Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Alucius flushed.

  Feran laughed. “Wager you brought writing paper.”

  “That’s not even a wager. I just hope I’ll have time to write.” And that the messages actually get to Wendra, he added silently.

  “Here comes the marshal.”

  Alucius turned. Although Frynkel had a smile on his face, as did Geragt, Alucius could sense anger in the marshal.

  “It’s been a long day, a very long day,” Frynkel said. “Time for a good ale.”

  “I’d agree,” Alucius replied.

  He found himself walking beside the marshal, who was clearly disinclined to talk, with Feran and Geragt following.

  Less than a hundred yards south of the post, the Red Ram was an old redstone building set on the corner, with ancient and narrow windows. The graying Elyset met them at the door. She smiled professionally.

  Alucius inclined his head to the proprietress, projecting warmth and friendliness, as he had done once years before. “It’s good to see you again.” He grinned. “You suggested the quail the last time. Is it still the tastiest thing you have?”

  Elyset laughed. “Majer or not, you’re still a trooper. Don’t have any quail today. No pheasant, either, but the noodles and fowl are good.” She turned to Frynkel with a smile. “We don’t see marshals often, and I’ve seen you more than a few times in the past week. Best we get you seated.” She led the way toward the corner beside a cold hearth covered with a wicker screen. “Be quiet here this evening.”

  Frynkel took the seat in the corner, and Alucius sat to his left, across from Feran.

  Instead of a server coming to the table, Elyset stayed. “Expect you know the drinks—ale, lager, wine. Right now, we’ve got stew. Always stew. Lamb cutlets, and the Vedra chicken with the heavy noodles. And lymbyl.”

  “I’ll have ale and lymbyl,” Frynkel said. “And the heavy dark bread.”

  Alucius had never liked the eel-like lymbyl. “The ale…and you suggested the fowl and noodles. Is that the Vedra chicken?”

  “That’s it. You want it?”

  “Yes, with the dark bread, too.”

  Feran and Geragt both opted for the chicken, and Feran took ale, but Geragt asked for wine.

  The drinks arrived almost as soon as Elyset left, brought by a taller and younger woman.

  Frynkel lifted his ale. “To a successful campaign.”

  “To a successful campaign,” echoed the other officers.

  Even as he repeated the words, Alucius wondered how one judged a campaign against a revolt or a rebellion as successful, but he merely took a swallow of the ale and waited to see what else the marshal might offer.

  “You know this won’t be the usual campaign,” Frynkel said after a long swallow of ale.

  “I imagine not,” Alucius replied. “Dead people don’t pay tariffs, and if the rebels believe deeply, you either have to kill very few or all of them.”

  A puzzled expression flitted across Geragt’s face. Feran offered the hint of an amused smile.

  Frynkel chuckled. “You’ve been thinking.” He turned toward Geragt. “He’s right. If the rebels believe deeply that the Lord-Protector is wrong or evil, for every man that the majer kills, two others will take up arms. That’s because the deaths will prove to others that the Lord-Protector is evil.”

  “Or something like that,” murmured Feran under his breath.

  “Needless to say, it couldn’t have come at a worse time, which is why it did,” added the marshal, lifting his right hand to his eye to calm it. “We not only have to fight the Regent, but attacks on Southgate by Dramurian warships, and unrest by our own merchants who want tariffs lowered because the costs of all goods traded anywhere outside of Lanachrona are going up. Of course, we need higher tariffs to protect the merchants and traders, but they don’t see that.”

  “Why is all this happening now?” asked Feran.

  “Because people take advantage of weakness, I’d judge,” replied Frynkel. “The True Duarchists have been preaching against the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona for generations. There was a small revolt there when the Lord Talryn’s grandsire was Lord-Protector. They waited until they thought the time was right, when they thought that the Lord-Protector couldn’t bring many troops to Hyalt. It could be they figured he might well ignore it, because it’s out of the way.”

  “So why didn’t he, sir?” pressed Feran politely.

