Darknesses

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “More snow, mostly. I’ve kept them closer to the plateau than I would have liked, but their wool is coming in strong. Despite everything, be a good year.”

  Alucius glanced toward the lead ram—young for the role—but wise beyond his years. Absently, with his Talent-sense, he studied the nightram, noting that even the ram’s lifethread linked him to the land close to the stead, a thread, like all lifethreads, that, if severed, would result in death.

  “He even looks like Lamb,” offered Royalt.

  “He does. I miss Lamb, though. I’d hoped to see him once more.”

  “He was close to twenty—long life for a nightram.”

  “I had still hoped,” Alucius said.

  “The young one takes to you like his sire. I can see that.”

  “I wish I were here, rather than at Emal.” Alucius remained uncomfortable whenever his grandsire even hinted that Alucius would be the herder before long.

  “You have but ten months before your obligation’s met.”

  “We’ll see then.” Alucius was all too aware of what could happen in ten months. In less than three, once, he’d been a scout for the militia, captured by the Matrites, collar-slaved, and retrained. In another two-month period, he’d broken the collar torques of the Matrial, formed his own company from escaped captive troopers, traveled six hundred vingts, and returned to service in the militia as a captain—and managed to keep anyone from knowing the extent of his Talent. In some ways, he reflected, the last had been the hardest task of all, but the silence about Talent was one of the strongest herder traditions, because, on it, in a fashion, rested the fate of all herders in the Iron Valleys.

  “It’s been quiet. Even Kustyl says so,” Royalt offered.

  “Sometimes, that’s the time to worry.” Alucius laughed, ruefully.

  “Someone once told me that.”

  “Use my own words against me, would you?”

  “Not against you. I just worry.” Alucius shifted his weight in the saddle as Wildebeast reached the crest of Westridge. The stead buildings lay a good vingt—two thousand solid yards—due west and perhaps fifty yards lower than the ridge crest.

  “You worry more now that you’re married.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Alucius quickly added, “Didn’t you? You didn’t stay in the militia long after you and Grandma’am were married. Not from what Mother said.”

  Royalt chuckled. “Let’s just say that being a herder suited me better, especially after the traders started begrudging every gold spent on the militia.”

  “Like now?” questioned Alucius.

  “Worse, then. Right now, they still fret a bit about what happened. Been less than two years since the Matrites were in Soulend, and they’d still be there if the Lord-Protector hadn’t wanted Southgate.”

  “That may be, but there’s been no real fighting in more than a year, and the Council’s cut the militia to twenty-one companies, from close to thirty.”

  “Be only twenty, weren’t for you.” Royalt gestured toward the outbuildings of the stead, now less than half a vingt ahead of them. “Let’s get them in the shed. We can talk more at supper.”

  Alucius nodded, and eased Wildebeast back to the east and south to make sure that the stragglers followed the lead ram into the nightsheep shed. One of the older ewes lagged, as if she wanted to remain in the open air. Alucius projected a sense of sandwolf, and the ewe closed the gap with the rest of the flock.

  Once all the nightsheep were in the shed, Alucius dismounted and tied Wildebeast to one of the posts of the lambing corral. Then he checked the shed a last time.

  Wendra appeared at the shed door as Alucius slid the last flange bolt into place. She was wearing a herder’s jacket that Alucius’s mother Lucenda had tailored for her and given to her on her birthday. Both her generous mouth and her golden-flecked green eyes smiled as Alucius turned. She was wearing the green scarf he had brought from Zalt—the only thing of value he had brought back from Madrien.

  They just looked at each other for a long moment, then embraced. After a time, they separated, but Alucius could sense how their lifethreads entwined whenever they were close.

  “Why…how…?” Alucius wasn’t quite sure how to phrase the question. He untied Wildebeast.

  Wendra laughed. “Your mother practically ordered me out of the kitchen when we saw you coming down Westridge.” The laugh died away. “She said you were leaving tomorrow, and she wouldn’t allow me to make the mistakes she did.”

