Darknesses

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  She reined up and took out the heavy rifle, waiting for the sander to emerge, even as she looked back. She did her awkward best to project a warning to the lead rams and was rewarded to see that one of the rams—Lamb’s offspring, she thought—snorted and pawed the sandy ground between the quarasote bushes.

  Abruptly…a green radiance surrounded her, green suffused with black.

  Her eyes flicked from the now-boiling ground to the soarer that had appeared less than three yards from her.

  You must draw on the darkness within you. Press it into the bullets. Draw on the darkness…

  How could she draw on the darkness? What darkness?

  This darkness…

  Wendra could sense a series of threads, black threads twined with green, that ran from her, and from the soarer. Then she understood—and drew upon the darkness.

  Then…she cocked the rifle and waited.

  A purplish mist swirled above the boiling sandy red soil. Then the sander emerged, almost instantaneously—one like no other that Wendra had seen—a creature of blackish purple, rather than of tan and crystal skin.

  Crack! The first bullet struck the creature full in the chest, and though it shuddered, it stepped toward the herder and her mount.

  Wendra fired again—and struck the creature between neck and shoulder, the point where Royalt had insisted the creatures were most vulnerable. That shot staggered the dark sander, but it took another step.

  A third shot, and then a fourth followed.

  After the fourth shot, a purplish mist swirled around the sander. Abruptly, the creature raised an arm, but before completing the gesture, it pitched forward onto the sandy soil, one outstretched arm striking the new growth on the nearest quarasote bush.

  A short pillar of purple flame exploded upward, then subsided, leaving a rough circle of blackened ground.

  For a moment, Wendra held the rifle ready, prepared to use the last cartridge. Then, she reloaded quickly. Only after several long moments did she feel that the sander—or another one—would not return.

  Her eyes dropped to the quarasote bush brushed by the strange sander. As she watched, it blackened and shriveled, then disintegrated into a pile of ashes. She swallowed, but her eyes turned to the rams, then the rest of the flock. They were all there, although the lead ram snorted once, as if to tell her that they should move on.

  Wendra put forth the feeling of moving, and the rams began to walk to the northeast, giving the blackened ground a wide berth.

  She only glanced back once, but the circle of blackness remained.

  81

  Another three days passed before Alucius led his vastly diminished forces out of the Upper Spine Mountains and into the dry and dusty plains of eastern Lanachrona, where it had rained little or not at all in the season that had passed. The heat was that of full late summer, not harvest, and the dust was fine and pervasive.

  While Alucius had hoped to return the bodies to Emal or Dekhron, the heat and the overly rapid putrification had made burial necessary as soon as they had cleared the mountains and reached an area where there was actually soil. There, after looking over the twenty-one graves, Alucius had said a brief prayer to the One Who Is, wondering, not for the first time, whether his prayer was more wish than substance.

  They had not seen, and Alucius had not sensed, any more Talent-creatures. He still wondered why they had been attacked. A warning of some sort? Like the dreams? If he had only had dreams—those he could have dismissed—but the hidden chamber and the attacks by wild pteridons made dismissing those concerns impossible. Did the dream figures exist somewhere? Where? Was it that Alucius was some sort of obstacle to someone? It seemed as though he was always an obstacle to someone or something. Except the soarers. Were the soarers and the alabaster-skinned people enemies? Or did both want to use him? He shook his head; he still had no answers.

  The majority of the scattered steads that they had passed after that were abandoned, the grass on the rolling rises little more than desiccated stalks, and the small fields mere patches of sandy dust. The waystations had water and little else. For the provisions that Alucius had received from the Landarch, he was more than thankful.

  In midafternoon, through haze and dust, Alucius could see a rider ahead, moving toward the column—Waris, who had been one of the two scouts sent forward.

  Waris rode back along the high road and turned his mount to come alongside Alucius. “Sir…there are four Southern Guard messengers, and they say they have a personal message for you from the Arms-Commander of Lanachrona.”

