Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“No. Even if we head straight back to the Iron Valleys, we’ll still have to deal with the Regent there. And they’ll put the Southern Guard companies right into the battle order in the southwest. They might get a week’s rest. If they’re lucky.”

  “I can see you’re as cheerful as ever.” Feran laughed harshly. “I suppose that’s a good sign.”

  “Tomorrow, we’ll move into Hyalt and see what we can do.”

  “Tomorrow, sir, we’ll move into Hyalt, and you’ll just give the orders and watch.” Feran smiled. “You don’t have to do everything personally.”

  Not everything, Alucius thought, but more than he’d ever wished.

  72

  Alustre, Lustrea

  Waleryn stood above the corner workbench that all had ignored until he had arrived at the Praetor’s palace. After checking the hidden metal mirror that acted as a Table-viewer—if but for short periods of time—he opened the book that had been concealed in the chamber beneath the mirror.

  He looked at the first page quickly, nodding to himself, as well as at the second and third. He continued flicking through the pages until he reached one near the end. A smile crossed his lips as he viewed Vestor’s notes.

  “Good.”

  After closing the book and replacing it in the small chamber, he straightened and stepped from the smaller workbench to the crystal tanks, all in use. His eyes closed for a moment, and the air took on a purplish tint, just for an instant. Then Waleryn walked to the far side of the second tank and, from another recess, extracted a device resembling an antique gunpowder pistol.

  The design was far more ancient, with the barrel a crystal discharge formulator and the butt holding the crystal light-charges. Waleryn removed one of the butt plates and slipped two small amber crystals into the receivers, then replaced the plate and set the weapon in the belt holster on his right side.

  One by one, he checked the crystal tanks, nodding as he finished with each.

  Then he walked to the far end of the workshop, where a tripod held an oblong device. The shorter and wider end held a pair of padded grips. Above and between the grips was a flat metallic mirror, not quite the size of a man’s palm. The longer section ended in a circle of pale orange crystals, each crystal extending the length of a finger from the shimmering silvered metal.

  “What is that?” Tyren stood five yards away, well to the side of where the five crystals pointed. The Praetor was flanked by four guards, each with a gladius in a scabbard on his left and a double-barreled pistol in a holster on his right.

  “You needn’t worry, Praetor,” Waleryn replied cheerfully. “This is not a weapon.”

  “Then why did you construct it?” Tyren frowned. “Your efforts are not without significant cost.”

  “To find an ancient weapon of even greater power. It is designed to send forth…vibrations would be the best word. The vibrations will echo from the ancient weapon and return. They will provide an image in the mirror that will enable me to locate exactly where the weapon might be.”

  “What ancient weapon do you seek that is so much more powerful than those you and your predecessor have already created?” Curiosity had crept into the Praetor’s voice.

  “You might have heard of the Scepters of the Day. Some called them the Scepters of the Duarches. There were two, and one is hidden somewhere in Lustrea. Or so it is said.”

  “Isn’t that just a legend?”

  “Some would claim that everything your engineer created and everything I am constructing are only legends. Are they? Or would you rather dismiss the crystal light lances as legend and ride into battle trusting in lances and uncertain rifles?”

  “Your point is made, Lord Waleryn.” Tyren’s voice was dry. “Just how powerful is this scepter? And how much more will it cost me for you to find it?”

  “It will cost you nothing more. As I have time, and as I travel, I will use the device. It will take little time. The scepter was powerful enough that it was the tool that created the Tables and made the Duarchy possible. Do you not think that a few golds and a little time are worth seeking it? That search will not slow the production of more and better weapons.”

  “So long as it does not.”

  “Have you decided whether I might go to Prosp and see if the Table there still functions?”

  Tyren slowly nodded. “You will go with a detachment of Praetorian Guards, and you will keep me closely informed of your progress.”

  Waleryn bowed. “It would be my pleasure, and in my interest, and yours.”

  “That it would be.” Tyren nodded brusquely, then turned.