  Alucius nodded soberly. His father had been a militia captain who had ridden out when Alucius was less than three and never returned. “I still have to take care of Wildebeast.”

  “I’ll come with you. Your grandfather’s already finished with his mount—while you took care of the flock.”

  “He deserves that. He’ll have to go back to doing everything tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Wendra said quietly.

  The herder who was also a militia captain could sense that his wife was upset and trying to hide it. “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing.” Wendra’s breath was a white fog in the winter twilight.

  Alucius looked hard at Wendra. “I don’t think so.”

  “It really is. It shouldn’t bother me at all. Father sent out a half barrel of good weak ale. Korcler and Mother brought it. We asked them to stay for supper, but Mother said they had to get back. They’d been delivering barrels to Gortal at the dustcat works.” Wendra paused. “Father wishes he didn’t have to sell to Gortal, but without his orders…”

  “He couldn’t keep the cooperage going,” Alucius finished her sentence as he led Wildebeast into the stable, then into the third stall.

  Wendra nodded, pausing at the end of the stall. “It seems so…unfair…so wrong. Father’s a good cooper, and he wasn’t lucky enough to have the Talent to be a herder. He works hard.”

  “He does.” Alucius began to unsaddle Wildebeast, then to groom him. “You have to wonder, if there is the One Who Is, why there is so much evil and unfairness in the world.” Thinking of the torques of the Matrial, he added, “And so often, it seems like the efforts people make to redress one evil just create another.”

  “You’re thinking about Madrien, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look at things differently, now.”

  “Is that bad?” Alucius offered a laugh.

  “No.” Wendra shook her head. “It’s still hard to believe that one person controlled the collars of every man in Madrien.” She looked at Alucius. “And you’ve never said anything much beyond a word or two except the one time.”

  “There’s no reason to say more, is there? You and Grandfather and Mother know, and no one else should.” Alucius put down the brush and patted Wildebeast on the shoulder. “There, fellow. Now for some grain.”

  “But…when the collars failed, why…why didn’t the troopers all revolt?”

  “Some did. Some joined my company. But they were all former captives. Why would the others revolt? I suppose some did, but not that many. Life wasn’t that bad there, and everyone had a good place to live. The only really bad thing was that Talent officers could kill anyone who wore a collar from a distance, and most of those with collars were men. With that gone, and men having more say in matters, why would people want to leave their homes or destroy things? They might even learn to fight better without the collars.”

  “It bothers you,” Wendra offered.

  “What does?”

  “You’ve talked to me about how much better most people lived in Madrien and how shabby Iron Stem looks.”

  Alucius left the stall and closed the half door behind him. “I’d like to think that people would treat others better, but the place where they were treated best used force to require it. It doesn’t give me the most hope.” He took Wendra’s arm after he closed the stable door, and they left the stable and began to walk back toward the stead house, arm in arm. Even though it was almost night, the way was bright enough for a
man who had the night vision of a herder, so that even full dark, without either moon in the sky, appeared as early twilight might to others.

  “I don’t want you to go back,” she said quietly. “I know you have to, but I worry.”

  “I worry, too.” Alucius laughed. “It’s been quiet, except for raiders and bandits.”

  “Grandfather Kustyl says that the Reillies who left the Westerhills are moving back in, and that, before long, they’ll be raiding steads again.”

  Alucius nodded. Wendra’s grandfather knew a great deal. As one of the closer neighbors—close being over ten vingts to the north—Kustyl often stopped by to chat with Royalt, and had for years.

  “They might, but there are fewer of them, and they probably won’t have to raid for a few years. By then, it might be some other poor captain’s problem.” He stamped his boots on the porch to remove the thin dusting of snow, then used the boot brush, first on Wendra’s boots, then on his own.

  Once inside, they cleaned up in the washroom, where the hand pump squeaked with every downstroke, and where the water was cold enough to leave Wendra’s hands bluish.

  When they entered the kitchen, Royalt was already sitting at one end of the long table. He looked at Lucenda, standing by the heavy iron stove. “Told you they wouldn’t be long.”

