Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Alucius considered that the whole situation was upside down. He and his Guard companies were Lanachronan, but they were having to act as though they were invaders in their own land, and anyone away from the main force was definitely at risk. What was worse was that Alucius still knew very little about why this had happened, except that somehow the ifrits were involved. That didn’t make much sense, so far as he could determine, because Hyalt was as far as one could get—with the possible exception of Soupat—from other major towns and cities in Lanachrona. It wasn’t on the direct route to anywhere, such as cities like Borlan or Indyor, and even the Regent of the Matrial couldn’t have gotten to Hyalt by any major high road directly. There were no ifrit ruins or, so far as stories went, no rumors of a Table that might have been of use to the ifrits—unless there was one hidden somewhere. Yet matters were as they were, and Alucius had had few enough real choices.

  What was worse was that his efforts at individual scouting had lost him one scout, wounded another, and gotten another chased for vingts. On the other hand, anytime that they had encountered or found larger numbers of rebels it had been in a fighting situation where, when the dust had finally settled, there had been no survivors because any living rebel would keep trying to kill lancers until the rebel died.

  Alucius turned in the saddle toward Feran. “I’d like to send Waris out with some other lancers to see if they can scout that road up to the rebel camp—not too far—and capture a messenger—if they use them.”

  “Capture?”

  “We have to get some information. There haven’t been small groups of rebels or stead holders anywhere that we’ve been so far. If we can’t capture a messenger, then maybe on the road toward Hyalt we can find a stead or two with someone there and find out something.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt,” Feran agreed, turning in the saddle. “Waris!”

  Within moments, the scout had ridden forward, and Alucius had edged the gray to the right shoulder of the road, so that the three could ride abreast.

  “The majer has a job for you,” Feran said.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Alucius looked at Waris. “The task is simple. Accomplishing it won’t be. We need a captive lancer or armsman, one in good enough shape to answer questions. There’s a road ahead, a little over four vingts away, and it joins this one, and then the two run to Hyalt. The other road starts at the camp you scouted. There ought to be messengers or some travel along there. If there are just large parties, report back, and we’ll try something else. Oh, and pick two or three others you think can help you.”

  The scout looked to Feran. “Overcaptain, sir?”

  “Anyone but squad leaders or wounded.”

  In less than a quarter glass, Waris and three other lancers had ridden off, ahead of the main force, past the scouts and outriders ahead of the column.

  A good glass passed, and the scouts had reported nothing, and while they had passed another five steads, all had been abandoned in the same fashion as those they had passed earlier. Then, the figure of Waris appeared, followed by four other mounts. Three held riders, and the fourth had a figure strapped across a saddle.

  “Column halt!” Alucius ordered.

  “Column halt,” echoed back along the line of lancers.

  Waris rode slowly toward Alucius, then reined up. “We got a captive, sir.”

  “Was it difficult?”

  “Wasn’t too hard.” A weary smile crossed the scout’s lips. “We ended up shooting two. This one, we shot the mount, then shot him in the leg before he could get to his rifle. Took two of us to disarm him, and all of us to tie him up.”

  Alucius wasn’t surprised. Dismayed, but not surprised, as he looked at the prisoner, slung across the saddle of the mount behind Waris, hands tied behind his back, feet trussed together, and a gag tied across his mouth.

  “Sorry, sir. We had to tie him like that. He just tries to bite, kick, anything…”

  “Get him off the mount. Set him on the stones there.” Alucius gestured toward a rough heap of stones that once might have been a stile across a sagging and neglected fence.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alucius dismounted and handed the gray’s reins to Fewal, one of his messengers, then waited as the three lancers carried the bound captive to the stones and propped him against the bowed middle railing of the fence.

  “Did he say anything? Before you gagged him?”

  “Nothing. Maybe he doesn’t speak Lanachronan.”

  Alucius studied the captive. As he looked closely, he could Talent-sense what resembled a fine purplish mesh net that fit the captive like a glove. For a time, he just studied it until he could find the purplish nodes that held it. Once he found those, it was but an instant, and the net vanished.

  The captive fainted.

  “Sir…?”

  “He’ll be fine in a few moments. You can ungag him now.”

  It wasn’t that long before the man looked up, an expression that was clearly fear as he took in Alucius and the uniform that he wore.

  Alucius pressed forward the feeling that the captive should be helpful…cooperative. There was no sense of resistance. After a moment, he asked, “Could you tell me your name?”

  The man looked at Alucius, wide-eyed, then lowered his gaze. “Escadt, sir. Of the Cadmians.”

  “What are the Cadmians?”

  “We are. The Cadmians are the lancers of the prophet and the True Duarchy.”

  “Why were you ordered to attack us?”

  “You are the evil northerners. You will keep the Duarchy from returning. All the land will die, and all our families will starve and perish without the Duarchy.”

  Alucius glanced at Feran.

  “Why would we do that? We’re all part of Lanachrona.”