  Waleryn waited until the Praetor had departed before he turned his violet-purple eyes back to the locator.

  73

  Even by Octdi, Alucius could barely walk, let alone ride. His entire body was sore and bruised, and already turning purplish green in far too many places. He was going to have another scar, this one angled across his forehead. He had no recollection of how he had gotten that, especially since he had been wearing the skull mask, now tucked safely inside his tunic once more.

  He and the officers had taken over a dwelling a block off the main square in Hyalt, not the largest available, but sizable, and apparently vacant, as were many in the town, and less than a hundred yards from the inn and stables where Alucius had put Fifth Company. The two Southern Guard companies were at work making the camp just northeast of Hyalt habitable, since the old Southern Guard garrison was far too small and was in even worse condition. For the sake of the Lord-Protector, Alucius had thought that the less the people of Hyalt saw of the Southern Guard, the better. He had also dispatched a messenger to Tempre outlining the results of the campaign thus far, noted his quartering arrangements, and indicated that it might be as much as several weeks before they could leave Hyalt and return to Tempre.

  With all that done, late on that Octdi morning Alucius still had to work not to grimace as he mounted the gelding under a gray sky that threatened rain. After mounting, he eased the gray in the direction of the main square. Beside him rode Waris, and behind them were four other lancers. Feran had suggested a half squad, at least, but Alucius had decided that five lancers were more than enough, either for a show of strength or for any protection he might need in his present condition.

  From the three-story dwelling that had belonged to a merchant of some sort, Alucius and his lancers rode northward as he began to inspect Hyalt. No matter how accurate Feran’s, Rakalt’s, and Waris’s reports might be, their words did not convey the “feel” of Hyalt.

  All the streets entering the main square were paved, but the north–south main boulevard, as a part of the ancient high road, was of eternastone, and Alucius had decided to begin with the square, then spiral outward, to take in as much as he could.

  The central square was a stone-paved expanse a hundred yards on a side. In the center was a stone platform, raised a yard above the surrounding pavement, without walls or railings. The stone looked to be a gold-tinged marble whose edges had softened over the years. Both the center of the square and the platform itself were vacant. Not a single horse was tied to the hitching rails and posts in front of the buildings fronting the square. Alucius slowed the gray and studied each structure as he passed. The goldsmith’s shop was boarded shut, as was the adjoining coppersmith’s shop. The cotton factor’s door was ajar, and Alucius thought he heard voices, but one set of shutters had been ripped away and lay on the narrow porch beside the door. Past the empty alley was a fuller’s shop, but that door was closed. Next came a cooperage, and that door was open, and Alucius could smell the charcoal of a forge.

  “Most of the crafters and all of the merchants left,” Waris said.

  Alucius nodded. That agreed with what he thought—that Adarat had not been an ifrit, or one of a weaker sort. It also suggested that there could not be too many ifrits in Corus, not if what Adarat had done represented the work of one being who was less than an ifrit. Alucius still did not understand what the ifrits had hoped to accomplish in H
yalt, and he had the feeling that riding around Hyalt would not add much to his understanding of the secretive and illusive ifrits, but it would offer him insights on what needed to be done for the people.

  The inn was the only building around the square that showed activity, but that was because Fifth Company was quartered there.

  Alucius kept riding, trying to ignore the soreness throughout his body, and after his second spirallike widening circuit around the square, he slowed his mount again as he rode toward a wall that had once been whitewashed but which now needed stucco in too many places and fresh whitewash everywhere. He could hear two women talking. One was sobbing between words.

  Alucius used his Talent, trying to pick up the words.

  “Why…why…they killed our husbands…our sons…what did they do?”

  “What harm did the prophet do?”

  What could Alucius say to such words, when people had not seen the evidence before their eyes? When people believed, they could not see what had happened. They saw what they wanted to have seen.

