his eyes took on a faraway look.
The silence continued. The other three looked at the senior fieldmaster. In time, he lowered his hand, and his face relaxed slightly.
"What was it?" asked Tarolt.
The senior fieldmaster did not reply immediately. Then his eyes refocused, and he looked at Tarolt, seated directly across the polished wooden table from him. "There were two ancient ones, on the hillside to the east. They hovered there for several moments. Then they were gone. Or their use of lifeforce vanished." His lips tightened. "You said they were dying."
"They are less than a handful, Fieldmaster, that is, of those who direct the species. That does not mean that a few may not linger. It might also have been the colonel and the woman with him. She might have been one of the ancient ones. I could not tell."
"Either way, I suppose it does not matter, save that they must be blocked and defeated." Lasylt continued to frown, "But with the Talent-steer still loose, and two with the powers of the ancient ones seeking out the Table… we dare not fail. Too much is at stake. We will have to move the master scepter here from Efra in less than a year, and we have far too few Efrans here on Acorus."
Barylt nodded, not quite emphatically.
"Less than a year?" asked Tarolt. "You had said before… three to five years."
"It is taking more energy to maintain the tubes than we had calculated, and the supporting lifemass birthrate on Efra is declining more quickly than predicted. The Efran steers are spiritless, worse than those here on Acorus."
"Do you know how many Efrans tried to make the long translation?" asked Tarolt. "In response to your orders?"
"More than twenty," replied Lasylt.
"Yet only eight survived?" Trezun's voice carried a hint of incredulity.
"Ten," replied Lasylt. "Two of them mistakenly translated to the new Table at Norda. Once they recover, they will translate here to help protect the scepters."
"Is the young colonel that strong?" asked Barylt.
Tarolt laughed. "He's survived two translations through barriers, and he almost broached the very shields of the scepter. He has managed to kill three shadow-Efrans and one true translated Efran, and he can translate to both Tables and portals. Yes, I would say that he is strong."
"He is nothing compared to what we offer, but he is strong enough to steal the scepters, if we are not watchful and prepared to defend them. When the others have recovered, we will hunt him down like the cowardly jackal he is. Once our numbers increase, we will have no more of this nonsense. Steers must be steers, and we must rule them to create the order and beauty we bring to a world." Lasylt added, "Shortly, we will seek out the colonel so that he cannot act against us."
"If he is not already," murmured Trezun under his breath.
Tarolt glared at the Recorder.
Chapter 152
« ^ »
Alucius and Wendra had walked through Salaan and over the ancient River Vedra bridge, then westward in Dekhron along a side street paralleling the river road, because Alucius didn't want to be recognized and have to explain… or refuse to explain. By the time they were a hundred yards east of the open gates to the Northern Guard post, it was early afternoon. Even though the day was windy and cool, under high hazy clouds, he was sweating, and his feet ached. He was used to riding long distances, not walking, and riding boots weren't that well designed for walking on hard-surfaced roads.
Alendra was protesting that she was hungry, and a certain odor suggested that other matters needed attention as well.
"It won't be that long," Wendra crooned. "Just a little longer, little girl, and we'll get you cleaned up and fed. Just a little longer."
Alendra's cries suggested that a little longer was far too long to wait.
The sentries at the gate watched as the two walked closer. With the hand not carrying the rifle, Alucius unfastened the riding jacket enough to show the colonel's insignia he had replaced on his tunic collar.
"That you, sir? Colonel?"
"It's me. Things didn't quite go as planned. We've had a long walk." Alucius smiled, "One of you probably ought to go tell Majer Feran that we're back."
"Yes, sir!" The younger sentry turned and ran toward the headquarters' building. Alucius and Wendra kept walking.
Ahead of them, the young lancer's voice echoed through the post. "Majer! The colonel's back! Big as life!"
Feran was standing outside, watching as Alucius limped up to the headquarters. He shook his head. "Couldn't you have found an easier way to spend time with her, sir?"
Alucius laughed, as much at the dryness of Feran's voice as anything else. "I didn't plan it that way. I thought the traders were up to something. They were, and Wendra's disappearance was connected to it. Once we get her settled in the quarters, I'll fill you in on what happened."
Alucius caught sight of a familiar figu
re in the doorway. "Dhaghet… would you help my wife up to the quarters?"
