Darknesses

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  So intent were the nomads on hacking their way to and through the Deforyans that Alucius and Twenty-first Company and Feran and Fifth Company reloaded twice before what appeared to be a body of nomads close to five companies in size began to break away from the main nomad force.

  “Target the nomads to the south! To the south!”

  Twenty-first Company responded. A round of withering fire slashed through the attackers, then a second. At that point, Fifth Company turned its rifles on the nomads who were urging their mounts toward the two Northern Guard companies.

  “Rifles away. Sabres out! Prepare to charge. Tight formation!”

  Against the remaining nomads, although outnumbered, Twenty-first Company was through the nomad formation quickly. Alucius glanced back, but the nomads had not turned, and those remaining were engaged in a one-on-one melee with Fifth Company.

  “Twenty-first Company! Halt!”

  The survivors came to an abrupt and uneven halt.

  “Hold position.”

  Alucius sheathed the sabre and pulled out the rifle, reloading as quickly as he could. Unless he could do something against the pteridons, everything was lost. It might be anyway, but he had to try.

  “Form around the overcaptain, rifles out!” Longyl snapped.

  Alucius turned to the north…watching, waiting. There were four pteridons. One, clearly larger than the other three, circled higher than they did, and was not attacking the Deforyans. Alucius waited until he could see one of the lower pteridons swoop from the northwest.

  He raised the heavy rifle, investing the bullet of the cartridge in the chamber with darkness.

  Crack!

  The shot was true, and the pteridon shriveled, then tumbled out of the sky, striking the grass to the west of Twenty-first Company with enough force that the ground shook, even though the beast was a good half vingt away.

  Flames flared into the sky, and a powerful gust of hot air swept across Alucius.

  “Target those riders to the north!” Longyl ordered. “Fire!”

  Alucius forced himself to ignore the oncoming riders, waiting for the next pteridon.

  Once more, he concentrated and fired…and missed, as the pteridon wheeled just as he squeezed the trigger. He fired again, and again. The fourth shot struck the beast’s wing, and it shuddered and slowed. Alucius took the second rifle and forced himself to infuse the next bullet with more darkness as he targeted the slow-moving blue-winged creature.

  Still, it took two more shots before the pteridon and rider went down, crashing into the edge of the western wing of the nomad forces.

  The ensuing explosion scattered and maimed hundreds of nomads, but the formation continued to tighten on the trapped Deforyans.

  While Alucius was reloading both rifles, the third pteridon swooped, spraying blue death across hundreds of Deforyans, and was back beyond range before Alucius was ready.

  Now what?

  Both pteridons were circling higher than Alucius would have liked to shoot.

  “You have to try, sir!” Longyl called. “You have to!”

  Alucius took a deep breath, then raised the heavy rifle.

  He fired four times, and missed.

  Could he add Talent-power to the cartridges? He had to do something.

  Carefully, oh so carefully, he visualized a long purple line from the chamber through the muzzle and straight to the lower pteridon.

  Crack!

  Purple flared across his vision, and he blinked, his eyes watering.

  A bluish purple fireball exploded, raining flames down on the nomads and Deforyan Lancers below, but mostly on the nomads.

  Alucius could barely see.

  “You can do it, sir! You have to do it!” Longyl called.

  Have to? Alucius swayed in the saddle, then deliberately changed rifles, forcing himself to ignore the nomads who were riding toward Twenty-first Company.

  He had to get the last pteridon. The last one…somehow. The last pteridon was even higher. He could manage…he could…he needed the same sort of darkness that he had used to strangle the purple crystal of the Matrial.

  Ever so slowly, Alucius raised the rifle, again extending that purplish line of power, underlining it with the greenish darkness he had used against the crystal. Slowly, aiming, sighting, Alucius willed the bullet to strike the pteridon carrying Aellyan Edyss, for the rider on that last pteridon could be no other, even before he squeezed the trigger.