  “…have nothing…nothing at all…no horses, no sheep, no goats…no sons…”

  “…followed the prophet and the lamaial struck him down…and we will never see the True Duarchy and its prosperity…”

  “We will never see our sons, and for that I grieve far more…”

  Alucius held in a wince. He had crushed the revolt—or the invasion. He’d done it only by the very method that he knew would cause the Lord-Protector unrest, discontent, and lasting resentment. And Alucius had had absolutely no choice—not that he could see. From the first moment he and his force had arrived, they had been attacked, time after time, by Talent-washed rebels who had fought poorly, but to the death.

  And he still had no idea why, not when so much death could only ruin a land, not bring the kind of prosperity that the prophet had promised. The only thing he had learned—really—had been in Adarat’s last words, “…Neither you nor your ancient ones will prevail against the glory of Efra…”

  Was Efra the true name of the world from which the ifrits had come? And did that pronunciation mean that somewhere on Corus another contingent of ifrits had appeared?

  Alucius kept riding and watching and taking in what he saw—and worrying.

  74

  Salaan, Lanachrona

  The Table displayed the image of a reddish hillside, the eastern side of which appeared to have been cut away, with the section that had been cut away heaped full of all sizes of boulders of redstone and sandstone. To the east of the jumbled stone were several long and low unpainted structures.

  The Recorder looked up from the Table, and the scene that had been before him and Tarolt vanished. “The majer has triumphed over Adarat and his Cadmians.”

  “You expected otherwise, Trezun? Those steers were not real Cadmians. Adarat was but a shadow-Efran, certainly capable enough against un-Talented steers, but the majer is more than that. Even so, he almost did not survive. He will not last against a true Efran.”

  “That would seem to be so,” the Recorder replied.

  “It was not exactly a triumph for the majer and the Lord-Protector,” Tarolt pointed out. “Hyalt lies in ruins, and we have most of the golds. The larger part of the men and boys are dead, and all Corus will know the Lord-Protector as the butcher of Hyalt. That is something that we can make sure all the world knows.” With a smile, Tarolt stepped back from the Table.

  “What of the majer? If he comes back to Dekhron, especially as commander of the Northern Guard…?”

  “We have already taken steps to forestall that. It is likely he will go to Southgate.”

  “Do you think the Lord-Protector will countenance that?”

  “The Lord-Protector cannot object to what he does not know. Overcaptain Deen has proved most helpful in conveying ideas to the marshals. He is so guileless and thinks he is so clever. That is a weakness of so many steers. More important, this Alucius could not withstand the crystal spear-thrower before, and there are two in place there. Even if he can rally the Lord-Protector’s troops and defeat the Regent, what does he gain?”

  “A substantial victory,” suggested Trezun.

  “That kind of victory is a triumph for us. The Lord-Protector has little more than half the lancers he did two seasons ago. The southwest of Corus is weakened and ready to accept any kind of peace after five years of bleeding warfare. Majer Alucius cannot win without creating even more death and destruction, and that is what we need. He can only triumph through destruction, and that paves the way for us. People do not wish glorious and destructive battles. They wish peace and prosperity, and so long as the cost is deferred, they will not look beyond tomorrow.”

  “What of Waleryn?”

  Tarolt frowned. “You have great interest there. I hope that his building the locator will not interfere—”

  “I instilled strong conditions that it should not interfere—”

  “You and Sensat and your concern about the scepters.”

  “We do not need them, but if we have them, then no lamaial or ancient one can use them,” Trezun pointed out.

  “You have a point. Not the best, but a point, so long as it does not interfere with the plan and the next translation. We must have more true Efrans here…and yet so few wish to take the risk.”

  “When between a third and half perish? Or become wild translations without thought or cognizance? Can you blame them?”

  “When our future is at stake? Yes…I can. And I will. Far more will perish if we do not receive greater support. Yet each wishes another to take the risk.”

  “You were about to tell me how you think Waleryn will affect matters.” Trezun spoke quickly. “Does he have the shadow matrices that he will require? One suitable for Tyren?”

