Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  She rose gracefully, stepped toward Alucius, and put a hand on each cheek, almost cradling his face. “We can’t avoid the world forever, dearest.”

  “How about…just for tonight?” Alucius bent down and kissed her.

  16

  Dekhron, Iron Valleys

  The colonel who stood behind the wide desk had broad shoulders, blond hair that was nearly half silver, and fine wrinkles running from the corners of his eyes. Those wrinkles were especially pronounced as he looked at the gilt commission in his hands, one signed and sealed by the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona. After studying the document, he cleared his throat gently and looked up at the senior officer in the uniform of a marshal of the Southern Guard. “Sir…this is rather…expansive.”

  “Yes, it is. The Lord-Protector is most thorough,” replied Marshal Frynkel. “He finds that there is less confusion that way, Colonel Weslyn.”

  “He is known for such,” temporized Weslyn.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” suggested the marshal, gesturing to the colonel’s chair and seating himself in the wooden straight-backed chair in front of the colonel’s desk.

  “Ah…yes, sir.” The colonel laid the document on the desk before him and seated himself.

  “The Lord-Protector thought that there should be no confusion, Colonel Weslyn. You have reported that you have been unable to muster more lancers or foot under the conditions set forth by the Lord-Protector, and given the parlous situation facing all of Lanachrona, the Lord-Protector thought that an inspection tour might be the best way to confirm your reports. In order to allay any suspicions by those in southern Lanachrona, you understand.” The tic in Frynkel’s right eye twitched.

  “I understand. Especially since the union has not been that long-standing. The timing was…rather unexpected.” Weslyn added quickly, “Then, there have been concerns in the north here, as well, about the use of the Northern Guard…and the costs.”

  “I can see that. We all bear costs in troubled times. The commission, as written, is one of those. In other times, it would not have been necessary, and the Lord-Protector would have wished it otherwise, but to send a messenger, then wait for a reply…there was not time, not when we expect a winter offensive by the Regent. That was another reason for the powers delegated to me. The Lord-Protector did not wish to have me beholden to messengers if I needed additional authority. That is why the commissions vest me fully with his authority in all matters. All matters,” Frynkel repeated the last words.

  “Might I ask…?” began the colonel.

  “You can ask,” replied the marshal with a smile. “As I have said, I am here on an inspection tour. I will be inspecting a number of posts, including this one, the staging post in Wesrigg, and perhaps those in Soulend and on the midroad. I may or may not inspect the ones farther north and west. I may or may not make decisions on postings or use of forces, and I could make some suggestions. All that depends on what I find.”

  “I can see that, sir.”

  “I am sure you can.”

  “You have more than an entire company with you.”

  “That is true. We would not wish to burden the Northern Guard.”

  “You are most considerate.”

  “We have tried not to inconvenience you. At least not any more than necessary.” Frynkel smiled once more. “That being the case, I will dispense with the formalities. To begin with, I would like to see the postings of all companies in the Northern Guard, as well as their officers.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.” Frynkel leaned back in the chair. “There are a number of matters we can discuss while you have those records gathered.”

  17

  Alucius turned and stood at the railing of the porch, looking eastward, out over Westridge and up at the Aerlal Plateau, looking so close for all that it was a good thirty vingts away. Although the shadow of twilight covered the Iron Valleys, green-tinged light flashed from the crystal escarpments of the western edge of the Plateau.

  “It’s beautiful,” Wendra said from beside her husband, her hand covering his where it rested on the railing.

  “Beautiful…and sad, in a way,” reflected Alucius. “To think that there’s a city up there, somewhere, almost deserted, and dying. There might even be more than one, but I’d wager that all the others are completely deserted and dead.”

  “You don’t think it was just that city?”

  “No. There was too much sadness deep within the soarer, and no reason to deceive me about that. Also, we see so few soarers, yet they’re a part of history and everything else. Why else is there a soarer queen for leschec?”

  “Leschec’s a game. There’s also a sander king, and no one ever thought sanders were smart enough for that.”

  “Everything else in the game has proved to be real. You’ve even seen them all.”

  Wendra tilted her head. “I haven’t seen an alector.” A faint smile played across her lips.

  Alucius shook his head. “I’m safer when I don’t make big general statements.”

  “We all are. But you’re right. There are references to alectors in the old histories.”

  “You’ve read those?”

  “I used to. Grandpa Kustyl has a whole shelf of them. No one else was interested. I didn’t tell anyone but him.”

  Alucius smiled. He’d been married to Wendra for close to five years and known her for more than three before that, and she’d never mentioned the histories. Was marriage like that, always discovering something new? “Did those histories say anything else about the soarers?”

  “No. They didn’t say anything about soarers or sanders. The writers mentioned the Myrmidons, the alectors, the sandoxes, the pteridons…even Cadmians. I always thought that was strange, especially when I was younger. I’d seen soarers and sanders, and they weren’t in the books, and the creatures that were in the books were ones I’d never seen.”

  Alucius squeezed her hand, gently. “Some of the books I read in the quarters’ libraries in Madrien said that the soarers were mythical creatures, that they didn’t exist. I wondered if that was because they never lived in the south.”