  As green and black and purple flared across his eyes, leaving him momentarily blind, as the bullet struck the pteridon with an impact that Alucius himself felt, rocking back in his saddle, blue fire flared outward from the pteridon and its rider in all directions.

  As Alucius’s vision cleared, silence covered the entire battlefield for a long moment, and the silver-green sky above it, as though time itself had halted. The pteridon seemed frozen, motionless, in the heavens, glimmering in the white light of the midday sun.

  Then…jagged shards of purpled black replaced the pteridon and rider, shards that sprayed in all directions. Alucius stared, immobilized, as he could see purple shards flying toward him, toward the troopers of Twenty-first Company who had protected him, sheltered him, to allow him to strike at the pteridons.

  He couldn’t let the troopers die. He couldn’t.

  He tried to gather the sense of dark greenness, the shieldlike feeling that went with it, but his thoughts were like molasses in winter, like glue already hardening, and he could feel curtains of blue fire—so hot that his hair was crisping—flaming around him.

  Alucius made a last desperate effort to weld a shield of green around his troopers, but a blast of air slammed into him, into Wildebeast. He could feel them both toppling backward, and he was unable to get clear of the saddle.

  As he was flattened by the blast, green did rise around him, a greenness infused with blackness, a blackness that swept across him and carried him away.

  69

  Northeast of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

  The two herders rode on opposite sides of the flock, Wendra to the east and just behind the lead nightrams, and Royalt to the west and to the rear of the straggling ewes.

  Wendra frowned, and her eyes lifted to the Aerlal Plateau. She shook her head. For an instant, just an instant, had the quartz crystal outcroppings flared green? She studied the Plateau, but could not see any remnant of that greenish light—if there had been any green flare.

  Then, as the darkness struck her, she reined up the gray gelding, her face pale. She glanced at her hand, then stripped off the heavy herder’s glove. The black crystal of her ring remained alive, and she could sense the energy there. But there was a sense of pain—of agony.

  For a time, she just looked at the crystal.

  Wendra was still looking at it when Royalt turned his mount and rode around the rear of the flock to join her.

  “Alucius?” he asked.

  “Alucius…he’s been hurt, or wounded,” the brown-haired woman explained. “I thought there was a flash of green from the Plateau, and then I could feel the darkness, but it was almost as though I’d been burned.”

  “Burned?” Royalt’s weathered face tightened into an expression of worry.

  “That’s the way it felt—like fire had washed over me. For a moment, I could smell hair burning.” Her lips tightened.

  “He’s alive, though?”

  “He is,” she confirmed.

  “Just pray to the One Who Is,” Royalt said slowly.

  “And the soarers,” Wendra added.

  “You think he’s a soarer’s child?”

  “He’s always been one.”

  “That’s what Lucenda said.” Royalt shook his head. “Don’t know about that, but it can’t hurt.”

  Wendra glanced at the ring, warmer than it had been, and then slipped the herders’ gloves back in place. Her eyes lifted to the Aerial Plateau once more, and her lips moved, silently.

  70

  Alucius lay on a bed of blue flame, unable
to move, and a dark-haired and alabaster-skinned man with deep violet eyes stood over him, speaking in a resonant voice. Alucius tried to make out the words, but their meaning eluded him.

  The man spoke again, patiently, and still his words meant nothing to Alucius.

  Alucius strained, concentrating on each word, knowing that each one was important, that he had to know what the alabaster-skinned man was saying, or that he would be doomed forever. But the man vanished in a curtain of blue flame.

  Someone groaned, and he was the one groaning. His skin was on fire once more, and waves of redness washed over him.

  A shadowy figure placed something cool upon his forehead, and he wanted to thank the person, but he could not, as he was swept away by darkness.

  Abruptly, he was standing in a pink-lit chamber, facing a purple crystal that began to spin, faster, then even faster. From the whirling crystal came spears, crystalline spears that were tinged with pink, and tipped with fire.

