“Maybe…maybe he knows…”
“Knows?” Alucius replied disingenuously.
Feran snorted. “You’re a herder. Everyone knows that.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “More than a few troopers and Egyl and Koryt and I know that you’re a lot more than that. We don’t say anything because it works better that way, and you’ve saved our asses more than once. But there are tales about Talent-wielders in Tempre…and about a Table with a mirror that can see things that belongs to the Lord-Protector.”
“You’ve said that before. When we were headed to Deforya.”
“I did. Was I wrong? Could anyone else have stopped those pteridons?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alucius…” Feran’s voice was low, but firm. “We both know the answer to that, and it’s a good wager that the Lord-Protector does, too. You’d better be ready for that. He’s going to want something. I can’t guess what, but I’d not want to be in your boots for all the gold in Tempre.”
Alucius laughed. The sound was hollow. “I’m not sure I’d like to be in them, either, but I am.” He took a long swallow and finished the ale.
Feran shook his head, then took a deep draught of his second ale.
87
By late afternoon on Sexdi, two days after leaving Dekhron, Alucius and his reconstituted third squad—composed of those left from third and fourth squads—had reached the point on the high road where it rejoined the River Vedra. The dry grasslands of eastern Lanachrona had been replaced by tilled fields on both sides of the road, fields watered by mule-powered irrigation pumps that spewed river water into long narrow ditches. Rows of healthy maize alternated with rows of a shorter plant that Alucius did not recognize.
Although it was harvest, it was warm enough to have been full summer. Alucius took another swallow from his second water bottle before replacing it in its holder. He’d had plenty of time to think, and, for all that thought, there were still too many questions unanswered. Earlier, on the brief ride through Dekhron, the troopers had not only been ignored, but Alucius had felt the hostility. Was the militia, now the Northern Guard, being blamed for the annexation of the Iron Valleys into Lanachrona? And if that happened to be the case, he wondered who was spreading those sorts of tales. The two traders who had been watching him at the Red Ram? Former members of the Council, disgruntled and upset by the Lord-Protector’s dissolution of the Council?
He kept the frown he felt to himself.
“Less than a glass to Borlan Post, sir,” Heslyn called forward. “It’s on this side of the river. The Vyana, I mean.”
“Thank you.” Alucius saw little ahead except steads and fields and two rivers, the Vyana to his left, running westward through the lower fields to the south, and the Vedra to his right.
A quarter glass passed, and Alucius could make out the walls of Borlan Post, set on the right side of the high road ahead, and situated on the higher triangle of land formed by the junction of the River Vedra and the River Vyana. While there were some dwellings around the post, the town was on the lower western side of the River Vyana, over the bridge that carried the high road.
At first, Alucius thought it strange that the high road crossed the Vyana, but not the Vedra, then turned south from Borlan to Krost, when it would have been far quicker to run the road straight from Borlan to Tempre. Then, as the image of the fast-moving ship from the mural in Dereka crossed his thoughts, he understood. The Vedra was wide and deep from Borlan westward, and the ancients would have used the river had they needed to travel directly to Tempre, while the high road opened up all of the south of Lanachrona.
The post itself had yellow brick walls close to three yards in height, with rows of two-story buildings within the walls.
“Sir…if you would allow me to announce you,” suggested Heslyn.
“If you would…” It was a good idea, and one that Alucius should have thought of himself.
Heslyn pulled out of the column and galloped toward the post, then reined up at the gates, three hundred yards from where Alucius and the others rode. While Alucius watched, one of the two guards at the open gates scurried away, then returned within moments. Heslyn reined up and waited outside the gates.
When Alucius and third squad reached the stone road leading to the post, a road about fifty yards in length and cracked and repaired many times, they turned and rode toward the post gates. A trumpet sounded—off-key—a series of triplets.
“Never gotten a fanfare before,” Faisyn murmured.
The trumpet sounded again as Alucius reached the sentries. Through the gates he could see a half squad of Southern Guards lined up in an honor guard of sorts. Just what had Heslyn told the sentries? That he and third squad were some sort of legendary heroes?
A blond Southern Guard majer stood beside ranked troopers who waited.
Alucius signaled for the squad to halt as he drew up Wildebeast inside the gates and opposite the honor guard.
“Squad halt!” Faisyn ordered.
“Overcaptain Alucius, Northern Guard, welcome to Borlan Post! You do us honor, and we offer all that we can to ease your journey.” The majer smiled broadly.
Behind the smile, Alucius sensed both concern and curiosity, but he replied immediately. “Your courtesy and your friendliness do you honor, and we deeply appreciate the welcome.”
The majer gestured, and a senior squad leader stepped forward. “Lethyn will see that your men are shown the stables and their quarters, and, of course, the mess. He can also make sure that any mounts that need attention can be attended by our farrier. He’ll also help with resupplying you for the next part of your journey.”
In turn, Alucius singled out his own squad leader. “This is Faisyn, third squad leader.”
The two squad leaders conferred briefly, then third squad headed toward the stables in the northwest corner of the post.
