Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You don’t make it sound easy.”

  “I’m probably not telling you anything you don’t already know, but someone has to tell you, just in case you hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Some of it, I had thought about. Hadn’t thought about people trying to kill me long after it was all over.”

  “Alucius…nothing is ever all over. Nothing,” Royalt repeated firmly.

  Those words—“nothing is ever all over”—echoed in his thoughts as he continued to walk toward the stead house, listening to his grandsire.

  25

  On Londi morning, well before dawn, after Alucius had turned in the wide bed and wrapped his arms around Wendra one last time, he slowly swung into a sitting position. He looked back at her, taking in her face and the warmth within her. He swallowed, thinking of what lay ahead of him.

  She slid into a sitting position beside him, leaning against his shoulder for a time, and Alucius rested his head against hers.

  Finally, he turned and kissed her once more. “I’d better get ready.”

  She smiled. “You said that earlier.”

  “I know. But it’s later now.” Alucius stood and made his way out of the bedroom to the washroom across the hall. The water was cold, but not so frigid as it would become as fall followed harvest, and especially when the cold winter of the north descended upon the stead. After he washed and shaved, he returned to the bedroom, where he donned the nightsilk undergarments, then the blue-trimmed black uniform of a Northern Guard officer—with the silver insignia of an overcaptain, since he had none for a majer.

  Wendra had already dressed and made her way to the kitchen, where she and Lucenda had breakfast waiting for him.

  “Riders a ways out on the lane,” announced Royalt, entering the kitchen. “You’re getting an escort this time.”

  “They want to make sure he doesn’t change his mind,” said Lucenda, her voice hard. “Not that he will.”

  “Now…Lucenda,” offered Royalt. “Not as though he’s got any choice. We don’t either, not these days.”

  “I know that. I don’t have to like it.” She turned to Alucius, her voice softening. “You’d better eat. You’ve got a long ride.”

  “Longer than I’d like,” he admitted, seating himself at the end of the table with his back to the archway into the main room.

  Wendra nodded, sitting down to his right.

  Alucius ate the egg toast and ham quietly and quickly, glancing occasionally at Wendra, who ate almost mechanically.

  “Pretty clear that they want to get you south quicklike,” observed Royalt after a mouthful of his ham. “Lord-Protector must have his hands full and then some.”

  “He should have kept them off us,” replied Lucenda tartly.

  “Sad as that is,” countered Royalt, “we’re better off under him than we were with the last Council.”

  “Self-centered gold-grubbers, and those were the best of the lot.”

  “We herders knew that years ago. Just that no one listened to us.” Royalt took a swallow of the cider. “Always that way. Greed usually drowns common sense.”

  “Can’t swim the rivers of trouble wearing gold armor,” added Lucenda.

  Alucius and Wendra traded knowing glances. Royalt winked in their direction when Lucenda turned back to the hot stove.

  When he had finished eating, Alucius stood and walked to the window. “They’re about here. Better get my gear.”

  He turned and headed toward the rear of the house, and Wendra followed. In the comparative privacy of their bedroom, he embraced Wendra one more time, with another lingering kiss.

  “You be careful,” he whispered. “You and Alendra.”

  “Shhh…”

  Alucius understood the age-old taboo against using the name of an unborn child, but he had to voice her name at least once before he left. “Both of you take care.”

  “You, too.”

  Reluctantly, he released her and lifted the saddlebags that held a nightsilk vest and his cold weather riding jacket, as well as his other uniforms and gear—and the nightsilk skull mask that had proved useful in the past.

  Lucenda had vanished from the kitchen when Alucius walked back through with Wendra, but Alucius had half expected that, knowing his mother had trouble with his leaving. She always had, from his first conscription.

  Royalt nodded to his grandson. “Just remember to think it through.”

  “I’ll try.” Alucius gave his grandsire a smile, and with both rifles in hand and Wendra by his side, he walked out of the house and down toward the stable. The lead riders of the Southern Guard were less than a hundred yards from the stead when the two herders entered the stable.

  Alucius saddled the gray quickly but methodically, strapped his gear behind the saddle, and set the rifles in the double holsters. Then he turned. Even as he put his arms around Wendra, hers were around him.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “Take care of both of you.”

  “I love you, too. We want you back.”

  In time, too short a time, Alucius led his mount out into the cloudy morning. Wendra remained by the stable door.

  What looked to be two squads of mounted Southern Guards stood in formation behind two officers—Captain Geragt and Marshal Frynkel.

  Frynkel rode forward and reined up short of Alucius. “I thought you might have trouble getting these.” The marshal leaned forward and extended his hand.

  “Thank you.” Alucius took the majer’s insignia, slipping them into a pocket for a moment while he removed those of an overcaptain, then replaced the old insignia with the new. Then he swung up into the saddle. “If your men would like to water your mounts…”

  “Ah…I had them take that liberty. I trusted that you wouldn’t mind.” Frynkel’s voice was apologetic.

  “That’s fine.” Alucius nodded. “Then we’re ready.”