  “Out of the way or not, it sets an example. The dryland spice traders of Soupat might decide they’d like to be independent. Or the mountaineers near Indyor. The Deforyan Council has already decided to impose exorbitant tariffs on our traders. Who knows what would be next?”

  “Where did they come up with the golds for weapons and ammunition?” asked Alucius. “Does anyone know?”

  “No,” admitted Frynkel. “We went through all the trading records, but that doesn’t mean much.”

  “Not if someone wanted to hide it,” Alucius said. “Or if they were smuggled in from Madrien.”

  “It is shorter from Madrien, and the Regent of the Matrial will try anything to weaken Lanachrona,” mused the marshal.

  “Would these True Duarchists accept weapons from Madrien?” asked Feran.

  “Who’s to say that they’d even know where the weapons came from? They’re the same standard that we use—not as heavy as those monsters you in the Northern Guard carry—but they could come from any number of gunsmiths. I doubt that the Duarchists care in the slightest.” Frynkel followed the words with a dry laugh.

  The more Alucius heard, the more everything seemed to make sense—and the more he felt he was missing something. He decided to follow his grandsire’s advice once more, and listen as much as he could and say as little as possible.

  He took another small swallow of the ale. It, at least, was good.

  29

  Early on Tridi, just after the Northern Guard muster, Alucius sat mounted on the gray as Fifth Company formed up on the north side of the courtyard. Eighth Company of the Southern Guard was forming up on the other side, south of the headquarters building.

  Alucius watched and listened while Feran addressed Fifth Company. Mounted beside and slightly back of Feran was the senior squad leader—Egyl—who’d been Alucius’s senior squad leader after Longyl had been killed battling the nomads led by Aellyan Edyss. Alucius wondered how many other men he’d recognize.

  “…be leaving shortly, but there will be a brief inspection by Majer Alucius. Full open ranks!”

  “Full open ranks!” repeated Egyl, his voice booming across the courtyard. “Ready for inspection!”

  “Fifth Company stands ready for inspection, sir,” Feran reported.

  “Thank you, Overcaptain.” Alucius guided his gray along the first rank of first squad, followed by Feran, then by Egyl.

  Alucius couldn’t help but note the square-faced first squad scout. “Waris…you ready for this?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The fifth trooper was also a man he recalled. “Skant. Are you ready for warmer weather than we had in Emal?”

  “Yes, sir…so long as it’s not too hot.”

  As he rode through the open ranks of Fifth Company, he managed to recall more than a few names and incidents, including Reltyr, who had suffered more than a few problems with an unfaithful wife when Twenty-first Company had been stationed at Emal before the annexation. Although the inspection seemed to take a long time, only slightly more than a half glass had passed by the time he returned to the front of the Fifth Company.

  “That was good, sir,” Feran said quietly. “You got most of them.”

  “And the ones I didn’t will be wondering why I didn’t…”

  “Better they’re wondering than thinking you don’t remember anyone.”

  Alucius hoped so. He eased his gray away from Feran. “I’ll let the marshal know we’re ready.”

  Feran grinned. “Sir…you’re supposed to have me send someone.”

  Alucius shrugged helplessly. “I have to
get back to being an officer and not a herder.”

  The overcaptain turned. “Egyl…send one of the scouts to inform the marshal that Majer Alucius and Fifth Company stand ready to depart.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alucius glanced toward the headquarters building, but he did not see Colonel Wesyln. That was not surprising. Doubtless the colonel was on the south side, seeing Marshal Frynkel off. Alucius couldn’t help but wonder whether Weslyn knew that Frynkel neither cared for him nor respected him. He supposed the colonel knew. Weslyn was too astute in playing the political currents not to know. That was one aspect of being a Northern Guard officer that Alucius could easily have done without, although his Talent was extraordinarily useful in sensing those types of undercurrents.

  “They’ll be waiting,” Feran suggested.

  “No doubt of that. They probably didn’t do an inspection, although I wouldn’t have put it past the marshal.”

