Darknesses

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Are you suggesting that the Recorder—and my brother—had something to do with her illness?”

  “It was in both their interests that you not have an heir,” Alucius pointed out. “That way he could groom Waleryn…”

  The Lord-Protector’s shoulders sagged. “I should have seen…I knew…I knew Waleryn was up to something.”

  “You can ask him, when he wakes. He will wake shortly, if he has not done so already.”

  “What did you do to the Table? It could have been a great tool.”

  “The Table failed after the Recorder died,” Alucius replied. That was true, in a sense. “He—or the creature that possessed him—had done something to it.” That was also true. “The Table, even when it worked, could not have transported more than a handful of people, and all those would have become creatures like the Recorder—deathless and evil.” Alucius was exaggerating, although it was clear that the Matrial had certainly been.

  “I find this tale of possession difficult.”

  “You do not have to believe me.” Alucius shrugged. “You can believe whatever and however you like, sir. If you find it more to your liking, you can simply state that the Recorder was plotting to replace you. You can name your brother or not. That is your choice.”

  The Lord-Protector nodded, reluctant, and clearly not totally pleased. “And you?”

  “As I said before…all I wish is to go home, in the way you promised before.”

  “And you will—”

  “I will do as I promised. The Iron Valleys can no longer stand alone, but the herders need to remain.”

  “You’re a most unusual officer, Overcaptain.”

  “That could be because I never sought to be one, sir.”

  The Lord-Protector lifted the bell from the desk. “We could talk more, but I do not think either of us would add much.”

  “I think not.”

  The older man rang the bell.

  Majer Suntyl appeared, as if he had been standing beside the door, which he had, Alucius knew.

  “Majer…Overcaptain Alucius has returned from a mission on which I had sent him, somewhat earlier than I had thought. Would you have his mount saddled and readied for him—and summon an escort for him back to the Southern Guard headquarters…”

  As he let the Lord-Protector talk, Alucius still wondered about the wisdom of leaving Waleryn alive.

  Still, Alucius and his family had to live in the Iron Valleys, and the Iron Valleys were ruled by Lanachrona—and while Alucius had been asked to deal with the Recorder, he doubted that the Lord-Protector would have been that pleased to find his brother dead, unless the Lord-Protector knew more than Alucius thought the ruler did.

  The majer departed, and the Lord-Protector looked to Alucius. “Majer Suntyl will return when your mount and escort are ready.”

  “Thank you.” Alucius bowed slightly.

  “I am sure we will both be pleased to see you return to the Iron Valleys.” The Lord-Protector laughed softly, but not harshly. “I had not realized the disadvantages of so effective and devoted an officer.”

  “Like weapons that never fail?”

  “Something like that,” the Lord-Protector admitted.

  “I am not that infallible, sir, nor do I wish to be considered as such.”

  “I may find it difficult to change my views,” the Lord-Protector replied, “but I will honor, most willingly, my promises.”

  Alucius could sense that the man wished to—he just hoped that circumstances did not change those wishes.

  115

  Tempre, Lanachrona

  The Lord-Protector hurried through the foyer of his private apartments and into the main sitting room.

  Alerya was not at her desk but standing before the open door to the balcony. She turned with a wide smile.

  “Dearest…are you…?”

  “I’m fine. I’m better than fine.” She paused, then spoke more slowly, reflectively. “Talryn…the strangest thing happened today.”

  “Not so strange as what happened to me, I’d wager. Did you feel when the palace shook?”

  “Yes. It felt like the earth moved.”

  “The Table exploded, and the overcaptain returned. He said he had been in Prosp.” Talryn frowned. “He was not lying. Yet no horse could have gotten him there and back in little more than a month. He said Enyll had used the Table to send him to Prosp. Then he returned and fought with Enyll and killed him. He said that some sort of evil creature had possessed Enyll. He did not say much more, no matter that I pressed him, and since he would not, I did not.”

  “I knew it! Enyll didn’t feel right. I told you that.”

  “I am glad that you and the overcaptain agree,” Talryn said dryly. “It may be difficult to explain.”

  “Not at all. Enyll tried to move the Table—unwisely. It exploded. He died. You have told me often that the other Tables exploded when they were moved. Those who know the Tables know that is so, and no one else need know.”

  Talryn nodded, then looked closely at his consort. “I have not seen such strength in you since…”

  “Not ever, dearest. Not ever. That was what was so strange. This afternoon…I was sitting at my desk…I was trying to write a note to Mother. She is still at the summer house in Lesyna, you recall.”

  “Yes, go on.”

  “Suddenly, I felt very weak, and I fainted, right at the desk.”

  “That was good?”

  “Yes, dearest. When I woke, it was almost two glasses later, and I was as I am now. It is as if I had never been ill.” Alerya smiled. “I know…I know…that…you…we…”

  “Let us wait and see,” Talryn offered, cautiously.

  “I will wait, but you will see.” Alerya threw her arms around him—forcefully. “You will.”

  “How…?” murmured the Lord-Protector, more to himself than to Alerya.

  “Does it matter, dear one?”

  A slow smile crossed Talryn’s face. “No…for once…it does not. It most certainly does not.” His arms tightened around her gently, protectively.