  Frynkel nodded to Geragt, then eased his mount up beside Alucius’s gray.

  “Eighth company!” ordered the captain. “Forward!”

  Alucius kept his eyes on Wendra until he was past the stable and could no longer see her without contorting himself in the saddle.

  Once they were on the lane, headed out to the main road, Frynkel looked at Alucius and at the double rifle holder, as well as the pair of heavy rifles resting there. His eyes moved to the pack set behind the gray’s saddle. “There wouldn’t be an ammunition belt in there, by any chance?”

  “There just might be, sir.” Alucius smiled.

  “Fifth Company, Northern Guard, was supposed to have reached Dekhron last night. Overcaptain Feran conveys his regards.” Frynkel chuckled. “He also said that he hoped that this campaign would be less adventurous than the last time he served under you.”

  “We can hope that we don’t run into pteridons and skylances,” Alucius said. “But I’d like your thoughts on this revolt. From what I’ve seen, the Lord-Protector is a good ruler. So why are people up in arms against him?”

  “We don’t know. Not for certain. They’re rebels who were living in the hills to the southwest of Hyalt. They showed up with weapons and mounts on a Decdi morning at dawn, attacked the two squads of Southern Guards left there, and slaughtered them to the last man. Some of the wealthier merchants and crafters managed to escape. They reported that the insurgents, or the invaders, numbered more than three hundred armed men. They’re mostly followers of a cult that believes in the return of the True Duarchy, whatever that might mean.”

  “A new duarchy under their guidance,” suggested Alucius.

  “That well might be.”

  “Wasn’t there a post, a fortified one, at Hyalt?” Alucius recalled having breakfast, years before, with an overcaptain stationed there. The man had seemed a good sort, and Talent usually allowed a good judgment of character.

  “There was never a hint of trouble. The gates have been open there for years. They were open that morning.” Frynkel shrugged.

  Royalt had definitely been right, Alucius reflected.
“And what sort of support will I get from the Southern Guard?”

  “Two or three companies of new lancers just out of training, with a handful of experienced squad leaders and some junior captains, one who’s never seen a battle. You’ll pick them up in Krost, where they’re winding up training.”

  “You have great confidence in me.”

  “As I heard the story, you took an entire company of green forced conscripts, broke them free of the Matrial’s collars, trained them, and bested four companies of the Matrial’s best. For an officer who can do that, this should not be all that hard.” A smile played around the marshal’s lips. “Of course, I could have heard the story wrong.”

  “You heard it mostly right. Except we didn’t really best four companies. We evaded two and attacked the other two. We just fought well enough to break through them and get home to the Iron Valleys.”

  “An officer who doesn’t listen to the stories about himself. That’s even rarer than a good battlefield commander, and you’re both.”

  “I did what had to be done,” Alucius said.

  “That’s what all good commanders say.”

  “And bad ones as well,” replied the younger officer.

  Frynkel laughed, then went on conversationally. “I was asking around, Majer, and I was told an interesting story. After you were released from duty as an overcaptain and were headed back home, you were attacked by brigands. Some twenty of them. A senior squad leader said that you’d been badly injured, but that you’d killed all twenty. Not one brigand survived, he said.” The marshal looked at Alucius. “How true is that?”

  Alucius shrugged. “I killed most of them. I don’t know how many others there might have been because I wasn’t in very good shape at the end.”

  “Amazing story. And no one ever tried to find out why twenty brigands were sent after you?”

  “Not that I know. At that point, I was still recovering and just wanted to get home. Nothing like that ever happened again. There wasn’t much reason to stir things up.”

  “And no one ever mentioned it to you? Even indirectly?”

  “No one, except family here on the stead, of course.”

  “Hmmm…You never heard from Colonel Weslyn about the matter?”

  “No, sir. Then, I was no longer on the active rolls. I am certain that the colonel has had other more pressing concerns. How did you find him?”

  “He was most pleasant, although somewhat puzzled at my inspection tour. That was another reason for my trip through the Iron Valleys.”

  “He has always been most pleasant,” Alucius said politely.

  “So far as I could tell, he has never been in command in any skirmish or battle.”

  “That is something I didn’t know.”

  “He had served two years as a captain sometime ago,” Frynkel continued, “and then headed the guards for a trader—Halanat was the name, I believe. After the death of a Majer Dysar, about which I understand you have some knowledge—the Traders’ Council prevailed upon Colonel Clyon to name him as the assistant commander. Certain irregularities were then removed from the records. I assume you know what occurred after that.”

  “Colonel Clyon’s strange illness and death? Yes.” Alucius wondered what irregularities had occurred. “As a captain in the field, I would not have heard about irregularities in Dekhron.”

  “You were doubtless concerned about more pressing matters—such as surviving brigand attacks. I was led to believe that a young trader died under rather mysterious circumstances following the death of Colonel Clyon’s youngest daughter.”

  “And the young trader was the son of Halanat?”

  “No. He was the son of a man called Ostar.”

