“That is true.”
“You no longer seem that concerned about the overcaptain. Are you still opposed to his coming here?”
“I have reconsidered, Lord-Protector. As you had said much earlier, it may be for the very best that he comes here. The very best.”
The Lord-Protector nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“That way, you can judge for yourself whether he represents a danger or an opportunity for Lanachrona.”
“And what if he is both?”
“You are the Lord-Protector.” The Recorder laughed once more. “You must decide, as always.”
89
After six more days of solid travel, and sleeping out on hard ground, by Londi afternoon Alucius and his squad were just north of Krost. Once they had gotten well south of Borlan the land had become hillier and far more lush, and Alucius and third squad passed meadows still green even in early harvest, tilled fields filled with crops ranging from beans to oilseeds, and vingt upon vingt of almond orchards. The stead houses and outbuildings were wooden, but well kept and numerous. The high road had far more traffic, with wagons headed in both directions. The air was also damper, and Alucius was perspiring and drinking more and more water.
Ahead, Alucius could see the crossroads where the two high roads intersected, and where he and his troopers would turn westward to reach Krost Post. To the southeast of the city, larger than Borlan, but perhaps half the size of Hieron, were hills covered in rows of staked green vines. Alucius recalled that Krost was near the wine-making area of Vyan Hills. Heslyn was once more riding directly behind Faisyn and Alucius.
“Tell us something about Krost, Heslyn,” Alucius suggested, turning in the saddle.
“People say that it is where the best wines in all of Corus are produced, but that is not true. Vyan is where the best grapes are grown and where the very best wines are produced. Some of the vintners come from families that produced wine well before the Cataclysm. Even today, the wines are sent all over the world. Krost is a city of merchants, wine merchants, and traders, and Krost is where more bottles are produced than anywhere else in the world. Thousands upon thousands of bottles. You see those three tall chimneys to the left of the crossroads? That is the glassworks. They also produce goblets there, for no true Lanachronan would drink good wine in other than glass. If you look to the east, on the south side of the other high road, you can see a large hill that looks like half of it has been cut away.”
Alucius looked for—and found—the odd-shaped hill.
“That is where the finest sand is found. From there, they take it to the glassworks…the lead for the crystal, it must be brought all the way from Soupat, and they say that is why the high road runs there…”
Before that long, as Heslyn offered his knowledge, the squad had reached the crossroads in the center of Krost and turned westward. The high roads ran amid a welter of buildings, some of them four stories tall, and many of them ancient—but not of eternastone. There had to have been equally ancient buildings in the past, Alucius noted, because the high road was on the same level as the streets. Either that, or over time, the streets and buildings of the city had been built up on ruins until they were level with the high road.
Once more, Alucius let Heslyn ride ahead, but sent Makyr with him, to announce their arrival at Krost. Once they rode through the gates, a half squad was lined up to welcome them, with a senior squad leader in the front. Alucius and third squad had just reined up inside the gates of the post when three officers hurried out into the paved courtyard. All wore spotless blue-and-cream uniforms. Alucius recognized the collar insignia of the captain and the majer, but did not know that of the gray-haired and presumably senior officer who stepped forward.
“Overcaptain Alucius, Northern Guard, en route to Tempre.”
“We’re most pleased to see you, Overcaptain. I’m Captain-Colonel Jesopyr.” He inclined his head to the others. “Majer Fedosyr and Captain Quelyn. And Senior Squad Leader Desar.”
“We’re pleased to be here, sir.”
“We’re pleased to have you. No formalities. Let’s just get you and your men settled.”
Jesopyr’s manner and the feelings behind it were so open, so friendly, and so at odds with what Alucius had experienced with Majer Ebuin that Alucius just nodded, momentarily finding himself without words.
“Captain Quelyn will escort you, and Desar will make sure your troopers and squad leaders lack for nothing. We’ve plenty of space here…”
In moments, Alucius was walking Wildebeast toward the stables, listening to Quelyn.
“…received word you’d be here, must have been several weeks ago…Now, we’re just using number one stable these days…visiting officers here through the first archway…”
The stable held spaces for close to four hundred mounts, from what Alucius could count, and fewer than a quarter of the stalls were in use. The other stable appeared unused. From the stable, Alucius carried his gear back across the courtyard to a two-story gray stone structure that was a good hundred yards in length. The officers’ quarters had rooms—or doorways—for close to fifty, but the wing through which Captain Quelyn led Alucius appeared empty.
Quelyn opened the door. “Really are a colonel’s quarters, but anyone who led five companies rates as a colonel. If there’s anything you need, let me or one of the senior squad leaders know.”
Alucius glanced across the spacious room—a good ten yards by four—with an antique desk, a double-width bed of equally ancient vintage, a double armoire, a carved weapons and boot rack, wide shuttered windows, and an attached washroom. “This looks more than adequate.”
“The captain-colonel planned a formal supper in about two glasses,” Quelyn went on.
“I just have my uniform,” Alucius pointed out.
“Oh, formal means uniform here, except he’ll be serving wine instead of ale, and he can tap into the good supplies.” Quelyn grinned. “We all enjoy having visiting dignitaries.”
