Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You have any idea why?” asked the older herder.

  “They’ve got real trouble, I’d guess. But…why would they want me?”

  “Because you’re one of the best troop commanders in the north, and because Weslyn’s too stupid to know it.”

  “He’s not too stupid. He knows it. He just doesn’t care for me. And the traders who back him don’t like herders.”

  “Same thing. Officer who lets his personal feelings get in the way is second-rate. At best.”

  “Weslyn’s not with him?”

  “No. Didn’t see any Northern Guard officers.”

  That meant that the Lord-Protector wanted something, and whatever it was, it was most likely that he didn’t want the commander of the Northern Guard to know until afterward. And that would leave Alucius in a very bad position with regard to Weslyn—unless the Lord-Protector wanted Alucius as an officer in the Southern Guard, and that could be even worse.

  The three split up to herd the flock back together for the last vingt or so of the return to the stead, across the crest of Westridge and down the western side. As they came down the western side of the long rise, Alucius could make out the riders drawn up in formation between the house and the stead outbuildings, almost all of them in the blue of the Southern Guard.

  When Alucius was but a few hundred yards from the formation, Royalt rode back over toward his grandson. “Wendra and I’ll take care of the flock. You might as well see what he wants.”

  Alucius nodded and turned the gray toward the four riders at the head of the formation. He reined up several yards short of them, then bowed his head slightly. “Marshal Frynkel, it’s both a surprise and an honor to see you here.”

  “Doubtless more a surprise than an honor,” replied Frynkel. “I would request a little time alone with you, if you would not mind.”

  “With your having come so far, I would be happy to grant you whatever time you might need or think necessary.” Alucius gestured toward the house. “Your men could stand down. There’s more than enough water in the troughs, and the outside pump offers good water for water bottles.” He smiled wryly. “I cannot offer to feed everyone, not on such short notice.”

  “We would appreciate the water.” Frynkel looked to the captain mounted beside him. “If you would take care of the watering with all due care, Captain Geragt?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alucius guided the gray to the pair of stone posts in front of the steps up to the house, where he dismounted and tied his mount. Frynkel followed without speaking.

  Alucius turned toward the porch where Lucenda stood, her face set in an expression that Alucius had seen but once before and had hoped he would not see again.

  Frynkel had dismounted and joined Alucius.

  Alucius raised his voice slightly. “Marshal Frynkel, this is my mother, Lucenda. Mother, this is Marshal Frynkel. Unless matters have changed, he is one of the senior marshals of all Lanachrona.”

  Frynkel inclined his head. “I am honored. Your son is the finest battle commander in Corus, and the most honorable officer I have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

  Frynkel’s words did little to remove Alucius’s apprehension.

  “Your words are kind, Marshal,” returned Lucenda. “I will leave you to what must be done.” She inclined her head, then turned, leaving the porch.

  “Overcaptain Alucius,” began Frynkel, “I have been personally asked by the Lord-Protector to convey a request to you.”

  “Why don’t you come on in?” Alucius suggested. “You can tell me inside.” He walked up the steps, then held the door for the marshal. After following the senior officer into the foyer, he led the way to the main room.

  “Before we begin,” the marshal said, “I would ask you to inspect my credentials.” He extended a folder. “Please read them carefully.”

  Alucius took the folder, trying not to focus on the tic in Frynkel’s right eye, and concentrated on studying the commission that granted Frynkel the full powers, rights, and privileges of the Lord-Protector himself in the Iron Valleys. The second document was a letter with the Lord-Protector’s seal that stated that the marshal had the right and the authority to treat as necessary with, and in a manner befitting the greatest of respect for, one Alucius, former and present overcaptain of the Northern Guard. After a time, the herder handed the folder back. “If you would like to sit…”

  “Thank you.” Frynkel settled into the armchair that had been the favorite of Alucius’s grandmother. “Comfortable chair.”

  “My family’s always liked it. Especially my grandmother.”