  “They must like the cold more.”

  “I don’t think they like it where it’s warm and damp.”

  “There couldn’t have been very many of them, ever, do you think?” asked Wendra.

  “The soarer told me that Corus used to be colder and drier. There were probably more when it was. There had to have been more soarers then than there are now. I got out of the room I was in, and I saw enough to know how empty that city was. They wouldn’t have built a city if there weren’t enough soarers to live there.” But had he seen enough? Or had he only seen what the soarer wanted him to see?

  “Did she ever tell you why they were dying off?”

  “No…only that they were, and that there were very few of them, and that before long there wouldn’t be any left.”

  “They live a long time. So that might be a while.”

  Abruptly an intense green light—a line narrow as a wand—flared skyward from the Plateau, its width constant, and for a moment, as it lanced toward the small green disc of Asterta, it was brighter than the setting sun had been a fraction of a glass earlier.

  “What was that?” asked Wendra.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “You think…like your grandmother…herders?”

  “The death of a soarer?” suggested Alucius. “It could be. I don’t know why they would commemorate it the same way we do. We want Selena in the sky, but only Asterta is now…” He broke off his words, considering what the soarer had told him years before.

  “What is it?”

  “They helped make us what we are. You could be right. We might be following their example, except for the choice of moon.”

  “Asterta’s green. So are soarers,” Wendra pointed out. “Their lifethreads and radiance, anyway.”

  “I wonder…” mused Alucius.

  “M
aybe all herders are soarer’s children. You are.”

  “So are you,” he pointed out.

  “Those with Talent, then.” Wendra continued to look at the Plateau, but the single line of green light had vanished, and the crystal parapets of the towering Plateau were shrouded in shadow, no longer reflecting the sun.

  Alucius also watched, and the porch was silent for a time.

  “I wonder.” Alucius paused. “The soarer said that we had been brought here by the ifrits. Did I tell you that?”

  “No. You mean people? Not us, but people a long time ago?”

  “Yes. She said that…that we were meant to be like cattle for the ifrits.”

  “Where did they bring people from?”

  “She didn’t say. She said so much that was new—I didn’t ask. I should have.”

  “It makes sense,” Wendra mused. “The ifrits feed on lifeforce, or they use it.”

  “That’s true.”

  “What I don’t understand is…well…most people have lifethreads that are brown or tan or amber, except herders. Most herders are black shot with green. You’re green. I’m green, but we didn’t used to be, did we?”

  “No,” he admitted. “You were black with flashes of green. I didn’t know how to look at myself then, but I’d guess I was, too.”

  “But we’re green now. Why?”

  “Because…somehow, greater use of Talent turns the lifethread green. That’s a guess, but it seems to be true. Herders with more Talent have more green in their lifethreads. Maybe it shows a greater tie to all of Corus. The soarers have been here forever…a long time, anyway, and they’re green.”

  “What about the sanders?” Wendra asked.

  “I never looked that closely, but I always thought of them as red-violet.”

  “And the ifrits are purple?”

  “Both feed on lifeforce,” mused Alucius. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He shook his head once more. “Then, there are a lot of things I didn’t think of before I met you.” He turned to face her directly, grinning.

  “I’m sure you did,” Wendra replied, blushing.

  “Supper’s ready, you two,” Lucenda’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

  “We’ll be right there,” Alucius promised, taking a last look at the Plateau, wondering what other mysteries lay there, and what else he should have asked the soarer when he had had the chance.

  18

  Tempre, Lanachrona

  As he settled into the chair across from the settee where his consort and wife was seated, the Lord-Protector looked over at the infant at Alerya’s breast. He couldn’t help but smile. “He’s happy.”

  “Contented, at least. He wasn’t so good earlier. Not nearly so good,” replied Alerya. “How did your meetings and briefings go?”

  “As well as I could expect.” Talryn shook his head. “It’s hard to drag things out of people when they don’t like telling you bad news.”

  “You’re most worried, are you not?”

  “More than I’d ever admit to anyone but you, dearest. Nothing seems to be going right. We’re close to losing Southgate. The Northern Guard has been pushed back toward Harmony. The traders have already begun to petition me about the higher tariffs being levied by the Deforyan Council. The revolt continues in Hyalt, and some of the believers have been agitating in Syan. The nomads in Ongelya slaughtered a trader’s caravan. Then this business with Waleryn. He’s always been difficult. You know how he was plotting with Enyll, and with all this going on, I get a note from him saying that he’s on his way to Lustrea concealed as a trader, and that I’ll be pleased to learn what he has discovered when he returns.” Talryn snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was behind half of this and was leaving before I discovered it.”

  “How could he be?” asked Alerya.

  “I don’t know. But if it were possible, he would be.” Talryn stood and walked to the sideboard, from which he took out a bottle and half filled a goblet. “Would you like some?”

  “If you will water it down.” Alerya made a face.

  “I know, but too much wine…” Talryn poured the ruby wine into a second goblet, then added the boiled and cooled water from the crystal decanter. “Here.”

  “Just set it there, beside me, dear, if you would.”

  Talryn set his wife’s wine on the end table, then, taking his own goblet, seated himself across from her.