  “For me, and not Majer Draspyr?” asked Alucius.

  “They were quite clear, sir,” replied the scout.

  “Ah…sir…perhaps just the one with the message,” Egyl suggested from where he rode beside Alucius.

  “Have them all ride to us, but invite the three without the message to join the vanguard,” Alucius said.

  Egyl nodded.

  When the messenger in the blue and cream of the Southern Guard arrived, he managed not to show overt surprise at the reduced forces and their tattered appearance, but Alucius could feel his shock nonetheless.

  “We’ve been fighting for almost a season, trooper,” Alucius said dryly, “and we’ve either been outnumbered or fighting Talent-creatures that haven’t been seen since the Cataclysm.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alucius forced a smile.

  “Sir, we were ordered to deliver this to you personally and asked to have you open it immediately.” The messenger moved his mount toward Alucius.

  Egyl intercepted the flat, sealed message, then leaned sideways and handed it to Alucius.

  Alucius took it, broke the seal, and began to read.

  Honored Overcaptain Alucius—

  Word of your triumph in defeating the grassland nomads and turning back their invasion of Deforya has reached the Lord-Protector. He is most pleased with your success and would wish to reward you in person, for your leadership, and for your achievements and for those of the troopers under your command…

  Alucius frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was meet the Lord-Protector.

  Therefore, you are to return to Salaan, where you will return any Southern Guards to the commander of Salaan Post, then to Dekhron. After reporting to Colonel Weslyn, you are to proceed immediately to Tempre by the high road, with a full squad of your own choosing from among those who accompanied you. The guards bearing this missive will remain with you for the journey. Once in Tempre you are to report to the Southern Guard headquarters, and to me personally, before you meet with the Lord-Protector…

  The message—or orders—bore the signature of a Marshal Wyerl, Arms-Commander of Lanachrona, as well as an elaborate gold seal.

  To go to Tempre? Why? If the Lord-Protector had wanted to reward Alucius, he certainly could have done so with far less effort. And if he had wanted Alucius killed, that, too, could have been done more easily. By effectively telling all of the Southern and Northern Guard that Alucius was to be rewarded in Tempre, that made his death less likely. Or did it?

  What if he were attacked by brigands along the way? Or was he becoming overly fearful?

  “Sir?” asked Egyl.

  “The Lord-Protector is pleased with what we have done, and commends everyone. We are ordered to Dekhron first. After we report there, he has requested that I bring one representative squad and travel to Tempre to receive his congratulations in person…”

  “In person?” blurted the messenger. “That is a great honor.”

  Alucius feared it was a far greater honor than he wished to receive.

  82

  The high road west was straight, dusty, untraveled, and long. It took Alucius’s tired force a week more after leaving the Upper Spine Mountains to reach the road fort at Senelmyr. There he insisted that they rest for two days, much as he wanted to finish the journey. The small Southern Guard detachment remaining at the road fort was helpful in repairing an axle on one of the supply wagons—helpful, but
withdrawn.

  Once Alucius and the remnants of four companies resumed their travels, they rode for another five days before nearing Salaan. Just before midafternoon, south of Salaan the high road turned abruptly north, one of the few sharp curves on any of the high roads, and the only one Alucius could recall that did not involve a junction.

  Heslyn, one of the guards sent as a messenger, was riding with Egyl, behind Alucius and Feran. “Overcaptain, Salaan Post is just before the bridge over the river.”

  Alucius turned in the saddle. “How far from here?”

  “Five, six vingts,” replied Heslyn.

  Only when the column was within two vingts of Salaan, the town’s low dwellings visible on the northern horizon, did Alucius begin to see more than scattered steads and dwellings rising out of the brown-grassed rises. The only trees were those planted close to dwellings, small orchards of a tree not more than five or six yards tall.

  “What are the trees?” Alucius finally asked.

  “Apricots,” answered Heslyn. “They dry well. We eat many of them.”

