Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I could, and the Lord-Protector could pull every company of Northern Guards south to save Southgate or even Tempre, if it comes to that. It might, because the Regent has two of those spear-throwers and is using them both in the south. Then, within seasons, if not weeks, I’d have neither family nor stead, either because we’d be overrun or we’d have no one to sell nightsilk to.”

  “Majer…” Feran’s voice carried a trace of resignation with the irony. “You’re always pointing out these small unpleasantnesses. You won’t even let me entertain a brief dream that someone might keep their word or reward us for a job well done.”

  “Desperate rulers don’t reward anyone.”

  “I know.” Feran shook his head. “We’ll ride out on Decdi.”

  “Londi. According to this, we get two full days to complete our work, and if we’re headed west, we need every moment to make sure we’re ready.” Alucius also needed to write a final report on Hyalt—and he wanted to make sure that the Lord-Protector knew about the merchants with the silver wheel emblem who had skimmed off golds from the prophet’s coffers.

  Feran nodded slowly.

  Alucius had no idea what it took to get ready to fight something like a crystal spear-thrower. He certainly hadn’t been that successful the first time. But then, he hadn’t known much about Talent.

  Would what he had learned help? He had no doubt that he’d find out. His lips tightened, and he had to take a deep breath in order to try to relax some. The tension didn’t help his still-sore muscles.

  78

  Londi morning was cool, almost chilly, with a misty drizzle drifting in from the northwest off the distant Coast Range. Four Fifth Company lancers waited in front of the quarters as Alucius strapped his gear behind the gray’s saddle and then mounted, easing his mount beside Feran. Then the two rode toward the main square, where Fifth Company was already forming up.

  Alucius, as a matter of habit, used his Talent to scan the area, but even with the reduced population of Hyalt, there were far too many bodies for his skills to sort out any who might be dangerous. All he could determine was that there were no ordered groups anywhere around the square—except for Fifth Company.

  “I’d be a lot happier to leave here if we were headed north of the Vedra, north and east especially,” Feran said quietly.

  “So would we all. Life isn’t always that accommodating.”

  “You mean rulers aren’t,” Feran suggested.

  Alucius offered a wry smile and a nod.

  The two officers reined up on the north end of the square, waiting for the last of the squad leaders to report to Egyl.

  “Fourth squad, present and accounted for.”

  “Fifth squad, present and accounted for.”

  Egyl turned and rode the few yards to Feran, reining up and reporting, “Fifth Company, present and accounted for, sir. Ready to ride.”

  “Thank you,” Feran said, turning to Alucius. “Ready to ride, Majer.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Fifth Company! By squads! Forward!”

  Fifth Company rode at a comfortable walk out of the square on the ancient eternastone pavement that was the high road north toward Tempre. Six days ahead lay the intersection with the southwest high road to Zalt—and Southgate beyond.

  A block out of the square, on the left side of the wide street that was also the high road, stood the three members of the temporary council, watching as the lancers passed. Not a one spoke or gestured as Fifth Company passed.

  “Not terribly friendly,” Feran observed.

  “I don’t know as I would be, were I in their boots,” observed Alucius. “We killed hundreds of their husbands and sons and brothers. To them, it doesn’t matter that we didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “Suppose they didn’t, either.” Feran shook his head. “Talent’s a bad thing all around. Seems like you and the other herders are the only ones ever used it right. Everyone else is using it to kill or conquer or enslave someone else. What’s the difference with herders?”

  Before answering, Alucius surveyed the dwellings and shops on both sides of the avenue. More than half still appeared deserted, but even those that seemed to hold inhabitants were run-down, with stucco chipped away, and dingy walls whose whitewash had long since turned to yellowed white or pinkish white. The dilapidation had clearly existed for years before the prophet had taken hold of Hyalt.