  “Have you had any word from Frynkel? About the overcaptain?” asked Alerya.

  “I don’t expect word anytime soon. It’s a long journey.”

  “Do you think that the overcaptain will accept your request?”

  “I hope so, especially now. I gave Frynkel some latitude in what he could offer.”

  “Such as?”

  “Some terms that might help me a great deal.” Talryn smiled, but did not say more.

  “You can be…difficult, Talryn.” Alerya smiled. “But…so can I…in my own way. Perhaps young Talus needs my company tonight.”

  “That’s…”

  “Blackmail?” Alerya’s smile turned mischievous. “It is indeed.”

  Talryn began to laugh. After he stopped, he added, with a grin, “I suppose I deserved that.”

  “You did.” She raised her eyebrows. “What terms?”

  “Oh…Colonel Weslyn has not been exactly effective, and I don’t trust him. I suggested that Frynkel offer Alucius the command of the Northern Guard if he is successful in quelling the revolt in Hyalt.”

  “You are a true schemer, my love.” Alerya shook her head. “You know the poor overcaptain—or majer—will have to accept, if only to save his people.” She frowned. “You will honor that promise if he succeeds?”

  “I’d be pleased to honor it. He’ll go off as a majer, and if he’s successful, I’ll send a full company of Southern Guards back to Dekhron with him, along with his own companies. No one could possibly complain—not too much, anyway—if I promote the greatest hero in Northern Guard history. Besides, he inspires his officers and men, and Weslyn inspires no one, except the conniving traders in Dekhron. Young as Alucius is, he’ll be far better than Weslyn.”

  “And you’d have a much more cooperative Northern Guard? Or at least one better run and more reasonable?”

  “Those were my thoughts. ‘Better run’ would be a great improvement.” Talryn’s grin broadened. “You did tell me to be generous. I hope you will be.”

  Alerya burst into laughter.

  After a moment, so did Talryn.

  19

  Late on Octdi afternoon, under high gray clouds, Wendra and Alucius were nearing the eastern base of Westridge, guiding the nightsheep flock back to the stead. Wendra was riding lead, with Alucius bringing up the stragglers. After all of his precautions for the past three days, neither Alucius nor Wendra had seen any sign of any Talent-creatures or even sandwolves. Nor had Royalt on the day he had taken the flock. All they had seen or sensed were grayjays, scrats, and one or two sandsnakes.

  Then, Alucius reflected to himself, they had prepared for the Talent-creatures, and usually the worst dangers and difficulties he had encountered were those for which he had not foreseen or prepared. That just seemed to be the way of the world.

  “Alucius!” Wendra called back.

  He looked toward her, then saw, farther west, his grandsire just below the crest of Westridge, riding downhill and toward them, far more quickly than usual. After several moments, it was clear that the older herder was heading toward Alucius.

  Had something happened to his mother? Alucius forced himself to concentrate on moving the stragglers along and up toward the main body of the flock so that he wouldn’t have to worry as much about them if he needed to hurry the flock. Other than that, he certainly couldn’t do anything about whatever spurred Royalt on until he heard what his grandsire had to say.

  As he neared Alucius, Royalt gestured toward Wendra, urging her to join them.

  That made sense, because the lead ram was already on the path that
led home and to the shelter of the stead barns. If any of the flock faced danger, it would be the stragglers, although most sandwolves were unlikely to attack close to a stead, especially with three herders nearby.

  As Royalt neared Alucius and turned his mount to parallel Alucius and the gray, Wendra urged her mount back toward Alucius and Royalt.

  “What’s wrong?” Alucius asked. “Has something happened at the stead? Has something happened to Mother?”

  “No one’s hurt. Nothing’s broken, but things are looking…not so good,” Royalt said. “I’d like Wendra to hear what’s happened.”

  Alucius refrained from asking again, although he wondered why Royalt didn’t want to say immediately, then tell Wendra when she joined them. Both herders kept moving the stragglers up the slope, waiting until Wendra rode up on the other side of Royalt, so that the older herder rode in the middle.

  “What is it?” asked Wendra.

  “It’s for Alucius, but I thought you both would like a little warning. There’s a Southern Guard officer waiting to talk to you, Alucius. Brought more than a whole company of Southern Guards and a couple of Northern Guard scouts. Says he’s a marshal. Named Frynkel.” Royalt glanced at his grandson. “You know him?”

  Alucius’s whole body stiffened, and he tried to make his words even, measured. “There is a Marshal Frynkel. Well, he was a submarshal then. I met him. I even had dinner with him and the Lord-Protector’s arms-commander. That was Marshal Wyerl. I suppose he still is.”

  “No…” murmured Wendra, so low that Alucius barely heard the word, although her body posture told him as much as that single syllable.

  “Worse yet,” said Royalt. “I don’t like it that they’re sending a marshal and one that you know personally, all the way from Lanachrona. Marshals don’t ride days or weeks to see herders. Not without the kind of reason I’d rather not hear.”

  Alucius was sure he didn’t want to hear what Frynkel had to say, either, because they wanted something, and it was likely that they thought he would have to accept, whatever it was.