  With each spear that struck him, he winced, and each wince hurt more than the last, until his entire body was a mass of flame.

  Beside the spinning crystal reappeared the alabaster-skinned man. His smile was no longer sympathetic, but cold and condescending. He spoke again.

  His words tumbled out, each one a pinkish block that floated toward Alucius, and Alucius tried to grasp one, but his fingers closed on emptiness.

  With a sad and simultaneously disdainful expression, the alabaster-skinned man vanished.

  In his place, between Alucius and the crystal, appeared the blocky form of a sander, and the crystals in his skin glittered greenish black. He lifted a hand and struck the spinning crystal. Purple-black fragments sprayed everywhere. Each, as it struck the chamber wall or Alucius, transmuted into a puff of purple smoke that immediately vanished.

  The sander looked at Alucius. He had no mouth, but he spoke, nonetheless. He said that you should have found a Table. He thinks you would have understood. He is wrong, but that is something you must discover for yourself.

  Then a golden green radiance filled the featureless chamber, and a soarer appeared, delicate, finely formed, especially in comparison to the blocky sander. With the green light that washed over Alucius, the flames that flickered from his body died away, as did the agony.

  This time, the darkness that washed over him was cool and comforting.

  71

  Tempre, Lanachrona

  The pale-faced Recorder of Deeds stood back from the Table of the Recorders slightly, watching as the Lord-Protector observed the scene displayed before him.

  “You see,” gestured the Recorder. “There are the dark uniforms of the Northern Guards, and two companies break through Aellyan Edyss’s hordes. That silver emptiness there? That is your herder captain. Notice how many bodies fall before him.”

  “So? He has always been effective in battle. That is why we sent him.” A tone of annoyance crept into the younger man’s voice.

  “Yes, Lord-Protector. I only ask that you watch closely.”

  The two men studied the image in the Table, noting the charge by the two companies, then the wheel to a firing line and the carnage as they shot hundreds of nomads from behind. At the same time, the nomads hacked down hundreds of Deforyans, pushing them even more tightly together while blue flames incinerated hundreds of lancers in red in the center of the compressed Deforyan formation. Slowly, a loosely grouped wedge of nomads formed and charged the outnumbered Northern Guards, who had avoided the encirclement. The southernmost company formed into a tighter wedge and rode through the nomads, scattering and killing scores before re-forming, this time into a circle around the shimmering and shifting silver—sometimes a circle, sometimes an oval.

  “Now…if you would,” the Recorder said, “watch most closely.” He surreptitiously blotted perspiration from his forehead. His violet-shaded eyes darkened.

  “I am watching.”

  Even from the view afforded by the Table, it was clear that something unseen had struck the ground, flattening a broad circle of nomads, and instantly charring them and hundreds of others. Farther to the northeast, another such circle of destruction followed, and then, after a time, a third and even larger circle of similar destruction. Abruptly, hundreds if not a good thousand nomads turned southward and charged raggedly toward the small company of Northern Guards in the circular formation. Just as the nomads were within yards of the Northern Guards, an enormous flare of blue suffused the entire image in the Table, instantly turning black wide sections of riders, but leaving the two circles of Northern Guards untouched—except for a single point of blackness in the center of the Northern Guard formation to the south.

  “What…” murmured the Lord-Protector, “what did he do?”

  “That…that I cannot say for certain, but it appears that each blackened circle was the destruction of a pteridon and where it fell. I would surmise that the last was the death of Aellyan Edyss and the pteridon he rode.”

  “That last fall killed all the nomads around them…thousands of them.” As the Table blanked back to silver, the Lord-Protector turned to the Recorder. “You say that he survived that?”

  “It is most likely, but I can only infer that from what the Table shows. It shows an empty bed, where silver shifts and where people bring food, and watch, and sometimes talk. Their expressions have changed. First, they were silent, and some of the officers were worried. Now, they talk openly.”

  “That means he will live, but it does not mean more.”