  Had the decline of Hyalt, and the poverty that had crept in, made the prophet’s efforts that much easier? Or had he been there all along, undermining the town’s prosperity? Or had the latest prophet been the one? When they were all called Adarat, how could he tell? Alucius hadn’t been able to get a straight answer from anyone, and doubted that he ever would. Or that anyone would.

  “I don’t know as herders are any different from other folks in how they feel,” Alucius said slowly. “Except in one thing. They love the land and being one with it. The land is more important than they are. It’s bigger than they are. Maybe that makes a difference, believing in something bigger than golds, or a dwelling, or power over people.”

  “You think that’s true of all herders?”

  “No,” Alucius admitted. “Only those that survive as herders.”

  “You’ve never wanted to be a lancer, have you?”

  “Only because I wanted to keep the stead.”

  “That’s the hold they have over you—the land, isn’t it?”

  “For a herder, that’s a powerful hold,” Alucius pointed out. The image of the Aerlal Plateau rising in the east, over the endless vingts of sand and quarasote, appeared in his mind, and he wished he were there with Wendra, with the flock, and with his family. He took a slow, deep breath. If he did not succeed in the weeks ahead, he would not ever have that opportunity.

  “If all rulers were herders, then, maybe we wouldn’t have all this fighting.” Feran’s words were light, but not quite humorous.

  “Who knows?” Alucius countered. “It won’t ever happen.”

  “Probably not,” Feran agreed.

  Alucius did not reply. As he rode northward through the light drizzle toward the camp where they would pick up the Southern Guard companies, Alucius could not help but think about Hyalt and what had happened there. One man, had appeared, something other than a man but less than the ifrits he had seen, and he had turned a functioning town, not the most prosperous, but not the poorest or meanest, either, into a collection of followers without wills. Was that what the temptation of Talent in its strongest manifestations led to?

  79

  The drizzle and the mist had lasted for two days, then dissipated during the morning after the three companies had left the manned way station at Ceazan, along with Elbard and some of the wounded likely to recover over the ride to Southgate. Alucius had also sent off his final report on Hyalt from there, along with an apologetic letter to Wendra, explaining only that he had been ordered to deal with other matters that affected their future and safety, and that he was most unhappy to be away from the stead at such length.

  Four days later, they had turned onto the west high road, then a half day later southwest onto the high road that would lead through the Coast Range and into what had been southern Madrien, eventually to Zalt, then to Southgate. Two days after starting southwest on the high road to the coast, under a cool fall sun, they were nearing the eastern side of the Coast Range. Thirty-fifth Company was in the van, and Alucius rode beside Jultyr.

  “You know…things in Hyalt could have turned really nasty, especially that night when that prophet used Talent to put everyone into a deep sleep.” Jultyr frowned. “How did you and the overcaptain manage to wake up?”

  “I had a nightmare about being unable to move,” Alucius admitted. “It took a long time to wake up. It took longer to rouse enough lancers to fight off the attack. If they’d brought a full company…things would have been very bad.” Just how bad, Alucius had considered more than a few times. He’d also wondered about how he would ever deal with the
ifrits if he ever had to face more than one at a time.

  “Good thing they didn’t,” affirmed Jultyr. “Can’t say I’m all that pleased to be heading west so soon. A lot of the men are going to have the wrong idea about fighting from dealing with the rebels.”

  “That blade cuts two ways. The Matrites fight better than the rebels, and they have better weapons and training, but most of them won’t keep coming with wounds gaping open.”

  “That’s true,” mused Jultyr. “What about that knife-thrower? Have you seen that?”

  “Yes. It’s more like a spear-thrower. It fires a stream of crystal spears about a half yard long. One time they chopped away a hill with it and flushed out a whole company of foot.”

  “You were there?”

  “That was when they invaded the Iron Valleys.” Alucius decided against mentioning that he’d been wounded and captured in the battle to destroy the weapon. Or that he only had the vaguest idea of how the weapon had been destroyed.

  “They’ve got two of them now. That was what Dostak said. Wager that they’re both near Southgate.”