  Alucius couldn’t recall seeing dried apricots in Iron Stem.

  “They don’t send them north,” Feran said. “Wonder why.”

  Alucius shrugged. “Another thing they don’t tell officers. Among many.”

  “You’re just finding that out?”

  “Along with other things.”

  Feran chuckled.

  Within a quarter glass, they reached the first houses on the southern side of Salaan—low structures with only slightly slanted lean-to roofs, their outer walls covered with stucco plaster shaded an off-white. Windows were narrow slits, without shutters, and none of the houses had front porches, only stoops in front of narrow doors.

  “The traders have their dwellings to the west, on the bluff overlooking the river,” Heslyn volunteered.

  “Of course,” murmured Feran.

  Alucius looked westward, but could not see over the more modest dwellings.

  There were handfuls of people along the high road north of the troopers, but they slipped away, so the troopers rode past houses with closed doors and without people in sight. Those around the central square of Salaan did not vanish, but moved off the high road and the surrounding streets, to the entryways and narrow overhangs of shops—not porches, but areas of shade, from where they watched the riders. Alucius picked out a chandlery, a cooperage, a potter, and, surprisingly, a weaver’s shop—as well as an inn. The inn’s sign had no lettering, just the image of a tankard. With the exception of the high road, all the other streets entering the square were unpaved.

  “Friendly folk,” observed Feran.

  “Don’t suppose the people in Iron Stem or Dekhron would go out of their way if three companies of Southern Guards rode through,” Alucius said.

  “But they won,” Feran pointed out.

  Not the people in Salaan, Alucius thought. He had expected Salaan to be a larger place.

  “Won’t be far, now, Overcaptain,” Heslyn offered. “Half vingt or less.”

  Because Alucius had been ordered to leave Twenty-third Company in Salaan, he had brought forward Sarapyr and Aelyn—the only two survivors of the company. They rode directly behind Egyl and Heslyn.

  As Alucius rode northward out of the square, the most obvious structure as they neared the river was the gray eternastone of the bridge over the River Vedra, a bridge Alucius might once have called grand, rising as it did behind and above the low dwellings. But that would have been before he had seen the massive and graceful structures over the Vedra at Hieron, or the stone canyon through the Upper Spine Mountains.

  As he neared the structure, he could see that the bridge held a roadway twice the width of the high road, but without the dividing curb of larger bridges. The stone guardhouse on the southern side had not been removed, as Feran had been required to do with the one in Emal, but the gates had been opened wide and chained back, and there were no Southern Guards in evidence.

  “To the right, sir, just before the guardhouse,” Heslyn suggested.

  Alucius nodded to Egyl.

  “Column right!” ordered the squad leader.

  Alucius turned Wildebeast to the right, down a walled lane barely wide enough for three horses abreast, toward a set of open gates thirty yards away. The two guards by the gate scrambled erect as they caught sight of the riders.

  Alucius reined up short of the guards.

  “Column halt!”

  “Sir?” the voice of the younger guard wavered.

  “Overcaptain Alucius, Northern Guard. We’re on our way to Dekhron, returning from Deforya, with orders to return those of Twenty-third Company here.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure you’re welcome, sir. We’ll fetch the overcaptain, sir. Just ride in.”

  Alucius nodded and continued into the dusty courtyard where he reined up. “Hold position!”

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  The overcaptain who appeared shortly was thin, graying, and a good fifteen years older than Alucius. And nervous. He looked up at Alucius. “Overcaptain? I received word that you would be returning Twenty-third Company.” He glanced past Alucius, clearly looking for more blue-and-cream uniforms.

  “Overcaptain. Sarapyr and Aelyn are the sole survivors of Twenty-third Company.” Alucius turned Wildebeast slightly so that the Southern Guard officer could see the two.

  “Two men…just two?” The Southern Guard overcaptain’s voice wavered between disbelief, concern, and horror.