  “She had good judgment.” Frynkel smiled, leaning forward, his eyes directly on Alucius. “You know that the Lord-Protector owes you a great deal and that he respects you greatly.” His eye twitched once.

  “He must have a great need, to send you here,” Alucius replied.

  “He has a request of you. It is a request because he also is a man of his word, and he promised you that he would not call you or order you back to service. But the need is great, and he asked me to tell you what that need is in explaining his request.” Frynkel absently smoothed back the few thin strands of black hair remaining in the center of a balding head, then pressed the edge of his palm against his right eye for a moment.

  “Please do.” Alucius could feel a chill settling over him. Whatever it was, the few Talent-creatures on the stead paled before what was about to happen. What bothered him most was the feeling of directness and honesty within the marshal. That was truly frightening.

  “You may know that the Regent of the Matrial has constructed a second crystal spear-thrower. That means that there is now one in the northern reaches of Madrien and one in the south…”

  Alucius had not known that, and he was certain that Frynkel had known he had not.

  “…the Northern Guard is struggling to hold to its gains in northern Madrien. According to Colonel Weslyn, there are few available men who can be conscripted into the Northern Guard.”

  “From what I know, sir, that is true. Any more conscription would wreak great harm on the Northern Valleys. There are already many crafters without sons, and, while their wives and daughters can carry on now, if too many more are lost there will be too few to pass on their crafts to the children.”

  Frynkel nodded. “My own inquiries have supported that. Unfortunately, events are proving most unkind. The Landarch of Deforya has been deposed by the great landowners there, and they have established a Council of Five. That Council has doubled tariffs in the east. The warring between Illegea and Ongelya has closed the southern route, and several caravans have been plundered, their traders killed. The Regent of the Matrial has retaken Fola and Dimor and is pressing southward. Somewhat over three weeks ago, a revolt erupted in Hyalt.”

  “And the Lord-Protector’s request?” asked Alucius, dreading the response.

  “While we believe that we can hold Southgate with the forces at hand, we cannot transfer more than a company or two to deal with the revolt in Hyalt. We believe that we could transfer but one company from the Northern Guard, and there are two, perhaps three, Southern Guard companies in training that could be spared. Yet, if we transfer more than those…” Frynkel spread his hands. “And if we do nothing, the revolt could spread and block the trading roads.”

  “You haven’t said what the Lord-Protector would request,” Alucius pointed out.

  “He would request your return to duty as a majer in charge of the forces to put down the revolt in Hyalt. The revolt has been fomented by a group that advocates a return of the ‘True Duarchy,’ whatever that may be. Most merchants and crafters—those that can—have fled and have appealed to the Lord-Protector to restore their lands and town to them.”

  “I can see what the Lord-Protector would gain,” Alucius replied slowly, “and I would be remiss in not appreciating his courtesy in making this a request. Still…that asks a great deal, not so much of me, but of my wife and family.”

  “Th
e Lord-Protector understands that as well. His need is great, but so is his gratitude. He would offer not only the rank and pay of a senior majer, but also a continuing stipend, in addition to your pay, to your wife, equal to your pay, while you serve outside the Iron Valleys. He will pay that personally. He also offers his gratitude.”

  Alucius nodded. There had to be more. So he waited.

  Frynkel leaned forward slightly, his voice lower as he spoke. “He also is deeply concerned about the future of the Northern Guard. Once you are successful in Hyalt, he would be most appreciative if you would become the commander of the Northern Guard.”

  “Me?”

  “You.” Frynkel withdrew a narrower envelope from his jacket and extended it. “This is for you.”

  Alucius took the envelope as though it contained a death sentence, breaking the outer seal and withdrawing the single sheet carefully.

  My dear Overcaptain Alucius—

  As you may have gathered, the times have become most dangerous for us all, else I would not have sent Marshal Frynkel to tender my request of you to return to service. I know that you would prefer to be a herder. You have made that most clear. I also would prefer that, rather than making this request of you.