“I’m Ebuin, temporarily in charge of Borlan Post,” offered the majer. “Let’s get you to the officers’ stable, then I’ll show you to the visiting officers’ quarters.” His voice was friendly.
“You’re most kind.” While Alucius did not sense the arrogance and falsity he had with some officers, such as Colonel Weslyn and the marshals of Deforya, Ebuin radiated a coolness.
“I’m most curious,” Ebuin admitted. “But…if you don’t mind, I’ll defer that until later. I would hope that you would join me in the officers’ mess after you’re settled.” The majer walked swiftly across the packed clay of the inner courtyard, halting outside an open archway at one end of the stables. “Take any open stall that suits you. I’ll just wait out here.”
True to his word, Ebuin was waiting after Alucius had groomed Wildebeast.
Alucius carried his saddlebags over his shoulder and a rifle in each hand.
“Two rifles?” Ebuin raised his eyebrows.
“At times, it has helped not to have to reload,” Alucius admitted.
“I can see that.” Ebuin turned and walked back toward the smaller two-story structure behind the headquarters building. “The visiting officers’ quarters are the same as ours. They’re just the last three rooms on the upper level. We all share the same washroom. Not many overcaptains or other senior officers come through here. Most of the fighting’s been in the west. Except for your expedition.”
“I thought you held Southgate.”
“Marshal’s been moving up the southwest coast road toward Fola. He wants to flank Dimor. They’ve got some weapon there.”
“It’s a crystal spear-thrower,” Alucius volunteered. “Fires half-yard-long crystal spikes. Scores at a time.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“They used it against us at Soulend. There’s only one, and I’d heard it went south after they gave up in the north.”
“I see.” Ebuin stopped by the steps on the north side of the quarters’ building. “Up these stairs. The officers’ mess is at the front of the main mess building. I’ll finish up the reports I was working on and meet you
there in a glass. If that’s suitable.”
“That would be fine. I can get off some of the road dust,” Alucius said with a smile. He also intended to check with Faisyn on how matters were with third squad. After the majer turned, Alucius climbed the steps.
The quarters consisted of a single modest room with a moderately wide bed for one, a writing desk, boot and weapons racks, and a narrow armoire. The water in the washroom was cool, but there was plenty, and Alucius used it to wash out one uniform and one set of nightsilk undergarments before washing himself. After dressing, he went down the back steps and made his way to the barracks.
Faisyn was dressing, and Alucius waited until the squad leader finished before slipping into the barracks. The floor was slightly dusty, but the sturdy bunks were well separated, and there were wall pegs for uniforms and weapons.
“How are things?”
“Better than most places, sir. Had to lean on a couple of them to wash up.”
“Sylat?”
Faisyn laughed. “Him and Vercal.”
“Anything we need that I don’t know about?”
The squad leader frowned. “No, sir. One of the bottles of leather oil broke, but Lethyn already got us another.”
“Good. I wanted to check before I met with the majer. I’ll see you later, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ebuin was waiting in the small mess, with but three tables, and only one set for two people. The majer rose from the table as Alucius stepped inside. “Supper should be here in a moment.” He gestured to the other place.
Alucius seated himself. A pitcher of amber ale sat on the table, with two empty beakers.
“It’s good ale, the best part of the meals around here,” offered the older blond officer. “Go ahead and pour.”
Alucius filled both beakers and took the one on the left.
“The captain-colonel is in Tempre. Otherwise, I’m certain he would have joined us.” Ebuin raised the ancient beaker. “To your health…”
“To yours.” Alucius returned the toast, lifting his own beaker.
“We’d received instructions several weeks ago that you’d be coming through. They didn’t say much except that you’d taken over command of the joint force after Majer Draspyr’s death and that you’d routed the nomads attacking Dereka. You were heavily outnumbered, weren’t you?”
“Could have been three to one, or four to one.” Alucius took a small swallow of the ale. Ebuin had been right. The ale was cool, with just enough bite to cut through the dust in his throat.
“Did that include the Deforyans?”
“The Deforyan Lancers numbered twenty-five companies. We were down to four by then.”
“The nomads had more than a hundred and twenty companies?”
“That’s what one of the Deforyan marshals told me later. They collected more than six thousand nomad breastplates.”
The number clearly surprised Ebuin, although he nodded and took a swallow of his ale before going on. “Someone mentioned that they had some sort of Talent-creatures…”
“Pteridons. Blue-skinned flying beasts with riders that had ancient skylances. The lances shot blue flames.” Alucius paused as a serving boy carried in two large platters and set them in the middle of the table.
One contained strips of meat covered with a brownish sauce and lightly browned almonds, garnished with lime slices. The second held a glazed and fried rice.
“Whistlepig,” Ebuin explained. “They’re like scrats, except much larger and tamer. They taste like fowl.”
Alucius had his doubts, but took several strips and a goodly amount of rice.
Ebuin sliced off several morsels and began to eat. Alucius followed, more carefully, deciding that the whistlepigs were edible, better than prickle, but not so good as fowl, and certainly not so good as the quail he’d had at Elyset’s.
“About those pteridon things,” Ebuin said, after a time. “I thought rifles weren’t much good against Talent-beasts.”
