Alucius drank, and in time, drained the mug.
“You’re from Southgate?” he asked.
“From Dramur, years ago. Here I became the healer to the Seltyr Benjir. He knew I did not wish to return to Dramur, and he let me escape when the Lanachronans came. Now…you must rest. You have many vingts yet to travel.”
With the same sad smile, she stepped back. Alucius could feel the reddish darkness creeping over him, but it was not so hot this time.
For the next few days, he drifted in and out of sleep, mostly.
One afternoon, he woke to see a figure in a Northern Guard uniform sitting on a stool beside his bed.
“What…who…” His voice felt and sounded like his vocal cords had been filled with sandstone and grit, but that seemed to be the case every time he woke.
“Waris, sir. You were hurt pretty bad, they say, but it looks like everything is healing all right. Healers don’t know why, but that doesn’t matter.”
“Matrites…?”
“You smashed ’em, sir, you and the overcaptain…broke their whole center. Captain Deotyr, he’d never seen you fight in battle. Said you took out a whole squad by yourself, the ones going after Thirty-fifth Company. The other Southern Guard companies got it together enough after that. We slaughtered half of ’em. Maybe more. Captain Deotyr…he saw that they’d set up an ambush just to try to get you…he fought like a madman. All of Twenty-eighth Company did…they were pretty good this time. Never thought I’d see that, not after those days back in Krost, but they were good…
“Word is that the Matrites have moved back to Hafin. Colonel Faurad took back Dimor, too. The whole south of Madrien is back under the Lord-Protector’s control. Matrites don’t do so good without those spear-throwers.”
“That was…the idea.”
“Overcaptain Feran, he’s got everything organized. We even got a wagon of the right kind of ammunition yesterday. Been a little worried about that. Didn’t have much left after the big fight on the ring road.”
“Any word on going home?”
“You don’t worry about that, sir. Overcaptain says we don’t go until you go. Besides, we got a few others need to heal, too. More ’n a few, actually. About twenty.”
Alucius didn’t really want to ask about casualties. “How many didn’t make it?”
Waris looked away, then back at Alucius. “Both battles…we lost thirty. Thirty-fifth Company lost thirty-five, Twenty-eighth almost forty.”
Alucius winced, and pain shot through his entire body. “Too…many.”
“No, sir. Most Southern Guard outfits, they lost fifty, sixty, out of every hundred. Matrites lost eighty. Figure we’re lucky.” Waris stood. “Healer said I shouldn’t stay long, sir, but wanted you to know everyone’s glad you were in charge, want to see you back soon.”
“Thank you.”
“You take care, sir.”
After Waris left, Alucius looked at the window and the grayness beyond. In winter in Southgate, was there ever sunlight?
All told, Fifth Company had taken roughly forty percent casualties…and that was the lowest by half? What was happening? How had the Lord-Protector and the Regent ever gotten themselves into positions where such carnage was necessary? And why?
The grayness of the day merged with the hot grayness of sleep before he ever found an answer.
92
Hieron, Madrien
The Regent stood to the right of the conference table. Because of the rain and mist that fell outside the wide glass window, only the southern quarter of the Park of the Matrial was visible. The southern part of Hieron had been swallowed by gray mist and rain. The Regent’s violet eyes fixed on the officer who had just entered the chamber.
“I have read your report, Marshal Benyal. I am not pleased. We no longer have either crystal spear-thrower?”
“We don’t even have the pieces of either, Regent.” The marshal’s voice was flat and level. Her eyes met those of the Regent.
“How could that possibly happen? How could both explode in the same campaign? In the same battle?”
“We don’t know. The first one exploded as well after a period of use, as you may recall. It may be that the weapon does not hold up well for prolonged use.”
“I find that hard to believe. A weapon whose parts endured for more than two millennia explodes after a few weeks of use?”
“There is another possibility. We do know that there was one company of Northern Guards in the battle. This is the first time they’ve been sent south. We’re fairly certain that we killed their commander.”
“What does that have to do with the crystal spear-thrower? If anything?” Scorn colored the Regent’s voice.
“Only this. The first spear-thrower failed and partly exploded in the battle for Soulend against the Northern Guard. They were the Iron Valley Militia then, but there may be a lamaial among their officers. That was why we targeted the officer at Southgate. Even if the spear-throwers were destroyed, we would not wish to suffer a lamaial to live.”
“The lamaials—always a lamaial.” The Regent glared at the marshal. “And the pieces? What of them?”
“Both weapons exploded into small fragments. The detonations killed almost ten companies and cleared the areas where they exploded. Without the lancers, we could not recover what scraps there were, but the reports we did receive indicate that there were few fragments larger than palm-sized.”
“How soon can we build another?”
“We cannot. Not at present. The plans for the formulator assemblies were lost when the engineer’s revolt failed.”
“One section…we are missing the plans for one section, and you can do nothing. Could not anyone have studied that section and created plans?”
“We had two working spear-throwers. Had we tried to take one apart and determine its construction, there was a good chance that we would have lost that one and still not been able to determine how it was built.”