  “You are the lamaial of evil, the one who will use treason to destroy all that is good.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “The prophet Adarat. He is the servant of the True Duarchy. He said that the man with the dark gray hair, the one who is not old, he is the lamaial. Adarat knows what is and what will be.”

  Alucius had his doubts about that. “Who told Adarat this?”

  “He knows. He is the servant of the True Duarchy.”

  That line of questioning wouldn’t help, Alucius reflected. “How long has Adarat been in Hyalt?”

  “He has been here forever.”

  “Forever?”

  The rebel shrugged. “The Temple of the Duarchy has been here so long as any can remember, and there has always been a prophet, and the prophet has always been Adarat.”

  Alucius couldn’t see much point in pursuing that. “How many camps with armed men are there around Hyalt? With Cadmians?”

  “I have heard that there are two. I only know of one, myself.”

  “Where is the other one?”

  “I do not know for sure.”

  “Where do you think it is?”

  The rebel shrugged. “They say it is on the Hill of the Dead to the northeast of Hyalt.”

  “How many companies are there?”

  “I do not know.”

  “How many lancers were there at your camp?”

  “I do not know.”

  “How many do you guess that there were?”

  “Three hundred. That was before you northerners killed so many.”

  “Until you attacked us, we never attacked or fired upon you,” Alucius pointed out. “Why did you attack us?”

  “Because you are evil, and you would destroy the good of the True Duarchy.”

  Alucius kept proving to himself that there was little point in following that line of questioning. “What is in the cave in the hillside?”

  “It is not a cave. It is the Temple of the True Duarchy.”

  “Is that where Adarat is?”

  “I do not know…”

  “Does it have a Table of power?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Have you seen a Table there?”

  “No
, sir.”

  “How many people remain in Hyalt?”

  “I do not know…”

  Even after almost half a glass of questioning, Alucius had learned only slightly more. The captive seemed to know very little beyond declaring the goodness of the Duarchy to come and the evilness of Alucius and his “northerners.”

  Finally, Alucius nodded to Feran. “That’s all for now. Keep him tied up, but don’t gag him unless he causes trouble.”

  “Egyl?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it.”

  Midmorning came and went, and they reached where the roads joined, but saw no one and no signs of rebels. The air remained damp and more misty than actually drizzling. None of the scouts had seen any traces of another large body of rebels, and Alucius decided to continue northeast on the road toward Hyalt for the next three or fourth vingts, until they reached what the maps showed as a narrow hill road that actually connected with the road where his force had first camped north of Hyalt. Alucius didn’t plan to take that road all the way back, but he liked the idea of having a way out, if necessary.

  In midafternoon, the company saw the first stead that was actually occupied, and within a quarter of a glass, Alucius was facing a round-faced older man with unruly curly gray hair and shoulders stooped from years of toil, a man of perhaps forty, whom the scouts had brought in. The stead holder trembled as he stood on the side of the road and looked at Alucius. The majer could sense the fear pouring from the man—as well as the faintest trace of the purplish miasma that seemed to touch all the people in Hyalt—or all those with whom Alucius had come in contact. He dissolved the purplish miasmatic net and tried to extend a sense of reassurance with his Talent, but the holder shivered even more.

  “Is that your stead?”

  “Yes…sir.”

  “Is your family there?”

  “Spare them, sir…I beg you, spare them.”

  “I have no intention of harming either you or them. I’m just trying to find out what has happened here in Hyalt in the last month.”

  The holder said nothing.

  “What did happen?”

  “The prophet Adarat sent his disciples to disperse the lancers of evil. They refused to leave, and they were killed.”

  “Did you see this?”

  “That is what the prophet said, and a prophet of the True Duarchy always tells the truth.”

  “What about the traders and the crafters?”

  “Some of them fled. Those who would not accept the True Duarchy, but fleeing will avail them little. Before long, all of Corus will prosper under the return of the Duarchy.”

  “Why has no one left Hyalt in more than a month?”

  “Why would anyone wish to leave when the True Duarchy is about to return?” A vaguely puzzled expression crossed the man’s thin face.

  “How do you know that?”

  “The prophet Adarat said so. He is the servant of the True Duarchy. He knows what is and what will be.”

  “Why do you fear us?”

  “You are the evil northerners. You will try to keep the Duarchy from returning. All the land will die, and all our families will starve and perish without the Duarchy.”

  Alucius glanced at Feran, then back to the holder. “How do you know this? How do you know that this Adarat tells you the truth? Have you seen anyone besides him who would bring back the Duarchy?”

  “You are the lamaial of evil, the one who is old before his time, the one who will use treason to destroy all that is good.”

  “Have you seen anything that would prove this?”

  “I know what I know, and the prophet Adarat knows what is and what will be.”

  Alucius tried a few more questions, but the answers were invariably the same. Adarat was the prophet, and Adarat knew what was to be. Finally, he looked to the lancers standing five yards away, beside the rail fence. “Take him back to his stead. Let him go, but make sure you take care of yourselves.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The holder did not look back as he was led away under the low clouds that had promised rain and delivered but an occasional drizzle.