  “I won’t take that wager.”

  “That’s the problem with being a lancer,” Jultyr went on. “You do a good job, and what happens? They give you something worse.” The older captain shook his head. “You can’t risk doing a bad job, ’cause that might kill you, but sometimes the lancers who survive doing it badly make out better than the good ones. They get assigned to trade stations or as orderlies somewhere.”

  “There’s some truth in that.” Alucius shifted his weight in the saddle. Most of the time now, he didn’t notice the residual stiffness and soreness, but every so often something twinged, reminding him that he still wasn’t fully healed.

  “More ’n a little,” said Jultyr. “You been awarded every decoration in three lands, and here you are, headed back against the Matrites. You did too good a job, sir. Look where it got you.”

  “We did the job in Hyalt,” Alucius replied, ignoring the references to his previous accomplishments. “It took all three companies. Any less, and the prophet would have overrun us.”

  “We won’t be running into much Talent with the Matrites, do you think?”

  “They didn’t have much before. We can hope that they don’t now.” Two crystal spear-throwers would be more than enough to cause misery and death. Of that, Alucius was certain.

  80

  Tempre, Lanachrona

  The Lord-Protector stepped past the guards into his private apartments, throwing the door bolt behind him. His boot heels echoed on the marble of the foyer, carrying ahead of him into the sitting room where Alerya sat with young Talus in her lap, both mother and son bathed in the warm glow from the lamps set on the end tables on either side of the love seat.

  “Here comes your father…can you say, ‘Da!’?” Alerya turned toward the Lord-Protector, but did not rise.

  Talus smiled and gurgled.

  Alerya’s smile faded as she beheld Talryn’s face. “I’m sorry. Whatever it is, it must have been a very bad day.”

  “They’re all bad now, except when I’m with you.” The Lord-Protector smiled warmly at his consort and son, but the smile faded. He stepped forward to the love seat, then bent down and scooped his son from his consort’s arms. “How’s my boy? Did you have a good day?” His arms enfolded his son.

  “He’s usually good. He was a little fussy. I think he might be getting his first teeth.” Alerya stood. “Would you like some wine?”

  “I’d like the whole decanter, but I’d pay for it later.” Talryn smiled once more at Talus. “Wouldn’t I, young fellow?” He shifted his son to his shoulder, patting his back. “It’s good to see you in such fine fettle.”

  “Talryn…he just ate…”

  Alerya’s voice died away with Talus’s satisfied burp.

  “Oh, dear…that was a good tunic,” Alerya said, taking Talus back and handing the Lord-Protector a square of white cotton. “Perhaps…if you hurry…”

  Talryn laughed, taking the cloth and doing what he could to wipe away the damage. “At least, he doesn’t know any better. Unlike my marshals and advisors.”

  After folding the soiled cloth and setting it on the nearest end table, the Lord-Protector moved to the side table, where he stood and poured half a glass of a deep red wine into the waiting goblet.

  “Do you want to tell me?” Alerya asked.

  “Who else can I tell? Honestly, that is?” He took a sip of the wine. “You recall Majer Alucius?”

  “The herder majer, the one you owe?”

  “You won’t ever fail to remind me of that, will you?”

  “No. I feel we owe him even more, but I cannot say why, and it is not wise for a ruler to forget what he owes and to whom.”

  “You’re right, dear. That is why I am not in the best of moods. I found out that Frynkel, that paragon of duty, used my seal and ordered Majer Alucius to Southgate.” Talryn set his goblet on the side table.

  “Frynkel did what?” asked Alerya. “I can’t believe he sent an order under your seal without your approval. How could he? How could he dare?”

  “It wasn’t exactly an order. He was more clever than that. It was a request from me. A request, almost begging. He was quite proud of it. Oh…sometimes, the legacies that we bear.”

  “What will you do?”

  “What he expects. A reprimand and dismissal for him if Majer Alucius succeeds, and Frynkel’s execution if Alucius fails.”

