Another half vingt passed, and the sky lightened further, enough to see the recent hoofprints in the dust, prints only from the night before, Alucius judged. Then, they reached the last turn in the narrow road before it headed due west toward the rebel camp.
“Column, halt!”
Once the force halted, Alucius ordered, “Ready rifles. Silent riding.”
Then the files split, one on each shoulder of the road, leaving the center open.
They rode another vingt before halting. The lead riders of each file stopped short of the last cover before the open meadow in front of the entry road and gates that lay open two hundred yards away.
Feran looked across the open road to Alucius.
Alucius looked back over his shoulder, waiting. He pointed to the east.
Feran nodded, and they waited until the orange-white light of the sun spilled over the horizon, then above the low eastern hills, flat and directly into the eyes of the sentry, if the man was even looking eastward.
Alucius eased the gray forward until he was barely clear of the squat cedar that was one of the last before the open space in front of the walls. He halted the gelding and, raising his rifle, using sight and Talent, took aim on the rebel guard in the boxlike sentry post by the gate.
Crack!
The rebel slumped from sight.
With the single shot as the signal, without a word, Fifth Company led the way—not a charge, but a mounted fast walk, up the narrow road and across the open space short of the palisades. The other two companies followed.
Beyond the palisades and the gates, a dark purpleness slumbered, silent and present, but not so much waiting, as just there. Alucius held his Talent and his rifle ready as he led the force across the meadow toward the open gates. With his Talent, he could sense only one other form near the gates, and that rebel was sleeping in the other sentry guard box. Alucius kept his attention focused on the sleeping rebel, as well as on the road past the open gates and into the encampment.
Step by step, the mounts and the lancers they carried neared the gate. They were less than twenty yards from the gates when the sleeping sentry bolted upright.
Alucius had been waiting. His first shot went into the sentry’s shoulder, and the second into the man’s chest. The striker in the sentry’s hand made a muted clang as it struck the watch bell.
“Column, forward!” Alucius snapped, urging the gelding forward toward the still-open gates.
Fifth Company responded, and after several moments, so did the other two companies.
As he rode inside the now-unguarded gates, Alucius kept scanning for defenders, but he could neither see nor sense any at the palisades. So he continued to ride, with Fifth Company immediately behind him, up the gentle slope of the road to the upper level, where the barracks and stables were—on the flat just east of the temple carved out of the bluff.
As he rode over the low crest of the approach road and onto the flat, Alucius studied the one-story barracks—two unpainted, plank-sided dwellings, each fifty yards long and ten wide, each with a roof sloped down from a high rear wall to a lower front wall. The handful of windows had shutters, also unpainted, but no glass.
The watch bell from the south gate began to clang, repeatedly and almost desperately.
“Lancers! Lancers inside the gates!” someone yelled.
“Fifth Company! Firing line abreast, double file!” Feran ordered.
As Fifth Company re-formed, rifles aimed at the barracks, Alucius continued to scan the flat and the bluff area beyond, where the prophet had to be, from the swirling purpleness that had begun to billow from the square arch cut into the reddish sandstone.
Less than a hundred men in the maroon tunics stumbled from the long and crude barracks, and a third might have held rifles. The others held blades or spears. All the rebels were dusted with the purple miasma, and all began to run toward the mounted lancers of Fifth Company.
“Fifth Company! Fire at will!”
The first volley took down a good third of the rebel attackers.
At the same time, Alucius could see a goodly number of rebels leaving the western end of the barracks and running toward the temple carved into the bluff. Then he had to concentrate on the six rebels sprinting toward him.
It took him two shots to down the one rebel with a rifle, because the man bobbed irregularly as he ran toward Alucius. The bobbing not only made it hard for Alucius to target the man, but also made it difficult for him to aim accurately at Alucius or any of the mounted Northern Guard.
Alucius slipped the first rifle into the holder and drew the second one, firing at another tall rebel sprinting toward him. The man sprawled on the dirt, then struggled to his knees, and lurched upright, blood pouring from the hole in his guts, less than five yards from the Northern Guard majer. Alucius put another bullet into the man, killing him. He shifted aim to another rebel, one within yards of driving a long poleaxe into Bakka from the right, while Bakka was using his sabre to slash down an attacker to his left.
For the next half glass, rifles fired, and sabres rose and fell.
Then there was silence across the flat.
From what Alucius could determine with his Talent, the only remaining living lancers were those of his force—and those rebels who had fled into the temple carved out of the hillside. As he considered what to do next, a purple miasma flared from the temple, unseen except with Talent, washing over the northern end of Fifth Company, those in fifth squad. Abruptly, a good ten lancers slumped in their saddles.
Alucius could sense that at least one, possibly two men, were dead.
“All companies, pull back a hundred yards! Now!”
“Pull back and re-form!”
The orders echoed across the open space between the barracks and stables and the cutaway bluff that held the temple within. Alucius eased the gray across to the lancers who had been struck. Two were indeed dead.
Feran rode toward Alucius. “Talent, Majer?”
“A nasty form of it.”
Between the two of them and Zerdial, the fifth squad leader, they managed to get mounts and lancers, dead and alive, back away from the temple.