  “You will not have to treat me as fine porcelain, now.”

  “For a time, yet.”

  “Only for a time.”

  They both smiled, but the Lord-Protector’s eyes drifted eastward, toward the headquarters of the Southern Guard.

  116

  Not to Alucius’s surprise, his discharge orders arrived early the next morning—a Sexdi, he discovered. He was somewhat more surprised to discover that Faisyn and third squad had remained in Tempre. He would have written Wendra, but it was more likely that he would arrive long before any letter would…but he did write a page or so…just in case.

  Much as Alucius had enjoyed the luxury of a hot bath and shaving, and of completely clean uniforms, he was more than ready to leave Tempre when he and third squad formed up in the rear courtyard of the Southern Guard headquarters compound at midmorning.

  “Third squad, present and ready, sir!” Faisyn snapped out, a broad smile following the crisp words.

  “Let’s head home, Faisyn.”

  “Yes, sir! Third squad, forward!”

  No formal escort preceded them as they rode around the eastern end of the headquarters building, out through the gates, and southward onto the Avenue of the Guard. The air was so warm that Alucius found it hard to believe that harvest season was almost over, and it was but a few weeks until the turn of fall.

  The small force rode past the eastern end of the formal gardens of the Lord-Protector, and Alucius turned in the saddle, glancing back at the palace and at the hills beyond it—the hills without dwellings, fences, walls—or anything near them. What looked to be two lines of ridges joined, just behind the palace.

  Abruptly, he laughed, seeing for the first time, with eyes and Talent-senses, the world lifethreads that ran there. Clearly, the ancient ifrits had built the Tables where those threads intersected near the surface of the land.

  In time, could he or others build Tables for tra
nsport? Now, that was a poor idea, because it would open Corus to another attack from the ifrits. But…in the future? Or would there always be too great a threat and a danger?

  Alucius couldn’t have said that he knew the answer.

  “Sir?” asked Faisyn.

  “It’s hard to explain…” Alucius shook his head.

  “Can you tell us, sir,” Faisyn asked, “about the commission that the Lord-Protector had for you. No one said anything about what it was. Not at all. Just that he had tasked you with it.”

  “I wish I could, Faisyn,” Alucius replied. “But that wouldn’t be good for either of us. Let’s just say that it was dangerous, that I was wounded and captured, and lucky to escape and finish the mission, and that I’d never want to do anything at all like that again.” And that was certainly true.

  “We be getting furlough when we get back?”

  “Colonel Weslyn said you would,” Alucius replied. “As far as I’m concerned, you were all on duty in Tempre.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  As they rode south on the Avenue of the Guard and past the dust palace, Alucius glanced over at the imposing structure, seeing no one except for a single guard in green livery, the greenish white marble walls bright in the harvest morning sunlight. When he had first seen Drimeer’s marble mansion, Alucius had found it hard to believe that the dustcat warrens outside of Iron Stem spawned such corrupt luxury. Upon reflection, it didn’t seen so unbelievable, especially not compared to what he’d learned about the Duarchy in the past few months.

  He shifted his weight in the saddle, glad to be riding out of Tempre, glad to be heading homeward.

  117

  The ride back from Tempre to Dekhron was long, still hot, late as it was in harvest, and, thankfully, totally uneventful. All the Southern Guard officers were courteous along the way, but not terribly curious, as if the surprise of a Northern Guard officer being summoned to Tempre had passed and been accepted.

  Alucius and third squad reached Salaan in midafternoon of the second day of fall. A faint drizzle had begun to drift down from the low clouds as the small force rode over the River Vedra bridge from Salaan into Dekhron. In the drizzle, only a single cart, its pony led by a graying woman, headed southward. She did not even look at the riders of third squad. Despite the clouds and moisture, the river remained low, with the same cracking mud banks that Alucius recalled from early in harvest. Below the bridge, the barge piers were empty, the warehouses shuttered.

  Even with the misty drizzle, the air in Dekhron smelled dusty. While most of the shops on the main street that was the high road were open, Alucius saw few buyers and but a handful of people on either the streets or the porches.

  Alucius and Faisyn turned westward on the street short of the main square—also nearly deserted from what Alucius could see—and third squad followed. The mist thickened as they neared the headquarters post, but the drizzle lessened.

  The two troopers on guard merely nodded when they caught sight of Alucius’s insignia, but by the time Alucius and third squad had reined up outside the stables, Colonel Weslyn appeared, followed by Majer Imealt.

  “Welcome back, Overcaptain!” Weslyn’s voice was warm and hearty.

  Alucius sensed the concern and worry behind the façade. “It’s good to be back, Colonel. Before I forget, I have some dispatches for you from the Lord-Protector himself. Once we’re settled, I’ll bring them to you.” Alucius wasn’t about to hand them over without watching the colonel open them.

  “That would be good. We have much to discuss, Overcaptain. I will see you shortly.” With another smile and a nod, the colonel stepped back, then turned. Majer Imealt followed.

  Alucius made certain that all mounts were stabled, and all the troopers quartered, before he carried his gear to the senior officers’ quarters, again following Dezyn, the same blond captain who had assisted him a season before. Alucius spent but a few moments washing up and brushing off road detritus before gathering himself together and heading down to meet the colonel.