  “I wouldn’t, either.”

  Shortly after Waris returned from delivering the message, from the far side of the courtyard on the south side of the headquarters building came the command, “Eighth Company! Forward!”

  “We’ll hold till Eighth Company clears the gates,” Alucius said.

  Feran nodded.

  Before too long, Alucius inclined his head to Feran.

  “Fifth Company! Forward!”

  As he and Feran led Fifth Company, from behind the last riders Alucius could hear the wheels of the supply wagons on the stone pavement of the courtyard. The sound of iron on stone diminished once the wagons rolled out through the gate and onto the hard-packed clay of the avenue that led eastward to the eternastone road south through Dekhron.

  The buildings in Dekhron were similar to those in Iron Stem, mostly built of salvaged stone, and with either tile or slate roofs. Too many of the shutters had peeling paint, or none at all. While a number of the older dwellings nearest the river piers were two or even three stories in height, they looked even more run-down, as if they were boardinghouses for the poorer dock and river workers.

  The trading buildings near the center of Dekhron had been better maintained, and several sported fresh paint and clean glass windows. Still, Dekhron appeared quieter than the last time Alucius had been there—with but a handful of people on the streets—and that surprised him, after having heard from Kyrial and Kustyl that trade had recently picked up in the river town.

  At the eastern end of the avenue, Eighth Company turned south onto the eternastone high road, and Alucius and Fifth Company followed, riding past the last several blocks before the river.

  The high road leaving Dekhron and leading to the bridge reminded Alucius of Hieron, because the causeway leading to the bridge had been built long before the trade section of the town beside the river. Several inclined roads had been constructed later to connect to the eternastone pavement. As Alucius rode up the causeway out of Dekhron, the sound of hoofs from the Eighth Company ahead of him echoed off the eternastone pavement and side walls of the ancient Duarchial bridge over the River Vedra. It was a bridge Alucius might have called grand years before, arching over the river and standing out against the low dwellings of Salaan on the south side of the river. But, after having seen the massive and graceful structures over the Vedra at Hieron, or the stone canyon through the Upper Spine Mountains, the bridge he crossed seemed more of a marvel as a part of a system of highways and bridges that had endured for thousands of years—a dark marvel, because he was one of the very few who knew the cost that system had imposed on Corus.

  The bridge itself held a roadway twice the width of the high road, but without the dividing curb of the larger bridges Alucius had seen in Madrien. The stone guardhouse on the southern side still had not been torn down, as Feran had done to the one in Emal more than two years before, and that also troubled Alucius. From Alucius’s point of view, such remnants of the near-open former hostilities between the Iron Valleys and Lanachrona would best have been removed as soon as possible.

  Just beyond the southern end of the bridge, to the left, had been the Southern Guard fort. Alucius glanced eastward. The center and building and the barracks and stables remained, but the glass was gone from the windows, and stones had been knocked out of the stable walls and removed. He looked away, shaking his head.

  “What is it?” asked Feran.

  “The Southern Guard—just packed up and left their fort. There won’t be anything left in another year or two except rubble. It seems like such a waste.”

  “They don’t want to spend the golds to keep it up, and who would buy it?”

  “I know.” It was another thing that bothered Alucius. Too much was getting more run-down. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that. Instead, he looked ahead to the high road, diverging gradually from the River Vedra as it headed southwest, and he thought of the long ride ahead, each glass carrying him farther from the stead, from Wendra, and from their daughter.

  30

  Two long days later found the two companies on the high road at the place where it once more met the River Vedra.

  “Marshal’s picking up the pace,” Feran noted.

  “It’s only about a glass to the post here.” Alucius studied the steads and fields, taking in the two rivers, the Vyana to his left, running westward through the lower fields to the south, and the Vedra to his right. Before all that long, even through the dust raised by Eighth Company, the walls of Borlan Post appeared on the right side of the high road ahead, set on the higher triangle of land formed by the junction of the River Vedra and the River Vyana.