  “The nomads have withdrawn, all the way to Illegea, and they are making their way to Lyterna, where they will select new warleaders and a new ruler. They would not have done so had the impact not been truly devastating. Even now, the grass is blackened across most of the battlefield.”

  “What of the pteridons?”

  “I cannot be absolutely certain, but…it appears that there are no more.”

  The Lord-Protector laughed, openly and triumphantly. “You see, Recorder. I was right. Our Talent-weapon broke theirs, and he destroyed all their pteridons. Now, should the nomads attack Lanachrona, they will fall to our Southern Guard.” He paused. “What of the majer and the company of Southern Guards?”

  “I cannot find any trace of Majer Draspyr or Captain Clifyr. They are most certainly dead.”

  “It is to be regretted, but they served nobly, and one company is not too high a price to pay for such a victory.” After a moment, the Lord-Protector added, “The Northern Guard must have suffered great casualties.”

  “It would appear so. They are far from full strength.”

  “That is good, also. There will be fewer to cause trouble in the years to come.” The Lord-Protector nodded to himself. “And Overcaptain Alucius will be most happy to return to being a herder. We will send a fast messenger requesting that he return his companies to Dekhron…” The Lord-Protector broke off his words. “I will wager that the Landarch will request that the honored overcaptain bring his companies back to Lanachrona long before our messenger could possibly reach him.”

  “You think so, Lord-Protector?”

  “The Landarch may be weak, but he is not a fool. Watch him in the glass and see. We will send the messenger, and the message, wherever it reaches the good overcaptain, will request that he present himself to us in Tempre for his reward. But we should let him bring a squad with him, so that he does not feel as if he is a prisoner. What reward? Some golds, and an early return with honor to being a herder.”

  “You would bring him here, Lord-Protector?”

  “That I would. He will see that Tempre is great, and not old and decaying as is Dereka, or Dekhron, and he will also understand that I can be both terrible and grateful. I will find some way to suggest that the entire future of the herders rests on their support of Lanachrona.”

  “The man is not a man. He is a lamaial, and he will bring ruin upon us.”

  The Lord-Protector shook his head. “About this you are wrong. He may indeed be a lamaial, but he is young, and he ha
s an attractive wife. He wishes to return to her. We will show our gratitude, but we will make most certain he understands that our support and forbearance from displacing or taxing the herders lies in us, and that without my support, there will be no herders.”

  The Recorder started to speak, then stopped, before asking politely, “You think this wise?”

  “If…if he is as you say, why would I wish to offend him? If he is not, then time will show us otherwise, and we may act differently. It may also be that the One Who Is has used him as He has used others. I would not offend the One Who Is. Would you?”

  “You do not even believe in Him. You have said so, sir.”

  “That I have, but if He does exist…why offend? Why indeed? If the overcaptain is somehow favored by fate or unknown powers, with the other enemies we have, I think it best not to create yet another cause against us. Would you?”

  “No, sir. Not in your position, I would not.”

  “Good.” The Lord-Protector walked toward the archway from the underground marble-walled room, then turned. “I may want even more from the overcaptain, but I must consider. He is still a good commander, and far more effective than other junior commanders. Perhaps a short mission somewhere…we will see. In the meantime, you will still watch the nomads and the return of the Northern Guard.”

  “Yes, Lord-Protector. We will watch most closely.”

  72

  More than a week passed before Alucius was fully aware of his surroundings for more than a few moments at a time. He’d been brought back to Dereka, and Lancer Prime Post, but he’d been placed in a large ground-floor chamber reserved for submarshals, and he’d seen the first women—except on the streets—since coming to Deforya. Those nursing him were older women, who smiled encouragingly and said little. At times, he thought he had felt the greenish radiance, but he was never certain, and when he looked, it was gone.

  Alucius was propped up in a large bed, set opposite wide windows opening on a smaller rear paved courtyard that always seemed empty. A light breeze from the windows brought the mixed scents of cooking.