“I will get you those plans, Marshal. You will find an engineer to build another spear-thrower. And you will make sure that we retain the ability to build others. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Regent. Perfectly clear.”
“Good. I am most tired of explaining the obvious time and time again.” After a pause, the Regent gestured. “You may go.”
Benyal bowed and turned, her face remaining impassive under the steel gray hair.
93
Alucius shifted his weight in the padded chair. His eyes dropped to the heavy splint on his right arm. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d broken his right forearm. He remembered throwing up his left, sabre in hand, and being hammered out of the saddle. Had he broken the right in falling?
The healer had said that it had been broken by rifle fire against the nightsilk of his undergarments. He could recall seeing all the rifles aimed at him. But why? How had the Matrites even known he was there? Or were they shooting at all commanders? Was that why there weren’t any bright ones left in the Southern Guard? That sort of tactics would certainly explain many things.
He tried to ignore all the aches. If he lay flat in bed, his ribs didn’t hurt so much, but he had to cough and had trouble breathing easily. If he sat propped up in the chair or in bed, his chest and ribs hurt more. No matter what position he assumed, something hurt. In the end, he decided that he’d deal with the pain of the ribs and use the chair as much as he could. He forced himself to stand and walk around the room at least once a glass, but he was careful to keep a hand on something to steady himself.
As he had improved, Alucius had discovered that he—along with other wounded officers—had been put in a villa that years before had belonged to a wealthy factor. He was one of the few with a room to himself, one of the privileges of rank, he had gathered.
He was reading, or trying to read, a history of Southgate, but he found sometimes he had to go over the words several times. That might have been because the book had been written in Dramurian, which was related, but not too close
ly, to Madrien. Outside the window, the sun was shining, the first sunny day he could recall since he’d been truly awake after his injuries, and the window was ajar, letting in a cool refreshing breeze that almost took away the sour smells that drifted into Alucius’s room from the other rooms and halls.
He concentrated on the words before him.
…in the time of Seltyr Alijir, the harbor walls were strengthened and thickened. The hills around the city, at a distance of fifteen vingts from the square, were leveled at a height of thirty yards above the lands surrounding to the west of the coastal high road and ten yards to the east…
“You’re looking better,” observed Feran, moving into the small white-walled room.
“Better than when?”
“I’ve come by a few times, but you weren’t in any shape to remember.”
“That was most of the first two weeks. Another week, and they say I’ll be able to move to some sort of regular senior officers’ quarters.”
Feran settled onto the stool across from Alucius. “They just want to get you out of here.”
“How’s Fifth Company doing?”
“I’ve got them back into a training routine. We’re doing the same thing with Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies. No one’s shifted command of them. I thought it’d be a shame to see everything they learned lost.”
“I see you share my high opinion of certain Southern Guard practices,” Alucius said cheerfully, ignoring the twinges in his ribs.
“You were too charitable, Colonel.” Feran snorted.
“What now?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem. They either ought to strike a peace of some sort with the Regent or take Hafin and Salcer. That would cut their supply lines and make it harder on the Regent.”
“It also would put the most productive lands of Madrien in the hands of Lanachrona.” Alucius frowned. “I wouldn’t blame the Lord-Protector, though. The Matrites never would sue for peace or accept it on anyone else’s terms. I doubt that the Lord-Protector has enough lancers to make another assault. Waris told me that the casualty rates were something like fifty percent in the Southern Guard.”
“Higher for some companies. Makes us look pretty good,” Feran said.
How could his forces have the lowest rates by far with casualties running well over thirty percent? “No one can keep fighting for long with those kinds of casualties.”
“They’ve been doing it for a couple of years, they tell me. Not so many big battles, but smaller fights with those kinds of casualties.”
“That’s going to hurt the Matrites more.”
“How do you figure that?” asked Feran.
“They’ve got more women in arms. Dead women don’t have children. Also means they’ll have more trouble with men—and they’ll have to keep using those torques.”
“It looks like a standoff to me,” Feran suggested. “The Lanachronans have to travel farther and hold longer supply lines, and they’re fighting on less familiar territory, but their lancer ranks fight better. The Matrites have a more compact land to defend now, and they’re better marshaled and led, but their lancers aren’t as good. Oh…and the Lanachronans are going to lose you when we head home, and that won’t help.”
“They’re losing you, too.”
“Everything I learned…I learned from you.”
“That’s hardly true, and I’m still making mistakes—like getting ambushed.”
“That was stupid,” Feran said amiably.
“Very stupid,” Alucius agreed.
“No. Stupid of the Matrites. After the first volley, they were all set up like clay targets. Don’t think one of those snipers escaped. They all got killed, and that left them surrounded. Twenty-eighth Company butchered them. And you survived.”
“I wasn’t sure about that for a time.”
“No one was, but I figured that if you could make it through the first days, you’d come all the way back.”
“I appreciate your confidence.”
“I did take one liberty.” Feran looked down.
“Liberty?” Alucius didn’t have the faintest idea of what Feran meant.