  Yet…we are not always allowed our choices, and the times make requests as well. The Northern Guard is not well served. By accepting my request, you can once more distinguish yourself, and in a rank that will permit no brooking of your becoming commander of the Northern Guard once you complete this mission. This letter, which I suggest you tender to your family for safekeeping, is a written promise of my faith in and gratitude toward you….

  The signature was that of Talryn, Lord-Protector of Lanachrona, and from what Alucius recalled from the signatures on his discharge orders, it was indeed the Lord-Protector’s.

  Alucius lowered the letter, folding it and slipping it back into the envelope. He could not block the shock on his face, not for a moment, and he said nothing until he felt he was more in control. “Matters are that bad?”

  “They may be worse since I left Tempre,” Frynkel replied. “I cannot imagine how they could have improved.”

  Did Alucius have a choice? A real one? Not that he could see. Finally, he nodded, and asked, “What company of the Northern Guard?”

  “The Fifth, under Overcaptain Feran. That contains what remained of your Twenty-first.” After a moment, Frynkel went on, “You would also receive the Lord-Protector’s commission as a senior majer in the Southern Guard. That way, none could gainsay your authority over lancers from either north or south.”

  “That would also subject me to the authority of the Southern Guard,” Alucius pointed out.

  Frynkel offered a rueful chuckle. “If you accept, you would be subject to such in any case.”

  “True,” Alucius admitted. “Could you tell me more about why this need is so great?”

  Frynkel cleared his throat. “The Regent of the Matrial has become even stronger…”

  As the marshal talked evenly about all the difficulties besetting the Lord-Protector, Alucius listened, but his own thoughts skittered around Frynkel’s words as well. Truly, he had not understood fully how much the military situation had changed in Corus in the more than two years since he had left the Northern Guard. Had the ifrits somehow returned and created the changes, adverse as they were, or had human nature just taken its normal course?

  His lips turned into a tight and wry smile. Did it matter?

  “…and for all these reasons, the Lord-Protector reluctantly decided to make this request of you. Will you consider such?”

  Alucius let the silence drag out. Finally, he spoke. “You believe what you say, and I have found the Lord-Protector to be an honorable man. Only a man blind and deaf would conclude that he had a choice. Since I am neither, I will accept, but I cannot leave for at least a few days.”

  Alucius heard the faintest gasp from the kitchen—from his mother.

  “We had thought that would be so. In any case, I will have to make the arrangements for Fifth Company to be recalled from Wesrigg. As I recall, they were just recently posted there in preparation to support the defenses around Arwyn.”

  Alucius nodded, waiting to see what else Frynkel had to say.

  “Colonel Weslyn will also need to be informed of the Lord-Protector’s request and orders, but it will be my pleasure to take care of that.” Frynkel smiled coldly. “That will require a certain…firmness. But he will not learn of the Lord-Protector’s eventual intent. Only the Lord-Protector, Marshal Wyerl, and I—and you—know that or will know it until just before it comes to pass.”

  Alucius could tell that Frynkel cared little for Colonel Weslyn. He also knew that his accepting the Lord-Protector’s request was foolish and dangerous, especially since it would establish him as a rival and an enemy of Weslyn, even if Frynkel did not inform Weslyn about the Lord-Protector’s future intentions for the commander of the Northern Guard.

  The “request” of the Lord-Protector was intolerable. It didn’t help much that the alternative was worse.

  20

  Alucius stood on the porch, watching as the Southern Guards rode down the lane, back toward Iron Stem, or perhaps to Wesrigg. Wendra and Royalt stood by the corral on the north side of the main sheep shed, watching as the blue-uniformed riders passed them. Absently, Alucius realized that either Wendra or Royalt had taken his gray and stabled and groomed the big gelding.

  “Alucius…”

  He turned to face his mother.