  Fifth Company followed Eighth up the cracked pavement of the side road to the post, slowing and then halting for a time just outside the gates—gates without sentries, Alucius noted.

  From somewhere ahead, Alucius heard a greeting. “Marshal Frynkel, welcome to Borlan Post! You do us honor, and we offer all that we can to ease your journey.”

  Alucius recalled similar words, delivered in a similar tone, and he wondered if Majer Ebuin still remained at Borlan.

  Fragments of Frynkel’s response drifted back.

  “…appreciate the welcome, Majer…your courtesy and support…most welcome…two full companies…Majer Alucius…Northern Guard…may recall him…Overcaptain Feran…”

  The blond majer—who was indeed Ebuin—remained outside the post headquarters building, waiting for Alucius and Fifth Company, while the marshal and Eighth Company had moved on toward the stables.

  “Majer.” Alucius inclined his head as he reined up once more. “I’m pleased to see you. This is Overcaptain Feran, in command of Fifth Company.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Majer…and to meet you, Overcaptain.”

  Feran nodded.

  “Are you now the post commandant?” Alucius asked politely.

  Ebuin nodded. “I am. Captain-colonel Yermyn was stipended in the spring, and Borlan Post will be reduced to a travel post under a captain at the turn of the year. I’ll remain here until the changeover.”

  Alucius hadn’t really considered that the annexation of the Iron Valleys would also have had a wide-ranging impact on Lanachrona, but it certainly made no sense to retain a large outpost at Borlan now that the northern side of the Vedra was part of Lanachrona. In fact, as he considered it, he had to wonder why the reduction had not occurred earlier. “Do you know where you’ll be posted then?”

  Ebuin shrugged. “Best we get your men.” He raised a hand, and a Southern Guard stepped forward from behind him. “Squad Leader Henthyn can help get your squad leaders oriented. You know where the officers’ stable is. Marshal Frynkel will be taking the commandant’s quarters, and that will allow each of you a room in the visiting officers’s quarters.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alucius and Feran rode to the stables, where they unsaddled and groomed their mounts. Then Alucius—carrying his rifles and saddlebags—led the way to the structure behind the headquarters building, climbing up the steps to the upper level. As he recalle
d, their rooms would be the last three—all sharing a single washroom.

  Alucius had the end room, slightly larger but still modest, with a bed for one, a writing desk, boot and weapons racks, and a narrow armoire.

  While Feran checked on Fifth Company, Alucius used the cool water in the washroom to clean up, then to wash out one uniform and one set of nightsilk undergarments. After dressing in his other uniform, he made his way down the steps. Then he stopped. What was he going to do? He’d only get in Feran’s way, and the older officer knew his duties, probably far better than Alucius did at the moment.

  Alucius climbed back up the steps and reentered his temporary quarters. He seated himself at the writing desk. Here he was, a majer in charge of one company and shortly to be in charge of three or four, and he’d never thought about exactly how he was going to handle things. He hadn’t been given any instruction or ideas, either from the marshal or from Colonel Weslyn, and he needed to set up some sort of structure to run three or four companies, and one that didn’t take many lancers.

  He was still jotting down notes when Feran knocked on the door to the quarters.

  “Majer…the marshal has asked us to join him for supper…”

  Alucius quickly stood. He had most of his ideas down in rough form, not that there were all that many.

  “What were you doing?” asked Feran, as Alucius stepped out of his quarters.

  “Trying to figure out how to run three or four companies without riding over my own mount.”

  “You’ve done that before.”

  “Ride over my own mount? Several times, at least.”

  Feran frowned. “You were in charge of all the companies on the way back from Deforya.”

  “We didn’t have to do all that much except ride west on the highway,” Alucius pointed out dryly. He started down the steps to the lower level. “That didn’t take much skill. Here, we’re going to be trying to put down a rebellion, and I’d guess that’s going to mean different companies in different places.”

  “So…what do you have in mind?”