Alucius scarcely felt like a dignitary, whatever that was, only like a tired Northern Guard officer.
“He wanted to make sure you had time to check on your troopers and supplies so that we’d know anything your men would need before you leave tomorrow.” Quelyn smiled. “The officers’ mess is on the lower level here in the front. In two glasses, then?”
“I’ll be there,” Alucius promised.
Quelyn shut the door, leaving Alucius to puzzle over the clear friendliness and lack of deception behind the captain’s and the captain-colonel’s words. Finally, he racked his weapons and hung up his clothes and gear before checking the washroom. It even had a tub, and a spigot that filled it with lukewarm water. Alucius did enjoy the bath.
He had more than enough time to wash out dirty uniforms and garments, and to walk to the barracks and confer with Faisyn, but there was little to discuss, because the Lanachronans had been so helpful.
“It’s like we were heroes, sir.”
“You all were, even if most people don’t know it. Let them enjoy it for now, but remind them—gently—that we are guests. And if they don’t behave like guests…I’ll have more than a few things to say.”
“Yes, sir.” Faisyn grinned.
So did Alucius.
He took a little more time to walk around the post, but everything he saw confirmed his first impressions. The post had been constructed to house between ten and fifteen full companies and there was only a company or a company and a half in residence. But the facilities were not abandoned or obviously disused, and could have been utilized almost immediately.
Quelyn was standing outside the building that held both officers’ quarters and the mess when Alucius returned.
“The colonel thought you’d be checking on your men. He said he could tell you were the type.” Quelyn coughed. “Ah…he said something about…you’re having been there.”
Alucius smiled. “It’s no secret, not in the Iron Valleys anyway, that I started out a trooper. I’ve been a s
quad leader and senior squad leader. Only thing I never was was an undercaptain.”
“You must have entered service very young.”
“I did. Very young.” Alucius didn’t see much point in explaining further.
“Excuse me. We’d better get inside. The captain-colonel wouldn’t be happy if I kept you out here.”
Alucius followed the young captain in through the double oak doors and down a short hallway floored in blue-and-white marble tiles shaped like diamonds. The mess itself held more tables than Alucius could quickly count, but only one was set, with white linen and cutlery. Five officers, including the captain-colonel, were waiting, standing around the table talking quietly. The talk stopped as Alucius and Quelyn entered.
“Right on the moment. I said he would be,” Captain-Colonel Jesopyr announced. “Overcaptain, I’d like to present to you those officers you have not already met. Captain Bersyr, Captain Zenoryn, and Overcaptain Klynosyr. You recall Majer Fedosyr.”
“I’m pleased to meet you all.”
The captain-colonel steered Alucius to one end of the table. “All of you take your seats.”
Alucius sat, as did the others.
Then Jesopyr turned to the table behind him, where he picked up one of the amber-colored bottles. He screwed a device with a twisted metal prong into the cork of the bottle, then pulled out the cork. “This is one of the best reds. That is,” he added apologetically, “one of the best reds that a Southern Guard officer can reasonably afford, and I have been saving this for just such an occasion.”
“Since the last occasion a month ago?” asked the fresh-faced overcaptain—Klynosyr—with the square-cut beard.
“No, this is a two-month…no, a two-season occasion. How often have we had a chance to dine with an overcaptain who has fought pteridons and nomads and been decorated by the Landarch of Deforya?” Jesopyr bent forward and half filled the crystal goblet before Alucius, then filled the other six goblets, emptying the bottle in the process.
Jesopyr raised his goblet. “To our guest. May he travel to Tempre in health and return in both health and wisdom.”
“Thank you.” Alucius lifted his own goblet. “And to your hospitality.”
The deep amber wine was far better than anything Alucius had ever tasted, not that he had drunk that much wine, he reflected. It was also stronger than ale.
Two troopers in white jackets appeared, quickly setting plates before each officer. On each plate were thin strips of something covered with a glaze.
Alucius tried the first course, discovering it was some sort of tangy fish, covered with a lemon-almond glaze that went down easily.
“Have you had lemon-smoked oarfish before?” asked the majer.
“I’d had oarfish, but not prepared this way,” Alucius admitted. “What I’ve had wasn’t nearly this good.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” The colonel smiled, as if he had won a wager of some sort. “I imagine you didn’t see much fish on your travels to Deforya.”
“None at all, but the Landarch served a very tasty antelope dish.”
“What about pteridons?” murmured someone.
The colonel looked sharply toward the junior captains.
Alucius smiled. “I don’t imagine they’d taste very good. They seemed rather…oily.”
“Did you…” One of the two captains whose names Alucius hadn’t remembered, sitting at the end of the table, broke off his words.
“Fight real pteridons?” Alucius allowed an amused tone to creep into his voice. “Some of the nomads flew big blue-winged beasts and bore blue metal skylances that fired blue flame. They looked like the old pictures and the pieces in a leschec set. Maybe they were something else, but if a pteridon is worse than what we fought…well, I’d rather not see a pteridon.”