“It’s harder. But we use larger cartridges than you do. Trade-off.” Alucius had to take a quick swallow of the rice, because some sort of seasoning or pepper burned his mouth. “Larger cartridges means fewer in a magazine.”
“That’s why you carry two rifles?”
“One reason.”
“How effective were your cartridges against the beasts?”
“Not nearly as effective as against the nomads,” Alucius said with a rueful laugh. “We did kill them, but they only had something like eleven pteridons, and they wiped out about half the Deforyans.”
“And they didn’t get you?”
“They got enough of us. I could see what was coming…” Alucius gave a short description of his tight formation charge and what happened afterward, except for the details of darkening the bullets used against the pteridons. “…and when I could see again, I was being tended by some very elderly women. Then, after I was better, the Landarch pinned a decoration on me, overloaded us with supplies, and sent us packing.”
“It is a rather amazing story, I must say,” Ebuin observed. “I have the feeling that you have understated what you did. Otherwise, the Lord-Protector would not wish to see you.”
“He seems to know a great deal,” Alucius said blandly. “And often before he could have received messengers.”
Ebuin did not reply.
“That’s obvious,” Alucius pressed. “He sent messengers to meet us, and they caught us just out of the Upper Spine Mountains. There was no way that a messenger could have ridden to him with the details and all the way back in that time. He must have some devices of his own.”
“There are rumors,” Ebuin said vaguely, “but that’s not something I’d know. They don’t tell majers that much.”
Alucius could detect the lie, but only said, “And they tell overcaptains even less.”
“Isn’t it always so?”
“You’ve been here for a time, haven’t you? At Borlan?”
“Two years. I’m supposed to be rotated west at year-end.”
“When I was at Emal, we had several raider attacks. The raiders wore red, like Deforyans, but they weren’t. You didn’t know anything about that, did you?”
“I’d heard that there were raiders out east, but we never saw any,” Ebuin said smoothly.
“You were fortunate.” Alucius took another swallow of the ale, then refilled his beaker. He looked to the other officer.
“Yes, thank you.” Ebuin raised the beaker slightly, then drank. “It’s said that Dereka is a very old city.”
“It’s very old. The Landarch’s palace was built before the Cataclysm, and the city is served by an aqueduct equally old.”
“You won’t find anything in Tempre that ancient,” Ebuin offered. “The Lord-Protector and his sire have rebuilt almost everything, except for his palace, but that was totally reconstructed by his grandsire…”
From that point onward, the conversation remained centered on cities, travel times, and other innocuous subjects.
It was well past dark when Alucius returned to his quarters.
As he disrobed, he reflected on what he had learned. The majer had made an effort to appear uninformed, but he had known a great deal more about the raiders than he had said. For Alucius to pursue that would have revealed more than he would have gained. The majer had also known more about the pteridons, and about the mysterious mirror or Table that the Lord-Protector possessed. And why was the captain-colonel absent? Because that officer knew too much, and the Lord-Protector didn’t want Alucius to find out too much?
From Ebuin’s questions, it was clear that he suspected that Alucius was far more than a good officer—and it was also clear he had known about Alucius for more than a season. The majer had been far too calm, far too accepting.
And all of that worried Alucius even more.
88
Tempre, Lanachrona
Although the Lord-Protector’s steps were light and he attempted to reach the Table of the Recorders wit
hout alerting anyone, the Recorder of Deeds stood at the entrance to his underground chamber, waiting. “Lord-Protector.”
“Greetings, Recorder.”
“You wished something?”
“I did not see you this morning, nor as often in recent weeks.”
“I have been working on ways in which I might improve what the Table displays,” replied the Recorder.
“What sort of success have you had?” inquired the Lord-Protector, easing toward the black cube of the Table.
“There are several…possibilities, but it is too early to tell. You will be the first to know. That I can assure you.”
“Have you discovered what has happened with the nomads of Illegea?” asked the Lord-Protector.
“Without Aellyan Edyss, they are returning to independent and wandering tribes, Lord-Protector. They could not agree on a single leader, and they will not threaten Lanachrona or Deforya for years to come, if ever in your lifetime.”
“And the Landarch?”
“Little has changed in Deforya. Little will, it appears.” An ironic laugh followed the Recorder’s words. “Then, little has changed there in generations.”
“You think someone will supplant the Landarch?”
“It is possible, but it will change nothing. Whoever is Landarch will remain a captive of the landowners.”
“You are far more cynical these days, Recorder.”
“I would term it…realistic, Lord-Protector.”
“I suppose one could call it that.” The younger man paused, looked at the blank Table of the Recorders, then asked, “What have you determined about Overcaptain Alucius?”
“He has left Dekhron and passed through Borlan on his way to Krost on his journey here, Lord-Protector. It would appear that he has enemies within the Northern Guard and among the traders of Dekhron, but they have not yet acted.”
“Whatever happens, it cannot but benefit us,” replied the Lord-Protector. “If they fear him, they will be more temperate in their actions. If they decide to act, and somehow kill him, we will have less of a problem from the herders. If he kills or weakens the traders, we will be able to exert more control over Dekhron sooner than we had planned.”
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