“Figured that your being a herder and all, your Wendra’d probably sense you were hurt. So we sent off a letter dispatch to her. Told her you’d been hurt badly, but looked like you’d recover fully. Also told her you’d been made a temporary colonel. Just hope it gets there.”
Alucius smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I can’t tell you how much.”
“Knew you were worried. Times you were talking to her, or about her…” Feran looked sheepish. “You cared that much, all those letters you wrote…thought she ought to know.”
“I can’t thank…” Alucius yawned, in spite of himself.
“That’s my signal to go.” Feran smiled and stood.
“Thank you for coming by.”
“We took turns.”
“Turns?”
“While you were unconscious, first week, someone was here every moment.”
Alucius swallowed.
“We all know that as many of us made it through as did was because of you. Every man does.”
Alucius was speechless.
“Get some rest, Colonel.” Feran grinned, then stepped out of the room.
94
Prosp, Lustrea
Waleryn glanced at the image in the polished surface of the Table, his own image looking back up at him, that of a Lanachronan lord in the uniform of a Praetorian Engineer. His lips quirked into a crooked smile. He straightened and waited.
Around him, the recently cleared chamber was clean of dust and grit, but the walls and pillars remained bare. Besides the Table, a workbench set against the wall, a tall stool, and several wooden crates were the only objects within the reinforced stone walls of the chamber.
“Engineer? The Praetor will be here shortly.”
“I await him with pleasure,” replied Waleryn, turning from the Table.
Two of the Praetorian Guards stepped into the Table chamber. The taller walked around the Table and opened the drawers in the chest, closing them after his inspection. The shorter lifted the tops of the crates, one by one, replacing them. Their inspection complete, they stationed themselves on each side of the door.
Waleryn continued to stand by the Table, waiting.
A quarter glass passed, then another quarter, before the sound of boots announced the arrival of more Guards and the Praetor. Two more Guards entered the Table chamber, followed by Tyren, wearing a black cloak trimmed in silver, over the shimmering silver tunic and trousers of the Praetor.
“I trust this will be worth a detour, Engineer.” Tyren’s voice was curt. “Show us.”
“If you would step forward and behold the Table, most honored Praetor,” offered Waleryn, “I can show you what is happening this very moment at any locale in Corus.”
“Perhaps…no, a wise man does not look too deeply into his personal life.” Tyren laughed. “Such temptation, but one best resisted. Show me something of the so-called Council of Five in Dereka. If you can.”
“That can be.” Waleryn looked into the table, and the silver reflection of the two men vanished, to be replaced by swirling ruby mists. Immediately, the mists vanished, replaced with a view of an audience hall. On the dais at one end of the hall was a table in the shape of a semicircle, and on the arced side sat five men in high-backed gilt chairs, facing two lancer officers in ornate gold and crimson uniforms.
The view showed the backs of the officers and the faces of the Council. All five faces radiated displeasure.
“They are not happy.” Tyren sounded pleased. “And they should not be, not with our legions marshaled in Passera to begin the campaign once the worst of the snows on the Spine of Corus melt.”
Dampness formed on Waleryn’s forehead as an unseen set of purpled arms rose out of the Table and slowly embraced Tyren.
“What…” Tyren fell silent.
“They…the Council…is threatening some sort
of punishment. That is clear,” offered Waleryn. “It may be that they do not believe the reports of your legions.” He glanced at the immobile form of the young blond Praetor, whose hands and arms were knotted, gripping the edge of the Table. “Then…they may be looking for someone to blame for their own foolishness.” More sweat beaded on Waleryn’s forehead.
The figure of the Praetor remained unspeaking…although his face contorted, moving rapidly from expression to expression, and his eyes appeared close to bulging from his forehead.
“They…they are letting them depart…Yes…as you request, Praetor,” Waleryn spoke. “An image of the Lord-Protector…In a moment, for it takes time to displace one image and seek another.”
Suddenly, the Praetor’s face smoothed, and a wide smile appeared. “Yes…we should see that image, Engineer. You should follow the Lord-Protector closely. After Dereka, Tempre will be our next conquest.” The hearty laugh that followed carried a chill undertone. “And…you shall come with me, so far as Vysta, where you will proceed to Norda. You will have all the supplies you require to rebuild yet another Table.”
“Yes, Praetor.” Waleryn bowed his head, concealing the smile of triumph.
95
Alucius sat in the armchair in front of the window, overlooking a rain-slicked stone courtyard. Outside, the sky was leaden gray, much the way he felt. His eyes dropped to the history in his lap.
“Colonel…”
Alucius looked up to see Alyniat standing in the doorway. “Marshal. I hadn’t expected you.”
“After my last comments, under the circumstances, I imagine not.” A crooked smile crossed Alyniat’s lips.
“Or after mine,” Alucius admitted.
“Yours were deserved. Mine were not. I have to admit that I was wrong, Colonel,” Alyniat said, a trace of a smile still hovering at the corners of his lips. “That’s a hard thing for marshals.”
“Sir?”
“The stories of your exploits have crossed the entire Southern Guard. You walked through the crystal spears…you single-handedly killed five companies of Matrites…it took an entire squad of Matrites firing at you from point-blank range to bring you down…”
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