There was a low laugh around the table.
“They had the ancient skylances?” pursued Majer Fedosyr.
“The kind that fires waves of blue flame? They did. We didn’t know about the lances, and that’s how they killed Captain Clifyr and a good bunch of the Twenty-third Company.”
Quelyn looked at one of the other junior captains, but neither spoke as the trooper servers reappeared with a second course, soup in low bowls. Alucius thought it was bland, but not objectionable, and similar to his grandmother’s gourd soup.
“We heard that, under your command, the Lanachronan forces destroyed more than half of the nomads. How, if I might ask, did you manage that when you were so badly outnumbered?” asked Fedosyr.
Once more, Alucius went through his selectively abbreviated description of the battle for Dereka. “…and, while I didn’t see the last part of the battle, I was assured by my officers and by the Deforyan marshals that was what happened.”
“They burned your uniform right off you?” asked Quelyn wonderingly.
“I was most fortunate. Most who were struck by skylance fires died. It took several weeks for me to recover fully.”
“Over a hundred companies?”
“Something like that.”
Once more the servers reappeared, this time presenting some sort of meat pounded almost paper-thin, then rolled into tubes filled with a whitish green substance. The meat turned out to be a tender beef and the filling of parsley-cream and cheese. Alucius ate it all. At some time, the amber wine he had not finished had been replaced with a deep red vintage.
“I had heard that the Landarch awarded you the Star of Gallantry.” The colonel looked to the majer. “There have only been twenty ever given before, and that’s since the Cataclysm.”
Yet again, Alucius was bothered, both by what the captain-colonel knew, and his obvious cheer in telling of Alucius’s exploits.
“You know,” Jesopyr added, with a laugh, “you’ll have to watch yourself in Tempre. They’re not used to real heroes there.”
The absolute chill behind the warm words nearly stiffened Alucius right at the table. The warning was as direct and honest as a dagger, and felt nearly as deadly.
“The officers there,” Jesopyr continued, “except for Marshal Wyerl, of course, haven’t seen a real battle in years, and they think more in terms of golds and trade, and how to defeat other lands without having to fight.”
“…didn’t do so well, either, until they sent Wyerl and Alyniat west…”
“…some of the Matrites could fight…heard about one squad that nearly wiped out a whole company…”
“What was your experience with the Matrites, Overcaptain?” asked the other overcaptain at the table.
“Some fought very well. Their real leaders were usually the senior squad leaders.” Alucius took a sip of the red wine, also good—and strong.
“They inflicted heavy casualties on the…militia. We heard that, anyway.”
“That was at the beginning, when they had the crystal spear-thrower…” Alucius went on to explain that, ending as the servers brought in small slices of honey-cake.
As the officers finished the dessert, Captain-Colonel Jesopyr smiled at Alucius. “You have been most forthcoming, Overcaptain. I hope some of our younger officers have listened intently. But…do you have any questions…anything where we might be of service to you?”
“This is a rather…impressive post,” Alucius said.
“And you wonder why we’re all rattling around in it?” asked the captain-colonel.
“It had occurred to me.”
“We had ten companies here less than a year ago. Marshal Wyerl pulled out nine and dispatched them to Zalt and Southgate. We’ll be getting a company of recruits to train next month, and another the month after that. You caught us at our lowest.”
Truth rang through the colonel’s words, and that sense of truth disturbed Alucius in a fashion more than deception might have.
“It’s taking more troopers than you’d thought in the west, then?”
“Exactly, and that is one reason why, I would judge, the Lord-Protector wishes to honor you. We do not have that many companies to spare, and you remo
ved a great potential threat from the east.”
“It could have been a great threat to the Iron Valleys as well,” Alucius pointed out, stifling a yawn.
“That may be, but we are all grateful—or should be, since there are but a few handfuls of companies remaining in the east.” The captain-colonel smiled professionally. “You are tired. That, even I can see.”
“It has been a long day.”
“We will see you in the morning.” The captain-colonel stood.
And with that, Alucius found himself standing and being escorted from the mess, the other officers following as well. For all the courtesy, and all the supposed honor involved in the long trip to Tempre, Alucius still would have preferred to be back on the stead, getting up before dawn and riding all day—and coming home to Wendra.
90
Tempre, Lanachrona
The Lord-Protector stepped through the door into the private study, closing it behind him, and smiling at Alerya, who looked up from the desk and the sheet on which she had been writing.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“As I have, dear consort.” Alerya sipped from the goblet and replaced it on the desk. “You have that thoughtful look.”
“I would like you to read this.” The Lord-Protector handed two sheets of paper to his consort.
She took them and read, frowning well before she had finished. “He is making himself look older than he is? Has someone taken his place? Someone younger? How has it taken so long to have discovered such?”
“There were subterfuges…and we had not watched his bathchamber.”
“I like this not. Are you certain it is Enyll?”
“Of that I am certain. I have known Enyll since I was a child. His features have not changed. Nor has his voice. Nor has the way he speaks.”
“Then he has discovered a way to become younger?” Alerya’s laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Fortunate man.”
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