  “He would expect execution?”

  “He might. He might not. It is a measure of our situation that he would do this, knowing how I feel. No matter how desperate the situation…Frynkel deserves execution. At the least, I should sign my own requests, do my own treachery.” Talryn’s voice was cold. “Yet…there is no one half so well qualified as Frynkel left.”

  “Can’t you change the order?”

  “Majer Alucius is almost in Zalt. What will happen will happen.”

  “You really are desperate, dearest, aren’t you?”

  “I have no more lancers to spend. I’ve lost my best marshal. For all I know, I’ve already lost Alyniat as well.”

  “Couldn’t you just have the lancers retreat to the old borders?”

  “I could. Then I would have to have them fight the Matrites there without Majer Alucius. Perhaps in weeks at worst, in a year at best. And I would have both those crystal spear-throwers sent at Tempre. The Regent is far worse than the Matrial was…far worse.” Talryn laughed. “That is why one removes a ruler at some risk. One never knows who may succeed. Not that I had the slightest to do with the mysterious death of the Matrial.”

  “It is unlikely that the majer can save our forces, is it not?”

  “Unlikely, yes. It is not impossible. He has accomplished the impossible before. More than once, I suspect. It is indeed impossible to hold on to Southgate and the southern high road without him. And that is what is so miserable and unfortunate about Marshal Frynkel’s ‘request’ under my seal. I suppose I’m as angry at my own weakness as at his actions. Frynkel knows that I hesitate to do the less than honorable, and he knew that we could not delay, not and have any hope of success in saving Southgate.”

  “Is it that vital?”

  “The Praetor of Lustrea is building up his forces to take Illegea and Ongelya, then Deforya. Or perhaps the other way around. When all is done, there will be but two lands controlling Corus. We will be one of them, or we will be dead.” Talryn shrugged. “I did not create this situation. The Matrial and the old Praetor and perhaps Aellyan Edyss shoved the first stones out of their positions and began the avalanche, even before I became Lord-Protector. I have been dealing with what they began, and my choices have always been few.”

  “They are all dead. Does that not tell you something?”

  “Yes, my dear. It tells me that I must be most careful.” He eased Talus from Alerya’s arms and into his own. “It tells me that I must enjoy those loves and pleasures that I have, for each seas
on may be the last.” He gently wrapped his arms around his son for several moments, then straightened and let Alerya take Talus. “I suppose we should eat. There is little need to suffer hunger as well.”

  “Talus will be up for a time.”

  “He can stay with us, can he not?”

  Alerya smiled softly. “Of course.”

  The three walked toward the small private dining room.

  81

  On a Septi afternoon, seven days after starting through the Coast Range, Alucius was riding with Feran at the head of the column. His past knowledge of the back roads and old lumber camps in the Coast Range and the western hills below had proved useful in finding several encampments with some shelter and water. He’d never mentioned it, just sent out scouts to various places, and most of them had reported what he had recalled.

  Now, the valley holding Zalt spread out before them to the west.

  “You can see Senob Post to the right of the high road, just before this road intersects with the range road from the north. Senob was what they called it then, anyway.” Even without standing in the stirrups, Alucius could make out the redstone walls, high enough to be visible from at least four vingts away. “The town is all in the northwest quarter of where the two high roads join. The range road ends about a hundred yards beyond the junction. I always wondered if the builders had meant to go farther south and had been working on the road when the Cataclysm struck.”

  Feran looked at him.

  “I was stationed here once,” Alucius said. “Remember?”

  “I knew you were a Matrite captive squad leader. You never said where.”

  “Here and in Hieron, but just for a short time there.”

  “Then you know more about what’s west?”

  Alucius shook his head. “I know most of the back roads between Zalt and the old border to the east, but I never went farther west than a few vingts from Zalt. I know the road north from here, but not the coast road.” He turned in the saddle. “Egyl? Were you always in the north?”