  “Even the lancers of the Matrial weren’t that bad,” mused Alucius.

  “Coming from you, sir,” Feran replied, “that doesn’t make me feel especially good.”

  Alucius walked slowly to the gray, untethered his mount from the rail fence, and remounted. He looked to Feran. “I don’t think we’ll get more answers, but we ought to try a few more holders, or their wives.”

  The overcaptain nodded.

  Another two glasses later, after getting almost identical answers from two holders and the widow of a third, Alucius brought his force to a halt while he composed a message to Marshal Frynkel, one that summarized events so far, emphasizing the fanaticism of the rebels. Then he dispatched Hikal, along with two other lancers, northward to the last way station, from where the dispatch riders could take it to Tempre and the marshal. He told the three to remain at the way station until the force returned or until he sent orders, since he had no idea where his force might be in a few days.

  Then, after seeing the three off, he ordered his force westward and then northwest, along the road he had mapped out earlier.

  Feran, riding beside Alucius, cleared his throat.

  Alucius turned in the saddle.

  “I have bad feelings about this,” Feran said slowly. “Especially when you send off messengers like that.”

  “That makes two of us.” Alucius looked down the road, angling northwest away from Hyalt. “We’ll avoid Hyalt itself for now. Then we’ll find another hilltop campsite for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll locate the other rebel camp.” Alucius couldn’t bring himself to call them Cadmians, no matter what they called themselves. “Then, we’ll see what we can work out to get rid of them both. I want to find out about the other camp or camps first, but I’d like to take down the Temple of the True Duarchy, and this Adarat, before we even try to deal with the town.”

  Feran nodded. “That makes sense.”

  It made sense to Alucius as well, but whether it was the right tactic was another question.

  56

  In the warm, damp, and dark air, Alucius was stretched out on his bedroll, not under it. He was tired, but not sleepy. Or not sleepy enough to drift off when lying on relatively hard ground. The cedar-and juniper-branch ends under the bedroll helped, but not really enough, not with all the thoughts going through his head.

  Setting up another camp hadn’t been that difficult, and the hilltop was more defensible than the others from which he had to choose. That was good and necessary, given that they were in the hills less than ten vingts to the west-southwest of Hyalt, although the hillsides were rocky and rugged. Yet, after encountering the one messenger patrol, they had seen no more rebels, and he had sensed nearby none of the purple-linked Talent he had felt from the rebel encampment to the north and west.

  Adarat had to be an ifrit, or strongly influenced or linked to them. Could ifrits be killed with Talent-darkened bullets, the way the Talent-creatures could be? Or could they only be destroyed in the way he had killed the Recorder and the engineer, through direct use of Talent energy from Alucius himself? Should he just attack the first camp? Or should he finish finding out what he could about all the camps and rebels? Why were the ifrits trying to establish a foothold in Hyalt? What role did the Regent of the Matrial play? How many more of the Talent-influenced lancers were there? What had really happened in Hyalt so that no one left? What was it about whatever Talent Adarat had used that left the rebels and stead holders still believing in the True Duarchy? Did that kind of Talent-use change what people believed forever?

  The questions going through his mind seemed endless, and then he thought about Wendra. She had to be fine; the wristguard would have let him know if she were not.

  Finally, forcing himself to recognize that he had answers for neither worries nor questions that evening, he closed his eyes.

  His sleep was restless. />
  “Sir?”

  “What?” Alucius shook his head, then sat up in his bedroll. He couldn’t have slept that long. He looked through the darkness at the face of the lancer standing a yard away, his herder’s nightsight telling him that the sentry was Noer. “What is it?”

  “The prisoner killed himself.”

  “How?” Alucius stiffened. “He was still tied up, wasn’t he?”

  The young lancer grimaced. “Yes, sir. Hands behind his back. Guess he found a rock with a sharp edge. Just kept sawing at his wrists when no one was looking. Blood everywhere. Never made a sound. Don’t know how he did it.”

  Alucius shivered. How on earth could a man do that? Why on earth? Because he still believed in the prophet? Or because he realized that he’d been deceived and had lost everything?

  57

  Alucius didn’t feel as though he’d slept at all when he finally rose before dawn on Novdi morning. He’d had the wall dream again, with the same ifritlike stone walls closing in on him, with no doors and windows. Once more, he’d awakened in the middle of the night, sweating, and it had taken him a while to cool off and get back to sleep—and to push away the sense of being walled in by his own actions. Now, every part of his body felt stiff and sore, or so it seemed as he rose and stretched, his eyes taking in the campsite, where most lancers still slumbered.

  He looked up. The clouds and drizzle of the previous day had been replaced with a thin fog, but he could see a clear sky above the low-lying whiteness that drifted in patches around and over the hilltop camp. He had barely gotten himself together when a call echoed through the white-fogged gray of the moments before dawn.

  “Rebels on the road!”

  “Companies form up! In ranks! On foot!” Alucius bellowed. “South facing!”