  Alucius’s mother smiled indulgently before she seated herself at the table and inclined her head to Alucius. “If you would…”

  Alucius bowed his head. “In the name of the One Who Was, Is, and Will Be, may our food be blessed and our lives as well, and blessed be the lives of both the deserving and the undeserving that both may strive to do good in the world and beyond.” The words of the ancient blessing disturbed him, although he’d come to understand more of their import. Even at his age, he’d seen enough to discover that it was often hard to determine who was deserving and undeserving, simple though it might appear at first glance. The Matrial had brought prosperity and peace to the entire western coast of Corus, after more than a thousand years of bloodshed and anarchy. But it had taken more than four generations of oppression of men, and the use of silver torques that could kill a man at the whim of any woman with Talent. Who had deserved what, for how long, and why? He still was uncertain.

  Lucenda stood, as did Wendra. Wendra began to hand platters and dishes from the serving table, while Lucenda ladled a sauce that simmered on the stove over a large platter.

  “Marinated stuffed fowl with the orange sauce and lace potatoes! You’re giving Alucius quite a send-off supper,” Royalt said.

  “He deserves it,” Lucenda said. “Wendra and I decided he ought to have a meal to remember on that cold ride back to Emal.”

  Wendra smiled sweetly at Royalt, though her eyes twinkled, and added, “And you won’t enjoy it at all, I imagine.”

  Alucius almost choked on the mouthful of ale he was swallowing.

  “Alucius,” Royalt protested, “once you leave, I’ll be at their mercy. I’m but a poor herder.”

  The other three laughed.

  “You’ve never been at anyone’s mercy,” Alucius said, adding the cheese-lace potatoes to his platter.

  “And let’s not hear about proper respect, not tonight,” added Lucenda.

  Royalt offered an exaggerated shrug of helplessness.

  Alucius took a bite of the fowl, then smiled at Wendra. “It’s good. You made it, didn’t you?”

  Wendra blushed.

  “She did. She cooks better than I do,” Lucenda answered for the younger woman. “And she’s gotten almost as good with the looms and spinnerets.”

  Left unsaid was the fact that, except for her father’s total lack of Talent, Wendra might well have been raised on a stead herself and learned all the equipment as a child. But it was clear to Alucius that she had enough Talent to be a herder herself, if not so much as he had, and, once he finished his militia obligation, he intended to teach her the herding aspect of the stead as well.

  There was silence for a time as the family ate.

  “Talked to Kustyl last week.” Royalt finally spoke. “He said that the price of summer nightsilk in Borlan was going for fifteen golds a yard.”

  “That’s for nightsilk that hasn’t even been loomed?” asked Wendra.

  Royalt finished his biscuit before nodding. “Not ours, though. Always some smaller herders who are short on coin, can’t face the risk. So they agree to a fixed-price delivery with one of the cloth brokers. Broker tries to sell them for more in the futures market. If he can, he’s made money, with no risk.”

  “What if the herder can’t deliver?” asked Wendra.

  “He’ll likely lose part or all of his flock,” Alucius replied. “Broker will take it, then sell the animals to other herders.”

  “We haven’t had to buy any in years,” Royalt said. “Did once, twenty-five years back. Gray flux killed off almost ten prime ewes. Didn’t have much choice. Didn’t like it, though.”

  Alucius hadn’t heard about the gray flux, but there was always something he hadn’t heard, once his grandsire started talking about the past.

  “The price wouldn’t be that high unless the traders think we’ll have trouble,” Lucenda said. “The weather hasn’t been that dry, and the winter that cold.” She looked across the table at her son. “Is the Lord-Protector looking north?”

  “I haven’t heard anything, and Colonel Clyon visited Emal two weeks before we left on furlough. There’s more talk about when the Lord-Protector’s lady might expect an heir.”

  “They’ve been married less than a year, and already they’re asking?” inquired Wendra. “Doesn’t he have brothers, if that’s what they’re worried about?”