  Weslyn was waiting, seated behind his desk, but only gestured for Alucius to enter, and said nothing until Alucius closed the door.

  Alucius did not wait for an invitation, but extended the two sealed dispatches and seated himself in the chair across the desk from the colonel.

  Weslyn set them before him, but made no movement to open either. “The last dispatches we had,” he began smoothly, “indicated that you had been commended, and had been requested to remain as an aide to the Lord-Protector for several weeks.”

  “That’s true. He wanted to know more about the Northern Guard, and about the Matrites. They haven’t had that much knowledge about Hieron in recent years,” offered Alucius.

  “The commendation?”

  “Oh…” Alucius eased the medal from his belt wallet. “The Star of Honor. The Lord-Protector said it had been a generation since it had been awarded.”

  “And he presented it personally?”

  “In his audience hall, yes, sir. He sent those to me later, by messenger.” Alucius gestured to the two folded and sealed dispatches. “They’re for you.”

  “You act as if I’m supposed to open these while you’re here.”

  “It might be best,” Alucius suggested.

  Weslyn frowned. “You know what is in these?”

  “I didn’t unseal either, sir. I was told that I have a copy of one, the one that orders my release upon my return to Dekhron.”

  Weslyn said nothing as he lifted the first, broke the seal, and read the single sheet with the embossed seals at the bottom. Finally, he looked up. “The Lord-Protector must think highly of you, Overcaptain. You are released to return to your stead, with full pay to the end of the year.” A half-rueful smile followed. “And you cannot be recalled to any duty without the express written authorization of the Lord-Protector.”

  That surprised Alucius.

  Weslyn opened the second and read it before speaking again. “The Northern Guard has also been ordered not to conscript any more herders, again without the permission of the Lord-Protector. Do you know why?”

  “No, sir. I never said anything to the Lord-Protector about conscription. He only asked what herders did and what our lives were like.”

  “You must have been rather persuasive.”

  “I asked for nothing except my timely release.”

  “Can you tell me what duties you performed for the Lord-Protector?”

  “He requested that I not speak of such, sir, but I can say that it had nothing to do with anything that affected the Northern Guard, the Iron Valleys, or you directly.”

  “Directly?” Weslyn raised his fine blond and silver eyebrows.

  “Anything the Lord-Protector does may affect us all indirectly.”

  “That is most true. Most true.” Weslyn offered a forced chuckle.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you had any word on Fifth Company and Captain Feran?”

  Weslyn nodded. “Fifth Company is holding the outpost at Soulend. In the spring, if necessary, they may join the attack on Arwyn, if the Lord Protector so requires.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Both Captain Feran and the Northern Guard will miss you, Overcaptain. You could be a majer in another five years, and with the support of the Lord-Protector, commandant some day.”

  Alucius smiled. “I’ll miss both, Colonel, but I’m a better herder than an officer, and it’s time to get back to that. You’re more comfortable being commandant than I ever would be.”

  “There are many who would dispute that, Overcaptain; but the Lord-Protector has made his wishes known, and that is what will be. You can leave in the morning, if you would like.” Weslyn stood.

  “I would, and I do appreciate that, Colonel.” Alucius stood and bowed. He could sense both worry and relief—warring within the commandant of the Northern Guard.

  As he walked back to his temporary quarters, he could not help but wonder at the co
lonel’s easy acquiescence. Had Weslyn feared that Alucius had been seeking the position of commandant? Was that why the colonel had suggested that Alucius could be commandant? Or was that an obligatory pleasantry?

  Weslyn was so adept at masking his feelings that Alucius could not tell, not for certain. What Alucius could tell was that he was ready to leave the Northern Guard and ride home. More than ready.

  118

  Dekhron, Iron Valleys

  The round-faced trader in a severe gray tunic walked through the mist toward the large dwelling on the side street. When he stepped onto the porch, out of the light night rain, the door opened.

  A taller white-haired man, sharp-featured even in dim light coming from the hallway behind him, stood aside to let the younger man enter, then closed the door. “Erhelya is at Halyne’s for the evening, and the servants were pleased to get the night off.” He turned and walked through the front sitting room and into the study behind it, lit by a single oil lamp on the corner of the desk. There he seated himself and waited for the other to take the wooden armchair across from him.

  “I had to rearrange the evening to meet you, Tarolt,” pointed out the younger man.

  “I understand.” The pale-faced older man nodded. “It was necessary. You know what happened earlier? It may be that the one who had something to do with it might be within our reach. But there is little time. I received a message just a while ago.” His fingers tapped on the polished wood of the desk. “We will need golds, tonight.”

  “For what, Halanat?”

  “The overcaptain. Before he reaches the range of the Aerlal Plateau.”

  “You had said—”

  “Matters have changed. Greatly. This had to be arranged quickly, because the colonel is at times an idiot, most carefully—and most indirectly. No one who comes in contact with the overcaptain, however distantly, will know anything. Also, those employed for…direct…action needed to be most proficient with rifles. That is why we need more than the usual for this.”