  “You may not have heard,” Alucius said quietly. “We faced over a hundred companies of nomads. We also had to fight off pteridons ridden by nomads with skylances. We broke them and killed close to seventy companies. We did take some casualties.” He smiled coldly. “We left with six officers and over five hundred troopers. We came back with three officers and a hundred and sixty troopers. Oh, and the Deforyans lost over half their lancers as well.”

  The Southern Guard overcaptain shrank under Alucius’s gaze. “We weren’t told.”

  “Twenty-Third Company was the company that faced the pteridons first, and they took very heavy losses from the beginning, before we could find a way to destroy the beasts. Sarapyr and Aelyn can tell you all that happened. They showed great courage and unbelievable bravery,” Alucius concluded. He decided against mentioning that all the troopers had done the same.

  “Majer Draspyr? Captain Clifyr?”

  “They were both killed leading their men. The Lord-Protector and Marshal Wyerl already know all this.” Alucius smiled, professionally. “We still have to reach Dekhron. I’m not their commander, but I strongly suggest that Aelyn and Sarapyr deserve a healthy furlough.” He turned, “Aelyn, Sarapyr?”

  The two Southern Guards eased their mounts out of the column and to the side.

  The overcaptain looked from the two troopers to Alucius, then back at the troopers.

  “Furlough would be the least that they deserve,” Alucius said mildly, projecting a sense of rightness and justice.

  The overcaptain radiated confusion.

  “I’m supposed to meet with the Lord-Protector,” Alucius added. “I’m certain that he’ll ask me about the Twenty-third Company.” This time Alucius projected command and power.

  The overcaptain stepped back. “Yes, they should have furlough. They should.”

  Alucius smiled. “I’m glad to know that. So will the Lord-Protector.” After a moment, he added, “We’ll be on our way.” He glanced to Feran and Egyl, then ordered, “To the rear, ride.”

  As the column made its way back out through the open gates, Alucius could hear the whisper from Heslyn to Egyl. “Is he…I mean…”

  “He leads from the front and stands behind his men. Always has,” Egyl replied. “Saw him take a bullet in the shoulder and never wince. Finished the battle, too.”

  That was an exaggeration, but Alucius wasn’t about to correct Egyl, not in front of anyone. He did look to Feran and give the slightest of helpless shrugs.

&nb
sp; Feran grinned back, then murmured, “Good thing you’re getting out. Be impossible to live up to your legends.”

  Alucius just hoped that neither the colonel nor the Lord-Protector—or Marshal Wyerl, for that matter—had any unpleasant surprises along those lines.

  The hoofs of the mounts echoed on the bridge, without other traffic except for two wagons heading southward, empty, back to Salaan. Alucius glanced at the River Vedra. The cracking mud banks on each side told him that the river was flowing well below normal levels. So did the trade piers to the west, where temporary extensions had been built farther out into the water. Only a single barge was tied up, with a handful of loaders moving barrels about on the stern section. The guardhouse on the northern shore, once manned by the militia, was empty, but, unlike on the southern side, the gates had actually been removed.

  The entrance of the high road into Dekhron reminded Alucius of Hieron, because the causeway clearly predated much of the trade section close to the river, and ramps and inclined roads had been built later to connect to the eternastone surface. The buildings were much more like those in Iron Stem, mostly of stone, and with either tile or slate roofs. A number of those nearest the river piers were two or even three stories in height. While not crowded, merchants, buyers, passersby, and occasional beggars were all visible on the streets and lanes of Dekhron. A number looked up at the passing troopers, but almost all looked away as quickly as they had lifted their heads.

  Disinterest? Veiled anger? Alucius could sense both, as well as regret.

  “Little more lively here,” observed Feran. “Best if we turn at the street short of the square. Runs straight to headquarters.”

  Unlike in Salaan, the headquarters of the Northern Guard was not on the river, but slightly north and to the west. Alucius had no doubts that was because the space closer to the river and the high road were far more valuable to the traders who had controlled the council and the militia. “I thought that was it, but you’ve been here more than I have.”