  “He has two brothers, as I recall,” Lucenda said. “But neither is married. Not that the Lord-Protector’s next eldest brother isn’t considered capable.”

  “You mean, sufficiently ambitious and bloodthirsty?” asked Alucius dryly.

  “Who told you that?” Wendra looked at Alucius.

  “The colonel let that drop some time back. He said that the current Lord-Protector had more sense than his younger siblings, but all were to be watched.”

  “Clyon’s a good man, but he’s getting along,” Royalt said.

  Alucius nodded. “Majer Weslyn is doing more and more.”

  “You think he’s a good man?”

  “Majer Weslyn? He does what the colonel wants, but…”

  “He’s not as strong?” asked Wendra. “Or he’ll do what the Council wants if anything happens to Clyon?”

  “I worry about that,” Alucius admitted. “The head of the Iron Valley Militia has to be able to stand up to the Council. Clyon does.”

  “It’s too bad you can’t be colonel,” Wendra said.

  Alucius laughed gently. “I’m too young. I’m the youngest captain in the entire militia.”

  “And you’ve seen more than any of them,” Wendra said staunchly.

  “It doesn’t work that way. Besides, I’d rather be a herder.”

  The faintest frown crossed Royalt’s forehead, an expression—accompanied by a feeling of worry that Alucius could not ignore.

  Wendra glanced from her husband to his grandsire, but she didn’t speak.

  “What else did Kustyl say?” asked Alucius.

  “The Council borrowed over six thousand golds from the Landarch of Deforya during the fight against the Matrial. They didn’t want to raise tariffs, but they haven’t been able to pay the interest, either, and they can’t pay even that back without raising tariffs. After four years, the back interest is almost another three thousand golds. Kustyl said he’d heard that the Lord-Protector has bought the note from the Landarch. The Landarch had to sell it because he’s got troubles of his own. The Lord-Protector has raised the interest on the note because the Council hasn’t made the payments. Some say he’s even sending an envoy from Tempre. There’s a faction in the traders that wants to accept being a province of Lanachrona, rather than come up with a fifty percent increase in tariffs
.”

  “That much?” marveled Alucius.

  “They’d do that?” blurted Wendra.

  “Aye…some would,” Royalt replied.

  “They’re like Gortal,” Lucenda added. “So long as they can turn a gold, it matters not what happens to others.”

  “What do you think will happen now?” Alucius looked to his grandsire.

  “That…I don’t know. You’ve seen Madrien, and so far what you thought would happen there has. The Matrites can still protect themselves, and that leaves us, Deforya, and the grass nomads as the places where the Lord-Protector might wish to expand Lanachrona. He already has Southgate. I can’t see him spreading the Southern Guard across the Lost Highway and a thousand vingts of grassland.”

  “Deforya or us, then,” Lucenda concluded.

  “Or both,” suggested Alucius. “In time, anyway.”

  Royalt shook his head slowly. “It’s not as though we could do anything now—or that anyone’s going to ask us. We’re only herders.” He smiled at his daughter. “You said there was some pie?”

  Alucius was staggered at the thought that the Council might surrender the independence of the Iron Valleys over such a debt, enormous though it was. Staggered by the revelation, but not surprised by the Council’s actions…or lack of forethought.

  3

  Alucius woke in the darkness, knowing that he had to rise. His winter’s-end furlough was over, and he had to report back to the outpost at Emal. The ten days of the last week had flown by all too quickly, and now he had a three-day ride ahead of him; he had to leave a day earlier than his men and squad leaders would so that he would be there as they reported.

  “I wish you could stay longer,” Wendra whispered, snuggling against him.

  “So do I.”

  For a time, Wendra clung to him before he kissed her and said, “It’s a long ride.”

  “I know.”

  Alucius eased out from under the heavy quilts and headed from what had been the guest bedroom across the back corridor to the washroom. The water coming from the hand pump in the washroom was like liquid ice, and shaving left his face chill. When he returned to the bedroom, Wendra had pulled on trousers and tunic and her heavy winter jacket. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he pulled on his nightsilk undergarments and his captain’s uniform.