  “He has ten, and three would seem to match what he has scanned of the Praetor, within acceptable parameters. He has also reported that the Praetor is coming to Prosp to inspect the Table—before he heads to Passera to ready his forces for the invasion of Deforya.”

  “Deforya it will be, then. That will create enough disruption for the next year, at least.”

  “Waleryn is well on the way to positioning Tyren so that the Praetor will ask to use the Table…Once that happens, in time, the Praetor will change his plans and concentrate on taking Deforya. The landowners will have to fight, and they will lose. Then Tyren will overreach himself and go south, and the plains will be filled with chaos…”

  “He could head more directly west into Lanachrona.”

  “He could, and if Majer Alucius survives, no doubt we would have a larger and even bloodier series of battles.”

  “And what will happen if…just if…Majer Alucius does survive and prosper? He seems to have the luck of the hero or the lamaial.”

  “Ah…that is the beauty of it,” Tarolt replied. “The Regent must still reclaim Harmony and Klamat. More unrest and destruction. Tyren will build larger armies and rampage westward. While that goes on, few will notice what we do and what we build, or that they act against themselves. Let them struggle with their rifles and blades. Their puny rifles and blades.”

  75

  By Duadi morning, there were people, mostly women, on the streets of Hyalt, and some carts of produce had appeared. The two roadblocks across the high roads had been torn down, and Feran was working with a group of younger and huskier women to create the core of a mounted city patrol. There were enough spare mounts for that.

  By midmorning, Alucius was sitting in the council chamber of Hyalt, a block off the main square, interviewing women who seemed to have some courage and intelligence, trying to use his Talent to find a handful to administer the crippled town. After glancing over at Bakka, who held a marker, with a short stack of paper before him on the table, Alucius tried not to shift his weight too obviously in the chair as he waited for the next group of women to file into the chamber.

  Four more women stepped inside the chamber, ushered by four lancers.

  An older gray-hair
ed woman studied Alucius from the moment she entered the hall. So did a blonde woman, although her observations came from a lowered head and half-averted eyes. A black-haired, good-looking woman with ruby lips surveyed Alucius and smiled. Unlike the others, she looked well fed.

  Alucius cleared his throat. “Whatever happened here in Hyalt is over. What remains is to rebuild the town and maintain order. Under the authority of the Lord-Protector, I am talking to anyone who might be useful in this.” He paused, looking for reactions.

  “We’re so fortunate to have your assistance,” began the attractive woman.

  Alucius almost winced at the feeling of hypocrisy and greed that radiated from her, but he inquired politely, “Your name?”

  “Sanaval, sir.”

  Alucius turned to the lancer guards. “Take Sanaval and lock her away with the others we’re sending north.”

  The woman’s mouth opened, almost wordlessly, as two of the lancers moved to flank her.

  “Every syllable you said was false and deceptive,” Alucius replied. “Hyalt doesn’t need your kind right now. Take her away.”

  “Who are you to judge?” asked the stern-faced, gray-haired woman.

  “I’m judging because someone has to administer Hyalt, and we need to find people who can, because that is not our task.”

  “Was your task just to bring down death on our men and sons?” asked the thin red-haired woman, almost hissing the words at Alucius.

  He turned, and his eyes flashed. He tried to keep from exploding with a rage that had appeared within him, seemingly from nowhere. “Your men were so weak that they gave up their families, gave up their work, and gave up their brains. They attacked the Lord-Protector’s scouts. They killed traders bringing in goods, perhaps even food. We did not ride here to bring death. We rode here to discover why the people of Hyalt were driving out merchants and crafters and killing strangers. When we got here, we, too, were attacked. Unlike the others, we could fight back.” Alucius’s eyes fixed on the angry woman, and he projected both power and assurance, trying to keep anger out of the sending. “There has been enough killing. There has been too much. I am choosing—from among your people—who will administer Hyalt. Do you want to run in fear from every man on a horse with a sword or a rifle?”