"Yes, sir."
Wendra smiled at Alucius, an almost enigmatic expression, but one that was both warm and a warning to him not to reveal too much.
"I'll be up later," he promised.
"Do what you need to do."
Alucius nodded, watching as Dhaghet escorted her toward the steps to the upper level. Then he turned and walked into headquarters. Once inside, he made his way into the colonel's study—his still, he imagined—and waited for Feran to follow.
Feran shut the door.
"Where have you been?" asked the older officer. "We found your mount in an orchard south of Salaan. A grower reported it. I was holding off reporting your disappearance."
"Thank you. I appreciate that." With a deep breath, Alucius settled into the chair behind the desk, happy to get off his feet.
"Was this… the traders? Tarolt?"
"It's worse and more complicated than I'd thought. I started out tracking down Tarolt because I thought he had to have used Talent to steal from the Guard. He caught me off guard and locked me up, in a special way, and I got shot up some more…"
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Feran asked dryly. His eyes narrowed, and he frowned. "The traders have Talent?"
Alucius had thought out how he wanted to approach that question. "We had it backward. The traders are working with the Regent. They might even be controlling her, rather than the other way around. That's why they don't want anyone to win. Tarolt has more Talent than the prophet did. That's how so many old traders died, and why all the others do what he wants, He's got two or three others with Talent working with him. He probably used Talent to control Weslyn. That could be why he and Imealt tried to kill me."
"I wondered about that. It didn't make sense," Feran said slowly. "Not unless they knew you had Talent. You've always been a target. There have been more bullets aimed at you than at anyone else." He paused, then asked, "Is it because you're the only one who can stand up against that kind of Talent?"
"I didn't think so at first, but that just might be it." Alucius offered a shrug. "You remember the traders with the silver wheel on their wagons?"
"The ones who supplied the prophet? I thought that was Halanat and his son."
"It was. But Tarolt was the one behind it. He's been controlling everything." Alucius leaned forward slightly. "I was scouting out his place south of Salaan, but he'd been watching me, and they set up a trap. I guess I got too cocky. I ended up in a strange place with stone walls all around. The guards there weren't as good as Tarolt and his men, but it took some time to get free, and then I found Wendra." Those words were true in a sense, as true as Alucius dared to make them.
"I won't ask how you managed that." After a pause, the majer asked, "What can we do?" He smiled, crookedly. "Knowing you, you've got a plan. And knowing you, you'd not be too happy with anyone who hurt your wife."
"I'm not. But I'm even angrier at what Tarolt has done, and all the lancers killed on all sides just so they can get more power and golds. We've got a war between Lanachrona and Madrien, and if we don't do something, before long the Regent will be attacking all our companies in the north."
"You think that stopping Tarolt will help?"
"More than you know."
Feran shook his head. "When you talk like that, it's hard to believe otherwise."
"You've seen it. Weslyn did what they wanted. If we hadn't come back when we did, what would have happened to the Iron Valleys?"
"Nothing good. So… what do we do now?"
"We stop Tarolt and the handful around him. Most of the traders have just been controlled by Tarolt and Halanat. Halanat's dead. We take care of Tarolt, and things will eventually settle down. But . . . we'll have to be very careful. We can't storm his stronghold the way we did with the prophet. It would take years for the Guard to recover from that, and the Lord-Protector might want both our heads—or at least our immediate resignations or dismissals. And we'd lose a lot of troopers to Talent, and we don't need that, either."
"I can see that," Feran said. "If it's possible, I'd like to stay in service and alive long enough to collect a stipend."
"I'd like that, too. So… Wendra and I will do the dirty work—"
"Wendra? She… you've got a child."
"She's also a herder, and I need someone who can resist Talent and handle a rifle." Alucius needed more than that, but that was as much as he was about to admit.
Feran chuckled ironically. "Anything that needs two of you…"
"Tarolt and his two assistants can use Talent up close, but not from a distance. We'll take advantage of that. We'll use Faisyn and first squad to keep them pinned inside so that they can't escape."
"Then what?"
"Tarolt and his people are holed up in a building just south of the orchard—it was an apricot orchard, wasn't it, where you found the chestnut?"
"All those fruit trees look alike to me."
"We're just going to sneak in the underground entrance and flush them out."