  “How could you…?” She looked at her son. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  “I don’t have any real choice,” he replied. “The Northern Guard can’t hold out against the Regent of the Matrial without support from the Southern Guard and the Lord-Protector, and they can’t provide it.”

  “Can’t…or won’t?”

  “Does it make any difference?” he countered.

  “Will it always be this way? Will you always take on what others should do?”

  Alucius didn’t have an answer, not one that he wanted to voice. He’d answered once before, and it hadn’t exactly helped. Instead, he just looked at her levelly.

  After a moment, she dropped her eyes.

  Silently, as the sun dropped behind the iron-sandy plains and quarasote flats to the west, Alucius and his mother waited and watched as the last of the Southern Guard lancers left the stead and as Royalt and Wendra walked from the corral toward them. No one spoke until all four were gathered on the southern part of the porch, just outside the door to the house.

  “What did the marshal want?” asked Royalt.

  “The Lord-Protector requested my return to service—as a favor,” Alucius replied. “They’ll promote me to majer. Senior majer.”

  “Senior majer? They must want you back a whole lot,” said Royalt.

  “You said you would, didn’t you?” Wendra’s voice was soft.

  “How could I not accept?” replied Alucius. “If I refused, before long I’d be asked again, less politely, and I would have to fight under even less advantageous conditions…and without the support of the Lord-Protector.”

  “How bad is it?” asked Royalt.

  “Worse than any of us thought, even Kustyl. The Regent of the Matrial has rallied the lancers of Madrien and come up with another crystal spear-thrower…” As the others listened, Alucius summarized what Marshal Frynkel had told him earlier. “…and everywhere there are problems. No one is going to help the Iron Valleys until they’ve dealt with things closer to their home. I don’t like that, but that’s the legacy we got from the old Council and the traders in Dekhron, and we have to deal with what is, not what we’d like.”

  “Always been that way.” Royalt shook his head slowly. “Always will be. Too few herders, and no one else cares.”

  “Not until it affects them, anyway,” Alucius pointed out.

  “You got another problem,” Royalt said. “This revolt in Hyalt. Anyone who puts it down, or tries to, isn’t
going to be real popular. Especially if you kill a bunch of folks. Maybe, the Lord-Protector—or his folk—have been doing something not real popular there. Could be why he wants an outsider to handle it.”

  “That’s possible,” Alucius admitted. Anything was possible. He’d already seen good and bad officers in the Southern Guard, and a few of the bad ones had been every bit as bad as Dysar, who had been the worst Alucius had encountered in the Northern Guard. It was also more than likely that the rebellion had been caused by poor administration or over-tariffing. But…he’d just have to see.

  “Better remember that for every man you kill, two will come forward to avenge him. That’s the way those southerners are. Got fire for blood, and not a lot in the way of brains,” Royalt said.

  There was another long silence.

  “I might as well get on with fixing supper. It’ll be a bit late.” Lucenda looked to Wendra. “I won’t need help yet.”

  “I’ll be there in a bit,” Wendra replied, as Lucenda slipped through the front door, closing it behind her.

  “Need to check the shed,” Royalt added. “What with all the commotion, not sure I locked everything tight.” He turned and headed down the steps, back toward the outbuildings, leaving Alucius and Wendra alone on the porch.

  Wendra looked at Alucius, her golden-flecked green eyes meeting his silver-gray orbs.

  After a moment, she said, “I know you have to do this. I could feel it.”

  “I don’t want to,” he said, taking her hands in his. “It’s just…”

  “…that you don’t have any choice. You can’t fight off the Matrial’s lancers by yourself, but if you help the Lord-Protector, you think there’s a chance that it won’t happen.”

  “Chance—that’s a good way of putting it.” Alucius uttered a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. “I’ve seen how many lancers Madrien has. I don’t know how this new Regent of the Matrial has managed to take over, but she has, and without the support of the Lord-Protector to block the Regent, Madrien can take the Iron Valleys in a season. Every year, we have fewer people and fewer golds…” He shook his head.