Alucius looked to Feran, then to Deotyr and Jultyr. “I’d judge there might be a hundred lancers inside. Overcaptain Feran will take charge of rotating companies covering the main entrance to the temple there. One company should be enough. A second company will be standing by. The third will see if they have any supplies and ammunition we can use.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to see what we can do about this prophet.” Alucius turned the gelding back toward the temple, reining up to one side, about twenty yards away, in a position where he could not be fired at unless one of the rebels actually stepped outside the archway.
When the second wave of purple flared forth, conelike, from the temple archway, Alucius countered with his own net of golden green. The two meshed, and minute pinlights of brilliance, visible to all the lancers, flashed across the morning.
Alucius waited for the next attack from the ifrit/prophet.
The third wave collapsed fifty yards from the temple archway, well short of any of the lancers.
Doubting that there would be another Talent attack soon, Alucius studied the square arch of the temple, both with sight and Talent senses. The archway itself was clear, with a stone-walled corridor three yards wide and close to three high running back some four yards before opening onto an antechamber of sorts. The corridor walls were smooth, without projections or niches. Behind them were rebels, armed and waiting.
There was no way to enter the temple, not that Alucius could sense, without getting caught in the stone-walled corridor. There was also no way to plant any of his powder deep enough to bring down the temple without subjecting anyone trying to murderous fire.
He turned the gray and rode back toward Feran.
“They can’t get out, and we can’t get in,” observed the overcaptain. “Not without losing a lot of men.”
<
br /> Alucius beckoned to Waris, on the end of first squad’s formation.
The scout slipped his mount out of formation and toward Alucius. “Sir?”
“You’ve scouted this twice. Is there any other way in besides that archway?”
“Not for people, sir. There’s a slit above in that angled line of stone, sir,” observed Waris. “It’s sort of a skylight. You can’t see it from here, but it’s there.”
“How wide is it?”
“Maybe a third of a yard, half at most. Two yards long, I’d guess.”
“I may see if I can get up there,” Alucius said.
Feran raised his eyebrows, as if to ask “Why?”
“There’s a Talent-wielder in there. If we leave him, we’re no better off than we were, or we won’t be in a few weeks. If we try to rush him, we lose more lancers than all that we’ve lost this far. I’ll need some rope, though, and Waris and Rakalt to help me.”
“What…if I might inquire, sir…” asked Feran deferentially, “did you have in mind?”
“I thought I’d use one of the heavy shells and a rifle,” Alucius replied. “If no one thinks I can get up there, I’d at least like to try a shot at him. If not that, then if I start shooting maybe I can panic the rebels inside to try to escape.”
“You don’t think they’ll surrender?”
“Has anyone surrendered?” Alucius countered.
“Couldn’t anyone else…?” asked Jultyr slowly.
“We don’t have any other herders,” Feran replied. “You saw what happened when the lancers got too close to the temple. The majer’s right about his being the only one who can do this.”
There was the faintest murmur of “Oh…” from Deotyr.
Alucius hoped no one asked about the scouts. While he could protect them, he didn’t want to explain that. “I’d like to do this fairly quickly. That last Talent-blast showed he was weaker, and I’d like to catch him before he regains too much strength.” He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the skull mask, working it into place.
Feran summoned Waris and Rakalt, and they rode up as Alucius turned the gray. “Where do you suggest we start?”
“To the right, just past that funny-looking fir,” replied Waris. “I’ve got some rope, maybe twenty yards. Will that be enough?”
“It’ll have to be.” Alucius angled the gray toward the fir, and the two scouts followed him.
“What’s the majer doing?”
“…going after the prophet, they say…”
“…hope he gets him…”
“…only officer I know who does the dirty stuff…”
“…if I had those bars, wouldn’t catch me…”
“…could be why he has ’em so young…”
It could be, reflected Alucius, just plain stupidity. But he had to at least get up there and look and see what he could do. He couldn’t leave the prophet, and he didn’t have the time and supplies for a long, drawn-out siege, not when he had no idea how many supplies might have been stockpiled in the temple cave for how long. And he certainly didn’t want to sacrifice lancers from a force that was already too small for the tasks assigned.
That didn’t leave many choices.
He dismounted behind the fir and tied the gray to a stubby cedar root. Then, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he and the two others began to climb the side of what was too steep to be a hill and not steep enough to be a bluff. Between the boulders, the sand-covered red sandstone made the footing treacherous, and more than a few times Alucius could feel his boots slipping. Riding boots were not designed for climbing.
Every so often Alucius paused, not only to catch his breath but to use his Talent to check on Adarat, but the purple shadow presence remained within the hillside temple. Alucius continued to climb, boulder by boulder, using roots and rocks.
Every so often a few shots rang out below, but they were from Fifth Company, and Alucius judged that Feran was having the lancers fire occasionally to keep the rebels thinking about the Guard troopers and not about what else might be happening—like Alucius on his fool’s errand.
“Sir…” called Waris from behind Alucius. “The roof part is just ahead, over that line of rocks.”