"Just like that? You and Wendra?" Feran raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to stay in one piece this time, or is this going to be like the business with the prophet?"
"It could be worse," Alucius admitted.
"Can't we just…" Feran paused. "They were really behind the Regent?"
"And Weslyn, and the attacks on Twenty-first Company when we were at Emal."
"How many are there?"
"Three that I know of, but there could be more. They were training more people in using Talent. I don't know where they came from, but they could use Talent." Again, Alucius was stretching the truth.
"How about two squads?"
Alucius considered for a moment. "Two would be fine. I don't like the idea of riding an entire company up to a trader's building. Oh, and I need a mount for Wendra, and another rifle for her. I'll pay for them, but she'll need them."
"The man is trying to save his homeland, and he still thinks about not abusing his position." Feran shifted his weight in the wooden chair. "Then, that's another reason why I trust you when you tell me something strange like this. It also doesn't hurt that you're always right. Anyone who wagers against you loses."
"Not always. I did end up in the Matrite forces."
"True. But who else ever escaped, except the ones you brought back?"
"There must have been some," Alucius demurred.
"When do you want to do this?" asked Feran.
"Tomorrow morning, starting two glasses before dawn."
"I could have guessed. You've always had that herder habit of getting up early."
Alucius laughed, once. "I'd prefer to sleep later, but I need the darkness to set up things, and I worry about their bringing in more Talent."
"Tarolt can't be just a trader."
"He's not. But we'll leave it at that."
"So long as you're colonel, that's fine by me."
"So long as I'm the one explaining? I'm not sure I'll ever be able to explain. But it doesn't matter. We have to stop Tarolt before he does any more damage."
"With what he's done already, that's good enough for me. How do you want to approach his stronghold?"
Alucius opened the drawer, looking for paper on which to sketch out his plan, and Feran eased his chair up to the other side of the desk.
It was late afternoon by the time Alucius and Feran had finished working out the details, including briefing Faisyn on the particulars of the next morning's attack. Alucius had only munched on some dry travel bread, and his stomach was growling as he walked up the steps to the commander's quarters.
He had barely closed the door when Wendra met him, draped in one of his tunics.
"It was good to get washed up, but I just had to wash out everything I'd been wearing. I hope you don't mind."
He eyed her appreciatively. "I don't mind at all. Where's Alendra?"
"She's sleeping in the second bedroom."
Alucius grinned widely.
Wendra flushed.
After a moment, they both laughed.
Chapter 153
« ^ »
Early on Tridi morning, two and a half glasses before dawn, Alucius had finished his simple breakfast of bread, cheese, dried fruit, and water. So had Wendra, and she had just changed Alendra and strapped her into the carrypack.
"You're wearing nightsilk?" asked Alucius.
"I told you I was. That's why I washed it yesterday."
"Are you sure you can use the rifle with her?" asked Alucius.
"I'm sure." A tinge of exasperation colored Wendra's voice. "The carrypack holds her out of the way, and it's nightsilk. I'm used to it. I've ridden the stead and shot sandwolves with her. I've even killed a black sander and one of those pteridons…"
Alucius hadn't realized that the wild translations had continued to track Wendra. She'd never said a word.
"… Besides, it will take two of us. You've gotten hurt every single time you've gone against the ifrits by yourself. And I'm not leaving Alendra. Don't even suggest it."
"She'd be safe here," Alucius ventured.
Wendra looked directly at him. "For how long… if anything happens to either of us? I can't help you if I'm worrying about her, and you can't do this without me. We have to do it together."
"I could detail a squad."
"How much good would they be against those ifrits?"
Alucius decided against saying more. "We'd better head down to the courtyard." He slipped on the nightsilk riding jacket. With the vest under his tunic, he trusted that his body was as well protected as possible. Wendra was wearing his lighter nightsilk riding jacket, with the bottoms of the sleeves rolled up. He just hoped that they wouldn't come under rifle fire from the ifrits.
He picked up both his rifles and slung the saddlebags over his shoulder. All that was inside were packages of travel fare, as well as two belt water bottles. All the cartridges in his belt and in the magazines of his rifles and Wendra's rifle were already infused with dark lifeforce, but they needed to do the same for the rifles of the lancers who would be accompanying them.
Corean Chronicles 3 - Scepters Page 67