  Alucius kept his nod to himself. No wonder the Iron Valleys had been forced to accept annexation by and union with Lanachrona. The Traders’ Council had had far too little interest in anything but their own personal schemes and machinations. But then, the Lord-Protector and the Southern Guard had their schemes and machinations, and Alucius could only hope that their goals were somewhat more noble.

  “I haven’t paid that much attention to what has been happening outside of the Iron Valleys,” Alucius said. “If you would not mind, since we do have some time on the road, I would appreciate anything that you could tell me that might bear in any way, however indirect, upon my commission…”

  Frynkel turned in the saddle and looked at the captain who rode behind them. “Geragt…move up closer. It won’t hurt you to hear all this.” Then he cleared his throat and began. “The simplest way to begin is…Nothing is going quite right. Not disastrously wrong, not yet, anyway. I’ll start in the east. We have some scattered reports that the new Praetor of Alustre is continuing to increase his forces…”

  Alucius listened intently, hoping somehow that what he heard would prove even more useful than Frynkel intended.

  26

  The ride to Dekhron was long, even on the roads of the ancients, and the two squads were forced to stop on the first night at Sudon, then continue on the next morning to Dekhron. There had been but a handful of squad leaders and officers at the training base at Sudon who knew Alucius personally, but all had seemingly heard of him and his past achievements—and by the time he had finished breakfast on Duadi, the newly promoted majer was relieved to mount up and be back on the road to Dekhron.

  The clouds of Londi had been replaced by a clear silver-green sky, with a crisp but light wind out of the northwest. The golden grain in the fields to the west of the eternastone road bent slightly to the wind.

  Neither Alucius nor Frynkel spoke much until they were a good five vingts away from Sudon and back on the main road south.

  “You have quite a reputation, even today,” observed the marshal. “That is most interesting.”

  “Why do you think that is interesting, sir?” asked Alucius.

  “When all are doing deeds that are honorable and heroic, there are few with reputations that are heroic, and even fewer stories. The deeds are told quietly, as if necessary, and then all go out and do what they must.”

  “You seem to be suggesting that there are not enough heroic deeds in the Northern Guard.”

  “Not exactly, Majer. Those who are true heroes are the men who do what must be done, with fear in their hearts and full understanding of the odds and risks they face. That is what you have done, and I would wager that most of those in your companies also did the same. When you were decorated by the Landarch of Deforya, as I recall, you did not wear the Star of Gallantry. Nor do you now, nor the Star of Honor.”

  “There were many who deserved those stars, Marshal. Many of them did not live, but they deserved them as much as I.”

  “You said that to the Lord-Protector, did you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And how did your men speak of what you did?”

  “I don’t recall that they did, sir. Most of them did not wish to speak of what we did at all.”

  “That was my point. When a fighting force must look only to past heroics and not to present deeds and duties, all is not as it should be.”

  “And what of the Southern Guard?”

  “I fear that you are also a hero there, if not of quite such great dimensions.” Frynkel laughed softly. “Still…it is a rare man who has been a hero for three lands before he has reached his thirtieth year, and even rarer for him to have survived those heroics.”

  “I was extraordinarily fortunate.” As he replied, Alucius could not help but wonder what had happened over the past two years, and how Lanachrona had gotten into such a situation.

  “You doubtless were, and let us hope that such fortune continues. We all could benefit from such.” Frynkel smiled. “Now…I should tell you more about the geography of the hills to the southwest of Hyalt.”

  Alucius nodded, listening.

  27

  Alustre, Lustrea

  The man who sat in the unadorned silver chair on the dais wore the silver-and-black jacket of the Praetor wi
th the matching silver trousers. He scowled, the expression making his youthful face ugly rather than older. Although he tossed his head slightly, his short and pale blond hair did not move at all. Neither did his black eyes, which remained fixed on the two men in the tunics of Praetorian Engineers.

  “You have been working for nearly two years in Prosp, and you can report nothing beyond this?” He lifted a thin sheaf of paper.

  “Honored Praetor Tyren,” replied the taller and broader engineer, his eyes still downcast, “it took more than half a year to clean out the rubble, sir. You instructed us to be most careful and to try to salvage all that we could. We took the utmost care.”

  “There was no sign of Vestor?”

  “Ah…his clothes and possessions were there, lying on the floor, as if he had vanished and they had fallen on the floor. There was a pistollike weapon, but nothing like anything we’d seen before. It was crushed, and we’ve been working to see if we can replicate it.”

  “Why not just repair it?” Tyren’s voice carried untarnished sarcasm.

  “It was destroyed beyond all repair.”

  For a moment, there was silence before the Praetor spoke again. “In this report, you claim that the Table was unbroken. How could that be when two stories of building stones collapsed over it so that nothing was left but a heap of rock?”

  “Sir, that was what we found. The Table was untouched. The stones that collapsed on it cracked and broke, but there is not a scratch upon it. As you instructed, we rebuilt the structure around it, but with greater reinforcements.”

  “Have you had any success with the Table?”