Alucius studied the line of rocks, realizing belatedly that the stonework had actually been laid, but that the mortar had been mixed with red sand to conceal the unnatural origin.
“Why…if you don’t mind, sir…Rakalt and I ought to climb past you, then move up to those boulders at the bottom of the higher cliff there. If you attach the rope around your waist…”
“I won’t fall too far if the roof gives way under me?”
“Or…if anything else happens, sir…”
Like getting shot, Alucius thought to himself. “You’re right. I’ll just move here, and you two can climb by me.” He watched as the two scouts made their way up to him.
Waris scrambled a half yard or so beyond Alucius, his boots slipping and dislodging more sand before he anchored himself on a darkish red stone. From there, he handed Alucius one end of the rope.
Alucius fastened it around his chest, then said in a low voice, “I’ll wait until you two are in position.”
Waris nodded. After Rakalt climbed past Alucius, the two continued upward for another five yards, then began to move westward.
While Alucius waited for them to position themselves, he used his Talent to scan the area ahead of him. He could sense nothing new, but the purplish miasma filling the temple below seemed clearer and nearer.
Roughly a quarter of a glass passed before Waris waved and gently tugged the rope. Alucius waved back, then resumed his own climb toward the course of stone that Waris had identified.
When he reached it, he smiled faintly. The stones were slightly corbeled and extended almost two yards above him. He had to edge eastward, practically to the end of the rope and to the sheer drop-off below, before he could find footing and a true isolated projecting stone that gave him solid enough footing so that he could edge his way upward. Between the rifle and the rope, every step worried him, and he was panting and sweating heavily when be finally sat astraddle the artificial stone course.
He caught his breath before he eased to the inside of the roof wall. The stones below and beyond the course of stone that Waris had called to Alucius’s attention were not natural at all, but more like thin sheets of stone layered into an arch. With one hand on the stone ridge, Alucius put his boot on one of the roof stones nearest to him. It felt solid. He took another step, and nothing happened.
As Alucius made his way up the arched stone roof, Waris kept the rope fairly taut.
Alucius was almost upon the open stone slit before he saw it, much as Waris had described it. As he dropped into a crouch, he could sense the purpleness below, and its overtones of what he could only describe as evil, almost like individual nets linked by tiny purplish nodes.
Alucius reached out with his Talent, and touched one of the nodes with a point of golden green—herder/soarer Talent. With but the barest pressure from Alucius, the golden green leapt from point to point along the purple net, and abruptly, with an unheard rending sound, the purple miasma shredded.
The entire temple shuddered, if only slightly, just enough that Alucius could feel the stone beneath his boots moving and his body swaying.
He steadied himself and studied the skylight. Beneath it and inside the temple there were actually shutters that could cover the opening, presumably in case of rain. Through the skylight he could see the temple far below, with more than a hundred rebels in maroon, and below the western end of the skylight, against the wall, he could see steps.
As he looked at the steps and wall, his rifle in hand, a man walked up the last steps to a landing, where there was a rope and pulley, probably to operate the skylight shutters. The man wore maroon silk and radiated the purpleness of an ifrit as he stood on the landing of the steps, little more than five yards below Alucius. He looked up and spoke. “I thought there might be one of th
e lamaials beyond. You reached too far, Talent-steer, when you entered here. You will not return to the north, lamaial.”
A bolt of purple force flashed toward Alucius.
Awkwardly, because he felt off-balance, Alucius flung up one of his own shields, and purpleness flared around him.
“Frig!…See that?” Rakalt’s voice was incredulous.
Another blast of purple flared toward Alucius, not quite so strong as the first. As the flare subsided, Alucius refocused his Talent senses on the prophet.
Adarat was not an ifrit like the Recorder of Deeds in Tempre or the engineer had been. That Alucius could sense. The prophet had but one lifethread, not the twined and twisted double lifethread. But the thread was different—brown shadowed with purple, a dark and strong purple.
“You have some ability, Talent-steer,” Adarat said. “But not enough.”
“Why have you turned them all into slaves?” Alucius asked, even as he prepared his own Talent-thrust.
“Slaves? They are to serve the coming Duarchy. That is a mission of glory!”
An even stronger blast of purpleness flashed from Adarat.
Alucious let it sheet past him. “You’re as much a slave as they are.”
“Never! I am the prophet.” Adarat reached for a long black tube.
Alucius had no idea what the device was, but he’d seen some of the ifrits’ weapons and scarcely wanted to find out. He struck with his Talent-probe, aiming for the node that linked body and lifethread.
Adarat flung another purple blast, even as purple and brown shreds exploded outward from the prophet’s body. The black tube spun out of Adarat’s hands and began to fall end over end toward the floor of the temple below.
Alucius rocked back on his heels, then managed to recover his balance.
“You will not succeed…” Adarat’s words were strained, little above a whisper. “Neither you nor your ancient ones will prevail against the glory of Efra…”
Efra?
In the moment that Alucius took in the strange word, he could see Adarat slump.
Crummmpppttt! Below Alucius was an explosion that shook the entire hillside. Cracks appeared in the red rock on which he stood, and the stone edges of the skylight began to crack, then fragment. Pieces began to break away and fall into the temple.
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